#and an unrepentant devil

[shadowphoenixrider]

Tonight Part 1

(Shadow and Gambit have been left alone in the X-Mansion for the first time, and it predictably culminates in a night of passion that neither will soon forget. Indeed, it might change everything... So yeah this is a smut fic, nsfw as as you pass that cut. Had to be split into two because these two got very handsy with each other. Hope you enjoy!)

For the first time I can remember since I came to the X-Mansion, the place was almost empty. The Professor and Beast were at a conference, Jubilee out late with a group of friends and everyone else out on missions.

Well, all but one. Gambit had recently come back from a solo op, and he was now off rotation for a little while. We hadn't seen much of each other for a bit - I was on mission support for the others and he'd been resting, although every now and again a mug of tea would appear for me, and the old empty mug would vanish. I greatly appreciated it.

Things had been mercifully quiet this evening, enough that I'd dressed down - a thin navy-blue Star Wars shirt, lighter blue jeans, and some colourful rainbow socks - and I decided to take some time to rest in my room and catch up with the reading I'd been meaning to do for...quite a while now.

As I was about to make the turn down the hallway to my dorm, I heard something. It sounded like a grunt, or a groan? I concentrated, using my powers to try and sharpen my hearing - it was definitely Gambit's voice, although I couldn't quite work out anything more than that.

Curiosity immediately got the better of me, and I took the opposite hallway, leading down towards the guys' dorms. Gambit's door was ajar, light spilling from the threshold. And that was when I heard it.

"Mmmm, chérie..."

Oh.

I froze mid-step, heat flashing white-hot into my face and chest. I hadn't heard that, right? It was just my imagination. He couldn't be - even if it was just us in the mansion, he wouldn't. Right?

Another lusty moan from the open door answered those questions, deepening the blush that was surely growing on my face. And now I was concentrating, I could hear the rhythmic slick sounds of a hand on lubed skin.

I should go, was my first thought - what Gambit did in his bedroom was his own business, and I shouldn't be eavesdropping. My second thought, however; I have to close his door. Either Gambit hadn't noticed it drift open or didn't think I'd be up here at this time - regardless, it'd be the decent thing to do, if only to spare future blushes and nasty surprises.

Curiosity definitely had nothing to do with it.

Yet another moan sounded out with a smattering of Cajun French, and I had to ignore the heat it sent to my core, the throb between my legs. He's not jacking it to you, just close the door! I told myself, edging forward.

That was when the floorboard creaked. Thankfully, the Cajun seemed so engrossed with himself that he didn't hear it, and I breathed an internal sigh of relief. Taking even more care now, I slid my feet across the floor, testing the boards before I moved my weight onto them. Moving inch by painfully slow inch left me to listen Gambit's pleasure, and I tried to pretend it wasn't kindling arousal within me, imagining myself as his chérie.

Sure, he definitely had a thing for me, that much was obvious when he'd gotten his hand on my backside that one time - but it couldn't be me he was thinking about. Surely not when Rogue and Storm existed.

As I drew closer to the door, I realized a problem - to close it, I'd have reach over, exposing myself in that strip of light emanating from the room. Whilst Gambit might not be able to notice creaking floorboards, he would definitely sense movement, especially when I pushed the door closed.

Shit. I chewed my lip, warring with myself and trying not to rub my thighs together at the sounds I could clearly hear just the other side of the wall. God, he sounded so good, and my mind eagerly supplied me with images of what he was doing.

I stepped back, pressing my back against the wall and uttering a shuddery breath. I should walk away, leave him to it. But temptation whispered another idea into my ear - a stupid one, something I shouldn't have entertained. And yet...desire had been building under my skin a while now, and we were completely alone. Would I ever get another perfect chance like this again?

My hand was on my clothed mound before I could start second-guessing myself, breathing out a silent sigh of relief. I rocked my hips into my hand, already feeling the heat gathered there.

"Yess chérie, just like dat." Gambit moaned, sparks flashing into my chest, and I arched my back slightly. If I closed my eyes, I could pretend he was speaking to me, moaning into my ear. I tried to keep my hands above my clothes, riding the rough friction of my jean's seam. Yet the sounds of his pleasure, his heavy breathing were so heady, so addicting, it would be so easy to give in. Pretend I was putting on a show for him, like he had tempted me with before.

"Ya make Gambit feel so good..." He groaned lowly, and my breath hitched, a hand jumping to a breast to squeeze it. "Dat's it chérie, don't stop!"

Touching over my jeans was no longer enough; to my shame I didn't even hesitate before my hand was diving past my belt and pressing into the soft fabric of my panties. Already they were damp with my arousal, and a part of me distantly cursed the Cajun mutant for this state of affairs. Not that it mattered now, pressing my finger into my clit and finding a nice rocking rhythm with my hips. I thanked the gods it was easy for me to stay quiet, hoping my heavy breathing was lost in Gambit's own euphoria.

"Nngh, nearly there..." He grunted, his breathing becoming more ragged, the sounds of his movements quickening, and I basked in them, letting my mind's eye run wild imagining what he was doing. I rolled my head back against the wall, silently chanting his name in my head to stave off the intense need to cross that last barrier between me and the pure pleasure I could give myself.

Suddenly, Gambit came with a growling shout, lancing me with pure white-hot arousal that made me gasp, pulsing powerful in my loins. Swiftly followed by the ice-cold drenching realization that he was done, and I was miles from the finish line. Outside his door. With my hand down my pants. Oh, fuck.

His next moan was softer, a sigh of relief. I barely dared to breathe, least I miss the slightest noise. Fabric hissed against skin; bedsprings creaked as weight shifted. A floorboard groaned, then another, approaching the door. I screwed my eyes shut.

Nothing, for a long moment. My heart pounded in my ears. Then the door hinge squeaked. My skin crawled, the hair on the back of my neck standing on end; the sensation that something - or someone - was looking at me. I held my breath - the corridor was almost pitch black. If I didn't move, maybe he wouldn't-

"Havin' fun dere, Shadow?" Gambit drawled wickedly, and the heat that rose into my face now was of mortifying embarrassment.

I released the breath I'd been holding, cracking my eyes open to see the Cajun leaning against the doorframe, apparently clad only in his pink crop top, the rest of his body out of view.

"I-I'm sorry Gambit, I didn't mean to, I just, I was gonna close your door!" I stuttered, guiltily withdrawing my hand from my trousers. I was certainly blushing now, even more so when his dark eyes flicked down to my movement, his grin widening.

"But you decided to listen to Gambit first? You flatter me, mon amie." He commented slyly.

I narrowed my eyes at him, straightening up.

"You're the one jacking off with your door open!"

He just quirked an eyebrow up at me.

"No-one gon' be back here for a while, petite. There's just you and Gambit in dis place." His grin showed teeth. "An' Gambit don't mind you hearin' him, chère..."

My heart skipped an entire beat, and I choked on my breath.

"Y-You did this on purpose?!" I spluttered.

To his credit, Gambit did look contrite, his own flush forming on the top of his cheek bones.

"N-No, not specifically." He looked away towards the far more interesting doorjamb, rubbing the back of his neck. "Didn't know you'd be able to hear me down here..." He glanced back, looking strangely shy. "Meant I said 'bout not mindin' you hearin', though."

I wasn't sure what to think, my blush still hot on my face. I mean, I shouldn't be surprised, with us getting hot and heavy with one another only a couple of days back, and all the flirting, sly looks, and even slyer innuendoes we'd traded between one another. Yet, facing the culmination of all those insinuations straight on made us both oddly gun-shy.

As the awkward silence stretched on, Gambit cleared his throat.

"So, uh, how long you been out here?" He asked. Despite myself, my blush deepened.

"Long enough to get hot and bothered." I watched his face carefully. "But not enough to finsh."

His already wide pupils dilated more, the true emotion behind the confident smirk he gave me.

"Reckoned so, since ya still had ya hand in ya pants." He replied, leaning closer and his voice dropping to a deeper tone. "Want Gambit to help ya wit that?"

Tight heat curled in my chest, an electric shiver shooting up my spine.

"Well," I stepped towards him, "you were the one who got me into this situation."

Gambit grinned widely, and I swore his crimson eyes flashed with excitement.

"Exactly my thinkin', chère." He pushed the door open, beckoning with his finger. "Come on in. Let Gambit take care of you..."

I grinned back, ignoring the throb between my thighs and the fever pitch of excitement buzzing under my skin. Was this really happening?

As I stepped over the threshold into his room, I saw that my initial suspicion was correct - the Cajun was naked from the waist down, and it took more discipline than I'd like to admit to not stop and gawp at his toned muscled body.

Gambit pulled the door closed behind me, and I raised an eyebrow at him.

"Oh, so now you want some privacy?" I commented wryly.

His grin mirrored mine as he closed the gap between us, a slight enticing sway to his hips. For once, it was considerably difficult to keep my eyes on his.

"Of course, mon amie. Don't want anyone disturbin' us, non?" He said smoothly, one brow lifting slightly.

"But disturbing you jacking off is fine?" I asked archly, placing a hand on my hip.

"Gambit can finish up before someone comes home." He replied, taking another step closer, lowering his head toward my ear. "But we might take a little longer, don't ya think?"

My back shivered, and I took a breath, inhaling his scent; sweat, spice and something sweetly masculine I could never adequately quantify.

"Sounds like you want to keep me for yourself tonight." Was my breathy reply.

His eyes darkened, an eager grin playing on his lips.

"You don't seem to mind..." His voice lowered to a sensual rumble, passion stirring within him.

"No." I admitted, before I smirked up at him, quickly reaching around his waist to grab handfuls of his muscled ass, squeezing firmly. "I don't."

Gambit's pleased groan was music to my ears, and I felt his cock twitch between us.

"Mmm, you've no idea how long I've wanted to get my hands on you, Cajun." I purred, squeezing again. He rewarded me with a satisfied grunt. "You're such a damn tease."

"Takes one to know one, mon amie." He growled in my ear. "Why ya think Gambit needin' to take care of himself?"

My heart skipped a beat, sparking heat in my chest. I pulled back just enough to look him in the eye.

"You were thinking of me?" I asked, a blush rising on my face once again.

One of his eyebrows lifted slightly, a sly grin growing across his lips.

"Yes, chère." He purred sensually. "Gambit been thinkin' of all the things he wants to do to you..."

His grin only widened when he saw me shudder with delight, heat curling low in my body.

"And what do you want to do to me...?" I asked, feeling a little breathless as Gambit loomed over me. His chuckle was deep and throaty, full of promise.

"Let Gambit show you, chère." His hand cupped the back of my head before he caught my lips in a kiss.

The gentleness we started out with quickly evaporated when we slanted our mouths against one another, devouring each other hungrily. It became sloppy and frantic, tongues and teeth clacking together and our hands going everywhere, like our leashes had finally snapped and we were trying to do everything all at once.

I dimly remembered stepping backwards, my legs colliding with the bed and toppling us both onto it. Gambit quickly pinned me there, his arousal pressing insistently against my pelvis whilst his hands grasped for something else.

"Non mais!" He cursed. "Why ya gotta wear dis belt?"

My eyes popped open as I heard the familiar buzzing whine of his powers, and saw the pink energy surge from his hands to my belt, quickly encircling it and flaring brightly.

"No!" I cried, sitting bolt upright. "Gambit!"

"It okay chère, Gambit just-"

"Don't." I clasped my hands over his, glaring into his eyes. The warmth of his powers faded as the energy dissipated.

"Gambit jus' gonna loosen it," he said, feigning innocence with wide eyes and a toothy smile, looking at me from under his eyelashes. I raised an eyebrow at him, nonplussed.

"Uh huh, right. How about I take it off like a normal person, and we don't have to explain any awkward explosions to the others?" I said, holding his gaze as I unbuckled the now inert belt.

"Have it your way, chère." Gambit replied, his smile now playful and good-natured. "Gambit just a li'l eager. Been dreamin' of dis a long time."

I couldn't help but smile back at him, leaning forward so our foreheads touched. I swore his cheeks darkened slightly.

"Same here." I spoke softly.

His smile was surprisingly tender, leaning forward to kiss me again.

This one was much gentler than the first, Gambit cupping the back of my head once more, my hands lifting to wrap around his neck, twining my fingers into his ponytail. His other hand settled on my lower back, pressing me a little closer, before it began to rove down and below my loose trousers to cup my ass.

"Just couldn't help yourself, could you?" I sighed, pulling away before he could deepen the kiss with his tongue. Gambit chuckled richly, pressing his forehead back against mine.

"Guilty as charged, chère." He grinned boyishly, a hungry spark in his eyes as he squeezed, delighting in my groan. "Gotta feelin' you don' mind, though."

"Like I said," I smirked at him. "I have a particular liking for you, scoundrel."

Gambit's grin widened, and his hand started to move again, over my hip and down between my thighs. My breath hitched when his fingers pressed into me, and his pupils dilated, darkening his midnight eyes.

"If Gambit knew how much fun you be havin' without him, he'd come help you sooner." He purred, pressing his thumb into my clit, fingers rubbing over the wetness already soaking my underwear.

"Mmm, you sounded so good." I moaned, rocking my hips into his touch. "I'd hate to disturb you."

"For dis? You can disturb Gambit any time, chère." Before I could say anything more, the Cajun kissed me again. Briefly pausing his teasing, he scooped me further up the bed, lifting my feet clear off the floor.

Another passionate kiss to press my back into the sheets, the hand on the back of my head shielding the impact. His other hand took the opportunity to dive beyond the final cloth barrier, and I squirmed when his skin met mine, gasping into his mouth.

"Ahh-! Gambit!"

"I gotchu, chère." He breathed, pressing a softer kiss to my lips, then my jaw. "Hold tight."

I had barely a second to process before his fingers were moving again, sending hot sparks of pure pleasure shooting through my veins. I arched my back, Gambit starting to press kisses against my neck, occasionally grazing my fluttering pulse with his teeth.

My fingers curled into his reddish brunette hair, trying to ground myself amongst the sensations dancing like flames through me. His fingertips traced over me, skimming teasingly close to my entrance as his thumb continued its attentions at my apex. It stoked the molten fire within me, the tight coil winding around in the base of my stomach, and the building emptiness between my thighs. This was good, beyond good, but gods-

"Ga-Gambit, ple-Ease!" I gasped as he bit me, soothing it with his tongue. "I need, I need more, please!"

"Bien sûr, chère." He rumbled softly.

I moaned with relief when his fingers finally entered me, sinking in up to his knuckles. Gambit leaned up to kiss my forehead, giving me time to adapt as he flexed his fingers gently, pushing carefully at my inner walls.

"Doin' alright, Shadow?" He asked. I nodded, caught off guard by the achingly tenderness to his gaze.

"Yeah, yeah. Just been a while since I was with someone."

"Reckoned so. Gambit gonna start slow, take the edge off, okay?"

"Sure." I nodded again, darting up to steal a kiss from him. He chuckled fondly, making my heart flutter.

True to his word, the Cajun began gently, tentatively exploring for spots that made my breath hitch and or wriggle with delight. His red and black eyes watched me with studious intent - so dark there was only a narrow ring of crimson visible in the inky voids.

His restraint only lasted as long as it took for him to become certain he wasn't going to hurt me, and then Gambit was back to turning my nerves into miniature lightning rods, rolling my clit under the pad of his thumb and returning his attentions to my neck. It was all I could do to try and rock my hips to try and match his motions, moans spilling from my lips as he lavished me with open-mouthed kisses and the occasional prick of his teeth, careful not to leave tell-tale marks. At least, not yet.

"Ah, Shadow, such a beautiful voice!" Gambit groaned against my skin, unable to resist one short thrust against my hip.

"Now, now you know what it- aah! What it was like for me, hearing you..." I teased, impressed I was still able to string a sentence together.

"Good thing we alone, den." I felt his grin. "Gambit gonna make sure we get our fill."

The coil in my belly tightened further, tension beginning to gather in my body like storm clouds, almost too much, and yet not enough.

"Fuck, Gambit, I'm nearly there!" I panted.

"Gambit got ya, chérie. Ya doin' so well." He murmured reassuringly between his kisses and bites, his fingers stroking more quickly, almost relentlessly. "Jus' give in, let it take ya."

The coil became tighter, tighter, and then suddenly snapped. I uttered some sort of breathy gasp, arching my back as my orgasm swept through me, a wildfire that lit up every nerve I had into a blaze of ecstasy. I felt my powers respond with it, magnifying my pleasure to the point the world blurred for a moment - I dug my fingers into whatever I could to hold on to myself.

Gambit's movements slowed, helping me ride out the aftershocks, murmuring soft praises in my ear of how beautiful I'd looked, how well I'd done for him, and other little nothings in Cajun French. I sank into the warm wave of relaxation that followed in the wake of my release, dimly realizing that my hand was still tightly curled into Gambit's hair.

"Shit, Remy, sorry." I mumbled, releasing him and rubbing over his scalp. Luckily, I didn't hear any sounds of distress from his body, and Gambit closed his eyes for a moment, uttering a soft sigh as he leaned into my caress.

"It fine, chère." He murmured. "Gambit can take it." When his eyes slid open again, he offered me a small smile, pressing a gentle kiss to my arm.

He carefully slid his fingers out of me, glanced over to make sure I was watching, and then put them straight into his mouth. His eyelids fluttered closed, uttering such an indecent moan it made me blush (if not suspect he might be playing it up). Gambit took his time to savour the taste of me, only dragging his fingers out of his mouth when he was finished indolently sucking and licking them clean, holding my gaze with hooded eyes.

Interest was already beginning to stir between my legs again at such a display, especially when the bastard licked his lips, a scheme forming in those dark eyes...

(Part 2)

[dearheartemisia]

Hey, remember when I had an anxiety, had a glass of wine, and then changed my tumblr name after 13 years on here?

Yeah, paisleylove is dearheartemisa for now.

[idealog]

"Normal" people are demonics & ugly heathens who steal from the good.

Doesn't end well for such poor choices.

You're welcome for the help, I never needed anything from you of this place.

You caused your own problems, and mine.

Now, GOD has Addressed you, and Corrected you.

[honeyslibrary]

Compression Shorts | Jack Hughes

Pairing; Jack Hughes x Fem!Reader

Warning(s); Allusion to smut, established relationship, not sure what else, edited once

Summary; Reader gets turned on by Jack's compression shorts

Word Count; 0.4k

Authors Note: Might be posting a birthday blurb for him later as well 🩵 -Honey

You shuffle into the living room mid-yawn, hoodie sleeves pulled down over your hands and sleep still clinging to the corners of your eyes. The apartment exists in that particular morning silence, broken only by the low murmur of game commentary drifting from the TV, last night's Devils game replaying as though it might end differently this time.

Jack is sprawled on the couch, gaze fixed on the screen with the intensity of someone decoding ancient text. His hair forms damp waves from his post-skate shower, droplets occasionally falling onto the shoulders of his worn team hoodie. An untouched protein shake sits on the coffee table next to his phone, condensation forming a perfect ring on the wood. His laptop rests beside him, paused video clips waiting for his analysis.

But your eyes don't register any of those details first.

No, they lock onto the compression shorts.

Black. Tight. Unforgiving in how they cling to the sculpted terrain of his thighs, his hips, the sharp cut of his muscles. His shirt has ridden up just enough to reveal the subtle hollow of his lower abdomen, the kind of casual intimacy that shouldn't hijack your thoughts at 9 a.m., but here you are, mind suddenly wide awake.

You linger in the doorway, shoulder pressed against the frame. "So... this the new film study dress code?"

Jack doesn't glance up. "What?"

You arch an eyebrow, gaze deliberately tracking down his body. "The shorts. Very serious athlete behavior happening here."

That captures his attention. He looks down at himself, then up at you, a slow smirk spreading across his face.

"It's laundry day," he says, with a shrug that manages a tiny bit of arrogance. He knows exactly what you're alluding to.

"Sure it is," you murmur, stepping into the room. "Complete coincidence you're sitting there like an Instagram thirst trap?"

His grin widens, lazy and unrepentant. He stretches one arm along the back of the couch, sinking deeper into the cushions like he's settling in for something. "If I'd known this would get your attention, I would've started watching game tape like this weeks ago."

You settle beside him, tucking your legs beneath you, but your eyes betray you, flicking back to his thighs. Once. Twice.

Jack notices. Of course he does.

"You're staring," he says, voice tinged with amusement.

"You're not wearing real clothes."

He turns toward you, the smirk deepening into something more deliberate. "What, is this making you nervous?"

You roll your eyes, but there's heat rising to your cheeks. "I'm just saying, maybe don't be surprised if I accidentally shut that laptop and climb into your lap."

Jack closes the laptop immediately, and sets it aside with purpose.

"Well," he says, voice dropping to a register that sends a current through your body, "I was done watching anyway."

You can find the rest of the fic (smut, 18+) on my Patreon, or via the direct link: Here

[idkyetxoxo]

Six | The Smallest Storm | Little Shadow

Pairing - Azriel x reader

Word count - 2.4k

Warnings - Mild injury

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1.5 years later

It started as a quiet return. 

Mor and I stumbled through the front door, arms full of shopping bags and the tail end of a conversation about shoes we absolutely did not need but had bought anyway. 

The late afternoon sunlight slanted through the windows, spilling golden warmth across the hardwood floors, and for a fleeting moment, everything felt serene.

Until we looked up. And chaos greeted us like an old friend.

The shopping bags hit the floor with two synchronised thuds. Mor's heels clicked once more against the stone before stopping short, eyes wide, lips twitching.

Before us, the grand living room, usually pristine, elegant, the picture of grace had been transformed into a full-blown disaster zone.

Azriel, Cassian, and Rhysand stood shoulder to shoulder in silent formation... all three of them trailing behind a tiny, winged hurricane.

Kalel. Entirely too mobile. And absolutely drunk on the sheer power of motion.

One moment, he was on the floor, all curls and chubby cheeks, and in the next breath, he launched forward with surprising speed, tiny wings flapping in reckless delight. 

His little body rocketed across the polished floors, arms outstretched like he believed he could fly. And maybe he was getting close.

The three most powerful males in Prythian had become... babysitters. Guardsmen. Toddler wranglers.

And they were losing.

Azriel looked halfway to madness, expression grim as he kicked a rogue candlestick out of Kalel's path with the practised precision of someone used to navigating battlefields. 

His shadows swirled in a controlled storm around our son, shoving furniture back, closing drawers, scooping up fallen daggers—Cassian's, probably, and sealing every potential death trap with the efficiency of a twenty-man army squad.

Kalel shrieked with glee.

"Why is he so fast?" Rhysand gasped, bent slightly at the waist, his normally pristine shirt rumpled. A toy was tangled in his hair and his wings twitched in what looked suspiciously like panic.

Cassian, of course, was no help. He was laughing, actual tears in his eyes, as he held what appeared to be a very broken toy and the shattered remains of a vase that had once sat proudly on the mantel.

"I told you not to drop a siphon in the vase so it'll glow red when he gets near!" Rhys barked at him. "It made him more interested!"

Cassian only grinned, entirely unrepentant. "Well, it was working until it wasn't."

Azriel was the only one still holding onto some measure of control—barely. 

He looked sleep-deprived and deeply focused, shadows zipping through the room like tiny soldiers securing a war front. 

He turned just in time to slam a cupboard shut as Kalel, giggling like a little devil, reached for it with the stubborn determination of a boy who knew how many grown males were trying to contain him and enjoyed the power imbalance.

"Kalel, no—no," Azriel huffed, one hand shooting out to intercept the toddler mid-flap, his other reaching to pluck a butter knife from the edge of a dangerously low table.

Kalel squealed again, wings flapping furiously, scattering a pile of folded linens with gleeful destruction. 

His own shadows, wild and unpredictable at this age—whipped around him in tandem, mimicking his excitement with flashes of playful mischief.

I tried. I truly did. I tried to hold it in.

But the giggles broke loose anyway, bubbling up so quickly I doubled over. Mor was no better, clutching my arm with both hands as she dissolved into snorts of laughter.

"Mother's tits," she wheezed. "How long have they been like this?"

"Two hours," Azriel muttered without looking up, catching Kalel by the middle as he launched himself off a low ottoman. "Two hours and seventeen minutes. I've counted every single one."

"I offered to call in backup," Cassian said cheerfully. "Amren said no. Something about 'you broke it, you fix it.'"

Rhys, still trying to tug the toy from his hair, turned his most High Lordly glare on me. "You said he was walking. Not... launching."

"He's advanced," I said sweetly, wiping tears of laughter from my eyes. "What can I say?"

"Advanced?" Rhys echoed. "Advanced? The boy is more than that!"

At that moment, Kalel kicked free of Azriel's arms, just enough to go airborne for half a second before Azriel's shadows gently cradled him back down to safety. 

Kalel cackled, absolutely thrilled with himself.

"Someone explain why his wings are already so strong," Rhys grumbled.

"He's his father's son," I said smugly.

Azriel, sweaty, rumpled, glowing finally turned to me. His face broke into a tired, radiant smile, and he looked at our son like he was the sun and stars stitched into one tiny package. "You're home."

"And you're alive," I teased, stepping forward and kissing him lightly on the cheek.

"Barely," Rhys muttered behind me.

Kalel lunged toward me then, arms outstretched in that wobbly toddler way, his curls a mess and his cheeks flushed from play. I caught him easily, settling him on my hip as he babbled something that included "dada" and a suspicious attempt at "boom."

"I think he's trying to say he defeated all of you," Mor said helpfully.

"Traitor," Rhys muttered.

"I still think he's gonna say Cassian next," the general chimed in, grinning. "He likes me."

I narrowed my eyes. "Say mama, Kalel. Come on. I carried you. I fed you. I kept you alive when you tried to eat rocks."

Kalel blinked. Smiled. Opened his mouth—

And screamed. Just a scream. No words. Just pure, victorious toddler noise that echoed through the house like a battle horn.

I blinked at him. "You'll scream at me, but still no mama? Really?"

Cassian laughed so hard he nearly dropped what remained of the vase again.

I turned on him. "You know what? I'm revoking your babysitting privileges. Say goodbye to your nephew, General."

"You wouldn't dare," he said, scandalised.

"Watch me," I said, walking away with Kalel clutched to my side like a queen carrying her crown.

Kalel was now warm against my chest, all soft skin and baby scent, his tiny fists curled against my collarbone as he nursed lazily. 

I dragged my fingers through his curls, those impossibly soft, impossibly perfect little waves that smelled faintly of sunshine and whatever fruit he'd managed to smear into his hair earlier.

The house was blissfully quiet now. 

Just the faint rustling of wings down the hall, the hum of Mor and Cassian bickering in the kitchen, and the rise and fall of Kalel's steady breaths. 

He was calm, sleepy, even a little angelic if you squinted hard enough.

Then, without warning—pain, sharp and piercing. I yelped, the sound punched from my lungs like I'd been struck by lightning.

"Ow! Mother of—" I gasped, eyes watering as I pulled Kalel from my chest with a grimace, clutching my hand over the spot he had just savagely bitten. "Kalel!"

The door slammed open an instant later, and in poured the cavalry.

Azriel, shadows whipping like stormwinds behind him, scanned the room like we were under attack. 

Rhysand was right on his heels, already tensing with magic. 

Cassian skidded in last, out of breath, shirt half-untucked, and looking like he'd been waiting his entire immortal life for this kind of dramatic emergency.

Mor was the only one who looked mildly annoyed rather than panicked as she followed them in, her earrings jingling softly as she assessed the scene with raised brows.

Azriel was at my side in two strides. "What happened?" he asked, already reaching for Kalel, who was now blinking up at us innocently, his lip trembling as if he were the injured party.

"He bit me," I groaned, still rubbing the sore spot with a wince. "Really hard."

Kalel let out a soft whimper, his eyes going wide as Mor lifted him gently from Azriel's arms.

"Oh, sweetheart," she cooed, bouncing him lightly on her hip. "Did you get scared when Mama screamed?"

Meanwhile, I was still sitting there half-exposed. With a sigh, I hastily yanked my dress back up, fingers fumbling with the fabric as I covered myself with all the grace of a female betrayed by her own baby.

"Don't let the pout fool you," I snapped, still glaring through the pain. "That child is a menace. And you—" I turned, eyes narrowing at Cassian like a viper striking"—you did this."

Cassian blinked. "Me?"

"You taught him to fight dirty," I spat, jabbing a finger at his chest. "All those wrestling sessions where you praised him for going for the knees or pinching or whatever other madness you've drilled into that sweet little head? This is the result."

Cassian blinked once. And then, because of course he did, he burst into uncontrollable laughter.

He clutched his stomach, gasping for breath. "You're telling me he bit you during feeding because I taught him to wrestle?"

"I'm telling you he's been biting at every minor inconvenience like some tiny winged barbarian, and now I'm collateral damage!" I snapped, still cradling my wounded pride—and chest.

Rhysand leaned heavily against the doorframe. "The little shadow has tasted blood," he said dramatically. "There is no going back now."

Azriel, to his credit, managed to keep his amusement internal. Mostly. The corners of his mouth twitched, and one of his shadows snuck over to brush against my back in comfort. 

His eyes met mine, full of understanding and maybe a touch of barely-restrained laughter. He wisely stayed quiet.

Mor, gently rocking Kalel in her arms, rolled her eyes. "Ban the brute from babysitting," she muttered under her breath.

"I agree," I said icily, standing and walking toward the door. I paused in front of Cassian, who was still laughing far too hard for someone about to be blacklisted.

"You know what?" I said coolly. "It's official I'm revoking your Kalel privileges."

Cassian's laughter cut off. "You wouldn't dare," he gasped, scandalised.

"Watch me." I swept past him, Kalel now tucked protectively into my side. He blinked up at me, his little wings fluttering sleepily against my ribs, utterly unrepentant.

Behind me, chaos continued—Cassian squawking in outrage, Rhysand offering to write a formal declaration banning him from the nursery, Azriel sighing as he began to gather the things Kalel had kicked or flung across the room earlier in the day.

But the house—our house was full of light, full of love, full of laughter. And somewhere in the centre of it all, Kalel flapped his little wings and shrieked with joy, already forgiven.

He didn't need words yet. He had everything he needed to conquer us anyway.

One tiny, toothy beat at a time.

The sun had begun its slow descent, casting golden light across the cobbled paths and sandstone walls of Velaris. 

The streets were quieter now, that lazy lull between afternoon and dusk where the world exhaled.

We'd taken Kalel out to walk off some of his mischief—his wings flared bright and fluttery, his tiny legs determined and a little wobbly as they carried him along the garden path just ahead of us.

Azriel walked at my side, shadows curling lazily around his boots, their edges dancing through the grass like they too were enjoying the fresh air.

Cassian had been dramatically pouting the entire first half of the walk, sulking behind Mor and Rhysand with all the flair of a warrior denied his favourite weapon. 

He'd tried to make his case no less than three times, each one met with a blank stare from me and a raised brow from Azriel.

Kalel, for his part, seemed entirely unaffected by the drama. 

He trotted along the path with a leaf in one hand, his little wings fluttering every time he got excited—which was often. A butterfly. A puddle. A breeze. Life itself seemed to enchant him.

And then he saw a cat.

A sleek, coal-black feline sat poised on a sun-warmed stone just off the path, its eyes bright green and unblinking as it regarded us.

Kalel stopped short. His wings flared high. His eyes went wide. And then—he took off.

"Kalel—!"

I bolted after him, the skirt of my dress catching on thorns as I ran down the uneven slope.

But he was already there, crouched low in the grass just a breath away from the cat, chirping and trilling in that nonsense babble he often used when speaking to bugs or toys.

To my astonishment, the cat didn't run.

It simply blinked slowly. Then padded forward and began twining around Kalel's legs with a purr like silk and thunder.

Kalel's mouth dropped open in silent delight. He plopped down on the ground with all the grace of a rock and immediately reached for the cat, who leaned into his chubby hands like they were the sun itself.

I sank down into the grass beside them, heart still racing, my hands braced on my knees.

Azriel caught up a moment later, his shadows already circling around Kalel like instinct. "You alright?" he asked, kneeling next to me.

"Fine," I breathed. "That child has no fear of anything."

He didn't respond right away. Just studied my face, his brows drawn low. "Your chest..." he murmured softly. "Is it still sore?"

I blinked at him, momentarily stunned by the shift in tone, from playful to concerned in a heartbeat.

I shrugged, suddenly aware of the ache lingering beneath my dress. "A little. He got me good."

Azriel's jaw tightened, shadows curling up his wrist like they wanted to do something about it. His hand ghosted near my side, as if he wanted to touch but wasn't sure he should.

And then—he did. Gently. Just a warm palm against the small of my back. Steadying. Grounding.

"I'm sorry," he said quietly. "That you got hurt."

My gaze met his. Something in his eyes, always so shadowed, seemed lighter in this golden hour light.

"I've survived worse," I murmured. "Though if he tries it again, I will resort to trickery. I'll fake a bottle. I swear it."

That earned me the faintest smile. The kind that softened the edges of his mouth and made something in my chest flutter far more delicately than wings.

In front of us, Kalel squealed with delight as the cat stretched out and rolled onto its back, exposing its belly.

"Of course he finds a stray cat and makes it his friend," I muttered.

Azriel chuckled. "Taking in strays runs in the family." His eyes met mine again, and he said nothing just tilted his head, amused.

Kalel leaned forward and pressed his forehead to the cat's belly, giggling wildly as it pawed at his curls.

We both watched in silence for a moment, the breeze tugging softly at my dress and ruffling Azriel's hair.

"I don't think he's ever been so still," I whispered.

"He's not still," Azriel said. "He's studying. Like he's learning the world piece by piece."

I glanced down at Kalel, who had now begun softly babbling to the cat, the sound pure and strange and beautiful.

"Gods help the world," I said under my breath. "When he figures it all out."

Azriel's fingers brushed mine, just a whisper of a touch. "I think," he said quietly, "we'll be the ones learning from him."

And in that quiet patch of sunlight and grass, with Kalel curled around a black cat like some storybook prince, and Azriel beside me, warm and steady and unspeakably gentle—I believed him.

Wholeheartedly.

A/n - I did extensive research for this part (asked my mum), and biting is a very real, very painful phase... which she personally endured thanks to me. Naturally, I had to include it :)

Cassian is officially banned from babysitting. Azriel remains the reigning sweetheart of the century. No one is surprised xx

Writing Kalel as a toddler is so much fun. He's an absolute menace in the best way, which makes life hilariously chaotic for his uncles and dad!!

Thank you for reading <3

Little Shadow tag list - @queenoffeysand @scatteredstardustt @thisfireheart @serena-capella @anon1227 @tothestarsandwhateverend @saamanthaag3 @moonlitlavenders @tele86 @whump-loverz @hyruledemigod20 @paintedbyshadows @quiet-because-it-is-a-secret @anothergojostan

[demilypyro]

I wonder where the difference lies.

So often, with antihero stories, is the protagonist glorified by the audience. So often, with female villains, is she lambasted and hated by the audience. But Morgan of the Devil, as an unreliable narrator, an unrepentant murderer, and the very flawed protagonist of the story, is arguably both, and yet neither has manifested.

The audience instead just generally agrees that she's a bad person, and yet wants her to succeed anyway. "Women's wrongs" is the refrain. We're just along for the ride. So what's different here? Is it because there's no male protagonist to oppose her evil? Is it because she never makes any serious attempt to justify her actions? Is it because she still has redeemable traits? What's the key factor here?

What makes Morgan different from, say, Walter White, Azula, Rick Sanchez, or Junko Enoshima?

[kuncitizen]

Thots and prayers

Synopsis You kneel at the confessional, desperate for salvation, trembling with guilt and lust. Reverend Father Getou offers no judgment, only indulgence. In the name of the Father, the Son, and the unholy ache between your thighs, welcome to your new form of worship.

Pairing Priest!Geto Suguru x reader

Content. MDNI, fem!reader, priest kínk, confessional setting, religious imagery & heavy blasphemy, sacrilegious head, oral (male rec.), power play, dom!Getou, choking (rosary style), hair pulling, face-fucking, degradation + praise, crying, spitting, sacrament metaphors turned smutty, crying during orgásm, dubcon themes (priest authority), worship kínk, religious trauma undertones, slight exhibitionism, very intense power dynamics, atrocious levels of holy fuck, dripping with sin and incense, c*m as communion, unrepentant Getou, soul-crushingly filthy, no actual plot just unholy tension, you will not be absolved, Happy ending (kinda? emotionally? idk you're on your knees)

W.c. 1.3k

A/N: The cross is heavy but so is that dick

The confessional is dim and eerily quiet. Wood creaks under you as you kneel, air filled with incense and something else—something that clings to the back of your throat like shame.

You press trembling fingers to your chest, tracing the sign of the cross. “In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.”

The partition window slides open with a quiet scrape, wood groaning softly as if in protest or anticipation.

“Bless me, Reverend Father, for I have sinned.”

Geto’s voice answers on the other side, calm and measured. “How long has it been since your last confession, child of Christ?”

You swallow. “A week. Maybe less, I'm not too sure.”

You hear the faint smile in his tone, even if you can’t see his face.

“And what burdens your soul so urgently?”

You hesitate. The words knot in your throat with humiliation. “It’s… It’s been difficult. I’ve been trying to pray, I really have. But the thoughts won’t leave.”

“You’ve come again,” he says, and his voice is close, impossibly close, as though the partition between you is nothing but a veil. “Kneeling like that. With your head bowed, your hands folded so sweetly in your lap.” There’s something indulgent in the way he says it, a priest speaking not to scold, but to savor. “Do you know what it looks like, little one? Do you have any idea how you appear when you come to me like this?”

You purse your lips together, the action almost painful, before speaking up again.

“I wake up in the night. Restless, hot, bothered and I think of…” Your voice drops, barely audible. “I think of bodies. Of what it would be like to have one against mine...”

The silence on the other side stretches again, but it isn't cold, it's contemplative. You imagine Geto leaning in slightly, fingertips pressed together.

“Temptation is the Devil’s oldest trick. He plants seeds in your thoughts and waits for them to rot you from the inside.”

His voice is softer now, gentler, like a hand on your shoulder. “But you’ve done well to bring it here. Speak, and be unburdened.”

You shift on your knees, wetness slowly seeping between your legs. The air feels heavier in your lungs.

“I please myself,” you whisper. “When I feel it building. I try to resist, I do, but I end up on my knees anyway, just not like... this. Not for God. And afterwards I cry, because I just feel so empty and ashamed.... Because I let my lust consume me.”

You hear the faint rustle of his robes shifting behind the partition. No other sound, just that, and the pounding of your heart, like it’s trying to escape your chest and climb into his hands.

“Child of God,” Geto murmurs, “you carry shame like a second skin. But if you come here seeking sanctification…”

“Then let me take it from you,”

The wooden grate clicks open. Your breath catches in your throat as a sliver of light spills through. Enough to catch the faint glint of his rings, gold and tarnished silver, engraved with tiny symbols you don’t recognize.

His fingers slide through the opening gradually, knuckles kissed by candlelight. The cuffs of his robe pull taut at his wrists, the soft black fabric whispering against wood.

“Let me purify your being.”

Geto's hands cup your face, warm and firm, brushing the stray strands of hair from your eyes, tracing the curve of your cheekbone with rough hands.

You tilt your head up, eyes glossy with unshed tears. You can’t see him clearly through the rail, but you feel the weight of his gaze, knowing and unyielding.

His hand tightens just slightly, as if to steady your trembling.

“This is no mere penance,” he croons. “It is a communion of flesh and spirit. Will you receive the Host I offer?”

You nod, barely, wordless and desperate.

“Very well, then.”

The wooden grate slides fully open, divider folding back with a quiet, final creak. The confessional no longer feels like two separate worlds but one dimly lit chamber charged with a secret electricity.

Geto steps through, crossing over to your side. The flickering candlelight catches the deep black, traditional Roman collar crisp against pale skin. His robe falls smoothly, the fabric pooling lightly at his ankles, just above polished black shoes. Around his neck hangs a beaded rosary with a silver crucifix.

His hands slide to your face again, steadying you as the other moves to his neck. The beads slip through his hands with a soft, rhythmic clack. He lets the strand fall gently, like a silent benediction, before looping it slowly around your neck, the cross resting heavy against your skin.

Geto tightens his grip just enough to tug the beads against your throat, a slow choke that makes your breath hitch sharply and pulse quicken.

Leaning in close, breath hot and ragged against your ear, he murmurs, “Open yourself, and let me absolve you.”

His eyes darken with intent as one hand slides down to the waistband of his pants. Fingers deft and sure, he undoes the clasp with a muted whisper of fabric and metal.

His cock springs out, pale and pretty with a pearly split tip. And it's huge. So big and girthy that for a moment you wonder if you could even fit it in your palm. The sides of your mouth froth at the mere thought of it.

You part your lips, trembling, as he presses himself to your mouth. The tip slides past your lips, warm and demanding. You take him in eagerly, mouth hot and wet, the taste sharp like consecrated wine.

Geto's hands thread through your hair, fisting it and holding you firm as he fucks your face. Low groans spill from his throat like worship.

“That’s it... the Lord will—”

His words catch, swallowed by a deep, guttural sound as he pushes himself deeper and deeper, your pretty little throat stretching to welcome him. The pressure of the beads around your neck and the fullness in your mouth blend into a pulse of sinful salvation.

You suck and swirl, tasting him fully—holy and profane in one breath—as his hips tilt forward with steady rhythm. The church walls seem to close in around you, sacred space pulsing with every grunt and stifled moan.

Your cunt throbs. Your cheeks are wet from the mixture tears and spit. Your fingers slip between your thighs before you know what you’re doing, sin layered on sin, shame so sweet it could only be divine.

“I can feel your mouth praying for me,” he pants. “Isn’t this what you wanted? What you needed? The Lord forgives you. I forgive you.”

You gag softly as he hits the back of your throat, but you don’t stop. He doesn’t let you. You look up through your lashes, drool spilling past your lips, fingers moving faster. You’re cumming before he does.

“More,” he gasps, voice heavy with need. “Let this be your penance.”

Geto's head tilts back slightly, jaw tensing as a breath escapes him. He shudders, the release flooding your mouth, hot and creamy ropes gradually painting near the inside of your mouth.

“Be a sweetheart,” he murmurs, voice hushed and hoarse, thumb tilting your chin up. “And swallow it for me.”

You swallow, your throat aching and still tightening around the rosary beads.

Geto looks down at you through his hooded gaze—still kneeling, spit and release coating your lips lewdly. His hand finds your jaw again, thumb brushing the corner of your mouth. His eyes then flick down to your trembling hand, fingers slick, glistening with your own climax.

He catches your wrist, bringing it up slowly. His tongue laps the mess you made, savoring the taste of your sex with a groan deep enough to echo through the confessional walls.

When he’s had his fill, Geto pulls off with a wet pop, licking his lips. "Sweet little sinner,"

He lingers for a moment, eyes trailing over your wrecked form—your heaving chest, the tremble still in your thighs, the cross hanging heavy against your neck. Geto's breath is still uneven, but his voice is steady as he speaks,

“In this sacrament of flesh, you are reborn.”

[hazymoonlinh]

Mydei lovers, hear me out-

Enemies to closer enemies.

The kind of woman who Mydei, with all his pride and control, fucking despises because he can’t predict her, can’t control her, can’t even stop thinking about her — and worse, can’t deny the fact that somewhere deep inside, he understands her. Maybe even agrees with her.

She’s the storm he wishes he could command—

and the storm that will tear him apart.

HE DOESN’T KNOW WHAT TO DO WITH HER.

⸻

And Mydei hates her because:

She’s wild. Untamable. Breaks every rule he believes in. But not entirely bad.

She makes him feel things — rage, temptation, desire — that he’s spent his whole life controlling.

Deep down, he knows she’s necessary in a world this broken… and he despises that truth.

⸻

The air stank of blood and burning silk.

The once-grand estate crumbled behind you, a funeral pyre for men who’d made their fortunes on broken backs.

And there you stood, painted in red, smiling like the goddamn devil.

When he arrived — boots heavy against the scorched earth — you turned to greet him with a careless wave, dripping gore from your fingertips.

“Well, well,” you drawled, voice lilting, wicked. “If it isn’t the lion himself. Come to roar at me, Mydei?”

His fist clenched at his side. That look — that utter disgust in his molten eyes — should’ve made you flinch. Instead, you laughed. High, delighted, unrepentant.

“You think this is a joke?” His voice was low, trembling with rage barely leashed.

“You butchered everyone.”

You tilted your head, like a cat watching a mouse squeal.

“Only the ones who deserved it,” you purred. “The rest screamed so nicely, though. You should’ve heard them beg.”

He was on you in a breath — iron hand snatching your wrist midair, yanking you close enough for your noses to nearly touch. His body was hot, burning under his battle-worn armor.

“You’re insane,” he hissed.

“You’re welcome,” you whispered back, sweetly.

He should have crushed you. He should have struck you down where you stood.

Instead, for one blinding heartbeat, he just looked at you — and you saw it.

That flicker. That undeniable, unforgivable fascination.

He hated you. Gods, he hated you.

And that hate was alive between you — breathing, snarling, aching.

You smiled wider, sharper.

“What’s wrong, Mydei?” you cooed. “Afraid you’ll fall in love?”

The growl he loosed was almost inhuman.

But he didn’t let go.

Not yet.

⸻

Oh, yea, you love you tease him. Mocking, unhinged jokes, whispers madness.

“You always play so fair,” your voice lilted from the darkness. “How boring.”

And-

Perhaps in another of your both “accidental meet up”, a crystal trap you’d planted exploded under his boots, a sudden deafening blast that shook the ruins.

He staggered — just for a moment — raw and real and angry.

You were on him before he could recover — hands curling into his armor, yanking him down — and without a heartbeat’s warning, you kissed him.

Hard.

Vicious.

Mocking.

The impact of it would stunned him more than any blade could have.

You tasted blood and smoke and something dangerously human.

And when you pulled away —

still grinning, still so close he could feel your breath against his mouth — you whispered:

“Congratulations, Mydei. You just lost.”

For a second — an unbearable, skin-scorching second — he didn’t move.

And then—

Everything snapped.

His hand caught your jaw — rough, bruising — not cruel, but furious, furious at himself, at you, at everything he couldn’t control.

You thought he would shove you away.

Instead —

he dragged you closer.

Teeth gritted. Eyes burning. His forehead slammed against yours, hard enough to hurt, to feel.

“You are a fucking curse,” he growled, voice wrecked.

“And you,” you breathed, smiling even through the sting, “love it.”

—

Two predators circling the same kill — but only one is smiling like she’s dancing,

and the other is grinding his teeth, trying not to lose his mind.

And you, darling — only you — are teasing.

The chase of cat and mouse goes on and on, kisses that always makes him yearning for more even if he fucking refused to admit it, until one day.

He was ordered to retrieve a treasure. An old relic. And of course, coincidentally, that’s also your target.

Mydei’s boots echoed against broken stone as he stalked forward, eyes sharp, body tense.

Every instinct screamed that he wasn’t alone.

And then—

A soft, musical laugh, like a silver bell in the dark.

From atop a crumbling balcony, you appeared —

perched like a wraith in your black battle coat, a mischievous glint in your eye, dagger twirling lazily between your fingers.

“My, my,” you cooed, resting your chin in your palm. “Did the lion come hunting for gold?”

He didn’t answer. He didn’t need to.

His glare was a vow in itself.

You hopped down — landing gracefully before him with a flourish — and gave a mock curtsy.

“Tell you what,” you said, voice syrupy. “We can share.”

He moved — fast, furious — swinging to knock the dagger from your hand.

But you danced back, laughing, letting his blow whistle past your throat by a breath.

“Temper, temper,” you chided, spinning around him in a slow, taunting circle.

Your fingers brushed his shoulder — featherlight, mocking — and he tensed like a drawn bow.

“You think you’re fast enough to take it from me?” he snarled.

You smiled, sweet as poison.

“No, darling. I know you aren’t.”

And the waltz began.

You slipped around him — teasing touches, whispered jabs, never quite close enough for him to grab — a living flame just out of reach.

He swung. You ducked.

He lunged. You twisted, your coat brushing his hip, your laughter dancing in the empty halls.

“You’re cute when you’re frustrated,” you teased, tapping your dagger lightly against his armor. “Maybe I’ll let you hold me… if you say please.”

A growl rumbled deep in his chest.

The kind of sound predators make right before they strike.

He was strong. He was relentless.

But you —

you were a storm made flesh, spinning just out of his grasp.

Every time he thought he had you cornered, you slipped away —

gracing him with a wink, a smirk, a feather-soft brush of your fingers across his burning skin.

He hated it.

He hated how good you felt brushing against him.

And somewhere between the parry and the dodge, the chase and the retreat —

he realized the truth:

He didn’t want the treasure anymore.

He wanted you.

—

Finally, he let you took the relic away.

Defeated.

Of course, fate takes a turn. Because why not ?

A new mission for you. A party like a bacchanal, bodies writhing, music pounding, wine flowing —

and right in the middle, you, betting your own life against an enemy.

A gamble where the stakes are death, desire, and domination.

Your enemy — a general you had humiliated once, who had sworn to see you broken — leaned across the table, smiling with shark’s teeth.

Between you?

Two goblets of wine.

One laced with a sweet, fatal poison.

One harmless.

The rules were simple:

You choose first.

You drink first.

If you live, you get the information you came for.

If you die — well….

So you drank, of course you did.

“Oops, wrong cup.”

Then you leaned down —

your mouth brushing the shell of his ear —

and whispered.

And with a flick of your wrist —

you pressed a tiny dagger to his gut.

And that’s when Mydei, who was watching, moved.

He didn’t care about subtlety anymore.

He crossed the room in three strides —

grabbed your wrist in a bruising grip —

and yanked you into him.

You collided with his chest —

laughing breathlessly —

still drunk on victory, and maybe on something darker too.

“Stupid,” he snarled low against your temple. “Reckless. Mad.”

“So what~?”

And he pulls you away.

From everyone, from the eyes that’s not supposed to look at you.

To his place. He’s finally gonna unleashing everything he’s bottled up —

but halfway through, he realizes…

You’re slipping.

Not because you’re teasing.

Not because you’re mocking him.

Because you actually drank the damn poison.

And now you’re burning up from the inside —

and he’s the idiot who didn’t see it fast enough.

—

It hit you like a blade.

One second, you were clinging to him —

smiling with your beautiful, broken little smirk —

and the next —

white-hot agony.

Your body seized.

You screamed — a sound ripped from somewhere primal and wild —

clawed at your own skin, trying to tear the burning out of yourself.

He cursed violently —

catching you as you dropped, writhing —

but you didn’t even recognize him anymore.

You thrashed.

You fought.

You hit him — hard — a wild, savage punch that would’ve knocked a lesser man down.

You tried to bite him, to tear your way out of his grasp, blinded by the poison roaring through your veins like fire.

He didn’t flinch.

He didn’t let go.

“Fuck— Y/N—” he gritted, forcing you down, pinning your arms to your sides as you kicked and screamed and tried to claw your way free.

Your nails tore bloody streaks across his skin.

Your heel smashed into his thigh hard enough to bruise.

You bucked and snarled like a dying animal.

It broke him to see you like that.

“Stop—” he growled, voice shaking, wrestling you down as you sobbed against the floor. “You’re killing yourself— stop—!”

You didn’t hear him.

You didn’t hear anything but the roaring in your skull.

You twisted, shrieking, trying to claw your way across the stone —

and he finally snapped.

He slammed his weight down, straddling your hips, grabbing your wrists and pinning them to the ground above your head.

Held you there —

shaking, burning, furious.

His blood dripped from the scratches you left on him.

Your blood stained his hands.

But he didn’t let you go.

“Look at me,” he barked, his forehead pressed to yours, trying to drag you back from the abyss.

“Y/N, fucking look at me—!”

Your vision blurred.

Through the haze — the madness —

you found his face.

His wild, desperate eyes.

Not the enemy you always fought.

Not the king you loved to defy.

Just Mydei —

raw, furious, broken —

begging you not to leave.

Tears slipped down your cheeks — helpless, ugly.

Your body finally sagged beneath him, spent and trembling.

You whimpered — a soft, broken sound —

and he pressed his forehead harder against yours, like he could anchor you to this world through sheer will alone.

“You stupid,” he choked, voice raw. “You reckless, beautiful idiot.”

You whimpered again, softer.

And just as he thought you’re too weak to fight anymore —

Your voice — ragged, wrecked — breathed against his skin:

“Hot… I want…”

He froze —

every muscle locked tight —

as your words slithered through his blood like poison.

You didn’t even know what you were asking.

Not really.

But your body knew.

Your hunger knew.

Your hips shifted against him, a clumsy, pleading grind.

Your breath scorched his neck, your lips grazing the fresh bite mark.

“Please…” you whimpered, a whisper so soft, so desperate, it shattered him.

Something inside him snapped.

—

(TO BE CONTINUED HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHA)

[bookwormjust]

Laughter and Shadows : Chaos in the House of Wind

(Azriel x mate reader)

The house of wind was alive with laughter, the scent of spiced wine and roasted meats lingering in the air. The Inner Circle was gathered around the low table in the sitting room, a fire crackling merrily in the hearth.

It was one of those rare nights where everything felt perfect—comfortable, lighthearted, and safe.

You sat nestled against Azriel's side, his shadows swirling lazily around you both like sentinels at ease. His hand rested possessively on your thigh, the touch grounding, as if he needed the constant reminder that you were his. You caught the edge of a smirk on his lips as Rhysand and Feyre teased each other across the table. Cassian, sprawled across an armchair with a plate of food balanced precariously on his knee, was midway through a boastful story about a sparring match when it happened…

A loud, unmistakable fart erupted, cutting through the conversation like a crack of lightning. For a moment, there was utter silence. Then, Feyre choked on her wine, Mor burst out laughing, and Rhysand leaned back with a grin so wide it could rival the sunrise.

“Really, Cassian?” Rhys drawled, the twinkle in his violet eyes betraying his amusement. Cassian, to his credit, looked utterly unbothered. He leaned back, arms crossed over his broad chest, a devil-may-care grin plastered on his face. “What? Better out than in.”

Mor was practically crying with laughter at this point, and Amren shot Cassian a disgusted look, muttering something about Illyrians being nothing more than glorified barbarians. You couldn’t help it—you started laughing too, your small frame shaking against Azriel’s side. It wasn’t just the absurdity of the moment; it was the way Cassian owned it so shamelessly. Azriel, however, did not seem to find the situation nearly as amusing. His jaw clenched, shadows darting in sharp, irritated movements as he shot Cassian a glare that could freeze rivers. “You’re disgusting,” he muttered darkly, his hand tightening on your thigh as though Cassian’s behavior was some sort of affront to you personally. “Oh, lighten up, Shadowsinger,” Cassian quipped, unfazed. “She’s laughing. Let her enjoy herself.” Azriel’s wings twitched, his possessive instincts flaring visibly.

You placed a hand on his chest, giving him a soft, reassuring smile. “It’s fine, Az,” you said gently. “It’s not the end of the world.” Azriel huffed, his golden eyes softening as he looked down at you.

“Still,” he grumbled, brushing a stray curl from your face. “He’s lucky I’m not in the mood to kill him tonight.” Cassian winked at you from across the room. “See? She gets it. That’s why we keep her around.” The laughter continued, filling the room once more.

You leaned closer to Azriel, resting your head on his shoulder, his tension melting away under your touch.

As the laughter from Cassian’s previous outburst and unrepentant antics began to die down, the General himself leaned forward, his trademark wicked grin plastered on his face. “You know,” he began, his deep voice cutting through the hum of the room, “I bet you two”—he pointed his finger at you and Azriel—“haven’t even reached the farting-in-front-of-each-other stage yet.” The room erupted into chaos again, but this time for entirely different reasons.

You felt your face flush hot—the kind of warmth that made your cheeks burn all the way to your ears. “Cassian!” you sputtered, wide-eyed. Feyre and Mor were doubled over with laughter, while Rhysand casually sipped his wine, looking all too amused by the unfolding drama. Even Amren smirked, though she rolled her eyes and muttered something about “Illyrians and their nonsense.” Azriel, however, was not laughing. His face was carved from stone, his golden eyes narrowing on Cassian with an intensity that could incinerate. Shadows curled tighter around him, snapping like whips, and his wings flared ever so slightly in warning. “Cassian,” Azriel said, his voice low and dangerously calm. “I suggest you stop talking before I make you.” Cassian didn’t seem fazed in the slightest. If anything, his grin widened.

“Oh, come on, Az. It’s a valid question. It’s part of every relationship! And I know you’re way too serious to let that happen.” He turned to you, winking. “He hasn’t, has he?” You groaned, burying your face in your hands. “I am not answering that!” “See? That’s a no!” Cassian crowed triumphantly. “I knew it. The perfect, untouchable Azriel wouldn’t dare let a single embarrassing thing slip in front of his mate.” “Cassian,” Azriel growled, his hand tightening on your thigh possessively. “I’m warning you.” But Cassian only laughed harder, clearly enjoying pushing Azriel’s buttons.

“Don’t worry, little shadowling,” he said to you, ignoring the dangerous glint in Azriel’s eyes. “Give it a few months. You’ll be just as shameless as the rest of us. Mark my words.” Mor, barely able to breathe from laughing so hard, finally chimed in. “Cassian, you’re the worst.”

“Thank you,” he replied smugly, raising his glass as if in a toast. You risked a glance at Azriel, who was still glaring at Cassian as though debating whether murdering him in front of the Inner Circle would be worth the cleanup. You placed a hand on his chest, drawing his attention back to you. “It’s fine, Az,” you said softly, giving him a small smile. “He’s just being Cassian.” Azriel exhaled sharply, his shoulders relaxing just a fraction. “He’s insufferable,” he muttered. “True,” you agreed, leaning closer to him. “But at least he keeps things interesting.”

Cassian, overhearing, raised his glass again. “Damn right I do!” The laughter resumed, and though your face still felt warm from embarrassment, you couldn’t help but smile. Cassian might be insufferable, but moments like this reminded you why you loved this chaotic, ridiculous family.

[eclipixels]

😭 hey i read your isagi works and found it quite humorous if u dont mind can i request smth like if u have seen horimiya s1 u saw how hori was into miyamura becoming rude towards her and she liked it lol kinda weird but like can u pls make smth like that but with the soft characters like isagi, bachira, yukimiya (my bae could never but pls include him) and kunigami plsssssssss

Pathetic

Character: Yoichi Isagi, Meguru Bachira, Kenyu Yukimiya, Rensuke Kunigami

Content: How they react to overhearing you on the phone saying, “He is sweet, so sweet. But I don’t know, sometimes when he gets a little mean, it’s kinda hot”

Warnings: Slight masochism, ooc

     Yoichi Isagi

      His face flushed with heat as he absorbed your words. He knew you relished those moments when he took control and was a little mean. Did you crave even more of that commanding presence? It seemed like there was no harm in exploring further.

      That very day marked the beginning of a gentle experiment. The two of you were nestled on the couch, absorbed in a lively session of FIFA 23. You found yourself underperforming spectacularly, selling so much so that you began to wonder what was happening to your usual skills. Embarrassment crept in as you noticed your consistently poor performance.

      "Y/n, why do you actually suck at this?" he deadpanned.

      "Huh?" you responded, caught off guard by the blunt remark.

      "A potato can play this better," he added with a casual shrug, his honesty cutting through the playful banter.

      "Babe, what the hell," you muttered, a mix of frustration and amusement in your tone.

      "I'm just being honest," he insisted, his expression unrepentant yet mischievous.

      A curious flutter stirred in your stomach.

      Later in the day, he called out to you, inviting you to join him for an activity. Feeling a bit languid, you initially dismissed his call, silently daring him to maintain that teasing attitude.

      "Y/n, don't make me come over," he said, his voice laced with both challenge and amusement. You couldn’t help but laugh softly at his persistent frustration. You heard his footsteps as he came to where you were.

      "The fuck is wrong with you? Don't you hear me calling for you?" he barked, his gaze sharp and tinged with anger. You fell silent under his intense stare. With a shake of his head, he strode over and, without warning, manhandled you back to the bedroom with a firm grip.

      "Brat," he muttered, a mixture of exasperation and affection in his tone. “Listen and do as you're told," He growled, and you couldn’t help the squeal you let out as he threw you onto the bed.

      “Make me, pretty boy.” You teased, hoping he’d take it further and he was about to, but he faltered once he saw your happy cute face. How could he be mean to that?

      “Noooo, come back.” You wrapped your legs around his waist, drawing him in.

      “I feel bad.” He slouched onto you, hiding his face in your chest. He couldn’t keep it up for even a day.

     Meguru Bachira

      Bachira had always been a little devil in his own right—a whirlwind of playful mischief and irreverence—but when it came to you, he softened into something entirely different. To him, you were his cherished honey bee, the one soul who had managed to capture his elusive heart. In a world that seldom understood him, you were the singular beacon of warmth and acceptance in his life.

      Every afternoon, you would watch him practice, your eyes filled with admiration and a longing to be a part of his world. Slowly, Bachira began to teach you the subtleties of the game. The art of a well-timed pass, the perfect angle for a shot, and the dance of footwork that made him seem almost untouchable. Though you improved with every lesson, you never quite reached his effortless level of mastery.

      Bachira was not one to wound feelings or cast harsh words at you for it, though. So when he overheard snippets of your conversation with a friend, confusion crept into his usually confident demeanor. How could someone ever enjoy being treated unkindly? After all, he had experienced his own share of judgment and odd looks from those who failed to see beyond the surface. The thought of inflicting that same cold treatment on you, his precious honey bee, was unthinkable.

      “Meg, can you teach me?” You asked, walking up to him as he was dribbling on the field.

      “Sure, hun.” He smiled. Okay he was already failing at this, but how could he resist you when you asked so sweetly?

      "Come on, I know you can do better than that," he said, watching as you missed the mark with your kick.

      "I don't know, Meguru," you muttered, frowning.

      "Pathetic," he remarked, and you shot him a surprised look. Wait, why did that kinda…?

      "I know you can do better, so stop acting like you can't," he added, his frown deepening.

      You adjusted your footwork, trying again with a more precise angle.

      "Again," he said, his tone firm. You raised an eyebrow, confused. "Don’t make me repeat myself, wasp."

      You nodded, following his lead, though a strange feeling tugged at his chest. He couldn't deny that part of him enjoyed pushing you, even if the other part felt a twinge of guilt. His monster ego versus his guilty conscience.

      That wasn’t all, though.

      As you strolled casually past him later that day, his hand darted out unexpectedly. He slapped you. On your ass, of course. He thought it was the most fitting spot for such an unconventional gesture. The sound echoed softly in the space between you, and you yelped in surprise. Spinning around, your eyes widened in a mixture of shock and undeniable delight, your cheeks blooming into a blush.

      Bachira, ever perceptive, studied your reaction. In that split second, as your surprise melted into a spark of excitement, his signature grin began to spread across his face.

      “Meg…” you whispered, your voice a blend of desire and joy.

      He tilted his head with a playful arch of his brow. “Yes, hun?” he replied, his tone light yet loaded with an unspoken promise.

      “That was hot,” you confessed.

     Kenyu Yukimiya

      Yukimiya had always been the calm and collected one. He had overheard your phone call earlier with your friend and wasn’t planning to do anything about it. But tonight, he was in a mood, one that didn't quite align with his usual demeanor. You could tell by the way he was glaring at you across the room. So, he didn’t quite feel as bad as he would’ve for the way he was about to treat you.

      It started innocently enough, with you attempting to cheer him up with some snacks from the convenient store. You set the bag down in front of him.

      "What’s this?"

      Your heart sank a little, but you bit your lip, trying to hold back a smile. "I... I thought you'd like it."

      “I do, but I was kind of expecting a meal.” Yukimiya muttered, shoving the bag aside. He stood up, towering over you, his gaze hard and unfeeling.

      You shivered at the sting in his words, feeling a rush of excitement flood through you. You knew what kind of mood he was in now—he was in one of his dominant, mean-spirited phases. And, much to your surprise, it made your heart race.

      "Kenyu..." you whispered, unable to suppress the thrill coursing through your veins.

      "What?" His voice was cold, and his eyes were sharp as he glared at you.

      "You’re not mad at me, are you?" you asked softly, your voice shaking with anticipation.

      “No, I just–” He took off his glasses and rubbed his temples before continuing, “I’m frustrated.”

      “Can I help?” You looked up at him all innocently.

      “I just wanna be left alone.” He grumbled.

      “Are you sure? I can make you—”

      “Did you not hear what I said?” He raised his voice a little, surprising you both. He was about to apologize but he saw the look on your face. You were liking this?

      You swallowed hard, but your pulse quickened. The more he acted like this, the more your body responded. You were into it, the way he could reduce you to nothing more than a trembling mess with just his words, the way he could make you feel both desperate and satisfied at the same time.

      Yukimiya froze, his breath catching in his chest as the reality of the moment hit him. What was he doing? His gaze softened, as he realized what this was between you two. He exhaled slowly.

      “I’m sorry,” he whispered, his voice barely audible as he looked at you, regret written across his face.

      “No, no, it’s fine, Kenyu,” you reassured him, stepping closer. “Really. You can take your frustration out on me if you need to.”

      He blinked, clearly caught off guard by your response. “A-are you sure?” His eyes flickered between uncertainty and something deeper, something darker. He hadn’t really thought about that as an option.

      You nodded, a soft smile curving your lips as you met his gaze. “I’m sure. I want you to. Just... let go. Whatever you're feeling, take it out on me.”

      Kenyu took a step forward, his hand lifting as if to touch you, but he hesitated again. “I don’t want to hurt you,” he murmured.

      “You won’t,” you said firmly, your voice steady despite the thrill running through your veins. “I trust you.”

      He let out a shaky breath, clearly struggling with the conflict inside him. After a long pause, his eyes darkened with something unreadable. He stepped closer, his presence overwhelming as he gently gripped your wrist, pulling you toward him.

      “Don’t say I didn’t warn you,” he muttered

     Rensuke Kunigami

      Rensuke Kunigami was a man of discipline. He didn’t believe in playing games, and he definitely didn’t waste time on things that didn’t serve a purpose. So when he overheard you on the phone, he didn’t overthink it.

      If that’s what you wanted, he’d deliver.

      But he wasn’t going to fake it, and he definitely wasn’t going to coddle you afterward. Kunigami didn’t do things halfway.

      The shift in his behavior was subtle at first. You noticed it when you were out together, when he stopped softening his words for you.

      “Y/n, stop dragging your feet,” he muttered one afternoon as you strolled beside him, struggling to keep up with his pace.

      “I’m not dragging my feet,” you shot back, slightly out of breath.

      Kunigami barely spared you a glance. “Then why are you so damn slow?”

      Your stomach fluttered at the bluntness of his tone. He had never spoken to you like that before. You bit your lip, resisting the urge to grin.

      Later, at home, it escalated. You were sprawled on the couch, absentmindedly flipping through your phone while he stood in the doorway, arms crossed over his broad chest.

      “You’re wasting time,” he said flatly.

      You blinked up at him. “What?”

      “I’ve been calling you for the last five minutes. Get up.”

      You hesitated, testing the waters. “Or what?”

      Kunigami exhaled through his nose, then strode over to where you lay. Without another word, he grabbed your wrist and pulled you upright with zero effort, dragging you toward the bedroom.

      "Hey!" you yelped, but the rush of excitement shot through you before you could think twice about it.

      He didn’t slow down. “I don’t like repeating myself,” he said simply, his grip firm but controlled. “Next time, move when I tell you to.”

      Your heart was racing now, and you didn’t fight him. You liked this side of him. Kunigami had always been intense, but he had never turned that intensity on you. And now that he had, you felt like you were standing too close to a flame, burning up in the best way possible.

      “M’sorry, Ren.” You responded, and Kunigami melted at your look. Did he go too far?

      Kunigami studied you for a moment, his sharp golden eyes taking in every detail. The way your breath hitched, the way you looked up at him, expectant and eager. He exhaled through his nose again, shaking his head slightly. All of his guilt washed away from your reaction.

      “Yeah whatever. Shut up and do as you’re told.”

      And who were you to disobey?

[ne0mile]

𝙮𝙪𝙢𝙖 𝙭 𝙛!𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙙𝙚𝙧

warnings: suggestive (they make out), "enemies" to "lovers", fake dating, bickering, jealousy

wordcount: 5.5k

When your ex spots you at the summer festival, you do the unthinkable: you grab Yuma’s arm like he’s your lifeline. The guy who lives to push your buttons, who smirks when you glare, and who definitely shouldn’t feel this good pressed against you. But as his hands slide around your waist, you realise two things: this fake relationship feels alarmingly real, and Yuma might be enjoying this a little too much.

AN: Sorry if there are any mistakes, I really tried to proofread it, but English is not my you know what...

The festival lights blurred into streaks of gold as you wove through the crowd, clumsily adjusting the waistband of your yukata while you walked. Your shift at the convenience store ended late, so you had to hurry to get to the festival on time. You wouldn’t miss that. Your friends had promised a “fun, relaxing night”, but the closer you got, the more you realised this wouldn’t be quite that.

Because there, leaning against the gate with a smirk that made your teeth grind, was Yuma.

“Took you long enough,” he called, pushing off the gate with one shoulder. The striped fabric of his yukata stretched across his chest as he crossed his arms. “If it had been up to me, we would've left 30 minutes ago.”

You ignored the way your pulse jumped, in annoyance, obviously, and turned to your friend Harua. “You didn’t say he’d be here.” He shrugged, unrepentant. “Would you have come if I did?”

“Of course not.” You blatantly said. 

Yuma clutched his chest. “Wow. And after I specifically wore my brand new yukata for you.” You frowned. “It’s the same one you wore last year.”

“You remembered?” His grin widened. “Cute.”

You rolled your eyes so hard it hurt. It’s been two years since Yuma started hanging out with you and your friends. Two years of his stupid remarks, his infuriating smirk, and the way he always knew how to get under your skin.

Nicholas slung an arm around Yuma’s neck, cutting off whatever retort he’d prepared. “Play nice, kids. We’ve got games to win and food to eat. We’re busy!”

As the group surged toward the stalls, Yuma fell into step beside you, walking way too close for your liking. “Relax,”he murmured, low enough that only you could hear. “I’ll be on my best behavior.”

You side-eyed him. “That’s what I’m afraid of.” 

The group descended on the festival stalls, your laughter blending with the chatter of the crowd. You made a beeline for the shooting gallery, squeezing between Taki and Harua to put maximum distance between you and him.

"Aw, running away already?" Thinking of the devil, Yuma materialized at your elbow before you could grab a pellet gun, his smirk visible even in your periphery, "Scared I'll show you up?"

You snatched the toy rifle from the vendor. "Scared I'll embarrass you in front of everyone."

"Ooh, bold words." He leaned over your shoulder, his breath hot against your ear as you fumbled to load pellets. "Bet you can't hit three targets."

You gritted your teeth, finger tightening on the trigger. "Bet I can hit five."

Yuma's grin spread. "’Kay. Whoever loses buys the other taiyaki?"

"Deal."

Your first shot went wide, missing the entire backboard. "Wow." Yuma whistled. "Were you aiming for the moon?"

"Shut up." You mumbled, eyebrows furrowed as you reloaded. Your second shot grazed a tin duck's wing but didn't knock it down.

Yuma didn't bother hiding his laughter. "Here." He slid behind you, chest pressing against your back as his hands covered yours on the rifle. "You're jerking it." His calloused fingers steadied your grip, sending an involuntary shiver down your spine. "Sight the target... breathe out... then pull."

The proximity flooded your cheeks with heat. You elbowed him hard in the ribs. "I don't need your help!"

"Clearly." He rubbed his side, still grinning. "Step aside, rookie." Yuma snatched the rifle, his fingers brushing yours deliberately. "Let a pro show you how it's done."

He took rapid aim and missed spectacularly, the pellet pinging off a support beam.

"Wow." You fluttered your lashes innocently at him. "Was that supposed to be impressive?"

"Warm-up round." His second shot exploded three bottles in a cascade of water. The third hit the moving target's bullseye.

"Lucky shot," you muttered as the vendor handed him a grotesque octopus plushie.

"Skill." He blew imaginary smoke off the barrel, then shoved the plushie into your arms. Your mouth opened to protest–it was hideous, it smelled like cheap plastic, and he’d probably cheated–before Yuma cut you off, snatching your wrist. “So… you owe me taiyaki. There’s a stall right there!”

He dragged you toward the red-and-gold cart, the neon octopus flopping against your ribs as you stumbled after him. "Two, please!" Yuma announced, already digging into his wallet before the vendor started wrapping the pastries. “One red bean, one custard!”

"Oh?" You raised an eyebrow as he ordered. "So you do remember custard’s my favorite."

Yuma’s fingers hesitated over his coins before he scoffed. "Custard’s for me. You get red bean." He slid the money across the counter, ignoring your outstretched hand. "And put that away. I’m not that cheap."

"But the bet—"

"Changed my mind." He took the fish-shaped pastries from the vendor and shoved the red bean one toward you. "Eat your consolation prize, loser."

You scowled at it. "I hate red bean." Still, you took it with pouty lips. 

"Liar." Before you could complain further, Yuma raised his own custard-filled taiyaki to your lips with a smirk. "Open."

"I don’t want—" The words died in your throat as he stepped into your space. His free hand came up, slender fingers tilting your chin with deliberate pressure. “Since when do you turn down custard?” His thumb brushed the corner of your mouth. You held your breath… “C’mon. Before it gets cold.” Then parted your lips. 

The custard smelled like caramelized sugar and nostalgia. You leaned in, eyes locked on his, and you took a tentative bite as Yuma pressed the morsel to your lips. The sugar flooded your tongue and senses, and for a moment, you let your guard down. Enjoying the sweet moment. Batting your eyelashes at the very boy you’d sworn, to anyone who’d listen, was the bane of your existence.

"See?" His voice had gone gravel-rough. "Not so bad, is it?"

Heat spread across your face as you chewed. It wasn’t just the intimacy of the moment, it was the intent in his gaze, his smile, his scent… "...It’s okay."

"Just okay?" He smirked, popping the remaining half into his mouth. "Should’ve let you pay after all—"

"OH MY GOD." Maki’s screech shattered the moment. "ARE YOU HAND-FEEDING EACH OTHER?!"

Unlike you, Yuma didn’t flinch, while you let the octopus plushie fall to the ground. He licked custard off his thumb slowly, his eyes never leaving yours as they tried to dig a hole into the ground.  "Just making sure she pays her debts." 

Yet, he was the one who paid in the end.

"I’m gonna vomit," Maki said, stomping away. "Save the PDA for the love hotel, you animals!"

Yuma watched the rest of the group walking away, grinning at your flushed face. "See? I’m a gentleman." With a chuckle, he bent down to scoop up the abandoned octopus. He dusted sand off its tentacles before tucking it under his arm. “C’mon.” Yuma nudged you forward. “We don’t wanna get lost.”

You swatted his arm instinctively but let him guide you down the lantern-strung path anyway. Harua and Taki walked ahead, pointing at stalls, while the scent of grilling food thickened the air. You were walking a bit behind, lost in thought. 

Apparently, he couldn’t stop himself from thinking about you either, because here Yuma was. Next to you again. “Still blushing?” He teased, trying hard to get your attention.

What was it with him? Why did he always have to bother you? How did it even start, this endless teasing and bickering? You couldn't even remember why you hated him in the first place. 

With a long sigh, you opened your mouth to retort–then froze. 

Past the barrel fire’s flickering light, leaning against a paper lantern post was he… Your ex.

His eyes met yours across the shifting crowd, widening in recognition. Your stomach dropped.

It’s only been a few months since you broke up, and with your history, talking to him was the last thing in the world you’d want to do. However, knowing him, he probably wouldn’t miss the opportunity to, and there was no way you’d look like you’re avoiding him. That would be immature.

So you lunged for the nearest person, which just happened to be Yuma. Your hands fisted in the front of his yukata, dragging him closer with a startled "Oof!" from him. His hands flew up instinctively, hovering awkwardly near your shoulders as you pressed your forehead against his collarbone, hiding your face.

"What the—?" His voice was equal parts confused and amused.

"Don't look," you hissed, fingers tightening in his fabric, already regretting your hasty, stupid move. "It's my ex. Right there."

Yuma stiffened. A beat passed, and then his hands slowly settled on your waist, his grip warm and steady despite the tension in his fingers. "...You're wrinkling my nice yukata," he muttered, but there was no real annoyance in it. You could tell.

You peeked up just in time to see your ex's expression twist before he turned sharply away. The second he disappeared into the crowd, you released Yuma like he'd burned you.

"Sorry," you mumbled, smoothing out the crumpled striped fabric with crimson red cheeks. "I panicked." 

Yuma stared down at you for a moment, his usual stupid smirk absent. His expression was unreadable, intense, and almost thoughtful. You stared fixedly at the striped pattern you’d just mussed, fidgeting with your own yukata sleeve, trying your best to avoid his eyes. God, why couldn’t he make some obnoxious joke? His silence was unnerving.

After what felt like an eternity, he finally spoke, his voice lower than usual, devoid of its usual playful lilt. “I guess with how things ended… You don’t really want him to come and talk to you…”

Your head snapped up, defensive walls slamming down. “That’s none of your business.” The words came out sharper than intended.

A flicker of his familiar mischief returned, a slow, knowing curve touching his lips. “Or do you?” he teased, tilting his head, his gaze searching for yours. “Maybe you want a dramatic reunion under the paper lanterns? A chance to tell him off properly? Or…?” He let the implication hang, his smirk daring you.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” you hissed, glancing nervously back towards where your ex had been. The crowd had shifted, but the threat felt palpable. “I just want him to leave me alone. Tonight, at least…”

“Exactly.” Yuma’s voice dropped, leaning in conspiratorially. The playful glint in his eyes was now sharp, calculating.“So, let’s make sure he does. Thoroughly.”

You narrowed your eyes. “What are you talking about?”

“Simple. We give him a reason to keep his distance. A very good reason.” He grinned, wiggling his eyebrows to make sure you understood the implication. “We play along for the rest of the night. You and me. Happy couple, disgustingly in love.”

Your jaw dropped. “You are insane. Absolutely not!” Just the idea of pretending to be romantically involved with Yuma, of all people, sent a new wave of heat to your face. Along with a confusing mix of indignation and something else you refused to name or even acknowledge. 

No. Him feeding you earlier and you pressing yourself against him, even just for a second, was more than enough. 

“Why not?” He stepped closer, challenging you, invading your personal space once again. “Think about it. He saw you practically climbing me like a tree. The seed is planted. We just need to… water it and he’ll leave you alone.”

“I didn’t climb you!” you protest, the memory of your face pressed against his chest flooding back. 

“Whatever you call it.” He waved a dismissive hand. “The point is, he saw it. Maybe he even saw me feeding you taiyaki, thanks to Maki’s big mouth.” He leaned in, his voice a low murmur only for your ears to hear. “Imagine his face if he sees us holding hands? Or if I put my arm around you?” His grin turned wolfish, and he was now practically murmuring in your ear. “Or if I whisper something that makes you blush like you are right now?”

You instinctively touched your burning cheek and took a step back. “This is a terrible idea, Yuma. It’s… asking for trouble.”

“Come on! More trouble than him trying to ‘talk’ things through while we’re all trying to have fun?” He countered, his gaze unwavering. “This guarantees he stays away and we have fun at his expense. You know he deserves it.” 

As infuriating as Yuma was, he wasn’t entirely wrong. Playing along would be the most effective deterrent, and the thought of making your ex jealous… it held a certain appeal. 

You looked away, chewing your lip, your decision made. “This doesn’t mean anything,” you stated firmly, trying to reclaim some control. “It’s strictly for operational purposes. To repel the target.” 

Yuma’s triumphant smile widened. “Operational purposes, of course. Got it. It will be strictly professional.” His tone dripped with sarcasm, and you hated it. He offered his arm, with his elbow crooked. “Shall we, partner? Operation Make this guy regret his life choices starts now.”

You hesitated for a final second, your heart pounding a frantic rhythm in your chest. This was madness. But looking at Yuma’s expectant, annoyingly confident face and feeling the phantom threat of your ex somewhere in the crowd… madness seemed preferable. 

With a sigh that was half exasperation, half resignation you looped your arm through his. His forearm was warm and firm beneath the thin fabric of his clothing. “Fine. But if you make this weird, Yuma, I swear–”

“Who, me?” He feigned innocence, pulling you closer as you started walking towards the others. “Wouldn’t dream of it. Unless, of course,” he added, his voice dropping to that low, intimate murmur again as he leaned his head against yours. “...Making you blush is part of the operation. Gotta sell the act, you know…”

His breath tickled your ear, and there was nothing you could do to stop the heat rushing to your cheeks. 

Yuma chuckled. “See? It’s a natural talent of mine.”

With your arm still firmly linked with Yuma’s, you approached the group clustered around Nicholas, who was now triumphantly holding a giant panda plushie at the darts stall. 

Maki spotted you first. His eyes, already wide from the size of the plushie Nicholas had just won, practically bugged out of his head as they landed on you two and your linked arms. “What?! Hold on! What the hell?” His voice rose several octaves, drawing the attention of Harua, Taki and Nicholas. 

Harua blinked, his expression shifting from mild interest to deep skepticism. He looked from your flushed face to Yuma’s serene smirk. “Seriously? I thought you hated each other and now you’re… cuddling?” 

The humiliation was too much. This was a bad idea. You tried to pull your arm away, but Yuma’s grip tightened imperceptibly, anchoring you to his side. “Well, don’t say you’ve never seen it coming. All that fighting all the time…” He paused, his gaze flickering down to you with an intensity that felt far too convincing. You fought back a shiver. “It was like foreplay.”

Your cheeks ignited even more, and your whole body froze. Foreplay? You opened your mouth, sharp denial ready on your tongue. It’s all an act! He’s being insufferable! But the memory of your ex potentially lurking nearby slammed the words back down your throat. You couldn’t contradict him. Not now. The embarrassment was excruciating, but the alternative was worse. You clamped your lips shut, staring down and hoping the earth would swallow you whole. 

“See?” He continued, his voice dripping with satisfaction and amusement. He gave your arm a little squeeze. “She’s shy.”

Nicholas looked between you both, a slow grin spreading across his face. “Hey, weirdly… it kinda makes sense? You two are always in each other’s space, bickering like an old married couple.”

You wished everybody would just shut up. Maybe this was worse than them not buying the act and compromising it. 

“Exactly!” Yuma exclaimed, seizing his friend’s observation. He leaned his head against yours, his temples brushing your hair. “It’s our unique brand. Keeps things spicy and entertaining, right, sweetheart?” 

You managed a strangled noise that could have been both agreement and protest. At this point, you weren’t so sure anymore.

Maki looked like he was going to be sick again. “Unique is one word for it. Disgusting is another.” He shuddered dramatically. “Just… keep the PDA to a minimum, okay? Some of us are trying to enjoy our night.”

Harua just shook his head, a small, resigned smile playing on his lips. “Whatever. You guys have always been weird together. This is just… weirder.” He turned back to Nicholas. “Okay, where to next? Goldfish scooping?”

As the group started moving again, heading towards the shimmering tubs of goldfish, Yuma didn’t release your arm. Instead, he shifted his hold, his hand sliding down to intertwine his fingers with yours. Your breath hitched. Holding hands? Was this strictly necessary for the act? You shot him a questioning, slightly panicked look.

He just winked, his smirk softening into something dangerously close to genuine affection. “Gotta keep it convincing,” he murmured, his thumb rubbing a slow circle of the back of your hand. “Wouldn’t want anyone thinking we’re faking it, would we?”

He didn’t wait for an answer, pulling you firmly towards the bustling goldfish scooping stalls. Lanterns reflected in the shallow tubs filled with darting flashes of orange and white. Taki was already crouched intently, his tongue poking out in concentration as he maneuvered the fragile paper scoop through the water. Nicholas cheered him on, the giant panda plushie leaning precariously against his leg, along with the others. 

You and Yuma stopped a few feet behind Taki, close enough to watch but not crowd him. The cool night air did little to soothe the heat radiating from where Yuma’s hand held yours. 

He gave your fingers one last, deliberate squeeze before releasing them. You barely had a second to register the loss of contact, the cool air rushing in, when he stepped behind you.

His presence enveloped you before his touch did. You felt the warmth of his chest against your back, the fabric of his yukata brushing the one of yours. Then, his arms slid around your waist, crossing loosely just below your ribs. He rested his chin lightly on your shoulder, his cheek brushing your hair. His breath ghosted warm against the shell of your ear.

You froze. Completely. Every nerve ending screamed. The chatter of the crowd, Taki’s frustrated groan as another scoop ripped, Maki’s distant haggling… it all faded into a dull roar. All you could feel was Yuma’s warmth at your back, the weight of his chin, the casual intimacy of his hold. It was too much. Way too much.

“You’re overdoing it,” you hissed, your voice tight with panic and something else entirely. You dug your nails lightly into the wrist resting on your waist, a silent plea for him to back off.

Yuma didn’t even flinch. If anything, his hold tightened, pulling you fractionally closer against him. “Or maybe you’re just not used to being touched like this,” he murmured, his lips brushing your hair. His thumb, resting just above your hipbone, began tracing slow, deliberate circles through your clothing. The touch was light, almost idle, but it burned. “Relax. We’re selling it, remember? Look natural.”

Natural? How could you possibly look natural when he was wrapped around you like a vine, his thumb setting your skin on fire? You forced yourself to stare fixedly at Taki’s futile efforts, trying to ignore the way your heart hammered against your ribs, loud enough you were sure Yuma could feel it vibrating through your back.

“Your hair smells nice, by the way.” He shifted slightly, his chin nudging your shoulder so he could see Taki better, but his arms remained firmly around you.

He smelled good, too. And as much as you wanted to shove him off, there was a part of you, deep down, a traitorous, hidden part, that craved to melt back into the unexpected comfort of his hold. The solid warmth at your back, the rhythmic tracing of his thumb, the low rumble of his voice commenting on Taki’s disastrous scooping technique… it was oddly soothing. 

After the goldfish debacle, the group migrated through the festival. Every step was accompanied by Yuma’s infuriatingly perfect "boyfriend" act. He kept your hand firmly clasped in his, his thumb continuing its maddening circles. He called you ridiculous nicknames like “sweetheart” or “princess,” each one delivered with that smirk, designed to make you sputter. He’d pull you closer if the crowd jostled you, his arm slipping possessively around your shoulders or waist. He’d lean down to murmur comments only you could hear, his breath warm on your ear, making your pulse skip whether you wanted it to or not.

That and the way he’d steady you after you tripped on uneven pavement, his relentless comments on your rosy cheeks, and him buying you your favorite food at various stalls. 

It was infuriating but also… surprisingly convincing. 

The first distant boom echoed through the night air, followed by a collective gasp from the crowd.

“Fireworks!” Taki yelled, pointing towards the riverbank where the display was set up. “Come on, hurry!” Nicholas urged, grabbing Maki’s sleeve.

The group surged with the flow of people, all heading towards the best viewing spots along the river. The lantern-lit paths became rivers of people themselves, moving as one. 

Yuma’s grip on your hand tightened, pulling you close against him to navigate the press of bodies. His arm came securely around your back, shielding you from the jostling. “Stay close,” he murmured, his voice serious for a fleeting second before the smirk returned. “Wouldn’t want to lose my girlfriend in the crowd.”

You elbowed him, but there was no real force behind it this time. The crowd was intense, and his presence was an anchor. You found a relatively clear spot near the water's edge, and the group was reforming around you. Harua and Taki squeezed in beside Nicholas and Maki, all craning their necks expectantly. Yuma positioned himself directly behind you, his chest pressed against your back, again his hands resting lightly on your hips. 

The first firework exploded high above the river in a shower of silver sparks, painting the night sky and reflecting in the dark water. A chorus of “Oohs” rose from the crowd.

You tilted your head back, mesmerized by the cascading colors. The bursts of light illuminated the sea of upturned faces around you. And then, your gaze snagged.

He was there again. Maybe twenty feet away. 

He wasn’t alone this time. Maybe he wasn’t earlier, but you weren’t observant enough. A girl was tucked under his arm, her head resting on his shoulder as they watched the fireworks. He was smiling down at her, a relaxed, happy smile you hadn’t seen directed at you in months, maybe ever. They looked… comfortable. Together. 

A strange pang shot through your chest. Not jealousy, exactly. More like… a hollow ache of finality, mixed with a confusing swirl of embarrassment. Seeing him move on so easily, so publicly, while you were tangled in this ridiculous, confusing charade with Yuma… it made you feel foolish. Your breath hitched, and you quickly looked away, back up at the sky, but the image was seared into your mind. The happy couple under the fireworks.

“What’s wrong?” Yuma’s voice was low, close to your ear, cutting through the booming fireworks and crowd noise. His hands on your hips tightened slightly. He’d felt the subtle tension ripple through you.

You shook your head minutely, keeping your face tilted upwards. “Nothing. Just… the fireworks. They’re loud.” Your voice sounded strained even to your own ears.

Yuma didn’t buy it. You felt him shift behind you, his gaze scanning the crowd in the direction you’d been looking. His body went still against yours. You didn’t need to see his face to know he’d spotted them. The easy, teasing energy radiating from him vanished, replaced by a sudden, focused stillness.

The sky erupted in a massive, synchronized burst of blue and white, showering the river in light. In the brilliant illumination, you risked another glance. 

He was looking right at you. And then, his gaze flickered to Yuma standing so close behind you, hands possessively on your hips. A slow, knowing smirk spread across his face. It wasn't jealous. It was… condescending. Amused. Like he saw right through your pathetic little act.

Humiliation, sharp and cold, washed over you. You wanted to disappear.

Before you could react, before you could even pull away from Yuma, his hands slid from your hips. One arm wrapped firmly around your waist, pulling you flush against him. The other hand came up, fingers gently but insistently tilting your chin away from him.

You turned your head, confusion warring with the lingering sting of humiliation. Yuma’s face was inches from yours. The colorful flashes of the fireworks danced across his features – the determined set of his jaw, the intensity in his dark eyes that held none of his usual teasing glint. There was only fierce focus and something else… something protective and startlingly tender.

His gaze dropped to your lips.

And then he leaned down to crash his own against yours. 

It wasn’t a demanding kiss, nor was it the playful, teasing peck you might have expected from him. It was soft. Deliberate. Incredibly sweet. His lips brushed against yours with a gentle pressure that stole your breath. 

The world narrowed to the feel of his mouth on yours, the warmth of his arm around your waist, the scent of a summer night, and him enveloping you. The booming fireworks, the cheering crowd, the smirking face of your ex… it all faded into a distant hum.

He didn’t deepen it, just held the soft contact for a few heartbeats that stretched into an eternity. When he finally pulled back, just far enough to look into your wide, stunned eyes, his thumb brushed lightly over your cheekbone where a traitorous blush was surely blooming. 

The usual smirk was absent. In its place was a soft, almost vulnerable expression you’d never seen on him before, illuminated by the starburst of pink and silver exploding overhead.

The world tilted. The grand finale erupted overhead. A deafening crescendo of gold and crimson, but the colors seemed muted, distant. All you saw was Yuma’s face, inches from yours, his dark eyes wide, vulnerable, his thumb still tracing the heated line of your cheekbone. 

A choked sound escaped you. Not a word, just a breathless gasp. You jerked back instinctively, breaking the fragile connection, your hand flying to your tingling lips. Humiliation warred with the lingering sweetness of his mouth, the phantom pressure of his arm around your waist. 

"Yuma—" you stammered, your voice barely a whisper over the fading cheers of the crowd.

He didn’t let you finish. His gaze, still intense but now clouded with a flicker of his usual defiance mixed with something raw, snapped towards the spot where your ex had been. The condescending smirk was gone, replaced by a scowl before the ex quickly looked away, pulling the girl closer. 

Mission accomplished, perhaps, but the victory felt hollow, shattered by the seismic shift that kiss had caused.

Without a word, Yuma’s hand closed firmly around your wrist. Not gentle, not playful. Possessive. Urgent. "Come on,"he said, his voice rough, devoid of its usual teasing lilt. He didn’t look at you, his jaw tight as he scanned the dispersing crowd.

He pulled you away from the group before anyone could comment. You stumbled after him, your mind reeling, your wrist burning where his fingers gripped you. 

He wove through the thinning crowd, away from the main lantern-lit paths, past shuttered game stalls and vendors packing up. The sounds of the festival grew muffled, replaced by the chirping of crickets and the distant thrum of bass from a closing food stall’s speakers.

He led you behind a cluster of tall, empty food stalls, their canvas sides flapping softly in the night breeze. The air smelled faintly of soy sauce and grease, mixed with damp earth. Moonlight filtered through the gaps, casting long, distorted shadows. It wasn’t truly private, but it was quiet, shielded from the main flow of people.

He finally stopped, releasing your wrist only to turn and face you fully. The vulnerability was gone, replaced by a familiar, infuriating intensity, but it was charged now, crackling with the unspoken weight of the kiss you two had just shared. His chest rose and fell slightly faster than usual. He raked a hand through his hair, the gesture uncharacteristically agitated.

"Well?" he demanded, his voice low and tight. "Going to yell at me now? Call me insane? Tell me I overstepped?" His eyes challenged you, daring you to deny the spark that had ignited between his lips and yours. "Go ahead. I know you want to."

The dam broke. Weeks, months, years of pent-up frustration–the teasing, the bickering, the way he could unravel you with a smirk, the confusing heat that always simmered beneath your annoyance, surged to the surface. 

It wasn’t just anger at the kiss; it was fury at him, for making you feel this way, for blurring every line until you couldn’t tell disdain from desperate attraction.

"You—" You launched yourself at him, not to shove him away, but to silence him. Your hands fisted in the front of his yukata, crumpling the striped fabric all over again, and you pulled his face down to yours, crashing your lips against his.

This time, it lacked the softness from earlier. It wasn't sweet. It was fierce, messy, fueled by two years of tangled emotions finally erupting. Teeth clacked, noses bumped. It was less a kiss and more a collision, a battle for dominance you were suddenly determined to win.

You poured every ounce of that simmering, disguised attraction-the heat that flared when he whispered in your ear, the jolt when his thumb brushed your skin, the infuriating way your heart raced just because he existed-into the kiss.

Yuma made a surprised noise against your mouth, but it quickly morphed into a low growl of response. His hands flew to your waist, hauling you flush against him. He met your aggression head-on, his lips moving hungrily against yours, his fingers digging into the silk at your hips. 

The playful mask was gone, obliterated by raw, reciprocated intensity. He kissed you like he’d been starving for it, like every barbed comment and teasing smirk had been leading here.

He broke away for a ragged breath, his forehead pressed against yours, eyes blazing. "Always… fucking… fighting me," he panted, his voice thick. Before you could retort, his mouth was back on yours, hotter, deeper. His tongue swept against your lower lip, demanding entry, and you granted it with a gasp that turned into a moan you didn't recognize as your own. One of his hands slid up your back, tangling in your hair, tilting your head for better access.

You bit his lip, not gently. A sharp intake of breath, then a dark chuckle vibrated against your mouth. "That's it," he murmured, the words swallowed by another searing kiss. "Show me how much you hate me, sweetheart." His hand in your hair tightened possessively.

You didn't hate him. The realization slammed into you with the force of his body against yours. The "disdain" had been a shield, paper-thin and flammable. What burned beneath it was pure, undiluted want. 

The heat of his skin through the fabric, the taste of him, the desperate way his hands roamed your back, your waist, sliding dangerously close to the curve of your hip… it incinerated every pretense.

Your hands slid from his chest to tangle in the hair at his nape, pulling him closer, deepening the kiss with a fervor that matched his own. 

The bickering didn't stop; it transformed. It was in the nip of teeth, the scrape of nails against his scalp, the breathless gasps exchanged between kisses.

"Fucking insufferable," you gasped against his mouth, arching into him.

"Admit it," he growled, his lips trailing fire down your jaw to the sensitive spot below your ear. "You love winding me up."

"Shut up," you breathed, tilting your head to give him better access, a shiver wracking your body as his teeth grazed your skin. "Just… shut up and kiss me."

He obeyed, capturing your lips again with a hunger that stole your breath and your thoughts. 

The world narrowed to the frantic beat of your hearts, the slick heat of his mouth, the desperate slide of fabric, and the terrifying, exhilarating truth: this wasn't an act anymore. 

This was the detonation of two years of tension disguised as disdain, finally revealing the fierce, undeniable attraction that had been there all along.

fireworks series masterlist.𖥔 ݁ ˖

[m4rv3l-girl]

Bucky taking care of an exhausted/overworked reader after a long dayyy?(just had the worst day at work lol😭)

Warnings: None, just fluff!

The moment Y/N stepped into her apartment, every muscle in her body ached in protest.

The day had been long - no, brutal. Meetings that could’ve been emails, a coffee spill on her favorite shirt, and a particularly insufferable coworker who thought ‘urgent’ meant ‘Take your sweet time.’

Bucky Barnes had been sitting on the couch, flipping through channels aimlessly, but the second the door creaked open, he turned his attention to her. His sharp blue eyes softened as he took in the sight of his girl - slumped shoulders, dark circles under her eyes. And a scowl that could rival even his own grumpiest days.

“Doll,” he murmured, setting the remote aside. “You look like you fought Thanos single-handedly.”

Y/N groaned, dropping her bag onto the floor with a dramatic thud. “Worse. I fought the corporate machine and lost.”

Bucky smirked, unfolding himself from the couch in that effortless, predatory way he moved. For a 106-year-old ex-assassin, he was annoyingly graceful. “C’mere,” he said, already reaching for her.

She barely had the energy to move, but she didn’t need to. He met her halfway, pulling her into his arms like it was second nature. The second her face hit his chest, the tension in her body started to melt.

“You smell nice,” she mumbled into his shirt. “Like…winter and safety.”

“Not metal and violence?” he teased, rubbing slow circles into her back.

“Surprisingly, no. Just warmth.”

Bucky chuckled, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “Rough day, huh?”

Y/N made a noise of pure exhaustion. “Everything was awful. And people were dumb. And my brain is fried.”

He hummed in understanding. “So, you’re saying now isn’t the best time to ask if you wanna go on a mission with Sam and me?”

Y/N pulled back just enough to give him the deadliest glare she could muster. “Barnes.”

His grin was unrepentant. “Alright, alright. C’mon, let’s get you out of these work clothes.”

“Bucky Barnes, are you seducing me right now?” she asked dryly.

“Not yet. First, food. Second, a bath. Then, we’ll see.” He waggled his eyebrows before bending down to untie her shoes for her.

Y/N sighed, letting him fuss over her. This was their routine whenever she had a bad day - Bucky going full mother hen mode, making sure she was fed, warm, and comfortable.

“Okay, tell me everything,” he prompted as he guided her toward their bedroom. “Who do I have to fight?”

Y/N dramatically flopped onto the bed. “Carol in HR. She is the devil.”

Bucky flopped down beside her, throwing an arm over her stomach. “Carol in HR, huh? What’d she do?”

“She gave me two conflicting deadlines for the same project and then told my boss I was ‘struggling to keep up’ when I asked for clarification.”

Bucky sucked in a sharp breath. “I see. And why is she still breathing?”

Y/N snorted, rolling onto her side to face him. “Because I need my job, unfortunately.”

“Fair.” He played with a loose strand of her hair, twisting it gently between his fingers. “I could scare her for you. Just a little. Maybe mention how good I am at making people disappear.”

“Bucky.”

“What? You think the Winter Soldier rep doesn’t have its perks?”

She laughed, which was exactly what he was aiming for. “I’ll handle Carol myself, thanks.”

“Fine, fine. But if she steps out of line again, I’m putting her on my list.”

Y/N lifted an eyebrow. “You have a list?”

“Oh yeah.” He smirked. “Right at the top? That barista who rolled her eyes at you that one time.”

Y/N cackled. “I will never get over that.”

Bucky grinned, clearly pleased with himself. “Alright, up we go. Pajamas, food, bath.”

She whined but let him pull her up. He found her comfiest sweatpants and one of his old Henleys, helping her into them like she was a tired toddler. “There we go. Cozy and adorable.”

“I am neither of those things.”

“You so are.” He tapped her nose. “Now, do you want grilled cheese or pancakes?”

“Both.”

He beamed. “That’s my girl.”

Twenty minutes later, they were curled up on the couch, a plate of grilled cheese and pancakes between them, with Bucky feeding her bites like she was royalty.

“This is the life,” she mumbled around a mouthful of food.

“Told ya,” he said smugly. “Now, let’s find a movie where nothing bad happens, and the dog lives.”

Y/N sighed happily, snuggling into his side. “Perfect.”

Bucky shifted, glancing at her with a small smirk. "Alright, up, Doll. Bath time."

She groaned dramatically, but when he tugged her up, she didn’t resist. Her limbs felt heavy with exhaustion, the weight of the day still pressing down on her, but Bucky’s touch was firm, grounding.

In the bathroom, warm steam curled through the air carrying the soft scent of vanilla and honey. The water in the tub was already drawn, shimmering under the dim glow of candles flickering along the edges. Bubbles swirled across the surface, piled high like clouds, they looked inviting and comforting. The whole setup looked so idyllic that she just stood there, blinking at the scene before turning to Bucky.

“You did all this?” she murmured, voice thick with the kind of gratitude that words couldn’t quite capture.

Bucky just shrugged, but there was something tender in the way he reached for the hem of her shirt. “You looked like you needed it,” he said simply.

Her heart swelled as he helped her out of her clothes, his touch slow and reverent, like he wasn’t just undressing her but peeling away the weight of her exhaustion, one layer at a time. When she was bare before him, he didn’t rush, just let his fingers skim over her shoulders, his lips ghosting across her temple in a whisper of warmth.

“Come on, sweetheart,” he murmured, stepping out of his own clothes save for his boxers before sinking into the water first. He exhaled a quiet sigh as the heat soaked into his skin, his muscles relaxing almost instantly. Then, with careful hands, he reached for her.

She let herself be pulled into the water, sighing as the warmth enveloped her, easing the tension that had knotted itself into her muscles throughout the day. Bucky guided her between his legs, and the moment she settled against his chest, she felt herself melt. His arms came around her, his vibranium hand cool against the heat of her skin, drawing soft, absent-minded patterns along her arm.

For a long moment, neither of them spoke. The only sounds were the gentle lapping of the water, the distant hum of the city outside, and the steady, reassuring rhythm of Bucky’s breathing against her back. She could feel his heart, steady and strong, beating against her spine.

“You okay, Doll?” he murmured against her temple, his voice low and full of something she couldn’t quite name.

She let out a sleepy hum, eyes fluttering closed. “M’perfect.”

Bucky chuckled, the sound deep and affectionate, reverberating through her where she rested against him. “Glad to hear it.”

His lips brushed against her damp hair, pressing a lingering kiss there before he reached for the loofah, dipping it into the warm water. He started with her shoulders, rubbing gentle circles into her skin, washing away the tension like it was something tangible. His touch was firm but soothing, working out the stiffness that had settled deep into her muscles.

She sighed under his touch, eyes slipping closed as the steady rhythm of his movements lulled her into a state of pure contentment. “Gonna fall asleep right here,” she mumbled, half-dazed.

“That’s the plan,” he murmured, a smile evident in his tone. He continued his ministrations, taking his time as he massaged the soapy loofah down her arms, across her collarbone, down the gentle slope of her back. His vibranium fingers followed in its wake, tracing light, lazy patterns that sent shivers down her spine.

As he worked, he pressed small, lingering kisses along the exposed curve of her shoulder, slow and unhurried, like he had all the time in the world. Each kiss was a quiet reassurance, a promise that she was safe, cared for, cherished.

“You always take such good care of me,” she whispered, her voice thick with emotion.

Bucky paused, resting his chin against her shoulder. “Of course I do, sweetheart,” he said softly, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “That’s what you do when you love someone.”

Her heart clenched at the simplicity of his words, at the way he said them with such quiet certainty. She turned slightly in his arms, just enough to meet his gaze. There was something unguarded in his expression, something raw and achingly sincere.

She reached up, cupping his face, her thumb brushing over the stubble along his jaw. “I love you, too,” she murmured.

Bucky’s breath hitched slightly, his grip on her tightening just a fraction before he exhaled, a slow, shaky thing. He nuzzled into her touch, his lips brushing against her palm before he turned his head to press a kiss there. “Yeah?” he murmured against her skin.

“Yeah,” she breathed.

Bucky let out a soft chuckle, wrapping his arms more securely around her as he pressed a lingering kiss to her temple. “Good.”

They stayed like that for a while, the water still warm around them, the bubbles slowly dissipating. Eventually, Bucky reached for a cup, filling it with water before tilting her head back slightly. “Close your eyes, sweetheart.”

She did as he said, trusting him implicitly as he poured the warm water over her hair, his fingers threading through the strands with the gentlest touch. He took his time washing her hair, massaging her scalp with steady, soothing movements that made her practically purr.

By the time he was finished, she felt weightless, like every last trace of stress had been washed away along with the suds.

Bucky shifted slightly, reaching for the soap. “Your turn,” she murmured sleepily, turning in his arms so she could return the favor.

He raised a brow, smirking. “I think I like being pampered more than I should.”

She laughed softly, rolling her eyes as she lathered the soap between her hands before running them over his broad shoulders, tracing the lines of his muscles. “Big bad Winter Soldier likes bubble baths. Who would’ve thought?” she teased.

“Only when my best girl is in them with me,” he shot back without missing a beat.

Warmth spread through her chest, and she didn’t bother fighting the smile that tugged at her lips. She took her time washing him, running her fingers through the short strands of his hair, over the defined muscles of his back, down his arms. When she reached his vibranium arm, she hesitated for only a moment before pressing a soft kiss to the cool metal.

Bucky went still, his breath catching for the briefest second before he let out a quiet exhale, resting his forehead against hers.

“I love you,” she whispered again, just because she could.

His grip tightened on her waist, like he needed to anchor himself to the moment. “Love you too, Doll,” he murmured, voice barely above a breath.

Eventually, the water started to cool, and Bucky pressed one last kiss to her shoulder before reluctantly shifting. “Come on, sweetheart. Let’s get you dried off and into bed.”

She sighed dramatically, making no move to get up. “Carry me?”

Bucky chuckled, rolling his eyes fondly before standing and lifting her effortlessly into his arms. She let out a sleepy giggle, tucking her face into the crook of his neck as he stepped out of the tub, wrapping her in a fluffy towel before grabbing one for himself.

As he carried her into the bedroom, she sighed contentedly. “Best night ever.”

Bucky grinned, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “Good. ‘Cause I plan on making this a regular thing.”

She hummed, already half-asleep in his arms. “M’not gonna argue with that.”

Bucky just chuckled, holding her a little tighter, savoring the warmth of her in his arms, the quiet, perfect peace of the moment. For the first time in a long time, everything felt right. And as he tucked her into bed, wrapping himself around her like he never wanted to let go, he knew there was nowhere else in the world he’d rather be.

——————————————————————————————————

I got you, Hun! Hope you enjoyed it. 😉🫶

[darsynia]

Ooooooo, kisses you say?

Sam Wilson, Canon compliant, #29

At one point I had 137 words and thought, oh man, will I get this closer to 500 like I promised??

Sam/Reader, 627 words, established relationship REQUEST A KISS

tossing some tags: @themaradwrites @claudette13 @ronearoundblindly

MCU MASTERLIST | STEVE ROGERS | BUCKY BARNES

CROWNED

You’re not one for surprises or pranks. Even before you and Sam moved in together you’d joked that he’s the Truth Fairy, leaving little notes with jokes, compliments, and teasing disses for you to find. 

What makes you suspicious he’s got something up his sleeve? You haven’t found anything in four days, and your devious boyfriend has been giving you sly grins. He caught you lifting up items in the fridge looking for sticky notes yesterday, and now he’s undressing you with his eyes while you carefully vacuum under all of the living room furniture. 

You send him to the bedroom to be ‘thoroughly searched,’ partially because you’re getting distracted by that smile of his. After finding nothing but socks and lint, you put away the vacuum and find him naked in bed, a decorative pillow strategically placed over his crotch.

“Your metaphor’s slipping there a little, babe,” you point out, even as you admire the way his muscles flex with his hands folded behind his head. “Unless you’re implying I’m a very freaky fairy?”

Sam flashes you a blinding smile. “You’ve been holding off looking under just about every cushion in the house. I thought I’d give you a little motivation!”

“What?” you gasp, turning on your heel to head back to the couch. On the way, you notice that there’s a new, palm-sized pillow magnet on the fridge. Sure enough, there’s a note underneath--one praising you for being clever enough to find it.

The smartass even sketched a little tooth on there.

“Sam Wilson, you magnificent asshole, I swear to God!” you shout, marching into the living room. His cackling laughter is infectious, but you shoot back, “I hope you left me a whole bunch! I’m turning down the thermostat so your ass freezes while I find them all!”

“Long as you warm me up after!” he calls back, obviously unrepentant.

You’re barely listening, having picked up the smallest pillow in the room to find two notes, both with the scrawled tooth. That devious devil had numbered and dated them, and the first one was from eight days ago! 

For 30 whole seconds you stand there holding them (‘Your smile makes my damned heart soar’ and ‘I bought the stuff for Sarah’s gumbo recipe you’ve been wanting to make--back of the fridge’), trying desperately to plot revenge, but you just can’t, not before you kiss or slap him silly.

Sam meets you in the hallway, pulling on his bathrobe as he walks, his face concerned. “You got quiet, I wondered if you were bleeding out from papercuts.”

“How many did you leave??”

“If they were teeth I’d need dentures!” He’s cracking up, bent over, hand on the wall. Marching over, you grab the edges of his bathrobe to pull him up into a frustrated kiss--but another note drifts out as soon as you lift the fabric.

To pay him back, you step even closer before you bend down to grab it, with mere inches between your lips and his still-naked body.

It says, ‘You make a damn fine dentist’

Giggling helplessly through your indignance, you bury your face in his powerful chest, peppering it with kisses that reach higher and higher. He’s laughing too, his hands caressing your back, your hair, and finally your neck, tipping your face up to his.

Right before he kisses you, you whisper, “You’re so sweet it gives me a truthache.”

It’s Sam’s turn to laugh. The joy in it follows the two of you into the bedroom again, kissing and gasping and giggling all the way to the bed.

It’s dark out when you slide your hand under your pillow to find one you take with you to the bathroom to read. 

‘You make me feel like a king.’

[starcurtain]

hihi sorry to rant in your inbox but i hate when people use aven's line about jade that says her kindness comes with a price to make their relationship seem worse than it is. while the ipc is. well. the ipc i dont thinl it would benefit her to harm him like theyre both stonehearts AND hes her subordinate. personally i think the price he mentions is like, testing him like she did in her social media post with the ores. it certainly would be less incongruous with her want to guide those that come after her..

I think that people really struggle with Jade. They took one look at her dommy mommy appearance and her status as one of the top three in the Stonehearts and they just want her to be unrepentant evil soooo bad.

Don't get me wrong, she is definitely a master manipulator and she definitely has a specific personal goal she's working toward using the IPC as her vehicle to do so. Her overall idea of creating an endless vortex of desires that can't ever be sufficiently met is very Voracity-coded and not really the kind of idea a very well-adjusted person would be espousing. We have no idea how loyal she really is to the IPC's goal of aiding Preservation against Destruction in the War of the Aeons.

But she's also, over and over again, been painted as having "True Neutral" moral alignment in-game. She's literally xxxHolic's Ichihara Yuuko with a bad case of capitalism: She always demands a price, but never asks more than is fair.

It's literally Fullmetal Alchemist's first law of alchemy: Human kind can not gain anything without first giving something in return. To obtain, something of equal value must be lost.

All of Jade's exchanges are equivalent and none of her customers enter into a bargain without understanding the price they are paying. In fact, she won't even let Firefly try to make a deal at all without doing her research in advance to truly realize the extent of what she is asking for. Jade is inherently an honest businesswoman.

The issue is that greed is all-encompassing. The ability to have any wish granted is a temptation that virtually no one can escape in the end.

Therefore, I think the best way to understand Jade is as the Honkai Star Rail equivalent of Mephistopheles. In the legend of Faust, the eponymous Dr. Faust longs for more in his life--he is endlessly pursuing knowledge and power, but has hit the limits of his own ability. He meets the devil, Mephistopheles, who agrees to enter into a pact with him: Mephistopheles will fulfill all Faust's wishes while Faust is still alive, but then Faust's soul will belong to the devil when he dies. The deal is fairly presented. The terms are not unclear: If Faust agrees to the bargain, he knows what will happen to his soul in the end.

Mephistopheles doesn't trick him or force his hand when it comes to this bargain. Faust could say no. He could resist. But he doesn't. He agrees, because human greed and pride are simply that overpowering. He thinks he's smarter than the devil; unlike the thousands of others who have come before and suffered damnation for their deals with the devil, Faust thinks he is different, better than others, more deserving... The actual temptation doesn't come from the devil. It comes from human hubris.

Like Mephistopheles, like the serpent in the Garden of Eden, Jade merely presents the choice--it's humanity's endless desire that leads to the downfall.

It's a snake and an apple and a contract for a reasonnnnnn, Jade haters.

So, I don't think that Jade represents any danger to anyone who can resist temptation. Firefly walks away from Jade's exchange entirely unscathed. Trailblazer isn't pressed into surrender.

But Aventurine?

To be honest, I think his relationship with her is a bit more complicated.

Aventurine likes Jade. She did him a solid when he was at his lowest in life. His character stories make it clear that he views her as, essentially, someone "safe" in the IPC, unlike other Stonehearts.

But... I do agree that Aventurine approaches Jade more cautiously than he approaches others. And I think that probably stems from a couple of different factors:

Jade has positioned herself as Aventurine's "pseudo-mother," and Aventurine responds to her as if she, indeed, a mother figure he has to obey. He is more respectful of her than anyone else we see him interact with in the game--Diamond and Opal get called by name, but Jade is always "Ma'am." Which is very close to "Mama;" this is not an accidentttttt. When Jade disrupts his banter with Topaz, Aventurine immediately does as he is told, hands over his room card, and simmers down. Even in joking social media posts, when Jade asks Aventurine to do something (judge the uncut jade stones she sent him), he does it even when she rejects his high demand for profit sharing.

But:

2. Jade actually failed Aventurine's moral litmus test. From the beginning of his adulthood flashbacks, we see Aventurine explicitly troubled by the fact that his human dignity was denied and that a market value was assigned to his existence. And not even a high value. He was sold for pennies. It's the ultimate mortification, and we can tell it is still bothering him to this day because even "future" Aventurine brings up the sting of that bone-deep insult during Aventurine's long walk through Penacony. In response to the indignity, Kakavasha gave his original master a moral test: Kakavasha says that he'll go willingly into the hellscape of the death maze if his master will give him 30 copper Tanba, just half his market value. His master refuses, demonstrating that he does not view Kakavasha as a human being, worthy of any respect. By refusing this tiny, insignificant request, the master exhibits his utter moral depravity, from which there is no return. In response, Kakavasha ultimately kills him and takes the 30 copper coins he asked for (nothing more, nothing less) from his corpse.

When Kakavasha meets Jade, he then makes the exact same demand: He wants 30 copper coins and exactly 30 copper coins. At this point, it is very clear that--to Kakavasha--the coins are emblematic of his value as a human being. (I promise you, somewhere in his apartment right now are the 30 bloody coins he took from his master's cold corpse.) His freedom, his dignity, his worth... All of these things hinge on being able to acquire the original 60 Tanba coins. Thus, those who refuse his requests for the coins also symbolically refuse his request for basic respect, his request to be seen as an equal human being who deserves to not be reduced to mere pennies on a bill of sale.

And Jade refuses this request. She treats the demand for Tanbas like a paltry sum and instead ignores the specificity of the request to give a general "We'll give you riches beyond your imagine, more than you could have ever thought to want." But that isn't what he asked for. She stepped over the request he actually made in order to supplant her ideas, on her terms. Kakavasha made the tiniest, most easily completed request in the world, and in failing to actually just respect what he personally wished for, Jade demonstrated that she ultimately will not really respect him.

Just like his slave master, Aventurine represents a value on a page to Jade. For this reason, even if she extends pseudo-maternal behavior to Aventurine and he laps it up like a starved kitten drinks up milk, we see that he remains more cautious toward her than he does to any other female character in the game. Aventurine comes across as more comfortable talking to Acheron than he sounds when he talks to Jade... Because in failing the most basic and seemingly meaningless test, Jade revealed exactly to what extent Kakavasha can--and cannot--trust her.

Does Jade actually mean Aventurine any harm? No, I really don't think so, and you're right, those who claim that she does are really over-exaggerating Jade's negative traits, mostly because they've almost universally got a strong anti-IPC agenda and hate everything from the IPC except Aventurine on principle. Everything in Jade's character stories points to her honestly wanting to develop the hidden talents of others, to "polish" rough cut stones into true gems, and to see her fledglings thrive. Kakavasha is someone she picked up out of the dirt and dusted off. If he excels, that means her faith was well-placed, her judgment was correct, and her team as a whole excels.

It's exactly like a business owner who takes great pride in producing a fantastic product. Only when the product succeeds can the business itself succeed.

But business owners see their products as objects, not equals.

Jade is a fairly neutral figure and I think she wants to see Aventurine grow and achieve greatness. But at the end of the day, their relationship is very predicated on the notion of investment (Jade puts up the original capital to make Aventurine great, and he repays her faith in him by generating wealth for the IPC). It is clear she just can't be trusted to value Aventurine as a person above a means of profit--and Aventurine knows (and accepts) that too.

[hopelesslysleepy]

Tho’ Fate May Sever

Ch 1 The Beggar’s Opera

Excerpt:

“The wicked shall not go unpunished.”

Crowley let out a low, knowing laugh. “Right, yeah. Well, they go pretty unpunished here, don’t they? Justice by popular demand from the audience.”

Aziraphale quickly glanced around to their fellow audience members, sputtering something about not spoiling the end of the performance, but Crowley just grinned, utterly unrepentant.

“‘S all just a farce, angel. No justice, no redemption. The thieves, jailers, and so-called gentlemen scrambling to out-cheat each other. The only real difference is who gets the last laugh before the trapdoor swings open.”

“Might I remind you,” the angel murmured, leaning in as the audience settled once more, “this is a comedy. Not everything ends in tragedy, dear boy.” Something gentle and fond bloomed in the depths of Aziraphale’s eyes. “And I know you don’t like the gloomy ones.”

~~~~

This collaborative fic, exploring our ineffables’ shared history in Edinburgh, is brought to you by Jovi, @thebexfiles and MetalMiez. Stunning art by the amazing @metalmiez!! (My god, the lighting.)

Moments inspired by ain’t no cure for love by the lovely @mayhawk and @lickthecowhappy’s beautiful poem The Devil’s Red Hair.

Chapter 1/6 now on Ao3. Currently rated T but rating may change in later chapters ❤️

[butterflydm]

WoT 3x07 Deep Dive (additional book spoilers)

Spoilers for the show through 3x07, and for the books through A Memory of Light. Fairly short this time!

As a whole, this episode strikes a very different tone than the same events in the books, but it's a tone that I personally liked better. The Two Rivers does feel smaller and even more isolated... which means that Perrin making deals to save his people feels believable -- they can't win with force alone. Perrin first getting called a lord as a friendly joke and then later called that because of how he is sacrificing himself to save his people plays for me much better than the similar beats in the book do, where it feels more like Jordan just believed that people naturally want to have lords over them, even fiercely independent people like those of the Two Rivers. I also love that the show leans into the Two Rivers being egalitarian, which the books kinda were not always successful at showing.

I am really wondering if all of the deal-making that Perrin is doing in this episode is going to end up being foreshadowing for how the Seanchan are treated in the future! In the books, Perrin makes a 'deal with the devil' to save Faile's life, but in that case, he trades the lives of other people instead of his own, as he does here.

Overall, both Perrin and Mat* have been shown to have a much stronger moral core than their book versions, which will definitely have an impact on how future events play out (this version of Mat would never fall for an unrepentent slaver and the audience would never accept it of him, so Tuon will need to have actual character development in the show if they still want to use that relationship). Perrin taking and keeping the firm moral stance of "people shouldn't be in cages" and now we've seen him make his decision on where he stands on violence -- used in the absolute last resort, but always be prepared to end the violence when possible. Even if you're a danger to him personally (the Whitecloaks) or to everyone that he cares about (the Shadowspawn), if there is a way to create peace, it's worth the cost. But, specifically, where in the books Perrin was shuffling the cost onto other people, here he takes the cost onto himself. Very big thematic difference going on there.

(*Rand actually retains a much stronger moral core in the books than either Mat or Perrin do, even as he does absolutely does do war crimes because he feels like he has no choice; we see Rand showing much more remorse & etc. over it than Perrin or Mat do. I wonder if Rand is going to be played more along the lines of how he is in the books, but now the other two boys will have the ability to help pull him back from the edge, because they're not struggling with the corruption from the Dark One. One of my big frustrations during the "the ta'veren boys all decide to work with the Seanchan" arcs of CoT/KoD is that it made it so that none of them were able to call each other on their bullshit because they were all doing basically identical bullshit)

The other possibility is that the show is setting up strong moral cores for Mat & Perrin in order to break them down again later (which the books essentially do) but, again, I feel like having Mat and Perrin echoing Rand's downward spiral felt like overkill in the books. So we will see what happens there.

Perrin comes off so much better in his relationships with the other Two Rivers people here in the show than he did in the books. Marcus gives Perrin a lot of warmth, and we aren't inside his head, so we don't hear any weird and petty thoughts.

Perrin was big on the weird and petty thoughts -- when he sees Laila again in the books, he thinks about how glad he is that he didn't marry her, because she's gotten chubby after having a baby (I guess Faile is too inherently hot to dare to stay chubby after giving birth). He thinks about how he dislikes Wil al'Seen because of the way Wil smiles at the girls and draws their attention (and he continues to hold Wil's smile against him for almost the entire series! book!Perrin has a vendetta against men who smile). He treats Aram like shit because he doesn't know how to handle Aram's trauma. And he's always playing weird games with Faile because he can smell her emotions but doesn't tell her that, so he's constantly trying to compensate for jealousy that she is feeling but not displaying.

Perrin got such a glow-up in the show. Not having his internal narration did make some things trickier -- that's one of the reasons that Laila was married to him and then died, to externalize one of his internal issues about violence -- but it also makes him come across as a much better and kinder person.

Is Lord Luc just an easter egg cameo or will he return to be Slayer in s4? We don't really get any indication in this season that he's anything more than he appears, and the actor doesn't really 'pop' for me in the role, so I'm inclined towards cameo. Hopefully we will get a chance to find out in s4!

"We deserve respect before battle and honor after it."

I've talked before, I think, about how I feel like the show took something that was (fairly nonsensically) a cultural Two Rivers trait (Must Protect The Women) and turned it into something personal for Perrin that made narrative and emotional sense. So they can still explore how damaging and insulting it can be to have that overprotectiveness, without the nonsense of why this supposedly egalitarian farming region shares this benign misogyny that doesn't really make much sense based on what else we're told about them and the history of the world (the show also did away with another relic that didn't make much sense given what we were told about the region, which was the books' Two Rivers' prudishness about sex).

So instead of all of the Two Rivers' men being overprotective towards women, it's only Perrin, because of what happened with his wife. It's rooted in a personal event instead of being a cultural thing. So the only two characters that we've seen show glimmers of this behavior are Perrin (and specifically for women that he has romantic-ish feelings about -- we've seen him do this with Egwene in early s1 and now Faile in s3) and Galad (about every random woman he encounters). Because Perrin's behavior is coming from grief and trauma, he gets treated more gently by the narrative for acting this way, while Galad gets thumped and put on his ass for White Knighting all over women who don't want or need his help.

I hope we get to see some of the Maidens "using ji'e'toh as an excuse" when it comes to s4 and, hopefully, building up Rand's relationship with the Maidens of the Spear. It would make sense to use Bain & Chiad's relationship with Loial as an example of this for us to look back on and see that this is an established behavior that Maidens can engage in.

I really like the change to Aram's story, since I don't think the show has the time to really dig into the whole "corrupted by a zealot" subplot, plus I hear that the actor is getting more work recently, so he might not even have been available for an expanded role later on. If we do get a cameo of Aram-as-blacksmith in the future, I would be thrilled but I am also really glad that he gets to have this compassionate an ending.

One thing that this episode seems to be doing is shortening or cutting off subplots -- Valda's death cuts off the Morgase & Galad subplot, where he's the one who gets revenge/justice for the 'death' of his mother; it looks like we're going to be doing the Whitecloaks Trial subplot next season, to help fill in Perrin's lack of appearance in The Fires of Heaven; Aram becoming the Two Rivers' blacksmith would seem to cut off that subplot as well.

And Loial dying cuts off probably any and all visits to Steddings and the "convincing the Ogier to join the Last Battle" subplot which, you know, given how expensive it likely was only to have Loial, having an army of Ogier seems even more unlikely. We already had indications last season that the Seanchan "Gardeners" don't exist (the Ogier that fight in their armies), because of the way that Suroth treated Loial, and it's just a lot easier not to have them involved in the Last Battle.

We also dealt with the hammer vs axe conundrum, which implies to me that we may get more wolf-related stuff from Perrin next season, since that part was put on the backburner here. I mean, being in captivity seems like it could potentially being a good time to do wolf dream stuff. We'll see! Hopefully! Come on, give us that s4 renewal!