#yet they’ve captivated me in some way

[hidingoutbackstage]

Found footage movies on Tubi are so bad. I wanna make edits of them

[azzibuckets]

them kissing at the top of the ferris wheel i BEG. and maybe throw in some angst if u feel like it, adding flashbacks to them doing this every year even when they were just “friends” or the line between friends and something else…?

state of us

paige bueckers x azzi fudd

a/n: i wrote this in one setting omfg so this is very unedited but i hope you guys love this just as much as i do!!! enjoy :)

word count: 2.6k

masterlist

August 2017

Azzi has always looked forward to the state fair; it’s one of the few times a year she gets to see her extended family in Minnesota and gorge herself on cookies and corn dogs and all the likes. But something about this year is special, and Azzi would be lying if she said it wasn’t due to the blonde girl whose hand she’s currently holding.

“I still can’t believe I’ve lived in Minnesota my entire life and I’ve never been here,” Paige marvels, jaw slightly dropped in awe as she takes in her surroundings. Azzi is usually like Paige, letting herself get lost in the exhilarating combination of the smell of greasy, buttery foods and the cheery sound of lively music and the smiles on everyone’s faces, but for some reason this year she’s fully and entirely captivated by Paige.

“It’s like the one time of year my parents let us eat whatever we want,” Azzi informs her friend, nodding towards her little brothers who are stuffing themselves with cotton candy. Her and Paige both look at each other and share a giggle before quickly averting their eyes. It’s a novel feeling, the butterflies in Azzi’s belly that erupt every time she holds Paige’s gaze for a little too long. It’s the same feeling she gets when their knuckles brush, or when Paige is being annoying and insists on putting her head in Azzi’s lap whenever they’re lying on the couch. And it’s a scary feeling, so far from what she feels towards all of her other friends, but it’s one that makes her lightheaded and dizzy in the best way possible, a feeling she desperately chases after.

Even now, Azzi tightens her fingers around Paige’s. Her palm is starting to collect sweat, but she prays to the gods that Paige won’t notice. She’s not ready to let go just yet.

Azzi clears her throat. They’ve been silent for a little too long, and the air between them is tense. “I buy a huge bucket of cookies every year,” she continues. “Maybe if you’re nice to me today I’ll let you have some.”

Paige scrunchs her eyebrow in feigned indignation. “I’m always nice to you.”

“Well I guess you gotta be especially nice today.” Then Azzi lets go of her hand, throwing Paige a wink over her shoulder before running to catch up with the rest of their family. Paige doesn’t have enough time to figure out what Azzi’s words mean before Katie starts calling for her too.

They’re in line for the ring toss when Jose pokes Paige hard in the back. The blonde whips around, ready to jokingly give the 11 year old a piece of her mind. But before she can even get a word out, Jose says, “That guy in the very back of the line wants me to tell you that he thinks you’re cute,” then skips away to find Jon.

Paige is confused. She glances towards the huddle of teenage boys 50 feet away and sees one of them, a lanky boy with a mop of unruly brown hair, give her a smirk. Cheeks hot, she turns back to Azzi. “Um,” she stutters, seemingly unable to find her bearings. The topic of boys has certainly come up in her and Azzi’s conversations before, but only when gossiping about their teammates or their friends. In the year she’s known Azzi, Paige hasn’t brought up a single of her own crushes, and neither has Azzi. It’s like an unspoken rule floating between them, a rule now irreparably broken by a boy too bold for his own good.

Azzi’s staring at the laces of her shoes. “You should go talk to him,” she says. She tries to keep her voice casual, calm, but she knows by the shift in Paige’s body language that it was too strained, too forced.

“Why?” Paige’s eyes are burning a hole into Azzi’s forehead. “I don’t even know him.”

Azzi shrugs, toes the dirt with the tip of her shoe. Her heart is beating erratically, and she doesn’t know why. “He thinks you’re cute.”

Paige takes another look at the boy. He is handsome, with striking blue eyes and dimples in his cheeks. But when she looks back at Azzi’s frowning face, she wishes it was her dimples that she could see and not his. “I don’t want to,” Paige says decisively, narrowing her eyes at the boy to show that she’s not interested.

Azzi’s head snaps up. “Why not?”

It’s Paige’s turn to look away. “I dunno. What if we hang out and he tries to steal my first kiss or something?“

Azzi’s body grows hot at the idea of imagining Paige’s first kiss. “Would that be so bad?”

“I want my first kiss to be special,” Paige responds. She takes in Azzi, who’s wearing a neon blue tank top and workout shorts. Her cheeks are a little flushed from the late summer heat. There’s a little curl of hair that escaped from her bun, damp from the humidity of the day. Paige wants to brush it behind Azzi’s ear. So she does. She leans forward and lets her thumb trail across Azzi’s cheek before swiping at the curl, moving it away from Azzi’s eyes. “I don’t wanna do the ring toss anymore,” she says.

Azzi swallows. “We could go on the ferris wheel?” she suggests timidly.

“Okay.”

And before she knows it, Paige’s hand is in Azzi’s again, the older girl letting the younger girl guide them through the maze of bodies. And although Azzi’s hand is a little bit damp and Paige has always hated sweaty hands, not for a single second does the thought of pulling away cross her mind.

Paige drops into the bench across Azzi’s, and the operator shuts the door behind them. The car rocks unsteadily, and Paige glances around nervously.

“It’s okay,” Azzi reassures. “These things are stronger than they look.”

“I hope so.”

Azzi cocks her head curiously. “Come sit with me.”

“Are you sure?” Paige asks tentatively. “What if it makes the car go off balance?”

With a roll of her eyes, Azzi gets up and plants herself next to the blonde. She rubs her hand across Paige’s back, noting the tenseness of her shoulders. “Are you scared right now?” Azzi snickers.

“No!” Paige says defensively. “I’ve just heard stories about fair rides.”

“I didn’t know you were a pussy.”

“Shut up,” Paige demands, but she finds herself leaning into Azzi’s touch. She blames it on her slight fear of heights, but deep down she knows it’s because she’ll never be able to get enough of Azzi.

“I didn’t like it,” Azzi confesses after a brief moment of silence. “Knowing you could’ve left me to hang out with some guy.”

“I would never leave you.” Paige’s eyes are bright in the falling light of the evening, and they hold a promise that Azzi doesn’t yet know will stay true for the rest of their lives. But for now, the soft way Paige is looking at her gives her the boldness to say, “I haven’t had my first kiss either.” She drops her hand from Paige’s back. “I’m too scared.”

“What’re you scared of?” Paige’s voice is barely a whisper.

“That I won’t like it. That they’ll be too rough. Or they’ll say I’m a bad kisser.”

“They?”

Azzi looks down.

“I like girls too.” The words take a second to register in Azzi’s brain, but when they do, she feels defensiveness rise in her chest. “I never said I liked girls,” Azzi said, her voice holding slight traces of panic.

Paige’s lips twist in a frown. “It’s not wrong to like girls.”

“I know, I just….”

“It’s my first time saying it out loud.” Paige cracks a smile. “If that makes you feel better.”

Azzi lets out a breathy laugh. “It’s just hard to tell, sometimes, ya know?”

“I know.” Paige worries her lower lip nervously. “But maybe I could help?”

Azzi’s eyebrows furrow. “What do you mean?”

“Like…I could help you confirm whether or not you like girls?” Paige sounds uncertain. “And then…and then your first time wouldn’t have to be with some random asshole.”

Azzi stares at her best friend. She flips Paige’s words over in her brain, trying to make sense of it all. “You want me to kiss you?”

Paige looks flustered. “I don’t want you to. I mean, I don’t not want you to, I just-,” she closes her eyes briefly, taking her time to collect her thoughts. “I’m just offering to. You know? I wouldn’t mind. That way my first kiss can be with someone I trust too.”

Paige waits patiently for Azzi’s response. Her knee’s been jiggling against the hot metal of the bench, but the weight of Azzi’s hand from where she’s now placed it on her thigh quickly stops her movements.

Before her doubts can stop her, Azzi leans in, placing a hand firmly at the back of Paige’s neck. She presses her mouth to Paige’s, letting it linger there for a few seconds before pulling away. “There,” she says shakily. “Our first kiss.”

Paige stares at Azzi, dazed, both of them silent and still as the car slows to a stop, back at the bottom. Azzi realizes that she’s forgotten to take a picture of the sunset at the top like she’s done every year. She wonders what she’s gonna say when her mom asks about it later. Fear creeps into her heart as she realizes the gravity of what they’ve just done. It’s hard to make sense of the rapid beating of her heart, the fresh memory of Paige’s lips molded so perfectly against her own, with the growing panic in her chest that nothing will be the same ever again.

The operator opens the door. “You girls enjoy the ride?” he asks, a smile on his face.

Azzi climbs out in a rush, brushing past the operator without saying a word. Paige takes her time, picking up the water bottle that Azzi forgot and clutching it to her body. “Thanks,” she says tightly to the operator as she exits.

“No problem. Hope your friend feels better. The ferris wheel’s feeling a bit rockier than usually a lot today.”

It takes every bit of strength in Paige to not start crying right then and there.

August 2018

Paige has spent every day of the last year thinking about that kiss on the ferris wheel. And now that, almost exactly a year later, she’s in the car again, surrounded by the intoxicating scent of Azzi’s perfume, she can’t help but think about what Azzi’s hands would feel like tangled in her hair.

When Azzi looks up from her phone and meets Paige’s eyes, she knows there’s no use to try and wrangle any self control out of her body. Forcing herself to sit across from Paige instead of next to her this time doesn’t work. Within moments, she’s across the car, her hands on Paige’s waist. Her lips brush ever so gently against Paige, and she pauses, waiting for the blonde to stop her. When she doesn’t, Azzi swipes her tongue gently across Paige’s bottom lip, and this year their kiss lasts just a little bit longer.

August 2019

“I’m not gonna kiss you.”

Azzi has a date waiting for her at home, a handsome football player who she’s been texting all summer.

Paige looks at her coolly. “Okay.”

They’ve been tense all day. Their parents think it’s the heat wave combined with the stress of school starting. Paige wonders what her dad would say if he knew it was because she’s been thinking about the ferris wheel all day, a mix of dread and anticipation pooling in her stomach.

They’ve spent the entire ride sitting across from each other, their knees just barely touching. And kudos to them, they are better this year - they almost make it the entire ride.

But just 15 feet up from the ground, Azzi is on Paige’s lap, and she doesn’t know how she got there, but she’s not complaining, not when Paige is whimpering against her mouth like this.

They break apart when the operator opens the door, both of their chests heaving, neither of them daring to look at each other.

“This is the last time,” Azzi swears.

“The last time,” Paige repeats.

August 2020

Paige almost didn’t make it this year.

She should be at UConn right now, prepping for her first day of college in a few days. But one text from Azzi, one word saying Please, and she’d bought a plane ticket to Minnesota.

This time, Paige is the one to cross the boundary. This time, Paige fists Azzi’s shirt in her hand and pulls her into a searing kiss. Paige hasn’t said goodbye yet, but she hopes that the way she cups Azzi’s face in her hands and presses their lips together is enough.


Paige pulls away. She doesn’t know she’s crying until Azzi’s wiping at her tears with her thumb.

“I’m gonna miss you,” Azzi whispers.

They’ve spent almost half a year together, starting from when Paige moved in with the Fudds to train during lockdown. She’d stayed for most of the summer too, basically living in Azzi’s skin until her dad had forced her to return home.

“Come to UConn,” Paige urges.

“Paige.”

“Azzi.”

Azzi leans her forehead against Paige’s. “Okay. I’ll think about it.”

August 2021

“We’re gonna look so good on the court together.”

Azzi laughs, poking Paige’s cheek affectionately. “You’re insufferable. I’m gonna get so tired of you.”

“Oh yeah?” Paige presses a kiss to Azzi’s cheek, then begins working down her jawline, her lips burning into Azzi’s skin. “You’re gonna get tired of this?”

Azzi arches into Paige’s touch. “Paige,” she pants.

“Does this count as following our tradition?”

“You gotta kiss me on the mouth,” Azzi, always a stickler for rules, insists, but when Paige’s lips move downward to suck that sweet spot on her neck, she quickly shuts up.

August 2021

“I’m not letting you forget this time.” Paige nudges Azzi with her camera.

“Kiss me.”

Paige obeys.

They spend the rest of the ride arguing over who gets to keep the polaroid.

August 2022

Azzi kisses Paige. It’s short and sweet and all too reminiscent of 5 years ago, when they were young and dumb but still in love.

“Marry me?”

Azzi shoves Paige. “Don’t say that.”

“Why not?”

“I mean it. Don’t say it unless you have a ring.”

Paige’s eyes are hopeful. “So you’d marry me?”

“I’ve been willing to marry you since we met, you idiot.” Azzi kisses Paige again, and this time they’re smiling against each others lips.

August 2023

“I’m starting to think your NIL money is good for nothing.”

“Didn’t I just buy you a corn dog?”

“I still don’t see a ring.”

Paige rolls her eyes and shuts Azzi up with a kiss.

August 2024

“One more year, baby.”

“Stop reminding me.” Azzi turns away from Paige, her face pulled into a pout.

“It’s gonna be our year.” Paige nestles her chin onto Azzi’s shoulder. “Best backcourt duo in the nation.”

“Don’t jinx us.”

Paige wiggles her fingers into the younger girl’s ribs. “Stop being so negative.”

Azzi laughs, a beautiful sound Paige has memorized for years now. “Kiss me and maybe I’ll stop.”

Paige’s lips are familiar to Azzi. But Azzi wants more. She wants Paige, all of her. Paige needs to hurry up and buy that damn ring.

August 2025

Azzi: Missing you

Azzi: Attachment: 1 Image

Paige: screw this game

Paige: i swear i’m buying a plane ticket rn

Azzi: Stop, your team needs you

Azzi: Save me that kiss for later

Paige: i love u more than anything else in this world

Paige: so much more than basketball

Paige: i will literally leave this locker room rn all u gotta do is say the word baby

Azzi: Don’t worry, I’ll eat enough cookies for the two of us

Azzi tucks her phone into her pocket, stares out the window. Recently the homesick ache in her heart has become more familiar than the feeling of Paige’s lips, and she hates it. This next year of getting used to long distance will be the hardest year of their relationship so far, but she knows it’ll be worth it.

August 2026

She knows it’ll be worth it because Paige finally bought the goddamn ring.

“Will you marry me?”

Azzi sinks into Paige’s arms. 10 years.

“Fuck yeah.”

They kiss.

[eatmyheartoutjpg]

𓇻 𝗧𝗥𝗢𝗣𝗛𝗬 ᵃᵐᵇᵉˢˢᵃ ᵐᵉᵈᵃʳᵈᵃ ˣ ᵍⁿ ʳᵉᵃᵈᵉʳ

𝙎𝙪𝙢𝙢𝙖𝙧𝙮 ;; Short fic. Romantic/Established Relationship. Suggestive. You get ambushed and kidnapped by the enemy, Ambessa finds you in a rather.. precarious position. 𝘼/𝙉 ;; Now I ain't freaky, but I'm a bit freaky. Ik y'all freaky too, don't get on me for this. This was inspired by the scene of silco looking up to see sevika hanging around.

11.24.24 Masterlist

The battlefield was a long-abandoned fortress, its walls crumbling but still defiant against the passage of time. Ambessa’s forces swept through the area like a tide, their boots crunching over broken stone and debris.

Her focus, however, was razor-sharp, every fiber of her being trained on one thing: you.

She’d been searching for days, combing through reports and interrogating scouts, her patience worn thin. Her worry, an emotion she rarely allowed herself to feel, had settled into a tight knot in her chest. But as she stepped into the central hall of the fortress, flanked by her soldiers, her worry gave way to something else entirely.

There you were.

Strung up like a prized trophy, your arms tied above your head, your legs bound and suspended just enough to keep you helpless but not harmed. The ropes around you were taut, emphasizing the curve of your armor and the defiance in your expression.

Ambessa froze for a moment, taking in the sight of you, the grip on her signature spear loosening. You were alive—more than that, you were healthy. There wasn’t a scratch on you, not even a dent in your armor.

You, however, looked utterly mortified.

“Ambessa,” you said quickly, your voice muffled slightly by embarrassment. You tugged at your restraints, attempting to fix your embarrassing position. “I can explain.”

Her soldiers shifted uneasily, unsure whether to free you or await her command. Ambessa held up a hand, silencing them.

Her soldiers took that as a queue to leave.

“You can explain?” she repeated, her voice rich with amusement. She stepped closer, her heavy boots echoing in the chamber. “Oh, please. Do.”

You groaned, your cheeks flushing as you tried to tug against the ropes. “It’s not what it looks like.”

Her lips twitched, and a low chuckle escaped her.

“Isn’t it?” she asked, her mismatched eyes glinting with intent as she circled you, like a predator inspecting its prey. “Because it looks to me like the enemy found you… captivating.”

“Ambessa, please,” you hissed, wishing you were instead just killed off.

She stopped in front of you, her hands on her hips. Her towering figure loomed over you, making your predicament feel even more ridiculous.

“Oh, no. I’m not letting this go so easily. You’ve been missing for days. I tore through every lead, crossed enemy lines, and now I find you…” Her gaze swept over you, lingering just enough to make you squirm. “…like this.”

Your mouth opened, but no words came out. What could you say? You’d been ambushed, captured, and instead of being tortured or killed, you’d been turned into some kind of twisted display, a trophy.

“They wanted to taunt you,” you muttered finally, your voice barely audible.

Ambessa leaned in slightly, her smirk widening. “Well, they’ve certainly succeeded in catching my attention.”

You glared at her, though the heat in your cheeks made it less effective. “Can you just cut me down already?”

“Not yet,” she said, crossing her arms as she tilted her head. “I’m curious. Did they think this would humiliate you? Or me?” Her tone was playful, but there was an edge of possessiveness beneath it.

You shifted uncomfortably, the ropes creaking slightly. “Both, probably.”

“Fools,” she said, her voice dropping to a low growl. “If they wanted to break me, they should have harmed you. Instead…” Her eyes roamed over you again, deliberately slow. “They’ve only reminded me of how desirable you are.”

Your eyes widened, and your face burned hotter than ever.

“Ambessa—”

“What?” she asked innocently, though the glint in her eyes was anything but. “I’m merely appreciating their craftsmanship. They’ve… accentuated your best features.”

You groaned, tilting your head back in exasperation. “This is mortifying.”

“Is it?” she asked, stepping even closer. Her hand reached out to tilt your chin back down, forcing you to meet her gaze. “Because I find it quite… intriguing.”

Her voice was low now, intimate, meant only for you.

Ambessa leaned in, her lips brushing against your ear.

“You wear this look well,” she murmured, her tone a mixture of teasing and genuine admiration. “Perhaps I’ll have something similar commissioned when we get home.”

“Don’t you dare,” you hissed, evidently steaming from the sheer humiliation.

She chuckled, her breath warm against your skin. “Oh, I dare.”

Finally, she raised her spear, swiftly cutting you down. You collapsed into her arms, your legs unsteady from hours of suspension, you were sure they left marks on your skin.

She held you easily, carrying you out of the enemy's fortress, her smirk never wavered. “You’re mine,” she said softly, for your ears alone. “No enemy’s taunts can change that.”

ˢᵉᵛᵉⁿ

[angelshadowsinger]

oh my fucking god your work is incredible! holy literal shit balls i have never felt that entranced by a fanfiction until reading yours. thank u thank u thank u your azriel is PERFECT.

also i’m totally gonna need your thoughts on azriel sharing with his shadows 👀

re: ummmmmmm call me parmesan bc u got me CHEESIN!?!?!! that is literally sO sweet of you to say, i am touched 🥺 as a fic author you always worry if you’re making the character OOC and, it just makes me so happy to hear your praise!! thank you so much anon~ ♥︎ This HC is a bit more than what you’ve asked for, but it does includes it, so pls enjoy!

Azriel’s Shadows Around his Mate Headcanons

･ ゜゜・．｡ ･ ゜゜・．｡･ﾟﾟ･．｡ ･ ゜゜・．｡･ﾟﾟ･

ɴᴏᴛɪᴄᴇ: ʙʏ ʀᴇᴀᴅɪɴɢ ᴛʜɪꜱ ᴡᴏʀᴋ ʏᴏᴜ ᴄᴇʀᴛɪꜰʏ ʏᴏᴜ ᴀʀᴇ ᴏᴠᴇʀ 18 ᴀɴᴅ ɴᴏᴛ ᴀ ᴍɪɴᴏʀ. ᴄᴏɴᴛᴇɴᴛ ʙᴇʏᴏɴᴅ ᴛʜɪꜱ ᴘᴏɪɴᴛ ᴍᴀʏ ᴄᴏɴᴛᴀɪɴ ɴꜱꜰᴡ ᴛʜᴇᴍᴇꜱ. ʀᴇᴀᴅ ᴀᴛ ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴏᴡɴ ᴅɪꜱᴄʀᴇᴛɪᴏɴ.

･ ゜゜・．｡ ･ ゜゜・．｡･ﾟﾟ･．｡ ･ ゜゜・．｡･ﾟﾟ･

In my eyes, Azriel’s shadows are a part of him. There hasn’t been much insight that Maas has given us with shadowsingers and their capabilities in general, but this is what I choose to believe~

Since Azriel’s shadows were perhaps the first of his powers, and the first entity to treat him with some kindness/obedience, I think he would be very in tune with them and he himself would consider them a part of him. He has had over 500 years to develop his relationship with them and therefore, I believe once he found his mate, his shadows would be just as captivated with her as he himself.

Obviously, Azriel is a total simp for his girl (but that’s another hc in its own), so that means his shadows are too. Honestly, it could be viewed as annoying how often at least a few of his shadows are constantly at your side. He’s used to having them totally loyal to him, so now that he has to share them with you… well, it’s not really actually that cumbersome, because he knows that even when you two are apart, he’ll be sure to know if you need him/his help. Though he has a couple less to send out on his spymaster business, technically, the ones with you are acting as his spies anyway. Just, with a far more interesting and important subject.

His shadows do a variety of things for you, making your everyday life easier and more pleasant. Just as their master, the shadows like to give you princess treatment.

For example, they go out of their way to help you with mundane things. If you’re making dinner and a tomato rolls off the cutting board, they’re pushing it back to you. When you’re putting on a dress, they’re helping you with the zip and clasp. If you’re writing something and your pen runs out of ink, somehow they’ve procured a new one that matches your exact preferences.

Both Az and his shadows notice the small things. They take notes of your likes and dislikes, what makes you giggle, cry, or provides you comfort.

At times when he’s away for a long while, and you’re missing him, they will deliver small gifts to you. A couple flowers tied with twine, native to the strange lands he’s currently working in. A special spice he knows you love to use in the foods you share with him. An especially-delicious pastry made with your favorite fruit/flavor. Though the shadows themselves do not find you gifts, they are happy to deliver whatever Az requests they send.

They also will take anything you wish to send him. Whether he’s in another country, or simply training at the House of Wind with his brothers, his shadows will deliver your every gift. Most of the time it’s little sweets or a lunch you’ve packed. Sometimes when you’re feeling cheekier, a receipt from the lingerie store informing him of your latest purchase. If you’re really feeling brazen, sometimes the panties themselves. His shadows are perhaps happiest to carry those items, either to get into contact with them or to see their master’s red cheeks as he shoves them out of his brothers’ view.

His shadows are your caretaker when he is not with you. When you’ve fallen asleep staying up for your mate’s return from yet another mission, his shadows will tuck you under your favorite blanket, taking off your reading glasses and ensuring your spot in the open book on your lap is not lost. Az nearly melts when he comes back to the sight, you dead asleep on the couch in front of the blazing hearth, his shadows perched dutifully there, guarding you.

However, they grow attached to you and even when he is with you, they will not leave you alone unless he commands them.

Azriel likes to take full advantage of his time alone with you. There is nothing he finds more comfort and pleasure in than being in your embrace. Sometimes that’s hard to do, though, when his shadows steal away your attention, or beat him to helping you with the zip of your dress.

It’s a very endearing sight to see him get jealous of his own shadows. He’d have a scowl on his face as he glared at them, silently ordering them to leave your side so he could have you all to himself. The shadows would melt onto the floor, gloomy in a way, whisper once more around your ankle before they go off to fulfill their master’s instruction.

Most of the time, you manage to guilt your mate into letting a few of them come back. And as soon as he calls them, they appear and shoot right for you. Az rolls his eyes but of course he understands. How could they not fall in love with you?

Azriel is actually very good with sharing. This usually applies to you when his shadows are involved, though sometimes he just needs to be alone with you. Whether it’s to have his way with you or just to snuggle up and bask in his mate’s presence. When he needs time like that, he will have his shadows guard your quarters and they will do so without question— fiercely protecting the only two beings they care for.

~spicy hc’s begin ;)~

Most of the time, Azriel will take the lead in pleasuring you— as he should, as your mate— but he’s likely to let his shadows watch or join his efforts if they play a supporting role.

For example, his favorite thing is to be between your legs, feasting on your sweet cunt and making sure you know you are his, while his shadows hold you down so you can’t move an inch. This way, you have to take the pleasure in the exact way he desires, unable to greedily chase your high or buck your hips or push him away.

Usually he plays with you for a while like this, teasing you and edging you a handful of times before he’s ruthless, unstopping even after you’ve come. He does cease his ravishing after you’ve come again, only to ensure he doesn’t overstimulate you before he’s had a chance to fuck you like you both want.

His shadows are happy to shackle you and render you helpless to his onslaught of pleasure; they love hearing your wanton cries and will dry away any tears of pleasure that escape with a cool, ghostly caress.

Speaking of their caress, one of his favorite uses for them is to soothe your skin when he’s done marking it up. Meaning, after every spank or particularly hard bite, the shadows will rove over the irritated flesh, kissing you with their cooling tendrils.

Since the shadows are slightly cold, sending them to curl around your nipples while he fucks you from behind is also another favorite. The temperature-play heightens everything— especially when they move down your curves to tease at your clit or your ass, depending on your preference…

Sometimes he lets them fuck you as part of your foreplay— usually while you’re sucking his cock. He just loves the surprise that flickers in your eyes when you’re choking on the length of him deep in your throat, how your lashes flutter when that familiar cool touch tickles your inner thighs and pushes your wet panties aside, how your moan feels vibrating around him when they thrust inside of you. He savors how your rhythm gets thrown, how you struggle to continue when his shadows are running over every sensitive crevice of your most intimate parts.

On rarer occasions, Azriel will let the shadows have their way with you. He’d sit back in a comfortable, wing-friendly armchair, darkened hazel eyes drinking in every movement before him— you with your eyes rolled back in ecstasy, the darkness holding your legs spread and fondling every inch of you— cupping your tender breasts, tweaking those pert, hard nipples… stroking your face, your hair, your hips and thighs… flowing over your puffy clit, slipping between your dripping folds and even wandering inside of you, perhaps just as deep as Azriel’s cock could reach. He would jerk his leaking shaft at the sight before him, lip held prisoner in his feral snarl. He wouldn’t be able to last very long, the sight before him too much for him to keep his composure.

When you’re both spent and panting for breath, the shadows will run up and down your moistened back, taking away the heat that lingers there and helping to lull you to sleep.

Only when you’re unconscious do they return to Azriel, curling around his shoulders in thanks. They know they are lucky to be the sole creature/presence with which he shares his mate, and any time spent with you is valued payment for the many services they provide their master with.

[lovelyyandereaddictionpoint]

TWST boys with a Diana! Reader?

The reader's a really and I mean REALLY popular and a captivating woman from Siodonna, many rumours were spreading of a beauty from Siodonna yet the TWST boys decided to ignore the rumours, taking them as only bluffs until they met the reader performing in the streets for the poor children. The boys quickly fell head over heels for they're kind nature, and alluring looks. The way those crystal like (Colour) eyes gaze into theirs sending their hearts pounding again their chest. Being lucky enough to marry the woman of their dreams was a big accomplishment but they're happiness was short lived when they found out the risk of the reader dying during childbirth, the TWST boys being selfish asked her to choose them over the child yet the reader didn't have the heart to do so and decided to give her life for the child, only doing as much as witnessing how they're child grew as a wandering spirit and visiting them in their dreams to interact with they're child. How would the guys react when their child(or children) mentioning they're mother's name when they've actually never met or heard of her?? <3

- M. Draconia ; V. Schoenheit ; R. Rosehearts ; L. Kingscholar ; I. Shroud ; L. Vanrouge

"I'm sorry for not choosing you, but I couldn't bare giving it up ( sacrificing an innocent life) either..."

- (Name)

SORRY IT'S BAD, I'M RUSHING THIS 😭😭

Mentioning Your Name | Yandere Twisted Wonderland

Its an average day your child casually mentions some advice you gave. It takes them off guard and the problem with lovers as in love as they are suffering from your loss–this can be received very differently:

Malleus Draconia 

“What did you say?”

“I said (Y/n) told me I should try harder to talk to you because your socially immature.”

“....when…when did they say this?”

“In my dream last night, I asked how I was supposed to get you to smile at me and they told me to be ins-st-i-dent?”

He remembers what you said to comfort him before the birth

And honestly if it hadn’t been for that and this child having your smile

He would’ve smited him long ago

But to hear that you’re still here in some capacity

He smiles more 

Speaking into the quiet of the room 

Practically serenading your lingering spirit

“Thats…just like them…”

Vil Schoenheit 

“Wearing those two patterns is a travesty, we won’t be doing plaid with polka-dots–”

“Noooo! B-but I said I would!”

“...To who?”

“To (Y/n) of course I was telling them all about how I’d wear them-”

“Wait wait what did you say?”

He doesn’t believe that you’re meeting in their dreams

Its more than likely one of his close friends slipped up while babysitting

And now they’ve taken the name of their mother for some imaginary friend

Needless to say he’ll get to the bottom of this

Even if it takes a forceful kind of truth serum

“(Y/n)...my half is dead…so whoever they’re speaking to is something else.”

Riddle Rosehearts

“My RULE IS ABSOLUTE TO YOUR ROOM!” 

“(Y/n) would hate you so much!?”

“H-how do y-you–!”

“They said I should be free! That I should be allowed to play with others!”

“Where?! Where did you hear that?!”

He thought that he wouldn’t need to be hurt again

But here you were showing up in your child’s dreams 

But since you’ve left him…what do you words mean now

“You’re not appearing to me and you aren’t here to parent…therefore you’re words barely scrape the height of a suggestion.”

Leona Kingscholar 

“(Y/n) doesn’t think I’m weak!”

“WHAT?!”

“THEY said I’m plenty strong and that you don’t know everything!”

He’ll continue to lock the child away 

Scratching at his post some interloper as he thinks about what his child has said 

“Even across the grave you’re fighting me…can’t do much from where I’m at now can I?”

Idia Shroud 

“Papa I made my own drone…”

“Mmmm.”

“Uhm and uh (Y/n) says that you should maybe look at me when I show you mystuff so…”

“...”

Is floored

Since your departure he’s been torn with hating this child and eliminating anyone who interacts with them

So consumed with grief he shuts himself in his workshop and watches his child relentlessly

He knows them well in fact he’s sure he loves them 

but he can’t stand to speak to them without wanting to cry

So this is all the more painful to him and in his desire to reach out he might end up inventing something meant to capture your wandering spirit

“Just you wait (Y/n), I’ll have you soon.”

Lilia Vanrouge

“Just trust Papa on this you stay inside, my little bat.”

“(Y/n) says you should let me outside more.”

“Oh yeah they really–said…that?”

“Yeah! And that you need to properly comb out my hair you can’t leave it a tangled mess.”

“Hahaha yeah.”

He believes in ghosts, well he knows they exist

So he believes thats what that is about 

And if thats the case than maybe if he suggests somethings for your kid to recite

Maybe he can still reach out to you

“Hey! Hey! Maybe the next time you see them can you tell her how much Daddy loves her?”

[oddyseye]

Things I did NOT like in the Ithaca Saga.

Okay, it was fine, but there were just...choices... There’s just stuff in that section that had me rolling my eyes so hard I thought they’d get stuck.

First up: "Hold Them Down." I get that Epic is trying to make the suitors worse villains, but the way they went about it was disgusting. That song outright says the suitors were planning to force themselves on Penelope, which is not even remotely in the Odyssey. Yes, the suitors are terrible — they’re greedy, arrogant, would-be killers who exploit her hospitality — but this crosses a line that feels like shock value rather than staying true to the source material. They included that song, but erased Calypso’s actions toward Odysseus? In the Odyssey, she held him captive for years and forced him into a relationship. That is literally such an important part of the story. Yet, not only did Epic omit it, but they also banned people from even discussing it in their Discord server. How does that make sense? You can explore one kind of assault but not acknowledge the other, especially when the one they ignored was actually canon? The double standard is infuriating, and it completely undermines the narrative’s integrity. Yet somehow this suitor nonsense made the cut? Make it make sense, because I can’t. Next, Telemachus. Why did they do my boy so dirty? In the Odyssey, he was brave, capable, and growing into his own. He fought beside Odysseus, killed suitors, and even comes this close to stringing Odysseus’ old bow, which is supposed to be impossible for anyone but...well. Odysseus. That’s a huge moment! It shows how much he’s grown and how much of Odysseus’ strength and legacy he carries within him. But in Epic? They turned him into some weak, helpless little thing who can’t do anything without Odysseus. Like, hello? Telemachus isn’t just Odysseus’ son; he’s a fighter, a prince, and a man trying to defend his home. Stripping that away to make Odysseus look like more of a hero is just lazy and disrespectful to the original story. They took away his courage, his growth, and his ability to hold his own. It’s like they didn’t trust the audience to see Odysseus as a hero unless Telemachus was made to look useless by comparison. And then we get to Odysseus and Athena. What even was that? Yes, the idea that Odysseus has become a “monster” is a fascinating angle—he’s been through so much that revenge, violence, and survival have completely overtaken who he once was. But Ithaca does nothing to earn this shift, and it outright ignores the groundwork laid in earlier sagas. Two sagas ago, we saw Odysseus at his lowest. He was stranded on Calypso’s island, completely defeated, and begging Athena for help. Let me say that again: begging. And this wasn’t just any goddess he was calling out to — this was the mentor who had abandoned him as a student. She had walked away, and he still reached out, still trusted her to save him when no one else could. That moment showed Odysseus’ faith in Athena and their deep, complicated bond. Calypso.

And Athena? She didn’t just listen—she fought for him. She went up against Zeus himself to make sure Odysseus could leave that island. She defied the king of the gods because she believed in him. Odysseus doesn’t know that detail, but we do, and it makes her devotion to him so much more impactful. She risked everything to give him another chance at life, at home, at redemption.

Fast-forward to Ithaca, and what do we get? Athena shows up, vulnerable and introspective, questioning the path they’ve taken and the world they’ve built, and Odysseus just brushes her off. He doesn’t just say no — he dismisses her entirely. His response boils down to, “Not my problem. I’ve got a wife to see.” Excuse me, now? This is the same man who was crying out for her intervention just two sagas ago. The same man whose survival has always depended on his intelligence, resourcefulness, and the help of others — Athena most of all. Now he’s too proud to even engage with her? It doesn’t track. It’s inconsistent, and it cheapens their relationship. She’s opening her heart, showing her vulnerability, wondering if there’s still a way for them to fix what they’ve broken. She didn’t owe him anything, but she did it because she believed in him, because she had invested in him from the start. So for him to now completely disregard her — when she’s in front of him, showing empathy and pain — feels like a betrayal of everything that came before. Odysseus’ monster arc didn’t need to erase Athena. In fact, rejecting the one person who literally raised him, who fought for him, who saved him so many times, doesn’t even make sense for his character. That’s not the arc of a man who’s become a monster; that’s just cruelty for cruelty’s sake.

This is someone who has given everything to Odysseus, and in this moment, she’s realizing that the person she fought for is no longer the man she thought he was. And that’s what’s tragic.

But Ithaca doesn’t explore that. Instead, it uses Odysseus’ rejection as a cheap plot point, stripping away the emotional weight of his relationship with Athena. She was the woman who raised him, who guided him, who saved him — and they reduced her to a mere plot device to show how “monster-ified” Odysseus has become. It’s lazy, it’s cruel, and it completely disregards the depth of their bond. The pain in Athena’s voice, the heartbreak in her words, is completely wasted.

Odysseus doesn’t need to be a monster who rejects Athena to be a tragic figure. The tragedy would have been in him choosing revenge and violence at the cost of his humanity, not in cutting ties with the one person who raised him into the hero he became. Ithaca could’ve explored that, but instead, it gave us a shallow, hollow portrayal that didn’t respect the characters, their history, or the emotional weight of their relationship. Ithaca is a hot mess, and it’s honestly embarrassing. It had all this potential, and yet it chose to phone it in with lazy writing and shallow plot twists. It throws out big ideas and then does nothing with them, leaving us with empty, unearned moments that just fall flat. Instead of digging into anything meaningful, it relies on cheap drama to get a reaction. The story feels rushed, disconnected from the other sagas, and like the creators couldn’t be bothered to put in the work. They had an opportunity to make something impactful and then just decided to half-ass it. If you're looking for a mess of missed potential, Ithaca is your go-to. That being said, the songs are sick and I will sob again over the last song. Thank you.

[flaggermuser]

Pour Some Sugar

1,334 words || AU, Bakerverse timeline, Thinly Veiled Threat, Patriot is her own warning, Baking, Fluff, Sex Mentioned, Patriot/The Deep, Patriot & Reader, Homelander/Reader, Homelander/Baker ||

A little gift for @hom3landr & her Baker - this fits in with her Bakerverse.

Border by Saradika

“Well, don’t you smell sweeter than brown sugar.”

You still the second you hear that distinctive voice, quaking as you slowly begin to turn around, coming face to face with her.

Patriot.

Long blonde tresses cascade over her shoulders, a wolfish grin on her cherry red lips and a fierce look in her captivating blue eyes; she’s the last woman in the world you’d want to be alone with. Homelander hasn’t held back his feelings about the Seven’s newest addition.

“Can I help you?” You ask, trying to stand your ground but shrinking when she steps closer.

“You can. Homelander raves about your baking; I’ve even had a chance to taste your pastries. They were utterly divine, to die for.”

The way her eyes run over you - you’re not sure if she’s here for any other reason than to eat you alive. Either way, you’re terrified of her and, more specifically, her intentions.

“I’m glad you liked them,” your voice shakes, not fully believing the sincerity of the compliment.

“Convinced me that you’d be the perfect person to help me with this little task,” she steps closer.

“You see, I have this ‘family recipe’ from my ‘grandma’,” she says with air quotes. “It’s for sugar cookies, and I want to make them for my Sugar Cookie, but I’m having a problem getting them right.”

Sugar Cookie - her pet name for The Deep.

Another thing Homelander has been incredibly vocal to you about. At Vought Tower, they’ve been very open about their relationship, and from what you’ve heard, it won’t be long until it’s made public, with Vought’s marketing team has been working on the ‘exclusive’.

You notice she starts pouting, and suddenly, you become aware that you’ve not said anything for a while. Whether it’s from fear or because your mind has wandered, you don’t know.

“You will help me, won’t you? It’ll mean so much to him. And I’m sure Prince Charming would be happy to hear that you’ve been so accommodating.”

You nod despite your inner terror, nervously taking the recipe from her hand and reading it carefully. It’s an old recipe from the late 1950s or early 1960s, a period of baking you’re not fluent in, but you’re not a novice either. Yet there’s something about it that bothers you.

It’s her grandma’s recipe? But she was born in a lab?

“It should be easy to make; I can have them ready for you by-”

“Ah, ah, ah.” She waggles a finger in your face. “You’re not making them for me; you’re helping me make them. I want him to know I made them for him especially.”

The idea of spending the afternoon helping her bake in your kitchen fills you with nothing but pure dread. This is your safe space, a little paradise where you make delicious baked goods for Homelander. She tilts her head, those unhinged eyes tinged with curiosity.

“How do you feel about flying?”

Patriot’s penthouse is imposing.

The dark green walls and hardwood floors are complimented by tasteful furniture, the exact opposite of what you expected. Despite her earlier question about flying, she didn’t carry you here; you’d been very forthcoming with your fear.

And she’d just… accepted it.

She was more than happy to let you make your own way to Vought Tower, which further exacerbated the unsettling feeling currently taking up residency in your gut.

“There you are! I almost thought you wouldn’t make it.”

She appears almost from nowhere, no longer dressed in her suit but in civilian clothes: checkered pyjama bottoms, a Deep Thought with The Deep tank top, and no bra.

She’s very well endowed.

“Follow me; I’ll show you the kitchen.”

Her kitchen is lavish, the kind of kitchen you’ve dreamed about, fitted with the latest appliances. It would be perfect for opening a bakery, but you know everything here costs more than what you make in a year.

“Don’t be shy,” she coos gently, carefully grabbing your arm and tugging you closer. “You can stand next to me. I don’t bite, well, I won’t bite you.”

She gives you a toothy grin - flashing her teeth nearly threateningly.

All the ingredients are already laid out, and you spy a bin brimming with burnt and malformed cookies. At least she wasn’t lying about her motives to get you here.

“Now, how do we proceed?”

Baking with Patriot has been an eye-opening experience.

You’ve gone from terrified to cordial, something dancing along the border of friendly. Clearly, there is more to Patriot than meets the eye and some vulnerability lingering just below the surface, but that has been kept out of your reach.

“They are perfect!” She squeals, pulling the cookies out of the oven.

You hover behind her, directing her towards the kitchen island and, more importantly, the cooling rack. 

“They’ll need to cool for a little while,” you say, doing your best to hang back and watch while she carefully moves the baking paper from the tray to the rack.

She’s giddy with excitement and very pleased with her work, and her reaction makes your chest swell with pride. You’ve never considered teaching someone else to bake, but from what you’ve seen today, it might be an avenue worth exploring. 

“While they cool, we can start making the-”

You stop midsentence when you see Homelander saunter into the kitchen, his eyes shifting between you and Patriot. He must have smelt the baking or you and come to investigate. He stands there, hands behind his back and a slight hint of disappointment in his eyes.

“I didn’t know you were going to be in the tower today,” he nearly huffs. “I thought you’d give me a heads up.”

You swallow, preparing your answer, only for Patriot to interject before you begin.

“She didn’t know she was going to be here either,” she rolls her eyes. “I needed some help baking, and seeing as you’re constantly raving about her, I thought I’d ask for expert help.”

‘Expert help’ - that makes you stand straight and proud, still avoiding Homelander’s gaze.

She scoffs, “Drop the betrayed act. She would have told you she was coming but probably didn’t want to worry you. After all, she’s been spending the afternoon with this ‘unhinged, big-titted, airheaded bitch.’”

Now that makes Homelander falter and makes you cringe - it’s probably one of the kinder things he’s called her.

“Look,” she continues, turning her body and looking between you and Homelander. “Once she’s finished here, I’m sure she’ll be happy to spend the evening with you.”

Homelander nods, shooting you a look of concern just as he leaves, glancing at you cautiously while he leaves. He obviously came here not only out of disappointment but also of worry for your safety.

“Now, you were talking about making icing.”

Warily, you enter Homelander’s penthouse with a box full of iced sugar cookies as a peace offering.

You’d usually send him a message when you were heading to the tower, but you’d been so preoccupied with your fear that Patriot was luring you into a dangerous situation that the notion had bypassed you completely. Immediately, you’re pulled into a tight hug, the box hitting the ground.

“I was so worried about you,” Homelander mumbles into your hair. “What possessed you to help her?”

“She came by my apartment and asked… nicely. I was apprehensive about baking with her in my kitchen because that’s where I bake for you.”

He releases you from the hug, only to take your face in his hands and look deep into your eyes. “Just… next time, please let me know. I don’t want anything to happen to you.”

A kiss on your forehead has you closing your eyes and smiling. His protectiveness warms your heart, and it’s one of the many reasons why you love Homelander.

The little heartfelt moment, however, is ruined by the sounds of animalistic sex coming through the shared wall of Homelander’s penthouse, making you both cringe.

“He liked the cookies then.”

[sunonyoreface]

He Knows - Simon “Ghost” Riley Pt. 14

An: Well, it only took 36,000 words to get here, but here we are! It's a long one and I had so much fun writing this part, so I hope you like it!

*Edit: I will be putting this series on a short pause for a few weeks so I have time to catch up on school. Thanks for understanding :)

Hi there, this is a series about Simon Riley from COD. This series does not follow any of the established plots or timelines from the games. While I use the names of some characters, they are different from the ones in COD.

Summary: You’re held captive by 141 for reasons unknown.

Word count: 6100

Pairing: Simon “Ghost” Riley x Reader

Warnings: 18+, Smut, nsfw, angst, military setting, explicit language, graphic depictions of violence, use of guns.

Image credit: @ave661 (they're amazing!!)

I’ve never shot a gun before, but as I hold Ghost’s in my hand, I try to imagine what it will feel like.

The weapon is like solid lead in my hands. I weigh my options as I click the safety on and off. I feel like a broken scale and I’m indecisive at heart. Tonight is no different.

I twist the weapon around to get a better look at the black coating. It’s well taken care of. Everything Ghost does is so meticulous and thought out. So, to see him leave the cabin in such a haste is cause for concern on its own. Did my words really affect him that much? Or was that all his own doing?

Part of me wonders if he’s watching through the window. Does he think I’d risk attempting to shoot him? I could turn the gun around in my hand. He wouldn’t expect that. None of them would. But then neither of us would get what we want. I’d never see my family again. There’s no satisfaction in the thought.

I also know I couldn’t kill anyone else either. No matter the harm they’ve done. There’s already so much pain in the world. Who am I to add to it? Who am I to decide who gets to live or die? I’m no God.

Yet, I can’t help but wonder if the world would be better off without men like him.

So, I set the gun back down on the table. And then I pick it up again. I slide the magazine out and take each bullet. I slip them into my pillowcase. This is as much power as I take back tonight. Whatever Ghost does if or when he returns is all on him. I am staying as far from this game as possible. I never wanted any part. There are enough men dead because of me.

I sleep with the sound of bullets quietly rubbing and clinking against each other beneath my skull. When I feel his hand cold against my skin, I swear I see Death himself.

The ragged gasp for air feels like my first breath. My heart is racing. I feel the hot, meaty muscle as it climbs its way up my throat and suffocates me as it beats against my windpipe. Thump, thump, thump. My eyes immediately lock on the ominous shadow.

Ghost slowly retracts his hand. He smells like sweat and the outdoors. The cold scent lingers on his clothes and mixes with the smell of burning wood present in the cabin.

Moonlight filters in through the window and mixes with the warm glow of the fire. Between the two, I can just make out the watchful eyes behind the balaclava. He sits on the edge of the bed with both hands now resting on his thighs. I didn’t even feel the dip.

I sit up and pull my knees to my chest and away from him.

“How long were you there?” I don’t expect much of a response. I don’t know if I want one. Once I open this door, there are only so many places it can lead.

“A while,” Ghost’s voice is quiet and strained. He says he’s been here a while, yet his hands are still cold. Or maybe I just imagined they were cold. None of this feels real anymore, only my drumming heart demanding resolve. “Where are the bullets for my handgun?” his question catches me off guard. I didn’t think he’d notice so soon. Maybe he has been here a while? Maybe he already knows. I glance at the table to see the shadows of the weapons in the same spot as before, visibly untouched.

“I hid them,” I say without making eye contact. If I do, he’ll know for certain where they are. There’s something about him that’s almost angelic in the way he reads people. It’s utterly terrifying.

“Why?”

“I’m not sure anymore,”

“Y/n, you know I’m not going to shoot you,” It almost comes out like a question. I know, in theory at least. He can’t shoot me because he needs me, but does that mean he won’t?

Part of me knows he won’t because there are better ways to kill a person. Cleaner ways. More personal ways. They could make it look like an accident. 141 could erase me from existence - make it look like I was never born - if they haven’t already.

“Why are we doing this?” my voice is barely audible. His actions over the last day have left me feeling more confused than ever. First, he says it was all a part of his plan and now he’s saying it wasn’t. Deciphering the truth has become more frustrating than ever. 

“Could you recognize the men who did this to you?” I hear the strain in his voice again, like he’s holding back.

“I was blindfolded,”

“Their voices?”

I shake my head. “They all blend together,” A pent-up breath escapes my chest. “It doesn’t matter anymore.”

“It does,” he lowly urges. “Y/n, I need you to know what happened to you was unacceptable. That was never the plan. You were to be kept on a low dose of drugs for a limited amount of time, just enough to disorient you. What they did – those marks on your skin – should have never happened. Never,” He insists. I wrap my arms around my knees as he shifts closer. An anxious feeling creeps up the back of my neck. “I can’t punish them if I don’t know who they are.”

“I don’t want more people getting hurt because of me,” I finally look at him. He leans toward me with one hand resting on the bed. There’s a nervousness in the air. 

“Not because of you. Actions have consequences,” he says. “Their behaviour will be corrected.”

“Please don’t,” I quietly beg as I shift onto my knees. I take a risk and gingerly grab onto his forearm. “It’s not worth it,” I’m livid it happened in the first place, but their punishment is just spreading the pain around in my name. I don’t want that. I want it to end.

“If I don’t, it’ll happen again,” Ghost says as he looks down at my hand. His words are resolute. There’s a sinking feeling in my stomach. His strong arm is tense under the henley, but I don’t pull away.

“What about the man behind this one?” I reach to pull my shirt over my shoulder. His soulful eyes latch onto the bruised skin. Ghost’s chest heaves with a deep sigh. He knew this was coming.

“He needs more than just correction,” Ghost’s eyes are glued to the marks.

“Like what?” I risk the question. It’d be so easy for him to shut me out. To turn around and leave. But I need to know. What kind of a person is he? How does he perceive his own cruelty? I silently pray he stays. 

“Only Hell can help him,” Simon finally looks up. His eyes are filled to the brim with so many emotions, they’re hard to discern. But what stands out the most is how much pain is evident behind that mask.

“I don’t believe that,” I grip his arm tighter. Part of me is afraid of his answer. I don’t know the truth behind his words. I only have a small idea of the violence he’s capable of. I’ve only glanced through a crack in the window of pain he’s caused and even that was significant.

“You don’t know half the things I’ve done, y/n,” his hands tighten into fists. 

“I’ve cut, burned, fucking butchered people without a second thought. I kill men. It brings me so much pleasure to watch those animals die, y/n. I’m not someone who can live without violence,” Ghost starts to tremor. ”There are only so many places for a man like me.”

I shake my head. “I don’t…I don-”

“Believe it,” Ghost cuts me off. “Look at what I did to you,” he moves closer as his other hand reaches up to my exposed arm. Ghost’s fingers lightly trace the bruises. His hands are hot, different from how I remembered them moments ago. There’s a warmth to him, even if he refuses to acknowledge it. Part of me wants to make excuses for him: that it was the heat of the moment, or because I knowingly withheld information that put us all at risk. That doesn’t make it okay. None of this is okay. My moral lines have become so blurred within the last several weeks, it’s hard to know when they’ve been crossed.

I don’t know what to say to him. I focus on the feeling of his gentle fingers on my arm.

“It was the only thing that fixed my father,” His voice deepens. I’m not prepared for where this conversation is about to go. I feel my heart racing in my chest, ready to break free. “I used to hate him for the things he did, how he’d hurt my brother and mum. Fuck, would he hurt her. He hated her and took every ounce of hate out on that woman. He left her beaten and bruised for years,” Ghost wraps his hand around my arm, under the dark bruise. “And look at me now. Look what I’ve done to you. You don’t deserve this.”

My throat tightens and I feel tears prick at my eyes. I tilt my head back and force them down. I feel his careful gaze follow down my neck, across my collarbones, then land on the damning marks above his fingers.

“You’re better than he is, Simon,” it’s barely a whisper.

“You don’t know me,” Ghost’s voice cracks.

“Maybe not. But you’re here right now. And that tells me all I need to know,” our eyes lock together. I see the distress behind his mask. How he so badly wants to believe me. “Simon, I forgive you.”

“You shouldn’t. You don’t know how this ends, y/n,” he murmurs. I shift closer to him again so that our legs rest against each other. His breathing deepens at our proximity. His hand leaves my arm to wrap around a strand of hair. He examines it quietly, his thumb slowly tracing the length.

I feel the heat and tension radiating from his body, yet find myself strangely at ease in his presence. He cares. He won’t dare say it, but I can feel it in his gentle touches, the way he looks at me when he thinks I’m not paying attention. He had my back when his men were making crude jokes in the van. I think of his concern for me when we were at the last safehouse and I didn’t have shoes. How he lingered to make sure I was okay. How he gave me an extra blanket and touched my shoulders when everyone else was sleeping. I remember when he immediately noticed something was off after the prisoner confronted me. The first thing he did was make sure I was okay. He’s always cared.

My heart still races, but not because I’m scared. My fear has morphed into a more dangerous emotion. One I can’t say out loud. One that would put both of our lives in danger.

When I look into his dark eyes, I see them mirroring my own. Shadowy pools of desire lap at his irises.

“Y/n,” he warns as I look up at him. His eyes flicker down to my bottom lip brawn between my teeth.

“Can I lift your mask?” his head starts to shake even before I’ve finished speaking. “Just a little,” my voice is barely audible. The warm glow of the fire bounces off the walls. Ghost is tinted red. He tilts his head down, searching my eyes. Part of him is still reluctant to trust me. There have been so many people in his life who’ve betrayed him, who’s to say I won’t do the same?

“Ok,” he whispers, dropping the strand of hair.

My hands meet the hem of the balaclava, resting just above his sternum. I slowly roll the fabric up, leaving time for him to stop me. This is the first time he’s ever allowed another person to do this. I feel his vulnerability with each shaky breath. The backs of my fingers trace along his neck as I move the fabric. The scruff that lines his neck and jaw brush against my hands. His adam’s apple bobs as he forces down a nervous swallow. “Just a little more.”

I move the mask just above his jaw. Like the rest of him, it’s sharp and strong. Dark hairs fill in the space after missing his daily shave. Ghost’s hands move to my outer thighs and his thumbs rub along my skin with a reassuring pressure. I bring the mask over his lips and rest the excess material over his nose. Ghost presses his full, slightly chapped lips together as he watches my eyes roam his face.

Part of me wonders why hasn’t he stopped me. Does he yearn for the same type of connection? Does he think about me in the dead of night with wandering hands? Is this something we’ll use against each other in the future? Will there be a future? All of this is a bad idea. But I can’t help the longing. The yearning. How badly I want to feel his hands on my bare skin. Tangled in my hair. Reaching the darkest parts of me.

When I look up, his eyes are so incredibly intense, it’s impossible to look away. A large hand cups my cheek and wraps around the back of my head. Neither of us dares to move any further. We stay frozen in a state of almost vulnerability. It’s not too late to turn back.

It’s hard to see where his irises end and pupils begin, they’re so dark. His eyes hold every word he’s too afraid to say. Words are dangerous. They confirm every want and desire. I’m no braver than he is, not by a mile. I bite the inside of my cheek to stop myself from saying something I’ll regret.

Ghost leans down and rests his masked forehead against mine. The soft fabric presses into my face. His nose tenderly brushes against my own.

“Y/n,” he murmurs as his thumb tenderly traces along my skin. “You have no idea the things you do to me,” I feel goosebumps run down my back at his low, sultry voice. Simon’s cool breath fans against the nape of my neck.

The air between us is charged with tension. I feel a heat start to burn low in my stomach.

Ghost doesn’t move any closer. He has aired his desires. Now it’s my turn. How far do I want this to go? How far am I willing to take it? Nothing happens unless I initiate.

I run my hand along his strong jaw as I lean forward. I hesitantly brush against his lips, providing one last opportunity for us to turn back. Simon ghosts his lips above my own. My muscles tense in anticipation and my breathing is fast and shallow. I loop a finger through his belt loop and pull him closer. 

Ghost takes this as permission and gently presses his lips onto mine. The kiss is soft and fearful and longing. After a breath, I pull away ever so slightly to read his eyes. They open slowly and linger on my lips for a moment longer. Ghost swallows thickly before looking up. There’s an insatiable hunger swimming in those dark pools of desire.

I long for those hot August days spent on the poolside almost as much as I long for him to drag me under the surface. I feel Ghost’s calloused hands moving up the side of my body like waves. Shivers run along my spine. My senses feel heightened. My lungs burn as icy water floods every cavity. I want him to hold me under until every breath of air is stolen from my lips.

Ghost shifts onto his knees and slowly stalks above me. His moves are calculated and predatory. There is only one thing he is on the hunt for. Only one thing that can fully satisfy his appetite.

I lean back as he moves closer until I’m fully pressed against the bed. Ghost leans down on his elbows as his knee urges my legs apart. A dull pulse throbs in my lower stomach. A large hand brushes the hair out of my face as he leans closer.

The kiss is harder this time, needier. Simon’s breath is hot against my mouth. My lungs smoulder with each breath, threatening to burst into flames. I run my hand under the back of his mask into his hair. I want more of him.

“Sweetheart,” my heart skips at the name. “How far can I take this?” his hands cup the side of my face. There’s a different type of seriousness in his eyes that I haven’t seen before.

“All the way,” I watch as he licks his lips in anticipation. “I want all of you.”

“No,” he shakes his head. “I have to be gentle with you,” but I don’t want him to be gentle. I want every pent-up emotion branded into my skin with an iron rod. He’s held back so much from me. I want everything out in the open.

“All of you,” I repeat, brushing my thumb against his jaw.

“Y/n,” he warns as his lips brush against my ear. There’s an exciting sharpness to his tone.

“Don’t hide from me,” I whisper.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” he holds his head up to search my face. There’s genuine fear behind his eyes, but as they flicker down at my lips again there’s an even stronger desire. Once he starts, he doesn’t know if he’ll be able to stop. Every part of his life is so disciplined, that once he relinquishes control, all self-restraint is gone.

“I trust you,” I trace my thumb above his full lips, pausing in the center. His brows furrow, waiting for me to take my words back, change my mind, tell him I don’t mean it. But I do. “I trust you, Simon.”

He uses the last of his restraint to search my eyes one last time. There’s no uncertainty, no fear or hesitancy. I want all of him. Need all of him. Desire burns within my core and he is the only one who can satisfy it. 

His lips are hot and fervorous. Ghost’s eager fingertips drag across my pliable flesh as his hands skim under the hem of my shirt. I want to feel his touch everywhere, my lips, my neck, arms, and chest. I need him everywhere. I want to be consumed by him.

His sweet tongue slips between my lips. It’s a natural motion I welcome with my own. He’s gentle at first, cautious even. But then the hunger grabs a hold of him. His teeth latch onto my bottom lip and pull. Dark eyes test the waters as he gauges my reaction. How far can he really go? A small gasp escapes my chest and I almost miss the corner of his mouth twitching into a devious grin. 

“When I tell you to do something, say yes sir,” his husky voice whispers into my ear as a large hand lightly wraps around my throat.

“Okay,” I respond. He’s not the only one testing the waters. I feel the strong hand tighten ever so slightly. I can’t help a sly smile at his reaction. “Yes sir,” the words noticeably arouse him. Ghost draws in a deep breath as he drags his bottom lip between his teeth. I think of all the times I offhandedly called him that the last several weeks. I wish I knew what a hold it had on him. “Is that better, sir?” I tease.

“You’re trouble,” his tone is suggestive. I love the feeling of his hot breath hitting my neck. I want to feel it drift even lower.

Ghost’s hands are back at the hem of my shirt. He gently tugs at the fabric and I take the signal to sit up and slide it off. I toss it to the side as his eyes take in my figure. I notice how they falter on some of the larger bruises, but in another instant, they’re back on me.

“Fuckin’ hell,” he murmurs.

His rough hands travel up my torso - taking care to avoid the bruised areas - as his lips find my neck. He starts off slow, deeply kissing me behind the ear, before moving towards the nape as he begins to suck on my tender skin. One hand begins to tenderly massage my breasts. I feel my eyes flutter shut with pleasure, but then a small part of me remembers I don’t want marks left above the hem of my shirt, especially these kinds of marks.

“Your turn,” I tug on the bottom of his henley.

“That’s not how you ask,” he mumbles as his teeth rake against my skin.

“Please, sir?” he thoughtfully hums against my neck.

Ghost sits up as he straddles me to pull his shirt off with one hand. My breathing hitches. He is stunning. Years of relentless work have shaped him into the machine he is today. Ghost is built like a predator. Strong, sturdy, and sharp. Scars from past challengers and victims litter his chest like medals. His tattoo wraps around the entire length of his arm, around his shoulder, and spanning across half his chest. I’m left speechless as he leans down to meet me again.

My hands unapologetically travel across his vast chest. His muscles flex under the pads of my fingers and I’m reminded of just how strong he is. But I don’t get far, Ghost grabs both wrists with one hand and pins them above my head. He enjoys looking down at me, completely under his power. There’s something about our size difference that is thrilling. He is in complete control. He can do whatever he wants.

Ghost’s lips return where they left off, slowly moving down my delicate body. Past my neck, down my sternum, and right to the spot he is looking forward to the most. His other hand wraps around my back, finding the clasp to my bra. His eyes peer up through his mask, looking to me for permission to keep going. I give him a small nod and immediately I feel the release of the band. He slides the bra up my arms, letting go of my wrists only to free us of it once and for all before grabbing them again. Ghost’s other hand returns to my back, urging me to arch my chest to his lips.

Sharp teeth nip at my soft breasts between deep kisses that are certain to leave more bruises. Ghost adds more pressure to my back as he pushes me closer. He takes his tantalizing time teasing me with his tongue as it swirls around my nipple before the abrupt feeling of his teeth pulling on my skin takes over. I can’t help the gasp that escapes my lips. I press my lips together to hide my heavy breathing, but it doesn’t get past him.

“Let me hear you, sweetheart,” he tastes the tender skin. “No one around for miles.”

Both his hands wrap around my waist as he pulls me flush against his chest. I take the opportunity to run a hand along the waistband of his pants, slipping a finger just under the edge of the fabric. Ghost pauses as his chest heaves from the movement. I grab his jaw and guide his lips to mine again, mimicking his previous movements by tugging on his lower lip with my teeth. I can’t help the growing smile on my face.

“I’m gonna make you feel so good, sweetheart,” his hand trails down my stomach, slipping between my pants and underwear. Two thick fingers circle around me above the thin piece of fabric with growing pressure. My head sinks back into the pillow as my breathing becomes more jagged. Sparks fill my vision from the intense pressure. 

“Oh fuck,” I whimper from his touch. His eyes are intent on my face as they watch the pleasure wash over me.

“That’s a good girl,” he says eagerly. “Wet for me already?”

My thoughts are too twisted to come up with a smart response. I press harder against him for more traction. If only he knew how much I’ve thought about his hands and all the things his fingers can do.

While slipping a hand under the fabric, he leans down letting his lips press against my neck. Our bare chests brush against each other and his other hand winds through my hair. Ghost fists the strands against the back of my head and slowly pulls back, further exposing my neck for better access. I feel the edge of his teeth take my tender flesh between them. I imagine the marks that will litter down my neck leading across my chest.

A thick finger slips into me while his thumb focuses on my clit. The feeling is so intense I can’t help the moans escaping from deep within my throat. Ghost pulls harder on my hair. A deep chuckle reverberates through his chest. He’s enjoying this. 

I wrap a hand around his belt, pushing the leather through the loop, ready to pull it off, but then a large hand clasps over mine.

“So soon?” Ghost teases. The intense pressure of his other hand leaves between my legs as he slides his belt off. The buckle jingles as he twists the leather into itself. When I look down, I realize what he’s created.

There are two spaces for a set of hands to slide through while the belt acts as a pair of handcuffs.

“Simon,” his name is breathy on my tongue.

“Arms up,” he orders.

I raise my hands above my head and feel the leather restraints slip over my fists. “Not tight,” I tell him. His eyes glance down at me and he seems to understand. He pulls the leather band, leaving just enough space that I could escape if I really needed to, before looping the leather back through the buckle.

“Okay?” he whispers and I nod my head in response. “Atta girl,” the side of his mouth quirks up.

I watch Simon trail his thoughtful lips down my torso. He pauses at each bruise, pressing a tender kiss lightly on top of each one. Butterflies swarm inside my stomach. I never thought I’d see such a man be so gentle.

Simon’s thumbs rub in circles over the corner of my hips as he makes his way even lower. There’s a growing anticipation between my legs as I wrap one around his back, pulling him closer.

The black mask lowers between my legs. Swollen lips kiss the inside of my thighs. The edge of his teeth grazes the tender flesh. I draw in a sharp gasp as he bites down. Hard. A full pain throbs along my inner thighs. His previous gentleness slips away. This will leave a bruise lasting for days.

“These are the only marks I want to see on your skin,” his passionate eyes look up from between my legs. The black balaclava covers the rest of his face aside from his lips. How I’d love to run my hands through his hair.

Simon’s arms wrap around my legs to hold me down by my hips. I grasp the belt with whitened knuckles as he moves up, leaving another mark, but not before pressing an apologetic kiss to the area. Small whimpers escape my tight throat as he switches legs and leaves a growing trail of marks closer and closer to the hem of my underwear. I want him to make me feel good again.

“Please Simon,” I feel his lips humorously twitch against my skin.

He pulls away and all of his delicious warmth leaves with him. Simon rests on his knees, his eyes hungrily taking in the sight before him. All I can think about is the heat of his hands as they travel over my skin. Fuck, I need him. I need him everywhere. In the darkest parts of my body and soul.

A rough thumb traces over my lips. “You still want this?” there’s doubt in his voice, like he’s expecting me to change my mind.

“So, fucking bad,” my lips move against his thumb. I take him in my mouth, swirling my tongue around the thick digit, lightly starting to suck on him.

“Fuck, y/n,” he mutters under his breath. His other hand slides beneath his jeans as I press my mouth further down on his thumb. But I don’t let him relish in the feeling.

“I need you, Simon,” I murmur. “Please, sir,” my voice is breathy and desperate.

I can feel the need pooling between my thighs. I ache for his touch.

His hands light my skin on fire as he slips my underwear off, pulling them down my legs. Simon wastes no time stepping out of his jeans, his large erection straining against his boxers.

“Of all thing things I’ve wanted to do to you,” he cups himself over the fabric. I wait for him to expand on his thoughts, but he doesn’t, simply leaving them to hang in the thick air.

Simon grasps himself over his boxes, slowly stroking as he watches me. My eyes never leave his. I feel the growing heat of the fire burning within me. With every stroke, he stokes the flames.

He leans down, lips hovering above mine. One hand gently holds my cheek while the other wraps around his tip. “Tell me if it’s too much,” he breathes into my mouth before tenderly meeting my lips. A small vein of nervousness is present at the back of my mind, but I channel all of my attention into my growing desire.

Simon adjusts his position as the boxers slide down. The anticipation is too much. He bites his bottom lip as the head of his cock traces my entrance. My heart is pounding. My hands grasp at the belt.

“Relax,” he glances up at me. “You’re tense.”

A gentle hand massages my inner thighs along the bite marks he left. The length of his shaft glides across my clit, sending tingles up my spine.

“Simon-”

“Look at me y/n. I want to see your face when I stretch you out,” my breathing falters at his words. I dare to look him in the eyes just as he pushes in for the first time. Fucking hell.  The feeling is completely unmatched. My breathing is heavy. Simon’s thumbs rub reassuring circles along my inner thighs to ease the sensation between my legs.

“Oh God,” I whimper, tensing around his thick tip. His eyes hungrily watch my expression, burning it to memory. The amount of pleasure he gets from watching is almost equal to that of participating. Simon’s fingers circle my clit with a heavy pressure. I feel the throbbing intensify as he begins to push deeper. I hold back a whimper as he pushes deeper, stretching my tight walls around him.

“Fuck, y/n,” he growls. “You’re doing so good.”

Simon gently moves back before thrusting further in. My walls pulse around his thick cock as he picks up pace. My legs are wrapped around his broad back. One of his hands roughly kneads a breast as he bows his head into the nape of my neck. The metal dog tags hanging around his throat swing in the space between us, bouncing against my skin.

Simon’s breath is hot as it travels down my neck and across my chest. With every clench around him, I’m rewarded with soft needy moans into my ear as he nips at my lobes.

“You’re doing that on purpose,” his breathy voice rumbles against my neck. I feel the tightness in my stomach begin to build as he thrusts harder and his hands press into my clit. The world around me blurs. I’ve never been fucked this hard before. He feels so damn good; it’s like he was made just for me.

His hand drags across my breast, up to my neck as he wraps his strong fingers around the vulnerable area. I should’ve known he wants complete control. For so long he had none, now it rules every aspect of his life.

“You take me so well, y/n,” my name drips sweetly off his tongue like honey. I want to hear him say it over and over again. y/n. y/n. y/n. Fuck, does that sound good.

Every muscle in my body begins to tighten. My breathing quickens. My heart is racing. Every sense feels incredibly heightened. A lucid feeling begins to take over as Ghost’s grip around my throat tightens.

“Don’t go quiet on me now,” his hand moves to my jaw.

“I’m close,” I gasp as the blood rushes back to my face. My cheeks feel hot under his intense gaze. “Simon I-” his name rolls off my tongue, but I lose track of my thoughts. With every thrust, I feel him deeper in my soul. All of the pain. All of the tortures of our diverged pasts are melding together. Right now, I have all of him.

Simon keeps his pace but thrusts his throbbing cock even harder. The sound of skin hitting skin overtakes the crackling fire. The heat is almost too much. Like a flame under a tank of propane. Pressure builds under the heat, ready to combust.

“I, I-” fuck, I can’t think. It’s too much. His hands are tightly woven into my skin. My fingers are white against the leather. My heartbeat is so damn loud. My face twists towards the covers as my body writhes under his touch.

“Don’t look away now sweetheart,” his voice is so incredibly thick with need. “I’ll stop if you look away,”

His dark eyes are a whirlpool pulling me in. Suddenly I forget how to swim. Simon drags me under as his thick fingers wrap around the sensitive bundle of nerves. I gasp as my lungs breathe in water. His lips are heavy against my own. My vision darkens and no other pleasure in the world can match the burning sensations coursing through my veins. My orgasm is the sun’s light from the bottom of the ocean.

I break the surface as Simon’s hot lips hastily press against my forehead. His movements quicken and his grunts deepen. His hands roughly grab onto my waist as he thrusts into me with uneven, jarring movements.

“Fuck, Simon,” the whimper is soft against his skin and the cause of his undoing. His hard cock throbs against my walls once more as he collapses against me from pleasure and exhaustion. Simon’s heavy body lays limp on top of mine. The weight is comforting and safe. No one else in the world can touch me. Only him.

Simon reaches up to undo the belt and free my hands which find their way to his broad back. I trace invisible pictures across the vast space, skimming across old scars and the edge of his tattoo. His hand gently runs down the length of my hair, petting the top of my head. I feel my eyes begin to droop as sleep creeps up from behind me. I want him to hold me forever.

He pushes himself up on his elbows, arms caging me in as his dark eyes peer down at me. The emotions behind Simon’s eyes are too conflicted to decipher. A cautious thumb brushes along the side of my face. For a moment, he simply stares at me, trying to memorize everything that’s just happened and the gravity of it.

“Y/n, I need you to listen very closely,” he murmurs, pulling the balaclava back over his jaw. I feel my brows furrow as a different type of tension takes over.

“Okay,” my voice is barely audible.

“No one can ever know about this,” Ghost’s tone is soft, but I don’t miss the significance that is present. I pause to think about his words. Really think about them. What are the consequences of what we’ve just done? Our actions have just irreversibly complicated 141’s entire mission. Possibly even damaged it.

“What happens if they find out?”

Simon doesn’t respond. I feel a growing, hollow, cavity within me as I consider what happens to the people who interfere with their missions.

This was a mistake. A consequential mistake.

Pt 15:

[doumadono]

Are you going to look for a new hubby and let the past die with Dabi? I can't understand why people are so angry, he was just a fictional character after all 🤷🏻

CAUTION: A LONG RANT

I need to start by admitting something: I used to think manga was a thing for teenagers, a phase that people would grow out of eventually. For years, I dismissed it without giving it a proper chance. But almost two years ago, I let my curiosity win, and it turned out to be one of the best decisions I’ve ever made. Upon discovering My Hero Academia, I found myself diving headfirst into a world of characters, stories, and emotions that were far more layered and meaningful than I ever expected.

At first, Bakugo caught my attention. His abrasive personality and explosive demeanor were off-putting to some, but to me, he was fascinating. Here was someone with an undeniable drive, someone who never gave up no matter how many obstacles stood in his way. His goal-oriented nature and resilience resonated with me, even if he was rough around the edges. But then… Dabi entered the spotlight, and everything changed.

Falling for Dabi felt like a natural process, something that happened without me even realizing it. I’ve always had a soft spot for villains — for as long as I can remember, they’ve been the characters I gravitated toward. There’s something about their complexity, their pain, and the choices they make that intrigues me. So, it was inevitable that I would become a fan of both Dabi and Shigaraki. But with Dabi, it was different. I never knew it was possible to care for a fictional character as much as I came to care for him.

Dabi’s story was heartbreaking yet captivating, it was so complex that you were always curious what will happen next. His resilience, the way he carried himself with an air of defiance, even as his world crumbled around him. He wasn’t just a character; he was a mirror reflecting the struggles and scars of anyone who’s ever felt broken.

During some of the hardest times in my life, reading the chapters where he and the League of Villains appeared became a source of comfort and hope. Somehow, their presence was a mood lifter, a reminder that even in the face of darkness, there’s a fire that can keep burning. For that, I’ll always be grateful.

When I read the chapter where the words “slowly heading to death” were uttered, I had a sinking feeling in my chest. Deep down, I knew this would be his fate. As much as I hoped for the best, as much as I wanted Horikoshi to surprise us with a different outcome, a part of me braced for what felt inevitable. And when the confirmation came, it hurt more than I can put into words. I cried a river of tears for him. Not just for Dabi but for everything he represented to me. It felt like losing a close friend, someone who had been there for me through so much, even if only on the pages of a story.

If Dabi’s death is reduced to something that happens off-panel, during a time skip, then I can’t express how deeply disappointing and infuriating that would be. For a character as complex and integral as Dabi, such an abrupt dismissal would be a slap in the face to fans who invested so much in his journey. I wanted — no, needed — to see the aftermath of his passing, especially within the Todoroki family. That dynamic deserved to be explored. How did Endeavor, a character I admittedly like despite acknowledging his horrific history of domestic abuse and neglect, process the loss of his firstborn son? A son he irreparably broke, whether he wants to admit it or not.

And Rei — God, Rei. She was a mother forced to endure the unimaginable pain of losing her child not once, but twice. As someone who has lost a child myself, I know the soul-deep agony of such loss. It’s a pain that never leaves you, a sharp, searing blade that carves out a permanent hollow in your heart. To see Rei’s perspective, her grief, and her struggle to reconcile that pain, would have added so much depth and emotional weight to the story.

These are the nuances that could have made the Todoroki family saga feel complete — an honest portrayal of love, regret, and reconciliation in the wake of unbearable loss. But given how Horikoshi has treated the Todoroki family so far, I have no faith that we’ll ever get that closure. His tendency to sideline emotional arcs and sweep unresolved character threads under the rug is beyond frustrating. It’s like Horikoshi’s become the Thanos of his own creation, snapping away characters and narratives he can no longer be bothered to handle.

To me, Dabi was one of the most complex characters in My Hero Academia, second only to Shigaraki. The decision to deny him a proper redemption arc felt like a betrayal, a bitter reminder that sometimes, even the best stories don’t give you the closure you hope for. Horikoshi’s handling of Dabi’s arc — giving fans glimmers of hope only to snatch them away — was, frankly, cruel. Killing him off after dangling the possibility of survival was, in my opinion, a failure to fully explore the depth of the character he had created.

But even now, I know I’ll never stop loving Dabi — or the League of Villains as a whole. They brought so much light into some of my darkest moments. They reminded me of the beauty in imperfection, the strength in perseverance, and the power of standing your ground even when the world is against you.

In my mind, Dabi is safe. He’s happy. He’s finally found the peace and love he deserved, and no one can take that from me. The same goes for Shigaraki. To me, they have the happy ending they were robbed of in canon. That’s the reality I choose to believe in, and it’s a reality I’ll continue to write for.

So no, I’m not “moving on” or “finding a new favorite.” A dedicated fan doesn’t abandon their muse, even in death. Dabi, Shigaraki, and the League will always have a place in my heart, and I’ll continue to celebrate them through my writing. In my head and in my stories, they live on — free, loved, and content. And that’s how it will always be.

[aloesarchives]

JJK Drabble #3

Head empty with no thoughts other than thinking about in my “Toji Lives” AU, Reader/you has only imagined a life with Toji and ONLY Toji. It’s to a point that you never seen a future without him or have one with anyone else that wasn’t him. Because if not, your life wouldn’t be like what it is now…which meant you wouldn’t have Megumi nor Tsumiki if you haven’t met Toji.

Anyway, someone randomly mentions how there’s a possibility that in an alternate universe/timeline you and Toji wouldn’t be in love, married, and have a family. Stabbing the knife in your heart even further by mentioning Toji might have another family with another woman with Megumi as their only child. Furthermore, not only isn’t Toji not your husband in another universe/time but he would have another life without you in it.

The thought of in another reality Toji isn’t with you, has another family which also means Megumi and Tsumiki are not your children…Fuck, it hurts you so much to think about such a concept.

What makes it worse is that reality IS POSSIBLE and CAN HAPPEN(referring to the canon timeline).

So now, you’ve become high-key depressed and heartbroken because you are now overthinking about the idea your little family isn’t yours. The more you imagine that prospect, the more your overthinking thoughts make your heart throb with pain as an icy chill washes over you. Numbing you to your current reality that THEY are your FAMILY in this universe/timeline. But your head was too focused and wrapped up that it’s slowly kills your happiness.

Literally everybody is worried about you because this is the most devastated they’ve seen you at all. Satoru and Suguru hunted down the idiot who thought it was a good idea to even say something or gave that idea to you. Everyone else is trying to cheer you up but you brush it and tell them not to worry, which makes them even more worried about you.

Tsumiki and Megumi were the most concerned because that’s their mama who’s so heartbroken and it hurts them to see you so down in the dumps like that. And knowing their mama, the only other person that could get to you that either of them is their one and only papa, Toji. So the kiddos tell Toji your heartbroken state and how worried they are even after trying to make you feel better.

Toji is literally the last resort hope. He goes and finds you, having a pre-occupied stare and looking extremely out of it. He doesn’t want to startle you so he comes up behind you with a gruff but soft “Hey Doll”. Placing his hands on your shoulder and back so you can face him. Rubbing them in a comforting manner.

“Hey, heard you weren’t feeling yourself today? You think you could tell me what’s got you so down?”

You don’t say anything, but the way your eyes start to water and your bottom lip trembling gave it away. Toji would have gently coaxed you on so he can understand what’s got you like this. Then suddenly, you wrapped your arms around Toji’s neck, pulling him into a tight hug. The man doesn’t questioned it and holds you tightly, knowing you need it because he can tell you weren’t ready to tell what’s wrong yet. For some time, Toji lets you hold him tightly because he knows it brings you comfort and eases your stress.

“Anata…Do you think in another life…We would still be together…?”

The way your voice teetered of uncertainty and softness, and that nickname used you for him… Now he has a general idea of what made you so heartbroken because “Anata” is a nickname only reserved for Toji when it’s only you and him alone and either both of you are vulnerable.

“I don’t know for certain, Hon. I’d hope so every time…But I do know is in this lifetime, I will always find you and love ya to the end of my days. An’ remember, Tsumiki and Megumi are here with us too. Your family is here with you, (Y/N). We love you, don’t forget that, please…”

And that was enough to break the spell that held your mind captive. You ease up, calming down, pulling away slightly from your dear, loving, handsome husband. Looking at him so fondly and with much love.

Toji SMILES back at you, cupping your face gently with his callous hand. Using his thumb to softly wipe away the stray tear that fell from your pretty eyes. Leaning into his hand, holding it with both your own. You relish in Toji’s strong but gentle hold, his warmth always brought you great solace in ways no one else can.

Everyone sighs in relief, knowing you’re in a better mood and returning back to your regular self. Especially Megumi and Tsumiki, there’s something about seeing you genuinely smile and looking at their dad with such tenderness they know is only reserved for Toji and him alone that makes them smile to themselves and sigh in relief. The two of them walk up to you and Toji to which you opened your arms out to your children. Tsumiki and Megumi will never deny a hug from you so they go in and you hugged them both tightly against you, kissing their foreheads while saying loving affirmations to your children.

Toji smiles at his family before joining in on the hug, wrapping his huge muscular strong arms around you three. Basking in your husband and kids warmth, you didn’t know why you hyper-focused on the ‘what ifs’ of possible realities when this one you were living in, with your husband and kids, is YOUR current reality. So why fuss over the others when you have this one which is the one you wanted.

If there’s a possibility for them to not be your family in other realities, wouldn’t that mean there are possibilities where they’ll be your family too in other realities/timelines/universes too?

Bonus: Toji asks Satoru and Suguru if he can join them in ganging up on the person who did this to you. Man wasn’t letting anything slide if you were put into a distressed and/or heartbroken state.

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Tags w/ links:

@luqueam @ploylulla @tqd4455 @wolywolymoley @captainbabybear @ravenswife

Tags w/o links:

@szillx @SleppyAnn @g0th1xac1d @kneelarhmstrung

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I literally wrote this on my phone late at night because it was keeping me wide awake lol. Sorry for the sloppy rushed formatting!

[glowinggator]

Nicodeme Savoy/Reader (Pining, Drabble) -- In which you fall asleep in the back of the car, and Nico thinks about how much you mean to him.

Content Warnings: Brief, nonspecific comic spoilers (iykyk), and 1 paragraph on scarification. Not detailed, but it's there.

Names get around easy in the underground — it’s important to know the key players of every operation, lest you get mixed up in the wrong business. But some names are more infamous than others. First for their proficiency, then for their brutality. And some names, such as that of one Nicodeme Savoy, carry a weight that few would care to invoke by speaking it outloud. But that doesn’t mean people don’t make their own assumptions, or gossip in the dark.

“He’s some sort of sadist,” they say, “Brawling type, wouldn’t want to be on the receiving end of his wrath.”

And for most points, Nico isn’t too keen on refuting them. There’s a part of him that enjoys the aire of mystery, of fear, that surrounds him. Plus, he’d be lying if he said he didn’t like the adrenaline of a good fight, or the rewarding catharsis of blood on his knuckles when he inevitably wins. But that isn’t the only thing that he likes.

They never talk about his love of spicy food, or a well-made Old Fashioned. They certainly never talk about how he likes to dance, or watch the fireflies flicker over the water at night. And nobody would ever be caught dead talking about how much he likes you.

The slow rise and fall of your shoulders is subtle, hardly even visible in the rear view mirror with the dim moonlight that filters through the windows, and yet it’s nothing if not captivating. Your parted lips and relaxed form burn themselves into his memory as his eyes bounce back and forth between your reflection and the road ahead.

You were exhausted, to say the least. All three of you were, really — your last target had necessitated a chase by foot, and while the three of you normally wouldn’t mind such a thing, the man had given you a, quite literal, run for your money.

His last minute backup hadn’t been expected, either.

And thus, what should have been an hour long joyride soon turned into a day long hunt — he’s sure that if Mordecai had been here he would have called off the operation, or suggested some new angle of attack. He scoffs to himself internally — sure, it would have saved them some time if it worked out, but where’s the fun in that? All work and no play, he is. Hard to imagine he's survived this long without blurring the lines, but hey, who is he to judge?

Nico glances at you again, nestled into the side of the car. Your arms twist around yourself comfortingly as you curl into the plush of your jacket, and you’d somehow managed to twist yourself to outstretch your legs across the bench. (Which would have never happened either, if Mordecai had been here. So again, he counts his absence tonight as a win.Leblanc will have to forgive him, for that.)

You seem peaceful — peaceful in a way that, with your gun now long discarded and forgotten — that it’s easy to forget how your hands were stained with blood just hours ago. How easily you danced through his deadly game, laughter ringing out in the abandoned warehouse you’d all ended up in. How easily you meshed with the two of them — the infamous Savoy twins — like you had always belonged.

His lips turn upward ever so slightly, and looks back at the road again. He’d never forget any of that, though.

“When are you going to tell them, hm?” Seraphine murmurs lowly in their home language, French Creole rolling smoothly off her tongue.

“What, about the chicken?” He responds, “Believe me, they already know. Been hounding me about it ever since it went missing, that one.”

She grins, “Mmm, poor thing. All the work they do, and they still find it in them to care for the little ones.” She looks over at him, this time more pointedly. “They’ve got a real big heart. Might even have space for you.”

He hums, mulling her words over as the trees pass them by. Somewhere along the way he slows down, taking care to steer clear of the potholes in the corners of the road. He doesn’t think about how he’d usually take them head-on, or how he’d ordinarily be speeding down the dusty roads. What he does think about, is you. How you had woven yourself into their lives so wholly, and with such ease.

He remembers how warm your hand felt in his as he taught you to dance, and the radiance of your smile as you finally found your rhythm. The plushness of your lips tempted him deeply that night, as they have every night since. It would be so easy to just bend down and close that gap, but for the first time in his life, he can’t seem to take that final step. Never before has a moment of temptation transformed into months of longing, but he isn’t complaining — far from it, actually. The newness of it all doesn’t scare him, and he’s proud to say that he doesn’t seem to scare you in the midst of it all, either.

Flashes of your official welcome into the congregation bless him for a moment at the thought; how you requested that he be the one to do it; how you smiled at him all the while; how you fisted his shirt in your hand during the worst of it… he’s proud to say that he doesn’t scare you. He’s proud to say that you trust him so deeply. And at the end of it all, when knife met table and bandage met skin, you pressed your forehead to his, thanking him. He thought he had known temptation before, but then your tongue darted between your lips as you pulled him to his feet to resume the night’s festivities, and oh, Maitre Carrefour give him strength-

Serafine’s voice brings him from his thoughts.

“They’re one of us, Nicodeme.”

He chuckles to himself, lips perking up once again. “Yeah, yeah they are.”

And when the sunlight filters through the curtains of the Maribel, you realize you don’t remember clambering out of the car, or pulling the your blankets over yourself — all you’re left with is the faint memory of floating and the fading, but familiar, scent of the lakeside.

A/N: I love him. so much. This was originally gonna be a request fill for some mutual pining, but I really liked where this ended up, so... expect more Nico in the future! Let me know if you want me to write the reader's POV on this, or the in-between of getting carried to your room -- I have many, MANY thoughts about being carried by this man <3

[spnbangbang]

Natural Born Sinner

Author: GhoulsnHalos

Artist: sidewinder

Primary Ship: Cas/Meg

Other Ships: One-sided Destiel implied

Length: 15,500

Warnings: None

Tags: Canon Divergent; Episode 08:13 Goodbye Stranger; Castiel is in love with Dean & Meg; Hurt/Comfort; Meg lives

Posting Date: November 5, 2024

Summary The Angel Tablet is calling Castiel, asking him to keep it safe. Naomi believes it belongs in Heaven. Crowley wants to get his hands on it. The Winchesters tell him it will be safest with them. What is Castiel to do?

Things get more complicated when Castiel, Dean, and Sam discover which one of Lucifer's old supporters Crowley has kept captive and been torturing—it’s Meg.

As tensions rise and Castiel has to navigate his way through this dilemma, he comes to a startling realization. One that only magnifies his problem by a considerable amount. It's not news to him that he is hopelessly in love with the unavailable Dean Winchester. He's known that almost since the moment he raised the Righteous Man from Hell. No, what strikes Castiel now is that he is in love with someone else, too, and that might have something to do with the Pizza Man.

A fix-it of Episode 08:13 Goodbye Stranger. Or what might have happened had Castiel rescued Meg when he ran off with the Angel Tablet. Excerpt “Be here with me right now in this room, Meg. Don’t hide from me.” Castiel brushes a strand of blonde hair back off Meg’s face.

She doesn’t raise her eyes, so Castiel hooks a finger under her chin and tilts her face up.

“There you are.”

The discomfort is evident on Meg’s face, not physical pain. That must still be there because Castiel won’t heal Meg’s human form without her permission, and they’ve not discussed that yet. In fact, they’ve barely said a word to each other since Castiel flew them away from the crypt. What’s causing Meg distress is embarrassment in her demonic form. “I didn’t need a hero.”

“I’m not one. But you didn’t deserve to die—not at Crowley’s hands.”

Meg shifts back on the bed until she’s out of easy reach. “I’m gonna ask again, Clarence. Why are you so sweet on me? The truth. What do you see in a snarky, twisted, creature from the pits, a devotee of the first of the fallen that you left Dean-o, the Righteous Man, in that crypt and took me with you and that thing?”

And there it is. The opening Castiel both wants and dreads. As many others have asked over eons: what is truth? Castiel no longer believes there is one truth. Perhaps he never did and that’s why he’s undergone factory reset after factory reset by Heaven because he’s followed what not the single truth his superior angels told him about it always being God’s will that he do what they commanded but sought what he thought was the truth in a situation and acted in a way that would bring about the best result. Sure, he’s got it wrong several times but at least he tried, or that’s what he keeps telling himself. See that’s why he’s here with Meg not with the Winchesters. He’s doing what he believes is the right thing.

“We aren’t so dissimilar. You said so yourself, you do some good even as a demon and although people seem to think angels are on eth side of good and light, well not only have my brothers and sisters screwed the pooch many times—I’m not a great example. Maybe I have more similarities with Lucifer than I have ever cared to see.”

Meg considers this for a minute, mouth pursed and fingers drumming on the comforter. The she gives a one-shouldered shrug. “I see your point. But you still ducked my question. Come on, tell me.”

There’s a pause during which Castiel wrestles with whether he can tell her of the spark of beauty he sees at the centre of her being.

[enchxanting]

our love is god [ethan landry]

read part 2 here || all parts

pairing: ethan landry x fem!reader

warnings: nothing yet but this fic is heathers-inspired, so be warned for the future.

author's note: hi guys, long time lurker first time poster. this is my first time WRITING fic so feel free to leave any critique. also i don't know if i did the cut right lol i have a lot planned and hope you like!

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Dear Diary,

I should’ve never let Mindy convince me to start this operation. 

Sure, it’s nice to have a steady cash flow, but nothing is more aggravating than everyone and their mother asking for doctor’s notes, report cards, prescriptions, and absence notes when I’m just trying to make it to fourth-period math. When I was ten, I expected to use my Nancy-Drew-inspired skills to unearth hidden staircases or find whistling statues, not help someone’s checked-out mom get a Xanax. 

Yet I forged three (3) permission slips today. Why? Because, next to mysteries, I love the sweet smell of cash in the morning. Yesterday, I added $150 to the rainy day fund. Hopefully, when the weather’s right, I'll be inspired to buy a car and ditch Woodsboro. This town is fucked, alright. Just ask Chad, Mindy, Sam, or–

“Tara! Jesus Christ!” I rub my leg where her sneaker connected. “What’s your damage?”

“Are you done, Shakespeare? You said you’d get lunch with me like, fifteen minutes ago.”

Tara isn’t so great with patience. But, again, I am not so great at keeping track of time. “Yeah, whatever,” I say. “Let’s go see what they’ve cooked up for us today.”

I follow her through the winding path of tables, chairs, and teenage bodies. As we go, I collect bills from outstretched hands and replace them with papers of varying sizes. Tara turns to smirk at me. “What was the event this time?”

“Oh, you know. It’s report card season, and this school is not known for its stellar GPAs.”

“We just have you to thank for keeping it floating below a 3.0,” she teases. “Tell me, Y/N. Does all that extra brainpower of yours get used up matching the way people dot their i’s and cross their t’s?”

I roll my eyes at her. “Sure, Tara. Let’s just get some lunch. I’m seriously starving.”

We grab trays and join the line, aimlessly chattering about the day. Tara’s been my friend since the beginning of the year when I was the only new kid in a town struck by tragedy. We were the only new buyers in Woodsboro over the summer. The rest are still empty, the memory of last year’s Ghostface attacks having driven out long-time residents.

What’s surprising, though, is that the so-called “Woodsboro Four” are still here. Sure, Sam, Tara, Mindy, and Chad mostly stick together, but despite the terrible tragedy that they witnessed, they let me and Annika, Mindy’s current girlfriend, into their lives. I could never measure up to that. I’m just glad they want to be my friend.

I’m taken out of my musings on friendship when I feel someone’s eyes on my back. Without turning around, I recite my usual speech. “$5 for report cards, $10 for prescriptions and absence notes, and an extra $5 for rush fees.”

“Woah, um, tempting, but I’m not looking for any forgery.”

Confused, I turn around to put a face to an unfamiliar voice. The guy’s tall, almost as tall as Chad, with curly brown hair and brown eyes that widen when I meet them. “Sorry, I was just going to get my lunch, but you dropped some cash back here.”

For some reason, my voice is not working. All I can do is look up at him, suddenly captivated by how shy he seems to be. When I pause for a few moments too long, Tara reaches around and takes the money from his hand. “Uh, thanks. I’m sure my friend here appreciates it. Usually she’s more talkative.”

“Oh, god, yeah, sorry,” I finally get out, stumbling over my words. “Thanks.”

“No problem.” Suddenly, I think he remembers to be bashful and walks away without another word.

When he’s gone, Tara laughs. “God, Y/N, drool much? I’ve never seen you like that before.”

I flush red. “Whatever, Tara, you’re the worst.” I give her a playful shove and walk off to buy my lunch. I hand the money to the cashier, but all I can think about are those big, brown eyes, and I know I’m fucked.

[amiserableseriesofevents]

Wherever you find love (it feels like Christmas)

24 Clegan Christmas drabbles for 24 days!

Prompt from here (but randomized)

[Day 1] [Day 2] [Day 3] [Day 4] [Day 5] [Day 6] [Day 7] [Day 8] [Day 9] [Day 10] [Day 11] [Day 12] [Day 13] [Day 14]

[Read on AO3]

Day 15: Snowman

Post-war AU, wc 1149

It’s been snowing for days, a thick white layer covering the streets and making it absolutely impossible to drive no matter how often the plowers tried to clean, so Gale’s been forced to do his work from home instead of the University.

It’s not something he’s mad about, to be honest: he can wake up a little later and enjoy his breakfast in total relaxation, reading the newspaper and eating something more than just toasted bread. He can forgo his usual business clothes and just wear wool pants and warm sweaters, possibly John’s so the sleeves cover his hands for an extra dose of coziness, and sit in his little office all day without having to face the icy slaps of wind or the wetness of the snow. It’s perfectly peaceful — most of the time.

Until it isn’t.

“Buck! Buck!”

Gale barely has the time to sigh in defeat before John bursts running in the room with an excited smile on his face. “It stopped snowing!” He exclaims pointing out the window; Gale didn’t notice, but the flurry of soft flakes has indeed stopped.

“Let’s go out! Take a walk, make some snow angels, let’s do something!” John continues, pleading with what Gale could only describe as his best puppy eyes. He knows it’s been hard for John to stay inside for days, he doesn’t fare well in captivity as they’ve discovered during the war; this time they were safe, together without the fear of being discovered and killed, and they spent most of their time just existing in the same room, Gale studying and John reading, or cuddling, or dozing off in their bed after some good old “lovemaking to warm up” as John calls it, but he should have known John’s itchiness to go out would come back the exact moment the weather got better.

“I have to finish this,” Gale says apologetic. “Can you wait like an hour?”

“But what if it picks up again? It’s not done yet, the sky’s still snow colored,” John protests. “C’mon Buck, just a little walk, a few miles down the road!” He adds stepping closer until he’s crowding Gale against the backrest of his chair. “And then if you get really, really cold I can warm you up again,” he says with a knowing grin.

Usually this would be enough for Gale to cave, he does love being warmed up by John’s body that seemingly never runs out of heat not even when he’s been walking in the snow. But he really, really has to finish this project today or things will start to pile up and he’ll have to spend Christmas Day buried in his office. So he reluctantly moves his chair back to put some distance between John and himself. “I’m sorry, I have to finish this. I promise you it won’t take me more than one hour and if when I’m done it’s snowing again, I’ll make it up to you the way you like,” he says, softly squeezing John’s arms — the sweater he’s wearing is particularly soft, Gale makes a mental note to steal it from him as soon as possible.

“But what am I supposed to do in the meantime?” John insists, his large hand coming to cover Gale’s on his arm. “I’m bored, Buck! So bored!” He says leaning closer again, until the tip of his nose can almost touch Gale’s. He’s using all his ammunition and it really breaks Gale’s heart that he has to say no, but after a small moment of hesitation he pulls back again.

“Clean our driveway?” He tries: it’s fresh air and physical labor, something John likes. A bit useless, if it starts snowing again as he’s forecasting, but Gale thinks it’s a good compromise.

John huffs in disappointment, pulling back. “Fine, I’ll clean the driveway. But if the sky stays clear, in one hour I’m gonna barge back in here and carry you outside by force. Deal?”

“Don't count on it,” Gale answers with a smile, then sends John away with a flick of his hand. The other huffs and stomps away, leaving the door to Gale’s door ajar just to mess with him.

Focusing back on his work Gale hears him walk around the house for a while, probably putting on his winter gear, then the front door closes and he can feel peace returning to the house for a while. John gets back inside a few times but he never goes to bother Gale, which he’s grateful for.

Until a sudden thud to his office’s window startles him, almost making him draw a line across the paper he’s been writing. He turns to the window and sees John on the other side, all red in the face and smiling full of childlike wonder; he gestures for Gale to come out, no matter how many times Gale shakes his head and points back to his papers.

“I have to finish here!”

“Just a minute!” John’s answer comes muffled by the glass but he doesn’t seem intent on letting go so with a sigh Gale stands up and exits the office. He retrieves his winter jacket and boots and steps out, regretting it immediately when an icy gust of wind sneaks inside the jacket from his bare neck — where is his fucking scarf when he needs it?

John is standing in the corner of their front yard, hiding something behind his tall frame. He gestures for Gale to come closer but he shakes his head.

“I’m not gonna walk into the snow with these pants, John!” He says. The yard and driveway are still completely covered in snow, which makes him wonder what John has been doing.

Not deterred by Gale’s lack of enthusiasm — not that he ever is — John steps to the side and proudly presents him his creation: a snowman, tall and lumpy, with a crooked carrot for its nose and what looks like buttons for eyes, and a mop of golden tinsel on his head Gale supposes should be its hair. “Who’s that?” He asks, even if he thinks he already knows the answer.

John’s grin widens. “Why, that’s my new best friend Buck! I told him, you know you look just like an old pal of mine from the war, one who used to be fun and now just sits in his office all the time leaving me here all alone and bored,” he says, a hand clutching his heart for he dramatics.

“Oh so that’s your normal pickup line, I guess,” Gale shoots back. “Silly me, thinking what we had was special…”

John starts laughing at that, and Gale can’t help but chuckle as well in response. Until he takes a better look at Buck the snowman and clocks what’s wrapped about his snowman neck — his wet and cold snowman neck.

He gasps in sudden outrage. “Is that my fucking scarf?!”

[hanasnx]

MINORS DNI 18+ WARNINGS: f!reader | sexual content | objectification (f receiving) | penetration | pregnancy descriptions but no actual pregnancy or impregnation | mild breeding kink | size difference.

Seemingly cold and uncaring, you’d never think someone like DR. MANHATTAN could experience attraction. Unapproachable in nature, his glowing blue appearance does not scream invitation and yet you smile at him anyway. Polite at first, but at the sight of how his eyes soften so marginally, a real grin is drawn out of you.

She smiled at me. He thinks, endeared.

It endears him all the way to the rooftops, following you out into the night air as you watch the city below. As if he could still experience trickery without foreseeing the possible consequences of it in all forms, he’s lured to your side. You’re not put off, but you’re nervous, he can feel it emanate off you with each breath of your cells. It’s what dogs can smell. Without logical reason, he seeks to sooth your worries. Your self-doubts, your trepidations regarding being part of a team. Especially part of a team he’s a piece of, you can’t help but be intimidated by the big names you stand aside. He responds to your sharing with vague advice, anything to keep you talking, so he can listen to your voice, so he has an excuse to observe you from close range. He can count every hair follicle on your face, every bat of your long lashes at him while you look up at his towering figure. He knows to the millisecond exactly how long it took you to scan his form head to toe and back up again. Your hormones take a noticeable shift.

Ah, you’ve registered me as a sexual being. He thinks. A potential suitor, a mate, a lover. You want me.

So when the conversation takes a flirtatious turn, he allows it.

You’re young. The perfect age for fertilization if I was capable of procreation. Perhaps that is the basis of your appeal, your ability to carry children. He thinks. For a brief period, he attempts to visualize what that would be like. How your appearance would change, how your body would react, in what ways it’d never be the same after you’ve been with child. He ponders what abomination he’d create with his impossible physiology welded with the soft interiors of humanity. If he had any chromosomes, any flesh to bestow, there’s no way pregnancy would carry to term. There’s an entire war of disgusting politics that go on in a body when it grows an entire separate being inside it, a war that would be lost time and time again.

Yet his nethers stir, as if they’ve forgotten he’s unlike his former self. Those moments happen, even if they’re few and far in between. You are still attractive. You are still young. And you sit with him, and let him kiss you. Long, passionate kisses. He cups your face and slides his tongue against yours as you wriggle like an impatient pup against his bare chest. You want more, and he will grant it to you. So you take him home, you offer him tea which he accepts out of good manners but it goes cold untouched on the table while you bring him upstairs.

“Won’t you take off my clothes?” you ask, a lilt of innocence to your tone that conveys your lack of experience with someone like him. He moves to oblige you.

Ah, yes. Clothes. He thinks.

Fingers deftly graze your skin, seeking out zippers or strings or hemlines, things he remembers are tools to help remove clothes. He hasn’t had a need to wear anything for some time.

You open yourself to him. The human body is fascinating when it seeks to be bred. Legs spread, vaginal canal loosened, secreting fluid he would’ve called nectar back before he could walk on the surface of the sun. An entire internal process conducted step by step in order to ready to take him is a captivating ordeal indeed, one he chooses to observe through your sacrifice. He positions you onto your back, and manhandles you like he’s sure you’d like, laying your legs straight up against his chest and abdomen. Large hands wrap around your thighs to lift your tailbone from the mattress, entering you from this angle that has you yelling with need. With each hard thrust, his skin smacks against yours, rippling your tissue in a most artistic way, he watches your face contort with pleasure, fluids seeping out from your plugged up hole.

Surely you’re the best humanity has to offer. He’s no god, but if he was, he wouldn’t mind you as a tribute.

[silversnakes-yan]

✲𝓝𝓸𝓪𝓱 𝔀/ 𝓪 𝓻𝓮𝓪𝓭𝓮𝓻 𝔀𝓱𝓸 𝓯𝓮𝓮𝓭𝓼 𝓬𝓪𝓽𝓼✲

Noah had always loved the quiet of the night. The way the world seemed to slow down, how the moonlight cast long, soft shadows across the streets, and the way the stars twinkled like scattered diamonds above. One particularly clear night, feeling restless and unable to sleep, he decided to take a walk through his neighborhood. If smoking didn’t help him sleep maybe a walk would.

The streets were nearly empty, save for a few parked cars and the occasional house with a glowing porch light. As he walked, he listened to the sounds of crickets chirping and the distant hum of traffic. It was peaceful, and he felt a sense of calm wash over him.

Turning down a quiet, tree-lined street he rarely ventured, Noah saw something that caught his eye. Just ahead, under the soft glow of a streetlamp, was definitely the most beautiful person he’s ever seen. They were crouched on the sidewalk, surrounded by a small group of cats. Noah watched as they carefully placed small bowls of food and water in front of the cats, speaking to them in a gentle, soothing voice.

Curious, Noah approached slowly, not wanting to startle either them or the cats. As he got closer, one of the cats, a sleek black one, looked up and meowed softly. They looked up too, and their eyes met his. They had the most captivating eyes, the color of them seemed to reflect in the moonlight.

"Hiya," Noah said, offering a lopsided smile.

"Hi," they replied, standing up and brushing their hands on their jeans. "I didn't hear you coming."

"My bad. Didn’t mean to sneak up on you," Noah said. "Was just out for a walk and saw you with the cats. You do this often?"

"Yeah, every night," they said, smiling warmly. "I'm ___, by the way."

"Noah," he replied, he walks up beside them and takes a seat at the curb. "Why come out here? You know it’s pretty dangerous at night. Aliens might come down and snatch you."

They look at him incredulously. "I think there’s more concerning things than aliens.” They look back at the cats. “These cats don’t have homes, so I try to take care of them as best as I can. They’ve become like family to me."

Noah turned his head to the cats, who were now happily eating, and felt a surge of admiration for ___. "That's nice of you. They seem to trust you a lot." Their willingness to help others in need reminded him of his brothers. Yet he kept that to himself.

"They do," They said, their smile widening as they take a seat next to him. "It took some time, but now they know I'm here to help."

They sat in comfortable silence for a moment, watching the cats. Noah felt a connection with them, a sense of understanding and shared appreciation for the quiet beauty of the night.

"Would you like to join me?" They asked suddenly, breaking the silence.

"Join you?" Noah echoed, a bit surprised.

"Yeah," they said, their eyes twinkling with excitement. "There's another spot a few blocks away where I feed another group of cats. It’s a bit of a walk, but I’d love the company."

Noah felt a rush of excitement. "Yeah sure. I. Hold protect ya."

“Of course from the aliens, right?” They laugh shaking their head.

As they walked together, talking and laughing softly, Noah felt a warmth in his chest. It was as if the night had conspired to bring them together. And as he listened to them talk about their love for the cats and their dreams for the future, he couldn't help but feel that something good finally came into his life.