#scratch writes

[zan0tix]

Iconography

[robo-writing]

I don’t think I’ll ever get over Logan and Jean making out in x-3, getting scratched so hard he bleeds and instead of running away he MOANS AND GOES IN FOR MORE. LIKE THEY GAVE US EVIDENCE THAT LOGAN IS A MASOCHIST. ITS CANON HE LIKES PAIN WITH HIS PLEASURE.

Anyway here’s some masochist!Logan hc’s :))

Likes eating your pussy because when you’re close you tug on his hair so hard the feeling goes straight to his dick.

Actually you pulling on his strands at all is enough to get him off. Please lead him around when you do it, his brain shuts off immediately

Biting. Please do so. It’s cute when it’s playful but when he’s got you bouncing on his dick and you’re so loud the only thing you can think to do is bite his shoulder to stay quiet???? Head empty no thoughts

Scratching his back???? Nirvana. If his healing factor wasn’t so good he’d spend a good amount of time in the mirror admiring the angry red lines.

Biting his lip during a kiss is a foolproof method to get him to bend you over the nearest object and fuck you, doesn’t matter the circumstances. He feels your teeth and you’re gonna start feeling shaky in the legs real soon.

The worst (or best, depending on your definition) you’ve ever been fucked by Logan is when you two had an arguement and for some reason you slapped him. Full force too, all five fingers across his cheek, so hard that his head completely turned as the echo of it bounced across the walls.

Yeah it hurt your hand after, hitting raw metal tends to do that to you.

But the look in his eyes when he turned back???

Lord help you.

Three hours later and an unrecognizable amount of orgasms later he was still fucking into your sloppy hole, cum staining the sheets below you as he fucked you within an inch of your life.

You’re pretty sure you passed out at some point because there’s a huge block of time missing, but he still kept sliding into your warm cunt.

Anyway that’s how you found out Logan likes being slapped around a bit thank you for coming to my ted talk

[strawbeaniie]

[ Use the tags : #f/obruary2025 #f/obruary when posting your work! you're also free to tag me if you'd like me to see too!]

(˵ •̀ ᴗ •́ ˵ ) ✧ Welcome to f/obruary 2025, a 14 day prompt list that could serve as a count down to valentine's day! Although, as long as your having fun you can take it at any pace you want too. I saw someone mention prompt lists are there to help you make things but it shouldn't overwhelm you or become a burden?

*; Everything from romantic f/o's, familial f/o's platonic etc. goes here! Feel free to change the prompts to fit your needs! I like to think of these as a base you can customize toward the stuff you wanna do!

*; I'm so excited to see what everyone comes up with! From writing, to art, to moodboards or playlists? Any sort of creative medium you could think of is up for grabs! **I've got the written list of prompts under the cut, in case anyone needs them**

pr✕ship + variants dni..

01. Love Letters

02. Plushies

03. Baking

04. Arcade

05. Phone Call

06. Cuddling

07. Fairy Tale

08. Music

09. Matching

10. Karaoke

11. In the Rain

12. AU

13. Dinner

14. Valentines

-*- taglist: @ogatas-beloved @fl0ralsxgar @abhorrentmessiah @lances-wife

[ghost-bxrd]

I think we as a fandom need to have more talks about ✨dramatic✨ Jason running his own AO3 blog where he posts increasingly violent and heart wrenching stories about Robin. (The second Robin. Because he’s absolutely self inserting.)

And the Batfam find out about those fic that have a startlingly detailed layout of the batcave and accurate patrol routes that they choose to investigate (by reading the fics, duh) and growing increasingly upset about how the characters are portrayed.

Especially Robin.

[seiwas]

new year superstitions (or some shit) | bakugo katsuki

wc: 1.4k

summary: bakugo's never believed in timing things for luck (or: affection is hard, but bakugo thinks it's about damn time he tries harder)

contains: written with f!reader in mind but can be read as gn!, aged up!pro-hero bakugo (mid-twenties), reader is described as pretty, vaguely alludes to reader's quirk, established relationship, fluff.

you slip into bakugo's space just a few minutes shy of touching the new year.

everywhere around you is loud, lively in the way new year's eve parties go; a group of people down the street stand outside of a bar, waving their streamers and blowing on small trumpets to welcome the next hour. from a distance, fireworks are shooting up to the sky, right above some luxury hotel having its annual countdown.

it's neither bakugo's thing nor yours to be up this late, partaking in celebrations like this, but he supposes some things are worth experiencing at least once—

the scent of your perfume hits him before he sees you, the space around him tightening in that familiar way the air around you shifts when you hold your breath. you smile, a small, gentle lift of your lips that falls into pace with your blink. pretty.

warmth pools in his stomach, building slowly to crawl its way up his neck and over his ears, overflowing to dust his cheeks.

"thought you looked a little lonely over here," you mumble, stifling your giggle as you watch him turn pink.

he furrows his brows, a soft "tsk," escaping his lips out of habit as his head turns to you. you always tease him like this; he should be getting used to it by now.

a gust of wind picks up from your spot on the balcony, pushing the glass door shut. the noise from inside muffles to dull chatter, the beat of tonight's music recognizable only by the subtle vibrations on the metal railing resting against his back.

the winter breeze seems to have tapped you, too, as you tuck your chin deeper into the red scarf around your neck.

"y'should've stayed inside," he nods to you then to the balcony door, crossing his arms, "s'cold here."

you frown, inching closer, just enough that you could loop your arm with his if you wanted, "sometimes, i can't tell if you're bad at taking hints or just really good at ignoring them."

he eyes you from the side, red vermillion the shade of your scarf—the one he gifted you just a few days ago for christmas. you pout, loosening the fabric around your neck so he can hear you clearly.

"you know," you take in a shaky breath, "this is the f-first time we're at s-something like this as y-y'know…” you pause, glancing at him to gauge his reaction, “t-together."

his nose turns a shade of pink darker; it's true, and he can hear you clearly—every tremor, every shiver. he sees you pretty clearly too, the softest hint of red on your lips. this relationship with you is new, just a little over a couple of months, and it makes him think—

"k-katsuki, are you e-even—"

it's reflex when he does it―his hand shooting out to grip your elbow, pulling you closer into his parka. right where you were standing lands a small clump of snow, fallen from the balcony of the unit above.

you look up almost immediately, a little flustered.

"s-sorry―"

bakugo feels warm despite the cold, heat blazing across his entire face as little puffs of air tickle his neck when you speak. like he said, this relationship with you is new, and though he's held you a few times already, affection, in any capacity is still something he's getting used to.

and you're aware of that too; of course you are. but when you push yourself away to create some space―

"told you s'fuckin cold."

―he keeps his other hand on your back, holding you into place.

bakugo is intense in most aspects; he meets things headfirst with no hesitation, but being this close to you makes him feel weird, a kind of unusual he thinks he should approach with caution―as if to keep himself from ruining the moment.

so his eyes wander. down the street, on the view behind you; they focus on the wisps of your hair ruffled from the earlier breeze, the tips of your eyelashes, blinking. then slowly and carefully, they land on you.

and you―

you beam, eyes widening momentarily before flashing him the brightest smile. it stills him so much that he doesn't notice your hands loosening the scarf around your neck even more, unwinding the fabric until the lengthened ends sit on your palms.

it's when you say "okay," gently and so... so... sweetly, that he feels the softness of wool hit the tips of his ears and down his neck. an ache spreads throughout his chest as he locks eyes with yours, tongue pushing against the roof of his mouth for another tsk―but you beat him to it, your finger coming up to press against his lips.

"s'cold," you giggle, a hint of teasing.

he narrows his gaze, about to retort when you both hear muffled shouts from inside the party, "ten... nine... eight..."

the group of friends down the street seem to be in on it too, echoes in unison, shouting, "seven... six... five... four..."

and from afar, right where the hotel is situated, are the numbers "three... two... one..." lit up on the sky.

you tug on bakugo's parka to draw his attention; the expression on your face is something he can't quite decipher―winter on your cheeks and your lower lip pulled between your teeth. the air around him tightens again, evidenced by the way you suck in a breath.

then, it happens all too fast―the way you tiptoe up just that little bit; your fingertips stamping chills down the edges of his scarred cheek. you kiss bakugo right as the new year strikes and the moment happens too quickly for him to notice.

"happy new year, katsuki," you whisper, close enough that it tickles his chin. it must have been a small peck, it must have been. he can only assume as he blinks it back to memory.

you've kissed before―three times to be exact, four counting this one. and he's not opposed to it (what kind of idiot would be?); in full truth, he fucking loves it.

but, affection is hard, and fuck, it's always been you initiating it―

"sorry, too much?" you mumble sheepishly, pressing your lips together, "just figured since it's the new year and all..."

―which is even more fucked by the fact that you feel the need to apologize for it.

he stares at you, bewildered out of his fucking mind that he still hasn't grown the damn balls to kiss you himself.

so, to hell with new year superstitions, he thinks; bakugo's never believed in playing to luck and chance in the first place. he'll kiss you right now because he wants to―

because it's what he's been wanting to do since the start of tonight, since yesterday, since a week ago; since you kissed him the very first time and all he could do was stand there, trying to act like the very feel of his lips pressed against yours didn't make his mind howitzer impact right in that moment.

―it just so happens that it's the new year, and it's about damn time he grows the balls to initiate it for once.

his hand reaches for your cheek before you can take a step back, fingers slotting themselves by your ear and resting against the edge of your jaw. your eyebrows shoot up, the look in your eyes something between confused and surprised. his thumb slides itself across your cheek before swiping down to touch the edge of your lips, feeling.

there's a dull warmth beneath the pads of his fingertips, heating up when he leans in. the air tightens; breath on hold as his nose bumps into your skin, and it's faint, the slightest touch of your lips against his. your eyes fall shut before his do, and he shivers, a slight tremble as he deepens the kiss.

he starts out slowly, uncertain, moving his lips tentatively. it's a push and pull―soft, quick pecks sandwiched between longer, drawn out touching. it almost feels like this moment's been suspended amidst all the noise, lips locked and gliding, lingering; he swears he can feel you grinning.

your fingers grip the fabric of his parka and tug, and he sees it as a signal to be rougher, taking your bottom lip between his and slightly biting. you squeak the tiniest bit, but it's enough to make him pull away completely, eyes wide as his thumb presses against your chin.

"fuck," he whispers, catching his breath as he tugs just enough that he can see the inside of your lower lip, "did i hurt you?"

he's squinting, brows furrowed while looking for any sign of blood when you shake your head, stopping him. his gaze shifts to take you in―your glossy lips, slick with spit; your eyes, completely blown but somehow still twinkling, and when you giggle, he almost finds it cruel you have to look so fucking pretty.

"it's just your canines," you smile, "i like them."

fuck, he really should've done this sooner.

a/n: this ended up way longer than i planned woops! haven't written bakugo in a while but i miss the guy!! and i wanted to write him so terribly flustered and bad at affection but being so frustrated because he wants to try!!! and he should be better than this!! anyway! i had this idea around christmas time but couldn't write it in time for the new year because i got sick. so it's a little late, but i hope you enjoy!

i'm not sure if you remember my dear willow @willossom, but you sent me a request a good while back for one of my events with the prompt: saying "i love you" in all the ways you aren't used to for bakugo, and this reminded me loads of it!! 🥺 though this isn't the written request for that one yet (i have something else planned for it), i just wanted to let you know that i thought of you while writing this!!!

comments, tags, and reblogs are greatly appreciated ♡

[zephyrchama]

Seeing Satan interact with strays around the RAD campus gives you an idea. You decide to try it out when he's alone in the household library later.

As usual, he invites you to sit with him. When no one else is around, it's fine if you sit in his lap. It's your special privilege.

You take a peek at what he's reading. It looks boring, though his eyes are glued to the page. His blue irises shift in the light as they go back and forth across the page. It's a pretty sight.

When you raise a hand to his cheek, Satan leans his face into your palm. A natural gesture. He doesn't even look up. It signals the perfect time to put your plan into action. You begin to move your fingertips, gently scratching around the bottom of his ear in small circles. Just barely grazing his skin with your nails.

He stiffens with a look of pure confusion. Concentration broken, his gaze is finally directed at you.

Now that he's not distracted by the novel, your other hand makes its way to the crown of his head for more scritches. You go back and forth, mimicking the satisfying way Satan always does it to the strays around town. His soft blonde hair parts easily as you lightly scratch at his scalp.

"What do you think you're doing?" A blush spreads across his entire face, from cheek to ear. Perhaps your experiment went too far.

"I thought you'd like this," you admit. It seems to have the opposite effect, though. Instead of relaxing, Satan was straining his entire body. His grip on the chair's arm dug into its upholstery. You drop your hands and opt to lean against him instead.

He places his book aside. "I do. Why did you stop?"

"Really?" With newfound confidence, you graze two fingernails against the bottom of his chin, working in small zig zags. "So you like this?"

His breathing turns erratic. Satan grabs your wrist in an oddly strong hold and orders, "wait. Not here."

In a rush, he clutches you against his chest and stands up. There's so much force behind his movement, the armchair skids back several paces. It'll be faster if Satan carries you, and you can keep scratching his chin while he walks.

"Come with me, we'll try this out again in my room."

[sugarcoatednightshade]

thinking about how Humans Are Space Orcs stories always talk about how indestructible humans are, our endurance, our ability to withstand common poisons, etc. and thats all well and good, its really fun to read, but it gets repetitive after a while because we aren't all like that.

And that got me thinking about why this trope is so common in the first place, and the conclusion I came to is actually kind of obvious if you think about it. Not everyone is allowed to go into space. This is true now, with the number of physical restrictions placed on astronauts (including height limits), but I imagine it's just as strict in some imaginary future where humans are first coming into contact with alien species. Because in that case there will definitely be military personnel alongside any possible diplomatic parties.

And I imagine that all interactions aliens have ever had up until this point have been with trained personnel. Even basic military troops conform to this standard, to some degree. So aliens meet us and they're shocked and horrified to discover that we have no obvious weaknesses, we're all either crazy smart or crazy strong (still always a little crazy, academia and war will do that to you), and not only that but we like, literally all the same height so there's no way to tell any of us apart.

And Humans Are Death Worlders stories spread throughout the galaxy. Years or decades or centuries of interspecies suspicion and hostilities preventing any alien from setting foot/claw/limb/appendage/etc. on Earth until slowly more beings are allowed to come through. And not just diplomats who keep to government buildings, but tourists. Exchange students. Temporary visitors granted permission to go wherever they please, so they go out in search of 'real terran culture' and what do they find?

Humans with innate heart defects that prevent them from drinking caffeine. Humans with chronic pain and chronic fatigue who lack the boundless endurance humans are supposedly famous for. Humans too tall or too short or too fat to be allowed into space. Humans who are so scared of the world they need to take pills just to function. Humans with IBS who can't stand spicy foods, capsaicin really is poison to them. Lactose intolerance and celiac disease, my god all the autoimmune disorders out there, humans who struggle to function because their own bodies fight them. Humans who bruise easily and take too long to heal. Humans who sustained one too many concussions and now struggle to talk and read and write. Humans who've had strokes. Humans who were born unable to talk or hear or speak, and humans who through some accident lost that ability later.

Aliens visit Earth, and do you know what they find? Humanity, in all its wholeness.

[scealaiscoite]

⋆˚࿔ “i can’t…” prompts 𝜗𝜚˚⋆

¹⁾ “i can’t believe you lied to me.”

²⁾ “i can’t do this anymore.”

³⁾ “i can’t talk about it. i want to, please believe me, but i’m just not ready.”

⁴⁾ “i can’t sleep. mind if i join you?”

⁵⁾ “i can’t stay with [name] when i still have these feelings for you.”

⁶⁾ “i can’t wrap my mind around why it happened.”

⁷⁾ “i can’t be the only one who sees how she looks at you.”

⁸⁾ “i can’t keep putting you in danger! being with me isn’t worth your life- you must realise that!”

⁹⁾ “i can’t find it in myself to care anymore.”

¹⁰⁾ “i can’t watch.”

¹¹⁾ “i can’t stand by and look on while you keep putting yourself through this.”

¹²⁾ “i can’t keep this from them and you knew that when you told me!”

¹³⁾ “i can’t stop seeing it. every time i close my eyes it’s like i’m right back there, reliving it over and over with no way to change the outcome.”

¹⁴⁾ “i can’t believe you remembered.”

¹⁵⁾ “i can’t face them on my own- please come with me.”

¹⁶⁾ “i can’t be with you like that. not anymore.”

¹⁷⁾ “i can’t tell you how much i appreciate this.”

¹⁸⁾ “i can’t break the lock! how are we going to get out of here?!”

¹⁹⁾ “i can’t stand him. please bail me out of this, i’ll owe you forever.”

²⁰⁾ “i can’t shake the feeling that something bad’s about to happen.”

²¹⁾ “i can’t keep lying to everyone… it’s killing me.”

²²⁾ “i can’t possibly ever tell you just how much i adore you, but i’ll damn well spend the rest of our lives trying to.”

²³⁾ “i can’t bear that prick.”

²⁴⁾ “i can’t believe you drinking straight bourbon in a paddling pool isn’t the weirdest thing i’ve seen this morning.”

²⁵⁾ “i can’t get to you, and neither can the team. you’re- you’re gonna have to make it out of there on your own, kid.”

²⁶⁾ “i can’t get passed over for this promotion again, not after working myself like a goddamn dog to see it happen.”

²⁷⁾ “i can’t be expected to feign interest in a conversation whilst you look as good as this, now can i?”

²⁸⁾ “i can’t walk in there dressed like this- in your clothes!”

²⁹⁾ “i can’t shake the feeling that something bad’s about to happen.”

³⁰⁾ “i can’t believe a bullet wound still isn’t enough to get you to lay off those stupid pickup lines.”

[whump-in-the-closet]

when a living weapon whumpee only takes orders from ONE person. They’ve been conditioned to ignore everyone else’s orders. This means that after rescue, the team can barely get whumpee to drink or allow them bandage their injuries. One of the teammates manages to imitate whumpee’s handler by deepening their voice.

They stay out of whumpee’s line of sight, standing behind their hospital bed. “Drink this,” they snap, hating how they have to command this broad-shouldered ghost of a person. Without their armor, without their mask, whumpee looks like a wraith. There’s nothing behind their eyes. They play with the hospital blanket with twitching hands that have strangled and maimed.

When whumpee hears the order they stiffen to attention and take the cup offered with those still-shaking hands. But the cup slips through their fingers and lands in a puddle on the tiles.

They immediately tense up, shoulder blades flung so far back they touch. Their breathing quickens, waiting.

But nothing happens.

They give whumpee a new glass of cold water. This time, they lift the cup to whumpee’s lips and hold it steady, with one hand behind their head for support.

[pillsopa]

anyone remember adam parrish, the bella swan of henrietta. let’s sit and think now…

[mspaint-flower]

culd u do butcher vanity

🥩

[eloquent-edits]

🗡️ Oh, love, don’t let me go

won’t you take me where the streetlights glow? 🗡️ physical affection prompts

Tight hugs that feel like coming home after a long time away

Eskimo kisses!!!

Tracing constellations between freckles and moles

Reaching for their hand in a crowd, knowing they’ll guide you through safely

Cradling their face in your hands, thumb brushing against the creases of their smile

Kissing the back of their hand and gently squeezing it before leaving

Dog piles on a couch with limbs all askew yet very comfortable

After a terrible joke, flicking their arm or hand

Les bises (cheek kisses) upon greeting them

A hearty clap of joy on the back

Hidden tangling of the legs under a table or blanket

Resting your chin on their shoulder, arms wrapping them in a gentle embrace from behind

Friendly sparring while waiting around (if actual swords are included that’s even better)

Twirling them around in a big hug, bursting into laughter when you almost topple over

Sneakily finding the right moment to slip an ice cold hand up their shirt

Washing their back in the shower for them

When they’re injured or sick, carefully carrying them where they need to go

Secret handshakes just for fun

Hip-checking, either like a salsa dancer’s final move or a itty bitty bump for acknowledgment

Detangling or braiding their hair as their head rests in your lap

Spooning (big or little spoon, it’s nice 10/10 highly recommend)

Pressing a warm hand into their side/stomach/back to alleviate cramps or muscle strains

Scratching that ridiculously hard to reach spot for them

Brief shoulder massages when they’re stressed

Curling into their chest, protected from everything in the world for that moment

[wishfuldivine]

Gaz getting his neck licked by Ghost?

He was out training the recruits. The weather was piss poor. Absolutely hotter than the fucking devil's ass crack and it was beginning to make everyone want to drench themselves in cold water or worse, die.

The new batch of meat had arrived a couple of days ago, and Price had so humbly given him the order for this duty.

'Take them under your wings, Gaz.'

And now, here he was. Sweating buckets while having to teach these amateurs how to get it done.

They have been going for more than an hour now, when he finally decided to take pity on their souls. After all, he understood how it could be. He had been a rookie once.

"Alright! It's a ten minute break and then we're back at it! Don't want to carry your ass to medical for passing out."

He saw how they all sighed in relief and hurried to hydrate themselves under the nice shaded area. A small snort escaped him when some dropped down dramatically in hopes of resting.

"Holdin' on well, Garrick?"

He raised a brow and turned to look at the lieutenant. Sometimes, he wondered how the fuck is it that Ghost never melted under that mask and uniform. It left him completely perplexed. But then, he dismisses it by Ghost just being Ghost.

"Better than Cap, that's for sure." He answered with amusement. His beautiful brown eyes twinkled along.

"Here, came to give you this."

He looked down and hummed. It was his sacred tumbler. It is more than likely filled with fresh cold water.

"Appreciate it, mate."

He opened it up and took very long sips. The cold water went down his throat like heaven. He moaned lightly at that.

He continued without giving a shit that some had spilled on his lips, to his chin, and finally down to his neck.

It wasn't until he finished and was about to wipe himself off with his hand when a gloved hand stopped him and then felt a tongue on his neck.

His eyes widened. Ghost was licking his neck. The lieutenant was licking his neck. He gasped lightly at that since it was absolutely unexpected.

And just as fast as it came, it was gone. His cheeks burned and not due to the disgusting weather.

"There we go, lad. See you later. You already know where."

He immediately composed himself, cleared his throat, and nodded. A small smirk appeared on his lips.

It was going to be a wild night.

[xochimillilili]

Why are so many kitty posts about soft shy aloof kitties, where the fucking hell are the posts about needy clingy kitties who meow loudly.

Kitties who pounce on you once you come back home, rubbing themselves against you, scratching and pawing until you go to bed where they climb onto you. Kitties who know damn well what they want, teasing you the whole time as they grope at you

Putting their weight atop you as they bump their head against your face, sniffling you softly before licking and kissing and gently nibbling at your neck as they continue the collar of hickeys they've been working on giving you.

Kitties who whine and mewl and don't shut the fuck up, wanting and pleading for more with the biggest and cutely desperate eyes. Kitties who bap and scratch at you, caring for you with their shakey paws. Kitties who yes, enjoy themselves plenty alone, but adore to be around you.

Need more of kitties who wake you up with bites and kisses a bit too early, who you sometimes wake to find about to sit themselves atop your face. Kitties who do their best to keep your attention, who just want one more minute of play.

More of kitties who just want to be cared for, giving their all with love and energy, who will do their best to do the same for you while not shutting their mouth up the whole time

[fireheartpages]

survived | b.d.

bodhi durran x reader chapter five. series masterlist summary: everyone has their demons, you just chose to run from yours. straight to basgiath war college. and definitely not towards the grinning tall, dark, and handsome marked rider that seemed too kind to be in a hardened place like the rider's quadrant. when you catch his attention and bond a conundrum of a dragon, you finally feel like you can catch your breath. until your signet develops. word count: 2.4k notes: second person pov, reader uses she/her pronouns, has a dirty dancing nickname and a last name. this one’s kinda heavy! mentions of struggling with self worth and trauma, talks about death and an allusion to suicide. if you hear someone buzzing with excitement, it's just me, don't worry! this is the idea i had stuck in my head, for quite a few reasons, and i wanted so badly to get it out on page and now its in my hands ah. not even kidding when i say this concept was eating me alive form the inside out. this feels like the closing chapter, so tbh idk if im gonna write anything more. if i come up with something, or anyone has any requests, i’ll get my pen to page tho :)

You were a good student. A great one, even.

You were top of most classes, feeling like you needed to prove something, and if you weren’t top, one of your friends were, and you were right behind them. And it was true—you were an incredible rider. You could stand on Shocair’s back, and shift your weight and she would bank with the direction. You’d taken up archery, another thing you excelled at. Your aim could use some improvement, but you were getting better. A little more practice, and you could consider yourself a decent shot. And despite your signet not developing yet, you were perfecting your smaller magics. And at sparring—

At sparring, you were okay. Kind of.

You could hold your own, and you were quick. Fast feet and good reflexes, but it was as if you didn’t know how to use those skills.

You were not top of challenges, to say the least.

“Yield!” you gasp, face to the mat as a boy from Second Wing attempts to crush your windpipe. “I yield!”

He lets up, laughing at you, and you roll onto your back, catching your breath. You blink a few times, willing the spots from your vision, but it gets darker and—

No, there’s just someone standing over you.

“Hi, Bodhi,” you rasp up to him.

“Hi, Baby,” he says, extending a hand.

“Hi.” You’re panting a little, but at least your vision is focusing.

“That was…”

“Pathetic. I know.” You wipe the sweat from your forehead and a tear from your eye as your wrist gives protest. You probably smashed it with a bad punch.

“I was not going to say that,” he says, grin tugging at the corner of your mouth. That corner of his lips was one of your favorite things at Basgiath.

“It’s okay,” you say. “At least I’m aware of it.”

“I can help,” he says, a little too quick to be casual, but you don’t mind. It makes you smile.

Your brows raise. “Oh?”

“Yeah.” He drops your hand, and only then did you realize he was still holding it. “We can practice sparring.”

“You just… want to help me?” You furrow your brow. “Out of the kindness of your heart?”

“Uh—” He falters. “If you teach me how to ride like you do, I’ll teach you how to spar.”

You nod slowly. “Sure.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay,” you say, fighting a losing battle with your smile. His eyes were dancing. “When do we start?”

“Now.” He offers you a hand, and leads you over to an empty mat.

“You’re quick, and you’re smart, and when you win, it’s by outsmarting your opponent,” he says over his shoulder, coming to stand in the middle of the mat. He removes his daggers, tossing them on the floor beside the mat and leaving one strapped to his arm. He spins to face you. “Easy money.” He taps his arm where the remaining dagger sits. “Take it from me.”

You shake your head. “Okay.”

You lunge, going for his feet, and he jumps, landing and taking a knee that knocks your own until you’re kneeling, and he’s on top of you, pressing you to the floor. You feel his laugh rumble through his chest against your back, his breath on the side of your face.

“Did I say easy?” he teases.

“You dick—” You struggle, but it’s futile. He lays there for a beat longer, pinning you with his body weight, and you have a flash of an image in your mind, him on top of you, in between your hips—

“Focus.” It's Shocair. Your next exhale is a thanks.

He relents, standing up, offering you a hand, and you’re barely on your feet again before he twists it behind you.

“Take me down,” he said, his lips brushing the shell of your ear.

You—you falter. Fuck. This guy is distracting.

He wrenches your arm away, pushing you away from him, and you’re helpless as you step out and back into him. He pulls you close, and there’s no viciousness in it, no mirth—he’s near gentle as he wraps an arm around you, over your neck, and his other hand disables your free one. He kicks the back of your knee again and beings you both down until you’re kneeling.

“What do you do now, Baby?” It’s your name, but it’s so obviously not, and he’s grinning. This asshole is kicking your ass without even trying and he’s still. Fucking. Grinning.

Gods, you suck at this.

No, actually, fuck this.

You twist your neck so you’re nose to nose with him—kinda, you have to look up to see his face, and he’s already looking down at you. You suck in a breath, looking at his lips. His grip loosens.

Your twist, dragging your joined hands behind you until you’re facing him and you let your body weight fall back. He lands on top of you, right as you knee him in the balls.

He doubles over with a gasp, and you take the opportunity to head butt him. You hear the impact, and you shove him off of you. You jump up, snatching the dagger from his arm band.

“I did it!” you shout, victorious.

“That’s my girl,” Shocair sends down the bond with a beat of pride.

Bodhi rolls over, clutching his face, and you offer him a hand. He takes it, and it takes more strength than it should to get him standing. You rub your forehead where you had hit him, a little sore. This man is pure muscle, even in his face.

He takes his hand away, and it’s bloody. Your eyes widen, a gasp slipping from you.

“Oh my gods. I’m so sorry!” You rush to him, hands cradling the side of your face.

“Nah,” he says, grinning even now. “All’s fair in love and war.”

Your stomach clenches at the words. “Please tell me I didn’t break your nose.”

He shakes his head. “I think the bleeding’s stopping, so, no, not broken.” He tips his head back.

“No, wait,” you say, placing a hand on the back of his neck. “Forward, or else all the blood is gonna end up in your stomach.”

Bodhi flinches. “I don’t have anything to stop the bleeding.”

You glance around frantically, looking for something, anything, before landing on your own t-shirt. You grasp Bodhi’s dagger—now yours, by the laws of the codex—in your hand and rip a band of it, cropping it to your navel before handing the black fabric to him. He takes it and presses it to his nose.

“You did not have to do that,” he says, words muffled.

“I broke your nose. Yes, I did.” You gently pull his hand away, examining his face, cradling his jaw with one hand. Besides being beautiful and a bit red, and smeared with blood, you didn’t see any bruising.

His eyes trace your expression, landing on your lips, and he just… stares. And stares.

“I think you’re okay,” you say softly.

“I know I am.” He’s grinning again, invisible string tugging that corner up. Your hands are on his face, and this is your chance—you run your thumb along his lips as if you could smooth out his smile—but you don’t want to. The way it tilts to one side is quite possibly your favorite thing about him.

“You have a bruise forming.” His thumb comes up, brushing the skin of your temple—presumably from where you had nearly broken his nose.

“It’s your snout,” you whisper.

"Hey." His grin softens, and he leans down, pressing a kiss to the bruise.

“Shit,” he says, reaching up and wiping the cloth over it. “Sorry, blood.”

You can’t help but laugh, the sound bubbling out of you as your heart rate kicks up again. And he just stares at you again, like his gaze is stuck.

“I love your laugh,” he says, like a secret, like it’s a whispered admission.

“Your smile,” you responded, equally as quiet, and suddenly you’re little kids at a sleepover, sharing secrets by candlelight, “it’s my favorite thing about you.”

That just widened his grin, and you let your ambitions run free, running your thumb over his bottom lip, cleaning off the blood that had spilled as you beam back at him.

He’s looking at your lips, and he leans in.

Someone drops a weight across the gym, and it makes you jump, creating space between the two of you, and there’s some mix of longing and disappointment in his eyes as you stop back.

“I should go,” you say. “Sorry. About your nose.”

“Sorry about your head,” he says.

You’re walking away, grabbing your flight jacket when he calls, “Tomorrow? Can I see you tomorrow?”

“Let’s go flying tomorrow evening,” you say over your shoulder. “I have a thing or two to show you.”

“I��ll be an eager student!” he says, and you smile all the way back to your dorm.

You let a mender fix the blossoming bruise on your temple when your vanity wins out. The next morning, Shocair has some choice words for you, all of which you ignore, in favor of playing the almost kiss over and over again in your head.

(You don’t even bother to block you out, and it’s something like excitement, or contentment that fills your chest every time you think about how he was looking at you, and you realize it wasn’t your emotions at all.)

You’re sitting at the table in the library, next to Violet and Rhiannon as you comb over another textbook on signets. You and Violet had taken to sharing notes you find, seeing if you can figure out how to get your signets to develop. Rhi is practically doing Violet's physics homework for her.

Dain is here, for some reason, probably because he’s panting after Violet—and everyone can see it. You’re pretty sure this is some attempt to get back in her good graces. She’s having none of it. The four of you are sitting in silence.

You’re just on a rather interesting part about the reflection of a signet on the rider when you hear,

“I just don’t get it.”

You turn, a little unable to suppress the way your nose scrunches up at Dain’s voice. “What did you just say to me?”

Dain looks at you, confused. “What?”

“Did you not—”

“Hush.” That was Shocair.

“Thought I heard something,” you say, the panic down the bond making you heed the warning. “Sorry, never mind.”

The girls don’t even spare you a second glance, just go back to the work in front of them.

“New subtleties must be taken into account when we investigate causality in quantum mechanics and relativistic quantum field theory in particular. In those two theories, causality—” It’s Rhi’s voice, and you look up, wondering why she’s reading aloud, but—

Her lips aren’t moving.

“Despite these subtleties, causality remains an important and valid concept in—”

“Shocair,” you send down the bond.

“Take a deep breath,” she says into your mind.

You do as told.

“Stretch, like you’re tired.”

You again do as she tells you, throwing in a fake-stifled yawn as you do so.

“Get your things and come to the flight field. Now. Make up an excuse.”

“I’m getting tried,” you say, your pulse kicking up.

All three sets of eyes turn to you.

“I’m gonna head out.”

“Should I—”

“Do you want me to walk you back to your dorm?” Dain asks.

“No,” you say, a little too quick. “I’ll see you guys later.”

“That was weird.”

“I hope she’s okay.”

“Does she—”

You clamp your eyes shut, and you try your best not to run from the room.

“Shocair.”

“Get here. Now.”

“Tell me this isn’t what I think it is,” you send to her, panic rising in your throat.

“Run.”

You do so, taking off and making it to the flight field in mere minutes.

“Shocair!” you shout.

She’s in front of you, navy scales glittering in the morning light. She wordlessly extends a leg to you, and you climb on, willing tears not to fall.

She takes off, and you’re not even sure where you’re going. She just flies, and you don’t unseat. Don’t stand, don’t ride the wind as if you were the one with wings. Just grip her pommel for dear life until she lands on a cliff side, leg extended for you to dismount.

You step off, and there isn’t a soul around you. The cliffs almost remind you of home. There’s no ocean at their base, but the view is beautiful nonetheless.

Did she bring you here so you could end it yourself, before anyone else has the chance to? To give you the dignity of choosing your own death?

“Tell me this isn’t my signet,” you say, a whisper on the wind, and you hear shuffling behind you. When you turn, Shocair’s head is lowered, her eyes lidded as the first tear falls. She blinks slowly, and it’s like an apology as she touches the tip of her nose to the center of your chest.

“Tell me I’m not an inntinnsic,” you plead, as if you could ask the gods themselves to change it.

Shocair says nothing, just nuzzles against your chest.

“I survived,” you say. It comes out a sob. “I survived the rebellion. I survived my father, and fleeing to the other side of the province. I survived parapet, and the Gauntlet, and Threshing, and every challenge I’ve been faced with—all of it. I have survived, and my own mind is going to be what kills me?”

“I will protect you.”

“You can’t protect me from the law!” You’re crying in earnest now, and you’re pretty sure this sort of weakness is what would prompt another dragon to kill their rider, but Shocair is looking at you with her own mix of worry and rage—and something akin to an apology. “They’ll find out! And if they don’t, what am I supposed to do? Pretend like I never developed a signet, and it just never affects me?”

She blinks, and shifts until your palm lays flat against her nose, like she had at Threshing. When she’d chosen you.

“I chose you for your mind,” she says, repeating those words—the ones from that day.

You sink to your knees, tears streaming down your face. Shocair settles into the grass in front of you, and you bend until your temple is touching her nose. Sobs wrack your body, and you can’t breathe, but it doesn’t matter. The world had stopped spinning, anyway.

This was it. This was the end. There was no surviving this.

[writey-mcwriteface]

and if i said that i was working on a oneshot where agatha and rio were married, happy parents on an early spring morning? caring for their son? exchanging soft kisses in the dawn? would you? maybe want to read that?