#probably because of that scene where he steps out of the shadows

[taldigi]

Mmmmmm I need more context, more info, more ✨LORE✨ whys philli boi there, what happened to yosuke, was chie and naoto just casually making out while he was unconscious these details are every important 👀

Animating is a lot of busywork and fiddling, so it gives a lot of thinking time!

Yosuke died. He was not meant to die. (Snake! You've created a time paradox!) Yosuke probably did a Yosuke and took a hit for Yu (Shadow world or real world nonwithstanding- as it's been shown that Yosuke has been physically assaulted before for being the Junes kid so either option..). He was probably on the border of crashing entirely before Philly steps in.

Philemon is there because he is pushing his chess pieces back into place. He strikes me as the kind of deity that does not want to interfere unless his hand is forced. In the bad endings of p4, the failure to save or arrest any victim (as well as Yu's own death) is cause for a game over- so that logic tracks into this particular case.

Chie and Naoto are just talking quietly, probably on the nature of life and the unfairness of death and love and what it means to protect people. (and holding hands about it, maybe.)

more of the scene to show where they're at and such

[another-goblin]

[solbaby7]

Wanting You, Wanting Me

pairing: azriel x reader

based off an anonymous request- got carried away but I tried to stay within the guidelines; this was actually a really cute concept

warnings: angst at first but it gets fluffy towards the end, swearing, jealousy, mutual pining, mentions of nightmares, sleep deprivation, probably some typos

summary: Silent yearning only remains silent for so long when you suspect your crush likes your best friend instead

--

Elaine was like flowers budding in the Spring; new and fresh, full of promise and beauty. She was kind and caring, compassionate and soft-spoken, dainty and slender—all the pretty things that males loved in women.

Or maybe it was just her.

Because you were fairly new and fresh too; just barely in your twenties and full on the idea of life and love and everything in between. Maybe you weren’t as kind, not as nice or welcoming; you didn’t always have the right words and in lou of sounding stupid or making a fool of yourself, you stayed quiet.

Watching; observing, learning the family around you as you navigated your place in it. Everyone already had their role; playing their parts as if they’d been trained their whole lives for it and even Feyre and her sisters had fallen into a steady rhythm after the Cauldron. But with all the new additions, couples pairing up and friendships pre-established a hundred years before you were even a thought—your place there seemed less clear.

Especially since Azriel had started paying such special attention to Elaine and her annoyingly beautiful garden and the plants that seemed to thrive tenfold at the mere sight of her.

You didn't mind at first; the three of you falling into a steady rhythm of hanging out together, taking walks and sharing stories but somewhere along the lines he stopped looking at you when he'd laugh. Envy builds for a woman too kind to deserve it and it makes you feel even worse--masking your distaste with soft smiles that you hoped looked as welcoming as hers.

You can’t even help the turn your thoughts take but no matter how much envy fills you; there’s not one con that presents itself when regarding her.

It becomes subconscious, the way you mimic her; fixing your posture, hands reaching to push back strands of hair and smoothen out the fabric that the soft curve of your stomach. Silently nitpicking parts of you that you’d never considered wrong before but that had to be when everything Elaine had got was so right.

He walks in like you’ve summoned him, steps silent and sure. “You’re up early.”

“Couldn’t sleep.” You mutter a beat too late, only realizing he was regarding you when you’d finally glanced up over the book in your hands.

You’re acutely aware of his every move, the radiating warmth of his body contrasted by the cool kiss of his shadows sifting through your hair when he leans over the back of the couch. The smell of his soap reaches your nose when he leans in, hazel eyes skimming over the pages you're reading and you thank the good Mother above that you’d gotten past the naughty scene three pages ago; where the good guy who pretends to be bad slides his fingers between the maidens thighs, urging her to be silent as he worked her over through her clothes while being surrounded by a whole camp full of males and a looming threat lingering somewhere in the trees. “Bad dreams again?”

You pray he doesn’t catch the slight uptick of your heart rate, the closeness forcing your body to react without permission and it takes great effort not to tear the delicate pages under the pressure of your fingers alone. “Something like that,” You grit out, reminded of the nightmares that assaulted your slumber; the sight of Elaine and Azriel—kissing. Enough to rip you awake and force you to empty all of your stomach contents; you’d just barely made it to the bathing chambers, hairs sticking to your cheeks and nightgown damp with sweat as you leaned into the toilet.

You still hadn’t been able to keep anything down; stomach too unsettled and brain spiraling enough to distract away any signs of hunger.

“She’s been getting them all week,” Elaine softly adds, fingers busy with her knitting needles and yarn; a new blanket for you to add to the giant collection neatly folded your closet. “—won’t drink the tea I made for it though.”

“Because the tea makes them worse and then I wake up from them with my body still paralyzed,” You’re quick to say, familiar with your best friends tactics in divulging important information to the shadowsinger to ensure you actually did something about it—that you took care of yourself. “I’ll happily keep just the bad dreams.”

Azriel's not even looking at you anymore though, already rounding the couch to sit beside Elaine, ball of yarn rolling between them and you can’t help but stare. “Tell me more about this tea?”

“I make it from the plants in the garden,” She points at the window behind them, pale green yarn still wrapped around her finger. “Camomile and ginseng and usually it helps but she just reacts to it differently.”

Azriel hums and you hate the way the words make you feel; like there was another thing setting you apart from the others and this perfect life that didn’t seem capable enough to hold room for all of your imperfections. You don’t wait to hear anymore, steps light and hands quick to stick your bookmark in place and collect your tea cup before you’re gone and down the hall; tears burning in your waterline.

Because, you were sure that if you had to sit there and watch them a second longer you were going to scream.

Scream at Elaine for being so sweet and gentle; so knowledgeable and helpful and certain that it was you that was the issue and not her stupid herbs grown in her stupid garden. You wanted to scream at Azriel until you were blue in the face, listing off every single thing you've ever done to show that the thing between you was way more than just friends. How he was everything and you know that maybe you weren't perfectly skinny like Elaine was but you'd always found great beauty in things that were different.

You can’t tell if you’re happy or not that no one comes to check on you the whole four hours it takes for you to relax; binging the entirety of a book until you were too focused on someone else's life to focus on your own and only once you'd finished the book in it's entirety were you forced to leave the room in search for the one that followed.

The library is empty when you enter, only a few lights still burned and you’re already murmuring soft words to yourself while you search around for what your looking for, fingers bumping over the slides of books; their engraved titles all unique and beautiful and probably interesting but still not quite right. It takes some time but you’re certain you’ve found it, a few rows higher than you can reach but it’s easy to drag over a chair for assistance. "Come on," You mutter, nose scrunching with strain as the tips of two fingers graze the burgundy spine. You’re prepared to jump and pray the chair doesn’t collapse beneath you when the book simply slides out and floats down to you, cool shadows twirling up the length of your arm as if to stabilize you as you step down. “I didn’t need help,” You grumble without looking at your savior, the weight of the book now in your palm and excitement swirls at the thought of more.

“You never do.”

You don’t mean to be so snappy but the sleep deprivation takes a toll and it was becoming harder to distinguish truth from dream; your brain always stuck on his mouth leaning in for Elaine’s and the anger that ensues is all consuming. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Azriel shrugs, sighing as if he knows how this conversation will end and in no way will he ever come out on top. “I don’t know—just don’t get why you wouldn’t have told me you haven’t been sleeping.”

“Because, Az, what would you have done? Help Elaine make me tea’s? No, thanks.”

Confusion spreads on handsome features, hazel eyes fierce even with his lids lowered. “What does Elaine have to do with any of this? Because she told me?”

The breath you let out is heavy, defeat settling in once you realize the hole you’d been digging yourself and it’s a struggle to heave yourself out and drag the chair back to its original spot but Azriel’s there in seconds. He’s quiet; waiting for an answer as he takes it from your hands. “No,” You concede, all fight leaving when it was a one-sided battle. “She doesn’t have anything to do with it. It’s fine—I’m just tired.”

“Then sleep,” He urges softly. “I’ll stay with you.”

“I can’t.”

You can’t even focus on the words of your page under his stare. You’ve read the first line six times over and you still haven’t fully processed it. The thought of him being nearby as you slept, the thought of his eyes on your body in nothing but a nightgown and your hair free from all its carefully done braids. “Can you tell me what you’ve been dreaming about?”

His brows raise when you suck in a sharp breath, cheeks flinching at the suggestion and you shut the book altogether. “I’d really rather not.”

“What’s so bad you can’t tell me about it?" Azriel's hand covers your own, voice so soft it hurt. "You tell me everything.”

Your heart thumps so hard in your chest you can hear it in your ears, your free fingers fumbling against the other under the table and you can't refrain from the nervous chuckle that pulls free. There's a second where you want to just tell him; to confess your feelings and how much you loved the way he was looking at you but fucking hated how you knew that look wouldn't stay if Elaine walked in. The reminder of her alone makes your body deflate, gaze going far off and Azriel's concern only grows when you stay quiet too long to be normal.

The cool touch of a shadow grazing your cheek pulls you out of it. "I suppose this just isn't worth telling."

It's not the answer he wanted, that much is clear by the frown that tugs on full lips, the wings that tuck in tighter and you want nothing more than to give him everything he'd wanted and more to get his face to stop looking at you like that but before you can say another word, another person enters. "Sorry to interrupt, I was just looking for you.

His eyes instantly go to her, hand pulling away from your own and attitude seeps out when you regard her. "Well, you found me."

Elaine's eyes bounce between you and Azriel as if she could feel the tension in the room that held so thick you could cut it with a knife. Her voice is hesitant when she begins, a steaming pot held in hands covered by thick oven mitts. "I made a new recipe for the tea," You don't even hear the carefully curated list of herbs she rattles off, informing their uses and how well they work together but you can't stop shaking; chest tightening at the way Azriel watches Elaine gracefully flit about the room and you can't stop thinking about how quickly he pulled away his hand. "It's really strong so you can't have too much but the madja said that it would help with the sleeping and the paralysis."

You couldn't of cared less, snatching the kettle from her grasp and in your anger you can’t even hear her gasp, can’t feel the burn of the boiling handle against your palm as you pour a mug so thick it nearly spills over the top. “Thanks, Elaine. Really, I hope it knocks me out for a week.” You don’t stay to take in the worry on Azriel's face or the hurt that laced your friends features. Your book is tight in your grasp and you’re halfway down the hallway when you feel your palm begin to throb.

Your bedroom door shuts with a slam, pure frustration pulsing through your whole being and you can feel it ebbing from the top of your head to the tips of your toes. A sigh pulls when you take an angry sip, it burns your tongue, slightly bitter but it was eased with a little sugar and a teaspoon of honey.

Guilt swells at the kind gesture and your misguided anger; Elaine had only been trying to help, making things to quell the dreams she didn’t even know were centered around her and man you loved but didn't love you back. It weighs on you as you change into your night clothes, smoothening ointment and wrapping thick gauze around your burn; there was no blistering but the angry red mark was sure to remain there for quite some time.

You try to distract yourself, silently sipping as you read your book.

It’s alarming how quickly you relax, the giant mug nearly empty when your book slips between your fingers and thuds to the floor, body slumping into the sitting chair and you don’t even have enough time to drag a blanket over yourself before your eyes flutter shut and sleep takes over.

And this time, you didn’t dream.

There was only peaceful silence and maybe an uncomfortable pressure in your chest that it came and went in waves; too grateful for the relief that settled in your bones to care. It was like you were sinking, body slowly falling into a sea of cushion and comfort and you’d have been willing to stay there forever.

Your brows furrow when a noise pierces through the silence; eyes squinting in the darkness to find the source but the harder you try to make it out, the darker the rooms gets. A hand rubs against your chest, the pressure coming back and this time it’s so hard it makes you cough, eyes clenching shut and it’s like that was the switch to wake you up.

Azriel is leaning over you, hands on your chest and cheeks red with exertion when you cough and cough, soul aching to return to the peace—that silence where there were no dreams. “Why’d you wake me up?”

“Wake you up?” His voice holds no more room for placating to your wants; hands shaking at his sides and it’s then you see the fear. “You didn’t have a pulse. I came to check on you and you were—“ Azriel clears his throat, voice cracking with his clothes disheveled and full lips firm in a straight line as he stood before you, crouching down to meet your eye level. “Tell me right now, what were you dreaming about that was so bad that you were willing to die to stop them.”

Your chest heaves as you take in air, a ringing begins in your ears and you back away; avoiding the words, the conversation—the sight of his mouth on hers. “I can’t.”

“You can and you will."

"Azriel—"

Az groans at your tone, turning his entire body away as if he physically couldn't bear hearing another aversion; another lame excuse as to why you couldn't tell him what was going on when you always did. "Do you not trust me? Is that it?"

“What?”

You'd never seen him so upset, eyes blazing and wings rustling in his frustration as he stood. "I'm just listing shit at this point because all I've done is try to be there for you—me and Elaine, and you just keep pushing us away."

"Oh, please," You snap back, gaining the strength to stand and the ache in your chest only gets worse and you begin to wonder just how long he was on top of you breathing air into your lungs and willing breath to stick with the push of his hands. "If Elaine's around, I might as well just walk right out of the room because that means you'll be otherwise occupied shoving your head up her ass."

"You sound ridiculous." He lets out a gruff laugh, arms crossed over his chest. "Are you jealous or something?"

"It's clear you have feelings for her. I get it—she's perfect and pretty and skinny and obviously you like that sort of thing but don't stand here and pretend you even notice I exist with her there." There's no taking back the words and you don't even care to look into the way his brows furrow at you, words punching at him a mile a minute as a dam breaks and days and weeks and months worth of emotions rage forward with no signs of stopping. "How couldn't I be jealous? When it’s so obvious that you love her and not me.” It feels pathetic to say out loud, hands crossing over yourself as you did your best to remain strong; to get through the feelings even though your skin was on fire and you couldn't stop fidgeting. "That's what my dreams have been about. Why I've been missing sleep and hiding things from you because every time I close my eyes all I can fucking see is you and her."

You don't even realize how much distance you'd been putting between you two, subconsciously searching for a way out when Azriel inevitability let you down easy. "You love me?" Words die on your tongue, feelings laid bare and vulnerabilities left out for his viewing pleasure; eyes like drops of gold boring into you as you gently nod. He sinks onto the edge of your bed, a breathless laugh emitting as scarring fingers traced over the soft fabric of your duvet. "The only reason I started talking to Elaine in the first place is because you and her had gotten so close and I wanted an excuse to be around you."

Your brows furrow, lips parting in confusion and the nerves begin to fade. "No."

Azriel's head nods once, settling into the fell of your room and the little trinkets you'd kept close on the nightstand; pictures neatly framed and resting on books you favored a little more than the others on the shelves. Hand sculpted vases made from blown glass that scattered rainbows across the room when the sun shone through the curtains to feed the bright flowers inside of them. "Yes, but you kept leaving and I thought it was because you weren't interested."

"But, I thought—"

"I think it's safe to say we both were off in our assumptions."

It feels like a dream and not the kind you'd been running away from but the one you'd been sinking and falling into earlier before Azriel had pulled you back. The one that felt like peace and comfort and something like hope begins to brew in your belly when you dare you look him in the eyes. "You like me?"

Azriel's features soften, the fear and worry from before a thing of the past when he stood and walked towards you, shadows kissing at your legs when warm knuckles grazed your cheek. "I love you," He corrects gently, his touch like home and its instinct the way you close the proximity. You can feel his heartbeat on your chest, the strong muscles of his arms itching to be traced and a smile forms at the blush that forms on the tops of his ears under your attention. "—and those smutty little books you've been reading."

His chest is hard when you jokingly smack it, cheeks going hot and eyes darting to the book laid forgotten on the floor. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

The lie doesn't deter him and neither does the little gasp that pulls free when he gently forces you to look up at him, hazel eyes trained on your mouth and the tongue that darts out to wet plush lips. "I'll pretend I believe that if you just shut up and let me kiss you."

Maybe reality was better than dreaming.

Because this time, when he leaned down with intent to press his mouth against another’s for a kiss—it was with you.

[teeskzagain]

original post got taken down unfortunately😔😔, here is the updated version

Anonymous asked:

I keep imagining Mingi forcing you to cockwarm him at a movie theatre AHHHHHHSHSHH and like he teases you by occasionally thrusting up to hit all the right places and saying it was just him “getting comfy” or “he had a cramp” when he really just enjoys seeing you try to keep everything together 👹 I also feel like he’d whisper in your ear like “pay attention Angel, I didn’t spend money on these tickets for nothing” WITH HIS DEEP ASS VOICE AHHHHHH IK GENUINELY TWEAKING RN- 🙏🧎‍♀️AHEM- He would also SO massage your thighs and hips (IMAGINE THROWING YOUR HEAD BACK AND HE STARTS PEPPERING YOUR NECK WITH KISSESHSJSHSHHSJSGRRRRRRRRR)

There are so many “also’s” in that sentence 💀 BUT WHATEVER YOU GET THE POINT HOPEFULLY 🤡 don’t feel at all obligated to make anything of this especially since idek if you take requests 😭 I just thought that this is such a YUMMY Drabble prompt 😀 and HAD to share it <3 take care pookemssss

OHH??? uh first off I would like to say I'D LOVE TO TAKE REQUESTS (you're actually the first to provide me with a prompt) and second this is so absolutely delicious.

warnings: smut (COCKWARMING, exhibition, semi-public, teasing, kissing) 18+

wc: 1.2k

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this probably wouldn’t even be the first time you found yourself in this situation. no, it’d be a regular occurrence at this point, a developmental game if you must. that’s why bf!mingi absolutely loves the movies, because that’s when he get’s to play his favorite game.

‘how long are you gonna last this time around?’

imagine bf!mingi, who’s caressing your thigh tenderly with the backs of his fingers, shushing you and mumbling sweetly into your hair while your ass continues to squirm against his pelvis. getting situated always took the longest. so tedious, finding that perfect spot where you can just slide down and onto his lap, your walls gripping his cock and swallowing it whole.

he sits idly and unmoving, allowing you to move around for a bit. because at some point, bf!mingi’s gonna start the fun part of the game. the part that really tests your strength.

and once you finally achieve that perfect spot, the sensation makes your face scrunch pleasantly and a soft sigh floats out of you. so entranced, you almost don’t notice the pretty pink blanket, draped over the both of you, slip just slightly down your leg.

“shhhh…okay baby, i need you keep still,” he’d tell you, and a part of him almost doesn’t want to go reposition it. what if he left you out and exposed? imagine, someone walking up and discovering the disgusting scene. it’s exciting him, these thoughts, but soon enough he’s lowering himself down and recovers you two, all the while holding back a smile. it’s enjoyable for him, just the riskiness of it all.

how the dark theatre somehow shadows your lewd actions, yet the monumental screen ahead provides illumination onto your struggling face, “if you wanna win, you know you can’t move.”

after many weeks of playing, you haven’t won a single round. not once. you would get so close, but then luck out whenever bf!mingi would buck a bit too hard, or your own desires began to consume you. every, single round, a loser had been made out of you.

“last time, you couldn’t even make it through the previews before you fucking came all over my legs,” he reminds you, a slow and sick grin spreading wide, “you gonna try harder? wanna get your prize tonight?” it’s pathetic how you have to bite back a mewl from his words.

this is always the hardest part for you: the taunting. it kills you every time.

at the start of the movie, it’s through his teasing voice; his low, grumble of a tone that buzzes perfectly into your head.

“see? already made it through the trailers,” he’d laugh. as a reward the aimless touch he provided earlier turns into a hard grab, kneading at the flesh of your thighs with a quiet groan, “one step closer. just needa make it through the movie.”

then, it’s through his touches.

as you become more conscious of your ragged breaths, his hand trails from your leg and drags up towards your shirt. teasing your breasts through the fabric, he grazes absentmindedly before running then back down your stomach, only stopping when he meets your bare pussy. it takes his full strength to not end the game by just simply fingering the orgasm out of you. but if that were the case, then he wouldn’t be able to see you whither. and that’s always his most favored part.

the most you could do is shut your eyes and pray your body doesn’t betray you. but even that doesn’t get you far, with just a few minutes into the movie, friction starts to build within you. while bf!mingi rests his back against the plush seat, grateful for his top view of the movie theatre, a slow thrust of his hips find a rhythm in your core.

it's torturous. the intentional, unhurried movements, leisurely rocking in and out of you. it's like he's rubbing himself inside you, and you're forced to seal your mouth.

"you holding up okay, angel?" he mutters and you give him a brisk nod, turning to the side momentarily. he finds that comical. your desire to always win. the need to prove him wrong.

but he knows you. he knows you're slipping with every second his leaking cock stays within you, radiating the pleasure you so desperately seek. he knows you're crumbling. you’re gonna unravel soon.

right when you think you've conquered this section of the challenge, a quick shift from underneath you has your eyes vibrating, a small gasp leaving you as bf!mingi practically buries himself closer to your cervix.

"ah, oops, sorry...just need to.." he moves around some more, adjusting his position, along with you, before halting once again, "alright, there we go. i feel much better. how about you?"

the angle he’s now hitting feels like it’s splitting you open and a strained yet airy moan tupples from your lips. with no more strength, your head falls down into the space between his shoulder and neck, eyes shut and brows furrowed, "i can't- i can't do it-"

"mmm, baby, no," he wraps an arm around your torso to reach your cheeks, clasping them together with a smush then forcing you back forward, "baby, you gotta keep your eyes open."

he drops his hand but that doesn't stop your whining, you sobbing out a, "no- i can't-"

"shhh y/n what did i say?,” he locks onto your inner thighs and widens them, “you know i didn't spend money on these damn tickets for nothing. come on, watch the movie."

as you feel him start up again with his quiet thrusts, you loll your head back with a grimace and hooded eyes, little noises now spilling out. your neck fully exposed, bf!mingi takes initiative to lean up and bring his lips to the vast area, nipping and kissing at it. he suctions onto your skin which sends a jolt throughout your core.

and just like that, you're done for.

"you're so close, i can feel it." he whispers on your neck as a devilish smirk overtakes his kisses, "i fucking knew it. i knew you would lose."

his words nearly egg you on as you accept defeat, allowing yourself to succumb to the slow pace of his length sliding against your insides. your fingers curl with the repeated motion, a continuous build up until eventually you burst and your orgasm hits you hard.

it causes you to wriggle against him, contracting your body so tightly you’re shaking then releases you, repeating this over and over again all the while bf!mingi keeps his kisses coming on your neck.

like said, this is always his favorite part of the game. the thing he looks most forward to. because no matter how hard you've tried, it always ends the same.

"aww," he notices your high coming down, excluding the occasional body twitches, "and the movie was almost over."

"you're awful." you could hardly muster that sentence, your back resting on top of his chest while you regain your composure. your cunt still pulsed every now and then around him.

he supplies a silent laugh before going in your ear once more, "well, look at it this way. now we can go home and play your favorite game."

while bf!mingi returns back to his seat, bringing you with him, a small whimper is produced by you. because absolutely not what was to come, your favorite game. in fact, it felt merely like an extension of this game.

‘how many different ways are you gonna make bf!mingi cum tonight?’

[dirtytomatoedwrites]

HIS GIRL - PART 2

Summary: You were always Topper’s girl—until Rafe decided you were no longer his.

PART 1 can be read here

Paring: Rafe Cameron x Fem!Reader

Strictly 18+ No Minors to Interact

Warnings: Dark!Rafe, Rafe/Reader, Topper/Reader, Dub-Con/Non-Con, Coercive Behaviour, Fingering, Oral (w receiving) Drinking, Graphic Scenes / Smut.  

Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Please don’t steal or copy bits of my writing or any writing from other writers cause karma will get ya.

The night air is cool against your skin, a sharp contrast to the heat of the house, and you shiver slightly, not noticing Rafe's hand resting against the small of your back. The beach stretches out ahead, dark and quiet, the waves whispering secrets in the distance.

You’re tipsy, your laughter loose and soft, and he likes the sound of it, the way it fills the dark spaces between his thoughts. He guides you along, each step closer to where he wants you, each step carefully calculated.

“I never figured you for the ‘walk on the beach’ type of guy,” you tease, a playful smile tugging at your lips.

“Oh, yeah? Why’s that?” Rafe raises a brow, glancing sideways at you.

“I dunno…” You laugh lightly, your voice soft and carefree. “You’re just so… serious all the time.” The words spill out easily, weightless from the alcohol. You’re too distracted, too lost in the rhythm of the waves, to notice how far you’ve wandered from the house—how isolated the two of you have become.

“Serious, huh?” He lets out a soft chuckle, though there’s an edge to it. “Is that how you see me?”

You nod without a second thought, swaying as you walk, oblivious to the way his eyes trace every curve of your body, his lips parting slightly as if savoring the thought. You don’t notice. You never do.

“Topper says I should set you up with one of my friends…”

Rafe's jaw tenses. “Does he now?"

"He just means—well, you know—he thinks you need someone who could get you to loosen up, smile more—”

"Someone like you?” The words leave his mouth before he can stop them.

You laugh, stumbling slightly. “I don’t know about that. I have my off days like everyone else. But Topper just wants you to be happy. You know, to have what we have—”

“Riiight,” Rafe drawls, stretching the word, his eyes narrowing as he processes.

Happy. And yet here you are. Alone with him. Laughing, trusting him. Maybe that’s what truly pushed him over the edge. To prove Topper wrong, to show him that the girl who supposedly "makes him happy" can be taken with a mere glance, a touch, a few choice words.

And now, because of Topper's self-righteous superiority Rafe wasn't going to stop until he turned his world completely upside down.

“But you know… maybe I don’t need to set you up after all,” you tease, still unaware, your smile soft and innocent. “I mean, here we are, walking on the beach. I guess you do have a soft side after all. Any girl would be lucky to—”

“Careful,” Rafe cuts in, his arm tightening around you as you stumble again. His hand hovers just above your hip, fingers itching to move lower, to grab a handful of your ass through that little summer dress. But he won’t. Not yet. He can wait a little longer.

"God, that would be so embarrassing, knowing my luck I'd faceplant in the sand," you laugh, your head resting briefly against his shoulder. Rafe inhales, taking in the scent of your hair, his eyes rolling back for a second. Fuck, you smell good. You probably taste better.

“Where… where are we going?” you ask suddenly, your words slurring now, the alcohol making your legs unsteady.

“Just down here,” he says smoothly, his voice dipping low, calm, soothing. Like he’s been here before. Like he’s done this a hundred times. He leads you across the sand, his feet sinking slightly with every step, but he doesn’t waver, doesn’t falter.

The pier looms ahead, dark and skeletal against the night sky. Its wooden beams stretch out over the water, a perfect place to disappear, to be alone. The shadows underneath are thick, the sound of the waves crashing against the posts is a constant rhythm—drowning out everything else.

You hesitate, your steps slowing, a flicker of uncertainty crossing your face. “Maybe we—maybe we should head back…” you whisper, your voice a little shaky now.

“Come on,” Rafe coaxes softly, his voice a smooth, dangerous whisper. “Don’t be like that. Have you ever been to the pier at night?" he asks, and you shake your head 'no.'

“Well, you’re gonna like it. Trust me.”

He guides you under the pier, into the darkness where the world seems to fade away. The crashing waves create a steady, rhythmic beat that syncs with the pounding in his chest. Any second now. Any second now.

“Here,” Rafe says, finally stopping near one of the weathered wooden posts staked in dry sand. His hand grips your waist firmly as he gently leans you back against it. The rough wood scrapes against your skin, but you barely notice, too absorbed in the sudden shift in atmosphere.

“We can chill here for a bit. Just you and me.” His words are spoken with a menacing calm as he looms over you. His hand remains firmly on your waist, fingers pressing in just enough to make it clear he’s not letting go. He’s not going anywhere.

His eyes lock onto yours, and he sees it— eyes wide with confusion, the sudden fear mingling with it. It only fuels him more. Fuck, he loves the way your body tenses, the way your breath catches in your throat, that delicious mix of fear and innocence that makes him want to devour you whole.

“What… what are you doing, Rafe—” Your whisper, barely cutting through the relentless crash of the waves. It’s a question he has no intention of answering.

He’s on you in a heartbeat, lips crashing against yours with full force. Demanding rather than pleading, and he revels in the surge of power as he claims your mouth. His tongue darts past your lips, exploring with a possessive hunger, licking and sucking. Utterly Relentless. Ravenous.

He feels your hands pressing weakly against his chest, your fingers trembling in a futile attempt to push him away. It’s almost comical, the lack of resistance you offer. Your touch is barely there, too weak from the alcohol.

“Rafe, no,” you moan as he kisses down your neck and buries his face in your chest inhaling your scent. His hands sliding all over you grabbing  and squeezing, making up for all those months, all those month of pinning and watching and fantasying.

"Rafe—stop—" Your voice is so small, so unsure and hollow, and he fucking loves it. Those tiny, breathless moans, those fleeting flickers of desire in your words even as you say no—it’s all he needs. It’s the crack he’s been waiting for, the opening that lets him slide in just a little deeper, into your mind, under your skin.

“Don’t move,” he says, his voice low and deadly. A promise. A threat, even as he holds your face and kisses you again, his tongue lashing hungrily against yours.

“Do you hear me? Huh? Don’t you dare fucking move,” he whispers against your lips, just as he gets down on his knees in front of you.

Naturally, you thrash, trying to push him away. But you’re no match for him, not in your inebriated state. He shoves your back against the post, hard enough to stun you. Hard enough to make you freeze, stock still and shaking.

His hands push up your flimsy dress, desperate to touch and taste what's underneath and he groans when he comes face to face with your pink panties.

His fingers curl around the fabric, pulling them aside at first, exposing you to the cool night air and his ravenous gaze. Your plump pussy lips press against the taut fabric just begging to be kissed. Without hesitation, he leans in, his tongue on you with ruthless hunger.

He groans at your taste—so fucking sweet, of course you're fucking sweet, just like everything else about you—but the fabric of your underwear is in the way and it's pissing him off. He doesn’t have time to fuck around. He knows Topper is probably looking for you, asking where you've gone and who you’re with. In one sharp motion, he yanks them down, guiding your legs out of them and shoving the damp fabric into his pocket.

His hand immediately hooks around one of your thighs and throws it over his shoulder as he yanks you closer. His tongue plunging inside you with brutal force, the shock of it leaving you gasping.

Rafe watches you closely, sees the way your body tenses, the sharp breath you suck in, the fear that flashes in your eyes. It makes his heart race, adrenaline spiking as he grips you harder, forcing you to stay exactly where he wants you while his mouth gorges on your sweet pussy.

His fingers dig into the globes of your ass, squeezing hard as he works you over, tongue fucking you like a man possessed. There’s no tenderness here, no hesitation—just raw, invasive, primal need. He pushes and pulls you as if he owns you, every thrust of his tongue deep in your cunt, every lick of your clit is a reminder that there’s no escape. Not now. Not when he’s so fucking close to breaking you.

Suddenly, he replaces his tongue with two thick fingers, driving them deep into you with brutal precision, curling them just in time to see your eyes rolling back, tears kissing your cheeks as a silent scream rips from your throat.

“Don't fight it- Just let it out—Let it all out… no one's gonna hear you... It’s just you and me... just you and me...”

He can feel the heat building inside you, the way your breath comes in ragged gasps, your body betraying you as he takes what he wants, what he knows he deserves. He buries his face again, gluttonous, head thrashing from side to side like a dog with its favorite toy—determined to break you.

"No Rafe- no, please-- don't make me-- don't make me--" you whine.  Your hands clutch at his head, fingers scratching his scalp, trying desperately to push him off, but it only makes him double down, dragging you over the edge.

“Oh God— Oh no, please-- oh no, no, no no no no ---” you gasp as your body bucks against him, but he holds you firm, and when you scream, when you finally  scream the sound is ripped from the depths of you, piercing over the waves.

Rafe knows it’s not from relief—but fucking devastation when you cum, and he loves it. Loves the way you desperately gasp for air, loves the way your body crumples, the way you can barely stay upright, how he’s the source of both your pleasure and despair.

He clings to you, groaning at the feel of your pussy throbbing against his tongue, the soft squelch of your clit pressed against his nose. You’re cumming so fucking hard that your sweet nectar overflows, running down his chin as if he’s savoring the juiciest of fruits. He greedily follows your every movement, keeping pace with your squirming, taking every last drop, leaving nothing to waste as your sobs of pleasure and anguish drift into the night sky.

His eyes flick up to you, and he could have cum right then and there. You were grinding your delicious pussy against his face, eyes rolled back and mouth open. No longer pushing him away, your fingers held onto the back of his head, pulling him closer, guiding him exactly where you needed him, while tears trailed down your cheeks.

You looked like you’d seen the face of God—reverent, awe-inspired. It was such a beautiful sight that a part of him wished Topper were there to see.

---------------------------------------------------------------------

PART 3 / STORY MASTERLIST

A/N: If liking the story so far feel free to spread the love by liking/commenting/reblogging.. Lots of love to you all ❤️

[sabersandsnipers]

A Stray on the Road

Author’s Note: I work with a lot of the pediatric population as a nurse, so I thought about what Halsin and Astarion’s reactions would be to me having to protect and take care of every kid I find lol

The day was grueling. The sticky sensation of blood covers every inch of your skin. Aches and pains rattle your bones, and the road seems endless as your group searches for a good place to set up camp. The only thought keeping you going is that of curling up between Astarion and Halsin later. 

“Gods, this is hell,” Karlach complains. 

Wyll responds with some snide comment, but you’re only half listening, because you’re approaching a rather violent scene. Wagons are tipped over, and bodies litter the road. You slow as you approach, noticing a small figure sitting by a pair of bodies. 

Your gaze sharpens, and you see it’s a young girl. No older than 5. Tears stream down her cheeks as she sits by a pair of dead bodies. Your heart sinks as you realize it’s probably her parents. 

“Hang back, guys,” you say. You fear the approach of such a large group will frighten her. Attempting to wipe the blood off your face, you walk up to the girl. 

Her clothes are tattered, and you notice she has a few cuts lining her arms and legs. You crouch next to her.

“Hey,” you say softly. 

Big beautiful brown eyes meet yours. Something twists in your chest. 

“What’s your name?” you ask.

She sniffles. “Eowyn.”

“Eowyn, do you have family nearby?”

She shakes her head. “No. And I don’t know where I am.” 

Her voice trembles, and your heart breaks for her. You look back to your companions. Most won’t mind her staying with them, except for Astarion, who will be annoyed by the young presence.Your friends look back at you expectantly, wondering what your next move is. 

“Would you like to stay with me and my friends for the night?” you ask her.

She looks to the group behind you, and you half expect her to run away in fear with how harsh they look. 

But her expression doesn’t change, she simply nods her head. 

“Do you think you can walk?” you ask her.

She shakes her head. 

You smile at her. “That’s okay. Halsin?”

The elf approaches. Eowyn stares up at him, eyes wide. 

“Is it alright if my friend carries you?” you ask her. 

She nods. “He’s so tall.” Her eyes are filled with wonder.

“He is,” you say with a chuckle. You look to Halsin and he nods. He reaches down and picks up the child, placing her on his shoulder. 

“Hold on, child,” he says. There’s a slight smile on her face, but then darkness fills her eyes again. 

Your group ventures forth once more. The sun is beginning to set, casting shadows along the road. But you can’t help but admire the beautiful colors streaking across the sky. 

Astarion falls into step beside you. “Picked up another stray, I see.”

You nudge your shoulder against him. “You were a stray once too.” 

He gives a half smile. “I’m just worried you’re going to burden yourself with her safety.”

You let out a sigh, knowing he wouldn’t like her presence. “She has no one, Astarion.” 

He doesn’t say anymore, but you can feel the tenseness between you two. Your relationship is still being navigated. But even with your difference in values, you couldn’t stop yourselves from being drawn to each other. 

A giggle pulls you from your thoughts. You look back to see Eowyn playing with Halsin’s braids. He’s grinning back at her, thoroughly enjoying her laughs. The sight sparks a warmth within you, and you can’t stop the smile from growing on your lips.

“Ugh.” Astarion comments. “Does he always have to be so…Halsin?” 

You shoot him a half hearted glare. Despite him being agreeable to Halsin joining your relationship, he always seems taken aback by his general goodness and willingness to help others. 

Your trek continues, Astarion allowing your hands to brush ever so slightly as you walk the dusty road. 

The fire crackles as Karlach throws more wood onto the flames. A warm stew has been shared amongst your group, Eowyn getting a healthy portion. Conversations scatter around, commenting on the latest tavern you stopped at, or how a fight went along the way. 

You sit on a log between Eowyn and Halsin, but Astarion sits over by his tent. He’s reading one of his books, sipping on some wine. 

Every time you glance to Eowyn, you notice her watching Astarion. Her gaze is curious, and she seems completely enthralled with him. Not that you can blame her. You’re completely enthralled as well. 

“He’s so beautiful,” she suddenly comments. You smile at her and then look at your love.

“Isn’t he?” you respond. “He’s awfully nice too, to the people he likes.”

“I saw you kissing earlier. Are you married?” she asks. 

You laugh. “No, but I do love him very much.”

Confusion crosses her face, as if she can’t comprehend how you can be in love but not married. She takes another bite of her stew. Her eyes flicker back to Astarion. 

A few minutes later she taps you on the shoulder. You turn away from your conversation with Halsin as she leans over to you. 

“Do you think he would read me a bedtime story?” she asks in a whisper. 

You grin, and glance at Astarion. Although he would most definitely deny her request, he can’t deny you. 

“Yes. You should go over and ask. Tell him I sent you.” 

Her expression brightens. She gets right up and makes her way over to Astarion, who doesn’t acknowledge her until she’s standing right in front of him. He finally looks up, his expression mildly annoyed. Eowyn talks for a few moments and then he shoots a glare in your direction. 

You raise an eyebrow at him, daring him to say no. He bites the inside of his lip. The seconds pass as you wait for his response. 

Finally, his body relaxes and he nods his head. Eowyn sits down on the cushion next to him, snuggling up right close to him. Although Astarion tenses a bit, he doesn’t push her away. You watch them for a bit, admiring how adorable they look together. 

A pair of hands find their way to your shoulders. 

A familiar voice whispers in your ear. “I’m going to bathe in the river. Would you like to join me?” Halsin asks. He places a hot kiss against your neck. 

“Halsin, the day I say no to that question, I want you to push me off a cliff, because clearly I’ve gone mad,” you respond. 

A breathy laugh caresses your skin. You give him your hand and the two of you make your way to the water. 

When you return from your excursion with Halsin, skin still tingling, you’re astounded by the sight before you. Astarion and Eowyn still sit together, except Eowyn is sound asleep in his lap. Astarion looks down at her, his hand resting lightly on her hair. You can’t read his expression. 

When you approach Astarion, you crouch down and place a kiss to his temple. He smiles at you, and it makes your heart flutter just like the first time. 

“I can have Halsin take her to my tent,” you offer, brushing back a strand of his white curls. 

He hesitates, looking down at Eowyn. “I think we’ll be okay. She looks so comfortable.” 

She’s curled right up, her head resting on his chest. Her face looks so serene after all the horrors she’s experienced today. 

“Okay. I’ll go spend the night with Halsin then. Just come get me if you need me,” you tell him. 

“I think we’ll be okay, darling,” he replies. 

You smile and kiss him goodnight. As you make your way to Halsin’s tent, you take one last look over your shoulder, and allow yourself a moment to admire the two of them. And it brings you great joy to know Astarion is finding just as much comfort as she is. 

[jakescakeislateforourdate]

Hey girly!! Im too shy to ask this without the anonymous filter but first of all I’ve been reading through your blog and I love it honestly. I was wondering if you are open to requests if you’d be able to write up something about joe rantz (I am absolutely LIVING for blonde callum) and maybe a coaches daughter trope? he saw her when he went to sign himself up, at the practices all that jazz and just them like becoming friends then more than friends, the boat scene where he gets his seat taken away from him maybe? thank you so much and again I love your work! xx

Hello, my lovely anon. Glad to see you in my inbox. I apologize for the wait but I've been coming out of an awful slump and I was trying to make this piece not total garbage. I hope you enjoy it and I hope I see you in my inbox again.

Two Steps Forward, One Step Back

Joe Rantz (Callum Turner’s) x reader

wc: 4,600

Joe finds himself utterly gobsmacked when he discovers that the pretty face he’s seen at the shell house is the coach’s daughter and not his wife.

Enjoy this garbage!

…

Joe Rantz had come to the shell house in search of work. He’d hoped that making the team would cover his tuition and get him a room and he needed it so desperately. Roger Morris stood next to him, chewing nervously at his nails. “Sorry, Joe, didn’t realize competition would be so tight.” He mutters, spitting out a shred of his fingernail. Coach Ulbrickson was going over the basics of practice. It sounded like absolute hell to Joe but he was out of options. He fidgeted with the number painted on his jersey. Sure, he was strong from a lifetime of rough labor but so were the other boys. Most of them were broke too and just as desperate. Joe didn’t know if he had what it took to stand out but he’d be damned if he couldn’t make a life for himself because he couldn’t muscle up some money for college. 

As Ulbrickson speaks, a shadow appears in his office window. It’s too far for Joe’s nervous gaze to actually study the figure. He tries to focus on coach but the shadow continues to draw his attention. Roger notices too. “Who the hell is that?” Joe just shrugs. The shadow never leaves the window even as Ulbrickson finishes up and the boys get split up. Joe can’t dwell on the figure any longer because he’s being herded into the middle of shellhouse. He begins a horrible set of workouts. His body is made for hard work but he’s never actually worked out before. His muscles aren’t used to straining this way. 

It’s not long before his breathing becomes labored and sweat is pouring down his back. His curls hang down his forehead, sticking to his skin uncomfortably. And just when the pain is becoming unbearable the coaches are swapping them out and Joe is put on a junky old boat and an oar is pushed into his hands. They start rowing and instantly, the only thing on Joe’s mind is how bad his back hurts. Pained grunts and groans echo across the water as the boys struggle to keep pulling the oars. 

Eventually, it’s all over. Joe stumbles onto the dock in front of the shellhouse and feels his knees shaking with excursion. Men begin to drain away from the shellhouse and as the numbers dwindle, the shadow in the window of Ulbrickson’s office reappears. It moves through the glass panes like a swan through water. Then the office door opens and Joe sees your face for the first time. 

“That was some tough practice, huh?” Roger bumps Joe’s shoulder, a crooked smile on his face. Joe cannot respond and Roger follows his gaze. “Washington, Washington, what finery you enjoy.” 

You descend the steps and take a place between Ulbrickson and Bolles. Ulbrickson puts and arm around and Joe feels his heart wither a little. You’re probably Mrs. Ulbrickson. Though he can’t shake the impression that you look a little too young to be with Ulbrickson. 

“Alas,” Roger throws up his hands, “Finery we cannot also enjoy.”

“Don’t be crass.”

“I’m not! How was that crass?” Roger purses his lips and nudges Joe. 

Joe just buttons up his jacket and picks up his books, “C’mon, let’s get outta here.”

The very next day, Joe is suffering through practice. He aches all over and his muscles scream at him. He’s already shaking when he gets done with the basic strength building exercises. Most of the boys are. There are fewer numbers today but this does not better Joe’s odds by much. They clamber into Old Nero and start rowing away. His wrists twinge and his knees spasm. He rows and rows until he thinks his body will give out and then Ulbrickson is directing them back to the shellhouse. Jow crawls out of the boat, soaked to the bone and stiff as a board.

Then he sees you again, this time your sorting registry papers with Pocock. Your back is turned to him, so you don’t notice his longing stare. He keeps telling himself that you’re a married lady and that he should be focused on making the team, but nothing seems to chase you from his mind. 

Coach Ulbrickson sweeps across the dock and places a hand on top of your head, an odd gesture between husband and wife but Joe wouldn’t know about those things. Since his group was the last to use Old Nero, they get the privilege of stowing the oars. Joe begins unlatching the mechanism when he shifts on his knees.

It happens so fast he can’t clock what’s happening. First there’s the sensation of slipping, the horrible thrust of his legs flying out from beneath him. He twists mid slip, and his side smacks the dock painfully before he’s swept off the dock by his own weight. He plumets into the cold water with a catastrophic splash and agonized shriek.

When Joe resurfaces a dozen hands are reaching for him. He grasps onto George Hunt’s forearm and allows Shorty to hoist him onto the sodden wood planks. A fluffy white towel is draped around his shoulders; firm hands rub his chilled biceps. “Are you alright?” You face appears before him.

Joe is almost too stunned to speak, “I—yeah, yeah I’m okay.” 

You tuck the ends of the towel into his hands, “Better get showered up and dressed.” Joe just nods and stumbles past you and into the locker room. Roger follows closely behind, teasing Joe relentlessly.

“You’re fallin’ harder than I thought.”

“Roger!” Joe grinds his teeth, huffing and puffing. “You need better jokes.”

Joe spends that night struggling to focus on his schoolwork. He has math homework that needs doing. He has books to read. The one in his hands now periodically goes in and out of focus as Joe’s mind wanders. On the page is the story of a western novel, a man had found a girl walking alone the road at dusk, all on her own. He didn’t want to leave her to the coyotes, so he offered her a ride into the nearest town. They were riding horseback across the prairie. Her arms wound tightly around him; her hands splayed over his chest. 

Her hands—

Her hands—

What is wrong with you, Joe?

Joe reads this line over and over again. Each time he nears the end his brain short circuits and all he can think about are your hands on your shoulders. You hadn’t even really touched him, at least not his skin.  Yet the only thing shooting through his neurons are the sensations of your fingers along his skin. That imaginary touch he can conjure up so perfectly. He eventually gives in and skips down a few paragraphs. He reads late into the night and the phantom touches are still nagging his senses when he closes the book and rolls over to sleep. 

…

Day after day, Joe sees you at practice. You congratulate him when he makes the team and help him with his technique every once and a while. “Roll your wrists just a bit more.” Your fingers would poke at his forearms and direct him in graceful strokes. It fries his brain. You give pointers to the rest of the team too, working closely with Bolles and Pocock to get them in racing shape. It’s not long into the season when Ulbrickson decides to switch coxswains. 

“This is Bobby Moch. Your new jockey.” Bolles announces one day. Bobby is short and slender and sharp tongued.  The second he climbs in the boat and starts barking out commands, Joe is flabbergasted. Who is Bobby to talk to the team this way? But they all find themselves obeying his every word. What really irks Joe about Bobby is how friendly he is with you. You exchange jokes and poke fun at each other. Joe tells himself that he just thinks it’s inappropriate to flirt with the coach’s wife but beneath it all he’s incredibly jealous that Bobby can make you laugh so easily. It makes Joe pine for attention in a way that he never has before. 

The day of their race against California, Joe is all jitters and nerves. He bounces on the balls of his feet and shakes his hands, trying to loosen the anxiety. Streamers and garlands of flags decorate the locker room and the campus. People have gathered in clusters along the course and wave flags of purple and gold. The smell of popcorn and peanuts permeates the air and Joe promises to indulge himself if they win.

As the crew carried their shell down to the water, they begin chanting to themselves. “Bow down to Washington!” They neglect the varsity’s jeers and clip their oars into position. They spot Coach Ulbrickson in the stands, you at his side. And then there’s another woman. And Ulbrickson hugs her. And then he kisses her.

Right in front of you! What is going on?

“Rantz! Eyes on me!” Bobby hollers. But Joe can’t help stealing another confused glance. “I said quite drooling over coach’s daughter and LOOK AT ME!”

Joe feels like an idiot. He puts his head down in shame and tightens his grip on the oar. Ulbrickson joins them on the dock and gives one of his famously encouraging speeches. Joe is only half paying attention. They push off and are left with lovely Bobby hyping them up while they wait for the race to start. They lean forward, like a bow drawn for a shot. And then the white flag flies and the boats shoot away from the docks.

There’s nothing but blur as Joe rows. He can only focus on the muscled shoulders of Don Hume in the stroke seat as Bobby screams at them. “28!”

About halfway through the course, Bobby demands the stroke rate be upped and Don performs. The shell lurches forward, eating up the distance between Washington and Cal until the JV boat surpasses the Berkeley blokes. Then the boat is cutting across the finish line, a clean win. Adrenaline rushes Joe’s veins. He throws his fists in the air as the team splashes and roars. They’re inevitably drowned out by the crowd who bursts up in a shower of peanuts and Washington flags. 

Coach Ulbrickson, the new woman Joe assumes his Ulbrickson’s wife, and you rush the dock as the boys climb out of the boat. “Excellent job.” Mrs. Ulbrickson shakes their hands as they unclip their oars. Bolles is compassionate enough to give them each a pat on the back as they hoist the boat over their heads and haul it off. 

Joe can’t help but notice the copious amounts of onlookers pooling around the shell as they carry it back to the shellhouse. They set it down on the stands and before they can even take their hands off the shell, they are bombarded by Washington fans. Girls reaching out to stroke their biceps or kiss their cheeks. Joe has never received attention like this once in his life. He’s as polite as possible, brushing off a few girls here and there and shaking the hand of the occasional fellow. Shorty has accumulated a few lipstick stains on his cheek. Don Hume is blushing from the tips of his ears down to the point of his freckled nose. Chuck and Roger accept a few hugs. They bask in the winners’ glory for only a few moments until the varsity team strolls by. They make a comment to Moch that Joe doesn’t catch but judging by the way Bobby’s shoulders square he can make obvious conclusions.

“You rowed so well today, Joe.” He hears your voice, and his palms start to sweat.

“Thanks, I uh—” It occurs to him that he doesn’t actually know a thing about you. “Sorry, I don’t think I’ve ever gotten your name.” You smile at him, and syllables fall out but the crowd is too loud. “What?” Your grasp his shoulder and lean in, the sound of your name echoes off the shell of his ear. 

When you pull away, you’re still smiling but before Joe can ask you another question, Bobby is buzzing by with a play-by-play of exactly what happened in Bobby’s world. 

You shade your eyes and peer down at the docks, “Looks like dad is almost done with the varsity. I should get down there.” You say, and Bobby turns around to talk to Shorty. “Hey. Will I see you at the party tonight?” Your hand rests on Joe’s shoulder. He prays you can’t feel his heart skip a beat. 

“Yeah, yeah. I’ll be there.”

“Good. You had better save a dance for me, Joe Rantz.”

You leave him breathless, the butterflies in his stomach so vicious that he shudders. He watches you disappear down the pathway to the dock and his heart starts hammering with anticipation. You want to dance with him. You want to touch his hands, touch him. And then he remembers that you already did that, he was too focused on the motion of your lips that he’d hardly registered the sensation of your hands on his arm. Damn! What had it felt like? He’d remembered it’d made him flabbergasted and choked his speech but he couldn’t remember how the grooves in your palm felt as they brushed over his skin. The warmth of your fingertips. He curses himself out and vanishes into the locker room to get changed.

…

The dance rolls around rather too quickly and Joe is swimming in nerves. He has to tie his tie twice because he messes up so badly, he can’t even draw it tight to his neck. Roger found out all too quickly and hasn’t let Joe catch a break.

“A date with coach’s daughter. Careful Joe, Ulbrickson might throw you off the team if he catches the wrong look in your eye.” 

“Shut up, Roger, I’m not greasy like you”

“Ouch, that hurts me.”

“Clearly not enough.” Joe hisses as he finally gets his tie right. 

“Feels like I’m a father about to send his kid off to prom.” 

Joe sighs and throws on his suit coat. “Oh, please—”

“Look at you fly, shooting out of your league.” 

Roger works a smile onto Joe’s face, and they set off for the party. Spring is finally warming the campus up from a brutal winter and a few couples mull around outside. Joe and Roger find their way into the crowded gymnasium, both shocked by just how loud it is. Joe can’t even hear his own thoughts. They spot the team almost immediately, clustered around tables, drinks in their hands. A few of the boys are dancing with some lovely dames, a few are leaned against the wall having close conversations. Don is sitting by himself on a bench a few feet away from the refreshment table, watching the dance floor. Joe is turning to follow Roger towards the other boys but an arm loops through his, “Thought you weren’t going to show.” You practically shout. 

Joe can’t help but grin as you capture his attention. “You weren’t joking.”

“Not a bit, Rantz, didn’t have any other dancing plans except for this one.”

“Guess I should make it worth your wait then.” Joe leads you into the thicket of bodies.

He prides himself on the laugh you let out, “please do,” you say as he takes your hands and spins to face you.  He places his hand high on your waist and cradles the other gently in his palm. He can feel the smooth plains of you hand against his. Each crease and each callous. His are no doubt unbelievably rough from the rowing and he would feel bad but right now all he can feel are your fingers lacing through his. “You’re not half bad.” You tease. Joe knows his cheeks are heating up to a flaming red. Probably his ears too. 

His hand migrates to the small of your back as the music changes into a soft slow song. “I’ll be completely honest,” he starts, “I had no idea you were the coach’s daughter.”

“Then who else would I be?” 

“I thought you were his wife.” He looks away sheepishly, but your laughter is so unrestrained and whole that Joe’s heart melts. You can’t stop laughing either and it’s contagious. 

“You’re an engineering student, right?” Your shoes brush as you sway with him. 

“Yeah, how’d you know?”

“Joyce.” Joe’s heart drops. In his infatuation he’d forgotten all about her. “She was trying to hit on you, but she figured out that your attention was elsewhere.”

“You too are good friends then?”

“Just since the start of the year. We have an English class together.” You and Joe talk for a while, it forces you to be close and neither of you care to separate. Eventually, you move outside and sit with sit with Joe on the steps of the gym. It’s still chilly out and you sit close to Joe which he doesn’t mind one bit. At some point your head rests on his shoulder and you close your eyes. Joe can do nothing but stare down at you, his mouth agape. 

“Why is your heart beating so fast?” You trace his knuckles with your pointer finger.

Joe’s head pounds, his mouth dry, “This has never happened to me before.”

“None of the girls from high school? Never?”

“Not one.”

You look up at Joe and reach to smooth back a blond curl. “Shame, they were missing out.” This makes Joe smile again and he’s immensely pleased with how easily you do that to him. Make him happy. He hasn’t felt like this since… he can’t remember when. Sure, he was happy when the team won but that was different. That was pride. So was making the team. This feels more affectionate, closer to the heart. He wonders if this is what love feels like but that would be silly; he’s only known your name for a day. He’s also never been flattered quite like this. Besides Joyce, he can’t think of anyone else who’s actually been interested in him. Certainly not one who compliments him the way you do. 

People start to drain out of the gym very slowly and Joe checks his watch. “So late already?”

“Guess I should get home; my dad will be wrought with worry.” You joke and straighten out your skirt. 

“Can I walk you home?”

“I would love that.”

Joe offers you his hand, “Where does coach live?” 

“Not too far.” You accept his calloused hand and direct him off campus. Surprisingly, Joe has read the book you’re reading for English and time flies as you discuss the book. Then Joe makes a sobering comment that makes you stop and study him. 

“His parents remind me of my own.”

Joe realizes what he’s let slip, “Don’t worry about it too much. I’m okay.”

“Can I ask what happened?”

Joe presses his lips into a line and stares down at his worn shoes. A wave of self-consciousness washes over him as he realizes how ragged of a life he has lived and just how much it shows. “Well—”

“Is this why you have a hard time trusting your team?”

“Hey now,”

“Sorry.” You take his hands.

He grimaces and squeezes your soft palms. “Is it that obvious?”

“Yes.” 

Joe sighs and swipes a thumb across your knuckles. “My Pops just… left me one day. Told me I’d be fine on my own.” Joe gives you parts of the story. Mostly what he feels like stomaching at the moment.

When he’s finished you let go of his hands and cup his cheeks. He sinks into the touch, soaking it up like a flower budding in sunlight. You don’t say anything, you just look at him. You look at him like he’s the only thing that’s ever mattered and his heart trembles because he has never once known what it’s like to be that for someone else. And then you stand on tip toes and plant a hearty kiss on his forehead. “This is it actually,” you gesture behind you at the hosue that must be the Ulbricksons’. “I’ll see you tomorrow at practice?”

“Yeah.” The spot on his forehead that you kissed tingles. “Nowhere else I’d want to be.”

…

The Poughkeepsie Regatta rolls around all too quickly and Ulbrickson has to make a decision. The varsity boat who deserves it. Or the JV boat who could win it. His hands sweat as he stands on at that pulpit and reads off his preplanned speech. As he talks, he thinks about the future of the rowing program. The jobs it has provided him and Bolles. About how Pocock would have to find work elsewhere and it’d kill Al Ulbrickson to send him away. 

He leans into the mic and spits, “and that boat is our JV boat.” It has to be them. They have to win. Moans and groans blow his way as the crowd rejects his announcement. Regret washes over him but he cannot take this back. He has to be right about his crew. He tips his hat and hustles off the podium as the JV bursts into celebration. He has to be right.

…

Joe is more than pleased to see you on the train to Poughkeepsie. He slides into the car with you, and you chat away. You were fast friends the night of the dance and have since become closer. The kiss on the forehead still lingers sometimes, especially when Joe sees your lips form your smile. You entice him into some card games and eventually a game of chess. At some point, he decides that he needs to sleep and bids you goodnight so that he can find a train car to sleep in. But before he does, he sneaks a chaste kiss onto your knuckles. 

His good mood is stamped out the very next day when the team takes to the water. They don’t row good, and frustration starts to build. Bobby and the coaches try and get them working together, telling them that it’s just nerves and new water. But tensions rise regardless. The days start to dwindle, and the crew is getting worse and worse. 

Blame starts to turn to him, and Joe is at a loss. He doesn’t want to believe that he’s holding the team back, but he thinks back to what you said that night he walked you home. But the most awful feeling creeps over him, not an ounce of care. What’s wrong with him. This crew has been the only family he’s had in years. He needs them. But he can’t bring himself to admit it. 

Before he knows it, it slips and Ulbrickson is exiling him from the boat. As the crew watches Joe storm away, their spare crawls in and they set off for another row. Bolles taps you on the shoulder, “you had better see if you can do anything. Enlist Pocock if you have to.” Your father nods along.

You set out to find him, not that it was hard there’s not many places he can go alone. He’s stuffing his suitcase when you find him. “Don’t start.” He snaps. Then he sees your expression and his anger sours. “I’m sorry. Shouldn’t—”

“Don’t give up on your team, Joe.”

“I’m not.”

“You are, you’re quitting and throwing everything you’ve worked for away.”

“Don’t, don’t even start to pretend you know me.” He realizes too late that he’s made everything so much worse and before he can fix a thing Pocock is at the door.

“I could use some help putting another coat of oil on the shell.”

You duck past Pocock and leave Joe with a painful pit of remorse in his stomach. He follows Pocock and takes the talking to straight to the heart. As he lathers on a thick coat of oil, he figures he can bargain with Ulbrickson in the morning, but he should make a proper apology to you now. He racks his brain for anything that would make it right, but he’s horrifically inexperienced and it’s crippling him now. He feels like a child having a tantrum. He feels miniscule and insignificant.

After Joe dunks his brush into the whale oil can for the last time, he figures he’d better just confront the issue head on since he has no way of handling it delicately. He has no grace and he’s sure you’re aware of this. Pocock gives him an encouraging pat and takes the can from him. Joe winds his way back to the hotel and through the halls. Your room is on the second floor, third door down. He knocks gently, eyes lingering on the hideous carpet and tacky sconces. The door swings open after a moment and Joe is met with your disapproving glower. His tongue seems to swell in his mouth so badly that he worries it’ll flop out when he tries to speak. 

“Coffee?” You ask when you realize he will stand there silently forever if you don’t let him in. 

“No… I just wanted to—to apologize.”

“Oh really.” Your eyebrow quirks.

Joe is fumbling for words. You stand aside and motion for him to step inside so you can have this discussion in privacy. “I know that was wrong to take out my frustration on you. That wasn’t fair and none of it is your fault.” He twiddles his thumbs. How does he go about this without absolutely butchering it? “I just—” As he trails off, he notices a hurt dullness in your eyes. He recognizes it as pity. “You and the crew are really all I’ve got, and I’m so scared I’m going to lose it.”

“These boys aren’t going to leave you behind unless you separate yourself from them like today.”

“I know.

“Really?”

“Pocock made sure I know.”

The edges of your lips tilt up. You pull him down onto the foot of the bed and take his hand. “Are you actually going to try and trust them?”

“Don’t have enough faith to put it in anyone else.”

You squeeze his hand and trace a finger along his jawline, sweeping a knuckle under his chin. You force his stubborn gaze to you and find nothing but desperation. Wanting things like this doesn’t come natural to Joe and it shows, but he’s not so different from the other boys in that boat. 

You reach up and fiddle with a curl, “apology accepted.” Tears pool in the corners of his eyes and he tries to choke them down. You place a hand on his chest and rest your forehead on his. His breath fans over your cheeks. The tip of his nose brushes yours. His shoulders sag inwards and he reaches for your waist. 

“Can I—may I kiss you?”

Joe’s sweetness never fails to amaze you. You cradle his face and bring him closer. “Yes, Joe.” His breath hitches and his lips finally meet yours for the very first time. He’s gentle but generous and lets you kiss him for as long as you like. His arms wrap around you fully and hold you to his chest. He gets the feeling that he’ll be craving these moments all the time now, finally understanding what Roger and Chuck rave about. He’s hooked on your lips and your weight against him and when you pull away it breaks his heart. 

“You should get cleaned up before you talk to my father, you smell like whale oil.”

...

Dear Reader,

Thank you for reading this. If you'd like to request, feel free to do so. I always love you in my inbox. I hope you enjoyed this fic and if you like it please check out my masterlist for more. Have nice day.

-the author

[dixons-sunshine]

hi!! i absolutely adore your writing, could i request daryl and gn!reader celebrating the reader’s birthday (fluff please)? it’s my birthday and i’m a very guilty lover of self-indulgent fics 💗

Happy Birthday, Bug | Daryl Dixon x Reader

A/N: Happy birthday, my love! I’m sorry this is so rushed and not my best work, and probably not what you had in mind, but I hope you like this! (Also, I feel like Daryl is a bit ooc in this, but I’m rolling with it lol.)

“Daryl, where are you taking me? We’ve been walking forever,” Your voice rung out through the air. To say you were confused about the archer’s behaviour would be an understatement. Having been together since the fall of the farm, you had slowly but surely started chipping away at his walls, worming your way into his heart and soul. Due to that, you could read the huntsman quite well.

However, at that particular moment, as you followed Daryl deeper into a part of the prison that you had yet to explore since it had been cleared out, you realized that there were still moments where you just couldn’t decipher what was going on in his complex mind.

“Jus’ follow me, Bug,” Daryl chuckled, his crossbow lifted in front of him in case the two of you encountered any threats that could potentially be lurking in the shadows. “Promise we’re almost there.”

“Yeah, that’s what you said ten minutes ago,” you mumbled, grimacing at the pain that shot through your elbow when you accidentally hit it against the side of the wall when you and Daryl took yet another turn.

Daryl heard the slight hiss that left your mouth, and he shot you a concerned look over your shoulder. “Y’alright?”

“I’m fine,” you reassured him with a small nod. “I’d feel even better if I knew where we were going and why I was dragged out of our cell at...” You checked your watch, one of the few items that somehow still worked after all that time. “Eight in the morning, when I was asleep after getting back from my watch shift.”

Daryl simply turned his head, not trusting his face to remain neutral, and he was correct in his mistrust; a small smile spread across his face. You didn’t even realize what made this particular day so special. That just added to the element of surprise. “S’a surprise,” he mused, taking another turn down a corridor. The surprise was set up quite a bit away from the main part of the prison, due to the fact that Daryl didn’t want anyone, especially not the newest additions to the group—the Woodbury residents—interrupting what he hoped would be a good moment.

“Wha—” Your response to his words were cut off when the archer came to an abrupt stop. You collided against his back, nearly falling flat on your behind. You would have, had it not been for the fact that Daryl turned around caught you just in time. You sent him a grateful smile, although a tinge of playfulness was laced in it. “Is my surprise being in the arms of the man I love? Because if it is, I can tell you that you didn’t have to go through all of this. I gladly would’ve let you hold me if you just asked.”

Daryl rolled his eyes affectionately and stepped away, before walking to stand behind your back. “Nah, s’not yer surprise.” He covered your eyes with his hands, ignoring your sounds of protests as he slowly and carefully led you a few steps further, guiding you down a final turn, right to your surprise. “This is.”

His hands fell away from your eyes, and you gasped at the sight in front of you; rose petals littered the ground, leading up to a table that held two bowls of what you assumed to be some sort of stew, a bottle of whiskey resting in the middle, and the scene was illuminated by a few candles surrounding the table.

“Happy Birthday, Bug,” Daryl whispered in your ear from behind, his hands rubbing up and down your arms in a soothing manner.

A surprised laugh escaped your chest, and you shook your head at yourself for forgetting what day it was. However, in your defense, with everything going on, it was a bit hard to keep track of the days, so you were pleasantly surprised to know that Daryl had done so. You turned to him in surprise. “How’d you know it was my birthday?” you questioned, still amazed by the effort your partner had put into his surprise for you, one you greatly appreciated.

Daryl shrugged nonchalantly. “Beth’s been keepin’ track’a the days in that diary of hers. Asked her to tell me when yer birthday was comin’ up, so that I could do somethin’ special for you.” Unbidden, a look of insecurity flashed through his eyes. Did you hate the surprise? “M’sorry this ain’t exactly like those movies. I asked Carol to help me set this up, and we did the best we could with the things we could find. I wanted this to be at night, like the movies, but I have to keep watch tonight, so I figured—”

You cut Daryl’s rambling off by pressing a soft, tender kiss on his lips. When you pulled back, you gave him a big smile. “It’s perfect,” you reassured him softly, your hands gently cupping his cheeks. “It’s absolutely perfect. Thank you.”

Daryl smiled bashfully. “Ain’t nothin’.” Suddenly remembering something, he reached into his pocket and pulled something out, and you gasped at the object in his hands—it was a bracelet with little bees and fireflies as the charms, and the sentiment, the callback to the nickname he so affectionately called you, made you tear up. “I, uh... I got this for ya.”

You pulled Daryl in for a hug, one that took the archer off guard, but he reciprocated nonetheless. “Thank you,” you whispered, nuzzling your face into his chest.

Daryl rested his chin on top of your head, his heart swelling with love for you. “‘Course,” he mumbled, placing a kiss on top of your head. “I love ya, Bug.”

“And I love you, Daryl. I love you so much.”

[azrielbrainrot]

I Laugh Like Me Again... She Laughs Like You - Part 5

Pairing: Azriel x Reader

Description: It's time to find your handler and make him answer for what he's done to you.

Warnings: Violence, Torture, Gore (nothing too graphic)

Word Count: 4715

Notes: This took a while to write, I'm sorry about that but life has been kicking my ass. I really hope it makes enough sense because I've found I'm not very good at writing action scenes (but that's also not the main focus). Hope you enjoy!

Part 4 ○ Part 6

The moon was high in the sky, its pale light guiding your way through the forest. The air was strangely quiet, the leaves crunching beneath your feet were the only thing that could be heard between the trees. Even the wind was serene and no animal dared make a sound, as if sensing what was to come. The atmosphere allowed you to keep your composure, any incoming threats would be easier to detect like this. Unfortunately, so would your allies.

It's funny how so much can change in a matter of days. Before, when you were only a relatively low ranking member of the guild, walking through the dark woods as you are doing now would simply be the norm, whether you were on a mission or not, but, after everything you learned, not having Azriel and his shadows near you makes you feel off-kilter, like you can't protect him if he stands too far from you.

If it weren't for the millions of problems that keep piling on, you'd probably sit on this feeling, dissecting it until you realize how peculiar it actually is for you to feel so achingly connected to the shadowsinger who, even if had been your husband during a time of your life you've now forgotten, was essentially a stranger to you now. You've only really known him for about two weeks, not nearly enough time to be feeling like a part of you is missing.

You weren't used to worrying about anyone else at times like these. Even when your missions weren't solo, you didn't actually know your coworkers, much less cared if they survived or not. But now, you can't stop thinking about all the ways this could go wrong, of how Azriel and his family could get hurt because of you. You stayed up thinking about this all night, if this would all be truly worth it just to get your memories back, but had decided that you wanted to know what happened, no matter the cost, and knew that, as much as the Inner Circle was helping you recover your memories, not all their motives were altruistic. They all wanted revenge as much as you did.

All of you had planned this out meticulously, going down to every last detail and considering every possible outcome. Everyone was also extra careful on how to approach using you as bait. You expected it from Azriel - he's been protective of you ever since you stepped foot into his High Lord's home - but seeing the rest of them so worried about you made you want to recover your memories that much more. You want to remember these people, want to know how they all, especially Azriel, came to care for you, so much so that even death didn't stop those feelings.

There had been other plans brought up, ones that didn't involve putting you in such a risky situation, but it was soon decided that the only way to get to Norris would be to show up alone. If he so much as caught a glimpse of anyone else, you know he would simply run and if he truly put his guard up and went into hiding, finding him would be nearly impossible even with Azriel's spies and shadows at his disposal, he hadn't found you after all.

The tree you were looking for comes into view as you get lost in your thoughts, the magic traces left behind on its bark unmistakably familiar. The guild has used this system for as long as you've been a part of it. Every important meeting with your handler had taken place next to any object or area marked with this exact faint magic, enough for the attuned eye to pick up on but not so strong that anyone else might come across them and meddle where they're not welcomed.

You don't have to wait by the marked tree for long before an imposing figure appears beside you. He had probably been watching you for as long as you've winnowed into the edge of the treeline, keeping his eyes on you as you walked to the meeting place. The air shifts, the wind picking up slightly as if sensing the tension threatening to form in your body.

Turning around as casually as possible, you face your former handler, the male you thought had saved your life but you've now learned did quite the opposite. Not that there had been any particularly fond feelings between you and him, but it still hurts to know how easily the male manipulated you and turned your entire life around with no remorse.

He was mostly covered with a black hood, only a bit of his face being visible through the shadow it cast, enough to meet his eyes. You've only seen him without it a few times, you know that dark brown hair lays under the hood and a few scars adorn his face. Truthfully, you're not even sure if this isn't some intricate glamour. Nothing that comes from this male should be trusted.

His form gives nothing away, no nerves or suspicions, but his brown eyes rake over your body, searching for something. Since he thinks you've just crawled out of a cell or worse, he's probably looking for any signs of injury, or that you've betrayed him and the guild. It's best you don't let him find anything that tells him otherwise.

“Norris,” you greet him as you would any other time, nodding once at him with a passive expression.

He crosses his arms and meets your eyes when he hears your voice. His eyes dart over the forest around you as if he knew Azriel would be lurking in the shadows. His self assured expression doesn't help with your nerves. Norris always seems like he's three steps ahead, and more often than not he was actually four.

“I didn't think I'd see you again,” he finally speaks up.

“I thought so too.”

Norris hums in response. You're not sure if he believes you or not, but short and distant answers are the norm for him. Either way, you need to stick to the plan, there's no turning back now. “How did you escape the Night Court?”

“They thought I was someone else, someone they used to know,” you start, trying to convey some of the confusion you'd experienced the first time they told you who you were. He knows you well enough to expect you to have some trouble maintaining the same level of apathy he so easily displays, he'd warned you multiple times to act more like an assassin and not let your emotions get the best of you. “It eventually led to a fight between the High Lord and his Spymaster. They couldn't agree on what to do with me from what I heard. I managed to escape in the chaos.”

You stop for a second, licking your lips. You decided not to completely lie to him so it would be more believable, this version of events could have come true had you not trusted Azriel, had your feelings not been so suffocating and confusing.

“I waited for a while before contacting you, to make sure they didn't come looking for me,” you continue eventually, the fact that he isn't asking more questions makes your heart pick up ever so slightly.

He turns his head to the side, a faint smirk playing at his lips. You resist the urge to clench your sweaty palms, not wanting to let him see through you. “Who did they think you were?”

“The Spymaster's former wife,” you admitted, hoping you sounded as detached as possible.

“And what do you think about it?”

“What?”

“Do you believe them?” You didn't expect him to ask you outright. It would make more sense for him to try to cover it up, stopping any doubts you might have had before they grew.

“Of course not. I've never been married,” the lie tastes wrong on your tongue but you make sure not to let any of it translate into your body language or your voice. Which is why you're so caught off guard by his next words. “I think you're lying to me.”

Norris turns you around and grabs you to him before you have a chance to react, pulling you flush against his chest and pressing a dagger to your neck, power rumbling under his skin, raising the hairs on the back of your neck at its intensity. This isn't that surprising to you since you were more than aware of how much faster and stronger he was, and that tricking him would be extremely hard, but this means you need to move to plan B. And you were really hoping you could avoid a direct conflict like this.

Azriel is the first one to show himself, emerging from the shadows with deadly calm, hazel eyes never straying from Norris as his hand hovers Truth Teller. As much as you try to keep calm and not give anything away, you know Norris can feel you tense up and hear your heartbeat picking up when you see the shadowsinger walking straight into danger.

You feel another presence behind you, Morrigan, followed by Cassian and Amren on each side. The sisters had stayed behind, despite their many protests. In case anything happened, Velaris needed its High Lady and the Valkyries at least. You also know this is a personal matter for the fae present, you had been their friend and been ripped away from their lives by the male currently holding you at knife point, threatening to end your life once again, for good this time.

They all start walking slowly to you, effectively forming a circle around the two of you, getting ready to attack if Norris hurts you or tries to run. He appeared as calm as if he had just been caught on a night stroll, his heartbeat never rising in tempo against your back even under Azriel's chilling stare. He had been expecting your betrayal, and had been ready for them.

You could feel the fury in the air, could see it written in Azriel's eyes as he studied every single one of Norris' movements. You had been worried that he wouldn't be able to keep his composure since he was against this plan from the start, in fear of this exact situation coming true. But he seemed completely focused, not even risking looking at you too long in case he'd get distracted. This made you relax ever so slightly. You'd planned out for this situation and even if you ended up hurt or worse, you know Azriel won't let Norris go unharmed. You would get your revenge one way or another, you just hoped you could spare the male in front of you any more pain.

Rhysand winnows in next to Azriel moments later, darkness clinging to him as he takes a few steps closer to you nonchalantly. Talons scratching your mental walls before checking in on you. All according to plan.

“I would say it's a pleasure to meet you but even I can't spin a lie so effortlessly,” he starts, arrogance dripping in every word. You'd never admit it, much less to him, but Rhysand was every bit the perfect High Lord, especially at times like these. It showed in the way he carried himself down to the seemingly bottomless pit of power at his disposal. No matter how strong Norris is, anyone with even a little of self preservation would think twice on how to handle him.

“I came prepared for your little tricks, High Lord.”

You frown at his words, confusion settling over you before you realize what it meant. Rhysand must have tried getting inside his mind as soon as he appeared. Norris had expected him to, had put up walls to ensure it didn't happen. This would only make things harder.

“Skipping pleasantries, are we?” Rhysand's face gives nothing away, but as he drops said pleasantries, it gives way to some of the anger bubbling under the surface, the next words coming out in a serious tone. “You're not walking out of here, Norris.”

“I wouldn't be so sure,” Norris says as he leans in closer to your ear, voice dropping to a whisper, “Did you think I would come on my own?”

A sinking feeling grows in your stomach as you watch dark figures manifesting all around you, far outnumbering your group. You recognize some of them, know their clothes and masks mean they're assassins from the guild.

A fight breaks out right before your eyes, causing you to struggle desperately for the first time in Norris' arms. He tries to keep you in place by letting the blade touch your skin as a warning, a few drops of blood escaping the small wound. You know he could easily kill you, but you're also aware that if he did the chances of him escaping would drop to zero. That's the only reason you're still breathing, so he can use you as a shield.

Your eyes were following Azriel's shadow covered form as he fought against multiple attackers, the feeling of helplessness rising with each clank of his sword. You can't stand there and wait any longer, so you grab the blade still positioned dangerously close to your throat and wrap your fingers around it tightly so it cuts your hand instead of your neck while swinging your elbow back to try to push off of Norris. Just as you expected, you weren't strong enough and he pulled the knife back from your grasp, intending to stab your stomach to stop you, but you had a new trick up your sleeve.

Azriel's shadows had moved to you as soon as Norris grabbed you, crawling up your legs discreetly in the dark of night, where they stayed waiting for your signal. And, as they tasted your blood in the air, they engulfed Norris, giving you enough room to push back and to elbow him a few more times, also letting off some of your power and finally being able to release yourself from his hold.

The shadows aren't enough to keep him away from you for long, the lack of visibility barely slowing him down as he attacks you before you even have the chance to take a breath. Luckily, your little helpers' singer rushes in, getting between you and deflecting Norris' strike. He hands you a sword so you can fight back with him and pushes back against Norris without wasting a single moment.

The three of you enter a match, barely being able to pay attention to what's happening around you, though you can tell everyone is in the same predicament. Even between you and Azriel, keeping up with Norris proves difficult, he's not only an exceedingly proficient fighter but he's also familiar with your attacks and style, making it easier for him to avoid your attacks and focus more on Azriel's.

The fight goes on for longer than you'd like. Even with your and Azriel's joint efforts, you had barely managed to wound Norris. The bastard was too strong and experienced, he was one of the guild's oldest assassins for a reason.

Suddenly the sickening scent of blood reaches your nostrils, in a concentration you haven't experienced before. It makes you falter in your movements, but luckily it has the same effect on Norris, leaving him open to Azriel's attacks, who seems undisturbed by it. You risk a glance behind you, but all you can see is the rest of the Inner Circle watching the battle, while the ground and their bodies, even the trees around them, are covered in blood. You're not exactly sure what happened, what they did to completely obliterate the assassins to a point not even their bodies were left, but you don't have more time to linger on this as Azriel finally manages to get a few good hits in, leaving Norris stumbling back away from him.

Rhysand is next to you in the blink of an eye, chest rising and falling as he catches his breath. You move to help Azriel, hoping to distract Norris enough for him to be able to infiltrate his mind. It doesn't take much longer before Norris finally drops unconscious at your feet, and you immediately let out a relieved breath. Azriel's shadows move to tie him up so he has no chance of escaping.

Your plan had always been to catch Norris off guard or wear him down enough so that Rhysand would be able to infiltrate his mind, successfully knocking him out so you could take him back to the Night Court for interrogation. And, as much as you'd planned for the possibility of him bringing backup, the assassins had made this harder to achieve. You all had been worn down more than expected, but, as you look around, you see no one seems to be gravely injured.

Cassian smiles and nods at you when he notices you eyeing the blood trickling down his shoulder, it wasn't too deep of a wound and the blood was already stopping from the looks of it. Azriel did tell you Illyrians heal faster than most fae. Speaking of, you feel scarred fingers wrap around your wrist as you give Cassian a tentative smile of your own.

Your focus is stolen by Azriel, your eyes finding his instantly as he holds up your hand carefully, examining the wound and the blood that had been smeared all around you during the fight. He's wearing a conflicted expression, pain visible in his eyes. You've found Azriel shoulders too much guilt, even when what happened wasn't his fault.

His other hand reaches out to touch your neck, where a small cut overlaps with the pronounced scar on your skin. He's been blaming himself for your death for over a century, he must have been terrified of not being able to stop it again, even if it was happening right in front of him.

“I'm alright, Azriel,” you smile up at him, hoping to calm him down, “This will be gone by tomorrow.”

“We need to take you to a healer.” You shake your head, not wanting to stay behind and leave them to deal with Norris by themselves. Gently prying Azriel's hands away from you, you go to tell him as much.

“He's right,” Morrigan interjects, “I can take you to Madja and she'll fix it for you in an instant. I can bring you back right after.”

“It's just my hand.” You don't understand why they're making such a big deal out of it. This wouldn't need a healer, aside from some discomfort it won't hinder you in any way. They all have small wounds of their own that they seem to be ignoring.

“You're hurt.” There's a finality in Azriel's tone that is starting to rub you the wrong way. You understand he's concerned, you've tried to be considerate of his complicated feelings ever since you found out you had been his wife and the tragic way in which he had lost you, but that doesn't mean he can order you around.

“Barely.” You try to keep your voice leveled, pointing at Norris' unconscious form still covered in shadows. “And this is a lot more important. I need to know what he did.”

“I'll tell you everything we find. You don't need to go with us.”

“What?” You can feel the confusion taking over your features. Azriel has been forthcoming with any and every bit of information, you don't understand why he's trying to keep you away now.

“It's best if you don't come to the dungeon. You don't need to see that,” he offers, his face becoming irritatingly blank, the mask you know he uses as the Night Court's Spymaster. This only makes your anger spike even faster.

“See what?,” you challenged, head tilting to the side, “Do you think I never tortured anyone?” Your voice rises with every word, annoyance taking over your body. “I know the female you married was much different from what I am now, and I don't know if she let you order her around like this, but I'm not her.”

“I'm not ordering you-” Azriel's face falls at your words but you're too far gone to even try to interpret what it's written in his eyes, to even listen to what he has to say.

“It sure sounds like you are.”

Rhysand stands between you two before the argument can escalate further. “This is not the time to be fighting. We need to take him to a safe place before he regains conscience. I can only keep him down for so long.” He eyes Azriel for a moment, studying his features as some sort of understanding takes over his own. “Mor will take you to a healer,” he holds up a hand as you open your mouth to argue back, “It will only take a moment and then you can meet us in the dungeon. We won't start without you. I promise.”

By the expression on his face and authority behind his words, you know trying to argue with the High Lord won't take you anywhere right now. He's too used to calling all the shots and you can't change his mind in a matter of minutes, not when there's a much more pressing situation on your hands. You need to choose your battles.

You simply turn to Morrigan, ignoring the hazel eyes staring straight into your soul. “Take me to your healer then. The sooner I get this done the better.” She nods at you, extending her hand as she winnows you both back to Velaris.

The adrenaline of the fight started wearing off as the healer, Madja, worked on your hand, stitching skin back together with expert ease. As much as it had annoyed you to be sent to the infirmary, you could admit the pain had been worse than you expected as your body calmed down. It still wouldn't have been much of a problem to warrant that amount of concern.

Morrigan simply watches as the old fae works on you. She tried to talk to you about Azriel but you pushed her away, not wanting to hear any explanations from her. He's old enough to speak for himself, and you'll probably be eager to hear what he has to say after this whole situation is worked out. Right now, you only want to go back to where they're holding Norris so you can finally understand what he did to you and hopefully learn how to fix it.

Just as Madja is wrapping your hand in a white bandage, keeping the strong smelling ointment she spread in place, the healer speaks up for what feels like the first time tonight. “That boy loves you more than anything. Give him a chance to explain. I'm sure he never meant to hurt you,” she finishes as she pats your hand softly. “All done.”

Her words give you pause. It does make you wonder how obvious your and Azriel's love had been that everyone seems to have no doubt in their minds that he would do anything for you. He seems to be very private in his affairs, especially personal ones. It also makes you curious if you'd known her before, it's more than likely since she's the Inner Circle's healer. You push those thoughts away, knowing you wouldn't ask the old healer about your relationship before anyway. You were so close to getting your memories, you needed to focus on that.

“Thank you.” She gives you one more smile before gathering her things, making you stand up and rush to Morrigan, who has a somewhat nostalgic and understanding smile on her face. She holds onto your shoulder before you even have the chance to say anything, knowing what your next words were going to be.

As soon as you winnow in, you understand why they called this place a dungeon. There really was no other way to describe the dark, stone covered space. The air was thick with humidity and blood, the kind you know has lingered for centuries and will never be completely washed out. You have to blink a few times to let your eyes adjust to the dim lighting, it was truly close to pitch black inside, the perfect environment to torment someone in, especially when you're the shadowsinger.

You never let your eyes meet Azriel's when you walk in, even as he turned to you, only allowing yourself to focus on your former handler, heavy chains on each of his wrists as he stood on his knees in the middle of a cell. He was already awake, it seems they did start without you. Rhysand speaks into your mind, sensing the incoming protest. He woke up sooner than we expected. He's been trained for this.

A sigh almost escapes you. Norris was trained for every possibility, this was going to be a gruesome session. As much as you were arguing with Azriel to stay, the truth is this is not something you ever enjoyed. So many in the guild did this sort of thing for pleasure but you only ever tortured anyone when it was strictly necessary and they had truly done something awful to warrant it. You can only hope it at least gives you the information you've been searching for and the freedom you never even dared to dream about.

“I almost thought you weren't going to show your face again.” It's infuriating how unaffected Norris sounds even though his blood already stains Azriel's favorite dagger.

“Wouldn't miss this show for the world,” you admit. He was one of the few individuals you believed deserved this and much worse, for all he has done to not only you but so many others. You're almost certain your conscience won't bother you for this.

Up until tonight your feelings for him were passive. You never particularly liked him, but you always felt obligated to show him respect as your superior, there were also less than ideal consequences if you let your true feelings show. Still, there had been some small, stupid hope that he didn't really do all those awful things to you. He trained you and taught you a lot, knowledge that you know has helped you in a lot of bad situations, that has kept you alive through them, and will continue to do so in the future.

A sickening smirk overtakes his face at your response. “I always liked you better when you acted like one of us.” Fury and shame travels across your body, but Azriel moves before you get the chance to, slashing his blade across Norris' chest, a sharp noise of pain escaping him. The gesture almost makes you smile, as twisted as that may sound.

“You'd do well to watch your mouth. My Spymaster doesn't take well to disrespect,” Rhysand's voice sounds different, arrogant but nothing short of furious.

“Still hung up on her? Since you stopped searching I thought you found yourself a new shiny toy.” Azriel's fist connects with Norris' jaw as he gets the last words out, a laugh escaping him despite the flow of blood rushing through his teeth for being able to rattle the shadowsinger.

You decide to step in, not wanting to let Azriel speak or act for you when you're more than capable of doing it yourself. And knowing how much he blames himself for your situation, for stopping his search when you were alive all this time. You'd be damned if you let Norris hurt him in any way. He's done more than enough.

“So you admit you were the one who found me.” You walk until you're standing over Norris' beaten body, right next to Azriel, close enough he has to adjust his wings not to touch you.

“Of course, you were one of my finest projects.” You let out an acknowledging hum, temperature dropping around you as your icy power rose to your fingertips. The pain would be a lot worse if you kept his body temperature down, you want his whole body to ache. This was going to be a long night, thankfully hurting Norris was nothing short of enjoyable.

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[sexypantsriorson-na]

VIOLET IS SCARED OF THE DARK! BUT WHY? WHAT DOES IT MEAN?

🚨 Spoilers for Fourth Wing and Iron Flame Below 🚨

When reading Fourth Wing one of the many times I've read it I noticed that Violet seemed scared of the dark on several occasions. However, the newest Xaden POV bonus chapter (Ch 27) solidified my crack theory that may mean nothing at all even further.

Fourth Wing:

⚡️Chapter 1: "The Captain nods and points to the open door into the turret. It looks ominously dark in there, and I fight the urge to run like hell."

-> This is the weakest evidence but I wanted to include it. Even though the majority of the fear probably stems from having to cross the parapet and going into the riders quadrant I can't help but notice how the darkness of the turret is pointed out in relation to her wanting to run away.

⚡️Chapter 19: "'Hope you're not afraid of the dark.' He pulls me inside, and suffocating darkness envelopes us as the door closes. This is fine. This is absolutely fine. 'But just incase you are,' Xaden says, his voice at full volume as he snaps. A mage light hovers above our head, Illuminating our surroundings. 'Thanks'"

-> side note: as Nicole from FFG would say ITALICS! Is this a Xaden intinsic moment or is this similar to Ch 27 where he senses her fear down their bond?

⚡️Chapter 27 from Violet's POV: "Xaden lifts a hand a few inches above the table, and shadows pour from underneath our seats, filling the room and turning it dark as midnight in a blink. My heart jumps as my sight goes black."

⚡️Chapter 27 from Xaden's POV: "I lift my palms just enough to clear the table and summon the cooling darkness of the shadows. They stream out from under the table and blanket the room in less than a heartbeat, devouring all traces of light. Panic skitters down the silver bond."

Iron Flame:

⚡️Chapter 36: "He steps forward, raises his arms, and shadows rush in from the wall at our backs, engulfing the formation - and us - in complete darkness. Theres a glimmer of a caress across my cheek, right where it's split to what feels like the bone, and more than one cadet screams."

-> The structure of the first sentence, the emphasis on 'and us' is what clued me into the fear in this chapter. And once again Xaden, who is also the source of the darkness, uses the shadows to comfort her. Based on Ch 19 and Ch 27 of Fourth Wing he likely knows she's scared of the dark at this point.

Noooowwwwww - What does all this mean? Well.... I have no idea!

As mentioned before it might mean nothing at all. Rebecca might have just thrown it in there as a quirky personality trait of Violet's. I personally just don't think that's the case.

According to a study done by John Mayer (the clinical psychologist, not the singer) only 11% of adults in the US are scared of the dark. So, its not that common of a fear. Also the amount of times it's brought up throughout the two books we've had so far makes me think it might be significant.

On July 8th Rebecca Yarros and Red Tower Books released a joint Instagram reel with a small video showing the cover of Onyx Storm for the first time. The caption has the tag line "Are you ready to BRAVE THE DARK?" written just like that with 'brave the dark' in all caps. 'Brave the Dark' is also written on the cover of the book in the same way 'Fly or Die' and 'Burn it Down' was used as a tag line of FW and IF respectively. This is another one of the most prominent reasons I think that these allusions to Violets fear of the dark are more than just a basic character trait. In each of the scenes mentioned (with the exception of chapter 1) Xaden comforts Violet in the darkness. Furthermore, if you search 'dark' in the FW ebook there are over 80 occurrences of the word and almost all of them are in relation to Xaden (I couldn't search IF because I don't have the ebook). We know that OS is going to focus on Violet trying to find a cure for Xaden. Is Xaden part of this darkness Violet is scared of?

The Empyrean Series is my current hyper fixation so I couldn't get this spiral out of my head since yesterday.

Please weigh in on what you think Violets fear of the dark means or where it comes from! I'd love to hear other peoples opinions. Also, if you know of any scenes I missed where Violet is scared of the dark please let me know.

Thank you for coming to my TedTalk TairnTalk. (I stole that from someone else but I can't remember who said it first but credit to them you are hilarious).

[lacesoflove]

hello! can you do a move-in day with hamzah? where he’s lifting and looking yummy moving stuff around and just getting settled into the new house?? Ok. Love u. thx. 🤗🤗🤗

NOW SHOWING: BREAKING THE BED! (request!)

Rating: fluffy + suggestive

Warning: AFAB!Reader, reader is described to have curls, but besides that no ethnic/racial has been provided!

A/N: I find it funny that as I was writing this I stumbled upon an OOC video where Hamzah said that he cannot afford to buy a house because he’s only 22 😭

W/C: 1.1k words

MOVING INTO A HOUSE WITH YOUR DREAM MAN WAS NOT IN YOUR CARDS. Falling in love with your dream person wasn’t on your cards either. Yet here you were, navigating the cluttered chaos of boxes, each one a Pandora's box revealing surprises that felt like the universe’s surreal joke on your life’s trajectory.

If you had told your ten-year-old self about something called a “credit check” just to secure a roof over your head, she would have frowned and asked, “What’s that?” Standing in the skeletal beginnings of your living room felt surreal, like a scene from a half-remembered dream. You and Hamzah had toiled like modern-day Sisyphuses, pushing the boulder uphill in an economy designed to turn homeowners into a relic of the past. And here you were, bearing the fruits of your labour, and it was dizzying to think you could finally eat them.

You took a laid-back approach to moving in, checking occasionally for the arrival of another truck or pacing through the house to affirm that this dream was indeed yours. Red and Blue were tucked away in the guest room, avoiding the chaos of change. Meanwhile, Hamzah was knee-deep in the intricate task of assembling your bed, his body hunched over the instruction manual like a treasure hunter deciphering hieroglyphs. This was the only piece of furniture spared from the convenience of Amazon’s next-day delivery—because sleeping on the floor wasn’t an option, and Hamzah had declared it “just not right.” You had no desire to argue that point; after all, you couldn’t imagine what hardwood floors would do to both your curls in the morning.

You leaned against the doorframe, watching him wrestle with the instruction sheet, his face a canvas of confusion painted with frustration. “Baby, how’s it going?” you called out, bouncing on your toes, feeling a pang of guilt for leaving him to fend for himself. “Not great,” he grumbled, forehead creased as his eyes darted across an endless loop of instructions that might as well have been written in ancient runes. “I think they shorted us on screws.”

“What? No way. Hand it over,” you insisted, stepping forward to snatch the manual from his hands. “No, there are enough screws; you just put them in the wrong part of the bed.” “But it says head of the bed,” he argued, his stubbornness as inflexible as the wood he was trying to piece together. You sighed, knowing that for all the reasons you adored Hamzah, his reading comprehension skills were not among them. “It says base of the bed. The head is a different section underneath. Your eyes must be skipping the important parts.”

“Probably,” he admitted, pulling himself up from the floor, stretching like a cat, muscles flexing under the strain. “Why don’t you just make the bed?”

“Because I’m the girl,” you shot back, a smug smile creeping onto your face as he stepped closer, wrapping his arms around your lower back.

“Really?”

“Mhm.”

“Shit like this brings the movement down; everyone’s a feminist until it’s bed-building time.”

You erupted into laughter, unable to contain yourself. “Did you seriously just quote Bo Burnham?”

“Sure did,” he replied, a grin lighting up his face, the corners of his eyes crinkling with mischief.

“You’re stupid,” you said, your heart swelling with affection.

“You’re hot,” he quipped, leaning in for a kiss that sent a spark through the air between you. It was only then that the creeping shadows caught your eye, the sun dipping behind the trees, casting elongated silhouettes that spread across your new room. “Shit, we’ll get to the kissing later—we should probably focus on making this bed.”

“Why? Got some plans for us on it?” he teased, tilting his head, curls falling in lazy cascades as he lowered his gaze to yours, his eyes glimmering with playful mischief.

“Yes, and those plans consist of my mandatory eight hours of sleep,” you replied, laughter bubbling up as you nudged him away playfully. “Let’s finish this bed.”

What was supposed to be a straightforward task devolved into a chaotic four-hour marathon of flipping through the instruction manual and squabbling over every little detail. You found yourself checking on Red and Blue and, perhaps most challengingly, fighting the urge to kiss your boyfriend senseless, especially when he adopted that commanding tone while explaining the simplest of instructions. The way his muscles flexed as he pieced everything together was a distraction you could hardly shake off, like trying to focus while standing in front of a volcano ready to erupt.

But eventually, you triumphed. “Well, we did it,” you declared, surveying the finished bed with a rush of accomplishment, the chaos of the day melting into a sense of belonging.

“I dunno?” he replied, the rhetorical lilt of his voice betraying the playful smirk that danced on his lips. He knew exactly what was simmering beneath the surface; your fidgety energy gave you away, your eyes glued to him as he had assembled the bed like a magician unveiling his greatest trick. “What’d you have in mind earlier?”

“Continuing our kiss, maybe? Something more… I dunno,” you said, a mischievous grin spreading across your face as you mimicked his nonchalance, your tone dripping with playful defiance.

His body inched closer, an electric tension crackling in the air, and in one fluid motion, he scooped you up and plopped you onto the bed, laughter bubbling up between you like effervescent champagne. He leaned in, kissing the crook of your neck, and you giggled softly, the warmth of the moment enveloping you. It was sweet, a bubble of intimacy growing as you both leaned into the heat of the moment, getting hot and bothered in that perfect little world of your own.

And then it happened—the moment was ruptured by a creak, followed by a crack. Suddenly, all at once the bed collapsed in on itself, its stilts surrendering to the weight of your laughter and unexpected enthusiasm.

“What the hell?!” Hamzah exclaimed before you both burst of laughter mingling with the chaos as you stared at the tumbled remains of what was supposed to be your bed was underneath you both. “I can’t believe we broke the bed.” He grumbled, his voice a mix of irritation as well as amusement. Any traces of horniness had long dissipated due to the absurdity of the situation. “Wouldn’t be the first time we’ve done it.” You smirked. “True. But damn this has got to be a bad omen or some shit. Cock-blocking ass bed.” You couldn’t help but let out another laugh at that. “Look baby, nothing is a bad omen with you.” You whispered as you pulled his head towards you as you gave him a deep kiss. “I know, but I should probably leave a review on it or something you know?” “Or maybe, Hamzah, you should actually try to read instructions properly.”

“Maybe.” “I’m right.”

“You’re right.”

[heylittleriotact]

🕯️ THE RITUAL HAS BEEN COMPLETED AND I AM SUMMONED BY @emmg 🕯️

WIP ✨WHATEVER✨

I have a lot of Emmrook things in mind that I want to write (I made a list!), but I only have one brain and one dominant hand for writing, so I’m just dawdling away at my leisure.

Currently I’m working on my take on a scene that would take place directly following the end of the game because BioWare hates us and decided we don’t need any closure for our Rooks or their love interest aside from some vague ‘live, laugh, love’ bullshit epilogue slide.

Rook works their fucking ass off the entire game and is basically the emotional sponge for everyone else’s issues, pushing themselves beyond what’s healthy to see their goals through. Emmrich remarks on it on at least two separate occasions, so I think my Rook would probably find herself in a position within hours of everything concluding where her body and her mind just stand on the brakes and say, “Nope! We’re done! We cannot and will not do any more things until you take some time to recuperate!”

And who’s going to make sure that happens in the most romantic, wholesome, and slightly stern but sexy way?

Emmrich, of course 🤍

Also, I’m reverse uno-ing @emmg because I want to know what you’re cooking. LET ME INNNNNN.

I’m also tagging @allofthebarks because she said she has things she wants to write but the writing just isn’t coming, so comfort yourself in my clumsy, unedited WIP and just write A Thing. Dooooo it!!!

Veilguard End Game Spoilers Under The Cut

Cheering and accolades followed them through the ruined streets of Minrathous, and Amina took the time to ensure that no waiting hand was left unshaken, no hug went unreturned, and no condolence went unoffered. It took them nearly two hours to make their way to a damaged but still structurally sound estate secured for them by the Shadow Dragons but as far as she was concerned, it was time well spent.

As the ornate doors of the manor closed behind them and the cacophony of their victory was muffled, Amina took two steps into the manor, bent at the waist, and splattered the floor with the contents of her stomach.

Emmrich was on her in an instant, holding her long black hair aside with one hand and stroking comforting circles on her back with another.

“What’s happening? What’s wrong with her?” Taash demanded, taking a step forward. Her voice was distant - drowned out by the screeching whine in Amina’s ears.

She felt her legs wobble and give way, her armoured knees colliding roughly with the ground as she threw out a hand to steady herself, not caring that it landed right in her sick: everything was too much. Too loud. Too bright. Too… real. It felt like she was being driven out of her own body like a wayward spirit, her essence clinging desperately to whatever it could hold onto to tether her here.

Just as distantly, Amina could hear Emmrich respond to Taash but his words were lost on her as she wiped her mouth with the back of her arm and lurched clumsily to her feet.

“Harding - I need to go to her mother—“ Her voice broke: she hadn’t had time. None of them had had time to tell her mother about Harding’s death before Elgar’nan forced their hand.

She clenched her teeth at the sensation of hot tears cutting through the accumulation of grime and gore and sweat on her face, snarling defiantly through the deluge of agony crashing through her… breaking her from the inside.

There’s still work to be done…

She was pulling away from Emmrich, her course uncharted but steadfast: she needed to go. Somewhere. Anywhere. It didn’t matter, as long as she was doing something… as long as she was helping. But no matter how she pulled and tugged, he wouldn’t let her go: lithe as Emmrich was, he wasn’t weak by any stretch.

With some effort he managed to put himself in front of her, gold rings clinking against silverite where he gripped her shoulders before pulling her tight against him.

“Breathe, darling.” He instructed, enshrouding her diminutive frame in his own. “I need you to breathe… can you do that for me?”

She managed an anguished sob in reply but nothing more: any attempt to draw breath was met with unforgiving resistance as her airways slammed shut in seeming rebellion of life itself.

Arrangements need to be made - things need to be taken care of, and I’m the only one left to take care of them.

No. First I need to breathe.

“I’ve got you: you’re safe with me.”

More tears rolled down her cheeks as her eyes clenched shut and she forced a thin, ragged inhalation into her lungs.

“Well done, darling.” Emmrich encouraged, ever calm, ever heartening. “Now let’s try for another one, shall we? I’ll do it with you. Let out your breath on the count of three: one… two… three…”

She felt Emmrich contract against her as he slowly exhaled with her. None of this was new to her: Nevarran breathing techniques were required learning for Watchers. Claustrophobia could present unpredictably, and if one found themselves turned around or overwhelmed in the Necropolis, being able to stay calm was vital to survival.

“Perfect. Now another breath in…” He waited while Amina drew another shaky breath then loosened his hold on her to gently cup her cheek. Within moments she could feel the familiar soothing tingle of Emmrich’s magic coursing intimately through her, seeping through her nervous system and providing some relief.

“Emmrich,” she rasped, clutching at his chest. “I… I need to—“

“Do absolutely nothing.” He interjected sternly, his voice absent of any playful familiarity or scholarly flair, though it softened almost reflexively as he continued. “You’ve overextended yourself, Amina. You’ve been overextended for some time, but you pushed through to see this to the end - and you have - but my love, you can’t evade the reality of what you’ve been through indefinitely… you need to rest and take time to come to terms with things.” He drew his thumb over her cheek, speaking to her like she was the only person in the room.

“But—“

“All that needs to be attended will be seen to: Lace’s mother will be informed of her sacrifice in an appropriate manner, and the… actions of the Inquisitor will be communicated to the south.” He hung on the word ‘actions’ seemingly unsure of its accuracy but ultimately too focused on Amina to care.

She opened her mouth to argue, but likely having anticipated this from her, Emmrich spoke first.

“You’ve done so much and helped so many without asking for anything in return… please let me be the one to help you in your moment of need?”

His eyes searched hers, soft and pleading, and she studied the face of the man she loved: each pleasing curve and angle that she had committed to memory etched on her heart. The crinkled lines at the corners of his eyes, and the creases around his familiar mouth spoke of years of smiles offered to comfort and soothe.

He was filthy too, and his hair was limp and disheveled, strands of it hanging into his face… but oh Maker how she loved him…

“I love you…” He whispered for her ears alone, his lips ghosting over hers. “And I so look forward to reminding you of that fact every day for the rest of our lives… so let me begin now: let me take care of you.”

[fulloftheloveyouwant]

Lazy Mornings

Summary: Mountain goes outside to have a bit of morning time to himself, the day is exceptionally pretty with everything seemingly lining up to be a perfect early day nap.

He rests against the shore of the lake, and Rain spots him. Of course Rain can't resist bugging Mountain just a bit when he looks so pretty.

Warnings/tags: Trans Rain, Vaginal sex, Vaginal fingering, Biting, Inhuman ghouls, Sleepy sex, Semi-public sex, and lastly rough sex at the end.

Rating: Explicit, MDNI 18+

Length: 3k words

Notes: Originally posted on my Ao3, just a few edits from that version for cohesiveness. I'm still learning to format here, so hopefully there aren't any issues! :')

Mountain stretched as he took in the scene of the outside, morning dew still littered the grass. The leaves were rustling in the trees above and there was a breeze rolling over the lake behind the church. He walked forward, quite happy to be in his element.

He continued until he reached a sandy patch beside the lake, some small grasses growing in the sand. He then leaned back, letting the sun hit his skin and features. A lazy yawn comes out of him as he just listens around him..

Birds are singing their songs, the wind is blowing, the water is lapping gently, at times, he can even hear when a fish comes up for a moment. Does he hear frogs in the distance..?

No matter, this was the perfect day to get a morning nap in. The little grass on the sand was already enveloping his body, small flowers sprouting in his hair as he was perfectly content. There was a quiet ripple in the lake as his body relaxed, he hadn't exactly noticed that's not normal. He was too sleepy.

His tail was thumping lazily on the ground until eventually even that stopped as his chest slowed. For the untrained eye he appeared dead, but he was just sleeping. Small snores coming out of him erratically, inside the lake he had a watcher.

Rain sat lurking barely underneath the water, he finally pushed his head up a bit as he noticed Mountain was now passed out. Rain had come out earlier in the morning when the sun was still low. The cool water tends to help calm his nerves and he likes to think while submerged.

“Mountain?” Rain called out quietly as he swam closer. He didn't want to startle the gentle giant.. Although his sleeping was quite idyllic. Rain has yet to figure out how someone could ever look so relaxed, but Mountain lets a lot of things just slide off of him quietly and without a fuss.

Apparently it saves a lot of heartache and drama that way, which is probably a lifesaver when you're in such a large group like the ghouls. Rain would be lying if he said he wasn't at least a little bit envious of Mountain sleeping so nicely.

He finally swam closer to the shore, carefully stepping out and not making too much noise as he did so. Where did he leave his clothes? Rain peered around the area for a moment before remembering he left them on the dock. They actually have a dock because some like fishing, uh.. Rain can't really consider himself the biggest fan of fishing. He'd rather be soaking in the water than sitting above it.

He walked closer to Mountain, his hair dripped over Mountain for a moment. Mountain groaned a bit, his eyes barely opened until he saw it was Rain. “Rainy?” He muttered, sleep still thick in his voice. “Yeah, just me big guy.” Rain says as he laid down beside Mountain, he stretched lazily with a small yawn.

He let out a small noise of shock seeing Mountain was staring at him, “Where are your clothes?” Mountain asked genuinely curious. Still, it was so forward that it caught Rain off guard. “On the dock..” Rain confessed as he sat back up a bit.

Mountain was gazing at him, in a quite peculiar way. Rain recognised that look even while Mountain was sleepy. “You want something, Mount?” Rain questioned, his head tilting as he shadowed Mountain. Mountain stayed laying down, eyeing Rain carefully as yawned a tiny bit. “Maybe.” He finally said, Rain has a small grin but he doesn't give in yet. He prods at Mountain's stomach. "Gonna tell me what?" Rain questioned, his fingertips barely moved underneath Mountain's shirt and messed with the fuzzy hair leading down to his pants.

Mountain let out a particularly harsh breath of air as his eyes were half lidded, finally he relented. "You." He breathed out quietly, "There we go, that's all I wanted you to say." Rain says with a pleased tone, he then pushed himself a bit down so he could start unzipping Mount's pants. Mountain lifted his hips up a bit to make it easier on Rain when it was time to slide the pants down, he didn't slide them down too far just about half way down his thighs.

"Isn't it a pretty day? I saw you- From the lake.. You look like you'd agree with that statement." Rain mused quietly, Mount barely nodded his head. "It's really pretty today." He says, Rain watched as the flowers in his hair seemed to bloom harder for a moment.. As if it was even possible. He was practically still beaming being so relaxed right now. Rain traced a single finger down Mount's bulge, he hissed a little but otherwise didn't react. Well, that wouldn't do.

His hand finally grasped Mount firmly out of the safety of his boxers, Rain paused for a brief moment to admire the half chub currently. Arguably the best state you can find someone in..

Rain glanced upwards to see Mountain was staring at the clouds above. His eyes a bit more awake now but still not fully there, he didn't say anything. Mount being sleepy is the easiest to work with- Not that he's difficult to work with in general! Just.. He tends to be frisky when he's sleepy. It's easier to get things started.

Rain pushed aside his own desire as he started to stroke Mountain quietly, he didn't make any noises but if looks could devour.. Well, Mountain would easily be the most fulfilling meal of his life. The pace was firm, coming in quick yet hard strokes.

His thumb rubbed over the head, pushing the foreskin down for a moment. A small gush of pre came out at that making Rain grin, Mountain was breathing heavier but otherwise didn't react. At least not by much, it's the subtle things.. His tail was thumping again with the occasional swish, the flowers in his hair were growing in numbers, his face had a blush creeping on it.

"Is it nice?" Rain questioned, watching as small beads of sweat formed on the side of Mount's all too beautiful face. How criminal it is to be so relaxed and so gorgeous at the same time.

Mountain replied with a noise between a hum and a moan making Rain laugh a small bit, he briefly stopped to lean down and kiss Mountain. Though it quickly became heated as Mount was clearly more awake now, his hands holding Rain down to him fairly easily. Their tongues met each other, Rain threatened to nip Mountain's when it peeked into the others mouth. Finally Rain tapped Mountain, needing air. Mountain reluctantly released, Rain taking rather greedy breaths of air.

"Are you awake now?" Rain questioned between breaths. "Mm. Yeah." Mountain says as he sat up, he began to unbutton his shirt then he gestured towards Rain. "And you..?" Mount questioned, Rain was already naked but he's sure slick was gathering between his thighs as he had been watching Mount with an intense gaze the entire time.

"Ah.. I wasn't too worried about myself." Rain admitted shyly, his fangs nipped at his bottom lip for a moment as he watched as the fabric slid off of Mountain's figure. Immediately his eyes feasting on all of Mountain's body, his hands drifted towards the others pants and boxers helping slide those off too.

He heard a noise similar to a grumble before realising Mountain was laughing some, Rain immediately pouted. "What's so funny?" Rain asked, Mount shook his head. "Nothing, I just like watching you look. It's.. Cute. You're very focused with your gaze." Mountain says, Rain wanted to roll his eyes but couldn't find it in him to do so. Suddenly Mountain slapped a bit against his bare thigh, catching Rain's attention. "Ready raindrop?" He questioned, his head had a puppy-like tilt that Rain would be lying if he said didn't have an allure to it.

He was hesitant only for a moment but desire was quick to take over, "Yes." He whispered as he inched closer to Mount. "Remember, stoplight system.." Mountain says, Rain tends to get a bit carried away during sex. But colours are easy to remember and he knows when Mount asks for a colour to call one back pretty quickly, no matter how elated he is about a particular action. "I know. We're green right now, so help me onto you." Rain huffed in desperation, he didn't want to beg for help, but dammit, he would if he needed to.

Mountain didn't need to be told twice, however he did test the.. waters. Okay, admittedly the pun made him chuckle a bit out loud. But more seriously he needed to make sure Rain was sufficiently lubricated and able to take him, the last thing he'd want to do is injure the poor water ghoul.

So this required a position change, Rain got on his back with fair ease and Mountain was now between his legs. Not.. for any particular reason but just because it was the easiest position of course. Rain hissed as he felt one finger prod at his folds, he was sensitive.

So.. When he said he was relaxing in the lake earlier he might have been doing a few other extra activities as well. For relaxation. The good news is water ghouls are self lubricating, they produce a lot of liquids in general because of that. Mountain was using this to his advantage as he gathered the slick gathering outside of Rain's slit, stroking himself with the excess.

Rain panted quietly, too much damn teasing. Well, he doesn't think Mountain was intentionally teasing but it didn't matter if it felt like teasing. "Mount please.." Rain whined, now a bit more helpless in tone. "I know raindrop, I know." Mountain says back, he was taking his time by all means which was killing Rain.

Finally a tentative finger found its way inside of Rain, Rain moaned as it provided stimulation and relief. Mountain could tell already that Rain had been pleasuring himself alone earlier, he was too wet for it to be plausible just off of their interaction alone. Plus.. He was stretched already.

Still, he added another finger enjoying the sounds Rain was making as his legs tried to shut against Mountain's but were stopped as his thighs were broad and blocking the way. One of his hands reached up to stroke at Rain's horns, making the smaller ghoul keen into his touch. His mouth fell open with pretty noises, ah.. Horns are the weakness of all ghouls.

Their tails entwined as Mountain finally pushed one more finger inside of Rain, the three fingers pumping in and out lazily. Then, when Mountain noticed his breathing had got shaky he pulled away.

"Nooo.." Rain sobbed at the loss, Mountain was licking his fingers as if they were some delightful treat. He groaned as he did so, the taste making him grind against nothing. Fuck, as much as he wanted to taste Rain it'd mean he'd be finishing really soon.

He lied about earlier, by the way. The reason he had settled between his legs was just in case he wanted to eat the water ghoul out. Unfortunately it'd have to wait for a different day.

He took his cock into his hand, slowly moving towards Rain. He was lined up perfectly, with that being said he started the first push inside. Rain was wincing but didn't complain, "Colour?" Mountain called out just in case. "Green- Just.. Wish you'd hurry." Rain whined, he was always so impatient. Only matched by Dew who met his level of impatience, but.. At least Rain wasn't a brat like Dew. Normally anyway.

"I'll take as long as I like." Mountain says with an air of finality, the tone made Rain whimper a tiny bit. The head popped in easily, it briefly got caught which made Rain cry out a bit but Mountain moved past that. Now it was an easy slide inside, once hilted he waited until Rain was stable and then Rain nodded when he was ready.

Mountain changed positions, knowing Rain liked to cling onto him during this. Missionary had never failed them in times like this, his head fell between Rain's neck and shoulder. Fangs grazing the skin there as Rain whined loudly at the sensation, Mountain's hands ran up Rain's relatively sleek body. Then he moved, Rain moaned loudly almost immediately asking for more.

Mountain was happy to oblige, he set a steady pace with Rain as his hands were pulling and tugging on Rain's nipples, his fangs finally sunk into Rain's skin. Blood filled his mouth instantly, Rain whining as his hands tangled into Mountain's overgrown hair.

Mountain pulled away after he had suckled enough at the fresh wound, leaving a mark in its place with the fang marks. He moved on to kissing his poor desperate Rainy afterwards, Rain moaned at the metallic taste of his own blood. It's always an odd taste and sensation knowing it belongs to you but he never minded, his cheeks were quite flushed and his kiss with Mountain was needy.

His hands moving to wrap around Mounts neck instead, Rain pulled away to breathe as his lips felt bruised. "I'm close." Rain suddenly says, his eyes were dazed and somewhat lost. Still.. Mountain knew he needed an extra push, Mount hummed as he started to knead Rain's nipples once more. The small bulbs of flesh now being red from being tweaked and pulled so much, still.. It wasn't enough.

One of Mountain's hands trailed down to where the two were conjoined at, his other hand firmly planted beside Rain now. He rubbed at Rain's dick, pushing the hood back and rubbing the nub there. Rain cried out near immediately, so close.. So close. Then Mountain angled himself just right to drag against Rain's sweet spot and before he could even react or properly warn Mountain, he was coming- A gush of fluid around Mountain's cock made him groan, that.. That was obscene. He loved it.

He was a slower with his movements as he was working Rain through his high, the ripple of internal muscles made Mountain close himself but he wanted this to be good when he finished- He didn't want to end the fun just yet.

Finally, Rain's breathing was normal again and he gave Mountain a shaky nod seeing how feral he looked. "Green." He called out before Mountain could even ask, so came the rough part of sex.. He pulled out of Rain, flipping him over with Rain whining at the harsh treatment.

He liked it, they had established this beforehand which is why neither him or Mount reacted negatively. Rain already knew to spread his legs, Mountain was back on him but with a quicker and more erratic pace now. Rain was rubbing his own nipples and circling his dick, yet it wasn't as good as how Mount did it. He whined out helplessly at that realization, Mountain was shaky in his own movements now but he still noticed Rain was struggling.

Rain's hand at his cock was brushed away as Mountain took his place instead, barely holding himself back. He looked at how Rain's thighs trembled and how he was barely holding himself up, "Let go for me- Let go." Mountain says, his voice basically pleading.

Finally Rain let out a sharp cry as he came around Mountain for a second time. Mountain pushed in one last time before he came himself with a moan, his entire body became rigid and tense as he breathed deeply.

Mountain pulls out a few minutes later when he's softened up, cum seeping out of Rain in his wake. It was such a delightful sight, but he opted to check on Rain instead of sticking around to look at his handiwork. "Are you alright?" Mountain asked softly, Rain nodded before pulling Mountain into his face for a kiss.

Mountain was caught off guard but reciprocated as the two shared a deep kiss before mutually parting. "We need to go wash off really quickly." Rain declared, Mountain's eyes were already glazed over once more as he yawned again. "I could use a little wash up in the lake. I'm a bit sleepy now and not to mention dirty." Mount says, Rain laughed a bit.

"My sweaty Mountain." Rain says with a smile, tracing his fingers underneath Mountain's chin where the earth ghoul purred. His hand trailed upwards to stroke delicately at Mountain's horns before he pulled away as Mount sucked in a sharp breath.

"Sorry.. Still too sensitive." Mountain confessed quietly, "No worries. Come on- Let's get cleaned up." Rain says, he tried to stand up but ended up needing Mountain's help for that. The two walk into the warm lake together, "So.. I didn't want to tell you mid-sex but I'm pretty sure some of the others were outside with us." Mountain says as they reach a deeper part of the lake.

Suddenly, Rain had a furious blush and he looked nervous. "Seriously?!" Rain asked, unable to believe Mountain didn't tell him while he was being so noisy. "I could feel them walking on the grass.. But I didn't want you to stop moaning." Mountain says guiltily, Rain could only shudder and think of who heard.

Satanas, what if it wasn't a ghoul and instead someone like Copia?! He might melt from embarrassment. At least with the ghouls they were all in a group together, sleeping and romancing each other freely. Copia knew about their.. ehem, involvement with each other but not to what extent.

But Rain just shook it out of his mind with a sigh, "It's fine. Besides I'm sure it was Dew who came out to get his early morning smoke in." Rain says, he was swimming beside Mountain who was merely standing up. How could someone be so tall..?

"I'll tell you next time, but they did leave after hearing us." Mountain says more seriously, Rain had a small grin. "Well.." Rain started carefully, "I suppose getting caught is half the fun." Rain says before swimming over to nibble on Mount's bottom lip, "Now help me get cleaned up. We have practice in about two hours." Rain then says, Mountain chuckling as he nodded.

[howlsofbloodhounds]

I headcanon Color with narcolepsy type 2, but he manages it well enough that it's not easy for outside sources to guess he has a sleeping disorder at all. (Obviously Epic, Delta, and Killer can made educated guesses, since they know the bastard)

However, it is the excessive daytime sleepiness that gives him the most trouble. It takes him forever to get out of bed, and even longer to "wake up" completely once he's gotten coffee.

This could serve as another foil between him and Killer, since Killer avoids sleep and perhaps can't stay asleep for long, Color can't seem to get away from it even though his anti-depressants help his functioning substantially.

This becomes more apparent once Killer learns how often Color experiences sleep paralysis.

Oh that’s an interesting headcanon. Read one little article on it, will probably read up more, but according to the article, a way to help daytime sleepiness is having planned 20 minute naps throughout the day, and like, I can see the Chromatic Crew all reminding Color to take naps if he doesn’t have anything planned for the day, which probably actually isn’t very often with how much that old man is out exploring or wants to be out exploring.

Actually I can see it like, Killer often times going out in nature walks and trails with Color (whenever he doesn’t want to be alone and have some time to himself), and like they carry along stuff like a little picnic blanket and stuff so whenever they stop somewhere, they just lay out the blanket and maybe enjoy a picnic and use this as time to see if color needs to take a nap or if he’s okay to keep going or wants to go back home.

And whenever Delta, Epic, and Cross go out on the walks with Color, I like to think they kinda carry or give him a piggyback ride home if he’s so tired or sleepy to walk— which isn’t often, but enough to be noticeable.

And like, because neither Killer or Epic really sleep much, I can picture like—they take turns sitting around and just talking to or reading to or just sitting near color or gently touching him/encourage him to try and move a muscle whenever they notice that he’s dealing with sleep paralysis.

It’s probably most likely to be Killer, since they probably share a room in their home in the Omega Timeline, but im picturing a scene where they aren’t sharing a room yet and Killers out roaming the house and being a little creep—checking up on everyone and entering their rooms and watching people sleep (probably because he hasn’t yet settled in with the crew or in the new environment and wants to find out as much information as possible), and like—all Color sees is Killer stepping out of the shadows out of his bedroom and approaching him and staring at him with those big fucking eyes and creepy ass smile before he starts trying to help him out 💀

(And like maybe color falls asleep again not long after and killers gone when wakes up and he thinks killer was like his sleep paralysis demon or something)

And reading up on this disorder a little gave me a few ideas on how killer might try to ‘help’ but in a way that’s kinda toxic and fucked up despite good intentions due to lack of grasp on clear boundaries and morals (and possibly just doing what was done to him thinking it’d help/need for control) but I’ll not talk about it here

{ @sarcosticsarcomere }

[reborrowing]

skipping breakfast

if you give a mouse a cookie, he may still want to leave. (part of stranger swap, but stands on its own) contains: fear/PTSD flashback, misunderstandings, reference to past abuse

Hollow’s ears pricked at the muffled sound of a phone alarm. It was the right tone to be from this unit and loud enough that it probably was sounding from the next room over. He scowled, counting the days back in his head. He was still sure it was a Monday.

He hadn’t bothered to check for the host before setting out. In the six months since they’d moved in, they hadn’t once missed a day of work. He held his breath as the alarm looped and repeated itself in a louder cry—maybe they’d forgotten their phone? No. Another second passed, something heavy shifted in the other room, and the alarm went silent. Maybe they were sick.

Hollow decided he didn’t care. He just needed to stay out of sight, same as ever. 

There was no good way to get off this shelf in particular without roping into the open, but the display was a decent enough place to hide, however eerie it felt. The host here made and collected miniatures.

To Hollow, and any other borrowers lured in by the strange collection, it felt like an alleyway cut out of some alternate universe’s walls or maybe a series of theater stages.  The shelf was busy and strange enough that some came here even without any intention of borrowing, only to see the strange collection. The rooms were more exposed than any living space had any right to be with half the walls missing and the furniture was mostly too small to be used by an adult, but some things made more sense after seeing them as they were meant to be seen—the sheer monotony of their counters and furniture disappeared, if nothing else.

And there was plenty to take  for someone of Hollow’s mindset: piles of decorative items, wall hangings, cushions, occasional bit of dinnerware—all of it felt much nicer than the cheap plastic and cardboard pulled out of a child’s toy box. And Hollow found that the colony kids always liked the little clay foods, familiar ingredients made alien when portrayed as handheld objects. Most stuff in these shelves was pretty junk, essentially, not stuff anyone needed, but the host also kept nice fabrics and clay and other useful materials in their crafting cabinets. The apartment was a good unit to borrow from, when the host wasn’t home and thudding into the room.

Hollow ducked behind a wooden counter—one now missing a piece of its carefully arranged tea set—to get out of sight. He meant to stay there until the host settled down somewhere with something to hold their attention. He didn’t have a backup plan when they decided to pause in front of this particular display shelf.

Hollow shuddered. He hated borrowing when the host was home. He hated them, all of them. He wouldn’t have come here had he known the host was home. Had he left something out of place? Had they seen him? Had they already seen someone else borrowing from them? Did they know?

The shadow of the host’s reaching hand, even while it was still a foot away, sent him scrambling in the opposite direction, making them yelp. So she hadn’t actually noticed Hollow until he panicked. At least he could take advantage of the host’s surprise to bolt. His breath trembled in his throat. He was so intent on getting safe, he forgot where he was, just that he couldn't let her catch him because this time she’d kill him. He tore through one carefully placed scene and then another. He only stopped when he reached the end of the shelf and only to grab his line—the line that he’d left out on the other end of the shelf to allow for a quick escape. He inhaled sharply and considered the long drop in front of him. 

“Whoa, no, don’t—”

Hollow jumped.

The laminate floor was far enough to hurt, he knew, but he had plenty of practice being hurt. As long as he landed right, he ought to be able to roll under that chair before she could step on him at least. It would take the kid a few seconds to get her hands down to the floor and hopefully he’d be able to get some more distance between him and her before–

A mattress of flesh interrupted his fall. He stared up in horror at a stranger’s face and shook under the memory of a much angrier human’s glare. He couldn’t bring himself to move, even as he was probed by a thumb half as tall as he was. The meaty digit lingered on his right side and massaged the point where his arm ended and his prosthetic began. Hollow flinched in slow motion.

“Oh,” the host breathed with a convincingly sympathetic tone. “You’ve really been through it huh?”

With a shaky hand Hollow reached for the sewing pin on his back and wished he had worn his uglier prosthetic. It was awful and clunky, and not particularly helpful on a normal borrowing run, but he bet that pen knife sticking out of it would have been enough to make a human flinch. As soon as Hollow aimed his pin down at the palm that held him, another pair of fingers came out of nowhere to easily pull it away.

“Okay, no, no, please don’t make me drop you, okay? I’m really sorry if I’m scaring you, I’m trying to help,” the host said.

They gave him a pitying smile and Hollow scowled, looking away his tongue before the shadows could twist back into that girl and beat him. Each time Hollow tried moving towards the edge of the palm, the host tilted their hand or brought up their fingers to block him. After several attempts, he shuddered as one of the fingers landed against his chest and sat back down in the middle of the open palm. 

“I don’t want you to fall, little guy. Why don’t we go sit down at the counter? I was about to make breakfast,” the host said. The wall of their belly jerked with a brief laugh. “Well, I was going to see how that polish dried, but I’ll deal with that later. You steady?”

Hollow buried his head in his knees and tried unsuccessfully to pretend he was somewhere else. His stomach dropped as the hand swayed then bucked as his clawed toes reflexively clung to the moving floor.

The host exhaled sharply and cupped their hand to better secure him. Hollow shivered, his fur standing all on end as the flesh closed in around him, and braced to be crushed. The movement slowed and Hollow peeked out to watch the host grab one of the chairs from another display. One of his toys. Hollow was just another thing to be played with. 

“I’m Jude, by the way, he/him,” the host said.

There was a pause.

“You don’t talk much, huh? Can you at least understand me?”

Hollow nodded, still glaring down towards the floor. He wasn’t even sure if he could speak at the moment and he didn’t want to try. Borrowers didn’t speak to humans, as a rule, even when they did get caught. He’d done it when he thought he had had no choice and it hadn’t made things any easier.

“That’s good, I guess, so you at least know I’m friendly.” 

Hollow believed no such thing.

Jude stepped away from their miniature displays—away from the critical gear Hollow had left behind—and crossed the apartment to the kitchen. Hollow watched Jude’s feet shuffle across the carpet with a seething envy. It was such a quick trip this way, straight across the open room in just a few easy strides. Sometimes, he wished he had followed his mother to an outdoors life where he wouldn’t have to spend so much time in human spaces where he found himself comparing their lives to his own.

“Alright, I’ll set you down here, if that’s okay?”

Hollow would be okay being set down anywhere, even onto a heated burner, if it meant a chance to get away from the host’s sweaty fingers. But with nothing to say and the human staring down at him expectantly, he exhaled shakily and nodded.

The host’s fingers shifted beneath him and he slowly slid onto the blessedly solid countertop. He spun back around and craned his neck to watch the looming host. He didn’t want to look at Jude, didn’t like the overwhelming reminder of their difference in scale, but preferred it to facing his back to the giant.

“You’re still shaking. You really are afraid of me, huh? I'm sorry,” Jude said. “Here, why don’t you sit down?”

Hollow tensed as the host’s second hand stretched towards him. For a moment it was the girl’s hand again and a memory of pain flashed down his spine. His half-tail twitched and tucked against his leg as he backed away. Jude set the toy chair down beside him and withdrew. He stared suspiciously at the human’s toy couch. The back looked stiff and uncomfortable but otherwise sturdy.

“Yeah, there you go. Take a minute to breathe, it’s okay, no judgment,” Jude said.

He did as he was told but as soon as Jude’s back was turned, Hollow started looking for his escape route. There was a familiar outlet nearby, one that Hollow and every other working borrower in the colony used to get into this unit. He couldn’t be seen going out that way, not if anyone wanted to use it again. And it would be a shame to lose access to this apartment, this was such a good one to borrow from. He needed to get to the floor where he could escape unseen. The drop to the floor still didn’t scare him; a borrower could fall a long ways without getting hurt, but so long as Jude was watching, Hollow was stuck. He wouldn’t do anything that risked bringing that fucking hand back towards him.

The way Jude moved the world within the kitchen made Hollow too aware of how small he really was. The plastic vat of flour, the tower of baking powder, the door to the nigh-impenetrable refrigerator…in Hollow’s world, these things were all well-secured vaults that had to be broken into. It took time and a solid plan to retrieve the contents. Jude did so instantaneously, talking the whole time, and in nearly unthinkable quantities.

No matter how many times he had been here, this was not Hollow’s world.

He sat quietly on the toy couch until the quiet got too loud and the host turned to look at him. He realized suddenly that the host had stopped talking and that the words had probably been for him and he really should have made an effort to listen. He could feel the expectation that Hollow should do something in those big eyes and he tensed, waiting for the girl to lunge forward to hurt him, or maybe this time she’d hurt…

Hollow grit his teeth. He was alone. With Jude. Who was, so. far, significantly less hostile than the girl or any other human he’d encountered. He could try to get along until he could get away. Maybe some of them were capable of mercy, or at least some patience.

He doubted it.

- Jude was already awake and out of bed by the time he registered that he had the day off and he’d just forgotten to turn off his stupid alarm. He looked back at the blankets but knew the chances of him falling back to sleep now were slim to none. He may as well take advantage of a few extra morning hours on his extra day, not that he had any plans. It was just nice to not have to rush out and deal with a parade of impatient strangers.

He stretched lazily and made his way to the front room. Sun filtered through the curtain and caught a cloud of dust particles dancing in the light. If Jude were a slightly more meticulous person he might spend the day tidying his place but already his thoughts had started to wander to what he might be able to craft or at least get started on before the day’s end. He’d finished his last project the previous night so could work on just about anything without stressing over anything in-progress.

At least, he hoped he had finished the project. He could check on it now that it had had time to dry. The pieces would be done one way or the other, but there was a decent chance he’d ruined them instead of finished them by using some questionable varnish. It was all he had had on hand and at 3am with nothing open but Amazon it had seemed like a good idea to risk it instead of waiting.

A shadow on the shelf shifted when he went to check and Jude screamed, embarrassed as soon as the sound left his mouth. Then came the second wave of embarrassment at being so self-consciousness when nothing was here to watch him but a few sculpted figures and their shadows.

His eyes caught back up with the movement and he realized that it hadn’t been a trick of the light. It’s just a figurine falling over, he thought at first, then, oh no, mouse? as it scrambled across the shelf. Jude shook his head as his mind caught up with his eyes. It was a tiny person, slightly larger than any of Jude’s figurines, and they were very much alive. He wasn’t alone at all and for a moment he was dumbstruck.

He’d always wanted fairies to be real. It was why he had started making miniatures and dollhouse furniture way back when he was a little girl and had persisted into his adulthood. And now, here one was, apparently enticed by Jude’s own handiwork. He had to bite back giddy laughter, lest his little guest think he was being laughed at. The poor thing looked nervous enough as it was.

Terrified even, he realized as he leaned forward for a closer look. But not scared enough to try to jump from up there, right?

Right???

Wrong.

Jude was too slow to stop him, but thankfully quick enough to catch him. He gasped as he landed in his hand. Jude didn’t know why he would expect otherwise, but the intruder was so light—about as substantial as the mouse he’d first been mistaken for. Jude pulled his hand in close to better keep steady as he looked. him over.

He wasn’t quite a fairy, at least not how most people would think of them. His guest had no wings or glitter and was far too grim to be made of light or children’s laughter. He didn’t seem bloodthirsty enough to be the other type of fairy either. He was …just a little guy, and not a very lucky one by the looks of him. He was dressed in rags and missing his arm and most of an ear. His tail looked like the end was scarred and withered; Jude suspected he’d lost the rest of that too.

The little guy’s eyes watered like he was about to cry and Jude did his best to soothe his fears. God, he was a pretty thing. Jude had spent a lot of time admiring the details of miniature things, but the little intruder was unbelievably exquisite: a masterpiece that only nature could craft. Jude was flattered that the little guy would be interested in his clumsy work at all.

He was determined to give the little guy a proper thanks before parting ways. Maybe if it went well enough, it would convince him to stay for awhile. Maybe even stick around as friends? Jude could hope. In any case, he thought pancakes and a comfortable seat would be a good start.

He did his best to move slowly and carefully as he prepped the kitchen, making sure to give the little guy as much space as he could. He wished he knew what to say to help the poor thing understand he wasn’t in any danger here. Everything Jude did only made him tremble more. Maybe just sitting there with a little cap full of cool water for a few minutes would let his panic wind down.

But as he mixed the batter Jude started to worry it wasn’t or that he was failing as a host in some other way. Had he missed some nicety the little guy expected or broken some unknown rule? No touching, maybe, but he’d already put him down. Were pancakes a bad choice? He’d given Jude a quick glance at his teeth and they had looked pretty sharp, maybe Jude’s vegan pantry was no more appealing to the little guy than the sculpted fruits on the shelf.

“You can eat this, right? Or maybe I shouldn’t assume? I could do something else or even run to the store if there’s not anything in my kitchen that looks like a proper meal to you? Is there something else you’d normally eat?”

Jude looked over to his guest for an answer and got only a slight shudder and a blank stare. A second passed and it was like the little guy saw a ghost. He paled and shrank back into the couch, mouthing something beyond Jude’s perception. It was all Jude could do not to reach out to try and physically reassure him—something that could only make things worse at this point.

“That’s, aw, you’re just too quiet, huh? Um, maybe just nod or shake your head? Do you eat pancakes? Or want to, at least?”

The little guy took a breath of relief and nodded hastily, shoulders easing back down when Jude smiled at him.

Jude turned his attention back to his cooking, neatly pouring out the batter. His heart skipped with delight as he doled out a few bite-sized drops for his guest. Pancakes made it easy to offer up a miniature serving alongside his own breakfast and the stack looked perfectly adorable on the coin-sized plate he’d pulled off of his display. Evidently the meal looked good to the the little guy as well, as he was willing to lean forward to grab it off of Jude’s finger. He snatched it away with his one hand, letting the tiny fork slip down onto the countertop, and flinched back into the couch.

“Can you…should I grab you a table as well? I wasn’t thinking about how you’d hold it” Jude said.

He shook his head without looking up. Jude watched with eager eyes as the little guy shifted slightly in his seat and the clasp at the end of his prosthetic opened then pinched closed, catching the edge of his plate to keep it steady in his lap and freeing up his hand.

“That’s so cool, did you make that yourself?”

The little guy glanced at his prosthetic and, if only for a brief second, a proud smile flickered across his face. Then he nodded and hid the expression by stuffing half a pancake into his mouth.

“I’ve got syrup, you don’t have to eat that plain, if you don’t want,” Jude offered.

His guest watched him suspiciously but his eyes widened and he nodded when he recognized the bottle of syrup that Jude retrieved. He poured a bit into the lid—he’d just have to clean it up later—and slid it across the counter to his wary guest, who eagerly sopped up as much as he could from the cap once he was sure he had his space back. And when he ran out of pancake, he scooped out an extra helping with his bare hand. Sweet tooth, Jude thought affectionately as he sat down with a plate of his own.

“You’ve been coming here for awhile, right? I’ve noticed stuff going missing since I moved in,” Jude said.

That was, apparently, the wrong thing to say. The little guy froze, letting the rest of the syrup drop into his lap, and his eyes once more danced around in a search for an escape. Jude raised his hands in a show of innocence.

“No, no, it’s okay! I just—you don’t have to sneak around. I’m glad someone likes my stuff, and you’re getting more use out of it than anyone on etsy would, you know?” Jude said. “I was gonna say you’re welcome to come back again for more. I wouldn’t mind seeing you again.”

The little guy’s posture truly relaxed for the first time that morning and Jude wondered what it was that was so reassuring—that he was welcome to keep taking props, maybe? Jude hoped he wouldn’t regret that in the coming weeks. Some of it would hurt to lose.

“It’s a shame you can’t talk. I’ve never seen anyone like you before, you know? I don’t even know what to call you,” Jude said.

The little guy chewed his lip thoughtfully for a second before pointing at the small pile of mail sitting on the edge of the counter. With a little more prompting, Jude picked out a seasonal bit of junk mail advertising local fall deals.

“The flyer? No, the pumpkin? Uh, jack-0-lantern? Jack? Your name is Jack?”

The little guy’s brow furrowed as he shook his head. He pointed at the clip-art again, this time holding up two fingers. Two words? Two syllables? Two…something.

“Jack-o? Jackie?”

A scowl.

“Um…Pumpkin?”

Little guy rolled his eyes.

“Not pumpkin, then? That would be cute though, a little Pumpkin,” Jude said.

Probably-Not-Pumpkin huffed impatiently and mimed writing something. Jude felt his ears tinge red. He should have thought of that.

“Duh. Okay, yeah, yeah, I’ll grab you a pencil lead or I think I have…I’ll find something you could use to write, gimme a sec,” Jude said.

He hopped up to grab something from his desk. He had some tiny colored pencils he’d picked up on a whim once, but they’d probably be too large. It might force the guy write large enough that Jude could actually read his handwriting though—was that selfish? After a minute or so of back and forth with himself, he snapped a bit of lead from a mechanical pencil and turned back to the kitchen. That minute was all that Not-Pumpkin needed to disappear.

Jude searched carefully around the kitchen floor, but found no sign of where he’d gone. He sighed. He really thought they’d been getting along. He just had to hope the promise of sweets and props would be enough to bring the little guy back.

-

In the wallways, Hollow hesitated to mark the unit as unsafe. He knew Jude wouldn’t forget about this visit, wouldn’t forget that borrowers were real, but if he’d already known…there was no reason to get himself in trouble with the council if the host wasn’t going to try and trap any intruders. Jude hadn’t meant to keep him there, it seemed, though Hollow didn’t understand exactly why. He was just grateful that he'd been willing to believe that Hollow would write to him.

He made hesitant scratches in the wood to warn his fellow borrowers that the host inside had seen something. It was a simple glyph, vague, and hopefully enough to make the next person to pass through extra careful. He didn’t take the time to mark the other escapes. He was tired. His panic was subsiding, leaving him frustrated and exhausted.

His bag had been left behind, along with the best of his gear and all his loot. But as he trekked back through the darkness, he let relief win over the frustration. He had plenty of time to rebuild his kit. He wasn’t in a cage. He’d gotten away. He’d even had a good, rich meal and stuffed away enough leftovers to give his daughter.

He was home. They were safe.

--

taglist: @da3dm @whumpsday @gt-daboss @whumpinthepot (To be added/removed from the taglist please comment, ask, or message, I’ll forget if it’s just in the tags of a reblog!)

[heartfullofleeches]

Look, I don't want to sound like a presumptuous person but I just read your OC Vendetta and Healer Darling.

Now please consider Healer Darling that will beat someone till they almost died but Darling went "Not so fast-", will revive/heal them again with the power of healer because in their mind the beating is not enough. Then this cycle will go on and on till the Darling is satisfied. Just- just a healer person who are not afraid to use it for bad...

[Yan Magical Boy + Healer Reader Blurb]

[Tw: Violence, implied attempted assault]

"On your feet."

Choked sobs spill from blacked and bruised lips. Blood dirties your colthing and the filthy alley streets - kissing your aching knuckles and some even splattering on your face from the spray. Your would be assailant clutches their right leg, glazing up at you with their good eye and silently pleading for mercy.

You almost laugh - saving all your energy for the fist you throw at their jaw.

"I said - get on your feet."

"I...I can't...I'm sorry.. My.. leg.. my leg I think it's broken. I can't put any weight on it. Please, please just let me go. I won't do anything like this again, I swear-"

"I know you won't."

You place a hand on their leg, nails sinking into the damaged flesh as they jerk in a feeble attempt at kicking you away. Radiance emanates from your palm - the discoloration of their flesh peeling away as it flares brighter. Your attacker can only watch on in horror as the feeling returns to their battered limb. You beckon them upward.

"Come on. Get up. No excuses now."

They stumble to their feet. Silence falls over the scene say for their labored breathes as they stand there, weighing their options. Clenched fists relaxed around their cracked. They already underestimated you once tonight. Your attack takes a step back to leave the opposite way they came-

Ending up right back where they were moments ago as your foot connects with their chest.

Some of your shots may be cheap, but you'd have to be a coward to hit someone while their back was turned - and tonight alone you've proved you're anything but.

"You didn't actually think we were done, did you?"

The wet crack of flying teeth bounces off the alley walls. A molar lands at the feet of the shadow hiding just beyond a collection of dumpsters outside of your range of sight and rage - followed by another soon after presumably from the same placement. He probably should've stepped in by now, but the only time he cared to was before you threw the first punch and knock your attacker off their feet.

Vendetta waits until you're fully invested in pummeling the poor fuck before reaching out and scooping up the collection of teeth to keep as a trophy. Maybe he'll make matching necklaces to surprise you with some day in the future. For now he had to focus on regaining the strength in his own limbs so he could get the hell out of here before you noticed him. Who needed porn when he got to witness something like this? He was dying to meet you in person, but approaching you in this state probably wasn't the best idea for a first encounter. He'd probably ask you to punch him too and climax on the spot.

"h....help....."

Vendetta looks up - lips curling into a cruel smile as his eyes meet with the source of the pathetic whimper. He presses his fingers to his lips, hushing your attacker as they're dragged away screaming. Vendetta clicks his tongue as he pockets the handful of teeth - heartbroken over the fact he can't join the fun just yet.

He'll just have to settle for the leftovers once you're done.