#the words fired and let you go were not used

[eu-nicola]

sand

summary: Rafe got a new haircut and that catches your attention

warnings: nothing just tension

word counter: 2526

author's note: english is not my first language

The beach sparkled under the moonlight, the sand vibrating with music that seemed to envelop everyone in a carefree trance. The atmosphere was peculiarly relaxed for what used to be a mix of Kooks and Pogues. The lines usually marked by hostility and differences seemed to blur that night, at least on the surface. 

Bonfires were scattered along the beach, illuminating familiar and not-so-familiar faces. You were there, as always, in the center of things, not because you wanted to draw attention to yourself, but because your energy magnetized those around you. With a bottle of beer in hand, you moved to the beat of the music, your bare feet sinking slightly into the cold sand as you laughed and joked with your friends. 

The Kooks weren't far away, with their haughty laughter and conversations. Normally, you either ignored them or provoked them, depending on your mood. You were known for your explosive character, especially when you were around them. And if there was someone who brought out the worst in you, it was Rafe Cameron.

There was something about him that had always irritated you. Maybe it was his air of superiority, or how he seemed to always be looking for an excuse to belittle you or yours. You were no slouch either; if there was an opportunity to throw him a snide comment or a challenging look, you didn't let it pass you by.

But that night, something was different.

As you moved through the group, your eyes caught him in the distance, next to his friends. For a second, you didn't even realize it was him. Something had changed in his appearance. His normally disheveled hair had almost completely disappeared. He now sported a buzz cut that highlighted his cheekbones and jaw, making his blue eyes look even more intense under the glow of the fire.

You forced yourself to look away, but not without feeling that strange, uncomfortable heat spreading from your chest to your stomach. What the hell was happening to you? There was no way you could be reacting that way to something as trivial as a haircut. You shook your head, trying to dispel the thought.

“Everything okay?” Kiara asked, raising an eyebrow as she handed you another beer.

“Perfectly,” you replied, taking a long drink. You weren’t ready to admit what had just happened, not even to yourself.

Your eyes seemed to have a life of their own though, because despite your efforts, they kept searching for Rafe in the crowd. You saw him laugh at something Topper had said, his usual cocky grin. For some reason, it didn’t seem as irritating this time.

On an impulsive move, you decided to walk over to the nearest bonfire, where the Kooks were gathered. You weren’t going to talk to them directly, of course, but you wanted to prove to yourself that it didn’t affect you. You continued dancing, feeling the music run through your body, ignoring the curious glances of the others.

“Wow, John B’s younger sister mixing it up with the big boys? What a novelty.” The voice was unmistakable, loaded with sarcasm and defiance. You turned slowly, meeting Rafe’s eyes. He was sitting on one of the beach chairs, a bottle in his hand and that damn smirk on his lips.

“And you? Did they let you out of your golden throne for a night?” you answered without missing a beat, raising an eyebrow.

His friends let out a few stifled laughs, but he didn’t seem fazed. Instead, he stood up, taking a couple steps closer to you. The fire illuminated the contours of his face, making him look almost unreal.

“Like what you see?” he asked, pointing to his head with a nonchalant gesture.

Your mouth dropped open slightly, but you quickly regained your composure. “You look less like an asshole. That’s all.”

He laughed, a low, gravelly laugh that made your nerves tense. “Always with something nice to say, right?”

“Someone has to. Don’t expect your friends to tell you the truth.”

The exchange was quick, sharp as always, but this time there was something different in the air. There was tension, yes, but it wasn’t the usual hostility. There was something else, something you couldn’t or didn’t want to name.

You walked away from him, heading back to your friends, but you could feel his gaze fixed on your back. Trying to ignore it was futile. Every time you turned around, he was there, watching you with an intensity that made your heart pound.

That night, under the lights of the fire and the beat of the music, something had changed between you. You didn’t know what it was, or if you were ready to face it. But one thing was certain: Rafe Cameron had found a way to occupy your thoughts.

And with each drink you took, you felt the warmth of the alcohol begin to soften the edges of your usual bad mood, replacing it with a strange lightness. The salty air, the music, and the laughter around you seemed to envelop everything in an unreal bubble, as if the entire world was moving in slow motion. You tried to focus on your friends, on the conversation, on anything but those blue eyes you could still feel on you, even from across the bonfire.

Rafe Cameron. Damn. What was it about him tonight that you couldn't get him out of your mind? You tried to remember all the times he'd gotten on your nerves, all the arguments and taunts you'd exchanged, but even those memories seemed to lose their edge under the firelight and the effect of the alcohol.

You drank some more, the cold beer soothing the heat you felt on your skin, but not in your chest. Somehow, your mind kept coming back to him. To that damn haircut, to how his new look seemed to highlight how dangerous he’d always been, though this time in a way you hadn’t noticed before. 

“You’re so quiet.” It was JJ who spoke, giving you a slight nudge with his shoulder. You looked up at him, trying not to give anything away. 

“Just enjoying the moment,” you lied, raising your bottle to give him a carefree smile. 

Kiara chimed in, laughing. “That’s unlike you.”

You shrugged. “I guess I’m relaxing for once.”

But it wasn’t relaxation you felt. It was tension, a tension that grew with each passing second. Your eyes, as if they had a will of their own, found him again. He was sitting, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees, listening to Topper speak. The firelight played with the lines of his face, making his cheekbones and jawline look even more pronounced.

And then, as if he sensed your gaze, his eyes met yours.

It was a direct hit, like the air had been ripped from your lungs. His expression didn't change, but there was something in his gaze that made you feel like he was challenging you, inviting you to something you couldn't quite figure out. A dangerous spark that ignited inside you.

You quickly looked away, but it was too late. The damage was done. Your heart was pounding, and you couldn't blame the alcohol alone for it.

You kept drinking, trying to drown out that feeling, but it was useless. The music surrounded you, vibrating in your ears, mixing with the sound of the waves and distant laughter. Your feet began to move to the beat without you thinking about it, and soon you were dancing again, lost in the moment.

The movement helped you clear your mind, at least for a little while. You turned, raising your hands, letting the music guide you. But you couldn’t help it: you wanted him to be looking at you. You wanted to feel his gaze on you like you had before.

Was it the alcohol? Was it the music? Or was it something that had always been there, buried under layers of pride and enmity? You didn’t know, and at the moment you didn’t care.

As you danced, your eyes met his again. This time, you didn’t look away. There was something in his expression that seemed to tell you that he was noticing something different tonight, too. His gaze was intense, calculating, as if he was analyzing every move you made.

You felt a rush of heat that had nothing to do with fire or alcohol. It was pure electricity, a spark that ran through you from head to toe. And, for the first time, you didn’t try to fight it.

Without thinking, you walked to the water's edge, letting the waves wash over your feet. The cool night air was a welcome contrast to the heat you felt. You closed your eyes, breathing deeply, trying to clear your mind. But when you opened them, there he was, standing just a few feet away.

Rafe didn't say anything at first. He simply watched you, his figure dimly illuminated by the moon. He looked calm, but his eyes told another story.

“Running away from something?” he finally asked, his voice low and teasing, though there was something else in his tone. Something that made your fingers clench into fists.

“From you, probably,” you answered quickly, though the tremor in your voice betrayed the confidence you were trying to project.

He laughed, moving a little closer. “From me? You don’t seem to be doing a very good job.”

There was something about the way he said it, something that made your heart race even faster. Why couldn’t you just hate him like always? Why did tonight, of all nights, feel like the air around you grew thicker every time he was around?

You didn’t answer. Instead, you looked at him, challenging him with your eyes, hoping he would be the one to break the silence that had settled between you.

The tension that hung between you was almost tangible, as if the salty air of the beach had transformed into something thicker, more electric.

Rafe looked at you as if he was seeing something for the first time, something he didn’t expect to find there, right in front of him. His expression had lost the usual mockery, and in its place was something else: a hunger, a need that lit the fire inside you even more.

He took a step closer to you, his boots sinking into the wet sand. He was so close now that you could smell the faint trace of his cologne mixed with the salt in the air. You didn’t know what to say or what to do. For the first time in a long time, you felt disarmed.

“Don’t keep looking at me like that,” he murmured, his voice low and laden with something you couldn’t quite place.

“How so?” you asked, though you barely recognized your own voice, a broken whisper that didn’t sound like you.

“As if you wanted something from me.”

Your lips parted, ready to blurt out some sarcastic retort, something to regain the control that seemed to have abandoned you. But you didn’t. You couldn’t. Because the moment his words faded into the air, Rafe closed the distance between you and kissed you.

The first contact was almost a shock, a sudden explosion you weren’t expecting. His hands found your face, his fingers gently pressing against your cheeks as his lips captured yours with a desperation that made you lose your balance. You felt the heat of his body against yours, the force behind his kiss making it clear that this wasn’t something planned or thought out. It was pure instinct.

For an instant, your mind screamed for you to pull away, that this was wrong, that this was Rafe Cameron. But your body had other ideas. Your hands moved almost of their own volition, clinging to his shirt as you kissed him back with equal intensity. Every movement, every brush, seemed to tell him that you needed him too, even though you hated to admit it.

The sand beneath your feet seemed to move with you as you let yourself go. His breath was heavy against your lips, as if he was trying to absorb every part of you in that moment.

Rafe moved away just a few millimeters, his forehead resting against yours as you both tried to catch your breath. His hands hadn’t left your face, and his thumbs were tracing soft circles on your skin.

“I don’t know what’s wrong with me with you tonight,” he murmured, his voice deep and breathy, as if he himself couldn’t understand what he had just done.

“Shut up,” you whispered before pulling his shirt down and kissing him again, this time being the one to take the initiative. Your heart was beating so fast you felt like it might explode, but you didn’t care. The only thing that mattered was him, his lips moving against yours, his hands moving down your arms until they held your waist firmly.

He pushed you back slightly until you felt the cold water splashing against your feet. The contrast between the heat he caused you and the cold of the waves was almost overwhelming, but you didn’t stop. You couldn’t.

His hands ran over your waist, holding on as if he was afraid you would fade away. You held on tight too, as if letting go of him this whole moment might crumble. Every kiss, every movement, was charged with an intensity you had never felt before. It was as if all the hatred, all the tension that had existed between you for years, had transformed into something completely different, something that terrified and fascinated you at the same time.

Finally, you pulled away, just enough to look into his eyes. His face was illuminated by the moonlight, his lips slightly swollen from the kiss, and his blue eyes looked at you as if they wanted to burn you into their memory.

“This doesn’t change anything,” you said, though your voice shook a little.

Rafe let out a soft laugh, a low, almost mocking sound, but not in the way he usually did. “Of course not,” he replied, though you both knew it was a lie.

It took you a second to pull away completely, your hands still shaking from the adrenaline. But before you could move, he grabbed your wrist gently, stopping you.

“This doesn’t end here,” he said, his tone serious, almost like a promise.

Your heart skipped a beat, but you didn’t say anything. You simply pulled your hand away, freeing yourself from his grip, and began walking back toward the bonfire, not daring to look back. Not because you didn’t want to, but because you were afraid that if you did, you wouldn’t be able to leave.

[robo-writing]

helloooo

I’ve recently gotten into call of duty and I make a humble request 🕺

could I have a ghost x afab!reader who’s usually innocent and stuff, but tries to seduce him or something? Take your time!! I love your work

I don’t think I’m ever gonna get used to people saying they love my writing 🥹

His squadmates check up on him occasionally—especially Soap, nosey as he is. For everything that they've gone through together they practically know nothing about Simon, and he likes it this way. Not to say that he doesn't trust them, but because Simon's a solitary creature, nothing more. However, it's surprising to the entire team when he off-handedly mentions that he's picked up a new hobby recently—bird-watching.

Immediately questions are fired off, but much to everyone's annoyance Simon only smiles as he takes another swig of beer. They almost suspect him of lying; he's not. His favorite past-time is making his way to his local haunt—9:00 pm sharp, every Friday—all to watch the pretty little bird behind the bar. He hasn’t missed a day, a regular customer every week for the past three months.

He likes the atmosphere, he likes how no one seems to ask questions about the 6’4 beast that orders his whiskey neat and sits alone in the corner—even more than that, he likes how you greet him with a smile every time he walks through the door.

Adorable really, how you fly about the bar, chirping out orders at the speed of light. More than once he’s had the opportunity to talk to you, and more than once have you averted your eyes from him, made yourself busy in hopes that you could hide the obvious attraction written on your face.

It never works, but he likes that about you.

He likes how you stumble over your words, how you meekly offer him a refill once his glass is empty, how your face lights up when he purposely lets his fingers touch your own when you set down a new glass. It's easy to let his mind wander knowing how easily riled up you are, and let it wander he does. Sensitive little birdy, he thinks to himself. Wonder how you'd react if his fingers were stroking your clit instead.

His pretty little birdie, shy little thing you are. So shy that you can’t bring yourself to express your little crush with words, but it’s alright—he knows—and he's willing to play this game for as long as you want it to go on. He's a patient man. It's February now, and it seems as if you're ready for this game to end. Among the red streamers and paper hearts that decorate the bar is you, and the cute red set you're so excited to show him. "I got the boss to sign off on it, see?" You ramble excitedly, stepping away for a single moment to show off your low-cut top and jeans to match. "Isn't it so cute?" He's the only one that gets this special treatment, the sight of you doing a 360 almost enough to make him reach across the bar. "Mhm," he agrees, far too engrossed in the shape of your ass than the color of your outfit. "Y'look amazing birdie." You bow your head in embarrassment at the nickname, unable to see how Simon's lips curl upward in response. "How am I supposed to react when you say things like that..." "It's a compliment. I don't say shit I don't mean." Again, you feel your face heat up at the implication, surprising yourself with a sudden burst of confidence. "You really mean that, don't you?" "I do. You think I don't?" "I think you're a flirt," you reply, the timbre of his voice sending shivers up your spine when he answers— "I'd be more than happy to prove just how honest I am, birdie." The look he sends you is nothing short of a promise, eyes boring into your own as he takes a sip. He knows, and you're willing to guess that he's known for a while based how how quick he is to laugh at your befuddled expression. "That's—I mean—" He sets his glass down slowly, tilting his head towards you. "Am I reading something wrong here?" You stumble over your words, barely muttering out a meek little "no" under your breath as he leans in close, enough to smell the liquor on his breath. "So, if I ain't wrong, feel free to meet me in the back after closing. I'd hate for you to think I'm a liar." Hours later, he found the answer to the question of how you'd react with his fingers against your clit—turns out you're even more sensitive than he imagined.

[zigrethsnotebook]

How do you manage to make even the most mundane things sound exciting?

Ford x Reader

words: 3,154

tags: sfw, hurt and comfort

a/n: this was the only note i made for myself before writing this: hnghnghng this is about moths now so yeah... enjoy:)

It's been a whole year. The twins are back from their sea adventure and the kids are staying with them for the summer again. You were on your way over to the shack. Stan had written you a letter, inviting you over. He said it'd be nice to catch up, tell you and the kids all about their time at sea and that way they wouldn't have to tell the stories twice.

The stories weren't the only thing you were excited for. Before they had left Stan had encouraged you to confess to Ford, insisting that his brother felt the same for you as you did for him. But when you told him he just went silent for way too long.

"Ford?" A nervous chuckle escaped you. "Please say something?" He looked into your eyes, his gaze blank and unreadable. "I'm sorry." The words felt like a dagger to your heart. "F-for what?" You at least wanted him to have the balls to say that he doesn't care for you. "I don't see a romantic relationship between us having a future. Especially with Stan and I going out to sea tomorrow. I'm sorry."

You just nodded, taking the words in. "...This didn’t ruin what we have, did it? Will we still be friends when you get back?" Your voice was small, afraid of his answer. "I'll always be your friend." A sigh of relief. The idea of him not being a part of your life had been the reason you didn’t want to confess to him in the first place. You only did it because Stan was so convincing that he reciprocated your feelings. Turns out you were both wrong.

You shook your head, breaking yourself out of the bad memory. After almost an entire year, you had come to terms with it. Now, you were just excited to see your friend again. Excited to have a normal conversation with him again.

Back in the shack the Family was preparing everything. The kids and Soos got the snacks and drinks ready while the Twins were busy starting the campfire. Stan watched as Ford poked around in the fire. He shook his head.

"I'll never understand it." Ford looked up at his brother. "I'll never understand how someone as smart as you could let go of the person who would have been the best thing in his life." Ford sighed. They had had this talk before.

It was pretty much the only thing they talked about the first week at sea. Stan would also bring it up anytime a night on the boat was too long and too quiet.

"We have nothing in common... That and our lifes are way too dangerous, I can't bring another person with me." He saw the disapproving look on Stan's face. "It's not like I have anything to offer. I've spent my whole life buried in books and research. I don't know how to be in a relationship."

Stan scoffed at that. "What are you talking about, Sixer? You're a catch! Times change, Nerds are the new Jocks. There's a reason I was the second choice for most of the babes we met." A bittersweet chuckle escaped Stan.

Ford sighed, focusing on the fire again. "It doesn't matter anyway. Even if I wanted to try again, I highly doubt that they're still single." Now that was something Stan couldn't counter. Mainly because it's something he hadn't even considered. You were so head-over-heels for Ford the last time you and Stan talked, it just didn’t seem likely that you'd go looking for someone else.

The kids and Soos came outside, carrying marshmallows, crackers, chocolate and Soda. Dipper was the first to sit down on one of the logs. "I can't wait to hear of all the creatures you found! It must have been awesome!"

"You bet!" Stan grinned at the boy. "But we won't start with the stories yet, someone is still missing." Ford looked at his brother suspiciously. "What are you talking about, Stanley?" At the same time Mabel's eyes widened. "Are you saying we get to see-" She was cut off as Stan stood up and called out your name, announcing your arrival.

You smiled sheepishly and greeted everyone. The kids were super excited to see you again and Mabel ran over to hug you. You hadn't realized how much you missed them. When she let go of you she practically dragged you over to the campfire. Stan, who was still standing, hugged you as well.

"It's good to see ya again, toots." You chuckled. "I missed you, too, Stan." You broke the hug and turned to Ford who made no effort to get up or anything along those lines. Instead, you just waved at him, but gave him the same fond smile you had shown the others. "The same goes for you, Ford."

Behind you, Stan frowned at his brother, obviously disappointed at the lack of enthusiasm he showed you. He quickly put on a smile as he addressed you again. "Please, take a seat! We were just about to begin with our stories."

You sat down between Stan and Soos, who just greeted you with a simple "Hey dude". You two had become friends over the course of the last year.

Soon everyone had prepared a stick with a marshmallow and held it over the fire while Stan told the most extravagant stories of their travels. You were glued to his every word, his storytelling being how you two became friends in the first place.

You were so engrossed in the stories that you didn’t notice the way Ford looked at you. He adored you. The way the warm light of the fire illuminated your features perfectly. The way your eyes seemed to sparkle with pure joy as Stan talked about heroically fighting off some beasts. Hell, he loved you.

This wasn't news to him, of course. Ford had known this for over a year. In fact, when you confessed your feelings for him, he wanted to hug you, kiss you, propose to you on the spot. But he didn’t. Because he felt like he wasn't enough.

Ford felt like he didn’t deserve happiness after almost ending the world and he knew that he would achieve it if he let himself be with you.

Back then, after you had left, Ford had told Stan about the whole thing, who took him by the shoulders and shook him, asking him if he was insane. The next day, when they were about to leave, you had stopped by to say goodbye to Stan, but refused to speak to Ford, politely making up a reason why you had to leave again.

It had crushed him. Ford wanted to sprint after you, turn you around and kiss you all dramatically like in the movies. But he didn’t. Because he had hurt you already and didn’t dare to make it even worse.

Which, of course, had made it worse anyway. The way you had parted ways meant that you were left all alone with a broken heart. And you couldn't even talk to your best friend about it because he was on the same boat as Ford.

But now, as Ford looked at you again, he felt all the feelings he had been trying to bury beneath the ocean floor bubble back up again.

"And that is how Ford and I defeated the mighty Kraken!" Stan was standing, his hands raised to the sky in triumph. All of you cheered and clapped your hands. It was so good to hear his gruff voice and exaggerated stories again. Although, you were more inclined to believe him this time.

The evening went on with more stories, smores and lots of laughter. You were so relieved to have them back in your life again, all four of them. You had missed them more than you realized.

Eventually, it turned late and the kids began to get sleepy. The fire had also died down. In a joined effort you all cleaned the place back up, bringing the rest of the snacks and drink back inside the shack.

After putting more things on the kitchen table for Stan and the kids to put away you went outside again to see if there was anything else to get. Soos came your way and you held the door open for him as you stepped outside.

Ford was still there. "That's everything. Soos took the last of it." You nodded. "Neat." You were about to step back inside again when you felt Ford's energy shift to a more energetic one. He pointed to the porch light.

"Look at that! That's a Tyria jacobaeae! I haven't seen one of these in ages. A beautiful creature, just look at the markings on its wings, the bright red color..." Ford looked at the moth in awe and when you stepped closer you realized why.

The little black and red creature truly was stunning. But if Ford hadn't pointed it out then you never would have noticed it. "It is really pretty. But there is no way I'm gonna remember a latin name for anything." You chuckled lightly as you said it.

Ford hummed in acknowledgement. "Well, it is more commonly known as the Cinnabar Moth. Cinnabar, like the mineral, of course, because of its striking color. It wards off predators, letting them know that they're toxic."

You instinctively took a step back and Ford chuckled at your reaction. "There is nothing for you to worry about unless you plan to eat the little guy." You rubbed the back of your neck sheepishly. "Haha, no. Doesn't really fit my diet." Ford and you shared a laugh together.

Another, considerably larger, moth joined the other one at the lamp. This one was bright white and yellow with little black dots on its wings. Ford nodded knowingly as he spotted it. "Estigmene acrea. The Salt Marsh Moth. Very pretty, but did you know that these little guys aren't very well liked around here?"

Even though it was a rhetorical question you shook your head 'no' and sat down on the couch Stan kept on the porch, letting Ford lecture you. He quickly sat down next to you as he continued. "They feed on most crops which means that farmers have to be on the lookout for them around this time."

God, how you had missed this. Just hanging out with Ford, letting him tell you all about a subject he was passionate about was one of your favorite things in the world.

Your gaze shifted from the Moths in front of you to Ford's face as he kept on talking about the little creatures. You didn’t try to keep the look of adoration off your face as you watched him animatedly explain the differences in their wingspans.

Eventually, he noticed your staring and turned his eyes to you, stuttering his speech to a halt. You chuckled fondly. "How do you manage to make even the most mundane things sound exciting?" He laughed and rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly.

"You just have to open your eyes and learn to find beauty in the mundane. That way you won't ever be bored again." As if on its own your body leaned towards him. You quickly stopped yourself. He rejected you once, you didn’t need to go through that again. Ford hadn't noticed.

You forced your eyes away from his and toward the moths again with a sigh. "The only times I haven't felt any boredom were the days I spent with you last year." A tight feeling settled in your chest as you spoke the words, but you couldn't stop yourself. "And today, of course."

You tried to keep your tone casual, your voice light. Ford felt an ache in his heart. He wanted you to never be bored again, show you the world through his eyes. Show you how he saw you.

"Surely you weren't bored every day of this past year, right? I bet you went on at least one interesting date?" He tried to keep his tone equally casual. Tried to keep the desperation out of his voice.

You snorted. "Yeah, right. Who'd wanna date me?" "I would." You froze. Surely you had misheard him? You turned to look at Ford again, his expression was... honest?

You frowned. "I'm not in the mood for jokes, Ford." You stood and turned, about to walk away. Ford grabbed your wrist, stopping you. "Who's laughing?" You pressed your eyes shut and stayed with your back to Ford, unable to look at him.

"I just got over you. Don't make me go through all of that again." Ford felt his heart shatter in his chest. "I am so sorry." He paused, trying to find the right words. "I was a selfish asshole. And you deserved so much better. You still deserve someone so much better than me."

Ford took a deep breath, still holding tightly onto your wrist. He couldn't let you go until you knew the truth. "I, on the other hand, don't deserve your forgiveness. Hell," A bitter laugh escaped him, "it took Stan a whole year to convince me that maybe I deserve to be happy sometimes at all, even though I almost caused the world to end."

He took a shaky breath, tears pricking at his eyes. But he wasn't done yet. "I spent the whole year regretting every word I said to you that day. Because... what I didn’t have the guts to tell you then is... I love you."

Ford stared at the back of your head, looking for any movement at all that could give away how you felt about his words. But you didn’t move for a moment, didn’t spare him a glance. Without a word, you flexed your arm and pulled hard, tearing your wrist from his grip.

You walked away from him and the shack without turning back. Ford was in shambles, his legs trembling and tears flowing freely. He wouldn't have been able to follow you.

Stan and the kids had watched the whole thing unfold from one of the windows, being attracted to the sudden noise like moths to the light. Now they stood shocked, with their jaws on the floor.

Back at home you threw your shoes and jacket in a corner before collapsing onto your bed. You were angry at Ford for treating you like that, playing with your emotions for over a year. Slowly, it settled in that Ford had just confessed his love to you.

After a year of thinking he didn’t want you that way, it left your emotions all over the place. Angry, sad and with a weird feeling of relief you cried yourself to sleep.

A soft knock to your window woke you up again. It was still dark outside. It was a big window that led to a balcony. You stepped in front of it and pulled the curtains back, revealing Ford. He looked like a kicked puppy, making it impossible for you to ignore him.

You opened the window and stepped outside to him. "What do you want, Ford?" He cringed at your harsh tone of voice. "I came to apologize... again. I know I hurt you. I know I behaved all wrong. And I'm sorry." He looked up into your eyes.

"I don't expect you to fall into my arms or anything like that. You're over me and that's fine. I won't try to win you back. I-I just wanted to be honest... but, maybe that made it worse again..." Ford shook his head, starting to pace around in front of you.

You took a deep breath. It was time to just let go of your anger and instead seize the moment while you had the chance. "Ford." He turned to look at you with big, hopeful eyes. "I'm not over you."

He took a step closer as you continued. "I thought I was. But everything that happened tonight... everything you said... I still love you." You locked eyes with him and you could see the relief flooding through him as he let out the breath he was holding.

Silence washed over the both of you, neither sure how to proceed. But the silence wasn't uncomfortable either.

The dull moonlight cast a blue hue over the both of you. You looked up at Ford's hair, admiring the way the light made it glow, when a little winged creature landed on his perfect hair. A smile crept on your face and you raised your eyebrow along with your hand to his hair.

Carefully, you held your hand out to the creature, offering your finger to sit on. Ford stayed quiet and you urged him not to move too much with one hand on his chest. The animal took your offer and when you felt every one of its six legs on your finger you brought your hand back down.

You held the little moth between you two. Its wings were light-blue with dark tips. Ford smiled at the creature. "Lomographa semiclarata or Bluish Spring Moth." He put one of his hands under yours, making you both hold it together.

"Did you know that in a more spiritual sense, moths often symbolize transformation and are generally considered as a good omen?" You looked up from the moth and smiled softly at him. "Is that so?" You let the hand you still held on his chest wander upwards to his neck.

Ford nodded lightly. "They represent positive conclusions." You let out a content breath, accidentally startling the moth into flight. Both of you followed the creature with your eyes. "...And sometimes death."

You laughed and lightly swatted him on the chest with your now free hand. "You better not die on me, Ford." He placed one of his hands on top of yours that was now on his chest and the other one on your waist, pulling you closer. "I wouldn't dare."

Ford slowly moved his face closer to yours, giving you plenty of time to back away in case you didn’t want what was about to happen. But why wouldn't you, this is the moment you spent an entire year dreaming about!

You let your eyes flutter shut and soon enough felt Ford's lips on yours. They were softer than you imagined, making you smile slightly into the kiss. You moved your lips against his in a way that felt just right. Like this was how it was always supposed to be.

Ford sighed into the kiss, finally relaxing and letting himself enjoy the moment. This was the kiss you would remember forever. Especially because he would immortalize it in his journal first thing tomorrow morning.

When you both parted you felt like you were floating. You rested your head on Ford's shoulder, just enjoying finally being able to hold him like this.

"Positive conclusion, indeed."

[wolvietxt]

𝓢OFT 𝓔DGES !

pairing : daryl dixon x reader warnings : fluff, slight hurt / comfort wc : 1.7k a/n : little filler fic while i write my logan series :3

the first time it happened, neither of you really knew how.  

it was late, the fire burned low, and most of the group had already shuffled off to bed. you were sitting across from daryl, neither of you talking much, just existing in the shared quiet that came easier than most things did nowadays. the crackle of embers filled the silence between you, soft and soothing.  

you glanced at him, his face half-lit by the dying light, shadows carving out the planes of his features. his posture was as rigid as ever, shoulders tight, hands fidgeting with the frayed edge of his shirt sleeve. he caught your gaze and raised a brow, muttering, “what?”  

“nothing,” you said quickly, shaking your head. “just… you look like you haven’t slept in days.”  

his scoff was soft. “look who’s talkin’.”  

you couldn’t argue with that. sleep had been a luxury lately, the kind of thing you thought about wistfully but rarely indulged in. the weight of exhaustion pressed heavy on you both, worn into your bones, but neither of you made a move to head inside.  

“guess we’re both a mess,” you murmured.  

his lips twitched into something that wasn’t quite a smile but close enough. “yeah. guess so.”  

you fell silent again, but the stillness wasn’t uncomfortable. it was… familiar. in a way, it felt like company - good company - was the only thing holding you together some nights. eventually, the fire died down completely, and the chill of the night crept in.  

you rubbed your arms, shivering a little. daryl’s eyes flicked to you briefly before he stood up, muttering, “c’mon. it’s cold.”  

you blinked at him. “what?”  

“you stay out here, you’re gonna freeze,” he said, already heading towards the small cabin the group had claimed for the night.  

you followed him inside, mostly out of confusion, and found yourself lingering as he dropped onto the cot he’d claimed earlier. his boots hit the floor with a dull thunk, and he looked over at you, brows furrowing.  

“you just gonna stand there?”  

“where else am i supposed to go?” you asked, crossing your arms.  

he huffed, shoving himself to the far side of the cot. “ain’t rocket science. there’s room here.”  

your eyes widened slightly. “you want me to - ”  

“didn’t say i want nothin’,” he interrupted, voice low. “just figured you’d be better off not sleepin’ on the damn floor.”  

there was no real way to argue with that, so you swallowed your hesitation and perched awkwardly on the edge of the cot. he didn’t say anything, just rolled onto his side and pulled the blanket over himself.  

you laid down slowly, keeping as much space between you as you could on the narrow cot. it was fine - quiet, awkward, but fine - until you started to drift off, and your hand brushed against his.  

you tensed immediately, but he didn’t move away. didn’t say anything either. the warmth of his skin seeped into yours, grounding in a way you didn’t know you needed. after a moment, you let your fingers curl slightly, brushing against his again.  

he shifted just enough to press his palm against yours.  

you fell asleep like that, hands barely touching, and woke up with his arm slung over your waist, your head tucked under his chin.  

after that night, it happened more often than not.  

you didn’t talk about it - didn’t need to. daryl wasn’t the kind of man who used words to explain himself, and you weren’t exactly great at starting conversations either. the first few nights, you both kept a respectful distance, careful not to overstep. but over time, the gaps closed.  

he didn’t pull away when your hand found his again. he didn’t flinch when your head rested against his shoulder. and when his arm looped around your waist to pull you closer, you didn’t hesitate to lean into him, letting his steady warmth soothe the ache in your chest.  

it became routine.  

no matter how long the day was or how much tension lingered between you during the hours of sunlight, when the night came, you ended up tangled together. neither of you really had to say it, but the need was mutual - silent and unspoken, but mutual.  

one night, you found yourself tracing the faint scars on his forearm, your fingers light as a feather. he didn’t stop you, just watched in silence. when you looked up at him, his gaze was unreadable, softer than you’d ever seen.  

“what?” you whispered.  

he shook his head, barely perceptible. “nothin’.”  

but his arm tightened around you, and he pulled you closer, his chin resting on the top of your head. you didn’t press further. whatever he was thinking, he wasn’t ready to share it yet, and that was okay.  

because lying there, wrapped up in him, was enough.

the run had gone sideways before it even really started.  

what was supposed to be a simple supply run had turned into a mess of bad luck and bad timing. walkers everywhere, collapsing buildings, and the kind of chaos that left your adrenaline buzzing long after you’d made it back to camp.  

daryl hadn’t let you out of his sight the whole time, his hand shooting out to grab your arm or yank you behind him whenever things got too close for comfort. not that you needed him to - years of surviving on your own had sharpened your instincts - but he didn’t seem to care.  

“next time, yer stayin’ behind,” he grumbled as the two of you stumbled through the front gates, the night air heavy with tension.  

“like hell,” you shot back, wiping blood and grime off your face.  

he glared, but the exhaustion in his eyes dulled the edge. “ain’t arguin’ with ya right now.”  

fine by you. you were too tired to argue either, and the ache in your legs was proof enough that you needed rest. by the time you both trudged into the cabin, the rest of the group had settled down, their voices distant murmurs.  

you kicked your boots off and dropped onto the cot without much thought, your body already anticipating the pull of sleep. daryl hovered for a moment, watching you with an unreadable expression before sitting down heavily beside you.  

“you okay?” he asked gruffly, his voice softer than usual.  

“i’m fine,” you muttered, though your hands were still trembling slightly.  

he didn’t look convinced. “you sure? looked like you were ‘bout to - ”  

“i’m fine, daryl.” you cut him off, sharper than you meant to.  

his jaw tightened, but he didn’t push further. instead, he let out a rough sigh and leaned back, his weight shifting the cot just enough that you felt it.  

the silence stretched, heavy and awkward, until you finally broke it.  

“you didn’t have to keep pulling me out of trouble, you know.”  

he snorted, leaning down to untie his boots. “yeah, i did.”  

you turned your head to look at him, confused. “why?”  

he shrugged, like the answer was obvious. “’cause if somethin’ happened to ya, i’d lose my damn mind.”  

the admission hung in the air between you, uncomfortably raw. you opened your mouth to respond, but no words came. instead, you shifted closer, hesitating for a moment before resting your hand on his arm.  

he stilled, his eyes flicking down to where your fingers brushed against his skin.  

“you don’t have to worry about me,” you said softly. “we’re both still here. that’s what matters.”  

he scoffed, though it lacked any real bite. “ain’t that simple.”  

“why not?”  

he turned his head to look at you, the shadows in his eyes deeper than you’d ever seen. “’cause it just ain’t.”  

your hand slid down his arm until your fingers found his, curling around them. his hand tensed briefly before relaxing, his grip tightening around yours like he was afraid to let go.  

“you don’t have to carry everything alone, you know,” you whispered.  

“ain’t got a choice,” he muttered, his voice low.  

“you do,” you said firmly, shifting closer until your forehead rested against his shoulder. “you’ve got me.”  

for a moment, he didn’t respond, the weight of your words pressing heavy against him. but then his free arm looped around your waist, pulling you into him in a way that felt both protective and vulnerable.  

“yeah,” he said quietly. “guess i do.”  

the tension in the room eased slightly, though the vulnerability lingered. you stayed like that for a while, your head on his shoulder, his arm around you, until the chill of the night seeped in and you both shifted to lie down.  

as you settled against him, your head on his chest and his heartbeat steady beneath your ear, you felt the faint tremor in his hand as it rested on your back.  

“you’re shaking,” you murmured.  

“ain’t nothin’,” he muttered.  

you didn’t call him out on it, but you didn’t pull away either. instead, you let your fingers trace idle patterns along his arm, your touch light but deliberate.  

“daryl,” you said after a long pause, your voice barely above a whisper.  

“what?”  

“i mean it. you don’t have to do this alone. not anymore.”  

his breath hitched slightly, and you felt him press his face into your hair, his grip on you tightening.  

“ain’t used to this,” he admitted, his voice muffled. “don’t even know what the hell i’m doin’ half the time.”  

you tilted your head up to look at him, your eyes searching his face. “you’re doing fine.”  

his lips quirked into the faintest hint of a smile. “that so?”  

“yeah,” you said, resting your head back against his chest. “better than fine, actually.”  

he huffed softly, the sound somewhere between disbelief and relief.  

“you’re somethin’ else,” he muttered, his fingers brushing lightly along your spine.  

you smiled against his shirt, the warmth of his words settling deep in your chest. “so are you.”  

the two of you fell silent after that, the exhaustion of the day finally catching up to you both. but as you drifted off, tangled together in a way that felt more like home than anything else ever had, you couldn’t help but think that maybe - just maybe - you were finally starting to understand what it meant to not be alone. 

🌀 daryl dixon : @v3lv3tf0x, @dugiioh, @whxtewolf, @lemoanaid, @sunnykittyzz

@california-boys-and-sun, @cable-kenobi, @omen-keke, @hhiggs

taglist form linked in pinned post :3

[my-religion-greek-myth]

Freedom far away - L

I thought today was Monday, so I forgot to go to morning martial arts training RIP 😫

Fem Reader X Agatha X Rio

Warning: None?

Part A | Part B | Part C&D | Part E | Part F | Part G | Part H | Part I&J | Part K | Part L | Part M | Part N | Part O&P | Part Q | Part ? | Epilogue

The first thing you noticed was the warmth. It wasn’t the same kind of heat from heavy blankets or a crackling fire but a comforting, living warmth that cocooned you. Bright light pressed gently against your eyelids, coaxing you into wakefulness. Slowly, you opened your eyes, the unfamiliar ceiling of Agatha and Rio’s bedroom coming into view.

Unlike the cold, polished chambers of your household—former, you corrected with a quiet sigh—this room was filled with a sense of life, of belonging. The faint scent of flowers and something sweet lingered in the air, mingling with the sound of quiet breaths on either side of you.

You turned your head, your cheeks warming as you found Rio to your right, her dark hair slightly mussed and her face peaceful in slumber. To your left, Agatha slept, her wavy curls cascading across her relaxed face, a striking contrast to the perfect composure she always maintained when awake. They were both so close, the memories of the night before flooding back to you in vivid detail.

Your first night being loved so wholly and thoroughly had left you trembling in ways you had never imagined. You stifled a soft laugh, recalling how they hadn’t stopped after the first time, coaxing every ounce of pleasure and emotion from you until you thought you couldn’t take any more.

Carefully, you tried to slip out of the bed, hoping not to disturb either of them. You barely lifted the blanket when a firm hand caught your wrist.

"Where do you think you’re going?" Agatha’s voice was low and teasing, the faint rasp of sleep still clinging to it. You turned to find her watching you through half-lidded eyes, a lazy smirk curling her lips. "Morning exercise hasn’t started yet."

Your face flamed at her innuendo, heat rushing to your cheeks. "It’s daytime!" you hissed, though your voice lacked any real conviction.

As if on cue, Rio stirred beside you, her hand reaching out to claim your other wrist. She opened one eye, her grin as wicked as ever. "Daytime or not, baby," she drawled, her voice husky, "you’re not going anywhere."

You tried to protest, but it was no use. They tugged you back down, their laughter mingling with your half-hearted objections as the bed dipped beneath the weight of all three of you. Whatever intentions you had for slipping away were quickly forgotten as the morning turned into something far more intimate.

Later that day, you sat curled up on a soft couch in the living room, the sunlight streaming through the windows casting golden patterns across the walls. Agatha and Rio sat opposite you, their arms draped casually around each other as they shared a private joke.

"You’re unusually quiet," Agatha teased, her sharp blue eyes glinting with amusement. "Feeling a little… flushed, doll?"

"Or is it embarrassment?" Rio chimed in, her grin as wolfish as ever. She leaned forward, resting her chin on her hand as she studied you. "You were much louder this morning."

You buried your face in your hands, groaning as their laughter echoed through the room. The memory of their teasing words and wandering hands during your so-called 'morning exercise' was still fresh, and your face burned at the thought.

"I hate you both," you muttered weakly, though your lips betrayed you with a small smile.

Agatha tilted her head, a sly grin spreading across her face. "That’s not what you said this morning," she replied smoothly, her voice dripping with playful challenge. Her words sent another rush of heat to your cheeks as Rio let out an unrestrained laugh. "Liar," Agatha added with a mockingly sweet tone, her smirk softening into something almost tender.

Rio nudged Agatha lightly, her eyes twinkling with mischief. "Let’s give her a break," she said with mock solemnity. Then she turned to you, her grin wide. "But only because she’s so cute when she’s flustered."

You couldn’t help but laugh, shaking your head at their antics. Despite your embarrassment, you felt a warmth that went beyond the teasing and the intimacy of the night before—a sense of belonging that made your chest ache in the best way. For the first time in what felt like forever, you were home.

In the evening after dinner, as the three of you sat around a low table sharing sweets, you felt a familiar heat creep up your neck as you watched Rio and Agatha exchange knowing glances. The air was warm with quiet contentment, but their occasional lingering gazes made it hard for you to focus.

Breaking the silence, you asked, "Aren’t you two supposed to be… going out for business or something?" You tried to sound casual, but your voice wavered just slightly.

Rio smirked, leaning back against the cushions as she popped a piece of candied fruit into her mouth. "Nope," she said lazily, her dark eyes glinting. "We’ve got more important matters to attend to."

Agatha arched a brow, her sharp gaze sliding to you. "Much more important," she murmured, her voice low and suggestive.

You felt the telltale warmth spread across your cheeks but resolutely ignored their tones. "What could possibly be more important than your ‘business’?" you asked, trying to sound unimpressed as you took a small sip of tea.

Rio chuckled, the sound rich and full of mischief. "Oh, this," she said lightly, gesturing between the three of you. Her grin turned sly as she added, "Our honeymoon."

You choked on your tea, coughing as you stared at her wide-eyed. "Honeymoon?!" you repeated, incredulous. "We didn’t go through a marriage! How can this possibly be called a honeymoon?"

Agatha smirked, taking her time to answer as she reached for another sweet. "Didn’t we?" she said smoothly, her gaze sharp as she locked eyes with you. "Last night, you told us you were ours. Forever. If that wasn’t a marriage vow, then what was it?"

You opened your mouth to protest, but no words came. The memory of your whispered confession, your desperate declarations of love, and the promises you had made to them last night came rushing back, leaving you speechless.

Rio leaned closer, her grin widening. "She’s got a point, pretty lady," she said, her voice teasing yet soft. "You practically married us last night. So, we're wives now."

"Without the ceremony," Agatha added with a chuckle. "But who needs that when we’ve already claimed you?"

Your face burned as you stammered, "That’s… not how it works."

Rio laughed, her dark eyes sparkling with mischief. "It works for us," she said, her tone light but firm. "And for now, we’re not going anywhere. This honeymoon is just getting started."

Agatha nodded in agreement, her lips curving into a wicked smile. "Until all our needs are satisfied," she said, her voice dropping to a low purr that sent a shiver down your spine.

You groaned, burying your face in your hands as their laughter echoed around the room. Despite their teasing, you couldn’t deny the strange, inexplicable joy bubbling up within you. Honeymoon or not, you knew you wouldn’t trade this moment for anything.

Time passed—a few months, in fact—since you had moved in with Agatha and Rio, who, much to your exasperation, insisted on referring to your arrangement as a marriage. Your days were filled with a peaceful rhythm, punctuated by moments of playful teasing and laughter that often stemmed from their relentless attempts to draw out your reactions. Their bickering—sometimes affectionate, sometimes genuinely exasperating—added a strange but undeniable warmth to your life.

It wasn’t all lighthearted, though. There were occasional disagreements—between you and Agatha, you and Rio, or even between them. Often, you find yourself caught in the middle, unsure whether to intervene or let them work it out. Those moments reminded you of how new and fragile this life still felt, the adjustments required on all sides.

And yet, even amid these challenges, you couldn’t deny the profound sense of belonging that had taken root in your heart—a feeling you’d never experienced before. Despite the teasing, the arguments, and the growing pains of this unconventional life, it was home. For the first time, you were surrounded by people who saw you, who accepted every part of you, and who made you feel like you were exactly where you were meant to be.

One early morning, as the three of you sat together in the surreal warmth of their world, you found yourself broaching a topic that had weighed on your mind for some time. "I was wondering," you began, glancing hesitantly between them, "if you could… help my sister."

Rio, lounging comfortably against a stack of pillows like a lazy cat, tilted her head thoughtfully. "Help her; how exactly?"

"Keep an eye on her," you said quickly. "Just to make sure Grandfather doesn’t… you know… force her into anything."

Rio’s narrowed her eyes a little; it carried an edge. "You mean like he tried with you?"

You nodded, guilt flickering across your features. "I just don’t want her to go through what I did. Getting targeted by Grandfather because I'm gone."

Rio’s expression softened, and she gave a small nod. "Don’t worry, pretty lady. I’ll make sure nothing happens to her."

Agatha, who had been sipping tea calmly, raised a brow at Rio. "Don’t get too dramatic, Rio," she said dryly. "This isn’t just a one-woman rescue mission."

Rio smirked. "Who said anything about rescuing? I’ll just keep an eye on her. Discreetly."

Later that evening, Rio casually brought up something that made your stomach sink. "Oh, by the way," she said nonchalantly, "your former household has gone into complete chaos."

Your eyes widened. "What do you mean?"

"Total mayhem," Rio clarified, waving her hand dismissively, her tone laced with amusement. "Your grandfather’s been storming around the city, claiming I kidnapped you. Officers even came to the ambassador’s residence in the capital, convinced I was hiding you in the building." She laughed, the sound rich and unrestrained, her dark eyes sparkling with joy and the mischief of retelling the incident. "Oh, and for good measure, he’s accused me of corrupting you." Her grin widened, and she utterly enjoyed the moment.

Despite how lightly Rio told the story, you winced, guilt twisting in your chest. "Rio, I’m so sorry you had to go through that. I didn’t think—"

Rio interrupted with a mischievous grin, leaning toward you. "You know, there’s a way you can make it up to me…"

Agatha, seated nearby with her arms crossed, gave Rio a pointed look. "If you’re about to threaten her with love-making as a form of repayment, don’t bother."

Rio shot her a dramatic pout. "It’s not a threat; it’s a very reasonable suggestion."

You couldn’t help but groan, burying your face in your hands as your cheeks burned. "You’re both impossible," you muttered, though there was no real anger in your tone.

Agatha chuckled softly, setting her teacup aside as she leaned closer. "Impossible? Maybe. But admit it—you wouldn’t have us any other way."

Despite the exasperation, you couldn’t help but smile. She was right, after all.

---RAR---

Since you became a resident of the house, your days in the surreal realm became an intriguing mix of comfort and discovery.

One evening, as a starry night spread across the sky, with the occasional falling star streaking the heavens, you sat by the shimmering lake, the peaceful lapping of the water filling the air. Agatha and Rio joined you, and the conversation turned to the enigmatic gates that dotted the realm. These gates, like the one you had entered to reach their world, were portals to distant places.

Rio gestured toward a weathered stone arch etched with runes, her expression thoughtful. "This stone gate," she began, her tone casual yet layered with meaning, "leads to the stone mountain near the second-largest city in your country. A useful one if we ever need to move discreetly."

Agatha’s sharp gaze followed, and she inclined her head toward another gate—a green wooden one entwined with verdant vines. "That one goes to my homeland," she said curtly. You couldn’t help but ask if she might take you there one day, curiosity lighting your voice.

Agatha’s response was immediate and firm. "Not yet," she said, her words leaving no room for debate. There was a flicker of something in her eyes—nostalgia, perhaps, or unease—but she masked it quickly.

Rio, however, was less reserved. Leaning closer, she brushed her lips near your ear and whispered, "Don’t worry. I’ll sneak you there sometime when Agatha isn’t looking."

The conspiratorial grin she wore sent a burst of warmth through you, and despite yourself, you suppressed a giggle. But even as Rio winked, you stole a glance at Agatha, whose steely demeanour suggested that even the thought of testing her patience was a dangerous game.

The black wooden gate stood out the most, its surface carved with the intricate, roaring visage of a tiger. It exuded an aura of authority and mystery, making it impossible to ignore.

"That one leads to the capital of your country," Rio explained, her tone casual but laced with amusement. "Specifically, right in front of the royal palace."

Your eyes widened in astonishment, and Rio, ever observant, smirked at your reaction, clearly enjoying the moment. "Don’t look so shocked, my lady," she teased, her grin wide and mischievous. "I’ve made it the location of my ‘foreign ambassador’s office.’ It’s all a rather convincing bit of magic, don’t you think?"

Rio’s magical prowess often coloured her interactions with you and Agatha, though she rarely used it in daily life unless it was to tweak their realm, adjust the gates, or occasionally transform herself into something or someone else. Her restraint in using magic made each display all the more impressive, her power seemingly limitless yet controlled. For Agatha, it was a double-edged sword—on one hand, Rio’s abilities were invaluable, a cornerstone of their shared existence. On the other, Agatha couldn’t help but roll her eyes at Rio’s occasional theatrical flair, even if it was rare.

Unlike Rio, Agatha loved to wield her magic openly, almost revelling in its display. You knew Agatha’s love for power ran deep, and her hunger to strengthen it was evident in everything she did—including the lengths she went to claim the shaman’s abilities. While you couldn’t deny the awe her magic inspired, there was a weight to it that reminded you of how far she was willing to go for strength. It was a sharp contrast to Rio’s quiet mastery but one that added to the complexity of their bond—and yours with them.

“Must you make everything a spectacle?” Agatha would ask dryly whenever Rio conjured an unnecessary flourish, like a path of glowing lilies leading to their table for tea.

Rio, unbothered, would shrug, her grin playful. “Why not? Life’s dull without a little show.”

For you, her magic was a revelation and a source of quiet intimidation; unlike Agatha’s precision, where every spell carried purpose and weight, Rio’s power was like her personality—playful, bold, and utterly unrestrained.

She often teased you about your amazement. “You’ve got that look again,” she’d say, catching the way your gaze lingered on a gate shimmering into existence. “Careful, or I might start charging you admission.” She nipped your earlobe to draw fire on your face.

But it wasn’t just her magic that left an impression—it was the ease with which she wielded it, as if the very fabric of reality bent itself to her whims. It reinforced the notion that, while Rio might lounge lazily on cushions and crack endless jokes, she was a force to be reckoned with.

This power wasn’t without its complications in your dynamic. When Agatha gave you the task of coaxing a fish from the lake with your budding magic, Rio observed with quiet amusement, occasionally offering cheeky commentary that left you torn between laughing and groaning.

“Come on, pretty lady, it’s just a fish!” Rio called from the shade of a nearby tree. “You can tame animals. Surely a little jump isn’t too much to ask?”

“Rio,” Agatha warned, her tone sharp enough to make even Rio glance away briefly.

Despite the teasing, Rio’s confidence in you was unwavering. “You’ll get there,” she would say in rare moments of sincerity, her dark eyes meeting yours with an intensity that quickened your pulse. “And when you do, it’ll be beautiful.”

The interplay between the two women, particularly when Rio’s magic took centre stage, was fascinating to witness. Agatha’s precision and careful restraint balanced Rio’s audacity, their dynamic often playing out like a dance—sometimes harmonious, other times brimming with tension.

One evening, after Rio created a vibrant, glowing bridge across the lake just to 'prove a point' during an argument with Agatha, you couldn’t help but laugh at their exchange.

“You’re impossible,” Agatha muttered, shaking her head as the bridge rippled like a living thing.

“And you love it,” Rio shot back, her grin smug as she nudged your shoulder. “Don’t deny it, pretty lady—you’re impressed too.”

You didn’t respond immediately, though your smile gave you away. The truth was, you were impressed. Rio’s magic was more than a display of power; it was an extension of who she was, her vibrant energy woven into the world she created. It wasn’t just about bending reality—it was about making the impossible feel alive and real.

For all her playful teasing, Rio’s abilities and her bond with Agatha added depth to your shared life. While Agatha challenged you to grow with her meticulous guidance, Rio reminded you to embrace the chaos and wonder of the realm you now call home. It was a delicate balance—one that, despite its occasional frictions, made you feel more alive than ever before.

One day, as the three of you sat by the lake under a blanket of stars, the light air carried a gentle coolness that brushed against your skin. The water shimmered softly, reflecting the celestial tapestry above, while occasional ripples marked the playful movements of fish beneath the surface. The stillness was comforting, the kind of quiet that seemed to exist only in this surreal realm.

Agatha broke the silence, her voice steady but tinged with an edge of seriousness. "You’ve been practicing your magic," she began, her sharp gaze resting on you. "But it’s time you started taking it more seriously."

You blinked, turning to her. "I thought I was taking it seriously."

Her lips curved into a faint smirk, though her eyes remained intense. "No, doll. You’re trying, but trying isn’t enough. Magic isn’t just a game or a tool for small wonders. It’s survival."

The weight of her words pressed against you, and you opened your mouth to respond, but something in her expression stopped you. Agatha’s gaze wasn’t just commanding—it was distant, as though she were peering into memories she didn’t often share.

Your trips beyond the black gate flickered in your mind. You had ventured into the capital several times now, often with Agatha, loving the little stolen moments in the midst of the bustling market. You’d never been to the capital before your escape; your noble upbringing kept you confined to your household and its surrounding estates. But now, with Agatha guiding you, you felt freer than ever.

You smiled softly, recalling how her hand would brush yours in the middle of a crowded street, how she’d place a steady hand on your back to ensure you didn’t lose each other. Those moments were small, but they stayed with you—whispers of intimacy in a world that often felt too big. Still, there were times you ventured out alone, breathing in the air of the city, feeling its pulse and vibrance. Those solitary trips were thrilling in their own way but carried a subtle edge of unease you couldn’t quite place.

Rio, lounging beside you with one leg stretched out, sat up slightly, her dark eyes narrowing as she glanced at Agatha. "You’re going to spook her," she said lightly, though her voice carried a note of concern.

Agatha’s eyes flicked to Rio, her lips pressing into a thin line. "She needs to hear it," she said firmly. "We can’t always be here to protect her."

The words sent a chill down your spine, and you glanced between them. "What do you mean?" you asked softly, your voice barely above a whisper.

Agatha exhaled slowly, her fingers tracing an idle pattern on the ground beside her. "The world isn’t kind to witches," she said, her tone quieter now. "It never has been. And if you’re not ready to defend yourself… it won’t hesitate to crush you."

You flinched, your memories of the bustling capital now tinged with a new unease. It wasn’t just the wonder of the city you remembered—it was the way people stared at you sometimes, the whispers you couldn’t quite catch. You hadn’t thought much of it then, but now, Agatha’s words planted seeds of doubt.

Rio let out a low sigh, wrapping an arm around your shoulders. "Don’t let her scare you too much, baby," she murmured, her voice a soothing counterpoint to Agatha’s intensity. "We’ll make sure nothing happens to you. Always."

Agatha’s gaze softened slightly, but she didn’t waver. "Promises are fine," she said, her voice steadier now. "But preparation is better. She needs to hone her magic—not just for fun or curiosity, but to survive."

You nodded slowly, her words settling over you like the weight of a distant storm. "I’ll try harder," you said quietly, a newfound determination threading through your voice.

Agatha’s expression softened further, and she reached out to brush a stray lock of hair from your face. "Good," she said simply. "Because survival is the first lesson for a witch."

Rio chuckled, her warm breath tickling your skin as she leaned closer. "You’ll be fine," she said, her tone dipping into something playful yet firm. "Besides, you’ve got the two most dangerous women in this realm to back you up. No one’s getting to you."

Agatha smirked at Rio’s words, her piercing blue eyes meeting yours. "Remember that," she murmured, her voice quieter now. "No matter what happens, you’re ours. And no one touches what’s ours."

The stars seemed to twinkle brighter above, as though underscoring their promises. Despite the heavy truths they shared, their presence wrapped around you like a shield, their words a steady reminder that you weren’t alone.

[rose24207]

Family Business

Summary: An evening where Lando and his wife recognise themselves in their children.

Genre: Mafia!Dad!Lando, fluff

TW: None

A/N: I have like so many stories in my drafts and just post them because why not? English is not my first language! I hope you enjoy it though! Requests are open and welcome!

Should I make a series out of this?

Masterlist

The grand villa was alive with laughter and warmth, an unusual sight for a house belonging to one of the most feared mafia families in Europe.

Lando Norris, heir to the Norris empire, sat at the head of the massive dining table, a glass of red wine in hand. The glow of the chandelier above reflected in his sharp eyes, but there was a softness to him tonight.

To his left sat you, his wife, the polar opposite of his ruthless world.

Where he ruled with strategy and precision, you led with compassion and kindness. You had a unique ability to bring light to the dark corners of his life, and tonight was no exception.

You were serving dessert yourself, much to the dismay of the staff.

“Madam, please,” Maria, the head of the kitchen, protested. “This is our job.”

“Oh, nonsense,” you said with a warm smile, placing a plate of chocolate cake in front of one of the guards. “You all work so hard. Let me treat you for once.”

Lando watched you with a mixture of amusement and adoration. The hardened men who feared his orders like gospel melted under your kindness, mumbling grateful thanks as you handed out plates.

Across the table, your children were mid-debate.

“No, no, you don’t get it,” Amelia, your ten-year-old daughter, argued, her small hands slamming the table for emphasis. “Papa’s the coolest. He’s strong, and smart, and everyone listens to him. I’m gonna be just like him!”

Lando smirked at that, leaning back in his chair. “Is that so, Amelia?”

“Yup!” She nodded confidently, her dark curls bouncing. “I’ll run the family business one day. Better than you, even.”

“Ambitious,” Lando said, raising his glass in mock salute. “I like it.”

Your eight-year-old son, Jacob, rolled his eyes. “You’re all so dramatic. Mama’s the best. She’s nice to everyone, and she doesn’t yell like Papa.”

Lando raised an eyebrow, feigning offense. “I don’t yell.”

“You yelled at Uncle Carlos last week,” Jacob pointed out.

“That was a strategic discussion,” Lando replied, struggling to keep a straight face.

You laughed, shaking your head as you returned to your seat. “Jacob’s right. You do yell.”

Amelia crossed her arms, glaring at her brother. “You’re too soft, Jacob. How are you supposed to run the business if you can’t even scare anyone?”

“I don’t want to run the business,” Jacob said matter-of-factly, stabbing his fork into his cake. “I’m going to be a veterinarian.”

“A vet?” Amelia wrinkled her nose. “That’s boring.”

“Amelia,” you chided gently. “It’s not boring if it’s what Jacob wants. Besides, being kind is just as important as being strong.”

Amelia huffed, but your words sank in.

Lando observed the exchange quietly, marveling at the balance you brought to their lives.

Later that evening, after the kids had gone to bed, you and Lando sat on the terrace overlooking the gardens. The night air was cool, and the stars were scattered across the sky like diamonds.

“She’s got your fire, that one,” you said, leaning against Lando’s shoulder.

“And he’s got your heart,” Lando replied, lacing his fingers with yours. “We’re raising a mini us, you know.”

You laughed softly. “Is that a good thing?”

Lando kissed the top of your head. “The best thing.”

For a moment, the world outside the villa—his world of deals, betrayals, and shadows—felt far away.

Here, with you, with his children, he was simply Lando. A man who had everything he’d ever wanted, and more than he thought he deserved.

As the staff cleared the dining room below, they whispered among themselves, as they always did.

About how Mr. Norris was terrifying, yes, but also fiercely devoted to his wife.

About how Madam Norris made their lives better with her warmth and generosity.

About how the children were growing into reflections of their parents—Amelia, bold and determined, and Jacob, gentle and kind.

It wasn’t a typical mafia family, no. But it was theirs. And that was more than enough.

Thank you for reading!

[existential-crisis-of-the-mind]

Small Talk (Jason Todd x Reader, Pt 2 of 3)

(Pt 1)

Premise: Jason worries that you're just putting up with him out of a misguided sense of pity.

Jason seems about ready to dip into fight or flight mode. Though you’d be surprised if flight mode even exists in his dictionary, perhaps it only applies to the dangers of expressing emotions rather than actual physical threats.

“Okay…” you begin slowly, mulling over your words so as to not spook him off, “Well to start off. No, I don’t pity you”.

He only frowns at that, crossing his arms around his torso tighter in response. Alright, can’t say you were all too surprised by that. Trust doesn’t seem to come naturally to the guy.

You take a breath before looking him in the eye, “Jason, I like you. I like spending time with you. I like what we have… is that so hard to believe?”

Jason averts his gaze in response, seemingly unable to face you. “I-I don’t know�� he grumbles, a frustrated exhale escaping his lips.

“I don’t know what you see in me. I guess I'd rather tear down whatever halo effect you’ve got going on right now, rather than waiting for you to realise what you're getting yourself into, and walking out at a later point”. At least the former offers him some false sense of control, he gets to strip down the facade and push you away on his terms.

“So you think I’m going to just up and leave the day I see the ‘real’ you?” you have to bite back a scoff at his reasoning, but insecurities can take any form, and the fear of abandonment always seems to be the front runner in his case.

You shake your head as you counter him, “Jason respectfully, there was no point at which I thought you were putting up a prince charming act, you’ve never really made much effort to hide your broodiness”.

In fact, you've always appreciated how he never put up a front, his frank personality being one of the first traits that drew you in.

He bristles at your comment, but you can see some of the tension leaving his body as he uncrosses his arms.

“Hey! I can turn up the charm when I want to”.

You raise an eyebrow in response, that’s a shoddy defense at best.

You decide against bringing up the time he set the fire alarm off attempting to cook spaghetti for the two of you, or that other time he picked up flowers for you only to get into a scuffle on the way home, leaving you with five broken stems (but 3 petals stubbornly clung on, so they still counted as flowers according to him). No, now’s not the time to bruise his ego.

You sigh, deciding to try a more direct approach instead.

“What’s this really about Jason? Have I said or done something to make you feel this way?”

The genuine question coupled with the gentle tone of your voice further disarms him. He huffs a breath as he looks away.

“No…I just- I don’t know why you put up with me at times”.

You could feel the weight of his words even though they were spoken under his breath. Put up with what exactly? His sudden disappearances? His injuries? The bouts of sour moods? He doesn’t even know. But he can only imagine the combination to be unpleasant.

You reach for his hand, which is currently bunched up into a fist by his side before continuing “Jason… I love what we have. I mean, I know you’ve got your bad days, but you’ve never taken them out on me...”

You take a deep breath feeling somewhat hesitant about your next words, but knowing they need to be said.

“Look, I don’t know much about your past, and frankly I don’t need to, I enjoy what we have right now… But it seems like you’ve been let down plenty of times before, and those fears are being projected onto us".

He stiffens, confronted with the truth he barely lets himself think about. Instead of facing it head on, he chooses to deflect.

“That doesn’t seem like enough of a reason for you to stick around”

He may be trying to sidetrack the conversation, but you’re done beating around the bush. You need him to know he’s enough, more than enough. That you’re happy with him and not just putting up with him for the sake of it.

“Does it bother you? That I like you just the way you are?” 

He hunches over at your words, choosing to face the muted television screen instead of you.

“Not bother… I guess it’s a bit hard to believe. I mean I know I’m quite the looker and have a wicked sense of humour” he says dryly, though you don’t miss his attempt at biting back a snicker, “But man do I come with a lot of baggage” he concludes with a self depreciating groan.

You shake your head as you scoot closer to him on the couch, “Will you give yourself some grace for once? It doesn't seem like you were dealt the best hand in life” you retort, feeling defensive on his behalf.

“You’re trying to make sense of it all, you’re trying to do what’s right. Shouldn't that count for something? Don’t discount your efforts” 

He shakes his head as he turns to face you, conflict colouring his features.

“But isn’t it exhausting to keep up with (Name)? I can’t exactly offer stability- Hell, I can’t even say trouble finds me, I actively go seek it... I mean, I don’t even know what my future’s gonna look like, let alone what our future will look like”. 

Why stay when you can go seek out something more secure, more certain?

That question remained unsaid. Maybe he was being a coward, but part of him didn’t want to probe for answers he was not ready to hear.

“Jason, I’m not going give up what we have now because of a pessimistic ‘what if’ future that may never come to be… You make me happy. You’re so good to me. I wish you could see that”.

Feelings of sadness and frustration settle within you at his incessant attempts to downplay himself. Downplay what he means to you.

You spend a moment wracking your brain, trying to conjure up the magic words that will get through to him. Considering which memories you can point to as evidence for your case, what traits of his you can highlight in your defence. But so many moments flit through your mind, warm memories playing over like a cinema reel, you don’t even know which to choose from. 

That itself is enough proof that’s there’s plenty of reason to stay right here, by his side.

Now it was just a matter of getting him to see the same.

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

Initially thought of writing this in 2 parts but 1am big brain energy has given me enough ideas for a pt 3.

[nerdasaurus1200]

A little fix it fic cause the Zaun family deserved a better ending. Also, I just realized, this is my first Arcane fanfic, so I hope y’all like it!

Not Over Yet

“Is that singing I hear?” Caitlyn’s voice pulled Vi away from the fire for a moment. Despite the teasing smile, she still tried to covertly look at the plate on the table beside her partner. The sandwich was half eaten this time. That was at least some progress.

“Oh, yeah. It’s just this..silly little song my mom used to sing to me and Jinx when we were little.” Vi laughed under her breath. It was still a little strange calling her sister that.

“Before she…you know.” Vi looked back at the fire and shrugged, and she could see Caitlyn nodding slightly. The fire was a welcome distraction, but it still put her on edge. It reminded her too much of Vander dy-…of the accident. She swore she could see all their faces in the flames if she looked hard enough. All those she lost…or maybe she was just starting to see things too. Was this how Jinx felt all those years? That weird sense of…of emptiness while never being alone? Like some ghost was always watching over her shoulder?

Well, it wasn’t like she could ask her now.

“How did the service go?” Caitlyn wrapped an arm around Vi and leaned her head on her shoulder.

“Alright.” Vi shrugged again, unable to pull her face away from the flames, “I don’t know how I didn’t break down by the time it was my turn to get up there and spew sappy shit.”

Caitlyn chuckled, a dry and bittersweet sound.

“I think little man’s taking it pretty hard. He couldn’t even look me in the eye.” Vi recalled.

Caitlyn’s brow furrowed for a moment as she took in Vi’s words, trying to think of anything that would provide some comfort, “…I think Ekko just needs a bit of time. We all grieve in different ways.”

“Oh yeah, cupcake, some people go crazy, and other people decide to play dictator and declare martial law.” Vi remarked with a playful glare. Caitlyn huffed affectionately and flicked a strand of Vi’s hair, which in turn made Vi chuckle.

But then as soon as the happiness came, it vanished. It was so hard to be happy these days, with all that had happened.

“Have, uh…have the reports come back yet?” Vi asked cautiously.

Caitlyn’s eyes softened in sadness as she leaned forward to kiss Vi’s cheek, “Still no signs of any remains in the Hexgates. Only the bomb shrapnels we were able to initially recover.”

Vi’s jaw clenched ever so slightly and her eyes hardened for a moment. Damn it all, three times and they still couldn’t find any sign of her family??? Weren’t Enforcers supposed to be good at sticking their nose in stuff like this?

“However, I was looking at the schematics of the Hexgates, and…” Caitlyn let herself trail off as she dropped a piece of paper into Vi’s lap.

Vi’s eyes narrowed as she looked it over, some of it made sense but some of it was just nonsense, “Cupcake, what the hell is this?”

“If you and I know anything about your sister, it’s that she’s always two steps ahead.” Caitlyn pointed out, “The Hexgates have plenty of air ducts that she could’ve used as an escape route and we’d be nonethewiser.”

Vi’s eyes widened as Caitlyn’s implication hung in the air. So Jinx and Vander could be…her family really could be…

“If she’s alive she’ll turn up sooner or later. But we have a lot of work to do until that happens. For Piltover and for Zaun.” Caitlyn spoke softly, a gentle determination in her voice. Vi was helpless to the smirk that appeared on one side of her mouth. There she was, there was the Cupcake she knew.

“…Are you still in this fight, Violet?” Caitlyn couldn’t help but ask. At her question, a fond huff escaped Vi. She turned to look at her partner with a smile as she interlaced their fingers together.

“I am the dirt under your nails, cupcake.” She declared, “Nothing’s gonna clean me out.”

Caitlyn’s eyes sparkled with love, and then she smirked playfully, “That’s Sheriff Cupcake you you, creampuff.”

The couple shared another laugh as their forehead gently pressed together. For a moment, the world fell away…it was just them.

“…could you teach me that song?” Caitlyn asked.

Vi blinked in surprise, and then nodded, “Yeah sure.”

Then she began to sing, “Dear friend, across the river…my hands…are cold and bare…”

~~~~

“Dear friend, across the river, I’ll take…what you can spare…”

Jinx alternated between humming and singing as she steered the airship, just staring out at the horizon before her. She wasn’t even sure how far away from Piltover they were now.

A familiar little shove pulled her attention away however.

“Heyy, do not distract the driver.” Jinx scolded, though her tone betrayed that she wasn’t actually that serious. Not that she ever was.

Janna above, Jinx was more grateful than ever for that mischievous that little smile now. If Ekko hadn’t saved Isha, then, well…

Jinx thought it best not to dwell on that. Or else Mylo might start up again and the last thing she needed was his smart mouth. Either way, she owed Ekko a solid for it. And of course, for helping her steal an airship.

Isha giggled and hugged Jinx, but still made a bit of a stink face as she saw Jinx’s hair.

“What, you don’t like my new haircut?” Jinx teased, and rolled her eyes fondly when Isha shook her head.

“Ah, you’re just mad cause you can’t play jumprope with my braids for a while.” Jinx reached out and gently pushed Isha’s helmet to cover her eyes for a moment. Isha giggled again as she pushed her helmet back up. Jinx stepped back and let Isha take the wheel.

“Sooo, what next Fishbones?” Jinx pulled her shark rocket launcher out.

“We’ll do our laundry, wash the dishes, pay some bills, and get Isha into a good school!” Fishbones ‘spoke’ sounding rather excited about such mundane activities. Isha looked excited too as she steered, while Jinx looked incredibly annoyed.

“Stupid dumb rocket launcher.” She muttered, giving Fishbones a firm smack. At the sound, a rough old growl was heard a few feet away. Neither Jinx nor Isha flinched, they were used to that sound by now.

“Hey, don’t worry, Vander.” Jinx set the rocket launched down and sat beside her adopted father, “We’ll find another way. We always do. In the meantime, Vi can relax a little playing housewife to the Hat Lady.”

Isha pulled a lever near the steering wheel of the airship and moved over to sit next to Jinx and Vander. After she was settled all snug and cozy in Vander’s fur, she signed at Jinx.

“Oh, you want me to keep singing, huh? Mmmm…well alright.” Jinx agreed.

“You still haven’t mentioned where exactly you plan on going.” Silco’s voice could be heard, his hallucination lingering in the shadows by Mylo and Claggor.

Jinx smiled and shrugged in acknowledgement. She still hadn’t quite figured that part out yet. For now, the top priorities were keeping Isha safe, and getting Vander’s mind back.

This time, Jinx chose to ignore Silco for once as she sang, “We raise…no mighty towers, our homes…are built of stone, so come…across the river, and find…the world below…”

[moonselune]

I love the concept that plays with how blank a slate Tav is and what that could mean. Like think of a high charisma (bard) Tav who goes through the entire plot carefully conceiling their own struggles and traumas so to not loose focus on helping everyone else first.

A Tav who, till the late game, carefully side stepped ever sharing a shred of their sad life with the group so not to risk loosing respect as leader. Until their romanced companion’s own quest is finished and the companion suddenly realized they don’t know A Thing about the love of their life.

Que intervention as they insist Tav lean on them as well.

Oooooo this is such a cool concept!!! I wrote little snippets of it with the ladies because I just needed to see it in action ahaha, and also i wasn't sure if this was a request or a sharing thoughts situation, but either way thank you!

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Karlach:

Karlach’s laughter usually lit up the camp like a second sun, warm and untamed. But tonight, as she sat next to you, her smile was hesitant, her brow furrowed in thought. The fire crackled between you, casting flickering light over her troubled face. Her quest was over—the engine in her chest hummed quietly, no longer a constant threat, and for the first time in years, she could dream of a future.

With you.

And yet, now that the battlefields were behind you and her own burdens were lifted, Karlach realized something startling: she didn’t know you.

She knew your jokes, your way of rallying the group when morale dipped, your quick wit and even quicker blade. But you’d always deflected questions about yourself, about your past, in such a charming way that no one ever pressed.

Until now.

“You’re quiet tonight, soldier,” Karlach said softly, nudging your shoulder with hers. Her voice was light, teasing, but her gaze held a deeper intensity.

“I thought you’d enjoy a bit of peace,” you replied, offering a smile that didn’t quite reach your eyes.

She tilted her head, studying you. “Peace? Sure. But not silence. C’mon, you’ve got me curious.”

“Curious?”

Karlach nodded, leaning back on her hands. The firelight danced in her eyes. “Yeah. We’ve been through hell together, fought gods and monsters, and you’ve got everyone wrapped around your finger. But I just realized... I don’t know anything about you. Who you were. Where you’re from. What keeps you up at night.”

You laughed nervously, brushing off her words with a joke. “What keeps me up? You, snoring like a troll after a good meal.”

But Karlach wasn’t laughing. Her hand reached out, warm and steady, to rest on your arm. “I’m serious. Why don’t you ever talk about yourself?”

For a moment, the mask slipped. Your smile faltered, your shoulders tensed, and you looked away. “Because it’s not important.”

Karlach’s grip tightened, grounding you. “Bullshit.”

The word hit harder than any blade. You glanced back at her, meeting her gaze, and saw nothing but unwavering determination.

“You’ve carried all of us, soldier,” she said, her voice softening. “You’ve been there for me, for everyone, without ever asking for anything in return. But you don’t have to carry it all alone. Not anymore.”

The weight of her words was unbearable. You opened your mouth to deflect again, to joke, to lie—but Karlach was relentless.

“Talk to me,” she said, her voice cracking with emotion. “Let me be there for you, the way you’ve been there for me. Please.”

And so, with her hand warm against your arm and her eyes locked on yours, the dam broke. You told her everything: the choices you’d made, the people you’d lost, the sacrifices that had carved deep scars into your soul. You spoke until your throat was raw, until tears blurred your vision, until the weight you’d carried for so long began to lift.

When you finished, Karlach pulled you into her arms, her infernal heart humming quietly between you.

“You’re not alone,” she whispered, her voice fierce with conviction. “Not anymore. I’m here, and I’m not going anywhere.”

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Minthara:

The campfire crackled softly, casting flickering shadows across the gathering. It was one of those rare quiet nights when the group could let their guard down after a day of relentless fighting and tension. You sat slightly apart from the others, leaning on a log with your lute resting against your lap, fingers idly plucking a soft tune. The others laughed and chatted, the mood light for once, a reflection of a recent victory in defeating Orin.

Minthara was a commanding presence at the center of the gathering, her voice cool and measured as she recounted a story of conquest from her youth in the Underdark. You watched her with quiet admiration, a small smile on your face. Her victory had brought her a visible sense of satisfaction, and you were glad to have helped her achieve it. But as the group began to disperse for the night, she approached you, her sharp golden eyes intent.

“You’ve been unusually quiet tonight,” she said, sitting beside you on the log. Her tone wasn’t accusatory, but there was a probing edge to it.

You shrugged, still plucking at the lute strings. “Just enjoying the peace. It’s not often we get nights like this.”

Minthara frowned slightly. “You say that as though peace is a luxury you cannot afford.”

You hesitated, the music faltering for a moment before you resumed playing. “We all have things we’re dealing with,” you said lightly, deflecting as you always did.

She narrowed her eyes at you, clearly not satisfied with the answer. “Do we now? I suppose it’s convenient that you always seem to deal with them in private. A leader who asks for nothing of their allies, who gives so much and reveals so little.”

You chuckled softly, trying to play it off. “I’m just a bard. Stories and songs, that’s all I have to offer. It’s better if I focus on everyone else’s happiness. That’s how we keep moving forward, right?”

Her hand shot out, catching your wrist and stilling the lute’s strings. The sudden silence was startling.

“Enough,” she said, her voice low but commanding. “Do not insult me by pretending you have no burdens of your own. I have watched you—carefully, closely—and I see the cracks beneath your mask.”

You stared at her, your heart pounding. Minthara had always been astute, but you hadn’t expected her to press the issue like this.

“I… it’s not important,” you murmured, avoiding her gaze. “Not compared to what everyone else has been through.”

Her fingers tightened around your wrist, not painfully, but firmly enough to make her point. “Do you think so little of me that you believe I cannot handle your truth? Or do you think so little of yourself that you cannot share it?”

Her words hit harder than you cared to admit. For so long, you had poured your energy into being the strong, charismatic leader your companions needed, smoothing over conflicts, supporting their struggles, and offering unwavering encouragement. But you’d never let them see the darker parts of yourself.

Minthara’s gaze softened, her hand loosening on your wrist but not letting go. “You have been my rock through my darkest moments, my most trying battles. Yet I realize now I know nothing of what lies beneath the surface of the one I call my heart. Do you not trust me?”

“It’s not that,” you said quickly, your voice barely above a whisper. “I trust you more than anyone. But I—” You paused, struggling to find the words. “If I start talking about it, it’ll feel real. And I’ve worked so hard to keep it buried. To keep it from interfering with everything we’re trying to do.”

Her expression was unreadable for a moment, but then she moved closer, her presence warm and grounding.

“You are not alone anymore. Whatever demons haunt you, they will not diminish you in my eyes. If anything, they make you stronger for having faced them.” She paused, her voice softening. “But strength is not refusing to lean on others. Strength is allowing those who care for you to share the weight.”

Her words broke something open inside you, and you felt a lump rise in your throat. Slowly, you set the lute aside and took a deep breath. For the first time, you began to speak—not with a practiced deflection or a half-truth, but honestly. You told her about the losses that had shaped you, the scars you carried, and the fear that if you let others see your pain, they would lose faith in you as a leader.

Minthara listened intently, her hand never leaving yours. She didn’t interrupt, didn’t try to offer platitudes or solutions. When you finished, she reached up to touch your cheek, her fingers brushing away a tear you hadn’t realized had fallen.

“You are more than I ever imagined,” she said softly, her voice full of conviction. “And I am honored to carry your pain with you.”

Her words were a balm, and as you leaned into her touch, you felt a strange sense of relief. For the first time in a long while, you weren’t carrying the weight alone.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Lae'zel:

Lae’zel was never one for subtlety. It wasn’t her way, and it wasn’t what drew her to you. What drew her to you was your strength, your decisiveness, your ability to unite a group of misfits and drive them toward a common goal. In you, she saw a leader worth following—and eventually, someone worth loving.

But as you sat by the campfire one evening, spinning a tale that had the others laughing and cheering, Lae’zel watched you with narrowed eyes. She noticed the way your smile didn’t quite reach your eyes. The way your voice faltered when someone asked about your own past, and how deftly you redirected the conversation back to them. You had thought she would have been too wrapped up in her own victory that day, that she was finally free of Vlaakith's lies, a new champion found in Prince Orpheus. But you were wrong.

It wasn’t until the camp was quiet, with only the two of you lingering by the dying embers, that she decided to confront you.

“You wear your mask well,” she said bluntly, sitting across from you.

You blinked, momentarily caught off guard. “Mask? I wasn’t wearing one during the performance.”

Lae’zel huffed, her sharp yellow eyes locking onto yours. “You know what I mean. You speak of others’ pain as though it were your own. You rally us with words that stir the soul. But when it comes to you...” She leaned forward, her voice low and accusing. “I know nothing of the one I call ‘commander'. The one I love.”

You hesitated, your usual arsenal of witty retorts suddenly failing you. “Lae’zel, I—”

“Do not lie to me,” she cut you off, her voice firm but not unkind. “I see it in your eyes, in the way you deflect. You think yourself clever, but I know what it is to hide weakness.”

Her words struck a chord, and for a moment, you considered brushing her off. But the intensity in her gaze—equal parts frustration and concern—kept you rooted in place.

“It doesn’t matter,” you said finally, your voice quieter than usual. “What I’ve been through... it’s not important. The group—you—come first. Always.”

Lae’zel’s expression softened, though her resolve didn’t waver. She stood and moved to sit beside you, her hand reaching out to grasp yours. “Do not belittle me by suggesting that your struggles are insignificant. You are not some faceless pawn on a battlefield. You are my partner. My heart beats for you.”

Her words undid you. The walls you’d so carefully constructed began to crumble as she continued, her voice gentler now.

“You have carried the burdens of us all. It is time you shared your own.”

The floodgates opened. Slowly at first, then all at once, you began to speak—of the losses you’d endured, the sacrifices you’d made, and the fear that admitting any of it would shatter the respect the group had for you. Lae’zel listened without interruption, her grip on your hand unwavering. When you were done, she pulled you into her arms, her strength a comforting anchor in the storm of your emotions.

“You are stronger than you know,” she said softly, her voice near your ear. “And you are not alone. Not anymore.”

For the first time in what felt like an eternity, you allowed yourself to believe her. To trust someone else. To share the pain.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Shadowheart:

Shadowheart was patient, but only to a point. She’d fallen for you—not the bard’s mask you wore so expertly, but the glimpses of vulnerability you let slip when you thought no one was watching. Yet those moments were fleeting, and every time she tried to delve deeper, you sidestepped her with the same charming ease you used on everyone else.

It wasn’t until her personal quest had come to a bittersweet end—when she finally felt free from the shackles of Shar’s influence—that she realized the gaping hole in her knowledge of you.

You sat by the edge of the camp, tuning your lute under the pale light of the moon. Shadowheart approached quietly, her steps soft on the grass. She didn’t speak until she was sitting beside you, her gaze fixed on the instrument in your hands.

“You’re always playing for others,” she said, her voice thoughtful. “Have you ever written a song for yourself?”

You chuckled, though there was a hint of unease in the sound. “I prefer to leave the self-indulgent ballads to others.”

Shadowheart turned to you, her expression serious. “Why?”

You hesitated, your fingers stilling on the strings. “Because it’s not about me. It’s about... helping. Inspiring. That’s what matters.”

Shadowheart sighed, her frustration evident. “You’re deflecting again.”

Your shoulders tensed, and you looked away, your usual charm faltering under her unwavering gaze.

“I’m fine, Shadowheart,” you said, though the words rang hollow even to your ears. “Really. There’s nothing to—”

“Stop,” she interrupted, her voice firm but not unkind. “I’ve spent my life serving a goddess who demanded I suppress everything I was. I know what it looks like when someone is hiding their pain. And I know how much it hurts to carry it alone.”

Her words struck a nerve, and for a moment, you couldn’t meet her eyes.

“It’s easier this way,” you admitted quietly. “If I focus on everyone else, if I don’t talk about it... then it’s like it doesn’t exist. Like it doesn’t matter.”

Shadowheart reached out, her hand gently brushing against yours. “But it does matter. You matter.”

You glanced at her, the sincerity in her eyes threatening to unravel the carefully constructed walls you’d built around yourself.

“What if... What if I tell you, and you see me differently?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

Shadowheart’s expression softened, and she gave your hand a reassuring squeeze. “I already see you, even if you don’t realize it. You’ve given so much of yourself to this group—to me. Let me give something back.”

Her words were the final push you needed. Slowly, haltingly, you began to speak—about the traumas you’d buried, the fear of letting anyone see the cracks in your facade, and the constant pressure to be everything to everyone.

Shadowheart listened intently, her hand never leaving yours. When you finished, she shifted closer, wrapping her arms around you in a tender embrace.

“You don’t have to carry it all alone,” she murmured. “Not anymore. I’m here. And I’m not going anywhere.”

For the first time, you allowed yourself to lean into her comfort, the weight of your secrets finally beginning to lift.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Jaheira:

The campfire burned low, crackling faintly in the still night air. You sat alone at the edge of camp, your lute balanced across your lap, fingers idly plucking a soft melody. It was your usual way of winding down after a long day, the gentle music serving as a balm not just for yourself but for your companions. Tonight, though, your mind was elsewhere, the notes faltering now and then as memories you worked so hard to suppress bubbled unbidden to the surface.

Across camp, Jaheira watched you with a quiet intensity. She had spent decades in the company of adventurers, soldiers, and leaders, and she recognized the signs of a burden carried in silence. Even if the freshly recruited Minsc was determined to fill that silence with his usual babbles. You, the charismatic bard, the glue that held this strange, volatile group together, had always been an enigma. You soothed tensions, inspired courage, and tended to the wounds of body and soul without ever revealing anything of yourself.

It hadn’t bothered her before—not in the heat of the crisis, when every moment was a battle for survival. But now, Jaheira found herself uneasy. The realization struck her that despite all her time at your side, she knew little of the person she had grown to love. And it gnawed at her in a way she couldn’t ignore.

She rose from her seat, approaching you with her usual confidence, though her expression softened as she drew nearer.

“You’ll wear your strings thin at this rate,” she teased gently, nodding toward your lute.

You glanced up, offering her your practiced, easy smile. “Ah, but music soothes even the most restless soul. Should I not share it?”

Jaheira’s lips quirked upward in a small smile, but her gaze was piercing. “Perhaps. But who soothes you, bard?”

The question caught you off guard, and you hesitated, your fingers stilling on the strings.

“I—” You laughed lightly, deflecting. “I’m fine, Jaheira. Don’t worry about me.”

She crossed her arms, her emerald eyes narrowing. “You’ve said that every time someone’s asked. And yet, I can’t help but notice that ‘fine’ is all you ever claim to be. Do you expect me to believe that a life as tangled as yours comes without scars?”

You opened your mouth to protest, but she cut you off, sitting down beside you and placing a firm hand on your arm. “Enough. You’ve carried the weight of everyone else’s troubles, including mine. You’ve fought for us, bled for us, and offered comfort whenever we’ve needed it. But not once—not once—have you shared even a fragment of your own story. Why is that?”

The weight of her words settled over you like a shroud, and for a moment, you couldn’t meet her gaze. “I… I didn’t want to distract anyone,” you admitted finally, your voice quieter than usual. “There was so much to do, so much at stake. If I started talking about my own problems, it would have… I don’t know, shifted things. Made me seem weaker. Less of a leader.”

Jaheira’s hand tightened on your arm. “Weakness? Do you think I’d see you as weak because you’re human? Because you have wounds that haven’t healed?”

You shook your head, frustration bubbling to the surface. “It’s not that simple. I had to keep everyone together. If I faltered—if I let anyone see how badly I was struggling—what would’ve happened to us? To you?”

She sighed, her thumb brushing absently over your sleeve. “You’ve spent so much time tending to others, you’ve forgotten how to let someone tend to you. But that’s not leadership; that’s martyrdom.”

Her words cut deep, striking at a truth you’d been avoiding for so long. Slowly, you looked up at her, and the concern in her gaze nearly undid you. “Jaheira… I don’t even know where to start.”

“Start here,” she said simply, placing her other hand over yours. “Start with me. You’ve given so much of yourself to everyone else; now let someone give something back.”

And so you did. Haltingly at first, the words spilling out in a jumbled, unpracticed mess. You told her of the choices you regretted, the people you’d lost, the nights spent lying awake under the stars wondering if you’d ever be enough. She listened without interruption, her hand never leaving yours, her presence steady and grounding.

By the time you finished, your throat was tight and your shoulders felt lighter than they had in years. Jaheira leaned in, brushing a strand of hair from your face, her expression filled with an affection that made your heart ache.

“There,” she said softly. “That wasn’t so bad, was it?”

You laughed shakily, a tear slipping down your cheek. “You’re too stubborn for your own good, you know that?”

She smiled, the warmth in her eyes chasing away the last shadows of doubt. “It takes one to know one.”

As she pulled you into a gentle embrace, you realized she was right. For the first time, you allowed yourself to lean on someone else, to let go of the mask you’d worn for so long.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Hope you guys enjoyed this ! - Seluney xox

If you want to support me in other ways | Help keep this moonmaiden caffeinated x

[jadewritesficshere]

Eddie x fem!reader (reader wears lingerie, no other descriptions of reader given except mentioning hitting that spot just right)

Contents: lingerie, both are a lil pervy tbh, humiliation, crying, praise kink, sub!Eddie, this is literally just horny ramblings

18+ only

It wasn't every day you came back to your house and your best friend had broken in. Maybe, every other week at best.

Usually, Eddie would be high eating your snacks (you were thinking about getting a lock for the cabinets). Or he would be watching whatever show you recorded and tease you about spoiling it (you threatened to use the VHS to beat him over the head and strangle him with the VHS ribbon if he did).

But, you had no clue Eddie was even in your house today. His van wasn't parked in your driveway when you came home. His shoes weren't in a haphazard pile at the front door. You had 0 clue he was there.

Not until you heard a thump coming from your bedroom. Which, your first thought went to the knickknacks you had that someone could be stealing (they wouldn't cause to a normal person it was junk but to you they were memories).

You grabbed a knife from the kitchen (you weren't gonna die without a fight, besides you learned a thing or two from the horror movies Eddie made you watch). You quietly pushed your bedroom door open and-

Shit.

Eddie was standing in your room in front of your mirror. Miles of pale skin just on display, scattered with contrasting dark tattoos he had. Nothing on, save for your lilac lingerie.

The palest purple lace bra, you can see from the back isn't even clipped correctly, missing the hook entirely. But the color is striking on Eddie. The lace thong cuts high on Eddie's ass, and you try not to gawk at the little black heart tattooed on his cheek. Eddie's scars seem softer amongst the lace.

How often did Eddie do this? Come over and put on your lingerie? Stand in front of the mirror and rub his fingers over his one hardened nipple. You couldn't see from where you were, but you knew his cock was hard. He'd be leaking all over your underwear, marking them.

Eddie lets out a little moan and it ignites a fire in your gut. You lick you lips as you watch Eddie, which maybe makes you a pervert but really it is your house and he is wearing your clothes so if anyone is-

Fuck why is it so hot?

"So-" you clear your throat. Eddie let's out a screech (that you are pretty sure ruined your eardrums) as he whirls around. He tries to cover himself with his arms, curls in on himself. And Holy cow he is hard.

He is big, so big, the tip just peeking out of the waistband of the panties. You can see the pearly translucent precum already dripping onto the underwear.

"I- fuck, I'm aha listen I can exp- i can explain!" Eddie fumbles over his words. You blink a few times tearing your eyes away from his massive dick (oh it would feel so good it would hit every spot just right).

Eddie's face is red, tears welling up in his eyes. "Oh Baby, no," you rush over, pausing when Eddie flinches. You gently put a hand out on Eddie's shoulder, drawing him into a hug, " It's- it's okay. Please don't cry." "Don't hate me." You gasp in shock, pulling back to look in his eyes," I could never!"

Eddie's eyes are wet, filled with unshed tears. His nose is turning a bit red, from embarrassment, shame, or sadness you can't tell. But his cheeks are such a pretty pink you think it'd look nice elsewhere on his pale skin.

Eddie hides his face with his hair, shuffling his feet a bit. "So..." you pause unsure how to ask it politely so you just go for it," I can see this is a kink thing...but like, what kind?"

Eddie shrugs," Wanted to feel pretty..." You frown," You are pretty Eddie." Eddie shakes his head and gestures to his abdomen," Not with these."

Eddie really should not be drawing your eyes any further south then his face. Cause your pulse kicks up and the fire inside you lights back up your spine. You can't help but notice his dick is still hard as a rock.

"You are too pretty." "Not really." "Yes!" Not-" You shove Eddie lightly, causing him to stumble back and fall onto the bed. Eddie's eyes widen in shock as he peers up at you.

"Don't talk about my best friend that way! You are too pretty. And handsome. Funny. So talented," You sigh and step forward, into Eddie's parted legs. Eddie leans up on his elbows and blinks rapidly at you. "You're so fucking pretty Baby." You murmur, hand reaching out lightly touching his thigh.

Eddie let's out a whine before looking startled at himself. You can't help but notice his dick twitch under the pale purple lace. "You like being called pretty?" You smirk. "Like when you call me Baby," Eddie replies softly.

You aren't sure who moves first, but suddenly your arms are wrapped around each other. Your lips meet Eddie's without hesitation. His are slightly chapped but still soft, molding perfectly against your own.

You run your hand down Eddie's neck, to the pale bra strap and snap it. He gasps and you take the chance, slipping your tongue into his mouth. He tastes of weed, mint gum, and just Eddie.

Eddie moans against you, hips bucking forward seeking friction. You pull back, gasping for air. Eddie let's out a whine," No, come back-" "I ain't going anywhere Baby."

Eddie's eyes flutter shut as he bites his lip. He hums as you kiss his jaw, lightly nipping at his pulse point. He shivers against you, hips bucking forward again. You suck lightly as you decide to give him some relief.

Your hand snakes down, grasping him firmly. You lightly squeeze through the lace, giving just enough friction as you move your hand.

"Look so good in my lingerie Baby, you should wear it more often." You murmur between kisses. Eddie nods absently, gasping and moaning beneath you. "Got a red pair that has some nice straps, you'd look so metal and so so pretty."

Eddie freezes, mouth falling open. His brow wrinkles slightly as he moans, pleasure overtaking him. His hips spasm, even his thighs twitch, as he comes. You can feel your underwear get soaked along with part of his stomach.

You stroke him through it, extending his pleasure until he whimpers and pushes at your hand. You pull back, smiling softly at his face. Eddie's eyes flutter open, darting down to your lips. "Kiss?" He asks quietly, unsure. You simply smile and kiss him again.

[amalythea]

Hiiiiii beloved happy birthday!

51. “…please don’t come any closer.” “why not?” “i don’t want to hurt you.” “who said you would?”

I do not remeber if you are platonic only or you do romance but anyway

If platonic Collei if romantic Childe (0 memory if you do write for them really sorry if you dont, you can just ignore it) and xreader (GN is fine by me, lets be inclusive) that has been trained as a archon residue black fire weapon? (yes, thats me not writting my fics and using events to see it on page) songs? Maybe "Just a man" from epic or "House of Memories"?

Aniway, HAPPY BIRTHDAY ALLY

「 weapon 」

⤷ info: childe x gn!reader, collei x gn!reader (platonic) || hurt/comfort || wc:

⤷ warnings: angst (just a little), reader's a weapon and they're scared, mentions of jumping, childe calls reader "darling" once, reader is struggling man they need a hug

⤷ extra: hi Clara! i actually write for both, haha and thank you for the kind words!! also i wasn't exactly sure what "archon residue black fire weapon" meant so i just used my imagination for it. (@romaritimeharbor i think you'll like this one )

Childe.

The night was heavy with mist, the damp air clinging to your skin as you stood at the edge of the cliff overlooking the churning ocean below. A faint glow of black fire flickered at your fingertips, refusing to be extinguished no matter how hard you willed it away. It was a cruel reminder of what you were—what you had been made into.

Behind you, footsteps crunched on the gravel. You froze.

“Darling.” His voice, warm and teasing, felt like a lifeline. “You’re not planning on jumping, are you? That’s my thing.”

You turned sharply, the flickering fire flaring in your sudden panic. “Childe—stop! Don’t come any closer.”

His pace faltered for a moment, a flicker of confusion crossing his face. But instead of retreating, he tilted his head, his usual cocky grin softening. “Why not?”

“Because…” You clenched your fists, trying to suppress the blaze. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

There was a moment of silence between you, broken only by the distant roar of the ocean. Then, Childe chuckled, a sound so at odds with your turmoil that it almost made you angry.

“Who said you would?” he asked, taking another step forward.

“Don’t,” you pleaded, stepping back. “You don’t understand. This… this fire—it destroys everything. It was made to destroy Archons. What do you think it could do to you?”

“And what do you think I am?” he shot back, his tone light but his gaze serious. “Do I look like I scare easy? Come on, you’ve seen me fight. You think a little fire is going to keep me away from you?”

“This isn’t a joke, Childe!” Your voice cracked. The fire surged with your rising emotions, casting eerie shadows on the ground.

“I know it’s not,” he said softly, finally stopping in his tracks. “But you’re not a weapon to me. You’re… you. And I trust you.”

His words made your chest ache. How could he not see it? You weren’t a person—you were a creation, a tool forged from Archon residue and black fire. You didn’t deserve his trust, his warmth.

“You shouldn’t,” you whispered, your voice barely audible. “I don’t trust myself.”

“Then let me do it for you.” He took another step, and this time, you didn’t move away. “I know what it’s like to feel like a weapon, to think all you can do is hurt. But if there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s that we’re more than what they made us into.”

The fire at your fingertips wavered, flickering like a dying ember. His words struck a chord deep within you, a part of you that had been buried under layers of fear and self-loathing.

“...What if I lose control?” you asked, your voice trembling.

“Then I’ll be here to bring you back,” he said without hesitation, holding out his hand. “But I don’t think you will.”

For the first time, you considered the possibility that he might be right. Slowly, tentatively, you reached out, your fingers brushing against his. The black fire crackled but didn’t lash out. Instead, it dimmed, as though soothed by his presence.

Childe’s smile widened, his grip firm as he pulled you closer. “See? Not so scary.”

You let out a shaky laugh, tears welling in your eyes. “You’re unbelievable.”

“And you’re stuck with me.” He wrapped an arm around you, pulling you into his warmth despite the flickering fire still lingering on your hands. “Black fire, Archon residue, whatever. None of it changes how I feel about you.”

For the first time in what felt like forever, you allowed yourself to believe him.

⋆⋅☆⋅⋆

Collei.

The forest was quiet except for the soft rustle of leaves underfoot and the occasional chirp of a distant bird. The usual peace of Gandharva Ville felt heavier tonight, though—tainted by the low, unsettling crackle of black fire at your fingertips. No matter how hard you tried, it wouldn’t extinguish.

“Hey!” Collei’s cheerful voice broke the silence, startling you. You turned to see her jogging toward you, a bright smile on her face. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you.”

Your stomach twisted in guilt. “Collei… don’t.”

She stopped a few steps away, tilting her head in confusion. “Don’t what?”

“Please,” you said, your voice trembling. “Don’t come any closer.”

The smile on her face faltered, replaced by concern. “Why not? What’s wrong?”

“I…” You clenched your fists, trying to keep the fire from flaring. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

Collei blinked, clearly startled by your words. “Hurt me? You wouldn’t do that.”

“You don’t understand!” Your voice rose, panic spilling out with every word. “This fire—it’s not normal. It’s not something I can control. It was made to destroy Archons, Collei. What if I can’t stop it from hurting you?”

Collei was quiet for a moment, her green eyes searching your face. Then she took a step forward, ignoring your sharp intake of breath. “Who said you would?”

Your heart lurched. “Collei, stop—”

“No.” Her voice was steady, but her expression was gentle. “You’re my friend. I know you, and I know you’d never hurt me. Not on purpose.”

“That’s the thing,” you said bitterly. “What if I do it without meaning to? What if I lose control? I’m not just a person, Collei. I’m… I’m a weapon.”

“You’re not a weapon.” Her words were firm, but her tone was kind. “You’re my friend. And whatever this fire is, it doesn’t change that.”

Tears prickled at your eyes, the weight of her trust almost unbearable. “You don’t get it. You should be scared of me.”

Collei shook her head, stepping closer despite the black flames licking at your skin. “I’m not scared of you. I know what it’s like to think you’re dangerous, to feel like you’re nothing but a tool for someone else’s plans. But Tighnari and everyone else showed me that it’s not true. And I want to show you the same.”

Her words struck a chord deep within you, and for a moment, the fire dimmed. You stared at her, at the way she stood unwavering despite the danger, and something in your chest cracked.

“What if I lose control again?” you whispered.

“Then I’ll be here to help you,” she said simply, holding out her hand. “But I don’t think you will. You’re stronger than you think.”

You hesitated, staring at her outstretched hand. Slowly, you reached out, letting your fingertips brush against hers. The fire hissed but didn’t lash out, its destructive energy strangely quiet in her presence.

“There,” she said softly, her smile returning. “See? You’re okay.”

A shaky laugh escaped your lips, tears spilling over. “How are you so calm about this?”

“Because I believe in you,” she said, squeezing your hand gently. “And I’ll remind you of that as many times as you need.”

For the first time in what felt like forever, you allowed yourself to believe her.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

@amalythea 2024. | do not re-upload, copy, translate, etc. my works on any form of media.

[mallowsweetmiri]

Stargazing • Sirius x Potter!Reader • word count: 469

Use #mallowsweetmicros to find my microfics!

“That one’s me,” Sirius grinned, pointing to his star from the roof. You snorted and nudged him with your shoulder.

“Yeah, I know,” you quipped, taking a swig of fire whiskey. James and Lily were off snogging in the tree house which left you and Sirius to entertain yourselves. This summer was different. James had never left you alone with Sirius before, but now that Lily was here, your brother didn’t seem to care.

“Aw, you remember my star?” Sirius teased, grabbing the bottle from your hands. You rolled you eyes as he took a swig, trying not to stare the at dribble on his bottom lip.

“Basic astronomy, Sirius. Plus, you point at it every time we're outside at night,” you stated, matter of factly. Sirius made a pshh sound and nudged you again.

“Okay, ‘basic astronomy,’” he mocked, using air quotes. “I know you stare at it when I’m not here.” He grinned and you felt your face blush. You laughed it off.

“So what if I do? It is a beautiful star after all,” you hummed thoughtfully, looking back up at the glittering sky. Sirius hummed in return and leaned in closer.

“So you think I’m beautiful?” Sirius asked, lacking his usual arrogance. You huffed out a laugh and faced him again. He looked surprisingly serious. Ha.

“I said your star is beautiful,” you rolled your eyes again. “But you’re beautiful, too. It’s not like you need me to say it for you to know.”

“Oh, but it sounds so much better coming from you than anyone else,” Sirius sighed dreamily, ever the dramatic.

“And why is that?” You chuckled, amused at his theatrics. He turned to face you, and your breath hitched at you how close the two of you were sitting.

“Because you’re like, the most beautiful person I’ve ever seen. If you’re saying I’m beautiful, it really must be true,” he smiled smugly, watching the blush rise uncontrollably on your cheeks.

“Sirius,” you warned him warily. “What are you doing?” He breathed out a laugh and ran his hand through his hair, his rings glimmering in the moonlight.

“I honestly don’t know,” he whispered, leaning in closer. “But would you shove me off the roof if I kissed you?”

“Maybe involuntarily,” you breathed, unable to keep your eyes from dropping to his lips.

“Well if I tell you I’m going to kiss you right now, will you refrain from pushing me off?” He joked, his voice low and only for you. You could only nod in response as he began to lean forward until his lips pressed softly against yours. You let your eyes flutter shut as his fingers found their way under your chin. It was short and sweet, and when pulled away, his eyes glimmered with starlight. He was definitely beautiful.

[httpvomitello]

In the Glow of the Lab Light *⁠.⁠✧

donnie x male!reader

The lair was quiet, save for the soft hum of Donnie’s lab equipment. Earlier, it had been alive with energy, laughter bouncing off the walls as you, April, Casey, and the turtles played games and ate way too much pizza. But now, everyone had retreated to their respective corners to sleep.

Everyone except you.

The fire was everywhere, roaring and relentless. You could feel its heat, hear its crackle as it devoured everything in its path. The smoke burned your lungs, making it impossible to breathe. Voices screamed your name, but you couldn’t reach them—couldn’t save them.

You woke up with a sharp gasp, sitting bolt upright. The air in the lair was cool, but it felt suffocating against the sheen of sweat on your skin. Your heart raced, pounding so loudly in your ears you barely noticed the tears streaming down your face.

You rubbed your hands over your face, fingers brushing against the scars that marked your skin. The burns—visible reminders of a night you could never forget. A night that had taken everything from you.

You didn’t notice the soft footsteps approaching until a voice, gentle and laced with concern, broke through the silence.

“Y/N?”

You turned to see Donnie standing in the doorway, his bo staff in one hand and a frown creasing his brow.

“I heard you,” he said, stepping closer. “Are you… alright?”

“I’m fine,” you said quickly, your voice shaky and unconvincing. “Just a bad dream. Go back to bed, Donnie.”

But he didn’t move. Instead, he set his bo staff aside and crouched down next to your bed. “That didn’t sound like just a bad dream,” he said, his voice quieter now. “Do you… want to talk about it?”

You hesitated, your hands clenching the blanket tightly. You’d never told him the full story. You’d never told anyone, really. The scars on your body were explanation enough for most people. But Donnie wasn’t most people. Or turtle...

“It’s just… memories,” you finally admitted. “Of the fire.”

His eyes flickered to your scars for just a moment before meeting yours again. “The fire that…?”

You nodded. “That took my family. I couldn’t save them.”

Donnie’s gaze softened further, and he sat down beside you. “Y/N, it wasn’t your fault.”

“I know,” you said quickly, though the words felt hollow. “It’s just… it always feels so real. Like I’m back there again.”

He was quiet for a moment, and then, without a word, he reached out and placed a hand on your shoulder. The gesture was small, but it grounded you.

“I can’t pretend to understand what you went through,” Donnie said, his voice steady. “But I can promise you this: you’re not alone now. If you ever feel like the memories are too much, I’m here. You're my boyfriend, and I don't want to see you suffering because of this, thinking you can't tell me anything. I'm here for you.”

You looked at him, the glow from his lab casting soft purple light across his face. “Thanks, babe.”

A small smile tugged at the corners of his lips. “It’s what I do. Emotional support genius, at your service.”

Despite everything, you chuckled. “Is that an official title?”

“It is now,” he said, standing up. “Come on. Let’s go to the lab. I have some projects I could use your input on. Distractions are an underrated coping mechanism, you know.”

You followed him, grateful for the excuse to leave your nightmare behind.

You followed him to his workstation, where he rummaged through a drawer before pulling out a sleek, circular device. “This,” he began, holding it up, “is a prototype I’ve been working on. It’s designed to help regulate stress responses.”

“How does it work?” you asked, curiosity momentarily overriding your anxiety.

He smiled faintly, the excitement of explaining his invention clear in his tone. “It uses biometric feedback to monitor your heart rate and breathing patterns. When it detects elevated levels of stress, it emits a calming frequency.”

You raised an eyebrow. “So, it’s a stress-busting gadget?”

“Essentially,” he said, handing it to you. “I haven’t tested it much yet, but… I thought it might help you. Especially on nights like this.”

Your chest tightened, but this time, it wasn’t from panic. “You made this for me?”

“Well, I made it for anyone who might need it,” he said, his voice dropping into his usual awkward ramble. “But yes, I had you in mind specifically. Your well-being is—uh—important to me. Very important.”

The corners of your mouth lifted into a small smile after kissing his cheek “Thank you, Donnie. Really.”

He cleared his throat, clearly flustered. “It’s what I do. Genius inventor and, apparently, boyfriend extraordinaire.”

You chuckled softly, reaching out to take his hand. “You’re definitely both.”

Donnie squeezed your hand gently, his thumb brushing over your scarred skin without hesitation. “Y/N, I can’t erase what happened, but I’ll do whatever I can to make things easier for you.”

“I know,” you said, the weight on your chest lifting just a little. “And i love you for that.��

The two of you stayed like that for a while, the steady hum of the lab filling the silence.

[phoenix-eclipses]

Casting Love Intermission

Soulmates weren't an unheard of topic in your youth. From several storybooks in your early education revolving around the romance of soulmates and even adults around you speaking about their soulmates, it was hard to ignore their existence.

You had assumed you didn't have one. You didn't have that string, always depicted as red, that would lead you to your soulmate. You didn't have any lettering on your body, despite checking several times.

The disappointment you had over your lack of a soulmate wasn't unknown by those who lived with you. Babysitters coming and going, trying to comfort you, convince you that perhaps some sort of sign would appear later.

And it did. Only in a form you didn't realize that made you different. Sitting in art class, your teacher insisting on the severe differences between some colors you were looking at. That was when you were brought to a specialist who informed your father about your color blindness.

When your babysitter at the time was informed of this, she immediately took to explaining to you a type of soulmate bond was colorblindness until you met.

That was the last day you had seen her, your father firing her later that day.

Her replacement refused to read stories about soulmates. She didn't want to speak of soulmates at all, shutting it down anytime you brought them up. Instead, she'd sit down next to you, a pitying look on her face and say.

"I know it is hard to not see the world like those around you, but if you stay obsessed with soulmates as you are now, you will also not understand the world."

So you stopped. For two years, you'd zone out as your professors read books about soulmates, no longer listening to every single word. It was only after that two years something changed. You were visting your aunt in Tokyo.

She walked beside you, guiding you to a park that she told you that her and your mother used to frequent in their youth. When you arrived, she allowed you to go play at the playground as she sat and watched on a bench.

Throughout your stay at her place, she brought you to the park each day. Somedays you'd meet some of the kids who live in the neighborhood nearby, getting to play with them as well.

It was on the last day that one of the neighborhood kids who you hadn't seen before appeared. You immediately ran over, excited to make a new friend. You waved at him, slowing down as you stopped right in front of him.

"Hello-"

You froze in your introduction as you looked at him. His golden eyes stared at you in shock as you did the same. You watched as the boy in front of you and the world around him brightened up, colors you had never known existed appearing.

"Woah..." the boy muttered in amazement. You let out a laugh, reaching out and grabbing his hand.

"C'mon! Let's go play!"

He stumbles a bit in your hold but follows after you, the both of you glancing around at the colors. The two of you play until it turns dark, your aunt telling you it was time for you to go home. You wave excitedly at the boy, promising that next time you visited your aunt you'd come to play with him again.

It's over dinner that you inform your aunt that you think the boy is your soulmate. She drops her chopsticks and stares at you in shock for a few minutes.

"Do not tell your father."

That was all she said before continuing to eat. You frown, asking her why you couldn't tell him but she just shook her head and repeated herself.

Despite her lack of explanation, you find yourself listening. When your father picks you up, you don't mention the boy, you only speak of the other kids you had become friends with. You don't tell him about the colors that you could now see surrounding the two of you.

But you do tell your babysitter. After a week of not telling anyone, you can't hold back your excitement and as she attempts to deny to read you a book about soulmates, you find yourself blurting out the fact that you did have one.

"I met him! In Tokyo! You can even ask Auntie!"

Your babysitter frowns. Pulling out a book from the high shelves in your room, not a book about soulmates. And she reads it to you, not speaking to you about your soulmate.

You assume that's just how she would treat it, even with the knowledge of you having one, she wouldn't speak of them.

But she does speak of them. She shared it with your father. The next day he informed you that you would no longer be going to Tokyo to visit your aunt. You could still see her, but she would be coming over to Miyagi.

"I don't want you returning to speak to that boy."

You cast a look at your babysitter who refuses to meet your eye. It stays silent in the room, your father's words being treated like the law. You never went back to Tokyo to visit your aunt, though she made sure to frequently come over to visit you. She apologizes to you, promise she'd find a way to bring you to find your soulmate.

It only takes another two years for your father to decide to limit your meetings. Small family meals with him present, able to hear all of your conversation. And soon, not even those happen.

It's not until you graduate from Aoba Johsai and inform your father that you were going to attend Tokyo University, with or without his help, that you are able to return to Tokyo.

Back to the park, no longer aware of the name of your soulmate. All you remember is that golden color that was the first color you could ever see. But even then, in a world full of color and so many people, there was no way to ever find him again.

After all, there was no guarantee he'd even remain in Tokyo. Even if he did, who's to say he hadn't already had his heart casted in the direction of another after you had failed to fulfill your promise to see him again?

0.17 -- Masterlist -- 1.1

Notes

This honestly was finished like the day I posted 0.17 and then some of it didn't properly save so I didn't rewrite it until today lol

Thought it'd be kinda cool to like dive more into their like first meeting and also kind of why Y/N isn't sure about finding their soulmate but also kinda wants to

Ahhh I'm almost done with this semester so yay

Divider credits @cafekitsune and @animatedglittergraphics-n-more

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[challenger-fan-club]

Thinking very carefully about Patrick giving you a punishment

Oh Patrick is such a slut for giving out funishments.

Patrick endlessly strolling on his phone while you have the tennis on. He’s trying very hard not to pay attention to Art Donaldson playing while you watch intently. “God he’s just so good” you gush over Arts tennis but something inside Patrick gets a little (or a lot jealous.) “he’s not that good.” He murmurs into his phone. You roll your eyes at him before returning back to the tv. “He’s literally on fire this week, he must be on a new diet or something.” Patrick glances up from his phone to look at you. Your eyes are fixed on the Tv as the ball flies back and forth. The relationship is still newish and Patrick has only briefly mentioned him to you.

“Yeah I guess he looks okay.” You glance at him and then back to the tv. “Okay? He looks incredible.” You meant nothing by it, you meant the playing and his form. “What about me?” His phone is now on the table as he moves his body to face you. “You never say I look incredible when I’m playing.” You reach for his hand but he pulls away. “No cmon, how do I look?” His hair is messy and he’s been growing out his stubble. He is always the most handsome man, even without any effort but you can’t help but like a bit of his jealous side. You look him up and down and try hold back a smirk. “I guess you look okay.” Patrick slightly laughs as he grabs your arms and lifts you over his shoulder.

“Just okay?” He laughs as carries you to the bedroom and you kick your legs. “Hey I’m watching this.” You yell out as you throw the remote back to the sofa. Patrick practically throws you down on the bed before rolling you over and pinning your arms behind your back. “I’ll show you just okay.” He puts his hands over your as he moves his grip over your wrists, allowing him to just use one. He pulls up your skirt, revealing your ass and underwear. “Patrick I was just kidding.” But he uses his hand to smack across your ass cheek, watching the redness spread. “Oh so you don’t think he looks incredible?” You laugh a little. “Well I mean…” Thwack. He smacks your ass again. “Cmon baby, don’t lie to me.” His hand lingers where he’s just smacked, rubbing the warmth. “I just meant…” smack. Another hit in the same spot as he waits for the answer. “Just yes or no.” He rubs your ass a bit more, watching it get redder. “No.” You say, putting your head into the mattress.

“You don’t think he looks good?” His voice is serious as he pins you down. “Then why are you so wet baby?” His fingers move across to your underwear and he starts to rub your wet spot and you start to moan. “Cmon baby, use your words.” He doesn’t actually want you to speak or explain yourself. He knows the answers already. “Is it because you like being spanked?” He keeps rubbing over your underwear as you whine. You nod your head but he’s holding you against the mattress. “Do you think Art would be here using you the way you like?” He can’t help himself from speaking about him. He’s also getting off on the thought. “No he wouldn’t know what to do with such a little slut who can’t behave.” His fingers are moving slowly and purposefully as he tease you.

“See baby, I’ve barely even started playing with you and you’re soaked.” He moves his fingers down your thighs, very slowly as you groan from the lack of his touch. He lets go of your wrists and tells you to lie on your back. He pushes his forehead against yours. “So tell me baby girl, who do you want? Huh? Me or him?” His mouth is just inches away and you want him to kiss you so badly. You try and move your face forward but he pulls away. “You. I’m all yours.” You say almost breathless. He pulls away and steps away from the bed. “Good. Don’t forget it.”

You groan as he pulls away. “What’s wrong baby?” He asks you, almost condescendingly. “I thought we were gonna…?” You sit up to him meeting his gaze. “Gonna…?” He toys with you. He knows how badly you want him, need him. He can’t deny being turned on too but he doesn’t want to crumble first. “We usually… you know… after I get spanked…” the words leave you as Patrick is smirking. “I’ll decide when you’ve been good enough for anything else. Wouldn’t want you to miss anymore of the INCREDIBLE Art Donaldsons match now would we?” He can’t hide his smirk any longer as he wanders off to the living room. You grunt in frustration as he leaves you lying on the bed. Patrick will cave eventually, he always does when it comes to you.

[sturn-saturn]

both!? both.

pairing: fem!reader x bsf!matt x bsf!chris

warning: threesome, p in v, matt the munch, drinking, swearing

“keep your legs open.” chris sneers.

he’s sitting behind you as you lay your back to his chest, moving your hair away from your face, kissing your shoulder, and whispering sweet nothings in your ear. a complete contrast from the way matt was roughly devouring your soaked cunt.

you’re probably wondering how you ended up in this position. literally.

to sum it all up, you were sitting outside a frat house alone and crying because your friends abandoned you for some guys they met which left you feeling alone, intoxicated, and emotional. the three brothers walked up to you checking in on you and even offered walking you home so you weren’t alone. from then on you four became best friends. very, very, best friends.

“matt t-too much.” you whine.

“oh yeah? you know the magic word sweetheart all you gotta do is just say it.”

chris slips off your top for you and cups your left boob while his index finger and thumb roll your right nipple causing you to arch your back off his chest mixed with matt’s lips sucking your clit.

“matt we should hurry nick is gonna be back soon.” chris says a bit worried.

“yeah you’re right. so which one of us is gonna get to fuck this sweet thing. hm?” matt looks up from between your legs. the light reflecting off of his mouth and chin, glistening in your juices and his spit.

chris kisses your neck and whispers in your ear “let me. i’ll make you feel good. that’s a promise i’ll always keep.”

“chris.” you whimper. letting the boys know you want chris to ruin you.

matt gets up from his spot and you all find a position comfortable enough. you’re on the bed lying on your left side, chris before you, and matt in front of you. basically in between the both of them.

“you ready, mama?” chris asks.

“yes.” you say slightly above a whisper.

the sting you feel from chris’s head pushing into you causing you to moan out and grab chris’s hand that lays on your hip to keep you in position.

chris’s bottoms out and he let’s out a groan into your hair. just as he’s about to start moving, you stop him.

“wait, n-not yet, too much chris.”

“alright, babydoll. let me know when you’re ready? i’ll be gentle unless you ask for more okay?”

“mhmm”

after a few moments chris starts sliding in and out causing you to to feel dizzy from how his top is hitting your cervix. nothing in this room but the squelching of your juices and the moans and groans from the three of you.

matt grabs your chin and slips his tongue in your mouth swallowing every sound. he gently bites your tongue and something about it makes you see stars.

“you’re doing so good princess.” matt murmurs against your lips.

he kisses your lips, makes his way to your jaw, then to your neck, biting, licking, sucking, kissing. he leaves hickeys visible enough for anyone to see, making sure people know who you belong to. matt and chris.

few months later…

you, the triplets, and a few other friends are sitting around a fire pit, drinking and having fun uuntil someone suggests a game.

“oh my gosh, let’s play never have i ever. but if you’re done if you have to take a shot.” your friend says a bit tipsy.

everyone agrees and we all go around asking a ‘never have i ever’ question.

“never have i ever had a threesome.” matt chokes on his drink as he hears the question leave your friends mouth.

you look at matt and chris and take a shot and the other two seem to follow taking a shot as well.

nick looks at his brothers shocked from what he just found out. “what the fuck just happened.”

“wait. you three have had a threesome before?” your friend asks.

“oh not together but yeah.” chris says nonchalantly.

matt nods his head agreeing along with his brother.

the game continues on for a bit before you all called it a night.

one thing you hated about your friend was she knew when you were lying.

“you’re such a liar, just tell me the truth. did you actually?” she blurts out as you both lay in bed ready to sleep.

“did i actually what?”

“did you have a threesome with matt and chris?”

“would you never talk to me again if i says yes?” you said hesitantly.

“oh my gosh, fuck no i wanna know everything.”

“then yeah, it happened.”

“both!?”

“both. now go to sleep, we’ll go over the details tomorrow”

and with that, you fell asleep thinking about the multiple sexual encounters you’ve had with, well, both of them. at once. after all, you’ve always loved the eiffel tower.

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