#rib cage showers

[hometoursandotherstuff]

Now, here's a prime example of how rare, valuable, antiques get thrown away. This was on a site for shaming architecture, when the owners clearly preserved their Victorian shower. Luckily, several people set them straight.

Here is one of the comments:

"The stuff people put on here to ridicule, unfortunately just shows me how ignorant folks are. So, pls go back to whatever generic 'modern' bs you think is so great, and learn a hot minute about design & history. This was called a rib cage shower, and was brilliantly, walled off from the wood window sash. As I said, it was quite the indulgence in its day."

They were beautiful and probably only in the wealthiest Victorian homes. Yet, developers & flippers think they're ugly and don't understand the history. They get torn out and thrown in the dumpster when they should be sold to an architectural salvage yard.

[sir-subpar]

"What do your ribs cage?"

Have you ever thought about what you ribcage contains?

The easy answer is organs, right? Your heart. Your lungs, maybe?

Have you ever thought it might be something...else?

[euesworld]

"Darling girl, you know that you have my heart under lock and key.. my heart rests under your cage of ribs, and I am truly so blessed that you love me. I couldn't think of a life without your beauty, it would be like a world without beautiful flowers.. without summer, without April showers. How could this world exist without those things? You are in my dreams, the woman of my dreams.. you walk in and out of my mind daily. Even in my fantasies. I can't think of anything but you.."

You should know this by now.. you consume me - eUë

[camvrin]

HELP

[kurooh]

I’MA MAKE U SCREAM ★ S. GOJO & S. GETO

⊹₊˚. a series of unrelenting, mysterious phone calls late at night leads to you being sandwiched between two hot ghostface slashers who’ve got you fucking for your life.

warnings. 18+ content — mdni, fem! reader, ghostface! gojo & geto, threesome, knife play, landline phones, mentions of death, oral (f receiving), double penetration, anal/fingering, tongue piercings, pussy slapping, biting. 5.2K words whew (pls read anyway 🧎‍♀️)

xoxo, juno. happy halloween!! thank you to my dearest wolfy anon for beta reading <33 comment & rb if you enjoyed!!! 🎃

“hello?”

“why don’t you wanna talk with me?”

“who is this?” you roll your eyes, unimpressed by the cheery voice coming through the phone. “it’s like eleven at night, what do you want?”

“ya tell me your name, and i’ll tell ya mine,” that voice lilts into a teasing tone, words dripping with persuasive sweetness.

“nah, i’m heading to bed. nice talk.”

“aw, bedtime already? you’re not even gonna watch a movie before you sleep?” the question has your brows furrowing in aggravation, but you sigh, choosing to answer anyway.

“i didn’t have anything in mind,” the caller lets out a laugh, straight into your ear. “what, you’ve got a suggestion?”

“do you like scary movies?” and you can hear the smile in the caller’s voice; he’s amused, probably laughing with his friends over the prank call in the moments of muffled silence.

“i suppose so.”

“don’t you have a favorite? why not watch it?”

“well, i won’t be able to sleep,” you reply simply, twirling the phone cord between your fingers. “but the longer we talk, the more sleep i lose out on. so, have a good night!”

“wait!” the caller snaps, demanding as ever. the sudden outburst sends chills straight down your spine. “don’t hang up on me.”

“and why shouldn’t i?” the blatant defiance has the caller letting out a laugh that sounds rather menacing . . he clears his throat, seemingly returning to his more even tempered tone.

“we’re not done talking,” he says simply, sounding a little crackly through the phone. “so don’t hang up, you’ll—”

a rational person with an interest in talking would certainly call during the day, and only once or twice before quitting altogether to wait for a call back. an irrational person would have your house phones ringing off the hooks while you were in the shower, calling nonstop and then getting far too arrogant once you finally picked up. just as you slam the phone back down, it starts to ring again.

you decide to leave the room, figuring that the caller will tire himself out quickly, but he doesn’t. in the time that you left the phone to go to another room, there wasn’t a single beat of silence. furious, you race toward the phone, fingers sliding on the kitchen counter as you snatch it up.

“fuck you! listen to me, you’d better stop—”

“no, you listen to me,” the caller snarls, and the harshness of his voice has your heart kicking hard against your rib cage. something in your gut tells you that this isn’t just a talkative caller. “don’t fucking hang up on me again, got that?”

you recover some of your composure, goosebumps rising on your skin. the cool breeze blowing through a nearby window adds to the chilling feeling that’s washed over you in only a matter of seconds. “w-well, what do you want, then?”

“i wanna see your insides, dummy,” is the crazed response, and you can’t stop the way your face immediately twists in horror. a clicking sound is heard as the second phone in your house—the one upstairs—is picked up, and another person hops onto the call.

“now, now,” this new voice is smooth, immediately drawing your attention as you listen attentively through the phone. “that’s no way to talk, you’ll scare her silly.”

“what the fuck?” you ask aloud, although you hadn’t meant to. all you can think about is the fact that two weirdos have you almost . . cornered on the phone.

the crazy voice scoffs, ignoring your mumbling. “well, you heard her! trying to hang up and shit,” he clicks his tongue in disapproval before sighing. “anyway, where were we?”

you don’t even say anything, and the other voice exhales into the phone. “see, look at what you’ve gone and done now. our girl’s too scared to talk to us, isn’t she?”

“look, i-i’m just gonna go to bed. goodnight.”

“you’re not going anywhere, honey,” the calmer one of the two says, but this time his voice is much clearer, almost as if he’s standing beside you. you take a step backward, trying to shake off the weird feelings and relentless goosebumps spreading across your skin.

you might as well be wearing nothing.

the satin slip dress you were planning to sleep in is as thin as plastic wrap; you’ve backed up into someone’s strong chest and thanks to the thinness of your pajamas, you can feel each sharp ridge of muscle. the pecs are strong, firm to the touch, and the abs are hard enough to cut diamonds. fear races through your body, so overwhelming that your lips part to let out a scream—but the noise is muffled by a large palm that pulls you back, flush against the muscles. separated only by a few layers of clothing, you can feel the warmth of their body and the casual rise of their chest as they breathe. if you weren’t being silenced, this would be comforting, in a way.

“promise you won’t scream, baby?” that calm voice has a dangerous edge; you nod immediately, frantically, desperately — as you feel a few tears gather in your eyes. this . . does not look, feel, or sound good in any way imaginable. who even are these people? and why you? a seemingly normal thursday evening had gone entirely downhill, and you didn’t even know why.

“good girl,” the person hums, dropping their hand from the lower half of your face and instead replacing it with the sharp edge of a knife. “let’s head upstairs, shall we?” as you ascend the steps, the blade drops lower, until it hovers over the tender skin of your throat. you can’t even turn around and see who the person is, for fear of getting cut over the simple action.

“could i at least turn around?”

“what for?” he asks, nudging the bedroom door open. you’re met with the frightening sight of a person in robes lounging on your bed, against your pillows. they have a spooky, ghostly mask, but you know who it is the second their mouth opens.

“you took the knives out that quickly?” the figure clicks his tongue, raising a hand to his face to pull off the ghostface mask. so this is what this is—some kind of ridiculous scream roleplay . . but the feel of the knife and the way it gleams is too real. “what happened to playing around, suguru?”

“it’s—it’s you! from the phone.” you say, straining against the man behind you, who pulls the knife a few inches away from your throat.

“careful now, doll. you’ll hurt yourself.”

“if you let me go, maybe i’d—” the man on the bed sits up then, pulling off his mask. you can’t see who he is just yet, the shadow from his hood obscuring his face. in a moment, he grabs hold of your face with a gloved hand, fingers squeezing cruelly at your cheeks.

it’s utterly nasty, the way feelings of attraction twist in your stomach. heat rises to your cheeks and you swallow, looking into diamond blue eyes that have your heart fluttering despicably. how is it possible to even be focused on your grim reaper’s looks, almost entirely forgetting their intentions as you lose yourself in those eyes?

“cat got your tongue? i said i wanna see your insides and you didn’t even look fazed.”

beneath the robe, you can see the tips of snowy hair, along with a face that’s far too handsome to belong to some kind of murderer. you shake your head in disbelief, sucking in a breath. “uh . . huh? sorry, i didn’t hear you.”

he drops your face with an annoyed scoff, stepping back to plop down on your bed before fully pulling off his hood. “y’know what—suguru, you deal with her.”

the man behind you pushes you forward, and you awkwardly take a seat beside the sighing killer. suguru tugs off his mask and inspects the knife closely, running a gloved finger over the edge before nodding. “might as well use the knives on you. maybe you’ll hear us then?”

“what’re you—why’re you doing all this?” you ask, the words sputtering out of your mouth nervously. “is there any way i can convince you not to cut me open?”

suguru looks at his literal partner in crime, pushing his black bangs away from his eyes as he speaks. “oh? trying to cheat death, sweet thing?”

you shrug, casually flopping onto your back. the satiny fabric of your dress flips up, and you unintentionally give both of them a great view of your panties. now that they’re deliberating how to move forward with you, the fear of the situation has dissipated greatly. “i just wanna go to bed and live to see another day tomorrow. name the price for my life and i’ll pay it.”

“those are fighting words,” suguru remarks, “don’t you agree, satoru?”

satoru nods, eyes glued to the thin fabric covering what’s between your legs. his mind runs wild as he imagines what he and suguru could impose on you. they’re practically in sync—suguru looks over just as satoru looks up, the two of them sharing a knowing look.

“hmph. sit up and listen.” satoru nudges your thigh, and you do as he says, looking bored. the whole night has done one too many 180s, giving you the most severe case of whiplash in your life. you’d initially been annoyed, terrified, then mildly attracted, and now . . almost indifferent.

“you’ve got my full attention.”

“we’ll let you live, on one condition,” satoru raises a finger before you can object, while suguru’s eyes covertly sweep over your body. “think you could handle us at the same time?”

a proposition for a threesome is something you certainly did not see coming! you bite the inside of your cheek, willing yourself to maintain composure. suguru spices it up with a smirk, dragging that sharp knife of his along the edge of your jaw.

“you’ll have to fuck like your life depends on it.”

it does. tension weighs the air down, filling the room with a thickness even suguru’s knife couldn’t cut through. sweat beads along the skin of your spine and you exhale in defeat. being between these two would be hard—in all ways possible; but one mistake and they’d probably end up slitting your throat.

truthfully, you’re willing to risk it. most girls don’t usually cross paths with two men that are each extremely attractive and willing to share you between one another. you squeeze your thighs together, an action that doesn’t go unnoticed by either of them.

“y-yeah, okay. i’ll do it.”

“atta girl,” satoru praises, the corners of his eyes crinkling. a wicked smile finds its way onto his rosy lips, but you don’t back down, instead spreading your legs. you look between them, a silent invitation extended in one glance.

“lie back for us.”

“you were the one who told me to sit up—” perhaps the unnecessary snark isn’t a good idea, not with the way suguru eyes you warily.

satoru leans in hastily, connecting his lips with yours to effectively shut you up. his body barrels into yours, pushing you into suguru, who catches you and cages you against his strong chest. the knife is abandoned as he strokes his fingertips along the tender skin of your neck, sighing into your ear while satoru occupies your lips.

“so pretty. heh, you’re pretty every night.”

suguru’s touch has you letting out a moan that satoru eagerly swallows, his gloved hands roaming your body. however, he seems to remember he’s got gloves on; without pulling away, he snatches them off.

“her tits, suguru—play with her tits.”

the mumbled words are audible only to suguru, who complies with a chuckle. unlike satoru, he makes no move to do away with his gloves. you moan, his hands squeezing at your tits while his fingertips stroke over your nipples until they grow hard.

“s-suguru,” you mewl, pulling away for a moment to suck a breath into your deprived lungs, “keep touching me there—just like that.”

satoru’s palm comes down hard against the side of your thigh, and he grips your face, forcing you to look at him. “focus on me, got that? wouldn’t want him to stop, would you?”

you shake your head, and in a split second, satoru’s got your upper lip between his teeth. he bites down playfully; the impact makes you gasp, and he seizes the opportunity to slip his tongue into your mouth. arousal pools in your panties, and you fidget in your spot between them, hoping that you’ll finally get the attention you’ve been craving sooner rather than later. suguru’s tongue drags against your neck while he takes in the scent of your body wash from earlier’s shower. there’s a cool sensation coming from the center of his tongue—you can feel a firm ball of some kind.

it’s a little shameful, getting this hot and heavy from a simple kiss. only, his tongue rolls against yours, and any semblance of embarrassment melts away. suguru’s fingers pinch both of your nipples at the same time, sending shockwaves right to your pussy.

“fuck,” you sob into satoru’s mouth, practically lightheaded from how overwhelming it already is, as well as the lack of air. “i-i need more.”

suguru hums, continuing to toy with your hardened nipples. “already slutting yourself out for us, sweetheart? that was fast, wasn’t it?”

satoru finally draws back, a glossy string of spit connecting your lips to his. he doesn’t move just yet, savoring the moment like a piece of special candy—you’ve practically got hearts in your eyes, all hot and bothered because of him. well, suguru is a factor, but he didn’t put in nearly as much work as satoru.

“lie back for us, babe.” this time you don’t fight them on it, scooting off suguru so you can comfortably prop yourself up on the mountain of pillows.

“tsk. this dress ought to go.” suguru brandishes his knife, and cuts through the satin material of the slip as easily as a stick of butter.

“hey!” you snap, the remains of your dress sliding off to the sides of the bed like rags. “what about you two!? you can’t just cut up my clothes like that when neither of you are naked!”

satoru rolls his eyes, tossing your legs apart. meanwhile, suguru clearly isn’t done with that knife; he trails it along the slopes of your naked body, the edge of the blade sharpened in a way that has you gasping. he applies a little bit of pressure, and your skin splits like it would after a paper cut.

“a-are you cutting my skin open?” you ask incredulously. you know the answer, but for whatever reason, you don’t pull away from him.

“maybe,” he replies breezily. “‘s nothing deep. you can handle it, can’t you, honey?”

“would you look at that?” satoru wolf whistles, and heat rises to your cheeks as he gathers your legs together, tugging them up. the knife pauses at your collarbone as suguru leans backwards to take a look, and his eyebrows raise immediately.

“she’s fucking soaked.”

“put the knife down ‘n come give it a taste.”

satoru’s request is breathless, but effective. the knife falls onto the blankets, and for a moment you use your head to consider what might happen in the future—someone could sit on that thing, lie down on it. satoru’s tongue rips the thought out of your head and replaces the words that were on the tip of your tongue with a sweet moan of bliss. your clit throbs at the prospect of more, and their balmy puffs of breath fanning over you only arouse you further.

their faces press together, side by side as they start to eat your pussy in a way that immediately has your back arching and hips bucking. satoru focuses all his attention on your clit, flicking the tip of his tongue over it while suguru slurps up all of your slick. there it is again, that cool sensation—he’s got a tongue piercing. the moonlight shines through the flowy curtains, illuminating the killers in an almost angelic glow . . maybe they’re actually pussy killers.

“‘s like fucking candy,” satoru moans, tongue dipping down to gather up your slick. it bumps into suguru’s, and he only lets out a laugh that sends vibrations through your entire core. “sweetest pussy i’ve ever tasted, shit.”

the room fills with the lewd, nasty sounds of their slurping and licking as they devour your pussy together. you slip a finger between your teeth and bite down once one too many noises threaten to escape you, and suguru pulls back to land a smarting slap on your pussy.

“ah ah. do not try to go quiet on us.”

“sorry, ‘m sorry,” you stutter dumbly, mind and body reeling from the delicious sting of the slap.

“we want you screaming,” he emphasizes, spitting onto your cunt and watching as it flutters, the glob slipping down more rapidly due to the movement. “and you will be, by the end of all this. understand, doll?”

you nod hastily, and his eyes flick upwards to your face, the hardness in them a simple warning. “yeah, i understand.”

satoru’s drawing hearts and letters on your clit, each one making you shudder more than the last. each drag of his tongue makes him moan as he takes in more of your taste. beside him, suguru’s dips his tongue between your folds, the sensation nothing more than a tease. they plan to split you open on their cocks, and getting you desperate for it is only the first step of their plan.

“ngh, t-that’s so fucking good,” you cry, thighs quaking on either side of their heads. “please, i’m gonna cum.”

“give it to us,” satoru is the first to speak, his voice clear as it cuts through the lewd sounds in the air. he’s got one hand on the side of your thigh, holding you open just for them. “on our tongues, like a good girl.”

satoru’s ministrations on your clit grow more insistent; he’s working to pull your orgasm from you, while suguru continues to slurp at your messy pussy, his eyes falling shut. a familiar and overwhelming sensation coils in your tummy; it’s one that has your hands flying to both suguru and satoru’s heads, fingers finding purchase in their hair.

“i—i think ‘m gonna cum,” you cry, back arching off the bed while your hips jolt forward into their faces. after hearing the first word of your delirious warning, satoru replaced his tongue with his finger and moved beside suguru, the two of them slurping all your cunt has to offer. to them, it’s like drinking ambrosia.

you’re pulling hard at their hair, only encouraging them to groan against you. suguru speaks, eyes rolling back from just a little hair pulling. but it makes sense, with hair like that. of course his scalp is very sensitive.

“cover us in your cum, baby.”

obedient and right on time, your pussy gushes, hole fluttering around nothing while your clit throbs beneath satoru’s finger. the intense orgasm has left you twitching from the aftershocks, gasping for breath, and overly sensitive. of course, satoru and suguru take advantage of the aforementioned sensitivity with smirks on their faces.

“no, wait, i-i just came,” is all you can sob, your hands smacked away once you try to tug them off your aching cunt. “satoruuu, suguruuu.”

suguru only laughs, mimicking your tone with a roll of his eyes. “aw, babyyy. that’s too bad, isn’t it?”

with how sensitive you are, it’s not hard for them to drag a second orgasm out of you. this time, a few tears cascade down your cheeks as you fall over the edge with a pitched cry. satoru spanks your still twitching cunt and laughs at the way you gasp and recoil, legs still trembling.

“suguru, whatcha think? you wanna take her mouth ‘n i’ll fuck her pussy?”

“that’s far too considerate, satoru.” he shakes his head, talking about you as if you’re not in front of them. “c’mon,” suguru purrs, gesturing for you to get up as he slips off his robe and boxers. “lie on top of me.”

you can’t help but ogle, a little starstruck by his body and the thrill of everything. he sticks out his tongue playfully when he notices you staring, the metal ball in his tongue gleaming. his abs flex and his cock bobs as he lays down on your bed, beckoning you over with a gloved finger. satoru gulps, panting softly at the sight. following his best friend’s lead, he slips off his matching clothing and mounts the bed, which sinks under his weight with a creak. part of you wonders if the bed frame will give out by the end of this.

“hand me the lube,” suguru grunts, catching the small bottle in his larger hand. the liquid is cool, even through the leather of his gloves. he rubs his fingers together to warm it up a little for you. his fingertips prod at the tight ring of your asshole, and you let out a squeak of surprise.

“c’mon. relax for me, doll.”

you take a breath, body sweltering with arousal. this is certainly new for you, but you don’t complain—and anyway, the slight coolness of the lube feels good against your hot skin. satoru bites down on his lower lip as he watches his best friend prep you to take both of their cocks at the same time. something wicked has the corners of his lips curling up into a smile as he pictures you screaming for them.

likely picturing the same thing, suguru tongues at your jaw, kissing the tender skin wetly before nipping hard. you can only cry out, his lips serving as a simple distraction while his fingers push inside and stretch you out.

you gasp, and he feels you squeeze down hard on his fingers, hips jerking away. “come now, don’t run from it,” suguru coos, twisting his body beneath you to angle you the right way again. he ignores your whining, and satoru silently strokes his cock to the sight. “i know, i know. just breathe for me, ‘kay?”

slowly, your body accommodates the new stretch without any more sting or discomfort. in fact, your hips begin to rock into his fingers, chasing them when he starts to pull out.

“i-i think she’s ready, suguru,” satoru finally speaks up, clearing his throat. his voice is a little choked, and you can clearly see the flush on his cheeks even in the dark. “for both of us.”

“you hear that, honey?” his warm breath fans over the shell of your ear, making you shudder against him. “let’s see who can make you scream the loudest—me or satoru.”

“as if,” the man in question huffs, pushing your thigh to the side and looking over your dripping pussy with an obvious hunger. “fuck, baby. i’m gonna ruin you.”

with that, satoru grasps his cock and guides it inside your needy cunt. suguru does the same, pushing his length into your ass. the three of you moan collectively, a harmony if ever there was one. you sob, tears burning at the corners of your eyes from the intensity of the stretch.

satoru grits his teeth and grips your hips for support, then pushes all the way inside you. he bottoms out easily, his cock sliding against suguru’s, separated only by a thin layer of tissue. so thin that they can feel the shape of one another’s cocks through you.

“fuckin’—shittt, oh my god,” satoru’s easily overwhelmed, heart pounding in his ears while sweat covers his entire body in a sticky sheen.

suguru bites your neck hard, but the pain registers as pleasure despite the fact that he tastes a few irony drops of blood on his tongue.

“do either of you plan to move?” you complain, lips parting in an ‘o’ shape around a whiny moan. “or are we just gonna sit here—”

“shut the fuck up,” suguru groans, clapping a dry and gloved hand over your tits before squeezing them. “we’ll move when we fucking feel like it.”

waves of almost euphoria wash over your entire body, leaving you breathless and panting. when you’d first met these two, you’d been sharp and aware of your surroundings, but now everything is hazy and your body burns as though you have a fever.

the bed creaks dangerously as satoru jumps into action, slowly rocking his hips into yours with a few choked, wanton moans. before long, he’s more confident, fucking into you with a tight grip on your skin and at an invigorated pace. you’re so hot and oh so tight—satoru fucking loves it—you feel perfect. he loves the way you squirm on top of his best friend, hips canting forward eagerly to meet his. the evidence of how good he’s making you feel is painted all over your face, apparent in the wobble of your lower lip and the tears in your eyes.

you hear a sigh from behind you. “can’t lose the bet,” suguru’s voice is laced with faux sympathy. it takes him a few seconds, but he finally starts moving, groaning in approval at the shake of your body and gasping, ragged breaths.

above you, sweat rolls down satoru’s face, the snowy tips of his hair sticking to his forehead while others fall in front of his eyes. “y-you like it like this, baby?” the question is rhetorical, but your whimpering tells him everything he needs to know. the corners of his lips curl into a smile that’s soon wiped away by overwhelming pleasure. “you’re taking us so fuckin’ well, sweetheart . . driving me insane, goddamn.”

“i second that,” the metal ball of suguru’s piercing clicks as he sweeps his tongue over his teeth, panting hard into your ear. “really, baby . . feel like the luckiest fuckin’ guy in the world right now, heh.”

as if you’re not the luckiest girl—being sandwiched between these two is a dream you didn’t even know you had. inside you, their cocks throb against one another, dragging in and out of your holes ruthlessly. the tempo only speeds up, becoming too much too quickly.

you nudge a weak, clammy hand against satoru’s waist, arching your back on top of suguru and nearly nailing him in the face with a reverse headbutt. before the latter can say anything, satoru snatches your hand and intertwines your fingers with his, then pins it down to the bed. he advances forward, his chest now against yours to keep you still.

“ah ah,” he tuts, his nipples hard as they press against yours, “move your damn hand, baby. this is what you wanted, remember?”

“i certainly do,” suguru titters, nipping at your earlobe. “don’t be like that. you can take it, can’t you?”

his words are convincing; he’s got you nodding in acceptance. he’s right, of course. this is what you wanted earlier—you’ve been taking both of their cocks so fucking well. just as you tell yourself you’ll make it through this, satoru’s fingers ghost along the soft skin of your stomach. despite the exhaustion that’s setting into his body, his hips don’t even stutter as he focuses on your swollen clit.

“oh . . oh my god,” the words are torn from your throat, which only grows more sore with all the noise you can’t seem to stop making. a familiar shakiness settles in your voice, and you’re fighting to keep the breath in your lungs, but it escapes you far too easily. “i’m-‘m gonna cum for you, ‘m—”

as you hurtle closer to all encompassing euphoria, the sounds of skin slapping against skin fade out and grow foggy. yet, you manage to hear their voices eagerly spurring you on, the two of them in the same boat as you.

“yeah, ‘s right. fuckin’ cum for us, baby.” satoru’s own orgasm creeps up on him, his head tipping back as your pussy starts to flutter around his cock. of course, suguru can feel the throbbing of his best friend’s cock and the quavering of your needy pussy. he releases your tits, seeing the bruising he’s left before squeezing his eyes shut in concentration.

“ya heard him, honey,” he utters after a long groan, his voice low and husky. “take all of our fucking cum.” you gasp out, nodding your head frantically as you teeter over the edge.

everything happens fast, and all at the same time. satoru cums inside you, his broad shoulders shaking as he rides it out while your pussy practically milks him for more. your cunt spasms, hips jerking upwards from the intensity of it. the movement pushes out suguru, his cum leaking out of your bruised ass and spilling in white puddles on his pelvis.

satoru looks down, biting down on his lower lip as he pulls his cock from you. this is quite the reward, seeing cum pour from both of your spent and twitching holes. your shuddering, sweltering body finally begins to cool after what feels like hours. suguru’s exhausted, but he kindly lifts you and lays you down on the bed beside him. satoru flops down beside you with a heaving sigh, only to lay on the knife from earlier.

“ow, fuck!” he jolts, sitting up and tugging the sharp blade from where it’s tangled in the sheets. he unceremoniously hurls it to the floor, laying back down with a vengeful huff.

you’re too tired to laugh, but a small smile plays on your lips. “do you still wanna kill me?”

“not right now,” suguru throws an arm over his face, gesturing in the direction of the floor. “the knife’s down there, anyway.”

you sit up, craning your neck to take a look. from what you can see, the floor is littered with their dark costumes and two masks, the knife completely out of sight. “i don’t see it.”

“hm, remember we talked about making you scream for us?” satoru speaks up, and in your dizzy haze, you don’t notice that glint in his eyes.

“uh, yeah, i think so? i thought you already did.”

“don’t you watch scary movies?” suguru scoffs, looking at you from beneath his forearm. “you should know what happens next.”

you laugh, rolling your eyes. “yeah, whatever. what happens next, you kill me? very funny. let me convince you again,” and you clear your throat. “no, please don’t kill me, mr. ghostface! i wanna be in the sequel!”

satoru simply shakes his head, and the knife plunges into your back. with a gasp, you sputter out a few garbled words, blood pouring down your bare back as you fall backwards onto the bed. you writhe on the mussed sheets, blood spilling from your lips and trickling down your chin in vermillion rivulets. beside you, the blood covered suguru and satoru let you struggle aimlessly until your body stills; then they slip their masks on again . .

“andddd cut!” the director jumps from his seat with proud claps, and the production assistants rush in from every direction to help clean up the mess.

“satoru, fuck! that knife was so sharp,” you sit up, sending a glare his way as you wipe the fake blood off your skin. despite being a fake knife, the shiny plastic point was rather jagged.

“excellent performances, the three of you! our halloween special is sure to be a hit!” the director is gushing as he praises the three of you.

“yeah, yeah,” suguru says, his cheeks flushed a rosy pink. “i’ve gotta take a shower. seriously, the corn syrup is so fucking sticky.”

[sassmill]

OW

[yeyinde]

waking up after a night out drinking in a foreign country only to realise that the bed you're in is not your own. no one is beside you. you try to leave but the doors are all locked. the windows won't open. you're trapped. a pretty bird in a cage.

nothing is in the dressers except large, old shirts. the clothes you were wearing when you woke up disappear after you take a shower. no panties. no bra. food shows up on schedule. you never see who leaves it.

they don't answer when you scream. when you bang your fists against the door until they're bloodied. passing out on the floor when the drugs finally kick in. but the mess you make in the daytime is cleaned up. your hands bandaged. disapproval heavy in the air along with the stale scent of tobacco. smoke.

when you're good, you get things. books. magazines. treats. your favourite food. a laptop arrives when you sob yourself to sleep after screaming yourself hoarse about loneliness, and how this isn't right. this isn't okay. it's restricted, of course. you log into Facebook but the moment you try and ask for help, the internet is turned off. you're being watched. monitored closely.

you learn your lesson slowly, giving nothing away to your family and pretending you're enjoying your holiday. being good. quiet.

instead of treats, gifts, recipe books arrive—some pages dogeared. you start making the food. leaving a plate in the fridge. it's gone the next morning. more recipes appear. you make them, too. an expensive chain comes next. a pretty gold necklace for a pretty bird in a golden cage.

(each meal gets you a strange rash on your cheek, jaw the next morning. beard burn, you think, and try not to shudder.)

lingerie comes after. silk, lace. all of it fits perfectly. you try to avoid it. the idea, the implication, is a knife between your ribs, but the next morning, your laptop is missing. the books are gone. food, too. your clothes disappear until all that remains is the lingerie set and a little black box. one you pointedly ignore. throw out with the trash. chew on gum to make the ache in your belly go away until that vanishes too.

your world is narrowed down to hunger. loneliness. isolation—

(in the corner of the rooms, a red light glints in the dark. lonely, but not alone.)

it persists until you relent. give in. another lesson you learn. you wear the set to bed, and try to think nothing of it—

you wake up to something heavy around you. a warm, thick body pressed against your bare spine. coarse chair tickling the skin between your shoulder blades. a burly arm under your neck, elbow bent to wrap a rough hand around your neck. the other slung over your hip, shoved between your thighs. something hard presses into your ass. a bruising pressure. it aches. you stifle a gasp, but with his long, thick fingers wrapped tight around your throat, he feels it.

everything goes still. quiet. just the faint rustle of sheets. the scratch of coarse hair on silk. a breath. you tremble. fight back another gasp when lips press into your crown with a sharp inhale. scenting you. nuzzling into your scalp. warm breath that smalls of malt and honey. woodsy. tobacco.

your eyes adjust slowly to the dark, and fall on a black box left on top of your end table. velvet, you know. you've felt the softness between your fingers when you threw it in the trash with a sob. no escaping it, after all.

the hand between your thighs twitches. when he speaks, it shudders through your spine, makes your hair stand on end. it's a growling purr. the low roar of an old engine. more grit than comfort in the midnight dark.

"jus' close your eyes, love," he rasps, pushing his thick body tighter against you. coiling around you like a big, hungry bear. "an' go back to sleep for me."

and you do.

[suguru-getos]

jujutsu kaisen characters & how they react to you waking up with random bruises on your body

characters included: gojo, geto, sukuna

gojo satoru:

this man just genuinely does not get it? how is it that there are always bruises on your flawless body? whether you’d be sleeping next to him, or you both would be taking a shower together, satoru always finds out something. like the bruise on your arm- his fingers gingerly traced the skin and you winced. that’s when he yanked his arm off instantly like a scaredy cat. “sorry- sorry- baby, that looks like it hurts. what happened?” he hums, watching your features look even more ethereal now that your eyes meet his. the water from the shower drenching you and him. satoru marvels at your body like an excited child during times like these, but right now he’s worried. and the attention has been diverted from your ‘boobies’ to your arm. “ah- i dunno actually.” you shrug, watching the bruise. “might’ve hit something.” you shrugged again. what? what??? do you really not know how you got hurt in the first place? satoru has a little frown, and he sighs. “you should be a little more careful, princess.” he urges with all his might, holding you close. “don’t want you to take it as silly little bruises, my heart sinks.” oh, your man loves you so chokingly you almost forget, “gonna take care of it, toru, i promise.” you smile, grinning wide. now, satoru knows for a fact you won’t and he’s going to see another bruise very soon. however, there is a glimmer of fleeting hope he holds on to. :3

geto suguru:

“i should maybe start considering baby-proofing the entire house.” suguru hums on a random day, while you were sitting pretty on his lap and eating. the movie in front of you both had clearly gotten a little boring. “wow, why? don’t think i’m pregnant.” you chuckled, rolling your eyes. is that an insinuation to later on? 😏 you wonder. alas, suguru was serious. his rough hands brushed the supple skin of your arms, and eventually landing on your thighs, on the outer of your left thigh; suguru hums, “a bruise.” he sounds especially upset about it. his other hand caresses your knee, “another bruise.” you feel inspected, and weirdly nervous when suguru notices things so intricately; “dunno how i got em’…” you pout, and he hums, arms wrapping around your torso & pulling your smaller form plush against him. “that’s the thing, my love, maybe i should babyproof this house, so when you stumble and walk, you’re protected. silly baby.” oh— so that’s what he’s on about. you let out a chuckle, “don’t think so, i think i am perfectly capable of handling myself, thank you so much.” you wiggle a little to get comfier on his lap, head leaned slightly back, and slumping a little to enjoy maximum comfort. “and yet, my precious little thing has a body akin to the battle field.” you snort when suguru says that, dramatic king. “you’re too much, sugu.”

“please take care of yourself better, angel.”

ryomen sukuna:

“going to tie you up and cage you in now, brat.” sukuna snarls a little, unimpressed as you lay down next to him, curled up naked after a good time. “what d’you mean.” you pout a little, the sudden change in his behaviour quite unwelcoming. he hums, watching your body and tracing the random bruise near your rib, before you contort your face and say it could be from sukuna himself, he repeats instantly. “i didn’t give you that one.” your mouth fails into a chuckle when sukuna defends himself. “sorry, i just don’t know where i got that one from.” you mumble, nuzzling against his chest and hiding your face. “doesn’t hurt that much even if you touch it.” you defend yourself again. “clumsy and weak.” sukuna rolls his eyes, patting your ‘bruised’ ass which was totally his doing with such ease. “hypocrite king of curses.” you snort, earning another spank and bursting into a fit of laughter.

[illyrianbitch]

An Education in Malice — Part Six

Pairing: Vanserra!Reader x Azriel

Summary: With the sharp tongue of your notorious family, you are Azriel's most tantalizing challenge yet. It only takes one small meeting before you both realize that the line between hate and desire is dangerously thin.

Warnings: mentions and descriptions of wounds, scars, and allusions to torture, canon-typical violence, fighting, killing, death— all the fun stuff really. reader being a lil badass, az being emotionally vulnerable, a turning point in their relationship!!!!

Word Count: 9.8k this was originally going to be like 2-3 diff parts, but i loved reading it all as one, so consider this my lil offering since i disappeared for like 2 weeks <3

Part Five | Series Masterlist | Part Seven

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹ 

You always hated the ornate mirror that had stood in your room — its gaudy, gilded and tarnished frame was far too large for your liking.  You hated how much space it took up, how much of yourself you could see as you passed it. 

On most days, the female staring back at you felt like a stranger— someone wearing your face yet existing in a distant world. She moved when you did, blinked when you did, too. But she wasn’t you. And you hated it. So you didn’t often linger on your reflection. 

Except for today. 

Your hair was damp from the bath and a faint smell of sage and patchouli clung to your skin from the residue of your bath soap. 

Your eyes traced the lines of your face, following the tired shadows beneath your eyes and scars that marred the skin of your stomach. Normally, when you stood there with a focused gaze and a troubled spirit, it was because you were examining new wounds, cataloging the fresh marks left behind from nights where your father was particularly angry. All of those wounds were hidden beneath clothing, concealed where no one but you would ever see— carefully, strategically, placed. 

You’d gotten used to the marks, comfortable with them, even. There were many things in your life that weren’t yours. But these— these scarred areas of skin, these were yours. Proof that your body had worked to protect you, to fix and heal itself despite what had been inflicted unto it. And in some strange way, it made you feel less lonely. 

If it was any other day, you wouldn’t have looked any longer than a second, a minute at most. You’d walk past the mirror, change into a dress fit for an audience, and leave. 

Today was different. Today, your eyes were drawn to the intricate tattoo etched just beneath your left breast, wrapping around your rib cage. It was the first time you’d really looked at it, the first time you’d allowed yourself to acknowledge its presence since its creation. 

The tattoo was a delicate masterpiece, a swirling pattern of dark ink that almost resembled Azriel’s shadows perfectly— so perfectly it made you nauseous, made you flinch at the first sighting because it seemed too real.  It was beautiful, haunting, and undeniably meaningful.

It made you feel sick.

You traced the pattern with your fingertips, thinking back to how Azriel’s hand felt in yours, to the warm feeling you felt in your chest. You’d never made a bargain before— not even in Autumn. Perhaps all bargains caused this feeling you now felt, a sense of residue that your body held of him, as if you had crumbs of his being stuck to you. 

A knock at the door pulled you from your thoughts. 

You turned to see Laney's ears twitch as she registered the sound. Whenever you showered, whenever you were naked and vulnerable at all, really, she always guarded the door heavily, never moving. The knock was so gentle that she didn’t growl; instead, she sniffed under the door, her movements growing excited— happy. You could tell by her posture that the visitor was no threat. Not only that, but the knock was delicate— patient, almost. You knew who it was by that fact alone. 

Scrambling, you hastily pulled on your clothes, trying to regain some semblance of composure as you blinked away the last remaining images of Azriel from your mind. 

The tension in your body eased as you opened your door. 

"There’s my beautiful girl."

A small smile tugged at your lips as you embraced your mother, feeling the warmth of her body fold over you like a comforting cloak. You held her for another moment, savoring the softness of her touch and her heartbeat beneath you, and then you stepped aside to let her in. 

Your eyes flickered to the back of the hallway she’d come from. 

Your mother caught your gaze swiftly. "He’s with some of his men. Drunk. He’ll be busy for the night."

You swallowed, trying to suppress the unease that settled in your stomach. She placed a gentle hand on your arm.

"It’s alright," she said gently, “Too drunk to even function.”

You hated that you knew what she meant, that you and your mother had grown to develop your own language regarding the males in your home—regarding the one that owned you both. Her words meant that Beron had an enjoyable day, one that filled him with enough joy to celebrate— that such celebrations were going to tire him so deeply that he’d fall asleep straight after. No issues for you, no issues for your mother. You nodded slowly.

Your mother stepped closer, her fingers brushing through your still slightly damp hair. "Let me braid this mane of yours," she said softly, her touch light as she affectionately stroked your cheek. You casted a wary glance behind you, towards the darkened hallways, but nodded nonetheless, closing the door behind you with a soft click. 

Laney curled up comfortably on your bed, her relaxed posture easing some of the remaining tension in your shoulders.  The act alone was a sign of her trust, a reminder that she felt safe and saw no threats nearby. If Beron ever caught her on any furniture, she’d be punished. But in this moment, she was calm and content, and you let that calm you too.

And then you were back in front of the mirror again. 

Your mother pulled a small velvet stool in front, gesturing for you to take a spot. The large frame of the mirror seemed to laugh at you and as your mother stood behind you, delicate arms reaching for a hairbrush, you felt like a child again. The mirror seemed to grow even larger, even grander, and you fought to recognize the female that stared at you through it. 

You watched as your mother moved with the same gentle grace she had always possessed, bringing a hairbrush to your damp hair. Your mother was beautiful. She always had been. Even now, with the sadness in her eyes— a trait specific to Vanserras, you were certain—she was one of the most beautiful people you knew. Your thoughts drifted to what she must have been like when she was a bit younger, how she was when Helion first met her. You wanted to know it all, wanted to know your mother as a teenager, wanted to know how she fell in love. 

Her eyes caught yours in the mirror and her movements slowed. The expression on her face softened. 

"Where has that mind drifted off to?" 

You blinked, shrugging slightly. There was a lump in your throat as you responded, "Nothing real."

She frowned, and her eyes danced across your face before she continued brushing your hair. A thoughtful hum left her lips. "You've been gone a lot recently. Done a great job of stressing your poor brother out. Where is it you've been running off to?"

Her voice was soft and kind and just below a whisper—  as if you two were sharing a secret. It was her classic motherly way of interrogating you. The gentleness in her tone made it clear that she didn't mind, no matter the answer. She never did.

A soft laugh escaped you. "I have to visit all of my many admirers."

Her answering laugh was sweet and quiet, a sound so pure it almost felt out of place in this house. You resisted the urge to look back at your closed door, to wait in fear for heavy footsteps. But your mother didn’t seem worried about an intrusion. Instead, she looked at you with a glint in her eyes, a mischievous sparkle that reminded you so much of Eris—right down to the playful eyebrow raise.

"Joke as much as you'd like. We both know you have plenty of those," she teased.

You smiled to yourself.  

"How could you not when you're so beautiful?" she added, her voice filled with a sincerity that made your throat tighten.

You looked at her in the mirror again. Her eyes were so kind. They held the same warmth you’d see in Lucien’s— a warmth that you’d see even in Eris’s when he was at ease, comfortable. Those times were rare now, if not impossible. 

You looked at your own reflection.

You didn’t have kind eyes. You had your father’s eyes. Beron's eyes—hard, angry, simmering with rage. You had his temper, his unforgiving nature. You were every part of him that you hated, and you were reminded of it every day. Reminded of it when you struggled to control your powers, when you failed to harness the very essence of who you were. Reminded of it when you looked in the mirror for too long— when you thought about how you would never be soft like the females males often loved. That your pain didn’t lead you to be kinder, didn’t teach you to be gentle.

Your hand drifted to your heart instinctively, fingers brushing on the fabric just above your breast. You trailed down to the side of your ribs, to where a spiral of ink now adorned your skin. 

Your mother finished the large braid, bringing it around your shoulder. She caught your gaze in the mirror and smiled. "Do you like it?"

She had a freckle above her eyebrow, the same freckle your brothers each had in different places on their faces. Eris had the most freckles out of all of you. They painted the bridge of his nose and his arms the most—

"Honey?" 

You blinked. Your body felt fuzzy as you reached up to touch the braid. "Yeah,” you said, clearing your throat. “Thank you."

Her kind eyes softened at you— softened in a way you didn���t feel worthy for. There was a faint simmering in her eyes, a fire that she still held despite how her life had treated her. It had dimmed over the centuries, lessened to a small flicker. But the flame was still there. You saw it. 

You took a deep breath, maneuvering yourself to turn in the chair and face her. You made room for her to sit next to you, gesturing with a small smile and a lift of your chin. 

"I have to tell you something.”

She sat and frowned slightly, eyes scanning your face. But she said nothing, waiting for you to continue.

"Do you remember when I was little? And you used to love reading me that one poem?"

Her expression softened, and a gentle smile played on her lips as a distant look grew in her eyes. She knew, without you even saying the title, exactly what you were referring to— after countless nights spent curled around you, running her hands through your hair as she repeated the words she’d memorized so long ago, how could she not?

So she watched you, her gaze unwavering, as you began to recite your favorite stanza. "In life's cruel grasp we could not abide, so we made a pact with the Reaper's side."

Her voice joined yours. "And in death's embrace our freedom lies, where we'll find each other beneath somber skies."

You smiled to yourself, looking at her, scanning her face. "I know why you love it so much."

She furrowed her brows, yet even then she looked so patient, like she'd sit there and wait for hours until you were ready to speak again. This was someone who had been made kind by what they had gone through. You almost felt ashamed that you had turned out differently.

Finally, you said, "I found the book. In Helion's library."

A flash of recognition crossed her face, and she softened, her eyes taking on a distant, wistful look. "You did?"

You nodded again, watching her closely as a tender, almost nostalgic smile played on her lips. She tried to compose herself, her eyes growing distant and glazing over. "I've heard he loves to collect stories." She paused, then asked, "What were you doing all the way over there?"

You thought about her question, about answering, about maybe telling her everything. But there was only one thing you could pull yourself to say. "I know," you said softly. "About Helion. I know."

She understood what you were truly saying. A sigh left her lips and an echo of her younger self appeared in her eyes, a female who had fallen hopelessly and madly in love. A version much younger—much more innocent. More hopeful.

"I'm so sorry," you whispered, your voice breaking as she met your gaze. Her face seemed pained, shocked almost, and her eyes filled with confusion. She moved closer to you, grabbing your hands in her own.

"What could you possibly be sorry for?"

It was becoming increasingly difficult to draw a full breath. There was something constricting around your chest. Perhaps it was all of the recent stress, the worry of how much harder things had gotten, the image of a life your mother could have had— this suffocating tie to Azriel that you now had etched into your very flesh. 

"You were loved. And you deserve better,”  Your voice caught in your throat and a tear trickled down your cheek as you shook your head slightly. “And I can't do anything to help—"

“No, no,” She interrupted you, bringing her warm hands to cup your cheeks— pulling your eyes to her kind ones.  "I'm your mother. I'm supposed to help you."

Tears welled in your eyes as she continued. "I should be apologizing to you,” she murmured, “I could be better, stronger. I should apologize that I was selfish and brought you into this world."

"Selfish?" 

How could she ever consider herself selfish? You knew the pain she carried, the weight of responsibility that seemed to crush her at times. You saw it reflected in Eris— a specific pain that came from feeling like you could never do enough. But even with your older brothers, despite their cruelty and callousness, your mother loved them fiercely, passionately. Loved them with every fiber of her being, every part of her that she gave to them. 

"Yes," she replied softly, her touch gentle as she rubbed your cheek, her eyes full of emotion. "Oh, how excited I was to have a girl. You, my sweet, are one of my greatest blessings. My beautiful daughter. So strong, so loyal. I just couldn't imagine a life without you."

You wanted to reassure her, to alleviate her guilt, but words seemed inadequate in the face of such profound love. Instead, you leaned into her touch, covering her hand with yours, and held on tightly.

"One day, things will be different," she said, her voice soft but filled with conviction— enough of it that it eased the anger that bit at your gut. "You can be different. And you won't be like him."

She paused, her eyes locking onto yours with a depth of understanding that made your chest tighten. "You’ll know what love is. And you won’t have to resort to reciting poetry to know how powerful it can be."

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹ 

The dense canopy of trees above barely let any light through as you hurried along the forest path. Spring along the border was always odd, with dense forests giving way to large rolling hills. The difference in scenery, usually something you welcomed, felt nauseating today. All the sights, the smells, even the sunshine, seemed overwhelming.

You walked faster than usual, eyes fixed ahead, hands clenched at your sides. Azriel’s keen senses had already picked up on the subtle signs—your shallow breaths, the way your shoulders were stiff with tension. 

"Why are you walking through the woods and not even looking at me?"

You stopped as Azriel’s voice rang in your ears. 

You’d come to rely on these meetings with Azriel to exchange information, to strategize, to plan how to give your brother an edge. They’d eased your anxiety slightly, giving you a sense of support that you’d never thought would be found in Azriel of all people. But he was smart, as much as you hated to admit it, and had dedicated time to offering you aid. 

The truth was, you didn't quite trust your self-control right now. For some inexplicable reason, Azriel's scent was intoxicating, flooding your senses and causing your thoughts to swirl in a disorienting mix of attraction and confusion. Despite how hard you tried to fight it, you found yourself looking forward to these encounters. And that was a dangerous reality. 

"I like to stretch my legs," you finally responded, attempting to sound casual. "And maybe I just don't want to face you."

“Is that so? Nervous to stare at me too long?"

You could already picture the hint of a smirk playing at the corners of his lips— a bit of personality that you’d seen grow over your time together. You rolled your eyes, turning around and facing him with a blank look.

He stepped closer to you, eying you closely. “Worried that you’ll go crazy with desire?”

His smirk deepened, a rare, genuine smile breaking through his usual stoic mask. You bit the inside of your cheek in response.  "Don't flatter yourself,” you scowled. “Maybe I’m being kind and saving you from embarrassing yourself with how badly you’ll want me.”

This was dangerous��� it was entirely too playful, too close to the brink of what you assumed friendship felt like. 

“Are you?” he asked, his voice dropping lower, more intimate. “Being kind?”

Azriel’s hazel eyes bore into yours and your chest tightened at the eye contact. You cleared your throat, turning away and resuming your brisk pace. “Shut up and let's just go.”

Behind you, Azriel chuckled softly, the sound rolling across your senses like an unwelcomed caress, making you shiver involuntarily. 

"Stop laughing," you gritted out, “I’ve never heard a worse sound.”

The chuckle faded and you heard him come to a stop. You turned around, meeting his gaze with a glare. He stood there, arms crossed, a faint smirk still playing on his lips. He seemed amused, at ease, even.

“What?” you snapped, your patience wearing thin.

He nodded towards you. “What’s your problem?”

“You standing there. That’s my problem.”

Azriel raised a brow, uncrossing his arms as he took a few steps forward to stand directly in front of you. He narrowed his eyes, studying you intently. “You’re bitchier than usual.”

“Careful,” you gritted out, staring at him with a heavy, burning gaze. 

“I’m here helping you,” he said evenly, his voice holding a hint of reproach. “You can drop the attitude.”

"You’re only helping me because you want to get rid of me and, sadly, you can’t kill me," you shot back, bitterness lacing your words.

Azriel's jaw tightened, his eyes flashing with something that almost seemed to resemble something like anger— like hurt. 

"I believe I've made it clear that your death is something I've purposely avoided."

Something about the way he was staring at you made you shiver. You fought the urge to run your hands over the area where your skin was now marked with the tattoo of a bargain. You met his gaze, steadying yourself. "Why didn't you tell me that Rhys presented my father with a proposition? That he requested an audience with him?"

Azriel blinked. "I wasn't aware that Rhysand had already done so."

"But you knew?" 

"Yes," he replied,  "I did."

"What good is this stupid bargain of ours if you don't even uphold it?" 

Azriel's expression hardened and he leaned down further. The scent of him filled your nostrils and you sucked in a tight breath, feeling your chest constrict with the motion. "I take my bargains very seriously. Our deal was that I would help you, that you would get what you wanted. Not that I would tell you everything."

Your nostrils flared.

"Do you realize how much danger Rhysand has put us in? Put me in?" Your voice trembled with barely restrained anger. "Beron is upset that Rhysand thinks of him as someone so conforming. He's convinced he has a traitor in his ranks. And if you haven’t noticed, Shadowsinger, he does!" 

You pointed to yourself and Azriel’s face seemed to darken with understanding. 

"Y/n—" he started, but he stopped abruptly, his gaze shooting to the trees beyond you.

Annoyance flared within you. "What?" you snapped, but he ignored you, his focus elsewhere.

"Can you just finish whatever the hell—"

Azriel moved with lightning speed, grabbing you and pushing you against a tree. His hand flew to your mouth, covering it as he brought his other hand to his face, a finger on own lips in a gesture of silence. Your eyes widened, watching as a muscle feathered in his cheek, his wings flaring slightly, shadows skittering around him.

Then you heard it too—a familiar laugh. 

"I know you're here, Shadowsinger. I can smell the bastard on you," Renard's voice echoed through the trees, taunting and cruel.

Desperation clawed at you. In a surge of panic, you bit down hard on Azriel's hand. He pulled back with a sharp intake of breath and you gave him one last look before you winnowed away. You could've sworn you saw a flicker of hurt, a sense of betrayal in the whites of his eyes. 

And then he was gone from your view. 

You didn’t get far, appearing in another thicket of trees within the same forest. Breathing heavily, you leaned against a sturdy oak.

Why hadn’t you winnowed farther? Straight to Autumn?

A tug in your chest nagged at you.

Faintly, the sounds of a struggle reached your ear—grunts and the clash of metal. You clenched your fists, chastising yourself. Do not go back, you thought. It's dangerous. You're putting yourself at risk—you and Eris, you and your mother. If they find you, if they manage to tell your father, you're dead. He'll kill you.

Azriel doesn’t matter, you tried to convince yourself. He can handle himself. And if not—

“Damnit.”

You made the decision before you could second-guess yourself, winnowing back immediately to where you had left him.

Disorientation clouded your vision the moment you landed. You blinked rapidly, taking in the chaotic scene before you. Azriel was engaged in a flurry of combat with three men— soldiers adorning the colors of your court. His gaze flicked to you for a split second, and his face softened with a brief, almost imperceptible relief.

You gave him what felt like a smile—an acknowledgment, a reassurance—before the reality of the situation snapped you back. Countless men surrounded you both, their eyes glinting with malice, with something that felt awfully like hunger. 

You had no weapon, but Eris had taught you ways to deflect attacks. 

One of the men lunged, and you dodged, feeling the blade cut through the air dangerously close to your side. With a swift kick, you sent him stumbling backward, then followed up with a sharp jab to his throat. He gasped, clutching at his neck, and you swiftly disarmed him.

Steel clashed against steel as you parried another strike, your movements agile and precise. A second attacker closed in, and you deflected his blade before stepping inside his guard, driving your elbow into his face. Blood sprayed as he staggered back, dazed. With a decisive motion, you brought his own weapon down through him, a sickening squelch filling your ears as he dropped to the ground.

Azriel was a blur beside you, his movements so swift and deadly it was almost poetic.

You managed to disarm another man, twisting his wrist until he dropped his weapon with a cry of pain. You kicked the sword away and followed up with a decisive strike to his chest, sending him sprawling to the ground. Your weapon found its way clean through his throat next.

Breathing heavily, you scanned the clearing, your eyes darting from one enemy to the next. There were countless bodies now, sprawled across the ground like fallen leaves— but none of their faces matched the one in your mind. You surveyed your surroundings once more. 

"Looking for me, princess?" The voice cut through the air, raspy and filled with disdain.

You spun around as Renard emerged from the trees, stalking closer with predatory grace, like an animal preparing for a kill. "Because I was looking for you."

He looked worse than the last time you’d seen him, barely alive, supporting swollen eyes and blackened marks around his neck. Beron had indeed tortured him, and the sight filled you with a grim satisfaction.

"Must be hard looking for anything with those eyes," you retorted, a grin on your lips.

"You did this to me, you traitorous whore," Renard spat, his face contorted with anger. He made a move towards you, eyes narrowing as he caught sight of the flames flickering against your hands, unsteady.

"Real cute," he mocked. You bit back the frustration boiling in your gut, gritting your teeth as you focused on the simmering underneath your skin. 

“Come closer,” you sneered, “Let’s see how cute they feel on your burning flesh.”

“You always had such a foul mouth on you. It’s like you’re begging to be killed.”

Without hesitation, Renard lunged at you with a speed fueled by rage and desperation. You both collided in a flurry of strikes and parries, the sound of clashing metal ringing through the clearing. The flames in your hands flickered erratically as you tried to maintain focus amid the chaos.

You had always observed your father's men so you could be one step ahead— just in case. Now, facing Renard, you could sense his frustration with every move you countered, every strike you parried.

"You think you can match me, girl?" His voice dripped with contempt as he circled you, "I'll make your father's punishments seem gentle compared to what I have in mind."

"You talk too much," you managed to rasp out between clenched teeth. 

Renard's face twisted into a cruel smile as he pressed on, his strikes growing more aggressive. "I wonder what Beron will do with your body," he taunted, "If your mother will even be allowed to mourn you."

The thought hit you like a physical blow, momentarily freezing your movements. In that moment of hesitation, Renard seized the advantage. With a swift and brutal maneuver, he knocked your weapon from your grasp and delivered a fierce blow that sent you sprawling to the ground. Before you could react, he was upon you, gripping your hair and wrenching your arms behind your back, a hold tightening around your throat.

Panic surged through you as you tried desperately to summon your fire, but it wouldn't respond. You tightened your jaw, focusing every ounce of concentration to call forth that spark of heat, cursing the world—the training that was never enough, your father's prevention of you perfecting the skill.

Renard's breath was hot against your ear as you writhed beneath him. He gripped your chin roughly, forcing you to watch as Azriel fought against overwhelming odds. Men surrounded him, their blows raining down on him relentlessly.

"Is this how he had you?" Renard's voice dripped with venom. "From behind?"

You closed your eyes, summoning images of Eris, your mother, Lucien— each face a steadying breath in your mind. When you opened your eyes, your gaze landed on Azriel, surrounded by a sapphire aura that blurred with his swift movements. 

With a surge of willpower, you summoned every ounce of strength, every flicker of fire you could muster. Flames erupted from your hands with a hot burst of energy, startling Renard and giving you a split-second window of opportunity.

You turned around and seized him, your grip iron against his throat as you backed him into a nearby tree. With cold intensity, you stared into Renard's eyes, the flames casting flickering shadows across his face. 

"Don't worry,” you growled, “I won't be gentle."

Within seconds, flames engulfed Renard's throat and face, the heat and light blinding in their intensity. He screamed in agony, thrashing under your grasp, but you held on, firmer and harder each time he flailed.

As the flames dwindled, leaving behind only smoldering ruins, you staggered back, hands trembling and covered in ash and the stench of burnt flesh. But before you could dwell on the burnt remains of Renard that lay at your feet, you spun around to focus on Azriel, still fighting off multiple men, surrounded by the shimmering sapphire light of his power.

Two men stood directly in front of him, while another pair prepared to strike from behind. You glanced down at your hands and screwed your eyes shut for a fleeting moment. When you opened them again, the fire was there—steady and trained. With a fierce determination, you summoned the flames into existence, shaping them swiftly into whips of fire that crackled and danced in the air.

You brought your hands out towards the two men, feeling the fire respond to your command, crackling and whispering with power as it morphed itself at your will. The flames transformed into fiery whips, extending from your outstretched arms like extensions of your fury, connecting with the two bodies threatening Azriel.

The fiery tendrils snaked around their necks like vengeful serpents, searing flesh and scorching hands as the men futilely tried to break free. With agonized screams, they collapsed to the ground. The flames dwindled down to mere embers. When you looked up, Azriel met your gaze, his face bloodied and his leathers splattered with crimson. Shadows writhed around him, dancing on the forest floor towards your feet.

He walked towards you, his eyes shifting to the fallen bodies at your feet. He took in the sight for a moment, gaze focusing on the marred flesh across their throats. Then he blinked and brought his focus to you. "Where's Renard?"

You glanced over to the disfigured body and pile of ash near a tree. Azriel followed your gaze and he blinked once more, his eyes widening as he took in the sight. His lips parted as if to speak, but before he could utter a word, his attention abruptly shifted.

He pulled your body into him, his wing extending protectively in front of you right as a sudden ripping sound tore through the air. You were pushed away from him just in time to witness a thick weapon—a sharp, wide blade welded to a spear—pierce through the membrane of his wing. 

He cried out in agony, falling forward slightly, enough for you to catch the gaze of a lone soldier peering over the apex of his wing. You grabbed a nearby weapon and hurled it with all your might. The blade found its mark, burying itself in the soldier's neck. He collapsed instantly, motionless on the forest floor.

Azriel let out a cry of pain as he ripped the weapon out from his wing, causing it to twitch involuntarily. "C'mon, we need to go," you urged, moving closer to him. With great effort, he tried to adjust himself as you lifted his arm over your shoulder, feeling his weight and warmth press into you.

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹ 

The journey back to the cabin was a blur of frantic winnowing and determined dragging through the dense forest. Your muscles ached as Azriel’s weight dragged heavily against you, stumbling with every move as the pain in his body grew. He groaned in pain as you lowered him onto the couch, the sound raw and unsettling in the quiet home.

Kneeling beside him, you moved closer to get a better look at the injury on his wing, but Azriel scrambled away from your touch and further into the couch. Your gaze settled on his face— eyes screwed shut, jaw clenched so tightly that you could see the strain in every muscle. His siphons glowed with an intense, flickering light and his shadows seemed to respond to his distress, curling protectively around him. For a moment, you felt a pang of envy. Even in his delirium, he had something to shield him from the world. 

The sight of him like this—so vulnerable, so raw—made your stomach churn. His breathing was ragged, each exhale accompanied by a soft whimper that he seemed to be fighting to suppress. Sweat matted his hair to his forehead, and every so often, he would twitch. 

You always thought that seeing Azriel suffer would make you feel good, make you feel some sort of vindication. Often, you used to imagine it would be you bringing him to his knees in pain, him and the rest of Prythian—making them suffer as you and your family had for centuries. But now, as you watched him writhing in pain on the couch, your heart hurt in a way you had only ever felt for your family—and even worse. You felt like you were in pain too.

But you had no wounds comparable to Azriel. 

A knot tightened in your chest and an unexpected urge surged through you—to comfort him, to wipe the sweat-dampened hair away from his forehead, to ease his torment. You blinked the thought away— nauseating and entirely too heavy for you to acknowledge further. You brought your attention back to his wing.

The membrane was pierced clean through by the weapon, a gaping wound from which blood and darkened poison gushed. The sight made you nauseous and you pushed away the haunting images of your father's face, the sound of leather striking flesh, and the memory of Eris's scarred back.

"I need to burn it out.”

Azriel's eyes shot open. "No, no," he pleaded weakly, his voice strained heavily. "Please."

Your hands hovered uncertainly above him. The first time you’d felt this poison in your wounds, it had felt like your body was eating itself from the inside out. You’d gotten used to the pain after a while, but Azriel was new to it— and Illyrian wings were incredibly sensitive from what you’d learned. He was in blinding pain.

"It's the only way to stop it from spreading," you insisted. "It'll only get worse if I don’t. You won’t be able to heal otherwise."

"That's—that's not how faebane works," he stammered, shaking his head vehemently. 

You gritted your teeth, letting out an exasperated breath as he rambled. "Because it's not faebane–”

Something seemed to snap. Azriel flinched, his eyes snapping to you with a wild intensity. His pupils were blown wide with fear, like a trapped animal. "You set me up."

Your stomach dropped.

"What?" 

You pulled your hand away, feeling an unfamiliar sting of offense wrapping itself around your chest. Azriel’s jaw clenched and his gaze darkened into a dangerous, skeptical narrow. 

"You're not hurt," he continued. "Was this some setup?"

Azriel's shadows flickered and writhed around him, siphons glaring with an iridescent light. He clutched at his injured wing, muttering through gritted teeth, "I knew it. You— you Vanserras."

He spat your family's name with such venom that for a fleeting second you questioned whether poison had lined his mouth rather than the wound on his wing. 

You were a fool. Azriel’s pain shouldn’t have bothered you so deeply. You should have never went back to help him. The hurt boiling under your skin made you feel weak, made you feel small.

"I will never be trusted by you, will I?" you asked, the words weak on your tongue. You looked at him and fought to push that stupid empathy away. Azriel said nothing as he grimaced further in pain. You let out a humorless laugh.

 "Right,” you said, “Deal with it yourself then. Stay here and die for all I care.”

You turned to leave, but his hand shot out and grabbed yours. The grip was firm, but not hard enough to hurt you. He adjusted his fingers around yours. When you looked down, Azriel’s pleading gaze met yours, sweat clinging to his hair as he looked up at you through darkened lashes. "No, no, I'm sorry," he murmured, "Please."

You hesitated. 

A surge of conflicting emotions—anger, hurt, and an unsettling tenderness you didn't want to acknowledge—washed over you.

Pull away. Leave him.  

And then you swallowed down the hatred, the cruelty that had risen, and knelt back down in front of him. He let out a relieved sigh. Your eyes fell to his hands, taking in the scarred tissue covering his skin— deep marks etched by fire and flame. 

"Close your eyes and pretend I’m Morrigan.”

His eyes flickered to you. "What?"

“Azriel,” You took a deep breath, training your eyes on him. "I need you to trust me. And since you don’t—close your eyes and pretend that I’m not me."

Your voice was gentler than you’d ever heard it, softer than you ever thought yourself capable of.  Azriel swallowed hard, then gave a small nod. His eyes shuttered closed.

You gently placed your palm on his injured wing, feeling the delicate membrane beneath your touch. Your other fingers trembled slightly as you summoned Eris' voice into your mind, calling upon that familiar heat and flicker as the flame began to rise through your hands. You struggled to keep it steady, each breath becoming more labored as you bit back your frustration.

Slowly, soft tendrils of shadows began weaving around your hand– a soft, cooling touch that made you blink. They drifted over you, calming the flickering flame to a steady warmth.  You took a deep breath and cautiously brought your fingers to the wound.

As the fire met his skin, Azriel tensed, a strangled sound escaping his throat. You could feel the poison reacting to the heat, the black substance dissipating under your fingertips.

"I can do this," you murmured, more for your own benefit than his. "It’ll be alright."

You weren’t sure if he could hear you, but you kept talking, hoping that your voice might anchor him to something other than his pain. It always helped you when Eris told you it would be alright, when he talked to you as he tended to your wounds, gently, tenderly, lovingly. 

You focused solely on the task at hand, blocking out the rest of your thoughts and the tightness in your chest. Finally, when you felt the last remnants of poison retreat, you withdrew your hand, the flames extinguishing with a final flicker.

Azriel’s breathing, though still ragged, had eased from the strained gasps earlier. Encouraged by this small sign, you withdrew your hand, a quiet smile of satisfaction tugging at your lips.

Looking down at Azriel, who had slipped into unconsciousness, you took a deep breath. "Thank you," you whispered to the shadows that continued to hover around you. For a moment, you felt silly for speaking to something so intangible— to things that probably didn’t even understand. Yet, as if in response, they slithered back toward Azriel, settling near the crook of his neck.

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹ 

Azriel’s eyelids felt heavy as he finally came to, his surroundings blurry and unfamiliar. 

It took him a few moments to orient himself, to remember where he was. He noticed three things first: it was nighttime, and a gentle moonlight bathed the space he was in; he was covered in a thin orange blanket, the fabric soft and worn, smelling faintly of pine and something sweet; and he was no longer in the agonizing pain he had succumbed to earlier.

Azriel shifted slightly, grimacing as a dull ache radiated from his wing. Taking a deep breath, he forced himself to sit up, the blanket sliding off his shoulders. He glanced at his wing, noting the faint hole where the gaping wound had been. He extended it in a light stretch, feeling a slight sting, but it was bearable. Healable. His mind replayed the events leading up to this moment, your voice echoing in his thoughts—soft, concerned, saying his name. 

Pretend I’m Morrigan.

He had nodded, closed his eyes— but he hadn’t pretended. It was you kneeling beside him, not Mor.

Azriel's gaze wandered around the room. His shadows had left their original position, perched and curled around the apex of his wings, and now seemed to be leading him across the small living area. He frowned, his boots heavy against the aged floors as he followed them past the wooden table— he pushed away memories of you bent over the furniture, shaking his head as he approached a small bookshelf tucked in the corner. 

The shelves were adorned with an assortment of well-loved books, spines worn from what Azriel could only assume were countless readings. His shadows hovered near the middle shelf, where something caught his eye—a slight indentation in the wood, partially concealed by the darkness they casted.

As he drew closer, the shadows dissipated, revealing a carving etched into the wood—

L.V., Y/N. V. 

Azriel blinked, brows furrowing as he inspected the letters further. He traced the letters with his fingers, feeling the rough wood against his scarred, ridged skin. 

You had mentioned offhandedly that you kept in contact with Lucien, that you visited the Spring Court. But he hadn’t given the statement any further thought.

He glanced around the room. 

The space seemed to come alive around him, details he had previously overlooked now asserting their presence. He had never paid proper attention to the home, never questioned why it seemed to be so oddly clean, why you favored it so much. His fingers hovered over the initials once more.

Y/N. V. 

Glancing down at his shadows, they stilled momentarily before slithering across the floor, guiding his gaze towards the doorway. There, through the windowpane, he caught sight of you standing a short distance away from the house, beneath the starlit sky.

Azriel approached the door with cautious steps, ensuring every footfall was quiet– undetected. He reached out, his shadows wrapping around the door handle to muffle any noise it might make. With a gentle push, he swung the door open just wide enough to slip through, his shadows ensuring the hinges made no sound, either. Leaning against the sturdy frame, he allowed the darkness to envelop him further, becoming one with its comforting embrace as he observed you in the distance.

From this vantage point, he watched you, bathed in the soft light that painted the sky with a silvery hue. A gentle breeze stirred, ruffling a few strands of your hair and carrying your faint, familiar scent to him. Sweet with a hint of spice, a smell that he’d grown used to recently. There's an emotion woven into it that he can’t decipher, and for a brief moment, it frustrated him. You seemed at odds. Peaceful, in this night air, but stiff. 

There was a tightening in his chest. 

Seeing you now, basking in the moonlight as the cold air licked at him, Azriel wondered if you were the same Y/N he had so violently hated. Could someone so cruel enjoy the light of the moon? Did his other enemies also watch the stars?

“How long are you going to stand there and stare at me?”

Azriel stiffened and a heat rose to his cheeks. He looked down at his shadows in accusation. Maybe they had betrayed him, not covered his approach adequately. He glanced back up, meeting your gaze as you looked over your shoulder, raising an eyebrow.

Azriel waited for it— the expected glare, the indifference, or even a cruel smile. Something foreign, something that aligned with the adversarial image he held of you. But it didn't come. There was no hostility, no cruelty, no snark. Only a softness reminiscent of one that he had seen those in his family hold many times before. It caught him off guard.

You snickered softly. "I can feel your stare burning a hole into my dress."

Azriel swallowed and cleared his throat, willing himself to regain composure as he walked towards you. You turned to face him, arms crossed, eyes flicking to his wing.

"You don't look like death anymore," you remarked, a faint hint of amusement in your tone.

Azriel offered a wry smile. "I suppose I have you to thank for that." He paused, searching for the right words. He had too many questions in his mind— too many thoughts floating around, headless, bodiless. 

— You had called him by his name. You had been here with Lucien. You left and you came back. He shielded you with his wing. You healed him. You stayed. You watched the stars. 

Crickets chirped, and a soft breeze rustled the leaves overhead. Azriel's mind wandered to the initials carved into the wood.

"This was your home," he finally said, his voice quiet. "With Lucien."

Your head snapped towards him, eyes widened and lips parting in surprise. "What?"

Azriel simply looked at you, taking in the contours of your face, the way the moonlight painted soft shadows on your features. You had always been attractive, dangerously, irritatingly so. But you looked softer in this light. Someone more approachable, more real—someone he could dare to care for.

Someone he cared for enough to protect.

"Am I right?" he asked again, his voice steady.

You glanced back at the modest house. With a small sigh, you met his gaze briefly before your eyes looked down, unfocused. 

“It was Lucien’s.”

Azriel remained quiet, steading his breath as your eyes met his again. The normal simmering rage within them was replaced now with a distant sadness. 

"After Lucien fled Autumn, Tamlin had this made for him," you continued, gesturing subtly towards the house. "A place close enough to the border that Eris could sneak me to. A place for me to see Lucien, to stay with him when it was possible."

Azriel’s chest tightened further. This wasn't a Spring Court citizens home— it was yours. He thought back to the first time he’d found you here, how bitter you had seemed when you talked of its emptiness. To you, Feyre had taken away the only place you had to escape— when Lucien was forced to flee from another court, when Hybern took advantage of a weakened Spring.

"Why risk sneaking away constantly? Why not seek refuge like Lucien did?" 

Your face seemed to harden briefly at his question, a flicker of defensiveness crossing your features. "I could have," you replied, your tone tinged with a hint of regret as you offered a shrug. "Lucien begged me to."

"Yet you stayed. In Autumn.”

You tilted your chin to look at him properly, meeting his eyes with an intense, burrowing gaze. 

“Would you leave your family? Your court?" 

"My court is not known for its cruelty." 

The words slipped out almost automatically, like a response that had been trained in your presence. He cursed himself inwardly. Something flashed in your eyes and your jaw twitched imperceptibly.  For a brief moment, he braced himself for the anticipated flash of anger, the potential for conflict that could leave him stranded in this spot he now believed himself tethered to. 

But you only raised a brow. 

"Isn't it, though?" you retorted with a slight snicker.  "The all-powerful and brutal Rhysand, feared High Lord of the Night Court."

Azriel bit back the discomfort at the sound of Rhysands name, at the way you disregarded his title so flippantly. He took a deep inhale, and you recognized the action as the response that it was. 

"Autumn is my home.”

The freckles on your face seemed more visible in the moonlight. All the times he'd been with you, the weeks spent meeting you, fucking you, he couldn't remember a proper conversation, face to face, that had lasted this long without a cruel, vile insult. He found it hard to picture you in Autumn anymore, to see you alongside your other brothers, alongside Beron. The image of you among the autumn leaves, your fire-red hair blending with the fiery landscape, felt almost surreal now.

“It was Lucien's too."

“No.” You shook your head gently, a rueful smile touching your lips. “Lucien spent most of his life in other courts. He was always too kind for us. Him and his large heart were destined to leave. A bleeding heart in Autumn gets you nothing but a loss of blood."

You looked like Lucien now, more so than Azriel had seen before. The snark of Eris was still there, the same guarded, calculated movements— even the still, low cadence of your voice, like a practiced talent. Seemingly emotionless despite the topic of conversation.

Seemingly.

Gods, he hated how much you looked like Lucien now.

Because Lucien was fair. Just. Lucien had every reason, as Azriel was beginning to see like you had, to hate him. He'd gone after his mate, had rushed to prove himself in a battle to the death, hadn’t thought about Lucien as a life, as a person, beyond an adversary standing in front of a prize he wanted—that was what Elain had been. A prize. Something he wanted to deserve. Something to prove he was good.

But Lucien was kind. Lucien was diplomatic, good with people. Lucien had won Elain over with his patience, with that good heart you spoke of.

Azriel studied you, wondering how much of Lucien’s qualities you had in you that he had refused to acknowledge. That heart—it was there, beneath the layers of bitterness and guardedness. He had seen glimpses of it tonight, in the way you tended to his wounds, in the way your voice softened despite the hatred you held so deeply, so fiercely. 

He found himself wondering, not for the first time, what you could have been had you left with Lucien.

Azriel cleared his throat. “So you stayed.”

You held his gaze for a moment. He wondered if you were deciding whether to answer, waited anxiously to see whether this openness of yours would vanish. 

"I couldn't leave my mother. I couldn't leave Eris."

Azriel opened his mouth— to say what, he wasn’t sure. But you beat him to it.

"And besides that," you added, your tone shifting slightly, "I fit. You're the one who's talked about my cruelty. I belong in Autumn."

A familiar hardness began returning to your expression. He could see it building, a wall of cold resolve. Your arms tightened around yourself, nails digging into your biceps. You were cruel—this was a fact he knew well. Cruel, calculated, and dangerous for him. Yet, despite all this, an inexplicable urge to apologize welled up within him. 

He had always known getting involved with you was a bad idea. He had rationalized it as a way to fulfill his urges, telling himself that fucking you was the path of least resistance compared to killing you. One option provided a release, the other would only escalate into more chaos. But now, as he stood here, the realization hit him: perhaps it was more dangerous than he had thought. Perhaps he had been dipping into something more addictive than he realized, and now he couldn’t think straight.

Why had he protected you with his wing?

You glanced back at the house, your gaze softening, body relaxing. "I don't think Lucien ever truly got over that," you whispered, almost to yourself. "The hurt that came from his belief that I had chosen my cruel brother over my kind one."

It felt like an admission not meant for Azriel, like you hadn’t realized you’d confessed it out loud. You blinked and the flicker of vulnerability he had seen was gone as quickly as it appeared, replaced by the guarded expression he had come to know.

"But that's not the truth,” Azriel said.

You met his gaze again. Years of sacrifice and loyalty that bound you to a life you never chose. A curved smile touched your lips, a mask slipping back into place— so easily, so swiftly, it almost made him sick. 

"People believe the stories that make the most sense to them. I'd say you're more than familiar with that habit, Shadowsinger."

Azriel's brows furrowed as he straightened, instinctively pulling his wings closer. A small ache radiated from his injured wing, and his mind drifted back to the wound. His shadows coiled protectively around him. Through their whisperings he felt an inexplicable urge to ask, "How did you know it wasn't faebane?"

You looked at him, your expression unreadable. With a nonchalant shrug, you replied, "Lucky guess."

He shook his head. "Do not lie to me."

“I don’t take orders from you.” Your jaw tightened, a flicker of defiance danced in your eyes. "And does it matter? You're healed. You’re welcome. Move on.”

"It matters," he insisted, his voice firm. "How did you know it wasn't faebane? That you needed to burn it out?"

You sighed in irritation. "You're supposed to be smart. Why do you think I knew?"

Azriel's heart pounded. He did know. Deep down, he knew the answer, but he needed to hear it from you. "How did you know?" he pressed.

You looked away, a dry laugh escaping your lips. Shaking your head, you said, "Faebane became useless to my father when an antidote was created for it."

Azriel's brows furrowed further, a sick feeling churning in his stomach. His fists curled at his sides as he asked, "What does that mean?"

A bitter smile twisted your lips as you met his gaze again. "He needed something else to make his punishments effective. So he created a new type of poison, similar to faebane. You can burn it out, which he loves. It's like a fun game for him—inflict the wound, heal it with even more pain, just to do it all over again."

Azriel's shadows seemed to still, softening in their movements. He fought the urge to keep them close, feeling them drift away towards the night air, towards you.

He scanned you with a burning gaze. He’d never noticed any scarring before, but then again, he'd only ever seen you from the back, your dress hitched up to your waist as he rutted into you from behind.  A tightness in his chest made him feel sick.

"I'm sorry," Azriel whispered before he even realized what he was saying, the honesty in his voice surprising even himself. Azriel didn’t apologize. He never did. Even when he should’ve.

You let out a wicked, cold snicker. "Don't go soft on me, Shadowsinger. We both know you're not really sorry. Just like your brute brother wasn't sorry when he figured out the same thing about Eris."

He shivered at the tone of your voice— a bite stronger than the night air that surrounded you both. His fists tightened at his sides as an image of Cassian came into his mind. He felt a rush of two things: blinding rage and blistering guilt. You had no right to call Cass a brute— Cass was a good brother, a loyal brother. And he and Azriel had talked about Eris, had talked about your brother, how little they cared about his punishments. The guilt bubbled up faster than the anger did, swallowing the rage entirely. 

The nighttime air felt suffocating now, pressing against his skin. As if you sensed it too, a cough escaped your lips, breaking the silence that had settled between you as Azriel observed you further. 

"That's enough sweet talk for me. I'll be leaving now," you declared, making a move to step away. Azriel intercepted your path, stepping in front of you with a determined stance.

You shot him a pointed glare. "I can just winnow away. You are aware of this, yes?"

Azriel ignored you, his gaze fixed on you as he searched your face for the answer to a question he didn’t know how to ask. 

"You left me earlier," he said.

You rolled your eyes, an incredulous scoff leaving your curved lips. “Gods, what is this, an exit interrogation? I just saved your ass and—”

He cut you off. “Earlier. When Renard ambushed us. You left.”

"Yes, Azriel, I did," you replied evenly.

The sound of his name seemed to cause a ripple, almost imperceptible, through the shadows around him. He flinched slightly and his stomach twisted into a small, tight knot. Azriel. 

Azriel's eyes darted between yours. “And then you came back.”

He could sense your growing annoyance, could see the simmering flame in your darkened eyes, the tightening of your hands.

"Are we summarizing the events of tonight?" 

He ignored you. “Why?”

"I'm not doing this with you," you shot back, frustration lacing your words as you attempted to push past him. But Azriel moved with a swiftness that caused a small sound of surprise to leave your lips. His strong grip closed around your arm, halting your movements and pulling you back into him.

Now, you were standing close, barely an inch separating your bodies. He could feel the heat of your body radiating against his and the faintest hint of a question lingered in his gaze. His shadows wrapped around your arm.

“Why?”

Your eyes locked with his and you sucked in a breath. "Because you're no use to me if you're dead.”

Azriel's thoughts raced. He hadn't meant those words when he said them, either. 

His shadows whispered things he couldn't quite focus on, their murmurs blending into the background as all he saw was you—so close to him. Someone who could have left him for dead. If Renard's men hadn't taken him so off guard, the poison would have. But you helped him, even after he insulted you, accused you of setting him up.

You looked like Lucien. You looked like Lady Autumn. You looked like Eris. But for the first time, you didn't look like someone he hated. 

"You are not Beron," Azriel said, his voice rough like gravel. He watched as your brows furrowed, your lips falling into a slight frown. "I should never have compared you to him. You are not your father.”

He could see the conflict in your eyes, darting across his face as you began to fall lax in his touch.

"And you're not your brother either," he added quietly.

The words felt like a confession from his lips, as if he was saying something besides the actual words he uttered. 

You blinked, staring at him as you pulled away slightly. Confusion flickered in his expression, his hand hovering where you had been in his hold. You took another step back.

"I am not my father," you affirmed, your voice steady. "I'm loyal. And I'm smart. And—" Your voice faltered. "And I get those things from Eris.”

Azriel stiffened, feeling his shadows tighten around him involuntarily as he watched you. He saw the softness fade from your face, replaced by a steely determination that caused a pang in his chest. You shook your head slightly, swallowed hard, and locked eyes with him.

"I am exactly like my brother. It's one of the things I'm most proud of.”

Before Azriel could respond, before he could even make a move toward you, you turned on your heel and were gone. The night swallowed you up, leaving him standing alone amidst the whispering shadows, grappling with the sickening vulnerability that washed over him like a wave. 

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹ 

IM BACK BABIES AND IM WRITIN LIKE ITS A FULL TIME JOB

ill make parts shorter i swear (actually....will i???) but alas.... azzie baby has been hit in the face with the beginning of his FEELINGS!!!!

also, in case you wanna SEE our angsty hate-love birds, the super talented @micahssketchbook has sketched them not ONCE, but twice!!

The scene in part three where Azriel has reader in a chokehold and she pulls one on his ass by taking Truth-Teller

and what theyre about to be like in future parts with Az caressing readers face!!

permanent tag list 🫶🏻: 

@rhysandorian @itsswritten @milswrites @lilah-asteria @georgiadixon

@glam-targaryen @cheneyq @darkbloodsly @pit-and-the-pen @azrielsbbg

@evergreenlark @marina468 @azriels-human @panther-girl-124 @bubybubsters

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[marcsburnerphone]

And they were roommates

(Captain John price x F!reader)

Summary: the captain wants somewhere more homely to settle down and when an offer like yours comes alight on Zillow he must take up on it.

Warnings: oral smut, sexual comments, awko moments, kissing?

part 1 - part 2 - part 3 - part 4 - part 5 - part 6- part 7 - part 8 - Part 9!!

————————

It was the best night of sleep John price has ever had in his life. He wishes deeply his early bird tendencies hadn’t woken him from it. You lay facing opposite of him with his chest pressed snuggly up against your back spooning you. He thought he was dreaming at first, or maybe he died and went to heaven, but your steady breathing and warm skin was much too authentic for that. 

He gently brushes the hair from your neck to kiss at the smooth skin, not in means to wake you, simply cause he just can’t help himself. 

“Goodmorning.”

“Didn’t mean to wake you.” He says while peppering kisses up to your jaw.

“Are you sure?” 

“Not anymore.” You turn over in your spot to face him, he’s a big man, a wall, even as he lays down. He peers down at you as you place a hand on his cheek. 

to your misfortune he’s borderline obsessed. 

“Shower with me?” He asks.

“Sure.” He pulls you with him as he rolls to get off the bed. He’s about to walk into his bathroom to get it started when he realizes you're about to walk out of his room.

“Where are you going?”

“To get my shampoo and conditioner.” 

“I have shampoo and conditioner.” You laugh, confusing him.

“John, I'm a hairstylist, I wouldn’t be caught dead using head and shoulders. I’ll be back.” He watches you leave, still not completely sure what you mean by that.

When you return steam has already filled the roof of the bathroom. You carry your toiletries in both your arms trying not to let anything drop. 

When John takes notice he goes to help you, except you’re not focused on the help he’s offering, you're focused on his bare chest, strong arms and slightly soft belly.

“There will be time for staring doll just not right now.” He says plucking your stuff from your hands. You roll your eyes at him trying to suppress the blush climbing up your neck. 

He undresses fully and steps inside waiting for you to do the same. Suddenly you feel awfully nervous while lifting your shirt. You pause when it gets to your rib cage suddenly feeling self conscious.

“You okay?” He notices your absence and peeks out of the glass door.

“Uh yeah.” You say, willing yourself to pull it over your head. Your pants come off next and you pray soap gets into his eyes so he doesn’t really look at you. 

You step in trying to keep your eyes on his out of politeness even though it feels like your eyes are magnets and the other magnet is in his southern region. He turns the two of you so you're the one mostly under the shower stream. His lustful gaze can’t help but look at the way the water runs down your shoulders and over your breasts.

“You’re shameless.” You say to him with a smile, you couldn’t feel self conscious under a gaze like that.

“Very.” He replies while leaning in for a kiss. He’s awfully warm, the shower at a temperature you like and one he’s not used to, but he couldn’t care less as long as he gets to have you like this. 

“Can I wash your hair?” You ask.

“If you let me wash yours.” You hum in agreement, grabbing your overly expensive bottle of shampoo and pouring some into his hands. You tell him to lather it in his hands before he puts it in your hair and he entertains it even though he bets it does nothing. Lacing his fingers through your hair he watches the way your shoulders relax and your mouth slightly parts. He tries to stop it, really he does, but he can’t help the way his cock begins to harden. He prays you don’t notice, not because he’s insecure, it’s a totally normal human reaction, but because he doesn’t want you to think he can’t enjoy a wholesome moment without getting turned on. 

“Feels good.” You sigh out as he begins to rinse it out. A groan is threatening to spill out and with all his might he is fighting it. 

When you open your eyes you notice the stone cold expression on his face. The way it looks like his eye slightly twitches for a second. And just like his human tendencies have troubled him yours too make you look down to see what may be the biggest dick in your life resting against his lower stomach. 

You look back up quicker than you looked down and it seems he hadn’t noticed. 

“Your turn.” You say scooting closely by each other so now he stands under the water. 

“I’m going to use my shampoo so you can see the difference.” You say as you pour some in your hands. It’s a bit of a reach to get all of his head so he slightly lowers it for you. You run your slightly long fingernails on his head scratching soothingly. He groans at the immensely good and foreign feeling as you make sure to not miss any hair. 

When you’re done he begins to rinse and this is the chance you take to really look at him from head to toe. Do you feel a little perverted, yeah you do.

“Look who has the staring problem now.” If John’s going to do anything he’s going to own it. 

“Who?” You say as you stand on your tip toes for a kiss. He gladly obliges, holding your head at an easier angle for him. You place a hand on his chest, which is normal, nothing that’d raise suspicion. Until it starts slowly dragging down his body. 

He's pulled apart from your swollen lips carefully watching your fingers continue to trail down. When they reach his happy trail you hesitate.

“Go on.” He says softly.

Your fingers softly brush against the soft velvety skin of his awfully gorgeous cock. Your mouth instinctively watering at the sight, and his falling open at the tease.

You grip him in a mostly closed fist giving a gentle squeeze. His hips jolt slightly forward as a pearl of precum appears at the tip. Impatiently you swipe the pad of your thumb over it bringing it to your lips. You sigh softly at the salty taste, spitting into your palm you bring your hand back down to his cock. You give him a firm stroke as your hand slightly shakes. His groans and shut eyes encourage you to continue. You find a steady pace as your hand dedicates itself to providing him pleasure. He tries to control his breathing but it loses its pattern when you quietly moan at the way it twitches in your grip. 

“You're so pretty.” You say quietly.

“Me or my cock?” He sighs out breathlessly 

“Both.” 

“Can I try my mouth?” You ask kindly he chuckles not humorously simply cause he can’t believe this is real life.

“I mean I don’t have too.” You say suddenly which he objects too.

“No, please.” He says watching the way your eyes light up. You waste no time lowering your knees onto the tile floor not caring about how they might hurt later on. 

You grab him eagerly, in your lustful subconscious nature you paint your lips with the tip. He squeezes his eyes closed to try and calm himself down but you’re doing nothing to help his case. 

“I’m losing it up here doll.” He says while leaning a hand against the wall for support. You begin to lick and suckle just to get comfortable, planning a course of action in your head.

Then you take him fully into your mouth bit by bit. His girth causes the dry corners of your mouth to slightly crack. Your eyes close as you try to focus. The sounds of slurping as you try to take him fully is sinful. He watches drool run down your chin and water droplets fall down your whole body almost cinematically. 

“You’re a sight.” He groans out when you pull him from your mouth to simply kiss from base to tip. It’s never been done to him and he would’ve never thought of it, but after that he’s not sure anything else can occupy his mind.

You suck him back in, determined to make him come. You might just want it as much as him. You're putting in your best work, ignoring the ache in your jaw. He has a hand on your cheek stroking the tears that fall from your eyes away. He tries to stop himself from thrusting into your mouth as your hand on his thigh flexes subconsciously. 

He’s so close but is greedily holding it in to keep his cock in your mouth for a bit longer. Your eye lashes bat up at him to watch his slackened features grunt and moan your name. With lidded eyes he watches the hand that once rested on your thigh slide down in between your legs, as you moan into him when he sees the way you slightly part them to give yourself an easier access.

“Mmmf fuck.” You hadn’t expected it quite yet, lost in your pleasure and his. 

He pulls from your mouth as his cum splashes onto your lips, cheek and for his personal pleasure your breasts. When he’s done he pulls you from the floor, sucking your slick fingers into his mouth with a satisfied groan before kissing you long and hard. It’s a mix of you and him as he pulls your tongue into his mouth. His thumbs rub his spend into your cheek like it’s a facial cream as he looks in your big eyes. 

“Shall we finish this elsewhere?” He says with a hand resting on the curve in your waist.

“As much as I’d love to, we can’t, I have to go grocery shopping and have to buy and restock some things at work.” You say with a small smile.

“But you haven’t gotten to finish?” He says with a little discontent.

“I don't need to.” You say giving him another quick kiss.

“That’s crazy.” 

“Make it up to me another time?” 

“Oh, yes” he couldn’t have been quicker with his answer.

“Very well then.” You laugh, grabbing your loofah which he plucks from your hands to pour soap on. He washes you tenderly, kissing every spot of your skin he swipes the sudsy soap over. He can’t help the way his eyes threaten to water at how ethereal you are to him. Call it the post clarity or whatever you want but he wants to put you in his pocket and take you everywhere. 

He doesn’t let you reciprocate the favor but does let you wash his back when the time comes. He leaves the water on for you as he steps out to grab his towel. When he returns with yours you turn it off and wrap yourself in it. 

You dress right then and there in the clothes you brought to his bathroom so you don’t have to suffer the cold. Grabbing your hair dryer to plug it in telling John to watch out for the noise. He dresses quickly and goes to the bathroom standing beside you at the his and hers sink. 

He puts on his beard oil keeping in mind that it’ll need a trim sometime this week. After that he just stands there and watches you do your thing. Admires the fact it’s being done in his bathroom. 

“May I join you?” He says amongst the noise. You click off the hair dryer after asking him “huh” for the second time so he repeats himself a third. 

“Of course.” You smile feeling a little giddy at the fact you’ll have his company. John’s not a man who seems to like to go out much nonetheless shopping. 

“Be ready in twenty?” He asks. 

“Yeah I’m just going to finish drying my hair and put on some makeup.” He nods, walking up to you to kiss your cheek before heading outside for a quick smoke.  

When you’re done he’s sitting on the couch watching whatever is on the news. You call for him from the front door and hear the silence from him clicking off the tv and his footsteps begin to approach you.

“Can I drive?” You ask hopefully.

“No.” 

The weather is beginning to become more livable and sunny. You settle into the seat as he shuts the door and gets in himself. Your hand rests above his on your thigh as the radio hums music. There is something so dreamlike about the feeling he has around you. Like the air is smoother and easier to breathe. 

“Where are we stopping first?” He asks, breaking the comfortable silence.

“My work so I can see what I need, beauty store, then groceries.” 

“Okay just let me know where to go once we get near.” He says giving your leg a gentle squeeze. You nod to him as his focus returns back to the road.

He gets out with you at your job, walks you inside passing up all the private booths of other hairstylists as you lead him into yours. He sits patiently on the chair a client would usually occupy and watches you take product out, put it back and write some stuff down. 

“Okay you ready.”

“Only if you are.” He says as you grab his hand and your purse to walk back out. That’s before you’re stopped by one of your coworkers who’s just walked out of her booth. 

“Hey, who’s this?” She asks, giving you a hug and nodding to John. 

“This is John, my roommate.” You reply softly as his hand on your waist tightens.

“Nice to meet you.” He says kindly.

“Yeah you too, so just roommates then?” You wish you could rewind time and keep her stuck in that room a little longer. Cause truthfully you and John technically still were just roommates.

“Um yeah.” You say trying to end this conversation. She glances down to his hand on your waist and then slowly back up you.

“Okay then, have a good day.” She says walking past the both of you. 

John hadn’t realized till this very moment that he hadn’t asked you to be his girlfriend or anything official. It’s actually kind of a sickening thought to him that you're not really his. I mean in a perfect world you’d walk around with his name above your head in neon lighting. So he conspires, he’ll drop you off at your little beauty store, leave quickly, buy flowers and cute things, hide them in his car, pick you up and go grocery shopping and cook dinner with you and ask you to officially be his. 

“John you okay?” You laugh as you wait for him to unlock the car. 

“Yeah doll sorry.” He says snapping out of it.

———

You're genuinely a little confused when he tells you he’s got some business to take care of real quick and drives away after you’ve made it inside. Not that you mind, you’ve shopped alone for forever now and it’s kinda therapeutic but it’s unusual. No more than twenty minutes pass by as you continue looking at all the new products from beloved brands that the doorbell jingles as someone walks inside. You don’t look up nor really pay it any mind till strong arms encompass you.

“Where’d you go?” You say looking up at him and the foolish smile on his face.

“Just handling some business.”

“Okay, I’m trying to decide between this conditioner or this one. I love the scent of this one but love the lather on this one.” You say holding up to large bottles showcasing them. 

“Buy both and mix em’.” He says grabbing them from you as he also takes the slightly heavy basket from your hands.

“Yeah right that’s way too self indulgent.” You say while trying to make up your mind. 

“Can I just buy them for you?” You look up at him in disbelief.

“Absolutely not.” You quickly decline his very generous offer.

“Why not?”

“Cause I’m a big girl who has money and should be able to pick a product.”

“I never said you weren’t a big girl with money, I just don’t see the need for you to choose when you can have both.” He retorts back. 

“No I’ll just get this one, fan favorite.” You say hesitantly putting it back and putting one in the basket then looking at your list to see what’s next. He lets you disappear into another aisle before grabbing it back off the shelf and hiding it under the other stuff in your cart. 

You shop for a while longer before heading to the cashier as the lady rings up your items. She makes small talk with you about your day and what not. As she nears the last items John asks you to run to the back of the store for that beard stuff he uses and you quickly do. She finishes up before you make it back and he happily takes his card out and pays for your stuff. 

“I don’t know which one because they all look the same.” you say handing him three different types of the same brand.

“It’s this one.” He says giving it to the cashier along with the extra two. 

“Wait John, where's my stuff?” You ask a little confused.

“In those bags.” He says nonchalantly as he pays for his one item telling the lady to have a good day. 

“I’ll pay you back.” You say as he grabs the bags, heading to the door and pushing it open with his back. 

“Don’t worry about it.” He says ignoring your persistence. 

“I am worried about it.” The bill on your restocks is always over six hundred dollars and you cringe at the idea of him spending that on you. 

“Well don’t.” He shrugs as he hands them to you once you're sat too put in the backseat. There’s no room for disapproval as he shuts your door and heads to his side. 

————-

“Have you been drinking my oat milk?” You ask him as you pass the dairy section in the grocery mart. 

“Oat milk?” 

“Yeah the one in the yellowish carton.” 

“I mean yeah I’ve been drinking it but I just thought it was flavored milk.” 

“No, it's non-dairy, made out of oats.” Although that slightly disgusts him he doesn’t say anything cause he’d enjoyed it up until now. 

You continue to shop around picking up things that you need and different snacks to try. You hate grocery shopping more often than you need to so now’s the time to stock up. 

“Can you grab that for me?” You say point at the top of a shelf for the detergent you use. He does with no complaints as he effortlessly plucks it off the shelf. 

You’re never out of his eyeline, he watches your every move along with everyone around the two of you. Although you don’t stray far from him it wouldn’t even be an option. He tried to trap you between him and the cart that he pushes but unfortunately you escaped quickly. 

“I pay this time, you pay the next.” He says as you load stuff up onto the belt. Although he knows you wouldn’t pay for a thing in his presence. 

“Deal.” It sounds fair to you. Once again he very happily pays and puts the grocery bags into the cart as you stand there and admire him. When you guys are done he tells you to sit inside and hands you his keys as he loads the stuff into the truck.

The drive home is mostly silent. His fingers trail shapes onto your clothed skin as you scroll on your phone looking at other people’s lives through a screen. He peeks over at you from time to time and you smile when you notice. 

When you pull into the driveway you begin to unbuckle your seatbelt and grab your purse. 

“Go on inside I can take our stuff in.” He says, not wanting you to see the stuff he has back there. 

“You know I can help, right?” 

“Yeah but you don’t need to.” He says leaning in for a kiss which you gladly entertain. His mustache scratches your upper lip slightly, it's becoming something you love.

“Ever the gentleman.” You say as he pulls away. 

“For you, always.” If you weren’t experiencing this first hand you’d be giggling and kicking your feet at the thought. 

“Okay.” You say smiling way too hard, something that’s been a recurring situation.

————-

“How do you like it cooked?” You say as you finish seasoning the steaks you guys bought at the store for tonight’s dinner. 

“Medium rare.” He replies, nearly drooling at the sight of you, hair messily put up, apron tied around your waist, as you concentrate all your attention on what’s in front of you. 

“Mkay.” You slightly sway your hips to the tune of the small radio playing music. 

“How’d you learn how to cook?” He asks.

“By spending a lot of time by myself and having a cook book obsession.” He smiles, very you esque.

“I’ll be back in a short minute.” He says as you move onto chopping potatoes. You nod in response as he walks down the hallway. 

As quietly as possible he sneaks back out to his car to grab the flowers, vase and earrings he bought you. And brings it inside walking slowly to his room. You’re too lost in thought to hear a thing. Potatoes in the pot of boiling water and steak in the pan. Your mind was occupied with one not over cooking anything and two not getting splashed by hot butter. 

“John.” You call out. You're thankful he heard you with one yell as he came down the hallway. 

“Yeah doll.” You turn to look at him and tilt your head in confusion when you see a leaf stuck to his half shirt.

“Was just going to ask for help in dumping the water.” You say ignoring it. 

“Of course.” He says walking up to you grabbing the mitts you offer him that were a bit too small for his large hands. He picks up the heavy pot with ease as he drains it. 

“Were you outside or something?” You say noticing another leaf on his pants. 

“No, why?” He asks as he sets the pot back on the burner.

“You have leaves on you.” 

“Oh not to worry, must've gotten there when I brought the groceries inside earlier.” 

After that you pay it no mind as he returns back to whatever he’s doing. You finish cooking and set the table for you two. You plate the food and call for him again. He panicked when he heard you, although he’s going to wait till after dinner. What if you say no? What if you're not ready for a relationship, let alone with him.

“John.” You yell again, he hears your footsteps coming towards him and quickly leaves his bedroom.

“Sorry, I was just picking up.” You know for a fact it wasn’t messy when you guys left. Regardless he follows you back down the hallway and into the kitchen. You two sit in your now assigned seats.

“Looks great, Thankyou doll.” He says caressing your chin affectionately.

“You're welcome.” You watch him take his first bite waiting before you take yours, gauging his reaction then getting distracted by how wide his legs spread out, so much so that they peek out from under the table. 

“Keep looking at me like that and I’ll have to enjoy dessert first.” You look away quickly, beginning to eat your own food. The first 5 minutes is silence that’s filled with chews and clinking. 

“I think I’ll reopen bookings next month.” You say randomly as the reoccurring thought occupies your mind. You took some time off work to get some rest and have been enjoying it too much.

“That’s interesting, what for?” You laugh softly before looking up at him. 

“Because living isn’t free?” It could be for you, he thinks. 

“I could always pick up more bills.” He doesn’t want to push the topic knowing you don’t like to talk about it.

“Or I could just get back to work.” That’s your way of ending the conversation, he ends up finishing way before you do and sits back with a satisfied sigh chatting about some kind of camera he wants to put outside.

“I’m full.” You say pushing your plate away. You’re about to stand up and collect the plates before he stops you.

“Allow me.” He says grabbing them and setting them inside the sink, he washes them quickly and puts them in the drying rack before turning to do the pans you used. 

He’s deep in thought about how he’s going to ask you but  snaps out of it when he feels two arms wrap around his waist and slide under his shirt, then your head on his mid back. It’s so subtle yet so affectionate and foreign to Jonathan Price that he just wants to melt.

“You smell good.” You whisper as you stick your nose deeper into his shirt.

“Thank you?” He laughs.

“I’m sleepy.” You say as he reaches for the kitchen towel to dry his hands.

“Well before we head to bed I’ve got something for you.” Your head perks up curiously. He turns around and smiles softly at your drowsy eyes yet wide smile.

“What?” 

“Well follow me and I’ll show you.” He’s wringing his hands as you both walk toward his room.

“Okay, close your eyes.” He says and you do.

You're both in his room now, you hear him shuffling things around or something of the sort as you stand there patiently.

“Okay, open them.” Once your eyes adjust you see him standing there with a gorgeous bouquet of flowers and a little box. 

“Will you be my partner?” You tilt your head at the question until you realize he’s asking you to be his girlfriend.

“Your girlfriend?” 

“Doll, I'm too old for that.” 

“Yes then I’ll be your partner.” You laugh, grabbing the flowers from him. 

“Open this.” He says handing you the small box and taking the bouquet of flowers to set them down on his dresser. Nervously you flip the top open as your eyes go wide. 

“John, these are beautiful.” You say looking at the pair of small paint brushes with a diamond as the bristles.

“Pretty things for a pretty lady.” He says reaching to push a strand of hair behind your ear.

“This is too much.” You whisper truly admiring them, for a man who doesn’t believe in fate finding those in the small jeweler right next to the flower shop is the closest he’s come to it after meeting you. 

“Nothing is too much when it comes to you, doll.” You close the box, setting it down. You look at him for a couple of seconds just admiring the man that’s been nothing but a blessing to you. 

“What?” 

“Kiss me.” It’s nothing sexual, it’s purely out of affection. The way you feel light as a feather beneath his touch, as he feels real against yours. He’s so enamored in everything you, loves the way you breathe, smell, move, laugh he’s obsessed with everything. 

You feel like the heavens have sent him to you. He’s safe, warm and everything you’ve ever wanted. He cares for you truly. He holds you tenderly and gives you all the attention you crave, and you don’t even have to ask for it. 

“Can we sleep in my room tonight?” You say when he pulls away. 

“Yeah, but why?” 

“I feel like this is too boyish for me, I need to see my plants and sleep in my matching sheets with my thousands of pillows.” He laughs as you put your vase of flowers in his hands and lead him towards your room.

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

Thankyou for reading, truly you guys are the greatest motivation to contune writing known to man - All my love

comments and reposts are deeply appreciated<3

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[fourmoony]

GOING TO SLEEP WITH A MARAUDER AND YOU'RE IN BED, HES SHIRTLESS AND READER AND HIM JUST TALK AND KISS AND ALL THAT FLUFFY STUFF THANKS LOVELY

this went a little angsty! thanks for requesting :)

cw: mentions of chronic pain, painkiller use, mentions of car crash, brief mention of post-car-crash-trauma, scars

remus lupin x f!reader, 1.5k

Remus is propped against your pillows, the room glowing with the light of the television, when you exit the bathroom. He turns the volume down when he hears the door click shut, turns his head until he’s looking at you with a tired smile. He looks so soft, buried in your nice, clean bed sheets; hair a mop of curls that’s starting to rest on his forehead the longer he avoids going to the hairdresser’s. His eyes bleed with exhaustion from a busy day.

You’d spent the morning in a cafe with Sirius, the afternoon at the park with Harry, and the evening having dinner with Hope and Lyall. It’d been nice, both in company and in weather, but the excessive walking and being on the go has taken it out of Remus. That much is obvious by the way he has a throw cushion tucked under his knee, poking out from under the blanket. He tries to throw the blanket over his leg, tries to hide the obvious admittance of pain.

You slide into bed next to him, a frown on your lips. “You’re in pain?” You ask, pulling the shoddy attempt at a cover up job back until his elevated leg is on full display.

Remus jolts with the blast of cold air, his stomach muscles flexing. The skin of his torso is on full display, the moonlight coming from the window showcasing his skin in a silvery light. There hasn’t been a day since you met Remus where you haven’t found his beauty astonishing. He is truly the most stunning person you’ve ever come across, even if he refuses to believe you when you tell him. The scar on his hip bone juts out from the band of his boxers, followed all the way up by a collection of raised scars that litter his skin like constellations.

Your fingers brush the particularly jagged scar across his rib cage as you lean in to look at Remus’ swollen knee. He huffs, clearly irritated that his plan of hiding the pain has been foiled. His knee is warm to the touch, the skin around it swollen. “I’m always in pain, dove.” Remus replies, flatly.

You hate that it’s true. Your boyfriend has good days and he most certainly has bad days, but he never has days where he’s not in some sort of pain. Remus’ illness has taken a lot from him; his childhood, at times, his social life, his freedom. You think maybe Remus thinks if he lets you know how bad it can truly be, it’ll cost him you, as well. It doesn’t seem to matter how many times you remind your boyfriend that it won’t scare you away, it never seems to stick.

“Okay, tough guy,” You scoff, finding that Remus often responds better to sarcasm and tough love than being babied or fussed over, especially when it gets bad, “fancy getting up to get me a glass of water?”

“Get it yourself, lazy girl.”

You can’t help the startled laugh that falls from your lips, eyes wide as you catch the sly grin on your boyfriend’s face. Remus laughs soon after, leans forward to press a loving kiss to the crown of your head. His own way of saying you know I’m kidding. You do know he’s kidding, so you kiss the underside of his jaw in return.

���Take some pain killers, baby. You know they’ll help, even if only enough to help you fall asleep.”

“Already have.” Remus chirps, pulls you by the shoulders until you’re resting across his chest.

Your boyfriend runs like a furnace at all times, the familiar feeling of warmth mixed with the signature scent of his shower gel has your muscles uncoiling as you relax into him. You’re cautious of putting all of your weight onto him until he shifts, further into the pillow mountain he’s created and pulls you along with him. He breathes deep at the relief he must feel from the new angle, reaches onto his bedside table for the television remote.

“Any requests?” He asks, words mumbled into your hair.

His arms are tight around you, thumbs brushing where they meet in the middle of their waist. You settle in, hook your leg over his good leg. One of his hands slips to the curve of your bum at the opportunity you’ve presented him, a gentle, nonsexual touch, but intimate nonetheless. “Not really. Just whatever you like.” You hum quietly.

He turns the volume back up a smidge on the sitcom you both like. His touch is soft and feather like, a comfort that pulls you fast stead towards sleep. The slow rise and fall of your boyfriend’s chest has your own breaths syncing up, lips turning every now and then to press kisses over his heart.

“Do you ever think about the crash?” You ask, eyes focussed on his raised knee.

Remus doesn’t startle. He might have, at the beginning of your relationship. He’d only told you in bits in pieces, back then, that he’d been in a terrible crash as a boy; the reason for his terrible joint and muscle pain.

You feel him shake his head, lips still firm against your hair. He presses a kiss there, then dips his head until he’s closer to your ear. His voice is quiet, tired, perhaps a little sad when he speaks; “Not as often, now. When I was a teenager, when I was in constant pain because I was growing all the time - yes. I thought about it every day and I thought about how unfair the world was, how unfair my life was.”

“What changed?” You ask, quietly.

He’s silent for a moment, only the sounds of his breathing and the quiet drone of the television can be heard. You can tell he’s thinking it over, a sense of unpleasant nostalgia somewhere in the way he audibly swallows and the slight twitch of his fingers against your skin. Eventually, he sighs, “A lot of things, really.”

"I changed doctors, for a start. They're much more understanding of my condition at the one down the road, much more patient and less skeptical of whether I'm faking it for the free codeine."

You laugh a little at the idea. Half the time, Remus refuses to take pain killers at all. "I like Doctor Frank, he's nice." You tell your boyfriend, who hums in agreement.

"He is," Remus agrees, "And then there was becoming an adult. Hard enough without carrying around so much anger. I was sort of forced to just let it go. Accept that this was my life and I was still capable of so much despite my illness."

You can't help but smile at that. Remus is the gentlest person you know. He's rough around the edges, a sarcastic, smart ass and a mean flirt, but he's gentle, all soft beige cardigans and old library books, gentle touches and even gentler kisses. Your boyfriend has never once dared to raise his voice at you, even in his moments of utter agony. He's kind and has a big heart and you can't imagine fifteen year old Remus, angry and hateful and mad at the world. It wouldn't have suited him.

So, you're proud of how far he's come. Even if he still deals with the trauma of the crash, the hatred he has for the scars it left him with and the pain he lives in. It's less. It's dialled down to one, maybe a two on his bad days. Your Remus looks at the world like a challenge, now. A challenge to overcome, to be the best he can be, to keep fighting. You love him so, so much, and you place a kiss to his heart as the feeling washes over you. Bright and light and floaty.

"And you, dove."

Your lips curl upward at his words, spoken so soft you're not really sure if you were supposed to hear them. Remus pulls you impossibly closer, holds you tighter as he ducks down to your ear, breath fanning across the skin and leaving goosebumps in its wake.

"If there was ever something to live for, something to not be angry about. It's you. The way you love me, your patience, your laugh, your smile. I think you were the universe's apology for that crash." Remus presses a kiss to the side of your neck when he's done and it sends a shiver through you.

There's tears in your eyes. Blinding you until your boyfriend becomes a blurred cheeky grin amidst the blue light of the television. But you're happy. So happy and so in love.

But you can't fight the urge to tell Remus, "Your consolation prize."

His startled laugh is music to your ears, a softness breaking through the storm clouds of your heavy conversation. He tuts a moment later, kisses you for the millionth time, "I prefer God given solace."

You roll your eyes. The man doesn't believe in God, but you'll take the compliment, you decide, as you curl back into him.

"Thanks for opening up. I know it's hard."

You feel his shrug, "Anything for you, dovey."

[hajimesh]

ִֶָ 𓂃⊹ ִֶָ ‐skyfall. suguru geto

part two. sunset (him)

⥅word c. 2,656

⥅warnings. suguru's pov, heavy angst, main character death, mentions of drinking and smoking, depressed suguru, hurt/comfort (?)

𝄢♭turning page ‐ sleeping at last / let her go ‐ passenger

Suguru will never forget the morning you came back to him. He distinctly remembers it was right after a slow night at the bar, the air felt chiller than usual, and the streets were too quiet. He couldn’t wait to get home, already dreaming of his bed and the leftover pizza from two nights ago.

But the sleep vanished as soon as he saw you sitting by the window.

At first, he thought someone had broken into his place until he realized it was you, which scared him even more than the thought of a thief. As soon as he heard your voice, it was as if he felt everything and nothing all at once—it also made him realize he had started to forget the sound of it without noticing.

It was the sight of your cheeky smile, the little wave as you teased him like you used to, that got him out of his stupor. Suddenly, he was on a high, something he hadn’t felt in months.

Gone was the tiredness from working all night as he ran up the stairs to the apartment while his heart beat wildly against his rib cage. However, nothing could’ve prepared him for the sight that awaited him: sitting by the window, the curtains blew behind you as the sky shone with pinks and lilacs, clouds that looked like cotton floating in it. But even such beautiful scenery couldn’t compare to the sight of you, your beauty or the gentle smile on your face.

“Fuck, I missed you,” he felt his soul come back to his body as soon as he had you in his arms. The feel of your fingers carding through his hair immediately relaxed him, your voice soothing the dull pain that had settled deep in his heart.

He feared his heart would not make it through that morning, your presence and laugh — god, how he had missed your laugh — more than enough of a threat to his battered heart. 

That morning, Suguru Geto came back to life after living like a zombie for three months without you, the pain pushed to the back of his mind as he only focused on loving you.

—

He often wondered if he should quit his job, it messed up with his sleeping schedule and mood. But that bar was where he first met you, he still remembered how you walked up to him to order a round of drinks for your friends, and by the end of the night you had left right after saving your number in his phone.

Somehow, it felt wrong to leave a place that held such beautiful memories.

“You’ll be late for work,” he heard you say, light kisses covering his face as they traveled from his lips to his jaw before focusing on his cheeks.

He could tell it was dark outside, which meant that yes, he was most definitely running late. But he was a prisoner of your kisses, he would be out of his mind to push you away.

“Shower with me.”

Suguru was enraptured the whole time, watching the water dripping down your body as you sang each song that played from the speaker you had in the bathroom. The only thing that could stop you were his lips, kissing you nonstop until he had to physically hold you so you wouldn't fall to your knees. 

At that moment, he felt like he fell in love with you all over again.

He really didn't want to leave, but if you were there with him, then it meant that everything was back to normal. It made sense, right?

“See you at sunrise!”

And when he saw you by the window the next day, and the day after that, suddenly he was looking forward to each morning, hoping to see you sitting by the window where you belonged. 

The world could end tomorrow, and he wouldn’t care. As long as he had you by his side, nothing could ruin his happiness.

The rush hour was at its peak, college kids flooding the small bar on a Friday night—finals were over, so Suguru kind of expected it. After all, it was something he used to do just a few years ago.

He worked as fast as he could, lining up the shot glasses and filling them with liquor so Satoru could take them to the right table. It had become part of their routine, both men realizing that they worked well together after two days of being on the same shift.

Satoru placed his elbows on the counter and leaned forward, squinted eyes staring suspiciously at Suguru.

“You seem… livelier,” he paused, “chirpier?”

Shrugging, Suguru continued pouring drinks, “why wouldn’t I be?”

Still looking at him weirdly, Satoru dropped the subject once the raven-haired handed him another round of drinks, turning on his heel and continuing to work—he could always ask him later.

Meanwhile, Suguru’s mind strayed to your conversation from earlier that day. It had been two weeks since you were back, and it was impossible to get you out of his mind. Before he could stop it, he was smiling at the memory, his heart fluttered at the thought of spending all of your weekends cuddling and watching movies. He hoped that one day, a little version of you both could join the tradition.

At that point, he couldn’t hide his smile.

With a push of his hips, Satoru tried to snap him out of his daydream, signaling with his head to the girl that stood in front of him. 

Suguru stared at her, she seemed familiar, but it wasn’t until she reminded him of her name that he remembered who she was: an old classmate from high school. They had dated briefly during their senior year before he met you.

“I haven't seen you since we graduated,” she smiled at him, “I never thought I would find you here of all places!”

The atmosphere felt awkward, it was as if an elephant sat in the room and everyone could see it but him. He didn’t like that feeling one bit.

“Yeah, I work here.”

The girl hummed and shot Satoru a polite smile, her long nails tapping loudly against the granite.

“I-I was actually wondering if,” she paused, looking bashful as she switched her weight from one heel to the other, “we could go for a cup of coffee one of these days? You know, like, to catch up?”  

Suguru instantly tensed up, “catch up?”

“Yeah! Uhm… like a date?”

He never liked it when people put him on the spot, both Satoru’s and the girl’s eyes set on him as they waited for his answer.

“Sorry, but I have a girlfriend,” he offered her an awkward smile.

Satoru sighed dramatically, wrapping an arm around Suguru’s shoulders and pulling him against his side.

“I don't think she’ll mind,” he winked at Suguru before turning to look at the confused girl, “he’d love to go on a date with you!”

Pushing him away, Suguru looked at him in disgust, “are you out of your mind?”

Both men were too busy staring at the other down to hear the girl excuse herself and leave.

Satoru scoffed, “I should be the one asking you that.”

“The fuck you mean by that!?” Suguru was fuming by now, attracting the interest of a few patrons that happened to witness everything.

“Hey, hey!” a third voice intervened, Nanami placing himself between them, “you two need to calm down.”

Suguru ignored the recently hired waiter, continuing to stare down at his best friend. There was no way he was going to stand there and let him treat you like that. 

“I asked you a question: what the hell was that!?”

“Sorry for trying to get you a date with a cute girl,” Satoru said sarcastically, “one date won’t hurt, and you know it.”

Fed up with his words, Suguru pushed Nanami to the side and stepped closer to whom he had to call his best and closest friend. He had had enough of Satoru’s shit. 

“Disrespect my girl again, and I'll forget you’re like a brother to me.”

With a sneer, Satoru reciprocated the look.

“Suit yourself.”

—

They barely talked again for the rest of the night.

Suguru could feel a migraine coming, the faint palpitations at the back of his head increasing as the minutes passed. All he wanted was his shift to be over, so he could go back to your arms.

He took the trash outside, staying there a few minutes as he leaned against the wall. His lips wrapped around the cigarette as he took a long drag, and unconsciously began to smile once he noticed the sky starting to lighten. 

The sound of the door opening and closing took him out of his daydream.

“Spill,” Satoru stood before him, arms folded in front of his chest with a serious look that Suguru hadn’t seen in weeks, “what’s up with you.”

“I have nothing to say to you.”

“Don’t you dare push me away again,” the white-haired jabbed a finger on his chest, “you were finally recovering, and what? You’re letting her control your life again?”

“I would watch my mouth if I were you,” Suguru warned him, his features hardening again, “and she isn’t controlling anything.”

Groaning, Satoru ran a hand down his face, “when are you going to get it through your thick skull?!” 

“Get what!?”

After stepping on the cigarette, Suguru started making his way inside, getting tired of Satoru’s complaints. Only to stop abruptly once he heard him speak again, his blood turning cold. 

“That your girlfriend is dead.”

Suguru never believed in those weird conspiracy theories that Satoru liked to feed him, and even years later, he still managed to come up with the craziest stories.

He believed there's a rational explanation for everything, not entirely a man of science, but if you could prove what you said, then he had no reason to doubt.

Every rational thought told him it couldn’t be possible, and yet there you were, holding his face between your hands as he heard your voice, and smelled your perfume. 

You were supposed to be gone.

He had to hold back from breaking down as soon as he got home, your silhouette standing by the window as if you truly were there, waiting for him like you always used to. He couldn't bear to see you smile, to hear you talk about a future when you no longer had one. He could barely keep it together when you cupped his face in your hands and made him stare at you, something seemed to have switched in your eyes, and he didn’t like it one bit.

“It’s time to let go, Suguru.”

“I can't,” he whispered in a broken voice, “I don't want to.”

Three months without seeing you, feeling you, there was no way he’d let you slip away from his grasp—not again.

Tears ran down his cheeks, his heart pressing heavily against his chest as he fought the need to crumble down to the floor. He could see your eyes glistening with tears, but your pretty smile remained, giving him all the time he needed to compose himself. 

“I'm so sorry.”

“It wasn't your fault,” you whispered, rubbing your thumbs against his cheekbones, trying and failing to stop the tears, “I could never blame you, I never did.”

Unwanted memories from that day swarmed his mind: the loud screech of tires against the pavement, your body next to his, the sight of your beautiful face covered in cuts and bruises mocking the peaceful look in it. The memory haunted him for months.

What was once the face of an angel, as he liked to call you, twisted into a gruesome memory.

If only he hadn’t convinced you to accompany him to the party, or if he had paid more attention to the road so he could’ve avoided the drunk driver that hit the car as he drove home. You’d still be there, with him, holding him just as you were doing right at that moment.

“I'm going insane,” he sniffled, resting his forehead against yours, “aren’t I?”

“No, no, you’re not. But you aren’t taking care of yourself,” you kept smiling through your tears, your voice gentle as if you were talking to a child, “you either sleep too little or too much, and you haven’t been attending your lectures.”

Rocking you side to side, he dismissed your comment with a nonchalant hum, “but I’m happy now, isn’t that what you want? Just… stay? Please?”

The lack of words on your part was his answer.

“Will I see you again?” 

“Of course,” your smile broadened, “even if the skies fall, or a huge wave takes over the city, you’ll never get rid of me.”

Suguru’s hold tightened, your face hiding in his chest as you both tried to calm yourselves down. He didn’t dare to close his eyes, wanting to see your face for as long as he could. And even with tears clogging up your eyelashes and wobbly lips, you were still as gorgeous as he remembered.

“You’re my sunrise, and I'm your sunset,” he whispered in your ear, “never forget that.”

Not like you could. You had found your very own sunset, only yours to love and admire.

“I would never.”

Even with puffy eyes and tears wetting your cheeks, Suguru still thought you were the most beautiful woman that ever walked the earth. He helped you wipe your tears, watching you sniffle and laugh right after.

“Baby?” you spoke after a few minutes of silence and holding each other, basking in his warmth until it made you sleepy. 

His lips kissed the crown of your hair while his fingers combed it away from your face, admiring your face with love brimming from his eyes, “hm?”

A lump blocked your throat, tears welling up in your eyes before quickly cascading down your cheeks as you ingrained his face into your memory.     

“Look for me in the sky, I promise I'll be there.”

Suguru never saw you again after that day.

It was as if the grief took over his life all over again, the sorrow suffocating him with each breath he took. His body and soul crumpled even lower than the first time, however, with each passing week, the heaviness in his heart became lighter.

It took him a while to open up to Satoru, and when he finally did, the tears were unstoppable from both sides. Satoru felt for his friend and you, you two had had a close bond too after all, and after seeing Suguru shattered after your loss, he knew he had to be his rock.

There wasn’t a place in the city that didn’t have your name, filled with memories of your dates as Suguru and you explored the world together. But it was time to turn the page, with your memory inked on the corner of it and in Suguru’s soul.

He would never be able to forget you, and he didn’t want to.

Sitting by the window, Suguru took a look at the late spring afternoon. Living in a world without you would always be painful, which is why he found himself staring at it from your eyes. That window was your spot; he would always find you there before the sun was up, and right before it disappeared behind the horizon, waving him goodbye as he drove away to work.

The usual bustle of the streets quieted down for a moment, it was as if the world went still. Orange tinted the sky as usual, only this time, hues of blue and lilac blended across it, the wind cold and refreshing as it blew against his warm skin.

Suguru peered up at the skies with a nostalgic smile, a wave of peacefulness making its way into his heart.

“There you are, my love.”

[sunaluvs]

♡ tags: afab + gn reader, highly suggestive so 18+ MDNI, showering, readers implied to be shorter than meguru but this is a timeskip so he can be 7ft if u wish, fluff.

♡ a/n: i haven't written anything in 2 years and this is disgustingly self indulgent. unfortunately this mans rotting my brain and i am weak. i wrote this in a daze

Through your light humming and the spray of water, the sound of a door flinging open rings clear through your apartment.

“I’m home baby!” Bachira’s voice booms through your home, the sound winding through the small space left open in the bathroom’s door, the thud of a bag and shuffle of feet following his words.

“Welcome home!” you call back, rinsing the last of the shampoo out of your hair.

You hear him do a little jog towards the bathroom, socked feet thumping against the floor, before his voice calls, “Coming in!”

That’s all the warning you get before your door is thrown open, the sounds of your boyfriend singing your name and the shuffle of his clothes bringing a small smile to your lips.

“How was your day, baby?” you ask, grabbing your bottle of conditioner and squeezing a bit onto your palm.

“Fun as always, I experimented with a few new moves,” he replies, excitement clear in his voice. “My shoulders are busted though, feels like they’re gonna fall off. I’m convinced it’s because you didn’t kiss them before I left this morning.”

You snort, rolling your eyes as you massage the conditioner into your hair, “Oh yeah, definitely, it couldn’t possibly be due to the rigorous training you do every single day.”

“Nope,” he quips, whipping the shower curtain open with a shit-eating grin, stepping in the stream of water in all his naked glory. “It’s not every single day, I get a break on the weekends.”

You hum in reply, lazily dragging your eyes down your boyfriend’s physique, the results of all his hard work. It’s all prominent muscle and compact strength, sharp, defined abs and a strong core, hulking thighs you’ve had the delightful pleasure of sitting on (and between), packing power you’ve seen used to launch countless balls precisely and ruthlessly across fields. The shape of him, embraced with golden sun-kissed skin from the summer sky, is made almost lewd with the addition of water dripping over his body, glistening and moist and trailing deliciously down to his co—

“Eyes up here baby,” he sings, stepping closer to your heating body and bringing his face lower to meet your gaze head-on, beaming at the hazy appreciation clear on your features. “You stare any harder and I’ll start getting shy,” he teases.

That snaps your eyes back into focus, and you snort incredulously, “Oh please, you haven’t known shame since you popped out of the womb. I could fill an address book with all the people who’ve seen your dick.”

He giggles and brings his hands to your hips, gliding over the wet skin, and pulls you slightly out of the water’s stream. “I’ll learn some just for you, baby.”

“Hmm, as long as you don’t suddenly start getting shy on me,” you hum, tipping your head to look at his playful expression. “You can have some shame with everyone else, though. In fact, I am requesting that you do.”

“Anything for you, honey,” he grins, pulling your chest flush against his and dipping his head to kiss you. It’s slow and lazy, wet with the lingering water on your face, his tongue licking your bottom lip like he’s savouring the feel of every crease beneath it. Bachira drags it out as he always does, but doesn’t escalate it, keeping it slow and steady as his hands slip over the soft curves of your body, caressing your waist, thumbing along your rib cage, dipping beneath the swell of your breast. Being out of the water and subjected to his teasing touches pebbles your nipples, and you release a sigh into his willing mouth. Your skin shivers, nectarous arousal gradually trickling into your gut, but there’s no urge to hasten the moment along. For a man always on the move, always looking for the next goal and next game to win, being the one Bachira slows down for is not something you take for granted. You savour every easy breath and satisfied hum he lets out against your lips and lean into his precious, languid warmth.

It’s only when his fingers lightly flick your nipples that you break apart, a string of spit connecting your lips, remaining close enough for your noses to touch fleetingly and your warm breaths to gather in the space between you. His honeyed eyes, typically bright and wide and wild, settle transfixed and heavy-lidded on yours, his gaze no less intense and singularly focused on you. It’s overwhelming sometimes to have all the world’s devotion directed sacredly at you like this, brilliant and irresistible and all-consuming. Bachira never goes halfway at anything, not at his football or his principles, and least of all you. He is persistently and overwhelmingly fierce with his adoration, an ebullient fire that never stops consuming. You’ve never loved the sting of a burn more.

“Getting a little handsy there, ain'tcha,” you murmur, thumbing softly at the grin that spreads on his lips.

“Jus’ playing with my food a bit.”

“Never learned your manners, did you?” you breathe, goosebumps rising on the skin of your thigh as it brushes against his dick, thick and slowly hardening.

“Think I just lose ‘em all with you,” he laughs breathily, the sound hanging adoringly in the steam as he rests his forehead against yours. “Missed you so much today. Every day. Wish I could pack you up in my training bag and take you everywhere with me.”

You huff, bringing your arms around his shoulders and tilting your head to the side, “You don’t think staying home would be easier?”

The words give him pause, eyes fixed on yours as he opens and closes his mouth. His eyebrows furrow. The heat of the moment dissipates as your boyfriend gives your question a genuine thought.

“I mean, yeah? But—well. What about practice then? I don’t think that’d be very productive to my progress and today was actually kinda huge in terms of breakthroughs, I was finally able to get a handle o—”

You burst into giggles at the bewildered expression on his face, torn up at the choice you’ve apparently forced him to make. 

“I’m just playing, baby,” you grin back at him, squishing his cheeks and puckering his lips, cooing, “I’d never be so mean and make you choose.”

He heaves a dramatic breath of relief, planting his face on your shoulders and whining, “You’re being mean now! I almost had a heart attack.”

Your chest feels full to bursting with affection. “Aww, my little honey bee, my sweet baby angel, sorry for forgetting how fragile my sensitive darling is—”

He groans and shakes his head, and you delight in the pout you can feel pressing into your skin, “You’re a bully,” he mumbles, pressing impossibly closer to you, wrapping his arms tightly around your middle.

“I don’t know what you mean, I love you, sweetheart,” you laugh back at him, kissing the top of his dampening head.

His pout transforms into kisses along your shoulder as he hums, moving along the lines of your collarbones. “Yeah?” he breathes against your skin, lips curving up. “You love me?”

“Uhuh.” You indulge him, fingers playing with the hair curling at his nape. “Love you so much, Meguru. Makes me feel kinda crazy sometimes.” 

You feel the soft smile he was pressing into your skin transform into a grin, his eyes no doubt twinkling and bright with delight. “It does?”

“It does,” you repeat, using your hold on his hair to pull his face up from where it rested against your collarbones. Just as you thought, his eyes glisten with infatuation, little crescent moons as he beams up at you with a dopey smile. Your breath catches in your throat at the stunning sight, profound adoration sitting in his faint smile lines and the wrinkles at the corner of his eyes, earnestly dripping like syrup from his voice.

“I make you feel crazy? In love? Really?” he breathes, bringing his face close enough to yours for his warm breath to fan across your lips. “Say it again. Say it, I wanna hear it.”

And who are you to deny Bachira Meguru anything?

“I love you so much, baby,” you murmur, rubbing the tip of your nose against his damp cheek. “Always make me feel so crazy, so full of your love.”

“Again,” he tries to demand, but it’s a plea, you know. A supplication, a prayer to bear witness to the fire blazing with ardour in your chest, one that burns divinely for the man in front of you. His eyes are impossibly bright, drowning you in their sea of sunny reverence, and you know that he, too, would happily walk into the sting of your own flames.

“Feels like I can’t breathe sometimes.”

“Again.”

“Can’t think properly when it comes to you.”

“Again.”

“I love you, Meguru.”

“Again.”

[chrisevansonly]

Daddy Daughter Time (Lando & Poppy Universe)

ʚ lando norris x female reader

ʚ when the sun sets and you’re settled in bed with your favourite cup of tea and tv show, lando has what he likes to call ‘daddy-daughter time’

ʚ very fluffy sweet dad to be lando, lando being sassy as usual

ʚ i lied here’s a little pre poppy blurb for you guys, i wanted to get something out since you’re all so sweet to me and this idea has been stuck in my head

Your favourite show of the moment right now Suits, played softly through the speakers and surround sound system from the TV that rested on the wall in front of your bed. A post shower routine of getting comfy, rubbing the sweet peach scented body oil on your belly as your little girl kicked and moved about.

At almost 7 months pregnant, Lando was obsessed with you, and that belly, ever since it popped all those months ago, he was so irrevocably in love with you, and his little girl.

“Guess what time it is!!” Came his voice from the hallway, causing you to bite back a smile

“Snack time?”

“Ha ha no.”

“I’m sorry what was that Norris?”

Lando then poked his head through the door, if there was one thing he learned it was never ever mess with a pregnant woman; especially if that pregnant woman was his wife.

“Just kidding, I have all sorts of snacks for you my love!”

“That’s what I thought”

You watched as he entered the room with a tray of snacks, wide variety of your cravings and some for him to have while you watched your show together.

“It’s daddy daughter time baby, cmon how could you forget”

“Oh right mhm where my husband shushes me while he and my daughter plot against me”

A scoff left his lips as he placed the tray on the bedside table, for now, before settling on the bed and resting his head right above your bump. A happy sigh leaving his lips as your hand moved to card through his curls gently.

“We don’t plot against you….we just converse about you darling..big difference”

“Mhm”

Reaching over you popped a few skittles into your mouth with your free hand, your focus going back onto the tv as you felt Lando’s hand lay flat under your belly button, his fingers tapping lightly to see if the baby would move.

“Petal you’re not sleeping on daddy are you? We have to have our nightly talk…”

Snorting out a laugh he turned to glare at you, no actual annoyance behind it at all

“Sorry sorry!”

Shaking his head he tapped around your belly a few more times before she kicked right where his hand was.

“Hi little flower…are you being good to mummy today? Not kicking her too hard?”

As if on command she delivered a stronger kick to your rib cage, a swear escaping your lips

“Little devil she is”

“OH no no that’s not nice, mummy called you a little devil baby, you’re not a devil are you”

Smacking his head gently Lando laughed raising his hand in surrender

“Watch it Norris.”

“Yes ma’am!”

You shook your head continuing to snack as Lando leaned up a bit to place a few kisses to the taught skin.

“Mummy is gonna get daddy if i don’t behave, I have to go love on her now, i love you so much petal, same time tomorrow night?”

A pregnant pause fell over the room until he felt a soft kick on his hand

“Okay, same time tomorrow”

It really was sweet hearing Lando talk to the baby every night even if he was quite cheeky about it.

“Are you done giving the little one attention? Cause i’d love some now…”

“Alright alright girls there’s enough of me to go around!”

Rolling your eyes at your husband was a common occurrence these days, but he was quick to move, coming up to press a kiss to your lips, a soft smile on his face.

“You’ve got all my attention darling”

“Good, I was wondering when you two were going to break up your little huddle down there”

Moving the snacks and placing them in between you both, Lando let you get comfy as your head rested on his chest, now it was his turn to dote on you, a hand moving to rub your back gently.

“I love you, even when you’re being cheeky and turning our daughter against me”

“I love you too darling…and I am not turning her against you…”

“I’ve got my hands full with you, I don’t need two diva’s in this house”

At the sound of this Lando bursted out laughing, he couldn’t hold it back at your statement. He knew you weren’t wrong there at all, but that’s what you loved about him.

And you both knew if your daughter was anything like her father, there’d be a lot of sass filling your home very soon.

[andypantsx3]

fruit first (ask questions later) | k. bakugou

pairing: Bakugou Katsuki / Gender Neutral Reader

length: 3.6k

summary: When the grocery store you’re in becomes collateral in a villain attack, pro hero Dynamight comes to your rescue. When you become armed with a handful of oranges, however, someone may need to come to his rescue…

A short, mostly fluffy nothing for the prompt Bakugou + oranges. Part of the Willow’s House server Meet Fruit collab, where I took “meet fruit” extremely literally. Thank you @willowser for letting me in even though my dumb ass signed up late!!

tags/warnings: sfw, fluff, sexual tension, gender neutral reader

You were in the produce section when it happened.

The season was creeping into summertime now, the weather outside hot and humid and perfect for fresh produce–stalks of crunchy asparagus, fat ruby-red tomatoes, and tiny little berries nestled in their containers like a fistful of jewels.

You had admittedly been getting a little over-indulgent, your basket already straining against the skin of your forearm, heavy with more fruits and vegetables than a single person might feasibly consume before they went bad. But you were heady with visions of summer salads and fancy grain bowls, cool and leafy and refreshing, a balm against the sweltering city heat.

You’d just been adding a couple oranges to your basket when the first sign came.

It started as a rumble from far off, like the sound of slow-rolling thunder.

It echoed through the store, the bass buzzing through the shelves, making them hum. The lights flickered for a moment, their fluorescence dimming. A few of the people around you glanced up curiously, but nothing else in the interior of the store changed—no screaming, no crying, no running.

At first there was nothing to indicate that you might need to abandon your groceries in a pique of terror.

That was, until another boom sounded just overhead. And then the ceiling was suddenly ripped open with violent force.

A hunk of the steel frame was pulled back like the tab on a sardine can, the caging screaming in protest, and a shower of plaster rained down around you, breaking apart in slabs. An enormous, hulking figure peered through the hole, then dropped into the aisles before you, shaking the floor with his heavy landing.

Behind him, several other figures skittered into the building, one woman climbing down the wall like a lizard as a few others dropped in through the hole. A man suddenly popped into existence a few feet away from the orange stand with a crack like a gunshot. You startled, stumbling backwards, knocking into the oranges and sending a wave of them plopping to the floor.

There was no mistaking who these people were.

Villains. An entire crew of them.

All at once, the shoppers around you scrambled for cover, letting out a cacophony of shrieks and screams. You backed away, only for your foot to catch on an orange, rolling your ankle.

A bright stab of pain lanced through the joint, and you went down, hard, banging your elbow on a nearby display. You caught the floor with your rib cage, crushing an orange under your hip, your basket screeching across the floor next to you.

It knocked the breath right out of you, and you gasped, just as a blade of energy went singing overhead, slicing through the shelves and sending explosions of fruits and metal into the air. They rained down around you, a chunk of shelf framing tipping over and slamming down on your leg, fruits and vegetables slapping across every inch of your body.

Screams went up from the far side of the store, and you bit back a yelp of pain, tears forming in your eyes.

“Grab as many civvies as you can!” a deep voice barked out. “Hold ‘em like a shield and get moving to the next location!”

Your whole body iced over in fear, your ankle and leg screaming in protest as your limbs locked up. Footsteps echoed in every direction as the group of villains split up, hunting down their civilian targets. You hoped wildly, desperately that no one had seen you go down behind the citrus display.

Your hopes were in vain, however. Bootsteps rounded the corner, and the man who had appeared from thin air bent over the shelving pinning you down.

He was tall and wiry, with a face like a weasel and a thinning crop of dark hair. A malicious grin split the sides of his face as he took you in, yellow eyes flickering over you. “Hello sweet thing,” he cooed.

Your stomach flipped in despair as he prowled closer, oranges rolling away from his boots. Your hands scrambled at your sides, fingernails digging into the floor, as you tried to drag yourself backwards, away from him.

He cackled, high, reedy and excited, stalking down the aisle between two fruit stands. Two steps brought him right to you, and he leaned in, smiling widely. He reached out his long, straggly fingers, grasping for you—

And then he promptly blinked out of existence as a furious explosion crackled into life right where he had been. The brightness seared your eyes, blinding you, and a scorching heat scalded your face as a deafening boom rattled your teeth.

You snapped your eyes shut reflexively, but the light and heat was gone as soon as it came. The pad of boots approached you over the ringing in your ears, and you blinked open your eyes. Behind the spots that dotted your vision was a familiar face—one you’d seen on TV dozens, if not hundreds of times.

Bakugou Katsuki, alias pro hero Dynamight.

The first, wild, reeling, nonsense thought you had was that he was so much more handsome in person.

Red eyes glowed like scarlet embers through the dark of his black domino mask, and a scowl sat angrily but prettily on his plush mouth. He had scratches raked across one high cheekbone and down the line of his strong jaw, and his hero uniform had endured something worse, torn in several places, baring the bulge of one enormous bicep, and the trim line of his waist at one side.

The sight dazed you almost more than the flash of his explosion had, and Bakugou turned his scowl down on you, sweaty strands of blonde hair falling across his forehead as he did.

“You break anything, extra?” He rasped. His voice was lower, too, gravelly in a way that apparently didn’t translate well over TV airwaves.

You gaped for a moment, then quickly corralled yourself as his scowl deepened. You tried shifting your leg under the shelving, a fresh wave of pain lancing through you. “Um, my ankle I think is no good—I’m not sure if it’s broken—”

You were interrupted by a sound like a gunshot, splitting the air right in front of you, and then the teleport villain appeared just in front of you. He lunged for Bakugou, and you caught the flash of a blade in the fluorescent lighting. A reflexive scream tore out of you, trying to warn Bakugou—

But Bakugou was faster. He whipped around, a terrifying smile splitting his mouth, an explosion already crackling in his palm.

The teleport villain flickered out of sight again, just in time for Bakugou’s explosion to rip apart the air where he had been, splintering several of the displays around you and blasting a shelf of crackers and jelly apart. You could hear the glass and cracker bits raining down like chunks of hail.

Bakugou quickly turned back to you, eyeing you evaluatively. “Stay down, extra, and don’t fuckin’ move. I’ll take care of this asshole.”

You nodded hurriedly, shifting under the shelving that had you pinned. You managed to wedge yourself into the rough wood of the citrus display at your side, as if you could disappear into it if only you pressed hard enough.

Bakugou turned his back to you, one arm out as if to block anyone’s line of sight to you. The lines of his broad shoulders were tense under the white-hot glare of the store lights, and you noticed another gash in his uniform along one shoulder blade, exposing a peek of his back muscles.

Bakugou was moving almost before you even heard the next teleportation crackle, spinning to aim an explosion to his right. He launched himself after it with a vengeance, only to blow right through another display as the villain winked out of existence again. It seemed like he was fast, possibly too fast…

And then that gunshot noise again–and the villain was right next to you. In one impossibly fast movement Bakugou rerouted himself with a searing blast that ripped the tile right off the floor. In less than a second he was screaming down on the villain with all the speed and fiery fury of a falling comet. He aimed another shot right where the villain was standing—

But the villain disappeared again.

Bakugou neatly dodged you with another explosion aimed at the ground, the hot wind of it throwing you back against the orange crate. He somersaulted over the display just as another crack sounded behind it, and you could hear another explosion tearing through yet more of the produce.

And then another growled swear from Bakugou told you the villain had vanished again.

Your heart beat double time, wondering anxiously how bad this match up was. Bakugou was the number two hero, and you’d always assumed he’d be well-matched against any type of quirk. You’d seen a million broadcasts of his takedowns, quick and purposeful and scarily precise, with one of the fastest takedown averages on record.

But it was clear this villain was slippery and all together too quick. You didn’t know how Bakugou was supposed to catch someone who could disappear within milliseconds.

You thought probably the only chance could be to unleash his full power. On the news, you’d seen him send entire buildings crumbling. If he wanted to, he could tear this entire storefront down, set the entire inside on fire and catch the villain no matter where he teleported to in this space.

But instead you were in the middle of things. Bakugou had to aim, had to hold back lest any debris hit you, had to angle himself around you to protect you, all while the teleport villain had no such qualms.

It was possible Bakugou wouldn’t be able to catch this guy under these conditions–and you were the impediment to blame.

You heard Bakugou’s explosion rip apart another display in the distance, and that gunfire crack of the villain disappearing. Heart in your mouth, you cast around you for something, anything that could help him.

If only there was something to even the odds…

And then you found it. Your gaze landed on the spill of oranges at your feet. Fat, round, heavy and hard. Perfectly projectile shaped.

Now that…that was something.

You quickly gathered as many of them as you could, your ankle twinging in protest when you leaned across the shelving that had trapped it. You scooped the oranges up in an armful, depositing them in your lap, grabbing the largest and hefting it aloft just as another gunshot sound echoed in front of you.

The villain flickered into view right in front of you. You drew your arm back, whipping the orange at him with all of your might. But then like a lightning strike, Bakugou was there, explosion in hand. The villain flashed back out of sight, flames raking the store behind him, nearly blinding in their brilliance.

In another millisecond, the orange caught Bakugou on the thigh. You could hear the hard thump of it against the muscle even over the crackle of Bakugou’s explosion. It sent Bakugou slightly off course, and he had to aim another shot at the ground to catch himself before landing on his feet.

Instantly he whipped around to glare at you, smoke rising off his hands. “Oi, brat, what the fuck’re you throwing shit at me for?”

Your mouth dropped open belatedly, shocked that you’d just beaned the number two hero with a navel orange.

“Oh shit—” you gasped out. “I didn’t mean—it was for him—”

Bakugou’s mouth opened, but then another crack sounded across the store, the teleport villain undoubtedly in sight again. Bakugou threw a shot at him again, but you could tell it had missed by the way the villain materialized again just behind Bakugou.

Before you knew what you’d done, another orange was already in flight. Instead of turning to hit the villain, Bakugou was forced to duck before the orange went right through where his head had been. You heard it hit the floor as the villain was gone again, bouncing into a roll.

“Fucking—! Brat, knock it the hell off!” Bakugou growled, his red-hot glare searing your skin. “Or I will cram those things so far up your—”

Another teleportation crack cut him off, and he launched an attack over your head. The heat scalded the top of your head, blowing a flurry of fruits off of the citrus display.

Good. More ammo, regardless of what Bakugou said.

Except, well, this time you would try to aim better.

It was another few heart-pounding minutes before you got your redemption shot, Bakugou and the teleport villain chasing one another all over the grocery store in the most anxiety-inducing game of cat and mouse you had ever witnessed. You could hear entire sections of the store becoming victim to Bakugou’s quirk, hear the sharp cackle of the villain’s laughter and Bakugou’s angry swearing.

And then came the moment.

The gunshot noise that heralded the teleport villain’s quirk exploded in the air right in front of you again, and it was then that you unleashed a volley of fruits–whipping one as hard as you could as you unleashed several more across the floor. A heel materialized just over a rolling orange, and then the rest of the villain—and you watched with malicious pleasure as his ankle buckled and he went to the floor just as hard as you had.

That moment of stunned surprise was all Bakugou needed. He was there in a single second, an explosion catching the villain and blowing him straight across the floor. He hit the side of another display with a sickening thud. Lettuce spattered him in a shower of leaves, plastic bagging fluttering in the aftershocks of Bakugou’s explosion.

Bakugou was on the villain again instantly, and you caught the silver flash of quirk suppressing cuffs as Bakugou buckled him to the shelves, snarling a victorious stream of swear-laden insults. The villain was unresponsive, clearly knocked unconscious by the force of Bakugou’s blow.

In under a minute, Bakugou was striding back over to you, his boots echoing heavily on the tile.

“Watch where the fuck you’re throwing shit next time, brat,” he snipped at you, even as he bent down, hands going under the shelving that had you pinned. His bicep corded with effort, and the metal screeched as it was lifted, clanging to the tile as Bakugou threw it off of you.

You watched it fall, dazed. Bakugou squatted down next to you, catching your ankle and pulling it carefully to him.

You blinked, surprised by the gentle touch, eyes following Bakugou as he leaned over your injury, poking and prodding carefully. His eyelashes dusted the tops of his cheekbones, long and golden and a little too pretty for a man.

“I–ouch–I got him though,” you said defensively.

Bakugou’s scarlet gaze flicked up to your face, and a weird zing went down your spine. He really was so gorgeous in person, you had to admit, even beat to hell like he was now.

“Got me too, you fuckin’ brat,” Bakugou said. Strangely, his expression went clearer as he spoke, however, like he wasn’t even that mad about it. His fingers pressed delicately at the inside of your ankle, just beneath the jut of bone.

“Well you were in the way,” you groused, though you knew your second throw really had been a little poorly aimed. Bakugou snorted.

“...Got a good fucking arm on you though,” he allowed after a few more seconds of prodding.

It startled a laugh out of you, and a surprising hint of a grin cut across Bakugou’s own mouth, white and straight and viciously pleased.

“I—thanks,” you said, strangely flattered. “I think.”

“Yeah yeah,” Bakugou said, red eyes wandering over you. Then he went back to poking around your ankle, and you tried not to watch his arm flex as he shifted through the motions. “‘S fractured but not broken, I think,” he declared when he was finally satisfied.

“Oh,” you said, “Well that’s better than I thought.”

You shifted uneasily, wondering what the process was now that you’d been diagnosed. You’d never been in an attack before. Did you just sit here and wait for a paramedic to come to you? Or, could you ask Bakugou to help get you up to hobble out of the store?

You’d just decided to sit tight when Bakugou decided for you. A strong hand wormed its way under your thighs as another swept around your back, and then you were being hefted into Bakugou’s arms in one smooth, upsettingly easy movement.

Embarrassingly, your thighs clenched, even as your arms reflexively went around Bakugou’s neck.

You could feel a prickle of heat flaming across your face as he looked down at you, those scarlet eyes picking across your features. “Gonna get you to the paramedics, brat, they’ll fix your shit right up,” he said, so close now that you could feel his exhalation on your collarbone.

You nodded, your throat suddenly dry. “I—yes, that sounds good—thanks.”

Bakugou nodded, shifting you more securely against him, and then picked his way across the rubble, holding you tight. You tried not to revel in the feeling of his arms around you, aware this was an entirely inappropriate train of thought to have during a rescue. Especially when you’d hit the man with an orange.

It was a disappointingly short journey—you were outside in nearly a minute, and it was only another few seconds before Bakugou set you down on the back of an ambulance. A young, friendly paramedic bustled over and Bakugou relayed your condition in a brusque growl.

Surprisingly, however, he lingered close as the paramedic assessed the condition of your ankle and applied his quirk—a green light that made every nerve in your leg hum in response, but instantly took away the pain in your ankle. Then the paramedic wrapped you in compression bandages to keep it set straight.

“Ice it when you get home and keep it elevated when you sleep,” he advised you in his spritely tone. “I’ve got a regeneration quirk so you should be all healed up by the time you wake up, but you’ll want to keep off of it as much as you can in the meantime.”

You thanked him, and were surprised when Bakugou thanked him too, although much more briskly.

Then Bakugou turned back to you, red eyes catching yours again. You found you couldn’t look away from him, as shy as you were suddenly feeling out in the daylight. A few seconds ticked by, and you could feel your ears going hot as Bakugou looked you over.

“So. You want dinner or what?” Bakugou asked finally, crossing his arms over his chest. Your eyes got momentarily stuck on the tear in his sleeve, the way the divot of muscle peeked through in the afternoon light.

Then you gaped up at him when you caught up with what he’d said. “Do I—dinner—with you?”

Bakugou looked down at you, a smirk curling his lip as if he’d just realized where your attention had been. “Yeah. ‘M off shift after I give this report. Thought you might want a thanks for the assist or whatever. But if you’re gonna be fuckin’ squirrely about it, then—”

“Yes!” You gasped out, almost before you even realized you’d spoken. A thrill like lightning sang down your spine, electrifying all your nerve endings. Bakugou Katsuki—pro hero Dynamight—had just asked you to dinner?

Of fucking course you were gonna say yes.

Your brain swam, still unsure you’d heard him correctly, but then he leaned in, an arm coming up to catch the side of the ambulance van just beside your face.

“Good,” he said, another viciously pleased smile cutting across his mouth. Something hot crawled into your stomach, and you suddenly realized dinner might be only the tip of the iceberg Bakugou was steering your ship towards. “Gonna have to have a word about your aim, though,” he said, his gaze searing. “Don’t think you’ve gotten out of it just because I like you and you got that teleport asshole too.”

The low, raspy way he spoke was heavier with promise more than reprimand—and it sent another swarm of shivers over your skin.

Bakugou’s eyes caught it, a reply even clearer than if you had spoken. He grinned victoriously, pushing off of the ambulance to stalk over the police presence that had started to amass just beyond the sidewalk, presumably to give his report.

“Stay right here, brat, I’ll be back for you,” he promised, and you grew roots in your seat.

And then you watched him stalk off, staring in disbelief after his broad back. You couldn’t believe the number two hero had just asked you to dinner. And after you’d accidentally beaned him with an orange!

All you’d done was go to the grocery store in anticipation of produce, and you’d walked out with the promise of a date instead.

A ridiculous loop of orange you glad you decided to go grocery shopping? echoed wildly in your brain, a sign of the sheer ridiculousness of your situation. But yeah, you thought, as Bakugou leaned in to speak to a police officer, those scarlet eyes cutting unmistakably back towards you.

You really, really were.

[werelosingdaylight]

Intimate Mornings

Chishiya Shuntaro x GN!Reader

REQUESTED? [Yes] • No

REQUEST: Hi could I request domestic moment with chishiya, like hdcs or anything idc, im a slut for this man and I need domestic moment with him ☹️👍 (the brainrot is very real)

WORD COUNT: 771

SUMMARY| Mornings with Chishiya had always been your favorite, especially after a rough game.

Adm Note: I’m back after a year, I might be a little rusty. I did not specify what the reader looked like or any pronouns! Everyone is included. <3

Sunlight broke through the blue skies with beams of light, peaking through the window to give false loving caresses to the skin of your lovers face, like it was trying to make you envious of the ethereal glow that encapsulates him. Chishiya slept peacefully beside you, his arm slung loosely over your waist, his face didn't hold its usual coldness; a mask he carefully crafted together from hardened clay to protect himself.

Without much thought to your actions you pulled your hand from where it laid motionless under the blanket, taking the physically clean hand and running it through his messy locks of hair. You often wondered if every touch you gave him darkened his soul, the soul that shimmered such a vibrant gold it could blind you.

Where as your soul laid withered up, being cloaked by the shadows lingering in your mind, tormenting you with memories of the things you have done to survive in the borderlands. Crimson stains washed away down the shower drain like it was nothing but dirt spread across your skin.

His hair was soft, like how you imagined clouds to feel as a child. It was familiar and warm to your touch, like an old soul greeting you upon your death, lighting you up with a sense of complete wholeness.

Slowly your hand moved from its place where you were daring to dance your fingers through each piece and wondering if you would turn to gold from touching the hair upon his head.

Trailing down his cheek you relish in the warmth rolling off his skin in waves, a frown pulling at the corner of your lips as you notice a cut along the crown of his forehead, not deep enough to need stitches but it would need to be cleaned.

Running your thumb softly along the cut, a sigh crawled it’s way out of your throat with ragged claws tearing into your windpipe, mindlessly beating against your voice box. “Chishiya…” You whispered, getting no response you tried again to awaken your slumbering boyfriend.

“Chishiya.” Your voice was louder, causing him to stir, his eyes fluttering open at the feeling of being looked at so tenderly. A small sleep filled smile was shot your way, making your heart thud wildly against your rib cage.

Pressing a kiss to the corner of his lips you wordlessly got up, ignoring a whining protest from Chishiya that tugged at your heart strings; he always had been clingy when he was tired.

Entering the bathroom you grabbed a wash cloth, letting the cold water seep through the fabric and pool onto your fingertips before the droplets slid down your hands back into the sink.

Opening the cabinets you grabbed a bandage, rubbing alcohol, and the ointment. Hearing a soft shuffle, that alerted you to the fact your boyfriend was on the move, you moved to the doorway.

“Nuh-uh, lay back down. You’re injured and have five days on your visa.” You made your way over to his side of the bed, sitting down hesitantly beside him. You took care of the bigger injuries last night, including the huge gash along his side from a flying piece of metal.

As gently as you could, you pushed Chishiyas shoulders back, having him leaning against the headboard of the bed. Shifting carefully as to not bother his stitches.

Chishiya rolled his eyes at you being so careful, a yelp of surprise escaping you as two hands pulled you into his lap in a straddling position. “Chishiya! I could have hurt you.” You weren’t normally one to complain about sitting on your boyfriends lap, especially if it’s in the privacy of your own room, but you didn’t want to irritate or reopen his wound.

Chishiya let out what sounded like an annoyed clicking with his tongue “You didn’t hurt me, if anything being this close with you makes me feel better.” Your insides melted at his words, despite him not being the best with emotions they always managed to make you a puddle in his hand.

A soft smile crossed your lips, unable to hold back the warmth that spread throughout your chest, how could you when he looked at you like you crafted every star in his name? Like you shaped every galaxy and creature just to cure his loneliness?

You softly brushed his hair away from the cut, dabbing the wet cloth to clean the dried up blood that escaped and now painted dried ponds on his skin. You know soon enough you will both have to get up, but for now you will soak up the small moments.