#or at least the outcome would be slightly different?

[xlysaaa]

i've always wondered..

if these two mf helped instead of driving away, could there still have been hope? or or or

[the-witty-pen-name]

New Years, New Beginnings

Steve Harrington x PlusSize!F!Reader

Summary: You don’t believe he’s sincere any time Steve Harrington has asked you out. It’s not until a messy New Year's Eve confession that you realize you may have been wrong. 

Warnings: 18+ for suggestive content; cursing; body image issues/insecurity; mentions of bullying; miscommunication; slight angst; horniness but no smut; slightly sub!steve if you squint

Word Count: 3.0k

You pride yourself on graduating Hawkins High as inconspicuous as possible. You detest attention in most forms and your priority was moving through those three years avoiding most of your peers. Describing yourself as shy was an understatement. Your preteen and teenage years were riddled with the most intense insecurity. 

You were never bullied for your appearance- at least not directly. However, you absorbed every look and every offhand comment like a sponge. You were very aware of the space you took up in a room and how different you felt compared to your friends. As a kid, you remember when you caught on to the way your Halloween costumes were always homemade while your friends had no issue fitting into store bought costumes. You feel like you stand out in group pictures so you slouch, and suck in your tummy and stick out your chin- overtime it just became second nature to contort yourself to fit into boxes. 

Despite your best efforts, you did unfortunately catch the attention of one person in particular. King of Hawkins High- the infamous Steve Harrington with his infuriating hair.

You were blessed with the misfortune of having to sit behind him in study hall. He would turn around and pester you constantly. He seemed to enjoy making you uncomfortable and even though you would ignore him, it seemed to just incite him to tease you more.

He’d sit in his chair backwards and cross his arms to rest them over the top. He’d rest his chin on his arms and stare at you, or watch your hands as you worked on your homework. He’d annoy you with stupid questions, or take your pens.  

“What kind of movies do you like?” he’d ask, out of the blue after an annoying amount of staring you’d effectively ignore. 

“I don’t know,” you answer, without looking up. You’d offer a shrug and then just move on to the next math problem. 

“They’re playing the Star Wars movies at the drive-in,” he volunteers and you love Star Wars. However, you can’t bring yourself to say anything. He’s baiting you. And you refuse to bite. 

He eventually got the hint and let you be. He slowly turned around and focused his attention on the clock at the front of the classroom. 

It was the worst type of teasing, the faking interest- the attempts to make you think he’d be legitimately interested. You knew the outcome already; you’d seen that teen movie and you refuse to be the victim in that cruel game. 

He’d wait at your locker and you’d turn the other way when you saw him in the distance. He’d lean against your locker, looking around expectantly for Tommy and Carol, you’d assume, to see if they were watching. You’d wait until the bell rang and risk being late to class before walking up to him at your locker. 

When you would get there before him, he’d come out of nowhere. He’d sneak up on you and lean on the locker next to yours. He’d smile with that signature look of his and you refused to let yourself acknowledge how great it was. Your heart would tug, wishing it was real if you let yourself dwell on it. 

“You don’t like me,” he’d smirk, like he was trying to break some code to you. “We should really go out and talk about it.”

You’d be in the cafeteria lunchline, moving through the stations with your tray. Steve would cut-in next to you. Everyone loved him so no one cared when he’d cut the lunch line. He’d slide in close to you, and you’d ignore the way his cologne always smelled so good. 

“So the lasagna, huh?” he’d smile, looking at the contents on your tray. “Do you like Italian?”

“It’s fine,” you grumble, moving down the line. 

“You ever been to Enzo’s?” he asks and you realize he doesn’t even have his own tray. He’s just here to mess with you. “They have really good lasagna. We should go.” 

You get to the register to pay and Steve beats you to it, offering a few bills to the lunch lady. “It’s on me, sweetheart,” he flirted, and you just walked away. 

Unbeknownst to you, Steve Harrington was pathetically in love with you. Past the suave and charming exterior and his overcompensation of unfound confidence, Steve had been pining after you since the summer you moved to Hawkins, right before 10th grade. He thought you were the prettiest girl he’d ever seen. He thought your shyness was endearing and he liked that he seemed to make you nervous- because maybe that meant you felt the same way about him. After a year of rejection, Steve finally decided to leave you alone because you made it clear you wanted absolutely nothing to do with him. 

Steve didn’t realize how he was coming across to you. He’d never had to think about things like you had. At school and amongst his peers, he didn’t need to have his guard up all the time like you felt you needed. His experiences with social interactions didn’t prepare him for the way you reacted to his advances. He was used to adoration and popularity, he didn’t face rejection. Both of you, with completely opposite experiences, couldn’t figure out or make sense of the other. You shrouded in your defences and Steve was stung for the first time. 

Like a cliche, you’re back in your parents’ town for Christmas and New Years. It’s been a few years since you’d been back for longer than a weekend stay. Now, you’ve managed to get enough time off approved that you arrived before Christmas and will leave shortly after New Years. So far, you've done an excellent job avoiding anyone from school. You had friends you wanted to see, of course. But you skillfully avoided any chance encounter by dodging the errands your mom attempted to pass off to you. 

Your luck had run out when she pulled you aside and told you to go out and get a few movies for you and your parents to watch together. Which is how you ended up at Family Video on a random Thursday and ending up face to face with Steve Harrington. 

When you walked in, you immediately saw him at the counter and the two of you made eye contact for maybe a couple of seconds before you averted your eyes and headed down one of the aisles. It’s fine, you rationalize as you pretend to look at the cases, high school is far enough behind us that he won’t remember me at all. 

It was only a few minutes before your grand entrance back into his world that Steve was complaining to Robin about his nonexistent dating life. Robin does her best to help him out of the slump he seems to have found himself in lately, but he can’t seem to ever feel like his old self. When you walked in, he couldn’t even believe his eyes. But just like before, you immediately dodge him. 

“Oh shit,” Robin smiles, immediately recognizing you. “Hey!” She saunters over and Steve watches from the front counter. He watches the way seeing Robin has brought a huge smile to your face. 

“Oh my god, Robin!” You exclaim happily, pulling her in for a hug. Out of the many people who went to Hawkins High, Robin is probably one of the only people you’d be happy running into. 

The two of you talk and catch up, and Steve stares at the computer screen pretending to keep busy while simultaneously attempting to eavesdrop on your conversation. He straightens his posture when he sees Robin bringing you up to the register. He doesn’t acknowledge you as Robin checks out your movies. 

“Don’t forget, 7- okay?” Robin says with a wave when you leave. The bell rings and then Steve turns to look at Robin expectantly. “What?” she asks, scrunching her nose at him in annoyance. 

“Did you fucking invite her to New Years Eve?” he asks incredulously. She nods. 

“Uh yeah- she’s my friend, I figured you’d be fine with that,” she responds, but raises an eyebrow, “Did I do something wrong?”

“Do you remember when I told you about that girl I liked in the tenth grade-” 

“Holy shit!” Robin exclaims, spinning around on the stool she sat on. “That’s insane,” she continues, “She was like the only cool person in my lab- we talked all the time.”

“She hated me, probably still does,” he shrugged, and Robin rolled her eyes. 

“You were a douchebag,” Robin reasons. 

“Not to her!” Steve insisted. “I asked her out like a thousand times- I really liked her. I wasn’t a douche… I don’t think.” 

“You had a reputation Steve,” Robin points out, “Even if you didn’t necessarily do anything to her specifically, Tommy or Carol might have. Or, she just knew you were a grade-A asshole and was steering clear. You’re much better now.”

“Gee, thanks for that enlightening assessment,” he grumbles, sarcastically. 

“At least if she shows up to the party, you can ask her,” Robin suggests, stealing a box of movie candy from one of the shelves, “Just clear the air so you can move on, you know? Get some closure, cause clearly you’re not over it.”

Had you realized that you were attending a New Years Eve party at Steve’s house, of course you wouldn’t have gone. No one greeted you at the door, it was just left unlocked for everyone to come and go as they pleased. 

People filled the hallway, chatting amongst themselves or dancing to the loud music that was coming from the living room. You couldn’t hear yourself think, and you just wanted a minute to compose yourself before venturing too far into the crowd. 

You navigated down the front hall, having to squeeze and push past people, and found yourself in the kitchen, and just your luck, the only person there was Steve. You hoped to immediately leave before he noticed you. 

“Wait,” he pleaded, when you turned to walk out, “please, can we talk?” 

You pause, and turn back to him. 

“Why do you hate me so much?” He asks, and he sounds broken. 

“You have a lot of fucking nerve Harrington,” you say. “You were so mean to me all the time and you have the audacity to play the victim?” 

“How was I mean?” He asks and you scoff because he sounds so genuinely confused. 

“You know, don’t play fucking stupid.” 

“I’m not! Look I understand if I made you uncomfortable,” he explains, “I probably should’ve taken the hint that you weren’t interested and I just kept perusing it- but I thought it was a thing. I was wrong.” 

“What do you mean take a hint?” You ask, tilting your head in confusion. Steve looks at you, completely dumbfounded that you seem to have no idea what he’s talking about. 

“You clearly didn’t like me back,” he explains, like it’s obvious. “I wouldn’t take the hint, and I kept asking you out and it made you upset. I just thought- I thought you and I had like a little back and forth thing. I realized way too late that I was wrong.” 

“Do you seriously think I’m that stupid?” You ask, your tone is incredibly harsh. “You don’t get to flip the story around to save face. You’re a terrible person Steve. It’s not fair to mess with someone’s feelings like that.” 

“I’m sorry,” he apologizes, “please just explain to me what I did wrong so we can work through it.” 

“Don’t pretend like you weren’t just messing with me to make fun of me,” you snap, your voice beginning to tremble. 

“What are you talking about?” Steve asks softly, walking towards you and for once you let him. 

“I knew the whole time Steve,” you mumble, looking at the ground. “I know you weren’t actually flirting with me or asking me out all those times. I know it was a joke.” 

“None of it was a joke,” he admits. “I liked you a lot. So I would try to ask you out and you’d never talk to me. I thought maybe you were shy and nervous because you liked me back so I just kept the bit going- I’m sorry. I clearly was a dick who made you uncomfortable.” 

“Wait,” you say, thinking back on as many of the interactions as you can remember. “You were actually asking me out?” 

“Why is that so hard to believe?” Steve counters. 

You’re actually rendered speechless. You’re overwhelmed with this new information and you can’t actually bring yourself to fully believe him. There’s no way, you reason, there’s absolutely no way that Steve would’ve been interested in you. 

“I mean come on,” Steve continues when you say nothing, “look at you.” 

“You’re doing it again,” you respond, defeatedly. 

“I’ve wanted you since we were like 15,” Steve confesses. “Fuck, I literally remember the first time I fucking saw you. Do you even remember that?” 

He moves away and goes to lean against the kitchen counters behind him. He crosses his arms and looks down on the floor, kicking at nothing. You don’t know how to react to this confession. It felt like for once, you were seeing the real Steve. The one he’d been trying to show you forever but didn’t know how. And your guard had�� been  up the whole time anyways. 

“This is so stupid,” he scoffs at himself, as he remembers the day and puts himself back in the shoes of his love sick teenage self. “Summer right before tenth grade. July 8th.” 

“You had just moved here and it was at the pool,” Steve continues. “You had on this black bathing suit… literally couldn’t keep it together. I couldn’t focus on literally anything else.” 

You remember the day, but you don’t remember Steve being there at all. You remember feeling awkward in your suit, worried people were judging you. You almost didn’t swim, too self conscious- so you ended up sunbathing for a long while before the heat became too unbearable and you needed to jump in. You didn’t even know Steve had been there. 

“I was too nervous to say anything,” he admits, “so I didn’t go up to you that day and I regretted it. I thought about you the whole rest of the summer. I thought maybe you were like visiting family or something and I’d never see you again… but when you showed up in my class, I had to just go for it. I’m sorry I didn’t just let it go.” 

“But you dated Nancy… and went out with girls like Brenda and Laurie. Why would someone like you- fucking King Steve- want anything to do with a girl who looks like me?” you ask, almost sarcastically. Your walls of defense creep up again, lulling you back to safety. 

Steve is finally sick of this nonsense. He’s done with dancing around the subject. He’s still in love with you, and it’s growing unbearable being in the same space as you if he can’t be near you. It’s taking over all of his senses, everything about it just consumes him whole. He can’t understand why you can’t just see how wrecked you’ve made him. 

He strides over to you and cups your face in his hands. You tilt your head up to him in surprise at his gesture. Yet, you don’t pull away. He sighs, it’s a relief to even touch you as simply as this. The soft skin of your cheeks against the pads of his fingertips is enough to ground him just enough that he doesn’t spiral. He takes in a sharp breath once he realizes how close you are like this. The reaction he has to you makes you dizzy and goosebumps rise on your skin.

You don’t know who leaned in first- don’t know who started it. It was like your mind was completely white static and then you realized you and Steve were kissing. It wasn’t anything like the way you’ve ever been kissed before. It made all your senses fuzzy and your body melt into him. He couldn’t help but smile against your pretty lips when you pulled yourself closer to him. It’s all he’s wanted. 

Your hands grasp tightly to the front of his tshirt, and you feel his arms wrap around your waist. His hands land on the small of your back and it feels like the skin under his touch is on fire even if it is over the material of your top. You gasp against his lips when his hands slide down to rest in the back pockets of your jeans and he pulls you even closer than before. He leans against the counter and he pulls you flush against him. Instinctively, your arms wrap around his neck. Your hands play with the ends of his hair at his neck and he moans so prettily. 

“Fuck, fuck sweetheart,” he gasps, reluctantly pulling away. You pout, and all he can think looking at you with your big eyes and swollen lips that he’s so royally fucked. “I wanna talk about this.” 

You nod, catching your breath, and you don’t miss how his eyes flicker to watch the rise and fall of your chest. You bite your lip to hold back a smile that’s risking to spill out. “Shit,” he sighs, finding your eyes, “I think I’m still in love with you.” 

His hands are still planted firmly in your back pockets. You match his stance, trailing your hands across his slender waist and then settle them into the back pockets of his jeans. You watch as his cheeks turn bright red and the blush blossoms across the length of his neck. He’s so sweet like this, you can’t help but think to yourself. 

“Oh yeah?” You tease flirtatiously. He’s convinced you could probably see his heart beating rapidly out of his chest. He gulps, his Adam’s apple bobs and you can’t help but smirk. Newfound confidence swells up through you, finally seeing the way you affect him. 

[lavandulawrites]

Hello, can req yandere sunday x fem reader x yandere danheng?

Voting

Yandere Sunday x reader x Dan Heng

This dynamic is rather interesting

Masterlist

Warnings: obsession, Dan Heng and Sunday have beef, possession, despair

Word count: 703

Golden eyes that held heavy burdens and emotions met pale blues brimming with calculation and weariness. Liquid gold swirled together with icy waters in a battle of jealousy and thinly veiled possession. The sound of the little bunny drowned out as they continued to explain the rules of the Express. Flutter of wings and sneering of fangs a clear sign of disdain, though only a single person caught on to it.

You swallowed thickly as the two men continued to stare into each others souls with hatred. The air around you buzzed with electricity and your throat closed in on itself like a snare. Cold sweat coated your temples as you adverted your gaze from the pair.

“So is everyone in favour for Sunday staying on the express?” the slightly screeching voice of the conductor snapped you out of your daze.

You turned to face them as you tried to ignore the tension in the air. The other members of the express nodded except from you and Dan Heng. You hesitated as your mind raked through different outcomes. You were on the losing end no matter what you answered.

March raised her eyebrows as she gave you a puzzled look. “What about you? [Name] what do you think?”

You swallowed as you felt the weight of the golden eyes. He was watching you with a unreadable gaze. You refused to met his gaze, at least not yet. Your molars crushed together tightly. “I don’t know” you said under your breath.

“You don’t know?” Himeko said. “Well, it’s okay if you aren’t sure yet. We still have Dan Heng who hasn’t given his answer” the red haired woman turned to said man.

Dan Heng’s eyes were fixated on Sunday as his eyes narrowed. “I have already made up my mind. I have done that a long time ago” his words harsh like the unforgiving winter wind. He turned around and found your eyes. He studied your expression for a bit before he looked at Himeko. “I don’t think we should let him stay. We don’t know if we can trust him” his voice had an icy edge to it and you could feel the iciness on your skin.

Sunday forced a chilling smile as he remind silent, but his dissatisfaction was clear as day.

“Four votes for, one isn’t sure and one against. Then it’s settled” PomPom declared. The rest of the Nameless left the room with PomPom in the lead.

The three of you stood in silence as you avoided their gazes. Your stared out of the large windows out on the countless stars. Penacony was grand in all its glory and you felt regret creeping over you like a looming monster. If only you never had stepped foot onto the planet of festivities.

After a few long minutes had passed, Sunday cleared his throat. “I look forward to travel with the Express, my dove” the winged man said with a velvety soft voice. You turned your head and looked at him over your shoulder. His smile was soft and his eyes gentle. You only hummed, before you turned back to gaze out of the window.

Dan Heng snorted sharply. “Don’t do anything you will regret, Sunday. I will keep my eyes on you” his words sharp as razors.

Sunday chuckled “No need to be so aggressive Dan Heng. I would never hurt my lovely little darling”.

Dan Heng sneered like the dragon he was and adverted his gaze. You could feel his baby blues boring into the back of your head.

“Calm down both of you” you sighed loudly as you cradled your head in your hands. You had grown weary of their bickering and hateful comments.

Invisible chains wrapped around your limbs like a hungry snake and weighed you down to the train. You glanced out the window as you saw your freedom spread its wings as it soared through the stars. You wanted to reach out for it, to make it stop, but you found yourself unable to. The cold familiar feeling of despair spread through your body like mould. It gnawed away at your nerves and cells, till nothing remained but a hollow shell remained. Oh were you fucked.

[itsswritten]

butterfly kisses

Pairing: Azriel x fem reader

Word Count: 1.7K (honestly it's just a little drabble)

Warnings: 18+, implied smut, lots of fluff, mating frenzy

Summary: Azriel just can't get enough of your wings <3

Wings Universe - More from this world.

Azriel wasn’t sure how he’d gotten so lucky.

He had thanked the Mother every day since the bond snapped, and even more when you accepted it. When Mor had introduced you into his life only a couple of years ago, he never imagined this would be the outcome.

Azriel vividly remembered the first night he met you. It was another gathering at Rita’s, one of the many that had unfolded, now peace settled over the land. 

Mor with playful determination had pulled you over to their table, arm looped around yours– almost in a way that said she wasn’t going to let you escape. He had noticed the faint blush that creeped up your face to your pointed ears, merely from the proximity of your High Lord and Lady, and their inner circle. He recalled how you offered a shy little curtsy in their presence, that had led to the whole table stifling their laughter. Rhys kindly explained that such formalities were not necessary, especially not in Rita’s of all places. Azriel did his best to contain his mirth at the display, all the while chewing the inside of his cheek to stop the chuckle leaving his lips. He truly couldn’t get over how adorable you were, he'd found himself captivated by your endearing innocence. 

And that was only the start.

Mor explained how she’d met you in town one day and had essentially thrusted her friendship onto you, and it really didn’t take long for Azriel and his family to do the same. 

You were so sweet and caring, and slotted into Azriel’s life so easily that he found it hard to remember a time when you weren’t there at all. Your kindness towards the Archeron sisters, guiding them through the intricate transitions of fae life that they still at times struggled with. Nyx was absolutely enamoured with you, oftentimes seeking your company over his actual family. But they didn’t blame him, because they all did same. Your calm sweet nature was addictive to them all, especially Azriel.

Driven by an insatiable curiosity, Azriel found himself seeking every opportunity to unravel all your layers. He wanted to know everything about you. From your favourite foods, to the books that captured your attention.

His infatuation all made sense when the bond snapped. 

It was the last solstice.

Azriel had noticed how beautiful you were looking, as you always were. But you were clad in a breathtaking pale pink summer dress, the neckline delicately showcasing your décolletage. As you moved with a natural grace, the fabric billowed ever so slightly at the waist, accentuating your silhouette in a manner that held attention.

Or at least held Azriel’s attention. He couldn’t keep his eyes off you.

He watched you carefully navigate the chaos of the room. Nyx in one arm, giving Feyre some rest and reprieve in her pregnant state. Your other hand bringing in the cake Elain had spent all morning baking. Amidst the flurry of activity, you had been so close to dropping the cake. But Azriel's steady hand intervened just in time, grabbing the plate and taking it off you. Except in that moment your hands touched, grazed past one another in a way they had so many times before. 

But that time had been different.

It was Azriel’s turn to almost drop the cake. That all consuming warmth flooded his chest catching him off guard. A golden thread connecting itself to you. The mating bond. Finally.

And based on the bright red flush covering your cheeks, it was clear you’d felt it too. You’d fled the room then, overcome with emotion and what this new revelation meant. 

Though, it didn’t take long for Azriel to coax you round.

Ever the gentleman, he courted you. Taking you on the most thoughtful dates and spoiling you with bouquet after bouquet of flowers. He would leave little love notes and poetry for you to find. That it was really no surprise to anyone, when you decided to accept the bond.

That was only three weeks ago now.

Yourself and Azriel were deep in the mating frenzy. 

Rhys had kindly offered one of his private residences he had on the outskirts of Night. A smaller cottage, but with all the privacy you both needed. And Azriel had taken advantage of that privacy eliciting sounds from you that he would cherish forever and never tire hearing.

And then there were your wings. 

You had revealed them to him the first night after accepting the mating bond, and, Gods, was he done for.

Azriel had taken it upon himself, in the earlier months, to really vet you. His dedication to his role as Spymaster served as a guise for his self-indulgent exploration of you, delving into the intricate details of your being with a hunger that bordered on obsession. Not only had he discovered all the things you love, but he searched for details of who and what you were.

Finding himself holed up in the library at times, hours spent devoted to aquainiting himself to the type of fairy you were. 

He knew you had wings, was the type of fairy whose wings were the delicate kind. Most kept them concealed with magic. Yet, Azriel couldn't shake the thought that perhaps they were hidden not only for protection but also out of reverence for their breathtaking beauty. They were mesmerising. Enough to trap Azriel into some kind of trance. 

And perhaps possessively so, he was grateful not many males were privy to this part of you.

He was watching you now, laying on your front. Bare. Just how he’d left you when he took a moment to freshen up. You were giggling, your legs up and feet fluttering behind you while propped up over something.

“What are you doing, my love?” Azriel purred inquisitively, stepping closer towards the bed.

“Oh…Feyre was just checking in. Asking how much longer we might be,” he could hear you smile when you spoke, and watched as with the brush of your hand the magical parchment and ink disappeared that you’d been conversing with Feyre on.

“It’s not even been that long,”

“We’ve been gone three weeks–”

“And we’ll be gone 300 hundred more,”

You chuckled at his response, “Az, we do need to go back at some point. They need us.”

“I need you more.” There was no negotiating. Your family would be lucky to see you both before the next solstice at this rate.

Not that Azriel needed the frenzy to be satiated by you, but it truly was driving him. The primal need for you, overwhelming. The pair of you only stopped when you both fell into a slumber from exhaustion. And even then, there were many times you found each other in a sleep exhausted haze, tangled within and inside one another again.

The bed dipped either side of your legs, you were still on your front but could feel your mate over you. He had paused though, his eyes falling over your beautiful pink wings. The iridescent skin reflecting lights across the room. He had almost cried when he first saw them after you accepted the bond, mesmerised and overwhelmed by their beauty.

Getting to see this part of you, a part of you that was so private, stirred a gratefulness inside him. But there was something else too, a possessiveness that had slowly been creeping up his mind recently.

In the past three weeks, you had both done every possible maneuver, tried every kind of love making– fucking, screwing, mating. You’d even made him a crumbling wet mess just from playing with his wings. 

But he hadn’t touched yours.

No, they looked so delicate and soft, too beautiful to touch, that he hadn’t dared. 

You felt him situate himself behind you, his warm naked body lightly laying on you, his chest resting on your behind. His arms wormed their way under your hips to get comfy, and you splayed your wings flat against your back to fit him.

“Az?” you asked curiously, glancing slightly over at your shoulder to catch him in your peripheral.

He didn’t respond though, not with words. You felt his soft warm breath blowing on the membrane of your right wing, making your squirm under the touch. Your wing fluttering a little in the air.

“How sensitive are they? Too sensitive for me to touch?” You heard him behind you.

“Hm..” you tilted your head slightly to think, “They’re delicate, but you can touch them. Gently.”

You were waiting for him to wriggle his hand from out beneath you but instead you felt something warm and wet run against the bottom of your wing.

You couldn’t stop the whimper from escaping your lips at the soft touch. Azriel had taken it upon himself to use the tip of his tongue to explore this part of you, a part of you that was still very new to him. He felt you wriggle under him, and he shifted placing his full body weight on you so you couldn’t move.

His tongue traced the ridge of your wing, and he wasn’t letting up. Not when he’d made that sound from you. He wanted more of that. He moved and pressed his tongue flat against the delicate skin, evoking another moan from you.

“Does that feel good my little butterfly?” he purred, you could feel the smirk on his lips against your wing as he pressed a kiss on them.

You wanted to roll your eyes at his teasing, but it felt too good to do anything other than surrender to his touch.

“I want to hear your words,” he spoke a little more assertively this time, before swiping  his tongue along one of the tubular lines that spread like veins across your wings.

“Yes..” You huffed, before another moan slipped past your lips breathlessly. “It feels good Az…” You felt your body heat, your cheeks for sure rosy, grateful your mate could only hear not see the reaction he was having on you. 

He chuckled softly then, the vibrations from his lips skirting across your wings making them twitch.

“My sensitive little butterfly, ” the new nickname only made you squirm more, your core growing slick at his predatory attention.

Azriel moved his hand then, the one caught under your left hip, so effortlessly moving down to your core, cupping your wet slit as he licked the pink shiny membrane again. 

“Azriel…” you gasped, but his touch didn’t relent.

You knew this was only the start.

a/n: just some lovely little fluffy mating frenzyness! I just love these two, so I may expand a little more on the wings universe and their relationship if you guys would like to see that! Maybe some domestic bliss, or if there's any scenes you'd like me to write for them or parts of their story you're interested in then I'm happy to explore. Also this was written fairly quickly, so please ignore any typos, I only did a quick little check hehe - Lottie

p.s. also thanks to @thisiskaylin who inspired the nickname! She commented on the wings fic that butterfly would be the perfect nickname and I just had to use it <3

Forever tags: @sleepylunarwolf @daily-dose-of-sass @milswrites @amberlynn98 @marscardigan @illyrianbitch @lilah-asteria

[blueblossomrose]

This special post is part of the Twisted Parents Series.

Content: Post-canon, FLUFFY, TOO MUCH FLUFFY 😭 my obsession with old Disney movies screaming, fem!afab!MC, family n children, MC having a dream of getting married, reference very slightly to Cinderella (1950) obviously, diasomnia boys having their happy ending.

Note(s): I AM SO SO SO SORRY ABOUT THIS HIATUS, GUYS 😭😭😭 My mind was so busy these last few months with all my works thinking about writing that fluffy fluffy special to make up for my days of writing block after going on vacation for Carnaval 👽 I hope you guys love it as much as I... that cried writing it 💀 and I hope this excuses this long inactivity ☠️

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A Wish Your Heart Makes

Have faith in your dreams and someday Your rainbow will come smiling through No matter how your heart is grieving If you keep on believing The dream that you wish will come true

“Are happy endings fairy tale's thing?”

Malleus couldn’t say. Human inventions had always been a mystery to him. He always had a distant and almost skeptical view of the happy endings that human stories so extol. To him, these narratives were like the light breeze of a summer night, pleasant and fleeting, but difficult to grasp and truly understand. As a fae, his nature made him see the world from a different perspective, and the idea of an ending — whether happy or tragic — was, to him, a human thing. He found it curious how humans always yearned for a definitive outcome, as if it were a vital necessity of their ephemeral existences. They sought in stories the hope that, in the end, everything would work out.

Malleus had never given much thought to his own dreams. Not in the others sense, at least. He understood dreams as manifestations of the mind, echoes of the subconscious, scattered fragments of reality shaped by desire or fear.

To him, dreams were almost tangible, an intrinsic element of his own magic — and yet he had never stopped to consider what it was that he, Malleus Draconia, truly desired.

Not that Briar Valley didn't have its own stories... but thinking about it that way, humans are far removed from theirs.

Happy endings… the concept was foreign to him. Fairy tales were — ironically — human stories, created to comfort fragile hearts, tales where love always prevailed and heroes were rewarded for their virtue.

Dragons like him, however, were supposed to be the obstacles that prevented such happiness. Beautiful and powerful beings... but lonely.

But then, there was [Name]. The magicless human who one day appeared in his life and in a few months, made his already apparently consolidated worldview turn upside down.

It was [Name] who taught him to dream.

She spoke of dreams as something beautiful and fragile. When they were still in school, he had heard her whisper to herself, with a twinkle in her eye, about how she wanted to marry one day. Because she wanted true love.

“A dream is a wish your heart makes,” she had said once, and it's been stuck in his head ever since.

Such a simple explanation for something that took him a long time to elaborate. Maybe that was the simplicity that comes with such a short life. He admired it, even back then.

The thought did not linger, however. No, he knew. He was in love. Happy endings...

The great hall of Briar Valley Castle glowed with enchanted candlelight, reflecting off the stained glass windows that adorned the ancient stone walls. The air was filled with the soft melody of a waltz as nobles and ambassadors watched with interest as the king and queen’s eldest daughter, Princess Aurora, danced with her suitor, as her pink gown swirled gracefully.

It was a grand celebration, the 16th birthday of the half-fae princess.

The old senators of the council, those whom Malleus deeply despised, were present, but they kept to themselves. Their accessibility was limited, limited by the changes Malleus and his human had brought about over the years. There was still resistance — whom Malleus called idiots and fools when he was particularly angry — but most of the councilors and palace staff had already surrendered to the strength of [Name]’s kindness, which contrasted with her husband's sometimes skittish temperament.

Aurora, the star of the night, twirled around the ballroom, she looked a beguiling sight, wearing the pink gown she had specially ordered for the occasion — certainly influenced by a certain bat fae she referred to as 'Grandpa Lilia' — along with the jewelry she received as a gift from her great-grandmother, Maleficia.

From where they stood, Malleus and [Name] watched in silence. His green eyes shone with something between pride and nostalgia.

“She’s beautiful,” [Name] murmured, a soft smile on her lips as her eyes followed her daughter’s every graceful movement.

Malleus watched her for a moment before answering. “Yes… but I confess I didn’t expect this day to come so quickly. I still remember when she had to climb on a chair to reach my stomach.”

[Name] chuckled softly. “I guess now she might just look at you.”

Malleus let out an amused sigh, but his gaze returned to his daughter with a touch of melancholy. “Humans grow up too fast...”

Before [Name] could respond, a movement beneath one of the large buffet tables caught her attention. She frowned as she noticed two small silhouettes sneaking stealthily between the legs of the furniture.

The six-year-old twins Magnus and Kyrval were under the table, trying to steal sweets from the silver trays. Their green eyes glinted with mischief as they reached out for honey cakes and candied fruit. But before they could escape with their stolen candies, two soldiers scared the two by pulling them out from under the table.

“My lords... you can't just crawl through the royal hall like that!” one of the soldiers scolded, the respectful but firm voice.

“But we're hungry!” Magnus protested, holding a piece of cheese as if it were a precious treasure.

“And small meals taste better!” Kyrval added, blinking innocently.

“Magnus! Kyrval!” she scolded them almost immediately as Malleus held back a laugh.

“They inherited Lilia’s mischievous spirit… and a little of yours, perhaps.”

[Name] gave him an indignant look. “Mine? Malleus, I don’t remember myself going around stealing sweets at royal balls!”

He chuckled softly, leaning toward her. “No… but I do remember a certain young lady who stole my heart many years ago.”

[Name] felt her cheeks flush, but she smiled sweetly almost automatically with the phrase. “... Do you regret that, your majesty?”

Malleus didn’t answer right away. His green eyes roamed the hall — his children, his wife, the castle lit up in celebration... faes, half-faes and even some humans... not alone.

Then he looked at [Name] again, his expression softening in a way only she could see. “Never.” He gently took her hand, bringing it to his lips.

He never imagined he would have something like this.

Everything changed when the girl from another world appeared. No fear. No hesitation. No one knows why the magic mirror brought [Name] to Twisted Wonderland... but honestly? Malleus was glad it did. She was the deepest desire within his heart. His dream.

Dragons aren't usually given happy endings. Maybe, just maybe... he was an exception to the rule.

He looked at [Name], his eyes meeting hers with a soft glow. And he’s happy with it.

To dream is to wish.

Lilia had been thinking about this idea for years. In his long life of over 700 years, he had experienced many misfortunes, losses, and sorrows — wars that devastated kingdoms, bitter goodbyes, and the feeling of carrying the weight of everthing on his shoulders.

But he had also been able to find happiness.

In raising Silver, in the tenderness of caring for Malleus, in the moments of pride in watching Sebek mature, even if in fits and starts.

He had never really dreamed of anything more than that. If he were honest with himself, his wish was simple: peace. How it would come, in what form, with whom — it didn’t matter.

But, as always, life had decided for him. With his children grown up, with their own homes, paths and families, he thought it might be time to explore the world. To wander. To be in distant cities. To sleep under the stars, free from worries. But that was not what happened.

A sweet wife from a distant world without magic and lively triplets had made his life much more noisy. And he wouldn’t change a thing.

The kitchen was scented with lavender and some sweet-smelling incense he had bought on a trip they took a year ago. He remembers getting a huge scolding from [Name] for buying so many, but he light them almost every day. Lilia, wearing an apron embroidered with small berries — a gift from the girls last Father's Day —, washed the dishes while humming softly.

“Dad, come see!” Aisha’s voice cut through the air with excitement. “I’m humiliating Arista at the Kart again!”

Lilia raised his eyebrows with a smile on his lips. With a light snap of his fingers, the utensils began to wash themselves, floating gently around the sink. He took off his apron, drying his hands with a cloth and headed to the living room.

“Humiliating me?” Arista replied with a joking frown. “All I saw was you losing it and pushing all the buttons!”

It was Lilia's first time raising girls, and it was in this chaotic and adorable process that he came to an inevitable conclusion: raising children would always be a constant learning experience — regardless of your experience in the subject.

“Battle tactics, you wouldn’t understand!” Aisha declared with exaggerated confidence, lunging forward as if that would speed up her character in the game.

“I win.” Arista said in a calm and satisfied tone, leaning back on the sofa like a queen on a throne, the controller resting gently on her lap.

"Whaaat?!" Aisha screamed, jumping from where she was sitting as if she had just been stabbed. Her wide eyes stared at the screen where the dots shone mercilessly: Arista - 1st place.

Lilia, who was watching the scene from the kitchen door, laughed softly.

"Wow, Arista..." Adela said softly, briefly looking away from her book to her older sister. She wasn't the most competitive, but she was always there to support her sisters, even with her shy and quiet personality. At the moment, she was gently stroking the silky fur of one of Lilia's bats, which was sleeping curled up in her lap like a fluffy, furry ball.

Count Fabulous — as [Name] gave him when she and Lilia were still studying at NRC — was the most spoiled of Lilia’s bats. Ever since Adela was a baby, he had followed her around, perching on nearby furniture or on her head as if he were her personal protector. Now, he dozed heavily, his ears fluttering slightly, lulled by the girl’s soft voice, but with Aisha and Arista moving on the couch, he ended up waking up and squeaking when he looked at the screen.

“Even Count is surprised,” Lilia murmured humorously, watching the bat stir fluttering the fabric of Adela's dress.

Adela smiled, stroking his back with a finger. “He bet on Aisha, I think.”

“Cute little traitor.” Arista said, smiling despite the line.

With the girls still vibrating with the echoes of the game’s contention, the front door opened with a soft creak, followed by the familiar sound of [Name]’s footsteps. Lilia looked up with a soft glow in his red eyes and smiled as he saw his wife’s figure crossing the threshold of the house.

Without saying a word, [Name] walked over to the couch where the triplets were spread out and, with a theatrical movement, threw herself gently on top of them, like a human blanket. She didn't press too hard, of course — just enough to cover them with her body and elicit immediate reactions.

"Mom!!," Aisha protested between laughs, trying to free herself.

"Rescue mission! Fabulous, save us!" Arista shouted, laughing, while Count Fabulous just opened one lazy eye on Adela's lap before settling back down, oblivious to the commotion.

"Mama, you're feel cold... stay a little longer..." Adela murmured, hugging her mother's arm affectionately.

"My days off are coming..." [Name] said, her voice muffled between her daughters' hair and the pillows. "I missed my noisy gang so so so much~"

Lilia approached the couch with his hands on his hips, his eyes half-closed and a mischievous smile curving his lips. “Can I join you?” he asked with false innocence.

Before any of the four could respond, the couch rocked gently, and then, with a soft green glow, it tilted forward as if it had a life of its own, gently dumping all of the girls onto the living room’s plush carpet. A bundle of giggles, messy hair, arms and legs all jumbled together, collapsed to the floor like a pile of animated pillows.

“AH! Dad!!” Aisha and Arista shouted in unison, Aisha louder than Arista, actually.

"I was comfortable, papa!" Adela grumbled, sitting down with Count Fabulous all ruffled on her lap, flapping his wings indignantly before landing again, huffing softly.

"I can't believe it, Lilia!" [Name] said, trying to look angry, but already with a smile on her lips and her eyes shining with laughter. Lilia approached slowly, as if he were going to seal a peace agreement with a kiss, and so he did — he leaned over, laughing softly, and kissed her forehead sweetly before lying down on top of everyone like [Name] did moments ago.

"Not agaaaain!" the three shouted in unison, between laughter and attempts to escape from their father's arms.

Still stretched out on the rug, the girls pointed to the ceiling, commenting excitedly on the floating ornaments — small enchanted lights that spun gently like fireflies caught in a whirlwind. They were souvenirs left by 'big bro' — Silver — on his last visit.

To some people, the idea of a house still full of young children might seem like the complete opposite of a peaceful retirement. And by traditional standards of rest, it was.

But to Lilia it didn't matter. It never mattered. Being with his family was what he dreamed of. It was all he wish for. “In dreams you lose your headaches, whoever you wish for, you keep.”

There was his rest. Not in the empty spaces, but in the constant presence. In the sound of clumsy footsteps in the mornings, in the voices calling "Dad!" throughout the house, in the tight hugs, in the fights over the last cookie, in the notes left on the table and the stories told under blankets.

Yes, he still traveled. He had his moments of adventure, exploring new places with the girls strapped to backpacks, [Name] with the map in hand. It was in family. It was messy. It was noisy.

This was Lilia’s rest. A rest in true Lilia style: full of voices, chaotic, but overflowing with love.

Silver knew dreaming well. It was what he had done for most of his life, and it was also an instinctive part of his own magic. Dreams were a sweet treat, a place where his worries melted away and all that was left was the best, most beautiful sky and peace.

“Have faith in your dreams and someday, your rainbow will come smiling through,” When he thought of this, what came to mind was his desire to serve Malleus, to be the knight that Lilia trained him to be. At the same time, he wanted to be with his family and friends, but he didn’t expect to fall in love.

It came subtly, with dreams. He saw her. A charming girl, who in his opinion was beautiful. She was there, in his deepest dreams, and he did not understand who she was… until he saw [Name] for the first time.

He was lying on the couch, his head resting on [Name's] lap. She was gently stroking his hair, her fingers running through it like a gentle wind. With the book on one of her hands, she was quietly reading an old story, pausing only to smile at the faces Silver made when his bangs fell into his eyes because of her caresses. He had returned from work tired, not with the same chronic drowsiness of his adolescence, but with the normal tiredness of someone who dutifully fulfills his duties. As one of the most trusted knights of the king, Silver carried great responsibility on his shoulders. But at home, with them, he could truly rest. The sound of pages turning mingled with the distant ticking of the wall clock and the rustling of leaves outside.

"Daddy!" Hana yelled happily, her bare feet slapping against the hardwood floor as she ran across the room. Without stopping, she threw herself at Silver with an enthusiastic hug, nearly knocking him off the couch. Her blond hair flew like gold threads in the wind, and her auroral eyes sparkled with joy. Silver jumped a little on the couch, a gasp escaping him at the impact—more from surprise than pain.

[Name] let out a light laugh, covering her mouth with her free hand as her gaze danced between her husband and daughter. Silver, even exhausted, gave a gentle smile, his half-closed eyes opening a little wider to look at his beautiful — literal — princess. And she loved being called that. Every time she heard the title come out of her father's calm voice, her little face lit up.

Hana wasn’t old enough to know exactly everything about her family, so Silver tried to tell her what was appropriate for a child to know, sometimes with the help of Lilia and [Name]. He had long realized that his daughter loved the concept of princesses. But not political princesses, more 'real' ones— she liked the ones who sang with the animals of the forest, the fairy tale ones. He would never forget the almost heavenly glow in her eyes the day Malleus bowed slightly, placed his crown on Hana’s little head, and said with a faint smile: "There, now the princess has a crown." Hana was ecstatic. She spent a whole week wearing tiaras made of flowers or paper.

“Daddy, you came home early today!” she said, her adorable little voice filling Silver’s ears like sweet music, while those little arms wrapped tightly and lovingly around his neck.

"I was able to be released early by order of General Zigvolt, my princess." Silver said softly, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

[Name] laughed again. She gently tugged at a lock of Silver’s hair. “Sebek released you? Now that’s a surprise,” she said, raising an eyebrow humorously.

Silver couldn’t help but laugh at [Name’s] words. Sebek was adamant about schedules most of the time, and that was no secret to anyone. On the one hand, it was good. He kept everything in order, like a true general. On the other hand… well.

Hana, who was squirming between her parents with the energy that children normally have, rolled over with such excitement that she almost slipped off the couch, but Silver was faster. With a fluid movement he caught her with one strong hand, wrapping it around her waist and pulling her back safely.

“Careful, princess,” Silver said, his auroral eyes resting on her with tenderness and attention.

Hana lifted her chin proudly, her little hands on her hips and a glint in her eyes. “I knew Daddy would catch me, so I’m not afraid!”

Silver smiled once more. “I will always catch you, but take care of yourself too, my flower,” he said, his voice as serene as ever.

“Okay!” Hana smiled at her father, that innocent smile that lit up the soul, before stretching backwards like a little cat in the sun. As her arms stretched lazily, her voice filled the living room, chattering about her day. Silver listened to everything with full attention, his calm eyes fixed on her, and his hands always ready in case she slipped off the couch again.

In a moment of pause, Hana began to play absentmindedly with the wedding ring on her father's finger, slowly turning it with her small, delicate fingers. Without warning, Hana simply sleep. She slid softly onto Silver’s chest, her breathing even and calm, her golden eyelashes resting on her rosy cheeks. Silver felt her soft weight and had to suppress the urge to laugh. Hana was a thousand times more energetic than he had been in his childhood, — which, honestly, wasn’t much of a feat, considering his old constant sleeping habits — but when she got tired, there was no warning. She would simply pass out, as if someone had flipped a switch in her.

Silver rested her little head on his shoulder and wrapped his arms around her, his hand resting on her back. He felt his daughter's heart beating softly, and the warmth of her pressed against his chest was all he needed to know that he was at home.

For a moment, all was silence and peace—the kind that only existed within the purest dreams. When he thought about his life now, about everything he had experienced—he never, not in a million years, expected to be graced with such happiness. His rainbow had come. And now it slept softly on his chest, in a little flowery dress, with her little hand still holding his finger.

"Daydreaming again?" [Name] whispered to him as she noticed his gaze.

"Living a dream, actually." He replied.

Dream? What he had was not a dream. It was conviction. A solid goal, an unbreakable purpose. He would become a knight worthy of serving Malleus.

Sebek trained until his bones ached, endured thunderstorms —literally— and never took his eyes off the goal. The half-human blood he carried? An obstacle to be overcome with discipline and hard work. “No matter how your heart is grieving, If you keep on believing...”

If anyone, back then, dared to insinuate that he would marry — how awful — a human, he would scream so loudly in their ear that their eardrums would beg for mercy.

But as a wise old man once said — or perhaps it was Lilia in one of his absurd proverbs: "The earth doesn't turn, it capsizes with style."

And now, here he was — Sir Sebek Zigvolt, General, loyal knight to King Malleus Draconia... beside his lovely human wife and their two radiant children.

“Ivan!” Sebek called, his voice still naturally strong, but intentionally softened— an effort he made for only one person. “Don’t pull on the reins so hard! You’ll hurt the horse!”

Ivan, atop a sturdy horse with a grayish coat and a mane that shimmered faintly, turned calmly to his father. His eyes gleamed with amusement. “I know, father. I was just testing whether he responded well to my voice,” he replied, with that subtle teasing tone that only Sebek recognized as a direct inheritance from [Name].

Nearby, sitting under the shade of a cherry tree with their daughter, [Name] held back her laughter. The pent-up sound still escaped in joyful sighs. “Where did you get that horse again?” she asked, arching an eyebrow with an amused smile.

Sebek huffs, trying to maintain his composure. "For training, of course."

"Of course it is." [Name] held back a slight loving eye roll at Sebek's words, that kind of response so typical of him.

She then watched him approach Amelie with affection visible on his naturally stern face—a softness that only emerged in front of his daughter.

As quietly as his voice would allow, he knelt down at her level and said, “Are you enjoying the stroll, my lady?”

Amelie looked at him with shining eyes. A small, bright smile spread across her face. “Yes, Daddy!” she answered happily, and raised her short arms toward him, asking to be held.

Without hesitation, Sebek picked her up with the greatest care in the world. He positioned Amelie against his chest, shielding her ears from the loud tinkling sound.

Ivan, who was watching everything from the top of the horse, arched an eyebrow as if he was about to make a sharp comment. But when he saw his sister nestled against his father's chest, her little fingers playing with the brooch on Sebek's clothes, he simply got off his horse and approached in silence.

"General Zigvolt, you are breaking the knightly protocol again," Ivan said, his tone exaggeratedly serious, but his eyes barely concealed the amusement.

Sebek gave him a half-closed look. "When you turn a father, you will understand that there is no protocol more sacred than that of protecting your children." He adjusted Amelie better in his arms. "And put on those gloves properly, Ivan. A knight must always be ready."

Ivan sighed at the drama. Then, he knelt down beside his dad, leaning down slightly until he was at his sister’s level.

“Are you having fun, Lie?” he asked softly, touching her nose with a finger.

Amelie laughed softly. “Yes! Ivan looks beautiful in his armor!” he declared, as if it were the greatest truth in the universe. Ivan blushed slightly, and [Name] could barely contain another laugh.

Sebek would be lying if he said he’d never considered having children. Perhaps, in some distant future—if he reached the pinnacle of his career as a loyal and worthy knight—he might be granted the honor of marrying a pure-blooded fae. It was the kind of future he’d always been pictured as: respectable, honorable…

But now… now, when he looked at his little Amelie against his chest, or at Ivan laughing as he receives a sweet stroke of his hair from his mother— the image seemed absurd. Almost laughable.

All his life, he had been taught, indoctrinated, encouraged — partially? Completely — by his grandfather Baul, to hate a part of himself. To deny it. To hide it. To regard his human half as inferior, weak, inconvenient. To view his own father with disdain. And for a while… he believed it. He carried that hatred like a banner.

He wasn’t crucifying his grandfather, of course not. Old Baul had fought in a cruel war, with countless losses. He was a marked veteran —scarred, traumatized, and horrified.

But the truth was this: Sebek was happy. Happy that this human girl without magic, from another world, had stepped through the magic mirror and—clumsily—interfered in his life. And stayed.

[Name] had changed him. More than anything else, anyone else. Sure, Silver, and even his insufferable classmates at Night Raven College had their part in deconstructing his prejudices. But the real turning point came with her.

He remembered well the day of his first visit to his old home. [Name] squeezed his hand. And he remembered the look in his father’s eyes. The way Mr. Zigvolt — that loving, always clumsy, always smiling dentist — looked at him with so much love… and no hurt. Even after all the years of rejection. Sebek bowed. And apologized. He saw his father’s eyes fill with tears. And yes — of course he had always been that emotional fool, and Sebek used to get irritated by it. But now, no. Now, he understood. And it didn’t bother him anymore.

In the middle of his thoughts, Sebek heard soft voices breaking through.

“Grandpa and Grandma will definitely make that recipe when we visit them next weekend. I mean, I bet great-grandpa will be there too,” said Ivan, with the confidence of someone who had already foreseen the entire menu and the habitual discussion from his grandparents' house.

“Haha, great-grandpa is so funny!” replied Amelie, swinging her legs back and forth. “He always fights with grandpa to hold us back..."

Sebek sighed with a tiny smile. The sight of Baul arguing with Mr. Zigvolt over who would pick up Amelie first was, in fact, more frequent than he cared to admit.

Sebek helped Ivan mount again, adjusting the saddle with practiced precision. When Amelie asked to climb on too, he didn't hesitate - his arms lifted her as if she were a feather, carefully placing her in front of her brother. She held the reins with wide eyes of excitement, and Ivan guided her with the same care that their father showed her. It was beautiful to see. It was in these moments that Sebek realized that he was indeed an example.

[Name] watched everything with a growing warmth in her chest. She would never have imagined — ever — that this half-impossible dream would end like this. No. It wouldn't end. It had started like this. A home. A family.

“The dream that you wish, will come true.”

And the funniest part? Sebek said,with all the letters, that he would never be like his father. But there he was, discreetly pushing a small, colorful package of magic candy into his children's hands after successfully dodging the horse.

"Don't tell your mother," he murmured, with a half-smile on his lips. [Name] watched the scene in silence, holding back her laughter. She saw Ivan and Amelie exchange knowing looks, make the silence symbol with their fingers on their lips and smile mischievously.

And that was true for Sebek, too. When he saw himself with a smile on his face — sincere, wide, light —watching his children share the candy, laughing and whispering among themselves… He realized. This was more than a dream. It was a reality.

His wish to become a knight, which had once existed only for honor, glory, and pride, had transformed. It wasn’t just for Malleus, or even for himself.

To protect his home. His wife. His children. That human part of him that he had once despised… but now, finally, he loved.

[meanbossart]

hey I'm back--

i'm trying to find that post of yours that explains that Drow tricked Astarion into killing Cazadore, but I can't for the life of me figure out where it went. I shall resume my search, but if you see this and decide to chuck Drow lore at me like a baseball, that would be very appreciated <3

Hello! I assume you're referring to the situation from this comic?

That's from an "AU", or more accurately just me having fun with a version of the story where DU drow turns to Bhaal instead of rejecting him. I like to hypothesize and expand upon several of the outcomes the game allows you to pursue!

In that plotline, DU drow has Astarion believe that he will help the vampire ascend into higher power himself, when in actuality he wants him to remain a spawn for as long as he's by his side, so Astarion is easier to control and relies on DU drow for survival. He doesn't trick him into killing Cazador; he tricks him into messing up the runes on his back as he is carving them out, ruining the ritual. He does this by showing Astarion a skewed version of what he sees on his back (this is why some of the letters are replaced by "?" below). He then claims that the ritual failed because some sort of limitation or caveat within the contract itself.

Cazador is either just bleeding out on the floor or freshly dead. If the latter, Astarion killed him so he could at least get Something out of the experience, but that's second to the betrayal happening.

In the "normal" DU drow story, he convinces* Astarion to remain a spawn for different, SLIGHTLY less egoistical reasons, and he just does it by earnestly asking that he consider what the ritual will do to him (and in turn, them), like the game implies.

*I think the narrative implication is that Astarion already has his doubts and has essentially convinced himself, he just needs a demonstration of affection and good reason spelled out for him to settle on the choice.

[bonesandchalamet]

you can’t catch me now — coriolanus snow

pairing: coriolanus snow x fem!reader

summary: when you want the plinth prize, and so does he, you’ll do anything in your power to make sure snow doesn’t land on top.

warnings: slightly unedited/ minor grammatical errors + snow isn’t that much of an asshole + minor tension between characters + no graphic details of death + SPOILERS TO THE BALLAD OF SONGBIRDS AND SNAKES!

a/n: typically don’t like to write for villains… but that movie has been on my mind since I saw it 😅

when the plinth prize had a minor change in plans the only person you could look towards was him. snow. he had to have an idea, but by the reaction that took place, the way he shifted in his seat, he’d have had no clue. this must have been some sick joke. but the hunger games was all about discipline and viewers, it’s no shock the plinth prize money stakes were upped.

you’d have risen to the top and fought coriolanus snow every moment you could. academics were easy, but this? mentoring someone to win a game? this was a true test.

leaving the capital, leaves crunch beneath your feet as your pace quickens. how was this fair? to throw children in an arena to fight for their lives, that was one unfair choice the capital made, but this? was a cruel punishment.

you can hear his feet against the pavement. his pace was always rather faster than yours, which is why you’re surprised he hadn’t caught up to you now. you’d had booked it out the capital the second you were dismissed, but the dread of the next few days still lingered the air like bad perfume.

“y/n, y/n—“

“corio,” you finally snap. turning on your heel to face him, he stops. the air in his lungs catches when he sees the tears against your blush colored cheeks. you held your fight for the rights of the district close to your chest, similarly to sejanus; but you’d only ever been the one to push snow to the limits and make him fight back. tomorrow, your tribute could die and Coriolanus would win once again. it wasn’t fair how snow seemed to always win.

“you think I’m happy about this?” his question takes you by surprise. nobody was happy about this, but coriolanus’ songbird made quite the impression with viewers. you’d expected him to gloat in your face, a typical action of his, but todays far different. there’s an eery difference to the coriolanus you saw that morning before the plinth prize was changed.

“I’d expect you to be happy about your bird gaining you views and donations—“

“she’ll die by tomorrow, y/n. your guy at least has a chance to win. he’s strong enough to take on the others. you’ve got the money in the bag.” he runs a frustrated hand through his white blond curls. his bright blue eyes stare into your soul the way they normally do. so tempting to swim in, but you fight the current. you’re stronger than that, and after all these years of fierce competition, Coriolanus was not going to get you like this.

“I know your motives, snow. sympathizing with me isn’t going to get you far.” you spit out the words, spinning back in the direction towards home. if it wasn’t for the capital traffic, and coriolanus, you’d be home by now. you’d be in bed dreading sleep while you worry awake about the next morning.

“motives? can’t we be friends for once—“

“you want my alliance so my guy doesn’t kill her. I’m always a step ahead of you.”

he scoffs. he stands inches behind you, watching you eye the traffic circle for a chance to sprint across towards the grass for the home stretch. the comforting walls of your bedroom were waiting for you, but coriolanus and rush hour were adding to your time.

“alliance? if I’d wanted an alliance I’d have asked sejanus for help, since he has the money we both don’t have.”

it’s no secret to the two of you that money was tight. it’s maybe why you both work harder than the others, because college was in their futures, and your futures were determined by the outcome of the hunger games. the first time you met Coriolanus, you knew he was just like you. tight shoes, shirt that was far too big, and an excitement for the amount of food that capital had to offer. staring into each others souls that first lecture was when you knew coriolanus was not going to be your friend.

“so then what do you want from me? because once this is all over,” you snap your head up in his direction, his blue eyes piercing into your own, you can feel his anxiety radiating off him, “you’ll go back to hating me and begging for some of that plinth money.”

—

anxiety sits at the pit of your stomach. his songbird had run to the fans leaving four remaining in the pact on the hunt for her. coriolanus sits two seats away from you, his eyes haven’t left the screen since she’d gone into hiding.

“she’ll have to come out eventually.” you snap your head in his direction for a brief second, but his don’t leave where the four attempt to get her out of the vents.

you’d be lying to say you weren’t nervous for everyone in the arena. you’d hated how they were pitted against each other for punishment, and having to mentor these people made your attachment towards the games far worse. you couldn’t eat, you couldn’t sleep, and frankly if you could, you wouldn’t watch.

there was no exact plan when you met your tribute. he’d been shaken up from the past couple of days and just wanted to survive. you couldn’t blame him, and while you worked on some strategies, it was all up to him.

“she can survive—“ his words were a second too late when the clan began to rattle the vents, using pitch forks and other weapons to get her out. the dust was too heavy for the cameras to see anything, but you’d assumed they got her out by the looks of it, and everyone held onto their seats.

she’d appeared from the dusty air in no time. running for another escape, when Dr. Gauls trick up her sleeve rattled the arena. she had a way of twisting the games, and the game seemed to last longer than she intended: enter the tank the drones were dropping off.

“what is she doing.” you move closer to coriolanus, your voice in a hushed tone so the other remaining mentors didn’t hear a thing. he’s focused on the screen, but your eyes find Dr. Gaul and her wicked smile.

“if I knew, I wouldn’t tell you anyway—“

“there’s no point in bluffing, they’ll die anyway with that tank of snakes.” your voice is strained, the words come out slithery on your tongue, coriolanus turns his head in your direction for the first time today.

his blue eyes were a different shimmer. they bleed with anxiety, and as he rises out of the chair, he pulls you closer to his chest. he carefully lowers his head down towards your ear, mouth hovering over it, “I’m so sorry, but it had to be done. I wouldn’t look if I were you.”

slowly moving backwards from his grip, you run towards the doors. time seemed to slow down. you spot Tigris, she’s rising from her seat, a smile stretched across her face as her, and other students, rush to congratulate coriolanus on his victory, you can hear him calling out your name as the doors slam behind you.

your feet carry you. the sounds of the fireworks and the honks of the cars in the traffic circle don’t phase you, but you’re running to the only place that you know. the only place that’ll play fair against coriolanus snow’s twisted games.

MONTHS LATER

“so you do win after all.”

the sound of his shoes scraping against the floor are different. you used to recognize his patterned steps, the way they scuffed the floor because the shoes he wore were too small.

turning around in your chair, you spot the new coriolanus snow. the man who fell off the face of the capital once Dr. Gaul was made aware of his cheating. now, you sit in the University library staring a different snow.

“I didn’t have to cheat for it.”

he rolls his eyes taking the seat across from you at the table. your notes are scattered amongst the table, and you look the same minus the bags you wear under your eyes. university changed you. and district twelve certainly changed him. working through the ranks to move to district two, only to be summoned by Dr. Gaul for a second chance in the capital. he arrived home yesterday, and made it his plans to find you. which wasn’t hard, since you spent all your life in this exact library anyway.

“I learned my lesson. you caught me.” he raises his hands up in defense, you spot the marks against his forearm. leaning forward, you carefully wrap your fingers around his pale skin, “snake bite?”

“they aren’t friendly in the wild.”

a chuckle escapes your lips as you release his arm from your light grip, “they were friendly to Lucy gray.”

“well she’s not so friendly to me anymore.”

“oh corio, you should know cheating for a girl never makes a good impression.” you smile brightly. leaning back into your seat, you get a better look at him. the buzzcut suits him, bringing his bright blue eyes more to the center of his looks.

he exhales a deep sigh nodding in agreement, “I’m a changed man, thanks to you. you taught me a lot.”

“so what are you doing home, snow? I thought you were out of here for twenty years.” at least those were the rumors you heard. nobody spoke of sejanus or coriolanus much anymore, and while you worried if tattling was the right thing to do, you’re happy to see he came back a better version of himself.

“you didn’t hear?” he asks. shaking your head you gesture for him to continue, “I’ll be working closely with Dr. Gaul. I’m back to the capital, and I’m back to mess with you.”

you wish he could’ve seen how far you rolled your eyes back, but he was long gone after that, leaving you alone to study once again. you knew Coriolanus wouldn’t last twenty years away from you. not since he was practically in love with you.

[ravenclaws-stuff]

Sasuke Uchiha x reader

Summary: Sasuke and you have your own way of saying 'I love you' in public

Tags: Established relationship, Ino and Tenten make fun of you, mention of a bad mission, Sasuke barely talks, fluff

I know

“I am so tired.” Tenten groans as her arms stretch over her head. I nod, knowing how exhausting our mission was. If it weren't for the Hokage sending back up, the outcome would have been very different. Which is the exact reason Ino is taking dragging us to the onsen.

“Naruto! You're such a pig!” My head swivels trying to find the voice of my favorite kunoichi. A quiet chuckle falls from my lips as I see the feet of Team 7 under the curtain leading to Ichiraku Ramen. It seems that Team 7 was having their weekly lunch. Must have been Naurto’s week to choose. Someone clearing their throat, pulling my attention to Ino and Tenten who was watching me with a knowing smile. “Go get your man.” Ino teases. A small pink blush forms on my face as I smile. “I promise I’ll be quick.”

Sneaking up on Team7 is never an easy feat, so I have long given up. I knew Sasuke knew I was already behind him before I wrap my arms around his shoulders. “Hey Sasuke.” He hums, the tension from the sudden physical touch easing out. “Good ramen?” He hums again.

Most would be offended by his nonverbal answers, but I love them. I love the little ways Sasuke talks to me. A hand on my back telling me he was there. A glass of water on the bedside table every morning he’s home. My favorite flowers growing in the garden. Sasuke doesn’t need words to talk to me.

I pull back, greeting the rest of the squad. “Cat got your tongue, Naruto?” I chuckle at the shocked look on Naruto’s face. Seems he can't get over how soft Sasuke is around me.

“Ill see you back at home tonight. The girls and I are going to the onsen.” He tilts his head back, a hint of a smile on his face. Not for the first time, I wish I could kiss him in public but I knew how uncomfortable it would make it. It’s fine. I’ll just do it when I get home.

“Sasuke.” I place my hand on his arm, squeezing slightly. He turned his head, his onyx colored eyes showed me everything I needed to see. “I know.

The heat rises from the water, causing all my musclss to relax. “I know.” Ino teased in a deep voice. I rolled my eyes. For the past ten minutes, these two so called friends have been making fun of Sasuke and I. The giggles begin again.

“You too are so childish.” Tenten sticks her tongue out. “You make it too easy.” I glare at her, splashing water towards her and Ino. “Don’t be upset. It's cute.” I roll my eyes, feeling a bit spiteful. “Least I have Sasuke. Remind me how its going with Neji and Sai.”

[bvnnyjo]

let me be your mirror | astarion

pairing: astarion x gn!tav / reader

warnings: spoilers for early romance w astarion, fluff, kind of follows canon dialogue, reader pining hard, reader is an artist this has been done with this exact scenario surely, astarion calls reader “darling”, “my sweet”, also “dove” which isn’t canon, reader and astarion aren’t really together but i mean. yeah they are. not proof read!!!!!

word count: 1.1k

you had been drawing astarion for much longer than you’d care to admit. though the dates scribbled on the bottom of each page betrayed you, exposing that you had drawn astarion close to every day for a month.

it started off innocently, you drew all of your party members when you had first met them. you were stressed and overwhelmed with your situation at hand, the tadpole snugly sat behind your eye squirming to remind you of your devastating truth: you’d soon become a mindflayer if you couldn’t find a cure. on nights you couldn’t sleep or mornings you’d woken up early, you found yourself drawing. it had always been a way you’d let off your steam, now was no exception.

when the stress of your situation died down, as did your drawings of your now friends. you had a couple day’s worth of gale and lae’zel, and probably a week of shadowheart. but astarion? it seemed every time your tool of choice hit the paper he had been the outcome.

you weren’t ashamed of it by any means. astarion is a gorgeous man, blood sucking monster or not. his eyes captivated you (as proven by the amount of drawings of them alone), and his voice had your attention like no other. if the nature of things were any different, you might be willing to confess you were in love with him.

so when the night came and everyone had fallen asleep but the two of you, and astarion had let it slip that he hadn’t seen his reflection in two hundred years, your heart broke. he didn’t know the way his curls hooked around his ears, or the way the corners of his mouth would turn up ever so slightly when he’d successfully kill a goblin. and his eyes, gods his eyes. you’d have to be dense to miss the way they light up at the very sight of you. knowing he didn’t get to enjoy the very things you adore about him devastated you.

“what color were they before?” you asked, arms wrapped tightly around your legs to hug them close to your chest. “your eyes, before you were turned.” your cheek pressed against your knee as you looked to him.

“my eyes?” astarion sounded surprised you’d asked him such a thing. “i don’t..i don’t remember.”

that felt like the final nail in your coffin. your heart ached more for him now that it had before, if that were even possible. if he didn’t remember his eye color, his hair color was probably long forgotten as well. it felt impossible to wrap your head around, you knew the shade of your eyes and tone of your hair by heart. the idea of forgetting it, well, you were sure you’d have to be dead to forget.

“what’s going on in that head of yours, darling?” his tone almost made you forget your sadness. it seemed anytime he spoke to you now his words were laced with honey, drawing you in and sticking to you.

“you haven’t seen yourself in two decades,” you repeat his previous words back to him, “you hardly remember your own face, is that not the least bit devastating to you?”

astarion hesitated before replying to you, trying to chose his words carefully. “of course it is. but there’s nothing i can do to change it, so why bother being upset?”

you chewed the inside of your cheek. of course you had the solution. you had probably close to twenty drawings of his face alone that could provide him some solace about the entire thing. but what if he thought you were weird for it? none of them knew of your little hobby, he could expose it to the others and they could cast you out for invading their privacy. and well, your infatuation toward him was nothing short of romantic. you weren’t sure he needed to know that, but exposing your drawings to him would make it clear.

“i can feel your tadpole wriggling around, what’s wrong, my sweet?” his voice sent a shiver down your spine before you finally managed to speak.

“let me be your mirror,” you offered, raising your head from your knees. you could practically see his thought process, and you didn’t miss the small smirk on his face. “what do you want to know?”

“i want to know what the world sees when it looks at me,” astarion held his usual cocky tone for a moment, but for a second it faultered. “what you see.”

“close your eyes,” he obeyed, wondering what it was exactly you were making him close them for. it wasn’t until he heard shuffling in your tent beside him that he opened them and called out to you confused.

“what are you doing? what in your tent could ever allow you to be my mirror?”

“hush, would you?” you roll your eyes at him as you step out from your shelter and back toward him. you took a deep breath before sitting back down next to him, offering him the pile of papers. “here.”

for the first time since you had met him, astarion was speechless. he wasn’t sure what he was expecting from you, maybe a few put together compliments for him to tease you about before leaving the conversation at that. but this? he had no idea that you could draw, let alone that you’d use such a talent to draw someone like him.

“i know it might be weird, sorry,” you hide your face from him, afraid of his reaction. “i’m sure it might not be comforting to know someone you had barely known until recently has been drawing you for-”

“i don’t find it weird,” he interrupted you, gently grabbing your chin with his pointer finger and thumb, “look at me,” guiding your eyes to his, astarion offered you a smile. not a cocky smile or his usual smirk, but rather a real smile. one you weren’t sure you’d seen from him before. “thank you…for this. they’re beautiful. and i…i could never express my gratitude to you,”

you removed your chin from his hold and waved your hand at him, dismissing his words. “don’t say all that astarion. you make an amazing muse, it’d be criminal of me to not make use of that.” you chose to pretend the burning in your cheeks had been from the fire and not the blooming embarrassment.

“criminal, hm?” it didn’t take long for the astarion you had grown attached to to return, smirk plastered on his face. he leaned forward to press his forehead to yours before speaking again, his voice low and almost sultry, “well we wouldn’t want you to get arrested again, now would we, dove?”

“you ruined the moment, astarion,” you huff, pulling your legs back to your chest to rest your head on your knees again. “it’s getting late. we should sleep.”

astarion nodded, standing from his place and offering you his hand to help you up. “yes, i’d hate for a lack of sleep to ruin your muse,” he teased again, handing you back your drawings. “i’ll see you in the morning, darling.”

reblogs, comments, and likes appreciated !!

[ajortga]

just too late

pairing: tara carpenter x fem!reader

summary: where tara can't help but regret the outcome of her consequences, she was just too late. how can a heart love if it is no longer beating?

warnings: massive angst, death, stabbing, blood

word count: 3.5k+

a/n: based of a request i got on wp! honestly, i wrote this months ago and got to the end, but their request was so similar that i redid it. posting a small second part soon<3 also omg, thank you for 500 followers!

-

You had just visited Tara, a bouquet of roses in one hand as you knocked on the door. You had seen them when walking to her apartment and you knew that they were just perfect for her. You had to get them. As you heard the lock of the door click, Tara opened the door. She peeked out and saw you, smiling shyly. You thought she'd smile back, but instead her smile dropped. 

That had never happened before. 

"Y/N, we need to talk.

You knew something was wrong, something bad was going to happen. Your breath got stuck in your throat as she stepped aside to let you in. You knew the next thing that would happen would not be good.

 fast forward 20 minutes

You stood there in Tara's apartment, Sam eyeing you with a penetrating death glare. You felt like sinking into the floor right there and then. You hated this kind of silence. 

Sam broke the quietness, her gaze stern, "Y/N, this isn't going to work out between you and Tara." She states, crossing her legs as she sighs, "All of it just adds up."

You shake your head, but before you can retaliate, Sam speaks again.

"You know it too. You started dating my sister two weeks prior before the first ghostface attack. The police found your necklace right next to the victim, covered in blood. I can't trust you and have you near my sister. All of us," she states, twirling her finger in a circle, "Are in danger and I can't let my baby sister get hurt again. None of us trust you, not Mindy, not Chad, and definitely not me. You are going to stay away from her, no more coming over or seeing each other at school. Do I make myself clear?"

"You believe a piece of evidence that barely proves anything? They didn't even find my DNA anywhere!"

"Gloves."

You felt rage crawling its way out, you couldn't believe your girlfriend's sister would think you're the killer. Sam knows all too well how much Tara loves you. "You know I wouldn't hurt you! Least of all Tara! I love her with my whole heart and I would never even think of that! I-I don't know how my necklace got there, someone framed me!" You turned to Tara, blinking away tears that stung your eyes, "Tar.. You believe me right? Please tell her. I didn't do anything! Please don't leave me."

"Please.." you begged. You saw the way her gaze slightly cracked, you knew she didn't believe you. You could feel it, you wouldn't care for fucks sake if Mindy, Chad, or Sam didn't believe you. But Tara was different. It felt like a swing to the heart, it hurt so much. It felt heavy.

Tara didn't do anything but give you a hurt look, staring down at her fingers. You expect her to throw her arms around you, tell you that they all got it wrong and you can both live happily ever after in the end. Yet she doesn't.

"I'm sorry Y/N," she forces her shattered voice in her normal tone, swallowing a cry clawing to come out, "I don't trust you anymore, I don't love you. I-I never did. I just.. Don't think you should visit anymore. We're done."

You felt like your whole heart shattered at that moment as you heard her last two words. You looked at her as you sobbed in your hands. Hurt, mournful, betrayed.

All that Tara said was, "You need to get out please," her eyes pink and glossy.

"You don't understand Tara, please I'm begging you-"

"Y/N, I'm not going to say it twi- It's n-not me Tara!" you say, this point a small cry escaping you. The way Tara looks at you is wild.

Your girlfriend's voice raised, with a fury, she wasn't going to say it again, "Get the hell out! Do you need me to say i-it twice? I don't fucking love you! I don't want to see your face again!"

You flinched, you never felt more heartbroken in your life. Your heart hurt, it felt like someone had smashed it with a hammer. Tears that threatened to fall down were now dropping on the floor. All the moments you've spent together were now thrown away, stomped on. You felt your body shaking as you toss the flowers, leaving them to fall on the floor with a thud. 

You simply nod, slowly.

"Fine." You say, more flat than ever, turning to leave as you feel the petals get stepped on by your shoe. 

All you wanted was to brighten your girlfriend's day, entering with flowers in your hand and just wanting to cuddle her all day long. Yet, here you are, your girlfriend now turning into you ex, flowers dead, no cuddles, no more trust.

Tara felt horrible, the guilt eating her alive. All of her words were lies, she just knew that if you were to separate from her, she would keep you safe. You wouldn't be the target for ghostface if he thought you were just a normal person in Woodsboro. You would be safe. She tried to assure herself that as you slammed the door. 

Her eyes met the squished flower that escaped from the bouquet on the floor and she wondered if she'd ever get flowers from you again after everything.

-

You stared at the picture frame placed on the counter of you and Tara together hugging with matching clothes, you choked on your sobs. Tara nor your friend group had chatted with you since then. Sam had blocked you on social media. At least your other friends had came along and checked up on you to make sure you were okay. Tara had sent a few messages, saying she was sorry that things had ended up like this, but to realize you blocked her.

You couldn't function properly, your eyes were dry with the amount of tears you released in the past week.

It's not your fault, you tried to assure yourself. You weren't ghostface. You can't believe the person you trusted most didn't even put her trust in you.

Maybe it all is your fault. Maybe if you were different, in personality, how much the core 4 really liked you, you wouldn't be here, crying like those teens in the movies that just feast on a gallon of ice cream. It makes you cry a little harder while you hug your teddy bear.

Especially the taunting memory of Tara screaming at you, tears blurring your vision as you stumbled back out of her apartment. Sam's eyes softening just a little bit, not meaning for this to happen. Yet you didn't even try looking into her eyes, too caught up with your own feelings to feel her sorrow.

The past few days, you've locked yourself up, abandoned school. Ignored the core 4, blocked Tara and the other three.

Your mind wandered, you were clouded in your own thoughts as you sobbed angry and hurtful tears. You cried to the point where tears stopped falling, and you were left with feeling nothing and your body feeling sore. Your breathing was still heavy, you let out heavy shaky breaths, but they started to cool down.

You closed your eyes, focusing on your breathing, until you heard your phone buzz from the ground. You picked it up, there was a message.

A part of you expected your friends to check up on you, since that's what they've been doing every since you've stopped going to school. Instead, you were met with a picture from unknown of the abandoned movie theater not too far from here. There, you saw the camera facing a knife pointing towards Tara and Sam, threatening, daring. 

Your eyes widened, as you immediately take your keys and bust out the door, grabbing a small knife, maybe you'll need it, unblocking Tara and calling her and all of those you knew must be in there. They're in danger.

Each call leads to voicemail, from both Tara and Sam, you search up their location. The only one shared for you is Tara's. You almost smash it to the front of your phone holder, locating where they are at.

As much as you hurt, you knew that you would never heal knowing that someone you loved was at risk. The car engine roars to life as you head for the theater.

With each texts and call ignored, you get paranoid, worried sick. Stepping on the accelerator of the car, your car turns a corner and is out of sight.

"She fell for it, she's coming your way," a taunting voice rasps into their phone, Ghostface.

"Our plan is just setting into action."

-

Carefully, you slip into the door of the run down theater. You hear clatters, and immediately you freeze, hiding a corner and peeking out. Tara's scream echoes through the theater, your eyes widen and you look around, for something sharp. 

This is a stupid shrine committed to ghostface, you realize. It makes it a little better, at least you're guaranteed a knife to defend and fight with?

You sweep a corner, the room your in is silent, and you creek down the floor board, being greeted with glass display cases.

You're not good with blood, yet there's evidence from ghostface's mark years ago. TV's, a knife laced in the red crimson color. A gag almost leaves your lips, yet you open the display case and your hands grasp around  a cool metal. It's a knife alright, not too sharp if you were to drop it you wouldn't cut your whole toe off. Yet it's do-able. 

"Tara?" your voice echoes, walking around and exploring, you're frantic. You keep hearing her voice mail ring through your ears and your worry increases.

You thought the room you were in was obsessive with ghostface, yet when you go into the middle of this shrine, it's filled with obsessive things. Masks, robes, knives, even the TV that Stu Macher was killed by. A shiver escapes you.

You look up, and you see the chaos going, glass shattered on the floor, action buzzing around. You see Tara.

"Tara!" You shout, trying to keep your voice low, your eyes meeting the ladder that goes up, you climb on it, grunting in effort. You climb, climb, climb, climb, until you reach the top.

Tara is with Sam, they're talking about their plan, they're a couple hundred feet away from you. The sister's clothes are smothered in blood, Sam's arm has a wound, and you feel sick seeing the blood seeping from your girlfriend's clothes. 

Your about to say her name, until you see a shadow emerge. It's not any that you know, this one is dark, tall, more man-like. 

It's not until you see the tilt of their head the sliver of light reflecting off their mask. Ghost face. 

You don't know what gotten into you from the adrenaline from the moment, but your legs begin to run, move, nothing sounds more fitting than slow motion. His knife lifts from his chest, the sharp metal edge glistening.

You try to scream, the words bubble up in your throat, comes out in a dry cough.

Your legs feel like jelly, run faster, damnit. 

They can't see him, he's behind them, tucked just 2 feet away in a corner, yet you see him. You can save Tara and her older sister, you can save the both of them, you have time. 

You can save the both of them, your love outplays your brain. It's telling you to stop, you're going to get killed. But your heart overwhelms it, beating quicker, with each beat all you can hear is 

Tara

Tara

Tara

Save

Her!

Tara

You

Have

Time.

The knife ghostface is holding gets brought down.

"Tara!" You finally scream, it comes out as a desperate cry as you lunge towards her. Her eyes turn from the setting below her to you, confusion, then shock as your hands shove her shoulders. The strength you built up finally goes to use, pushing her out of harms way, she shoves into Sam, as they both stumble back. 

You hear them both say your name, confusion at first, before the second time they holler it out. It's a scream, yet it dies down in your ears, feeling the cool metal of the blade slam into your shoulder. The ring from Tara's screams fade, replaced with the blood pulsing in your ears. The pain, the sharp knife sinking into the flesh of your shoulder. All you can do is let out a soft cry, too tired to scream. 

Your eyes water, looking up at ghostface, the ugly mask boring into your eyes. He tilts his head, shocked for a moment. Until he tilts his head back again, like the target he hit is even better than what he wanted. They didn't expect you so soon.

The knife tears out from your flesh, a sob leaves your throat, kicking and flaring your arms. 

"Y/N!" Tara screams your name, this one you can hear. She's crying, sobbing, wailing. Begging for her older sister to let her go and save you. 

Sam shushes her, all they can do is watch. All Tara can do is watch you suffer.

His knife slams into you again, your abdomen. You hear a disgusting squelch as it goes in. The pain is unbearable, this stab hurts even more than anything you can think about. You thought the 4 foot thorn going through your foot was bad. You cry, grabbing the knife that's tucked into your pocket and slam it against the black coat, right where the neck meets the shoulder.

A raspy whisper escapes your lips, "F-fuck you." You snarl.

You barely hear him grunt. Yet he doesn't back down, in fact, you hear the disgusting squelch again.

And again.

And again.

The pain lessens. You know why. You're dying.

You can't hear it anymore, but there are now several stabs on your abdomen. You collapse, blood seeping through your clothes, your hands, your face. It's warm, dark red, spreading. It oozes out of your wounds, and the squelching sounds are gone. Your eyes flutter, seeing the flurry of the white masked figure leaving you to rot. Your body collapses to the floor with a loud crash.

You saved Tara, you would die before he could ever kill her. Before she could ever die. If Tara died, you'd kill yourself, or you'd die quicker from a broken heart. 

Sam's yelling, kicking ghostface as he lets go of you, you can barely see her bringing him down to the bottom floor, both of them collapsing off the second story.

Your eyes begin to close, your breath comes in short heaves and wheezes.

And then, you see her, barely, through your weak vision.

It's blurry at first, but you know it's Tara, who else would look so good with blood all over her face?

She presses her body down to you, her warmth barely seeping through, your body is colder. Those warm, soft eyes are wide, looking so scared, hands pressing down deeper to your stomach, trying to stop the bleeding.

"Fuck, no. Nononono.. Why the hell would you do that?" She yells at you, shaking your body, you whimper.

You barely respond, croak her name out, cough out blood.

She's crying, you realize, she's choking on sobs as she cradles you, lifting your body up to her chest. She smells like your favorite scent, sweet.. light.. vanilla.. So lovely.

You just want to be in her arms forever. Let her sweetness soothe the pain.

"Y/N," she sobs, seeing the way you're struggling to stay conscious, you're only holding on because she's there. She can tell the way your eyes are slowly glassing over, your vision is twitching, blurring, un-focusing. 

Don't cry, you want to tell her, even though you know you're here, dying in your girlfriend's arms. But you're too weak to speak, instead, let a slurred murmur leave you. Her hand is clinging to yours, like if she were to let go you would immediately fall away.

"It's okay baby," Tara sniffs, clinging to you. Like if she lets go you'll shatter, "I'm here, help will come soon. Stay with me. Eyes on me baby."

You look at her, your girlfriend, being in her arms. She has a small wound, around her arm to her shoulder, yet it's barely bleeding. Being here, in her arms. It's your favorite thing ever, you've done it so many times to feel her warmth. You never thought you would not be in Tara's arms at night with you buried against her.

Yet you know it's your last time you'll be in them. You can barely feel the warmth she's trying to transfer to you, you're freezing. She senses it too, the way she's hugging you tighter. Pleading you to stay here, with her. The brunette squeezes your hand, distracts you from the pain that's already leaving. Along with your pulse. 

"I'm so fucking sorry," she sobs, "I love you so much, you don't fucking understand," she wails. Pulls you closer to her, "I should have never left you, you mean the world to me, I never meant what I said. I t-thought I could protect you if ghostface knew that you were no longer in our circle."

You wheeze, your eyes never looking away from hers. She notices, how you're studying her, like the moment you don't, you'll forget how she looks like in heaven. 

Freckles, doe-shaped crying eyes. You lift her hand to your chest, let her feel your heart, to let her know that your giving her your heart, your love. You don't want her to forget about you. 

You don't want to die.

Yet if you don't want her to die, you'll die before she could ever. 

Tara's still sobbing, ripping her shirt and tying it against your stomach, the blood seeps through, she tightens it. Looks worriedly down at you. 

Ugly shapes of swiggles and dots cloud, you see random shapes flying. Try to focus on Tara.

Sirens ring in the distance, Tara looks back, yet immediately looks back at you. A tear falls from her stained mascara cheeks, down your shirt. Weakly, you bring it up and wipe her cheeks. Assure her it'll be okay. Yet she knows it's not. They're just too fucking late.

You saved her. That's all that matters now.

"It's all my fault, I'm so sorry my love. I never meant to hurt you. I never thought it would end so soon. I don't want you to die."

You swallow, blood slightly gurgles through your throat, use your dying strength to speak, "I'm h-here." You croak, "T-tara."

"I love you so much," you slur, hiccupping on a cry. Trace the matching necklace she gifted the two of you years past on her neck. You're wearing it too.  Hers was silver, yours was gold. A silver and golden dove.

The blood loss is too much, you can barely speak. But she's here with you, in your last moments. You're able to have a goodbye you might not have had. She might not be ready, but you almost are.

Time wasn't in your favor. It really wasn't. 

This isn't goodbye this is a simply see you later.

She's okay, knowing that makes you feel a little more okay. A little more okay and soothe the worries.

Tara plays with your necklace. A proper goodbye. Her eyes glisten with tears, and she leans down, presses her lips to yours. You kiss her, knowing it'll be the one you'll live to feel. Then you slump back down on the concrete. You don't care about anyone but her anymore. Sirens holler, people bust into the theater, and you look up at her, taking off her necklace and putting it into the palm of her hand.

"I w-want you to promise me one thing."

She sniffles, tears wont stop anytime soon, keeps tying cloth around your deep wounds. It's no use. She nods, "Y-yeah?"

"Promise me y-you won't forget me. E-even when you find someone you love, maybe even more than me. You won't t-throw.." You pause, coughing, "T-throw our memories away.  Promise me that. That when your h-hands hold theirs, you realize that mine was once warmer. When you're by yourself on F-Friday nights, you'll remember that you used to come to mine and cuddle m-me." You hiccup, losing your train of thought, blinking, your words are barely audible, yet Tara can still make them out.

"...When you look at the stars on the grassy meadow, you'll remember that that's the spot we always w-went to to get our thoughts out of things," you barely giggle, it hurts your stomach. "A-and, when you look at all my pictures, or maybe one day I won't pass your mind for once, you'll be ready to let me go. The thought of me still being here. Y-you'll be able to love, even though I might still scar your heart."

She sniffles, seeing the way you begin to struggle on your words, they grow quieter.

"But I won't let that happen, I don't want your h-heart t-to scar," You place her hand on your chest again, "You can have mine."

Tara swallows her tears, still, they drop.

"I love you, Y/N," she sniffles, it's the same word from every other time you both said you loved each other. Yet this time, it's so fucking different. It's the last time you'll ever hear her say it to you while you're still hear. "I'll never love anyone more than I loved you."

"I love you too, Tara," you whisper. It's the last time she'll ever hear it from you. A small, weak smile cracks on your face as she leans down one more time, kisses you softly, taking the last breath from your lips.

And it's time to go. Your chest stills.

And for the last time, she hears your heart beat one more time.

A heart that once beat for her was gone.

[dakotadraws06]

Ep 1 of over analyzing Mordecai’s character/Talking about things I missed in my original read through of the comic.

I wanna talk about Mordecai desperation in the Gracie interrogation because I noticed a small detail about the speech bubbles that no one else (that I’ve seen) has said before.

Look at the way Mordecai’s second bubble is written. The way the letters seem more spaced out and the text is slightly off. I’m not sure if it’s a completely different font or it’s the same font, just changed.

“That’s how you live through tonight.” You can almost hear (and visually see) the grit in his teeth as he stares down at Gracie. His desperation. His NEED for answers being in his grasp and if he doesn’t get them now, he may never again. It happens again in another panel.

“A Name, Please.” Gracie isn’t reading the room correctly, Mordecai knows if the twins catch him, they will most likely both be dead (or at least Gracie will be). He NEEDS a name, same grit and desperation. The way Gracie spits out Drago’s name quickly because he realizes how serious this is just by Mordecai’s tone. Mordecai wants a name so in the worst case scenario Gracie is killed, he has the information he needs. But also, he’s desperate for answers to Atlas’s death. At the point of these scenes, it’s been a year and some time since Atlas died. I can imagine Mordecai is running out of steam, loose end after loose end, road block after road block, it’s exhausting both mentally and physically. He is RISKING HIS LIFE for this information, Gracie says so in this conversation. But we get to see that exhausted side of him too.

LOOK AT THOSE EYES. His posture, the hand his hand rests in his fur, his eyebrows furrowed. He. is. tired. It’s no wonder why he is asking help from Gracie cause he’s been doing this alone for the better part of a year and some change.

I’m so confident that he is thinking about all the possible outcomes and consequences that will come from even getting a PINCH of trust out to Gracie, which is why he doesn’t go along with his plan. But Mordecai sort of switches up on him.

“Gimme a name, anything you want, I’ll let my informant know I KNOW it was Marigold who killed Atlas May, then I’ll disappear like the dead.” (Not the exact words, a vague memory of it)

“Give me the name of your lawyer and I’ll make sure you stay alive tonight.”

Gracie is putting his life in Mordecai’s hands because I’m sure Gracie can see he’s desperate and knows if he gives him a bullshit answer, Gracie would most likely die by Mordecai’s hands.

Mordecai is exhausted. Mordecai is desperate for a good lead and some answers. And Tracy has done a FANTASTIC job at showing it through this entire interrogation.

[pvrkacciosan]

Kicks and Kisses

Summary: After the readers run-in with Xaden's training methods, Bodhi isn't in any rush to let her back on them defenseless so takes it upon himself to teach her a few things.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

Pairing: Bodhi Durran X Marked Fem! Reader

Word Count: uncounted

Warnings: Suggestive, swearing, fighting training, Mature language content

☽⋆❈⋆☾

With the valiant help from a group of young healers you were released from the prescribed rest, and were able to get yourself back up and moving within a week.

You were still tender but your breathing wouldn't cut out on you and the blinding pain was no longer erupting behind your eyes rendering you useless in ever sense.

But still Bodhi had refused to let you return back to your own dorm in that time. Even when you had a perfectly good bed there.

Those beds are un-comfy and you know it.

You rolled your eyes at Asra, whether she could sense your attitude, you were hopeful she couldn't,

I don't understand why he won't let me go back to my own bed. That chair can't be very comfortable. You stared at the chair positioned on the far side of the room, the one Bodhi had been sleeping in whilst you took his bed. You didn't understand why you were entertaining such topics of conversation with her. Talking with Asra had always come naturally, like a sister you could confine in, and the subject of Bodhi Durran left your chest feeling warm in a rather pleasant way.

So Invite him into the bed with you.

It wasn't difficult for you to sense every dripping pulse of Asra's amusement, you gawked at her words in your head.

I can't do that. Won't it be awkward You couldn't help but contemplate the outcome.

Don't be foolish girl. You're a dragon rider, start acting like it. If you want something you might just start acting like that Riorson boy, heys taken the silver one to bed.

You didn't want to know where she had got that piece of information. But the notion of what she was speaking... There was a difference between asking Bodhi to share his bed and committing to taking him in his bed.

When Asra laughed in your head, you clamped your knees together, trying to ignore the heat that was building there. As you ripped the covers of Bodhi's bed from atop your body, you could't stop the swirling of those blood igniting thoughts. Couldn't decide what you would want more, to have him sleeping in the bed with you, or having him take you in the bed you had come to love.

The quilt scented of him. A deep smell that you hadn't noticed the first night you slept, it lingered on everything in this room.

His scent has been all over you. Asra's voice in your head, you only assumed she was referring to when you had gone flying yesterday, trying to ease yourself back into training once you got the all clear from the healers.

Bodhi and Cuir had flown with you both yesterday, positioning himself slightly below you, to catch you should you fall off Asra's back.

I would have caught you. Asra's voice was dripping with some tone you couldn't place, Laughing lightly in your own head you shot it down the bond. She didn't respond beyond that of a gentle huff.

Closing up the wall between you. Moving to begin gathering ouself from the room. Bodhi was supposed to meet you down at the mats for an initial round of training, trying to strengthen the muscles and reconditioning them to get back to what they had once been.

And as usual, you were running late. At least you could use the excuse of your lingering injuries. They weren't as painful, just uncomfotable. Especially your shoulder, a mender had reattached many of the tendsons and ligaments in your shoulder, but you still have only light movement in the joint.

Moving down through the halls, you rounded into the training room. The mats laid out as per usual, there were a couple cadets scattered around each pair training away from one another in private lessons.

Strolling in softly you glanced around and spotted two famiar bodies. Sauntering closer you watched them, matching hit for powerful hit on one another.

Bodhi and Xaden often never sparred with each other. Garrick was the usual go-to. The third boy was on the side of the mat, arms folded as he watched the cousins spar. You moved to stand beside the giant.

"Hey Y/n" He offered you a small smile.

At the sound of your names, Bodhi glanced up, un-focusing the fight at hand. It landed him a stiff jaw from the next punch Xaden landed. Blinking to look you over once, Bodhi dodged out the way of his cousins next hit.

You watched from the side returning Garrick's smile with one of your own before turning back unaware of the excited glances Garrick was switching between you and Bodhi.

"Garrick.," Bodhi warned as he dodged a swing from Xaden before getting a punch in at the Wingleader's ribs.

You glance questioningly up at the boy beside you, Garrick coughed, covering his smirk with a hand.

"They are sparring to burn off...Pent up...emotions"

You frowned at him, that definitely was not what Garrick was entertaining in his thoughts. You squinted at him before glancing to watch Bodhi swing hard and fast for Xaden. What Bodi lacked in size against his cousin and Garrick he surely made up for in speed. His exposed muscles rippling with each movement. Your gaze zones in on the sweat gleaming, coating every inch of his skin.

What it would be like to have his body pressed against you own on that bed, having him above or below you, At each others mercy.

You're drooling

You went to snip back at Asra but she hid behind your mental shield straight after her own words.

Paranoia took hold, Twisting away from Garrick slightly you wiped at your lower lip and chin with the back of your hand. You weren't but you still sense Asra's lingering amusement at your sudden panic.

Turning back to watch, Xaden and Bodhi panting hard as they finally parted from one another on the mat. Bodhi gave Xaden's shoulder a rough shoves but they were both smiling as they stepped back.

Xaden initially avoided your gaze. You hadn't seen the Wingleader since the day of your injury. Besides once when he had tried to come see you. Bodhi had refused to let him in then and you could still recall the sound of them arguing outside the bedroom door.

He tried now to get out of the way, Slipping from the room. Bodhi folded his arms across his chest clearing his throat, Xaden froze. Pivoting to meet your stare.

"Y/n I'm sorry for putting you on that mat" His tone was so awkward even you didn't know what exactly to say. Bodhi rose his eyebrows when Xaden cast him a sidelong glance.

The Wingleader sighed, "It was clear you didn't want to fight, I shouldn't have made you and it won't happen again"

Bodhi was grinning like an idiot in your direction when Xaden finally rose back to his full height. Bodhi watching you intently, waiting for you to acknowledge his efforts in making his cousin apologize. Something about the way he smiled at you made the strings in your heart cinch. Asra slide into your mind, her presence alone snapping you from watching Bodhi.

Glancing to Xaden, "I'm fine Xaden. I'm alive am I not?" The Wingleader waited. Attention flicking to Bodhi, You warily followed his stare. A muscle beneath Bodhi's eyes twitched, Garrick caught it after seeing the expression on your own face. Spinning himself into the middle of the two and clasped Xaden roughly on one shoulder.

"Right we're off to find your opponent from that day. Try and make sure Imogen hasn't gutted the girl for her slander against you" Garrick's usually stoic face was set in a grin, you had a feeling he might sooner set Imogen on the girl first before saving her hide.

Garrick and Xaden stalked from the mats, leaving the room entirely within a few long strides,

When you turned back to obverse Bodhi, heat bloomed in your cheeks to find him already watching you.

"Right" He shook his head, these dark curls shaking to cover his brow bone. "Let's get started."

After running through a quick warm up with him your skin had already formed up quite a sweat. Many of the other cadets had vacated the training room, probably to attend to other daily duties.

Bodhi had been wary of your shoulder joint and coached you through each movement, sometimes he would place a hand against your body to steady the off balance the injuries had given you and It was becoming increasingly difficult to focus.

Moving off the mat to grab a quick drink of water you tried to organise the shambling thoughts which flushed your flesh to the core.

"We will move onto some evasion techniques and manoeuvrers to get yourself out of someone's grip."

You nodded, taking a quick final gulp of the water, evasion and defensive practise that would be fine. You had done this before.

You turned to move back onto the mat when your thoughts finally processed what you were getting yourself into. There was only a few ways to actively practise these sorts of manoeuvrers . Ones that involved lots of bodily contact.

You blinked as Bodhi shook his muscles, rolling each of his joints, The silence prompted him to look up

"I won't bite" there was a boyish smirk gracing his lips, it was an expression you had seen on him for years since knowing each other, often when causing mischief. The only form of consistency it offered you now was that it caused your heart to hammer harder against your ribs.

Pull yourself together. You were reducing yourself to no better than a teenage boy seeing a women naked for the first time in his life. Sighing deeply you moved onto the mat.

Bodhi stilled hands clasping together, allowing you to come closer, he watched carefully, assessing you.

"How is your shoulder feeling?"

Prompted by his question you rolled the ball and socket joint, easing deeper into the muscle there. They ached slightly but nothing more beyond overexerting the shoulder.

"All good" smiling softly you ignored the joint focusing now as Bodhi began to prepare himself.

"We are going to start with something simple. If someone tries to grab you from the front."

He waited for you to nod before continuing, "I'm going to grab for you and all you have to do is get me off you. We will critique everything once we've gone through every scenario "

He didn't wait for your acknowledgement now, unprepared you stepped back when both of Bodhi's hands came up towards you. As his body followed through your own muscle memory kicked in, grabbing his right wrist you jammed a thumb into the pulse point there and twisted— hard.

Bodhi let loose a grunt as he moved with the twisting limb, following so you wouldn't break his arm entirely. You only let go once his limb was flush unnaturally against his back.

"Good." He turned shaking his wrist lightly "That was perfect. Could be a little quicker with your reaction time, but we will work on that in our next session"

You nodded, worriedly glancing at his wrist perhaps you had been too forceful.

"This time we are going to run with the scenario that I actually got a hold on you"

Bodhi closed the gap separating you both, slowly raises his hands, hesitating with them hovering your body, noting their destined locations you gave Bodhi the go ahead. He rests his hand on your left shoulder the other at the base of your neck.

"Right.." Bodhi cleared his throat, "I'm going to pretend to be trying to push you back as if to get you.. against a wall. Get out of my grip."

Nervous, you glance at him, he offers an encouraging smile, nodding softly you tried desperately to ignore as his grip squeezes lightly against you body, try to ignore the pander of heartbeats that flutter in you.

When Bodhi began to push back you resisted, planting a foot behind to stabilise the weight of you. The muscles in the back of the leg stretching with the pressure. The result of Bodhi pushing you however; his hand pushing into your windpipe, slowing the flow of air to you with dizzying affect and not from the lack of oxygen.

Relaxing the breaths you took, You made quick work of trying to lessen his grip. Pressing your finger into his wrist's pulse point.

"Find somethinng new. That's not going to work a second time"

Frustration grew like a building short circuit. You knew strength wasn't your biggest fighting factor, it was instinct at this point born and bred as a female to go for a man's weakest point and it was taking everything within your resolve to not kick between his legs.

Pressure point began quizzing through your mind. Bodhi watches as your eyes flicked across his body ravaging at the sight of your attention on him. Felt the heat of it across every inch of his aching skin, tensioned for the need of touch, your touch. You were simply looking for his weaknesses, ones you could reach from the position you were currently in.

Shifting your weight into the side he held a hand to your throat, you rammed your thumb under his arm, nail digging into the soft flesh there.

Bodhi loosens his grip enough for you to duck under the other arm and release yourself. Bouncing back on the balls of your feet, you teetered towards the edges of the mat.

Bodhi rounded with a smirk, shooting a quick wink your way, "Atta Girl." The genuine pride and excitement in his tone made your cheeks flush.

Any focus you had fought to obtain since the beginning of this session slipped entirely away from you in that second. Shallow breathing, you shook yourself off the rising tension with it.

"Again." Bodhi gestured you back for the middle of the mat, "This time I'm coming at you from behind"

The air hauled in your throat, gulping quickly and moving back to the centre. Bodhi stepped up behind you.

He gave you even less warning. Albeit you could have used one this time unexpecting of his arms to latch themselves around your torso.

You needed to focus, focus on getting yourself out of his hold, but the only thing swirling in your mind was how close his body now was to yours, you could feel the rippling warm muscles on his chest against your back.

His arms tightened and you gasped lightly when you felt the sensation of his palm brush up the side of your breast, the material of your clothing ruffling as he righted his grip

A pulse of fresh warmth coursed through you, blooming from your core. It was almost painful as the material brushed the peak of your nipple.

If this was how your body reacted to his unintentional intimate touches you could only imagine what he might do to you intentionally.

"You seem distracted." the heat of his breath fanned your neck when he whispered the words against the shell of your ear, close enough you swore on your life that was his lips brush the curve.

Nerves rippled against him. You needed to get your shit together, but. . .

There was a smugness in his tone. That bastard, was he potentially... teasing on purpose to distract you? You swallowed a scoff. Two could definitely play at this game.

Grabbing his elbow you made an attempt to lift his arm up over your head, the well tones limb didn't move, but you couldn't resist the smile, for it was a cover up.

Rolling your hips and pushing you ass back against him. With the shared closeness he had created you heard his breath stuttered behind your ear and felt his pulse skyrocket.

Who was the distracted one now, driving the heel of your foot into the top of his, you heard the oxygen whoosh into his lungs as he hissed. Elevating the foot ever so slightly.

You wouldn't have the strength to throw him over your shoulder but if he was off balance as he was now. Gripping both hands as far up his arm as you could reach you twisted sharply into his unbalanced side.

Feeling his weight falling against you own you planted both legs to limit the chance of you falling too.

When Bodhi hit the ground you were diligent, moving quickly while he stunned to recall his senses.

Swinging one leg you planted yourself above him to pin him below you.

There was a second were you hadn't thought, just did. Hadn't realised what you were doing until you did it. Hadn't realised you now straddled his waist, hadn't realised you might have miscalculated the extent of your teasing until you felt the growth hardening beneath your ass.

Bodhi blinked at you in wild surprise as though he too now realised what had been done.

Had he not been thinking just as you hadn't? Simply following movements and feelings that felt so inheritable right until there was an irreversible shift between you both. Bodies welded together from where you sat atop him.

Every nerve in you was jackhammering in your heart, blood thrumming against your hearing. An unmistakable ache was growing between your legs, one which could and would lead to decisions you knew were irreversible.

Perhaps Bodhi had been teasing you simply to district, there was nothing attached to that. No emotion or feeling.

Foolish girl. You hadn't realised Asra had been listening into your thoughts, Had failed to notice she had lowered her shield. Is that how distracted Bodhi had made you?

You went to move from his lap, but Bodhi groaned, the sound low and guttural from deep at the back of his throat, head falling back with his eyes squeezing shut. Without looking his hand found your thigh, squeezing to hold you in place,

"Don't move." The guttural throaty sound in his voice blinded your every sense, glancing to his veined hand you couldn't rip your attention away until Bodhi blinked at you startled, a muscle in his jaw twitched as his eyes darkened.

Within the next second you attempted to lift yourself back off him, in one swift movement, Bodhi pushed himself up with a hand behind him. Using the grip on your leg to keep you on top of him, the positions now pushing you to sit further onto his growing erection.

It wasn't until he rightened himself that Bodhi released his grip only to move it across your body, you felt it clasp the back of your neck as he leaned closer pulling you with him and wasted no more time of colliding his lips with yours.

You stilled, stunned as his lips moved against your own, Asra's presence stroking against your mind prompting you from the stupor, her rebuilding her shield was enough of a hint and approval.

Softening your tense muscles you wrapped both arms to encircle around his shoulders, pulling your chest closer to his. Letting one hand slip to cup the back of his head. Fingers threading his dark curls.

Bodhi continued denying himself breath as he smiled, feeling you finally give in. Letting yourself match him. Giving and receiving the hot kisses, fast and swift.

They continued, hungry for more. Starved for the touch of one another. It was a sensation you didn't know you wanted — needed.

The heat encased between your bodies made your heart hammer into overdrive, Lifting your weight and then lowering it with a roll of your hips, causing friction against the now obvious erection beneath you.

Bodhi exhaled sharp and hot against your mouth, pulling from your lips. Once more his eyes squinted shut, brow furrowed.

You couldn't pry your attention away. The expression on his face alone set you emotions spiralling. It was the perfect mix of pain and pleasure rolled into one.

Wiggling your ass down, Bodhi groaned louder this time. His eyes snapped open to level with your own, within that hungry fire that was beginning to demand more of you: a desire you would happily indulge.

Even within that burning, there was still a softness to Bodhi, he was still the same man you grew up with, a comfort you had come to depend on.

He grinned as he watched you, eyes flicking to scan every inch of your face. You shivered as Bodhi dragged a hand across you collar bone, up your neck to cup the line of your jaw. Thumb rubbing into your now swollen lower lip.

He leaned so close once more that you now shared a combined airspace.

"We shouldn't continue" the smirk growing on his lips said more. The growing heat within you was answer enough, rubbing a hand into his jaw, for the thrill of it you shook you head leaning closer still. "We shouldn't"

Tightening your grip at the back of his head, fingers twisting into a strand of hair, Bodhi dipped his head to yours, lips a whisper apart.

"Kiss me again" His voice turned throaty, the blood in you warming at his touch, "Please" the shift in his tone was astonishing.

Giving yourself over, leaning to rejoin him, a coil of tension grew in the core of your chest. You kissed him fully, Pulling Bodhi into you.

Bodhi broke the connection after a second, "Atta girl" he was already smirking by the time he kissed you again.

That coil continued to tighten. This was an irreversible decision, this pairing. It could easily cleave you in two.

But this moment as Bodhi began to lower his kisses flowing down the column of your throat, you couldn't bring yourself to give a flying fuck.

[green-square-anon]

Works for both Rogal Dorn and Konrad Curze but for slightly different reasons (Trauma and being scared to trust something "good" vs just being way too literal/practical). The primarch in question having been through some sort of shit I mean when hasn't Konrad been through some sort of shit and their baseline beloved comforting them with the primarch thinking that, objectively, there is no way this person would ever be able to protect them. Anything that would threaten a primarch would crush a baseline.... so why does it feel like protection? Why does being held in their much weaker arms make them feel safe?

In Konrads case specifically?

She's weak, a whimp. Even by baseline standards. And yet here she is. Growing inexplicably protective of him. Covering her body with his as much as she can when she hears a noise outside as if she would stand a chance in hell against anything that could come through that door. Physically they are the least capable person of helping Konrad Curze. Emotionally? That's a whole other story... And yes, though Konrad doesn’t believe it, she will eventually save his ass somehow.

These men make for such great damsels in distress. Someone well adjusted like Guilliman and Sanguinius would just accept it, someone like Dorn would grumble and be uncomfortable about roles (the "prideful tsundere" gang of Mortarion and Perturabo etc would seethe- also why do I feel like perty would stalk you after you rescued him?) And Konrad? There is no single answer to give. With Konrad it's like spinning a wheel with a different outcome each time in terms of how he'd react to being rescued in some damsel in distress manner. But his insides would be just as confused as his outsides.

[snailfen]

after the easter update, in relation to the new note from delilah- i keep seeing people depict delilah as being a really awful person who doesn't care about bassie/the toons when they aren't good enough for her. and while yeah obviously delilah is responsible for Something and also why did she make the holiday toons Like That. i think people should analyze her tone in the easter note a little more? because i feel like theres more to understand about delilah from this note and no one's seeing it.

while the first part is just about as distant as her other notes, i don't think she sounds very dismissive of bassi! her tone is mostly analytical until that last part, which is really important to me because her tone is a lot more considerate ("i know this is very last minute."), and definitely the most concerned-sounding we've heard her.

that last sentence could very well be taken as her pinning the blame on arthur and not actually caring somehow, but i do think she wrote this with at least a LITTLE concern for bassie in mind based on her wording. she specifically notes that bassie probably won't be able to handle the pressure of being a main entertainer in gardenview as expected of her and i think that delilah sounds genuinely worried about the outcome if they didn't try to work this out.

with bassies obvious fear of replacement, and clear dislike of cocoa (the only other toon with plushies of her in the easter map when usually only mains have plushies) i do think it isnt unreasonable to come to the conclusion that their solution to this was replacement, however!!! i don't think this decision was made without bassie in mind, in fact i don't think this "replacement" was wholly against bassie for being too dependent on others.

my personal theory is: while yes cocoa has plushes, very odd for a non-main toon, theres still quite a lot of bassie plushes that assumingly were still being sold every easter event in the easter gift-shop. also, bassie's design sort of implies bunny features. it's kinda weird to have a toon that somewhat looks like a bunny, and then make a straight up bunny after that. finally, bassie seems to try to hide her problems/doesn't accept any help or concern (her dialogue with astro, flutter, cocoa too ig but thats Different).

by making another bunny-like toon, giving her helpful and insistent tendencies that would contrast bassies tendency to make it seem like nothings wrong with her, and then selling her merch alongside bassie, i think they intended for cocoa and bassie to end up being a pair that would share bassies role as the easter main to take pressure off of bassie. bassie however doesn't seem to be able to let go of her inability to live up to whats expected of her and when cocoa was introduced, she ended up taking this to mean absolutely worst case scenario. not to mention, cocoa doesn't seem aware that shes meant to "replace" anyone, and while she could've just been kept in the dark about this, she also calls bassie her friend and just kinda... assumes bassie acts the way she does because its who she is.

that all being said gardenview is Twisteds & Lack Of Security Regulations Georg, the 1000 security violations and 100 abominations against nature outlier that should not have been counted so maybe the idea of the founders even SLIGHTLY making a responsible decision for a toons actual well-being and just accidentally messing it up instead of just trying to full on replace her is silly. i mean i wouldnt be surprised

[angstigone]

WARNINGS: mention of injury (nagumo accidentally hurting reading through fight), slight mention gore and assassin work, hurt/slight comfort, nagumo and reader having both an avoidant attachment style and showing it by being idiots, she/her - afab character.

«For an assassin, you kind of are a huge teddy bear» you said as you sat down beside Nagumo on the roof of the JCC. 

It didn’t go unnoticed to you that the otherwise cheery and comical assassin-in-training pushed himself slightly away from you, when usually you’d be the one trying to make some place between the two of you, because you always worried he might listen - over your moans of annoyance - the steadfast beating of your traitorous heart.

No no, Nagumo distancing himself from you brought trouble and you could only guess it was because of the arm in a sling hanging by your neck. 

You wanted to tell him that he was taking it far too seriously when your arm hadn’t even been broken and the discomfort of the sling would disappear in a few days, probably followed by stiffness and awkwardness in using a stalled arm, but no true damage.

You had seen worse outcomes when sparring and although you had been lucky so far, you believed that it wouldn’t have lasted long, especially when paired with Nagumo, one of the best in your classes, while you were in the average threshold knowing well enough that had he wished to hurt you truly, you’d be in the hospital and not coddled by the institute infirmary.

Hence why it hadn’t even passed through the entrance of your brain the thought that he might treat it this ‘seriously’.

Injuries were common in your line of work and you were grateful that it wasn’t one that would have debilitated you for long.

«Can’t believe that you are making this into something bigger than it is» you went onto recounting hoping to get some semblance of the usual Nagumo back. 

There was something unnerving in the easy way he felt for once so vulnerable and yet, so closed off, galaxies away although just a shift of your hips and you’d be shoulder-to-shoulder.

«… it didn’t even fucking hurt all that mu…»

«But I hurt you, didn’t I».

Well, that you couldn’t deny and hence you had to take a wholly different road.

«If you can’t handle a squaffle between two colleagues then I think that you aren’t cut for being an assassin, Nagumo» it felt almost like the words were coming out of Satoda-sensei’s mouth, which made you grimace «… in a few years we’ll all be competitors and…».

«But we aren’t that yet, are we?».

Well, at least got you a longer reply although it stayed monotone enough to make you frown as you turned your face in his direction and yet finding his own turned even further away.

«… especially us two».

The obvious implication had you flustering lightly although you quickly shut it down, not wishing to give Nagumo any further teasing although he seemed way too down to even take notice of your obvious embarrassment.

«Oh God, Nagumo, this ain’t no time to be sentimental» you feigned arrogance «Don’t tell me that we got something special between us or… anything chee…».

«Would you fucking stop!».

The look with which you were fixed was the one of a wounded creature, and for a moment you wondered whether he was the one that was hurt more, he certainly was acting like it and you took full advantage of it.

«… who is the one with an arm in a fucking sling, Nagumo?» you accused him, lightly using your uninjured arm to point a finger to his chest «… don’t fucking act like you are the one who was truly hu…».

«But it fucking feel like it!».

Oh another genuine answer, as the anger simmered down into ashes and his head fell down, sunken, in between his shoulders. 

A truly pitiful sight and before you knew it - against your better thought - you moved so that your injured arms would be out of the way to gently embrace him.

«You are a big baby» you whispered softly, nosing lightly against his smooth locks, and giggling softly when they tickled your nose «… we ain’t fucking together. Not as a couple».

«Even if we fucking aren’t… which is a lie» he caught you there, as he spoke breathing loudly as if this whole situation was taking a lot out of him «… I don’t want to hurt you. Or those that are close to me».

«Then you should have stayed in the spy course».

You meant it; you didn’t even want to be an assassin while Nagumo had chosen this way, something that hadn’t ever sit right with you, although he didn’t have the fanatic look of those who thought murder a worship technique.

«… you won’t last a single day, out of here».

«Then you have to protect me».

It felt so… it felt almost like a vow, as if he had just asked you to marry him. 

Well, his proposal did entail a long time spent by his side, although it wasn’t something that you could promise him, no matter the fact that it seemed so sweet.

Still, it wasn’t just fair.

«You can’t ask that of me».

He mused, nodding understandingly at something for which you hated him.

«… then promise, you won’t let me hurt you anymore» that felt even more shocking «… I know I can’t ask you not to get hurt anymore, but I don’t want to be the one causing you pain. Accidentally or not».

That was a vow. 

A vow between two assassins in training that - against their best wishes - had fallen into love. 

And maybe, just maybe it’d have been enough, although it felt delusional.

«Am I the one that has to promise it? Shouldn’t it be you?».

«You know as well as me that I can’t be the one making that promise» yes, because you weren’t colleagues, you’d soon be competitors and even the most careful could have easily hurt the other «… so, I need you to do it for me».

«… bastard» you hissed, backed into a corner a she always knew how to do «… will that make you quit your whining?».

«A kiss would do better but I wouldn’t want to strain my wounded beloved».

«I won’t strain my arm by kicking your butt don’t worry!».

—

Easier said than done, you told yourself as you broke down the moment that the door closed behind your back, although you should have seen it coming; you had been young then, there. Hopeful even and hadn’t thought that your relationship with Nagumo would have ruined you that much.

You had thought yourself - mentally - stronger and had believed that it wasn’t all that… important.

You had greatly undervalued your involvement and as you crumbled in pieces, you couldn’t help but still feel sad and done about it.

“I am sorry, Nagumo, I couldn’t keep my promises”.

[joachimz]

A SHEEP IN WOLF’S LOATHING — Y.K.

CHAPTER ONE: IN THE BEGINNING

YUKIMIYA KENYU X GN!READER

CHAPTER SUMMARY: A slip of the tongue, a mistake of morale. That is all it takes for Yukimiya to lose his sense of God given control.

CHAPTER INCLUDES: pro player yukki. sacrilege (faintly). religious themes. mental health crisis.

CHAPTER LENGTH: 4.5k words

CHAPTER NOTES: i’m really nervous about this. i dunno. i hope y’all like it. not fully proofread, as always.

Camera flashes have become an easing sort of thing; like a flickering spark off of a shoddy hotwiring job—an outcome that is to be expected but still should not be praised. 

That’s the difference here though, isn’t it? The praise is affirmed and the flare is not always foreseen. Without the praise, it wouldn’t be as welcomed, would it? Wouldn’t be as accepted. As cultivated. 

As hearkened to.

Yukimiya blinks against the flashing lights, shifts in his seat to lean forward and prop his elbows on the semi-flimsy table in front of him with practiced poise. The curve of his lips is natural, perfected. Trained. To his right his coach is speaking, he can already smell the alcohol on his breath that he swigged in the locker room post-victory and pre-interview. Typical, he denotes. Can’t even wait until he’s out of the arena, away from the prying eyes of the press. Away from the guise of decency.

He fights the urge to scrunch his nose at it.

“Alright, folks, we have time for just two more questions,” a staff member, someone from the venue employee list, announces after his coach wraps up his speech on ‘teamwork winning this for them once again.’ Ironic, he thinks, given the playstyle they actually showcase on the field.

Another press member is randomly picked out among the lineup. A short man with a pudgy stomach. He’s wearing an outdated hat that, if he had to place money on it, Yukimiya would bet is covering up a thinning comb over. He seems nice enough, for this line of work at least. He doesn't try to shove anyone around him. He hasn’t tried to shout over the remainder of the crowd thus far. Yukimiya would be happy to indulge him in a question if he chose to direct it to him, even if his suit is obviously hand me downs that his poor old mother most likely hemmed up to fit. 

He has no problem with humble beginnings, after all. Even if the sight has refined distaste pooling on the bed of his tongue.

The man stands up once he registers he’s the one being pointed to. Seemingly shaky on his feet, he sways a bit. Winces when his jolting accidentally makes his chair scrape back behind him and screech along the floor. Poor guy. A pitiful old thing, really. 

“Ah y-yes, Yukimiya-kun, my question is for you, if you don’t mind. It’s about your-your tactics for–”

The universe can be cruel, sometimes. Apt to stamp out the flickers of innocent flames while it lets unbridled blazes consume everything in their wake. The reporter drops his cards—the ones he was most ardently reading from in an attempt to level himself, to give himself enough bravery to speak in the first place. He must be new to this, or at this ranking of competition at the very least. A shame.

“That’s quite alright,” Yukimiya smiles; a genuine, kind sort of thing that curls over his teeth as the man scrambles to bend over and pick up the scattered index cards. “Take your time.”

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees the employee from before checking their watch. There’s no time for this, he’s sure is what they’re thinking, We’re pushing it already. 

He doesn’t care about that. He would like to indulge this gentleman with the slightly wrinkled pinstripe suit. Give him a bit of leeway, as he sees fit. A morsel of grace.

“Ah, forgive me,” he chuckles, wavering and hoarse but with no humor. A bead of sweat is dripping down his temple and Yukimiya feels a cool drop of water trail down his neck from his previous shower at the same time. “My question—Your tactics for play, they are not as, erm, polished as some of your competitors. I do not mean that as them being inadequate or–or anything of that nature! Of course not! It is just.. Is this by choice, or are you, ah, unable to implement these new innovative strategies into your personal gameplay?”

There’s winds of whispering blowing through the rows in front of him. A mirage of murmurs stirring up static in response to the query. People who are, no doubt, questioning this man’s sanity and downright audacity to inquire one of Japan’s top players on his playing style. To, in a roundabout way, belittle it despite its successes. They must think him to be mad.

Yukimiya thinks him to be intrepid.

He humors him, because he was not expecting such a question to come from a man with trembling knees and lopsided sleeves. A well seasoned reporter, maybe. A hardened man numb to the job with designer suits that broaden his bony shoulders. That make him look more threatening than he is, more compelling. But not him. 

The lights are so bright, it is growing hot under his team sponsored crew neck. He can take part in expressing sympathy for the pudgy man’s sweating now; even if most of his was attributed to nerves. His smile stays the same. He pays no mind to the video cameras zooming in on him like tempered clockwork. 

He wonders if the man’s cue cards are dirty after having fallen on the floor.

“Good question. I respect your resolve, truly. And I thank you, but,” he starts, reaching a hand up to pinch the frame of his glasses. Readjust them a bit up the bridge of his nose. “I have a better one for you.”

The murmurs cease, microphones are being held out closer to Yukimiya as if he doesn’t have one placed on the table right in front of him that is doing all of their jobs for them. He ponders over how their arms don’t get tired, how their eyes don’t burn from lack of blinking. Does he enrapture them so much, that they would demean themselves this just to wait with bated breath for what he has to say?

His smile quirks a little higher.

“Is a lamb still a lamb, even when thrown into a den of lions?”

“Ah-!” the man perks up, eyes widening ever so slightly as he nods his head; fervent. “Yes, I-I suppose it is.”

“Exactly.” Yukimiya tips his head a single degree, lets the damp wave of his–begrudgingly unkempt–bangs fall a bit into his eyes as he holds the man’s gaze. Because that is polite, you know. To look at the person to whom you are addressing. “It does not matter how long the lamb is there, or how long the lions try to toy with it. It will never try to roar, and the lions will never try to baa. And yet, that does not make either of them any less of themselves. If anything, it only solidifies their nature more.”

The man shifts on his feet, fiddles with the cards in his hands. They are probably well bent up by now. Have probably lost their crisp novelty. Or maybe they never had the chance to be unscathed at all. Perhaps there was a problem with their manufacturing. Perhaps they were cursed from the packaging. 

“You see, it is not that I am ignorant to those around me and how they choose to play this game. Nor is it that I do not have the ability to attempt and achieve success through their methods, either. It is simply that I am more concerned about who I am, as a whole, and how that reflects in my play style throughout my career. How it attributes to the name I am making for myself.”

He pauses, now. Leans forward a little more on his elbows. The gentleman’s throat bobs and he can’t be certain why. But it is not so critical to him. Not now.

“Why would I learn to roar, when I already know how to baa?”

There’s a beat of silence, where everyone takes in his response. And then the not-so-whispers erupt again, notepads scritching with rushed writing down of his quote and slaps to the arms of measly camera men with hisses of ‘Did you get that?’ They stay hooked on his words, turn their attention away for just a second to make sure they really captured it all, but Yukimiya is still staring at the gentleman before him.

He makes no move to reach for the slim notepad that is sticking out of the pocket on his suit coat. He has no one to turn to and ask if they got a recording of what was just spoken. And yet, he does not seem inclined to worry about that at all. Yukimiya takes note of the sparkle in his eyes and mulls over whether it is from the fluorescent lights or the wonder he tends to incite. He is partial to settling on the latter.

“Right,” the reporter man speaks, finally, a warm grin cutting across his round face like a knife through risen dough. “Very good point, Yukimiya-kun. Thank you. You really are miraculous.”

And, oh; he is, isn’t he? His grin quirks up in a less genuine direction–not that anyone else could decipher such a miniscule cue–at that comment as he watches the gentleman finally sit back down. He readjusts his glasses again, fights the urge to chuckle to himself. 

He really is a miracle; God’s gift to the soccer world and plucked from a string of His own heart. Because how else, if not by that sentiment, could he hold as much power as this? 

An angel sent from the heavens, donned in cleats and silk.

The venue staff member is stepping up again, calling out the final person in the crowd to ask a question. Yukimiya sits back in his seat to let his spine rest, tries not to grimace as his coach clasps a hand over his shoulder and gives it a rewarding squeeze. How can one be proud of calluses earned by others' hard work?

Someone stands up from the crowd, the final reporter granted the honor of sealing off this post game interview session. A young woman, dressed much more fashionable than her former peer among the sea of journalists. Her pencil skirt is tight around the curve of her hips and her button down blouse is tucked smoothly into the waist of it. It flatters her well, too, form-fitted (but not too much to be considered blatantly scandalous) and with the top two buttons undone to showcase the dip of her cleavage. Now that; that Yukimiya knows is done with the intent to distract. 

His smile fades into a glazed over simper as he reaches her face. Takes in her dark lined eyes and rose tinted cheeks, presses his gaze to the plush of her glossed over lips. She tucks a lock of inky hair behind her ear before she raises her notepad up in front of her. Yukimiya finds it humorous, familiar.

She looks just as nice under blaring fluorescents as she does tangled up in imported bed sheets.

That’s the thing about professional athleticism—there is always someone wanting you. In games, in plays, in dark corridors of arenas where they should be getting the inside scoop and instead are getting their insides… Well, you get the picture. You are among the most desired, whether by your sport or sex appeal, the specifics don’t really matter. And that is not something to which Yukimiya has been deemed an exception.

If anything, he ranks above most of his colleagues when it comes to desirability. His face has been plastered on the covers of magazines since he was in highschool. The camera saw him in nothing but a pair of Calvin Klein’s before any potential young lover’s jittery eyes did. When you are that adored, that sought after, you tend to come to conclusions early on.

Deals are easy to be made when one is blinded by desire. And lust is the easiest weapon used in persuasion. Funny, how the body is such a sufficient vessel when it comes to bargaining.

This woman, in particular, is one with whom Yukimiya is well acquainted with, in that sense. She is pretty—by every conventional standard—well respected in her field of sports journalism and has a solid head on her shoulders. A woman like that tends to be desired, too, but not by men whom she’d see fit. Which is where Yukimiya comes in. 

A man like him (stone carved face and body to match) who has something she wants? Can promise her details and exclusive information on his teammates as well as his rivals? Give her tips and tricks on how she can pry even more out of them herself? In exchange for, what? A quickie in an arena bathroom before he gets back on the bus to the airport? He can do that; satisfy his needs and fulfill her exigencies all at once. 

Plus, he is so very good at squeezing data out of people when they think they’re the ones drawing it out of him. Like he said, desire blinds; and the void is nothing but the shadow he has grown most accustomed to.

The acquaintance he allows to haunt his home. 

“I would like to start by saying, as always, such an impressive game you played out there tonight, Yukimiya-san,” the woman, Tamiko, compliments him. And that is a common occurrence when she is present at these conferences as well. But he isn’t complaining; a stroke to his ego has never made him turn up his nose.

“Thank you,” he nods, fidgeting with the stand of the microphone in front of him out of passing boredom, “As always, of course.”

“Of course,” Tamiko mirrors back, and the pro doesn’t miss the gleam in her eye as she does. 

She clutches her notepad closer to her chest, accentuating the window the open buttons have created. Yukimiya isn’t a stupid man, he knows a ploy when he sees one. He also sees the way the men surrounding her notice such a view, too. His lips quirk wider at their gazes, and a haughty feeling bubbles in his chest because he knows any longing looks directed at her will be done in vain.

She’s here for him and him alone, beyond everything. The only man who stands a chance is the one sitting in his seat.

How blessed, for him.

“Ma’am.” It’s that damned staff member again. He is starting to grate Yukimiya’s nerves, run his mercy thin. Why must he keep sticking his nose into matters that are not that serious? “Your question, please.”

“Oh, yes, pardon me,” she smiles again, though it doesn’t quite reach her eyes the same way it does when aimed at him as it does to Kenyu. That also strokes his ego, just the tiniest bit. “My question, Yukimiya-san.”

He nods again, levels his gaze back on her. “Yes?” 

“I think that I must indulge your fans and speak on their behalf, just this once.” 

Her mascara tinted lashes bat against the swell of her cheekbones. It’s tantalizing; obvious, what she is doing. Or maybe Yukimiya has just been able to dissect her that well due to their.. proximity. Regardless, he must applaud her. To maintain such a well respected reputation while using her tactics must be difficult. Hard work for such an impudent woman as her.

And it is never ‘just this once.’

“Please do,” he adheres, and this time he does chuckle. A breathy, rumbly sort of thing that he knows will end up as a clipped video and sent among many shrieking fangirls—and boys, for that matter, he doesn’t discriminate—before his head even hits the satin of his pillowcase tonight. Fanservice is what Isagi used to call it as a way to tease him when the both of them first broke big. Pleasing the masses is how he describes it, and it’s only his rightful duty, you see. 

You can’t just leave the masses hungry. That simply wouldn’t do. 

“So, do tell me,” Tamiko hums, punctuates her request with a little cinch to her pout that would be enough to make any typical man swoon. (That was part of the reason she intrigued Yukimiya in the first place, if he is completely honest). 

“Is it merely your God given abilities or does that… well attuned body account for the marvel that is Yukimiya Kenyu?”

Crowds are always receptive to questions such as this—and now is no exception. Chuckles and claps and quiet whoops sweep over the press members that are sardined in the conference room, obviously tickled by the inquiry and hankering to know whatever answer might slip through his lips. A chuckle rattles out of the back of Yukimiya’s throat again and he shakes his head, leans in closer to the mic as he twists it on its stand, fidgets in a way that is unusual for him. 

“God can only take you so far,” and it comes out before he can stop himself, before he can mull over the weight of his words—the implications, “Let’s just say I gave Him a little bit of a helping hand.”

“Alright, that’s the last question!” the stadium worker booms out above the immediate uproar of the crowd, cutting off any and all follow ups that may have been deemed necessary. Fascinated, amused at the player’s answer to such a nuanced question. Tamiko purses her pretty cherry lips at not being able to get the final word in.

And Yukimiya swallows down the bitter after taste of his sentiment.

It had all happened so fast; he’s just used to light banter, that’s all. His quip and brush back simply rolled off his light laced tongue. So easily, too easily. His helping hands twitch in his lap as his coach pats his back solidly as a nudge to stand. To take his leave.

Yukimiya listens, but it’s different, now. Now, he does not spare a glance to Tamiko in quiet understanding to meet by the east emergency exit for a rushed makeout sesh. Now, he does not smile and wave full of poise and praise to the cameras and reporters to keep his pretty face painted politely in the tabloids come morning. Now, he does not thank the crowd of reporters for staying so late just for the chance to speak with him.

Now, he feels an uneasy pebble of conviction forming in his gut.

How could he say such a thing? How could he be so careless? He berates himself as his sneakers traipse their way back to the locker room. Something isn’t right with him, he’s off–somehow. There’s a hitch in his step, a snag in his gait. He nearly trips over his own two graceful feet as he rounds the corner towards the locker room. His coach flings out an arm to catch him, even in his own drunken, lopsided stupor.

“Woah there, tiger,” a chuckle, a tease. Yukimiya finds nothing humorous in this moment. “You get into my secret stash?”

“What? Of course not, don’t be so fucking–”

“Hey.” Clipped, short. Stern as he is yanked by the hand of assistance clamped over his elbow to a halt, Kenyu nearly flinches. “I was jus’ yanking your chain. Ease up, kid. Take a breather.”

“Sorry,” he mutters, because that is polite. Because he is polite. Polite and poised and perfect and that’s–that’s the truth so it’s fine. It’s fine. “I’m sorry. I’m just more tired than I realized.”

His coach eyes him for another moment in the dim corridor. One of the lights is flickering just outside of the locker room. It’s straining, pulsing. Yukimiya’s head hurts. A pound, a pulse–thu-thuck, thu-thuck, thu-thuck. He squints an eye, blinks a couple times.

But a deep breath does not give way to the constriction of his lungs.

“Alright,” the old man says, finally, and lets go of the prodigy’s elbow to clap his hand over his shoulder. He gives a squeeze, then another. It's supposed to be reassuring, forgiving, he knows. But Yukimiya fights every smidgen within him to not recoil in distaste. “Let’s get you out of here. You played a hell of a game today, son.”

I’m not your son.

“Thank you, sir,” he forces out, now. Pinched and with a smile just to match that does not quite crimp the tails of his eyes; the apples of his cheeks. The scrunch isn’t there, his canine is out of sight. 

He’s feigning in a way that’s damn near disgraceful. And that pebble is churning; building. 

“Good game, Yukki,” fucking Kaiser, gift from God, Michael chimes as he enters the locker room. A ploy, a taunt. But half genuine, in the way that crawls beneath one’s skin. In a way that’s unnerving–ever so slightly. 

“Fuck off.”

“Ooh, touchy,” he sing songs, steps closer as he finger coils with the towel around his neck that’s catching the water droplets from his shower sopped hair. “Did the pretty reporter girl finally admit I’m the better fuck?”

Yukimiya scoffs because, seriously, why the fuck can Kaiser never seem to mind his fucking own? He grabs his bag out of his locker and slams it shut, pulling it over the shoulder his coach just tainted. Then, with all the grace left in him, turns to the man who’s only gift from God is the fact that there is a bench separating the pair of them right now.

“Have a nice night,” he grins, vile and evil and wrong as it snakes across his face in a way that is pleasing to the eye. Then, he turns on his heel and dips out of the locker room.

His smile drops as soon as he’s in the limelight of the hall. 

Inverse erosion is occurring inside the body of Yukimiya Kenyu. Conviction growing like a specimen on a soiled petri dish, little ugly bit by little ugly bit. It’s spreading, to the dip of his waist, up the curve of his jugular. Like tendrils sprouting, twisting, choking out the light inside him. He ignores the stadium workers who congratulate him on his achievement of the night. Something he would normally never do, even after a loss. Even in the pits of despair. Even on his darkest day. 

He ignores them as well as his driver who is standing at the exit waiting for him. He opens the door just in time for Yukimiya to push through; broad shoulders and steam littered ears. He’s stupid, ignorant.

Blasphemous. 

“Could you hurry up?” He snaps as he gets to the car door a step too quick. He doesn’t mean to–lash out, that is. He can’t help it. He feels like he’s losing it. His mind, his vision, himself. There’s tunnels cutting through the edges of his sight. He can’t blink past them.

“Sorry, sir,” Fuyuki, a great big man in a great, sleek suit, nods as he rushes cordially to open up the door for the pro. Yukimiya winces internally at his politeness, but makes no effort to stave the wounds. “And congratulations, on the win.”

That gets ignored, because Yukimiya is too busy trying not to throw up to even think of conversing right now. He slides into the spacious back compartment of the car. There’s no cameras out back, thank the Lord, or his mimi-tantrum would be on the front page of all the wrong kinds of magazines in the morning. He tries to suck in a breath, and another, as he takes off his glasses and blinks.

Once, twice, thrice–all for naught. The tunnels are closing in, he’s getting fed up. Something is looming, he can feel it. In his bones. Over him, pressing and pressing. 

Let’s just say I gave Him a little bit of a helping hand.

How could he be so careless? So loose lipped? He would never–has never spouted off something so–so.. 

“Home, sir?” Fuyuki asks as he slides in the driver seat.

“The fuck do you think?”

A glare through the rear view, another bite back. The hole Yukimiya is digging for himself is growing by the second, bigger and bigger and he’s losing traction. Fast. He’s losing his grip, he’s losing sight of.. What, exactly?

I gave Him a little bit of a helping hand.

How incredulous of a statement for a mere mortal like him to make. How ungrateful, unforgiving. Merciless is a God whom he deserves. A wrath–that’s it. The tunnel forming around him, the darkness in his pupils. In his gut.

His hands tighten around the strap of his bag in a weak attempt to root himself. No, ground himself. That’s right. That’s what he means. Ground. He needs to ground himself. Ground, in the ground. If he is smote he will be in the ground and the fault is his. The fault is–

…bit of a helping hand.

“Fuck!” Yukimiya yells and throws his bag full force across the back compartment of his car. Clothes, shoes, his wallet and keys all fly out. Fuyuki swerves, the slightest bit, at the commotion, and what ensues. Because he does not stop there.

His brand new phone, his water bottle that he keeps stocked, anything he can get his perfectly manicured fingers on is ripped and roared and tossed about inside the confines of the car. It's a wonder he doesn’t break a window, or injure something, someone–himself. 

Himself, to blame? No.. no that cannot be because for him to say such a wretched thing there must be a reason. Some outside force has pushed him, prodded to make him bespoke of God in such a way. Skewed his moral high ground and lured him away from the light. From divinity. From the pure and good of his soul.

That’s right, he thinks, someone has soiled him. Someone close to him. Who is around him constantly. Slithering around in his inner circle.

And that just won’t do.

Frantically, he scrambles for his discarded phone. Picks up and flings soiled shorts and jersey and shoes and finds it miraculously unscathed at the bottom of the floorboard, tucked into a crevice. He brushes his curls out of his face, no longer laid pristinely down to head, combed through and neat. It’s frizzing up, just like the shreds of his sanity.

Someone has tainted him, and he is finding fault wherever he can. Where he believes it to be. The root of the problem. The head of the snake.

His fingers fumble across his phone screen as he slips his glasses back on, squints through the dark at the luminated device. He clicks on his contact list and scrolls. Down, down, down to the culprit scrawled out in the “m”s. He clicks the name and opens up his message thread.

“Akari’s fired. Effective immediately. Find me a new assistant. I do not take too kindly to serpents in my garden.”

He sends the message to his manager without a second thought. And, like a miracle shining down, the weight is lifting. Breaths come easier and shoulders release tension. The root of the problem, surely he’s found it. He must have. Why else would he already be experiencing such alleviation? Such a lull in the tide of turmoil?

“Fuyuki, I think there’s cause for celebration,” he smiles, more genuine now than he has been able to stomach all night, as he meets tapioca eyes in the rearview, “How about a drink?”

He’s pouring two glasses of scotch from the mini fridge before an answer is given. After all, alcohol is best suited to cleanse wounds.

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