#but I’ve decided it deserves its own space

[thenightshadowqueen]

There is not a single straight character in IWTV and yet Daniel “I only sucked dicks for drugs I swear” Molloy somehow manages to be the gayest out of all of them

[jjenthusee]

Handshakes And Trash Cans

Pairing: Jason Todd x Reader

a/n: simply, i wrote a lot and i didn’t wanna release it in parts, so i squeezed the entire fic here. I’ve been having fun writing small excerpts and then they turn into full fics. Jason deserves all the love, so i focused on a neighbors to lovers? No mention of vigilante stuff, but tons of domesticity. With some mentions of big brother Dick (i’m a firm believer that he’s the number one supporter of Jason and just wants the best for him), a bit of steaminess if u squint, and a very devoted Jason. leave me any comments if your comfortable sharing because i wanna know what u guys think XD and if you were crying screaming sliding down the wall like i was (also despite me still being in my repenting era, i wanted to release this as an early apology cause i wanna write another angsty drabble so maybe…maybe not look forward to that) ENJOY (link to the work before this one here)

word count: 7.1k

tags: pining, tons of fluff, strangers to friends to lovers, heartfelt confessions, big brother dick shenanigans

When you got your first two-bedroom apartment, you always thought the dream would only be possible with a roommate. You didn’t have much money during college and transitioning into a full-time job didn’t allow you to freely spend outside of necessities and rent.

But you did it. You got two bedrooms and you didn’t initially know what to do with the extra room. A hobby space, a library, a guest room, or an office? There were too many possibilities.

This was your space, so you combined it all. A basket to keep all of your current craft obsessions next to a bean bag, two full shelves of books from your childhood to your university years, and a desk in the corner to write. It was everything you hoped for. A spot to leave work out of, to decompress and remember the things that made you happy.

You were proud you did it on your own. You could enjoy solitude, your hard work and give time to prioritize yourself.

But an unexpected accomplishment came with an unexpected visitor. A handsome visitor no less. Maybe being an adult wasn’t so bad all the time.

…

But meeting new people was bad. Or you were bad at it.

When you were up at two in the morning, doing normal two a.m. activities like trying to turn your entire life around, you believed that dragging yourself to one of the community events at the apartment complex would help you get to know your neighbors. Then you could scope the scene to see if you wanted to hide forever or maybe have a friendly acquaintance you acknowledged in the hallway.

Now you wanted neither as you sat, alone, at a bar stool in the well decorated community balcony. Although you were distancing yourself from the main party, you couldn’t help admiring the string lights they hung up, the pristine décor, and new furniture. They clearly went through a grand renovation before you moved in.

Despite your need to socially decompress from all the small talk, you did feel mellow in the warm lighting, listening to the slow music you quietly hummed to.

The view was great from your table, you got to see from the edge of the balcony into the city view. Gotham City did have its moments and lots of outsiders tend to see all the bad that overruns it, but when the city is calm, it has its own virtue.

As you watched the sky line, a man also decided to join in, admiring the city lights. He stood farther from where you sat, leaning against the glass and steel railing. He was probably distancing himself from the party like you were. You could only see half of his face from your current angle and distance, but he was…charming. Broody and charming.

Gotham did have the best views, but staring was bad. A little bit of hope crept into your mind at the thought of a handsome neighbor living in the same apartment building.

Another pretty man joined him. Wow, you never realized that Gotham had a lot of great views. Maybe you needed to get out more, enjoy the scenery a bit.

The two beautiful men seemed to know each other. One more talkative than the other, but they seemed close. It was amusing watching the way they contrasted one another, a man clearly dragged to be here tonight and the other fueling himself with the night vibe.

As much as you wanted to continue to be nosy, maybe it was time to call it a night, it was late and you got enough of your pretty boy fill for the evening. Which would have been the plan if you didn’t make eye contact with the second model that blessed your eyes.

You nervously observed the charismatic man walking toward you with a bright friendly smile.

“Hello, I just wanted to ask if my brother—the tall very alone one standing over there—could be tall and very alone over here, in this seat.” He dragged the stool out from underneath the glass table you were resting your arms on.

You looked at the empty seat across from you, then glanced at his presumed brother you were staring at earlier. He clearly didn’t agree to this sudden turn of events as he watched the two of you talk and he looked more mortified than you were. It was…cute. It brought a smile to your face.

“Well, your tall and very alone brother looks scared of me.” You glanced back to the man still holding the chair out.

Your comment must have been hysterical at the way the man was almost leaning forward from laughing. His dimples fully visible and his hair falling forward. Everything he did looked stunning.

“I promise he’s friendlier than he looks.” He breathlessly held his stomach still amused at your first impression of his broody brother. “He’s tall, alone, and friendly if it helps.”

You thought for a moment, debating on your options: leave or sit with a handsome man in possibly awkward silence.

“I don’t mind being alone together.” You smiled more, giving into the curiosity of the man leaning against the railing.

You were a simple human and apparently the man in front of you was too when he ushered his brother over. A man much too large for the bar stool, but you got a good look at his full face.

The curls, defined dark eyebrows, a white streak. His face had definition, a particular beauty that differed from his brother. Not less beautiful, but you were more drawn to the rougher look.

You definitely made the right choice.

Before you had any time to say anything, the conspirator left to go mingle with another bunch of attendees. You watched him hop from one conversation to another, you didn’t know whether he knew them or he just met them like you had five seconds ago.

“I think social anxiety is scared of him.” You laughed in disbelief to your new companion.

“Trust me, you have no idea. I’ve seen him wear some of the most horrendous outfits in public, willingly. What’s worse is—I hate to admit it—but he can pull it off, in a horrifying way.” The stranger shook his head, no mortification in his voice, and you almost unconsciously lulled to the sound. “But he means well, uh, sorry he dragged you into whatever he’s planning. I could leave you alone, he tends to unintentionally be pushy.”

Oh? Broody, charming and thoughtful. Was the bar low or were you easily impressed? Maybe the husky voice is blurring the distinction.

“No, it’s okay, he seemed worried about both us being ‘very alone’ as he put it.” You spoke, glancing into the eyes of the man in front of you. Greenish blue. A wave of amusement washed over you and with the most serious expression you could muster, you decided to test the waters. “From one alone person to another, let’s be alone together.” You reached out your hand to introduce yourself.

He coyly smiled at your formal gesture, leaning in to mimic your movement. You were both leaning onto the glass table, close enough to see the slight scaring on his face. Faint enough to see them only if you were close enough, wanting to drag your thumb across them.

His warm hand engulfed yours. Calloused. A firm handshake.

“Jason, alone man, and been alone for twenty-one years.” Jason gave you the most breathtaking smile, never letting go of your hand. “I’m looking forward to this opportunity…alone, of course.”

You laughed, almost giggled from how charming this man was.

“It’s been twenty-three alone years and still counting.” You mischievously smirked, glad he joined in on your antics. “I’m glad to let you join the team. I expect great things from you.”

“And I hope to learn a lot from my superiors, I’ll be in your care.” Jason’s voice was so low at the end of his statement. It caught you off guard that you almost missed the way he held onto your hand just a tiny bit longer than you anticipated. So short that you felt like you imagined it.

The warmth still lingered on your hands after you let go.

You were so engrossed in Jason’s company and Jason only had the eyes to look at you, that neither of you could see the man, who schemed your interaction, was beaming from watching the connection spark.

…

That single handshake and nonchalant agreement that you shared with an unknown neighbor actually kept it’s promise. That evening, you found out that Jason lived on the same floor as you did, that his brother visited him a lot, and he took out the trash on Wednesdays.

He didn’t tell you the last one, but you found out the last bit of information by accident when you bumped into him on your way back from the trash room. You thought the evening you met Jason would be the first and last time you would see him, but your laziness prevented you from taking out the garbage on your designated day and you were graced with seeing his lopsided smile as you passed him in the hallway.

You were so giddy from the surprise and seeing Jason’s captivating smile, you tested your luck and took the trash out on the same day and time the following week.

You listened out in the hallway, trying to hear a door open, it was honestly crazy behavior, but you continued your slow pace, but with no tall alone man in sight and a defeated sigh, you walked to the trash room with no Jason by your side and swung the door open.

Like a beam of light cascading over you, the man in question was standing in front of you, opening the trash shoot. You never thought a man in a trash room would be sexy, but with his shirt tightly straining on his body, a flushed face, and his muscles eye level with you, anything was possible.

May whoever told this gorgeous man to live at this apartment complex eat delicious meals, have working phone chargers, and a lifetime of happiness.

Somewhere off in the far distance, Dick sneezed.

You almost forgot the reason you were in the trash room after you set your eyes on Jason’s post-workout state. He kept the shoot open for you and with unsteady steps you threw your trash bag to disappear to the unknown. You were trying to not trip up with Jason’s defined arm holding the handle open and the close proximity of his chest to your face.

Maybe you need to go on a run. Why were you acting like this right now?

“Hey, neighbor.” Jason casually spoke to you. His voice felt airy, probably winding down from the exercise. “You come around here often?”

You cleared your mind from any thoughts, the trash room was not the place to start flirting, but what were you supposed to do when Jason started it? Or what you assumed to be flirtatious conversation.

“Nah, I’m new to town.” You glanced over to him, leaning your neck back to grasp his full height. Jason hadn’t missed the movement, combing your collarbone with his gaze. “But, I might stay a while.” You melodically spoke.

Before your stare and voice settled in the air, you stepped to the side to add a little distance between the two of you. Pulling away from the tension.

“Just so I can continue my alone things.” You explained trying to smoothen the mood with a playful tone.

Jason stayed quiet like he was contemplating something in his mind. Then he let the trash shoot close and with small steps the both of you walked out into the hallway.

“What alone things do you have planned tomorrow?” Jason nonchalantly asked, so casually you almost thought you heard wrong.

“Uh, work in the morning, but nothing planned for the evening, I wanted to try out a new cookie recipe.”

“Do you wanna come over to my place—I wanted to cook something for dinner, but it just hasn’t worked out yet. Maybe you can bring those cookies?” Jason didn’t look at you, suddenly interested in the pure white walls of the hallway. He rubbed the back of his neck with his hand.

You were stunned. How was such a beautiful man asking you to come over to his place with the promise of him cooking you dinner and all you had to do was bring your shitty cookies?

“I want to warn you that my cookies aren’t award worthy. I just follow the recipe, they’re nothing special.” You wanted to ensure that Jason was really inviting you over.

“Then I can’t wait to try your ‘nothing special’ cookies.” He reassured.

…

You spent the entire afternoon making sure your measurements were precise, not a lump of flour above the rim of the measuring utensils you haven’t brought out in a while. Usually you winged the ingredients, not really worried about the quality too much since it was just you.

But now you wanted to cry.

How did you properly fold ingredients, were you whisking right, maybe you should’ve got the too expensive butter from the store?

It took three full hours to prep, bake, and try your hand at cutely packaging the cookies. It took four attempts to arrange the cookies in a way that didn’t make you want to cancel the dinner.

But after a few pep talks in the mirror and reassuring yourself that this was a hang out and not a date, then you were able to walk over to his unit number.

You hesitantly knocked on the door, five minutes after seven because you would torture yourself thinking about arriving right on the dot before you fell asleep tonight and every night after.

Your worries left your mind when you saw Jason open the door in an apron.

“You’re just in time, I’m ready to plate everything.” He beamed.

Your heart might not be able to survive tonight. But it was just dinner.

You awkwardly handed Jason your tin of homemade cookies. You tried to limit your snooping around his apartment when he told you to wait for him to get the drinks, but curiosity was coursing through you once you realized that you were being invited into a part of Jason’s life and home.

You were no longer going to be strangers. You didn’t know if this qualified to make you friends, but you knew you were two people about to eat dinner together. A dinner he made and cookies you made as thanks.

Once you were ready to eat, you stared at your plate filled with spices, fresh veggies, a meticulously cooked entrée and a…homemade lemonade? You stared up at Jason, watching you look at his food.

“I feel like bringing you cookies isn’t enough.” Although you felt guilty, you took a bite because you didn’t want to look at one more second of Jason’s shining eyes.

You could only sigh, which made Jason worry.

“I think I’m going to name my children after you.”

Jason chuckled at your exaggeration.

“I’d be honored.”

The rest of the meal was relaxing. You didn’t have to force yourself around Jason. Your conversation flowed easily and you were interested in learning about the man you met on the balcony.

…

After many trips to the other side of the apartment building and a couple of deep cleanings of your apartment, you got accustomed to having Jason walk around your kitchen, rummaging the cabinets and organizing your spices the way he likes it.

One shared meal after another. Sometimes several times a week or spaced out further when work got busy. It was nice to look forward to a meal with Jason.

Now you had text messages from him on your phone, a designated mug for him, and a couple of his snacks that he wanted you to try.

You traded recipes. Jason gave you his favorites and you mainly just gave him ones you were curious about, not very fond of your kitchen.

After several failed attempts at convincing him that it was your kitchen that was the problem and not your ability to cook, he came over more to prove you wrong.

Now you sat at your kitchen island to watch him concentrate on mixing an assortment of spices and herbs while you memorized as much of his face and hands as possible. The TV was on, but you had no interest in whatever movie played.

“I have a confession to make.” You sadly looked at Jason.

He glanced over from the pan on the stove to your face. Confusion in his eyes from your sudden change in tone.

“I actually don’t really like cookies.” You threw your hands up in a guilty pose. “Now it’s eating me inside that I had to give those to you when I first came over to your place.”

Jason hummed and tilted his head with one of his eyebrows raised in a teasing manner.

“So, the guilt finally got to you, huh?” He grinned moving his attention back to the food cooking in front of him. His nonchalant voice resonating around you.

“I can’t sleep at night anymore.” You exaggerated, walking a little closer to his side. “Well, once you became my personal chef I realized I had to make it up to you.” You could smell the food better now that you were standing next to Jason.

“I can see the guilt in your eyes.” He flatly said watching you eyeing the food.

“We always eat when we hang out and I can make simple foods, but if I can follow a recipe I was going to suggest if I should cook something, but you are also here to prove me wrong that my kitchen isn’t cursed. Which it is by the way—”

“Your kitchen is not cursed.” He warmly scolded you. “I’ll come over everyday to prove it if I have to.”

You always had to reset your brain when he used that tone with you. It just felt too…sincere. Too intimate.

You wanted him to come over everyday. You took a breath.

“I make more money than when I was still in college, but I don’t think I can afford that many grocery bills.” You teased him. “Why do you think I go over to your place?”

You wanted to evade any serious topics and humor was the best at evading. You were good at avoidance.

“So, I’m a free pantry to you?” His eyebrows rose, questioning you. “I knew you were using me!” He faked a flabbergasted voice like he just heard his life-long partner declare they were cheating on him for months.

He turned off the stove, covering the pan with the lid and turning to face you.

“I didn’t mean to, it just sort of happened.” You gave him your best dejected look. “I promise I’ll pick up more shifts to help restock your fridge, but let me just taste your homemade ravioli one last time.” You begged as he moved closer to you, closing you in with the kitchen island behind your back.

His height and broad shoulders easily caved you in. You gulped watching his face lean down and inch closer.

“If I can’t trust you with my fridge, you don’t deserve my ravioli.” He lowered his voice, gazing down at you with a look that made you breathless. You couldn’t move with the counter behind you and Jason hovering dangerously close to you. “But, you can make it up to me.” He brought his thumb to your chin, barely a wisp of touch.

“How?” You stammered, wondering if the bit was still going.

“Let’s go to the farmer’s market tomorrow.” His hand moved from your face to the edge of the counter, close enough to touch your side and his voice returning to normal, but he didn’t pull away.

“Okay, uh, I’m off tomorrow.” You stared, darting your eyes between Jason’s eyes. Trying to adjust to the tension that was radiating off of him.

“Good, foods ready.” Jason pulled away, moving to the cabinet to grab your glass plates. He was too familiar with the layout of your kitchen.

That night you quickly learned how easy Jason was able to turn the tables. Your racing heart and shallow breathing were the only evidence of it ever happening.

…

The heat beat down on you. Of all days for Gotham to finally clear it’s clouds, it chose today.

Although you weren’t fond of the warm air, you liked watching all the colorful tents, the food on display, and seeing the various local products. Everything looked intricately cared for and it brought a proud feeling to contribute to the locals.

“Bags?” Jason asked, going through his mental checklist.

“Check.” You raised the reusable grocery bags in your hands.

“Hats?”

“Check.” You nudged the baseball cap on your head.

“Money?” Jason smirked.

You grabbed onto Jason’s bicep. Giving it a gentle squeeze.

“Check.” You grinned up at Jason looking at the placement of your hand. “Now let’s go!” You gleefully led him to the first tent with your hand still on him.

You had no idea how you ended up carrying all the bags, but you were trying to ease your mind that this could be considered a date. Jason didn’t call it that and you never asked to clarify, but you couldn’t help it itching at your brain.

You didn’t want to label anything, out of respect for Jason and what he wanted, but you noticed he had started to touch you more and the contact makes you giddy that you had to put all of your focus on making sure you don’t drop his produce.

You stood by Jason, looking at various jars of loose leaf tea. He was smelling all the aromas, helping to move the jars to your nose, so you could smell them too. He insisted on helping you since you refused to give him a bag, but you also didn’t have a free hand to grab the jar.

After a couple more sniff tests, he settled on a jar of prickly pear tea, a lemon-ginger flavor, and he was contemplating on some earl grey cookies. You were watching him, entranced by his concentration. His brows lowered, a small line appearing between his brows. You could see more of his face with a cap on, no messy curls on his forehead and his side profile was really something.

You broke out of your trance when he offered you a piece of the earl-grey cookie, holding it in front of your mouth.

“They’re free samples, try it.” He looked at you, waiting patiently. “I know you don’t like cookies, but these are made with the tea sold here. I saw all the tea you keep in your pantry, so I think you would like it.”

In your lost state at this man in front of you, that could’ve sounded like a proposal to you at that point.

You inched forward, opening your mouth for the cookie. You hesitated at the intimacy, but how could you tell that face ‘no.’ Staring at the small piece of cookie, baked a quarter of the original size they sold, you also saw all the scars that littered Jason’s hands. Many healed over, but you could see the faded lines.

You dangerously wanted to kiss each one.

You grabbed the piece in your mouth, but you didn’t realize that you accidentally touched Jason’s finger with your lip.

You quickly glanced at Jason, but his eyes were glossed over. His attention focused on your mouth.

What a sight.

You chewed and hummed. They were good. Jason cleared his throat at your approval.

“I’ll get a bag and the tea. I’ll be back. You can put the bags down for a bit because there’s a small line.” He quickly turned around, a small tinge of redness left on his ears with his head turned away from you.

You watched his back walk away, then settled the bags down to give your arms a break.

“Excuse me, I just wanted to tell you that you two are adorable.” A honeyed voice spoke trying to grab your attention.

Your head whipped back to the table of teas. An older lady restocking the various collection had a mischievous look in her eye. You hadn’t noticed her there at all.

“The way your boyfriend looks at you, I haven’t seen a look like that since my husband passed many years ago.” The lady gushed.

“Wha, no, I—“ You stammered, trying to clear up the confusion, but your flustered face must’ve amused the woman.

“That made my day, so I wanted to give you this lemon bar we just started selling. Go on, take it and share it with him.” She pressured you to take the free treat. You were too speechless to try to refuse it and insist that you pay before she placed it in your hand herself and she walked off to help another customer wanting a sample.

Your face felt hot and you hoped it cleared before Jason came back, but before you could fan the redness away he appeared next to you with his purchase.

“Hey, you okay? Where’d you get that lemon—”

“Let’s get some lunch!” You grabbed the bags and nudged him to the food trucks lining the edge of the market, trying to hide your face with your hat and leaving the comments from the woman behind.

…

“Wow, this might be the best empanada I’ve ever had.” You chomped at your lunch.

Jason found a waffle place and settled on a berry topping. It was wrapped perfectly to fit in his hands.

You sat across from Jason at an outdoor table with an umbrella to shield you from the sun, sitting away from the rush of people lining up to also eat. The midday lunch rush got to you and you wanted to have a bit of privacy before you went back home.

“How long have you known about this place?” You asked Jason, a slight breeze grazing your face. Watching a kid nudging his dad for a piece of banana bread he found on one of the vendor’s tables.

“Last year? It was recent, but I’ve heard it’s been around for a while. Maybe over five years?” Jason took a bite of his waffle.

“I wish I had found this during my university years. This is a bit out of the way of my walk route, but it would’ve been awesome to browse with my friend.” You saw the boy you were watching earlier smiling wide as he held his dad’s hand and the banana loaf as big as his head. You smiled at the interaction.

“But I probably would’ve sent my friend into shock.” You continued, the boy and his dad disappearing into the crowd. “I wasn’t very social during my university years.” You glanced at Jason, his waffle gone and he was neatly folding the wrapper.

“My friend would joke that I would only meet someone if they magically met me at home. Like that was the only way I could score a date.” You pitifully joked at the old memory. “Sounds absurd doesn’t it, but she wasn’t wrong—“

You saw a shift in Jason’s eyes. He had an oddly serious look, it stopped you from talking and you sat up straighter, wondering what he was thinking about.

You waited, watching him internally fight with whatever he wanted to say.

“That’s not true.” He hesitated. “You’re funny, you’re able to connect with others, you’re a great listener, and you’re honest. You don’t have the heart to be mean to others and your facial expressions are adorable.” His voice rose the longer he defended you. His serious expression further amplified with his furrowed eyebrows. A part of his face obscured by his cap, but you felt the raw emotion emanating from him.

“Anyone would be enamored with you, even if they met you in the hallway or walking down the street.” He puffed, crushing the waffle paper on the table.

You were surprised, glancing over at Jason, watching him get this frustrated. You realized you’ve never seen him this…emotional and he refused to look at you.

The sudden development and his clear thoughts about you stunned you. You joked with Jason how alone you both were, it even brought you together thanks to his brother, but you didn’t really know how alone he truly was. You don’t think he really understood how lonely you were too.

You enjoyed your shared meals, you craved his time and attention.

You got so used to his presence that the days you didn’t see him, you felt like you were dreaming. Waiting to wake up when you heard that familiar knock on your door.

Your heart raced and you hoped he cherished your time together like you did.

You didn’t want to assume his witty personality as being flirtatious, you didn’t want to misunderstand any of his intentions because he was funny, charming, and awkward in ways that you just wanted to grab his face and protect him.

You didn’t particularly need Jason as your person, that felt too selfish, but you also wanted to be somebody to him. Either next to him or from a distance.

A friend, a companion, a lover. The label didn’t really matter to you because you were open to any role. A lover wasn’t more significant than a friend would be. They both had the same foundation, to care for someone unconditionally.

You convinced yourself that you were happy alone, but not until recently you realized you weren’t living. You were asleep in the routine of life.

And when Jason entered your life, you felt like you woke up for the first time.

Like he was the only one who could wake you up.

All you knew was that you wanted to be there. Through his pain, his suffering, his happiest moments, his accomplishments, his anger. To be his person.

To also help him wake up.

Your silent contemplation made Jason panic.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to get worked up—“

“I think apartment community events count.” You softly whispered, indecisive of whether you wanted him to hear you or not.

“What—“

“And secret meetings in the trash room too.” Your voice meek.

You were shaking, too tense to look at his reaction to your words.

“Despite what she told me, I still managed to meet you. And I was able to have some of the best meals. I’ve never laughed as hard as I have when we joked. I’m able to try new things.” You raised your head, overwhelmed by your feelings, but you hoped to convey yourself properly to Jason. “I’ve never felt so comfortable and safe with anyone else.”

Jason looked at you wide eyed and speechless, his mouth slightly agape. You took the disbelief as a sign to continue.

“I’m able to be all those things that you said because I’m with you.” Your voice filled with more resolve the more concrete your feelings felt, the more sure you became. You squeezed your eyebrows together, complete sincerity in your gaze, your heart filled with so much emotion.

But your eyebrows relaxed once you saw Jason’s face turn red. His ears a crimson shade. Before you could engrave it in your memory, he tilted his head down, covering his face with the front of his baseball cap.

“Wait, wait, wait—I didn’t expect this.” Jason rubbed a hand down his face, but the redness contrasted the skin of his hand. “You were so shy every time I tried to push the boundaries between us, but now your directly confessing everything at once.”

He stopped rubbing his face and rested his hand on the table. Meeting your gaze, a tint of red still on his skin but not as deep as before.

“I’ve been trying to get closer to you. I’ve been hoping to run into you since we first talked on the balcony. When we met in the trash room, I purposely tried to meet you again. I’ve looked forward to every meal I’ve cooked for you and although I haven’t been clear about my feelings, I didn’t want to pressure or rush you.” Jason took a breath, closing his eyes for a moment.

When they opened again, his eyes were completely focused on you.

“I want us to be more than friends…I want to be able to come over when I miss you, fold laundry together, buy you things when they remind me of you, I want you to call me when you need car maintenance.” He kept his eyes trained on you, but his voice faltered. “I want to hold your hand and to kiss you. I want us to go on dates.”

You raised your hand to the table, placing your hand over Jason’s, but he quickly flipped your hands so he was holding yours a little more firmly.

“I want to know if you snore while you sleep, to have your things at my place, so I see you in every inch of my life. I want you to know how much I’ve fallen for you.”

“I want that too.” Your voice trembled. “I’ve been wanting to hold your hand while we walked today and I want you to come over more often.” You choked as Jason leaned in to caress your face with his hand. A sickening sweet touch that you never knew you would get to feel. You cupped your hand over his.

“I’m so happy. I’ve been wanting to tell you for a while.” Jason whispered to you, his voice so honey sweet.

You looked up to him. A gentle gaze reflecting back.

“I probably look like a mess right now.” You shakily laughed.

“Of course not, you’re breathtaking, sweetheart.” Jason rubbed a thumb on your cheek, completely enamored by you.

“As much as I would love to hear you continue, I’m worried about the stuff you bought and this heat.” You tried to focus, but the smooth touch of Jason was difficult to ignore.

“Yeah, we probably need to make our way back.”

Despite his words, he didn’t move. He lingered on your face a while longer before he looked at all the bags he accumulated this morning.

“Will you let me help you carry some of the bags?” He asked. “I also want to hold your hand on the way back.”

You beamed at him. Reaching for his hand as you stood up.

…

Your walk back was refreshing.

You were exhausted from the intense flux of emotions you released, but Jason’s grip on your hand stabilized you.

You couldn’t stop smiling, the heat no longer bothering you. You swung your interlaced hands to the motion of your steps and Jason let you do what you wanted as long as you still held on.

When you got to the entrance of your apartment building, you were graced with the AC hitting you. Your hair would definitely be messed up from the sweat and your cap.

You waited in front of the elevator doors as it descended from the last person that used it. The lobby was empty, except from the usual leasing office workers inhabiting the space, but it was just you and Jason off to the side.

As you glanced around, making sure the employees were occupied, you used your grip on Jason’s hand to pull him down enough for you to kiss his cheek. A little awkward with your cap in the way, but you were able to surprise Jason.

He stayed hunched forward, shifting his face to look at you closely and digest what you did.

Ding. The elevator doors opened and you pulled Jason in the elevator.

You felt accomplished as you pushed the button to your floor. When you moved back to Jason’s side, you looked up to him, but he grabbed your face.

His hand pushed your cap up, so he could lean in and kiss you. His hat also moving up at the angle he was in.

You closed your eyes, disoriented at the feeling and because Jason completely blocked your view of the elevator, so you only heard the doors close.

Lost in the feeling and the movement of his lips, you dropped the bags in your hand to grab at Jason’s sleeve, wanting to grasp at something.

You’ve never felt so desperate to get Jason even closer and he must have understood or he craved it more because he pushed you back against the elevator wall. You felt the cold metal against your back and you gasped.

Jason devoured the sound, motivating him to hold your waist, but it wasn’t enough for him. He crouched a little lower to grasp you behind your legs to lift you fully off the ground, inching your body up, higher and more level with his face.

The angle changed and you easily wrapped your arms around his neck while simultaneously wrapping your legs around his waist. The moment intensifying as you pulled at his hair below his hat and you swallowed the low groan that left his mouth. You were drawn to the deep sound and the feeling of the hum you felt on your mouth.

You were practically flush against his body and you were down to your last few breaths, but you didn’t want to pull your face away from Jason.

You nipped at his lower lip and he lifted his hands to cup the sides of your face, digging his fingers into your sweaty hair and rubbing the back of your ears. You opened your mouth wanting to feel more of him when you heard someone loudly clear their throat.

You pulled away, shoving Jason by his shoulders as he whipped his head to see where the voice came from. You fell to your feet trying to lean against the wall with the sudden motion, hair a mess with your cap lopsided as you looked past Jason to see Dick standing there with a hand on his waist and the other holding the elevator door open. He didn’t look at the two of you directly, more like a lost look to the side.

You breathlessly adjusted your cap as you frantically smoothed out your shirt.

Jason pulled his cap down as he sighed then redirected his attention to you, gently reaching out to you to smooth out some of your hair and help you stand up straighter. Then he grabbed the bags you both dropped on the floor as he turned around to face his brother.

“I didn’t know you were coming over. You should’ve texted.” Jason walked past his brother, annoyance laced in his voice.

“I did.” Dick replied. He looked at you then followed after Jason. “But it seems you were a little occupied.” Amusement coating his voice and visible in the way he walked.

“I see you’re getting to know your neighbors very well.” Dick teased, a giant grin on his face. “I’m glad.”

What a way to meet Jason’s brother again after all this time. You wanted the floor to open up and swallow you away from the lack of awareness you had to make out with Jason in public.

You couldn’t decide if it was worse that a stranger could’ve saw you or that Dick was the one who did.

“Yeah, yeah, come inside.” Jason unlocked the door to his apartment. You nervously followed after the two.

“No seriously, I’m glad you two continued to see each other.” A genuine comment from Dick. “I’ve never seen you so comfortable with someone, Jaybird.”

A small hum from Jason as he set the bags down onto the counter.

With no indication that he wanted to speak further, you decided to talk.

“I’m sorry we’re meeting again like this. I promise I’m usually a better influence.” Hopefully your lighthearted tone would give off a better impression than the one on the elevator.

“Ha! I know you are because,” Dick moved in closer, lowering his voice. “This is the most behaved I’ve seen Jason in months.”

“Alright, enough, dickwa—Dick,” Jason cleared his throat. “But we just got back and I want to shower. It was too damn hot today.”

“Oh, I bet it was—“

“Thank you! Never come by again. See you. Good Night.” Jason raised his voice, shoving his brother out the door.

“No, please, I swear I’m done!” Dick pleaded as he was trying to hang onto the door frame, but Jason closed the door before he could start to beg.

“Are you sure he’ll be alright?” You questioned Jason.

He didn’t bother to answer your question as he closed the space between you and wrapped his arms around you, resting his forehead on your shoulder and letting his hands intertwine around your waist, falling onto your lower back.

Jason signed into your shirt. The feeling slightly tickling you.

“I wasn’t done earlier.” He whispered against you. “Then that dickhead had to interrupt.”

You laughed, loving the pouty sound of his voice.

You embraced him back, leaning your head against his.

“I think the elevator interrupted you.” You rubbed his back in soothing circles.

You closed your eyes for a moment, letting a silence fall in Jason’s apartment before your curiosity got to you.

“Jaybird?”

“It’s a nickname.”

“It’s cute.”

“Enough about him, we need to put away all the stuff we bought.” Jason lifted his head to sullenly look at the numerous bags.

“That reminds me.” You let go of him to dig around the bags, trying to find your earlier gift. “I was told to share this with you by an older woman who thought my boyfriend was adorable.”

Jason shifted behind you. Closing his hands on the edges of the counter, both of his arms on your sides. Once you found the lemon bar, you turned your body, careful to lean against the counter with Jason’s body still in front of you, around you practically.

“It’s a new product. She said I could have it for making her day, but I have to thank you because we wouldn’t have gotten it without you.”

You opened the wrapper, breaking a piece off to feed to Jason.

“How does it taste?”

Jason lingered. You anticipated what he thought, but he leaned forward to kiss you. You held onto the lemon bar, but lowered it the more heated your kiss became. The tangy taste invading your mouth.

“Amazing.”

[itsalliny0urhead]

Good Boy (Dick Grayson x fem!reader)

💀🖤 I think this is my favourite one I’ve written so far. Do you want more parts? You left the League and never looked back — trading justice for blood and silk and the thrill of taking exactly what you want. When Dick shows up at your door years later, rain-soaked and desperate, asking for your help… you decide to say yes.

For a price.

Dick Grayson x fem!reader — enemies to lovers / ex-lovers / villain!reader

The penthouse is decadent.

Moonlight spills through floor-to-ceiling windows, casting the city in silver at your back. Crystal glasses glint on the bar. A man’s wristwatch ticks softly on the marble countertop — its owner nowhere in sight. The whole place hums with something warm and wrong, like luxury pressed over rot.

He steps inside uninvited, though the lock’s already broken. You never leave doors intact. They don’t deserve that kind of mercy.

Then he sees you.

Reclined on a velvet chaise like a serpent in silk, legs bare, neck glowing in the pale light. Wine glass in hand, fingers lazy around the stem. A bloodstained blade resting on your thigh. Casual. Intimate. Like it belongs there.

There’s a smear of red across your collarbone. Still wet.

“Grayson,” you purr, not bothering to look up. “I was wondering when you’d come crawling.”

His mouth goes dry.

“You killed them, didn’t you?”

Your gaze lifts — slow, deliberate. Your eyes gleam like a blade unsheathed.

“Which ones?”

He doesn’t answer. He doesn’t have to.

This penthouse belonged to someone else — their coats still hang in the entryway. A framed photo smiles from the wall. A child’s drawing on the fridge, curling at the edges. You haven’t erased them. Just claimed the space like a queen conquering a kingdom.

You’ve never tried to be clean. You made yourself unholy.

“I need your help,” he says, jaw clenched.

That earns him a laugh — low, husky, deliciously cruel. You tilt your head, silk slipping lower on your shoulder, revealing the edge of a bruise or maybe a bite.

“Oh, sweetheart,” you breathe, “you must be desperate.”

You set the glass down without looking, the clink of crystal against marble slicing clean through the quiet.

Then you rise.

Slow. Languid. Every movement deliberate. Your bare feet whisper across the hardwood, silk sliding over skin like it was poured there — clinging to the swell of your hips, the line of your thighs, the sharp curve of your collarbone still kissed with blood. Not a costume. Not armor.

You wear danger like perfume.

And he — he stands frozen, soaked from the rain, boots bleeding water onto the polished floor, pulse hammering under his skin like it knows.

You stop in front of him, not touching. Just hovering. Close enough that he can smell you — not just wine and something floral, but something darker underneath. Copper. Smoke. A hint of gunpowder that makes his stomach twist.

This close, you’re both everything he remembers and nothing like the girl he used to know.

Once, you used to laugh when you sparred — wild, breathless, too sharp for your own good. He used to call you reckless. You’d grin and say he was just afraid to lose.

Once, you used to braid your hair before missions. Sit on the edge of the rooftop, tongue caught between your teeth as you wove it tight with shaking hands. He’d watch you from a distance, pretending not to care.

Now? Now your hair’s loose — wild, untamed, drying in waves that frame your face like something feral. Your eyes glint like broken glass.

“You look good,” you say, voice low and thick with something dangerous. “Little worn. Little wet.” Your gaze drops, lingers. “Still pretending you’re not exactly where you want to be.”

His jaw tightens. “I didn’t come here for this.”

“No,” you hum, “you came to beg.”

You take one slow step closer, and he doesn’t stop you.

Your fingers trace his jaw — featherlight, but it burns. Like contact with something holy and forbidden. You touch him like you have a right to. Like you still own the map of his skin.

“You want my help,” you whisper, thumb dragging over the edge of his lip, “but you’re choking on it. On me.”

He doesn’t breathe.

There was a night — years ago — after a mission that went sideways. You’d stolen a bottle of vodka from the med bay. Pushed it into his hands. Sat beside him on the floor, your backs to the wall, your knee pressed against his. Your voice had gone quiet when you’d said, “We’re not built to be good forever.”

He hadn’t believed you.

Until you proved it.

“You’re not the same person,” he says now, barely audible.

You smile — slow, sharp, brutal.

“No,” you murmur. “I’m better.”

Your hand trails lower — down his chest, over the line of his belt, not quite touching. Teasing. Threatening. You’re not sure which would be worse for him.

“And you,” you continue, voice a blade wrapped in silk, “still clinging to that broken little moral compass like it ever pointed north. But you came here. To me.”

You lean in — lips brushing his ear, your breath warm and cold all at once.

“So say it, Grayson. Say the words. I want to hear them bleed.”

There’s a version of you in his memory, sitting cross-legged on the Watchtower floor, humming under your breath while disassembling a prototype bomb — hands steady, eyes shining, voice soft when you said, “Do you think we’ll ever get out?”

That girl is gone.

And yet — when he looks at you now, standing there in blood and silk and sin — he’s not sure you didn’t become something more terrifyingly honest.

“I need you,” he says, broken and raw.

Finally.

You exhale like a slow smile, pulling back just enough to meet his eyes.

“Good boy.”

You move like you own the room. Like you own him.

He doesn’t follow when you turn away — just watches you glide toward the bar again, silk whispering over skin, blood still drying on your shoulder. The room smells like wine and metal. Like sex and death.

You finish your drink in a single, slow swallow, red lips staining the glass. Then you set it down, turn, and lean back against the bar — arms folded, head tilted, smiling like you’re already undressing him with your eyes.

Because you are.

“You’re lucky I’m in a good mood tonight,” you say. “I’ve killed for less than the way you looked at me when you walked in.”

His voice scrapes low. “You’ve killed for less than everything.”

You grin. “Exactly.”

There’s a flicker — just a breath of memory:

You were sixteen the first time you went off-mission. The intel was bad. The target was worse. You slit a man’s throat in an alley while Dick watched, stunned, heart thudding in his chest. You didn’t flinch. Just wiped the blade on your sleeve and said, “If we leave him breathing, he follows us.”

He hadn’t slept that night. You had.

Now, you step forward again, slow and smooth, eyes never leaving his. Your fingertips skim along the back of a leather chair as you pass it. You’re circling him again — like hunger in human skin.

“But I’ll help you,” you say, almost sweetly. “For a price.”

You stop behind him. He can feel the heat of you, the press of the silence between.

“I want a night,” you whisper — right at the edge of his ear, voice thick like molasses, like something you drown in. “With you. Not Robin. Not Nightwing. Not whatever mask you’re wearing this week.”

Your hands slide over his shoulders, down his arms — slow and teasing and cruel. “I want the part of you that still wants me,” you breathe, “no matter how hard you’ve tried to forget.”

His hands curl into fists.

He remembers the night before you left. No uniform. No orders. Just the two of you on the Watchtower roof, watching Earth rotate in silence. You’d kissed him like it was a secret. Like you didn’t know when you’d get the chance again. And when you pulled back, you looked him in the eye and said:

“One day, I’m going to do something you can’t forgive.”

He hadn’t said anything.

Maybe you were waiting for him to ask you not to. Maybe that’s why you left.

Now you pull around in front of him again, your lips so close he can taste the wine on your breath.

“When this is over,” you say, dragging one finger slowly up his chest, “you come back here. And I’ll ruin you properly. Take my time with it. Peel off every pretty lie you’ve wrapped around yourself just to breathe.”

You lean in — tongue flicking the edge of his jaw. Your lips graze his skin like a brand.

“I want you kneeling. Bleeding. Mine.”

His voice is rough. “You always wanted ownership more than love.”

You smile. “Ownership is love, darling. You just never learned how to take it.”

And god help him — something in him still aches for you.

Still remembers the way you used to laugh when you trained together. The thrill in your eyes when you landed a hit. The sound of you, breathless in the dark, whispering:

“We could be legends, Dick.”

He wanted to be a hero. You wanted to be a god.

“…Deal,” he says again, quieter. Like a confession.

You step back — satisfied. Triumphant.

“Good boy.”

[magicalbats]

Persist and Resist (Sunday x Reader)

Rating: R-18+

Word Count: 7730

Warnings: afab!reader, handjob, cum eating, a pinch of femdom, canon typical Catholic guilt

A/N: Happy Valentine's everyone! I actually started writing this one in response to an ask I got back when I was working on last years kinktober but at some point in shuffling the text around from here to Google docs it seems Tumblr ate the initial message, which is a big bummer. I do, however, recall that the sender wanted to know what I liked about Sunday ... and the answer to that is clearly 7730 words long! lol Please enjoy the fic and if you're still around, anon ... this one is for you. ❤️

⭐

“Just relax,” you murmur, ignoring his startled gasp when you lean in from behind to rest your chin against his shoulder. “You’re always so stiff. That’s not good for your health, y’know.”

He hesitates, seems to think about it. Deciding how he should react. 

Forcing himself to draw a slow, carefully measured breath this time and further betraying his feelings on the matter, Sunday grits out a terse laugh. It’s soft and quiet. A barely there chuckle that carries with it only a very small fraction of the self assured confidence he’d displayed back on Penacony. 

You knew now that the real Sunday was not quite so sure of himself or as comfortable in his own skin as he’d first appeared, although he still tries very hard to hide that insecurity from you despite being far, far away from his old home. Like some sort of defense mechanism meant to protect and shield the delicate fragile parts of him from threat of the outside world, but it doesn’t work. Not when you were sitting so damn close to him as to feel every stuttering beat of his heart.

Pressed right up against his back like this, there’s not much he can keep from you, in fact. You’re keenly aware of even the most imperceptible shift in him, from the steady expansion of his lungs down to the loose flex of his hands where they’re resting across his lap. His body language makes it clear that he’s not accustomed to sharing such close proximity with another person and he’s not quite sure what to do with it. Right down to the molecular level it’s obvious he’s way out of his comfort zone given his subtle fidgeting, as if he just couldn’t help himself.

He was nervous. Maybe even a little scared, too.

“How interesting.” He finally murmurs. “I wasn’t aware you filled the important role of medical expert on board the Express. I’ll have to make note not to end up in need of your services again.”

Turning his head, Sunday pointedly looks elsewhere in your new room on the train, much preferring to focus on anything other than its owner at the moment. 

Situated above the party car and effectively cut off from the more heavily used common areas, the privacy here is absolute and precisely why you’d extended an invitation to him. There was more than enough room for you to share this space with the wayward traveler who, as far as you could tell, had been sleeping on the bench seats in the car below while you worked to get everything set up to your liking. But he never complained about it or tried to demand better accommodations even though you were certain it was a drastic downgrade in the comfortability he was used to. Like some self flagellating martyr, almost. 

The thought that he might be using the Express’ lack of additional rooms to further punish himself, convinced he deserved that or even less, was what ultimately swayed your decision to open your door to him. You wanted to show Sunday that there were still good things in this world that he could have, things he could enjoy and appreciate the same way he had in his previous life even if they weren’t quite as luxurious or posh as he was accustomed to. 

You also wanted to show him that you were willing to forgive him and, in the process, maybe even convince him to forgive himself. 

“Do I make you uncomfortable?”

“No.” He insists, just a bit too tightly for it to be believable. “But I’ve seen you in action before. You’re not exactly what I’d call a gentle hand, and this … bedside manner is beyond me.”

That makes you smile into his shoulder as you wind your arms more securely around him, gently nudging Sunday back against your front. Still, he refuses to relent though. Staying perfectly motionless and straight as a board now, he almost feels like a statue made of solid granite sitting on the edge of the haphazardly made bed with you. Would have, were it not for the slightest hitch in his chest.

You realize in a distant, immaterial sort of way that his subconscious reaction was in response to your breasts pressing into his spine. He must like it then, even if he was loathe to say it. This was admittedly something you found to be charmingly cute in its guileless unassuming but it also made you want to tease him even more for it at the same time.

“That might be for the best,” You softly coo at him, keeping your voice light and barely more than a whisper as you trail a single hand higher up to pull at one of the clasps on his jacket. “I don’t have a medical license, after all.”

He sucks in another inhale, sharper this time. “You’re shameless.”

“That may be true, but I don’t see you trying to stop me.”

A strange little sound puffs out of him, something equally torn between indignation and fluster.

He either can’t or he won’t bring himself to reject your advances though, and he just sits there while you make careful work of unfastening his cozy coat. Idly, you wonder if this was the first time he’s ever had someone touching him like this. But he’s either making an attempt to be more polite than he otherwise would have been when someone was invading his personal bubble like this or, more likely, he considered it another facet of his penance. Further punishment for a sin he’s already been punished for twice over in your eyes. 

Sighing a quiet sound against his neck, you tentatively slip your hand into the inner layer of his shirt once you’ve got it nudged up enough to reach inside.

The skin along his stomach is enviously soft and smooth when you brush your fingers against it, and he outright jolts at that first hint of contact. Even then he still does not protest or try to pull away, though. His breathing deepens, coming slightly harder and faster now, but he makes no move to disengage from you, and you finally rouse yourself to tip your face up at him in question.

“I was only joking, Sunday. You can tell me if you don’t want me to keep going.”

“So you can hold it over my head later? I think not, Miss Stellaron. Against all odds, I still have some pride left in me.”

You frown at that. “I wouldn’t do that to you. You’re not a prisoner here and I’m not your jailer, so you’re free to make your own choices. I just want to help you.”

For a drawn out moment it doesn’t look like you’re going to get any kind of response from him, and you’re just a bit disappointed about that. But then, ever so slowly, he turns his head to cautiously glance back at you. The deeply embarrassed flush staining his cheekbones manages to surprise you, making your brows climb up to your hairline before you can suppress the reaction and stop it.

“I fail to see how this could be in any way helpful to me.” He intones, keeping his wing tucked forward across the lower half of his face so he can hide his mouth from your line of sight. Acting as a final barrier in case you were to decide to take that last inch from him. 

“I thought this might help you relax. You are pretty stiff, you know. I wasn’t joking about that.”

That defensively tucked in wing gives a brief flutter to make the soft feathers ruffle slightly, like a helpless bird trying to puff itself up to look bigger. It would have been adorable had his eyes not narrowed at you in warning in the same breath.

“I’ve never heard of such a method for relaxation. This isn’t how the Family does things.”

“But you’re not part of the Family anymore, are you? It’s okay to do things differently now.” Holding the air in your lungs, anticipating the coin drop, you slide the hand inside his shirt a little higher up to rub over a tiny nipple. “Let me show you, Sunday. Please?”

He twitches at the touch of your fingertips and quickly swings his attention back around to avoid having to look at you any longer. You can feel the shudder that runs through him but he still refuses to utter the one word that would make you back off. ‘Stop’. That’s all he needed to say. And you would, if he really wanted that. 

Something told you he didn’t completely hate what you were doing though, and it’s not like he’d ever admit to liking it anyway.

So you take your time softly petting over the petite bud, coaxing it to full stiffness which even then doesn’t leave much for you to play with. Every part of him was so slim and compact that as you feel over his chest you find yourself wondering if he was perhaps malnourished despite the life of relative luxury he’d lived back on Penacony. He shouldn’t have had to go without food, at the very least.

Deciding to find him a slice of cake in the kitchen after this, or at least a cookie, you redirect your hand to the opposite side of his chest to tease that nipple as well. Sunday stiffly arches against you in response, nudging his narrow chest up at the sensation even as he whimpers a quiet noise into the still room. He was slowly getting more and more fidgety, like he wasn’t quite sure how to react to what you were doing. How to process it or how to reconcile any of it in his mind. 

But a simple glance down at the front of him tells you everything you need to know without having to break the static charged silence by asking him how he was feeling. He wouldn’t have been honest with you anyway, of that you were certain, so there would have been no point in it.

The reluctant tent pushing up through his pants speaks for itself though, and this part of him could not lie. No matter how much he tried to fight it or wrestle it back under control, there was simply no subjugating the natural urges of his body. He couldn’t fully control it no matter how much he might want to and you can tell that bothers him a great deal in the way he softly seethes under his breath.

He was supposed to be disciplined and steadfast, not easily swayed by the compunctions of flesh and blood. And after rejecting it for so long, stuffing it down into a sealed box in the back of his mind where he wouldn’t have to look at it or think about it, he was now quickly succumbing to the full brunt of his neglected sensitivity. All you’ve done so far was tease his nipples a little bit and his cock was already needily flexing up into the placket of his slacks as if with a mind of its own. A hungry beast that couldn’t be contained no matter how hard its master might yank on the leash trying to bring it back to heel. 

It’s a little sad, in a way. You can’t help feeling sorry for him and all the simple pleasures he’s denied himself for the sake of exerting some amount of control over his own existence when he otherwise had none, but you also feel a sharp stab of arousal too. There were so many things you could teach him, if given half the chance. So many different avenues of pleasure and satisfaction, and intimacy that the two of you could explore together if he’d just allow himself the freedom to experience them for once in his life.

In truth you’d found Sunday quite interesting from the moment you first set eyes on him in front of the check-in counter of the Penacony Grand Hotel, like there was some sort of magnetic force at work urging you closer into his orbit. You knew now that at least part of that compulsion was a result of the Harmony and the other was his natural charisma as a Halovian. But there’s something else there too, something not so easily explained or written off.

He was not that much unlike you, was he? Someone who was so utterly bereft of a home to call his own in this vast cosmos that the nomadic existence of a star-bound wanderer was the only feasible option left to him. Everything from his identity right down to his own sister had been taken from him and he was alone now, save you and the rest of the Astral Express crew. You could understand that well enough even if you didn’t have any memories of what you’d lost before ending up here, just the same as he eventually had.

But you wanted to show him what having that freedom was really like, even if it was just a tiny glimpse of what awaited him on the other side now that he was free of Penacony’s slumbering birdcage.

“Do you trust me, Sunday?”

He tries to laugh again, fails miserably at it, and all that comes out is an odd little croak instead. “I don’t see that I have much of a choice in the matter, do I?”

“Of course you do.” 

Carefully sliding your hand out of his shirt, you reach down to tug at his belt buckle with deliberate slowness, giving him ample opportunity to protest. He just groans the most threadbare little sound you’ve ever heard though, and finally allows himself to reluctantly ease back into you. Still unfalteringly stiff and halting, but at least you were making progress.

With a brief clink and a rattle, his belt comes loose. You set your sights on his pants next, fumbling with the top button just as slowly so as not to spook or startle him. He really was like a defenseless bird caught in the sights of a much larger predator and unable to fly, to flee or to fight. He remains passive in your arms, luckily, but the building anticipation of what you were doing does make him start to squirm. He quickly forces himself to stop and be still though, merely watching what your hands are doing with his face tipped down towards his lap.

Soon enough you have those neatly pressed slacks open and you slip your fingers inside to feel along the band of his underwear before trailing even lower. You find his straining cock easily when it’s already stiff and rigidly pushing up from his body, giving it a gentle squeeze through the last layer of laughably thin cotton, and he responds with a tortured, half choked gasp.

“M - Miss Stellaron …”

You can hear the hoarse rattle in his voice as much as you feel it where you’re pressed right up against him like you are. At some point your breathing seems to have synced with his and you find yourself quietly panting right along with him as you work to nudge his pants down far enough to free him from them. 

Clearly picking up on your intent, Sunday hesitates to do it and he sways almost unsteadily between your arms before he at last manages to shyly angle his hips off the edge of the mattress to help you in your endeavor. He whimpers softly while he does it, and you consolingly coo at him as you press your face into the crook of his elegant neck to breathe deep the smell of him. Soap and clean linen, and a hint of downy fuzz that makes your head feel light with the impression of warmth. Perfect for cuddling. 

“Shh. Just relax for me. I promise I’ll take good care of you. There’s nothing to be afraid of.”

Tipping forward, you place a tender kiss to his drooping wing and you’re delighted by the sensitive inhale he sucks in at the sensation of your lips brushing against the feathers. You’d always wondered if they were as delicately receptive as they looked and you were glad to have your answer even as you tug at his underwear to slide the band underneath his straining length.

And it immediately springs up into the air, already flushed and leaking as it weakly twitches in his lap as if in a desperate bid for attention. You’re amazed at not only how beautiful his cock is, average in size at best and yet so perfectly shaped as to look somehow beyond the pale of mere flesh, but also at how satiny soft and smooth it is. The flawless texture almost makes it look like something made of alabaster, and you eagerly reach around to take him in your hand.

“Oh!” His back dramatically arches against you, his hands flying up where they hesitate over yours for a harrowing moment before he allows himself to latch onto your wrists. It’s the first hint of reciprocity on his part, intentionally touching you instead of remaining a bystander as he had up until now, but you still hold your breath as you wait to see what he’ll do next.

If he was going to push you away this would be the time. The situation had clearly escalated beyond what could be excused as simple platonic affection and you brace for his reaction. His rejection. 

To your genuine surprise, however, Sunday just holds onto you by the wrists and weakly rolls his hips up in a shuddering, painfully stiff thrust. The motion sends his cock stuttering across your fingers before pulling back when he eases down to sit fully on the mattress again, wheezing softly at just that brief stimulation. You sorely wished you could see his face again but Sunday’s attention remains down and that fluttering wing stays an ever present screen for him to hide behind as well. 

No matter though. You didn’t really have need for visual cues when you could feel everything in stunning high definition through the point of contact between his body and yours. 

Closing your fist tighter around his cock, you gently begin to pump him, hand dragging from the base where ticklishly coarse hairs tease your knuckles straight up to the tip to make his foreskin bunch over the head. You can hear the sticky wet click of precum but it’s quickly lost under the harsh, frazzled gasp he raggedly pulls in. And it almost manages to surprise you, how sensitive he really is and how vigorously he twitches at your ministrations. There was some part of you that hadn’t been sure if he was even able to put on such an animated display, thinking he’d fight tooth and nail to keep up that implacable facade no matter what manner of duress he was made to endure. 

That is not what happens though. 

Instead he suddenly comes alive, unable to stop himself from full on shuddering and twisting his narrow hips against your hold. Hissing an overwrought sound into the otherwise still and silent room, he clutches at your arms in such a tight deathgrip that the leather of his gloves softly creaks. Not to stop you or to push you away, you dully realize when he groans your name like a plea. But because it felt good and it overwhelmed him, and he needed to hold onto something or risk shattering into a million pieces right then and there. 

Stealing another quick, almost giddy look down at the cock gripped in your fist, you don’t think that’s going to help him or stop the inevitable though. He’s flushed pink and raw from nothing more than just a few brief pumps of your hand, and you can feel the intense throb of him pulsing under your fingers. Not only was he going to cum quick and hard, considering how fiercely he shakes for you, but it was also going to take an embarrassing lack of effort on your part to get him there. 

“Oh, Sunny. Are you enjoying yourself now?” You purr into his shoulder, delighted at how abruptly he’d changed his songbird’s tune. From proud and immovable to a writhing, pathetically whimpering mess in just the blink of an eye. And all it had taken was the firm hold of your hand on him. It was in many ways astounding. “I always knew you had it in you.”

“I told you — nnghn! Not to … not to call me that.” 

Humming a low sound of agreement, you slowly drag your hand back down the length of him to peel away his foreskin in a tortuously stilted motion. Another sticky click hits your ears and he grunts a harried noise of distress when the cool air wafts against his exposed glans unimpeded, making him judder wildly in response. But you keep him held tightly against you even when his back dramatically bows, using your anchoring arm wrapped around his flexing stomach to keep Sunday pressed into you while the opposite hand gives his base a pinched squeeze to stave off his release. It wouldn’t hold it back for long but you were happy with even just those few extra seconds you’re given to admire him. 

And admire him you do. He’s sticky with an excess of eager, dribbling precum that coats the glistening head in a filmy sheen, inviting you to reach out and rub him there. You knew that would undo him in alarmingly short order though, so you hold off for the moment. Rather, you gently smooth your touch down to caress over his balls and wrap your fingers around their delicate weight, cradling them in the palm of your hand. 

Surprising you a great deal, Sunday outright yelps at the sensation and jolts as if you’d just electrocuted him despite how careful you’d been in handling his testes. Slim chest heaving on an uncontrollable, stuttering rhythm, he heavily leans back into you and tips his head to keen up at the ceiling. The sound itself as much as the volume of it makes your heart leap into your throat where it threatens to suffocate you. He was getting much too loud, wasn’t he?  

Your thoughts immediately flash upon the idea that someone might be just downstairs in the party car but you aren’t sure how well sound travels between the two floors, and that makes you nervous. Would they be able to hear him clearly and figure out what was happening just over their heads, or would it only seem like muffled and distant noise? Hell, even if one of your other crewmates wasn’t down there Shush almost certainly was. That damned robot hardly ever moved from behind the polished bar unless it was to pester someone with its awful jokes. What would it even say about the things it could hear going on up in your room? 

Quickly deciding you really didn’t want to test fate like that, you unlock your arm from around his middle and reach up to lightly palm over the graceful line of his throat instead. His Adam’s apple bobs thickly under your hand with the rough inhale he pulls in, swaying between your thighs when he turns his head to blink at you as if he were drunk and seeing double. But at least it looked like you had his attention again. 

“You need to watch your volume. If someone hears us, that's going to make having breakfast together way more awkward than I’d like.” You warn him, keeping your voice gentle and soft. For someone who’d acted with such overwhelming confidence on his home turf he’d quickly proven himself skittish and easy to fluster once you got your hands on him. You didn’t want to scare him off after all the effort you’d had to put in just to get this far. 

“I … I’m sorry.” He mutters with no shortage of Herculean effort. Gone are the impeccable manners and lofty words of the head of the Oak Family, and in their place there was now only a raw vulnerability you hadn’t expected to see in him. “It seems I’ve — forgotten myself. How embarrassing. I - I’ve never …”

“Been touched like this?” You supply, giving his balls a featherlight palpitation for emphasis. 

It’s enough to make Sunday hiss through tightly clenched teeth though, squeezing his eyes shut against the sensation as he turns his head away. “Yes. I mean n - no. This is my … first time.” 

That makes you smile. “I can tell. You’re so sensitive, Sunny. Haven’t you ever thought to touch yourself before?” 

His little wings flutter in response, flapping an irritable rhythm that makes the feathers softly smack against your face as if to bat you away. It’s hard to say if he was offended that you would even think to ask that of him in the first place or if it was because you’d used that insufferable nickname again but either way his reaction makes you laugh. 

Yes, there were a great many avenues of mischief the two of you could get into. It would be fun exploring them together, and this was only the first activity on a very long list of things you wanted to introduce him to. It was a bit out of order but maybe you could try kissing next. 

Your own excitement grows at the thought, and you eagerly swing your attention back around to Sunday’s lap. Giving his balls one last, gentle squeeze, you curl your hand upward so you can wrap it around his shaft and feel that silken skin under your fingers again. The seething noise he makes sounds suspiciously like that of a tea kettle getting close to boiling but he makes a valid attempt to keep his voice in check when you offer that rigid length another slow, savory tug. 

Unfortunately he quickly loses hold of that threadbare control as you reach the glans and the drag of your fist makes his foreskin slide up to bunch over the fleshy slit. The sensation seems to nearly bowl him over and he judders helplessly, squawking an oversensitized sound. Even with the threat of discovery an ever present danger, you still can’t quite stop yourself from grinning at his decidedly innocent, unassuming reaction. 

“Oh, Sunday … what are we going to do if someone comes knocking on the door because they heard you? Something tells me that look on your face would give us away no matter how we tried to explain ourselves.” 

He full on whimpers at that, sounding sad and deeply ashamed in at the implication of guilt. It’s clearly getting harder for him to maintain his usual cool the longer your hands are on him though, and you realize you’re going to have to do something to help him out. He was much too sensitive, too easily overwhelmed to roll the dice in this particular situation when getting caught together could mean the end of everything. 

Licking your lips, you momentarily consider choking him just enough to cut off his air supply and make it impossible for him to cry out. Your fingers idly flex around the bobbing curve of his throat at the thought. Although it’s certainly a tempting idea you ultimately think better of it, sliding your hand higher up to brush over his jaw instead. 

Finding Sunday’s mouth, you slide your palm over it and press down firmly to elicit a startled yet blissfully muffled sound from him. He jolts and lurches in your hold, as if only just now realizing the true scope of the danger he was in, but it’s much too late. 

Readjusting your hold on his cock in the other hand, you firmly drag your fist down and then back up, settling into a steady rhythm that continuously works the foreskin over his receptive glans. Back and forth, back and forth, up and down; rubbing, sliding, sticky slick clicking in your ears. And Sunday outright shrieks behind your fingers, twisting and tossing his head like a wild animal caught in a trap. His belt rattles softly where it’s spread open across his thighs, still twisted up in his pants, and his wings slap a furious beat that has you turning your face into his shoulder to avoid the full brunt of his ratcheting alarm. 

He’s hard to keep ahold of like this, especially when he digs his heels into the floor and tries to wrench himself free, but your physical strength proves greater. Despite being a man and in spite of having a few inches on you in height, he just isn’t equipped to fight you off. Not when you’ve got his cock in one hand, stroking it with the continuous glide of your palm over all of that sinfully smooth flesh, and the halfhearted way he shoves at your arms quickly morphs into desperate grabbing instead. 

Blindly, he latches onto you; your thighs where they bracket his shuddering hips, the bend of your arm, so he can squeeze tight and hold on for dear life. His muffled sounds of pleasure turn dazed and intoxicated as he rigidly slumps against you at last. And when he tips his head back to rest along your shoulder, tiny wings still fluttering helplessly but starting to weaken and droop, you dare to lift your face to look at him. 

Wrecked is the only word that immediately comes to mind. His usually perfectly styled hair is tousled and sweat damp where it sticks to his skin in a few places. Cheeks so hot with color you know he’d be warm to the touch. It’s the far-away glisten in his golden eyes, once so sharp and pointed, now distant and too heavy to keep fully open anymore, that really seals the deal though. Sunday’s higher functioning mind may still have been fighting against it but his body was singing like a deftly plucked chord while the violently crashing waves of pleasure slam into him with every slide of your fist. 

Feeling devious and a little too eager to stop yourself, you take advantage of his draining will to fight it and adjust your hand over his mouth so you can plunge two of the fingers inside. He squawks a decidedly undignified sound at the sudden intrusion but even his attempt to turn his head away is half hearted at best. Only somewhat reluctantly does he allow you to probe at his squirming tongue, feeling the perfect line of his teeth scrape over your knuckles when you reach back just far enough to make him gag. 

The compulsion is an odd one, you understand that much, but it’s as if your own pounding excitement won’t be satisfied until you’ve thoroughly torn down every one of his mile wide defenses. You needed to leave him debauched and utterly disillusioned from his old role, his previous identity, or this wasn’t going to accomplish what it was supposed to. How else could he be expected to move on and undertake the journey ahead of him if he was still clinging to his old ways and holding himself to the same standards as before? 

Sunday needed to see that despite his once high-minded ideals he was still just human, that his flesh and blood body was not some great sin for him to reject or punish. That he didn’t need to self sacrifice and martyr himself just for his life to have meaning. You wanted him to understand that it’s okay to be a little messy sometimes, and there’s nothing wrong with letting go of his almost fanatically held control. 

So it is with a great deal of pleasure that you keep his jaw wedged open with your fingers, carefully moving them back and forth over his tongue while he whimpers and whines so sweetly for you. It doesn’t take long for the excess of saliva to build up and dribble out at the corners of his lips, his spine dramatically flexing when he feels that first unseemly rivulet run down his jaw. His mouth works futilely around your digits, alternating between trying to spit them out or to somehow swallow around them but it doesn’t work. The drool just keeps coming, slowly bubbling out to track sticky paths down his face. 

You even catch a glimpse of shuddering moisture wetting his lash lines but you politely look away despite the eager jump in your pulse at the sight of those tears. It would have been all too easy for you to tease him for them, really lean into the humiliation he was probably feeling, but that was not your goal here. Not this time, at least.��

Instead you focus your attention back on the hand wrapped around his cock. Your ministrations had slowed to a stop while you were stuffing his mouth full and now you can see the length of him, flushed a pretty pink that almost matches his face, flexing needily against your hold. He was leaking enough precum to smooth the glide of your next upward stroke, watching in fascinated wonder as the fleshy hood of his foreskin comes up with another soft click to make the clear discharge slowly ooze down the sides of his shaft. 

His hips wildly buck and he wails a garbled noise as he needily arches up off the bed, jutting his pelvis out as if in desperate supplication for more. Both of his hands have latched onto your thighs now and he squeezes them tight enough to hurt. But you give him what he wants, what he so clearly needs, pumping your fist up and down the length of him on a steady, energetic rhythm. 

Sunday freezes like that, poised with his back bowed and his body flexed away from the mattress. Distantly, you realize that he seems to have stopped breathing altogether, holding the air in his aching lungs while the rest of him stiffly shudders and twitches steadily closer to the edge of oblivion. He was beautiful like this, like something out of a tawdry, lurid painting of some ethereal being from legend or myth. 

“Oh, Sunday,” You coo at him, so soft and gentle. Coaxing him ever towards his own ruination. “Are you going to cum for me?” 

Wailing a frazzled sound of distress around your spit soaked fingers, he gives his head the barest shake as if to deny the simple reality of what was happening. Unfortunately his own body betrays him almost instantly, and you stare in rapt fascination when his narrow hips stiffly lock up before nudging forward in a reluctant thrust. He’s holding himself far too unrelentingly to execute the full range of motion but it’s enough to have him fucking into your hand in painful, tortuously slow increments. 

He just can’t seem to help himself or smother the urge completely, even when the rolling grind of his pelvis was clearly something foreign to him. But it’s instinctive and hard coded, muscle memory carved into the very atoms of his body more than anything else. And you can see the musculature in his slim thighs trembling fiercely, the flex of his stomach dramatic while he wheezes and gasps his pleasure into the otherwise still air. You knew your fingers weren’t doing as sufficient a job at muffling him as your palm would have, but you can’t quite bring yourself to move or even care very much about that right now. 

Especially not when he gives one final, stuttering thrust into the squeeze of your hand and his cock positively erupts in a sudden spray of white. Creamy and thick, it shoots up into the air on what you would consider an impressive arc before splattering across his front. A second jet quickly follows the first, and then a third, while Sunday all but sobs through his orgasm, wetly choking on it even as he gradually sinks back down to the bed in a drained heap of splayed limbs. 

The eager pulse along his length quickly slows, oozing yet more of that clear discharge to dribble down the length of his shaft in sticky tracks before at last subsiding completely. He’s already a complete mess with various bodily fluids coating his skin but you still give him one final squeeze and drag your hand up to draw the last little bit of his release out of his flagging cock. He seethes a delirious sound in response, head lolling back in doped out bliss while he tries to even out his breathing again to no avail. 

“How was that?” You prod, smiling to yourself as you withdraw your fingers from his mouth. A sticky wad of saliva follows after you, catching on his bottom lip, and you brush your thumb up to helpfully wipe it away, ignoring the mirthless, gasping laugh he rattles out. “It looked like you enjoyed it to me. Was that really your first orgasm?”

Somewhat awkwardly clearing his no doubt dry and scratchy throat, Sunday pointedly turns his head to look elsewhere. Still shy and reticent to openly show any of his emotions, but he certainly felt more relaxed in your arms than he had before. “I wouldn’t have any reason to lie about that, would I? Or do you take me for some kind of shameless masochist?” 

Allowing a brief giggle to slip out, you lean further into him so you can find his neck and deliver a soft peck to the still thrumming pulse under his skin. Sucking in a deeply flustered inhale, he snaps his attention back around to look at you with wide, startled eyes. That makes you laugh too, much to his pouting confusion. 

“What?” He demands at last. 

“Nothing. I was just thinking how cute you really are, that’s all.” 

His brows shoot up almost too fast for you to track the motion. “Cute? M - me? But I don’t —“

“It’s alright, Sunday. Just go with the flow. You feel pretty good right now, don’t you?” Grinning at the uncertainty that flashes across his face, you lower your chin to rest against his shoulder, much like how you’d first started. Realistically only a few minutes had passed but it felt like an entire lifetime had come and gone, and yet you were still right back to this again. 

In the following silence while Sunday chews on that and mulls it over, you rove your attention down to inspect the damage you’d caused. Luckily his coat had been more or less out of the way where you’d spread it open earlier, and it looked like the quickly cooling evidence of this sneaky tryst had mostly landed in harmless flecks across the darker inner shirt underneath. That was a small relief, if you were being honest. You didn’t even want to think about all the fussing he’d do if you stained his white jacket like that. 

“Well,” he says at last, rousing you from your thoughts. “While I still think your methods are unscrupulous and incredibly underhanded … I suppose I still owe you my thanks. I do indeed feel more at ease than I did before. Now if you’ll excuse me —“ 

Quickly looping your arms around his middle when he makes a move to stand up, you yank him back against you with another laugh. “Nuh-uh. We’re not done yet, Sunny. I need to help you clean up that mess first.” 

Choking on a protest, he reaches down to shove at your arms but you don’t budge, pointedly nuzzling into him from behind as if to prove that he wasn’t going anywhere until you decided to let him go. After another brief moment of cursory struggle, he finally gives up and slumps against you with a terse click of his tongue. 

“Really, is this truly necessary?” He grumbles under his breath, lifting a hand to subconsciously wipe the remaining spit off his chin with an air of distaste. “Haven’t you gotten what you wanted out of me already? I'd think you would be satisfied by now, Miss Stellaron.” 

You hum a sly sound at that, coquettishly walking two of your fingers up the front of his shirt to one of the bigger globs of milky white bleeding into the material. He goes still against you, mouth dropping open in what could only be abject shock when you swipe one of the digits through the mess before lifting it up to your face. 

Looking appropriately scandalized now, Sunday tracks the motion with wide, horrified eyes. “Wh - what are you doing? That’s —“ 

Popping your cum coated fingertip into your mouth earns you a strangled gasp and he tries to reel back from you as if in disgust. But you keep your arm locked around his middle, holding him firmly in place while you suck the digit clean. Sunday’s wings flutter an anxious beat and tuck forward to curl defensively over the lower half of his face but it does very little to hide the furious blush staining his cheeks. He looked even more like a ripe cherry ready to be plucked than when you’d been holding his cock in your hand. 

“It’s nothing to be so embarrassed about.” You tell him candidly when you slide your finger out and reach back down to swipe it through the sticky fluid on his shirt again. “You don’t taste bad, if that’s what you’re thinking. I like how you feel in my mouth.” 

His eyes nervously darting from side to side, up and down, anywhere but directly at you, he tries to speak, croaks, and then awkwardly clears his throat again. “But - but that’s … unhygienic, isn’t it? That came out of my … my - -“ 

Softly laughing at how dangerously close he seems to fainting dead away like some sort of swooning maiden in an old movie, you catch a clinging glob of his spend and lift it up towards his face this time. “It’s fine, I promise. You taste good, Sunday. I wouldn’t lie to you. Here, try it for yourself?” 

He makes a face at that, reminding you of a kid that doesn’t want to take his medicine, but at your gentle prodding he slowly lowers his wings. The drooping feathers brush against your curled fingers just so, almost making you tremble at their light touch as you watch him differentially drop his gaze. Submissive and pliable, a clear sign of his bending to your will. 

Your earlier arousal flares back to life with a vengeance, making you feel uncomfortably warm and damp between the legs. Holding the air in your lungs, you nudge your hand closer and he obediently parts his lips for you with a tiny, shuddering whimper. Eyes slipping shut when you slide into his mouth again so you can drag your fingertip across his tongue and smear the salty discharge, making sure he got a good taste of it, he issues a faltering breath that puffs against your knuckles. 

“See? Not so terrible, is it?” You murmur, your voice drawling at a lower octave than usual. Watching him come to terms with his own body was almost as distracting as the need pulsing in your loins, demanding attention and relief in equal measure. You wanted him. More of him. All of him. 

But would he have you? 

Groaning a threadbare little sound, Sunday flutters his lashes and cautiously opens them to peer over at you. For a drawn out moment the two of you just stare at one another, gazes locked and searching. Questioning. Begging. 

And then, ever so sweetly, he closes his mouth and gives your finger an experimental suck, swallowing down the evidence of your illicit activities. A stuttering exhale escapes him as you slowly withdraw your hand, giving him just enough space to breathe for a second. You wanted him to decide for himself how he wanted to proceed, what his next move should be. 

Because what you’d said earlier was the truth. You were not his jailer, nor were you going to willingly facilitate that self flagellating streak of his either. If he wanted to come to you it would be in mutual pleasure and enjoyment, as equals with a vested interest in each other's happiness. Not as punishment or penance for something you’d already decided to forgive him for. 

“M - Miss Stellaron, I …” 

The way his wings start to shyly curl inward again, wanting to hide behind them, brings another smile to your face. He really was too cute like this. “What is it, Sunny?” 

He sucks in a mildly bothered breath at that. “I told you not to — never mind. It doesn’t really matter, I suppose. And you were right. It wasn’t terrible. In all honesty, nothing you’ve done today was … entirely disagreeable in my eyes. So if you’d like to … I mean, if it pleases you we could …”

“Keep going?” You helpfully offer up, making his expression pinch in obvious embarrassment. 

“W - well, should you insist I … I guess I wouldn’t have any complaints about that. But only if you want to. I don’t care either way.” 

“Sure you don’t.” Practically grinning from ear to ear now, you place your hand against his shoulder and push to get him turned around. He still refuses to look directly at you, evidently finding the pattern on your bedspread far more interesting in that moment, but he doesn’t change his mind or try to pull away when you lean into him. 

Tipping your head so you can dip into the space between his nervously fluttering wings, you find Sunday’s mouth and kiss him. Tentatively at first to see how he’ll react, but when all he does is whimper a flustered sound against your lips you press harder, letting your hunger for him dictate your actions. His hands carefully come up to slide around your neck while his wings slowly fall open, letting you in as he holds you against him, and you feel like you just might burst. 

To be wanted by someone like him felt like a blessing and a curse all wrapped up in one. By initiating this had you only sped up his ruination from perfect and holy to mere mortal, or had you just engineered your own downfall in the same breath? 

You’d find out soon enough.

⭐

Cross posted: here

[broidobe]

𝔲𝔫𝔠𝔢𝔯𝔱𝔞𝔦𝔫𝔱𝔶

requested!

☾axl's fear of vulnerability and self-destruction clashes with the reader's desperate attempt to hold their love together, culminating in a raw and uncertain plea for mutual effort to save their relationship.☽

☾warnings: emotinal distress, self-worth issues, heavy angst, tearful confrontation, mentions of insecurity☽

⁎⁺˳✧༚guns and roses masterlist

the apartment was eerily silent, save for the rhythmic tick of the clock on the wall. you sat on the couch, your hands trembling as they gripped a crumpled piece of paper. the ink had smudged where your tears had fallen, but the words were still legible—words that had cut through you like glass.

axl had left the note on the kitchen counter that morning, his jagged handwriting barely legible in some places. the gist was clear enough: i need space. don’t wait up.

you weren’t sure if it was the vagueness or the coldness of it that hurt more. probably both. you had spent the entire day spiraling—replaying every argument, every moment of tension, wondering where you’d gone wrong. the ache in your chest felt unbearable, like you were suffocating under the weight of your own heartbreak.

the sound of the front door opening snapped you out of your thoughts. axl stepped inside, his face drawn, his hair disheveled, and his clothes smelling faintly of cigarette smoke and cheap beer. he froze when he saw you sitting there, the note still clenched in your hand.

“you’re back early,” he muttered, closing the door behind him. his tone was indifferent, but there was a flicker of something in his eyes—guilt, maybe.

“and you’re late,” you shot back, your voice cracking despite your best efforts to keep it steady.

axl sighed, running a hand through his hair. “look, i don’t want to do this right now—”

“too bad,” you interrupted, standing up. your heart was pounding, but you refused to let him see how much he’d broken you. “you don’t get to drop a bomb like that and then just walk in here like everything’s fine.”

he clenched his jaw, his posture tense. “i told you, i needed space.”

“space from what, axl? from me? from us?” the words spilled out before you could stop them, raw and vulnerable. “i don’t understand what i did to make you pull away like this. just tell me, please.”

he looked away, his gaze fixed on the floor. “it’s not about you,” he muttered, but even he didn’t sound convinced.

“then what is it?” you pressed, desperation creeping into your voice. “because i can’t keep doing this, axl. i can’t keep wondering if today’s the day you’ll decide you’re done with me.”

“i’m not good for you,” he said suddenly, his voice harsh and bitter. “alright? is that what you want to hear? i’m a mess. i’m angry all the time, i push people away, and you deserve better than this—better than me.”

the silence that followed was deafening. you stared at him, your heart breaking at the sight of the man you loved unraveling before you.

“don’t you think i get to decide what i deserve?” you said softly, tears streaming down your face. “i’ve seen the worst parts of you, axl, and i’m still here. doesn’t that mean something?”

he let out a sharp laugh, devoid of any real humor. “yeah, it means you’re too damn good for me. and i’m too selfish to let you go, even though i should.”

your breath hitched at his words, the weight of them pressing down on your chest. he was hurting, but his pain was spilling over onto you, and you weren’t sure how much more you could take.

“you keep saying that, like it’s supposed to make this easier,” you whispered. “but all it does is make me feel like i’m holding on to someone who doesn’t even want to be saved.”

he turned away, his shoulders slumping. “maybe i don’t,” he admitted, his voice barely audible. “maybe i don’t deserve it.”

that was the breaking point. you felt your chest tighten, a sob clawing its way up your throat. “why won’t you let me love you, axl?” you cried, the rawness of your voice slicing through the tension. “why do you keep pushing me away when all i’ve ever done is try to be there for you?”

he turned back to you then, and for a moment, you thought you saw the walls he’d built around himself begin to crumble. but just as quickly, his expression hardened again.

“because i’m scared, alright?” he shouted, his voice breaking. “i’m scared of losing you, of screwing this up, of not being enough. and instead of dealing with it, i ruin everything.”

the vulnerability in his confession hit you like a punch to the gut. you stepped closer, reaching out to touch his face. he flinched at first but didn’t pull away.

“you’re not going to lose me,” you said, your voice trembling. “but you’re going to have to let me in. i can’t keep fighting for both of us.”

his eyes searched yours, and for the first time, you saw tears brimming in them. “i don’t know how to let go,” he whispered.

“then we’ll figure it out together,” you replied, your voice firm despite the tears streaming down your face. “but you have to meet me halfway, axl. i can’t do this alone.”

he nodded slowly, his hand reaching up to cover yours. “okay,” he said hoarsely. “i’ll try.”

it wasn’t a perfect answer, but it was a start. and for now, that was enough—even if the road ahead was still steeped in uncertainty and pain.

[the-cosmic-cauldron]

Happy Pride Month!

This might be a controversial post, but I’ve decided to share it anyway—because controversy stirs thought, and I love when thoughts are stirred.

I want to explore astrological placements that can reflect identities within the LGBTQ+ spectrum—whether lesbian, gay, bisexual, queer, or trans. This post is meant to bring nuance to the understanding that, while our identities are often inherent from birth, they are also entangled within our natal charts in ways not always visible. These energies are embedded in how certain signs function, how certain houses operate, and in how planets interact with those signs and houses.

This is my personal take. I believe sexuality is not something you choose—it’s something you are. Who you’re attracted to is a part of your essential being. Now, when we begin discussing preferences within sexuality—such as romantic or sexual types—that’s different. Attraction, as in who you’re drawn to in terms of gender, is natural and innate. Preferences, however, can become problematic when they’re rooted in bias, phobia, racism, or any other harmful belief system. That’s when they’re no longer preferences, but rather projections of internalized prejudice.

It’s also important to address the controversy that surrounds trans people. In my opinion, there should be no controversy when it comes to human rights. Trans people have every right to express themselves and live the life they desire—especially when that expression causes no harm to anyone else. Trans people simply want to exist in their skin, with love and dignity. And if someone has a problem with that, they are the problem.

Every human is unique, and that uniqueness expresses itself differently for everyone. Freedom of expression is a sacred right. When I say “trans women are women” and “trans men are men,” I’m affirming that no one has the right to demand personal, invasive information from others. A trans person doesn’t owe you an explanation about their genitalia, chromosomes, or medical history. They deserve the same privacy, boundaries, and respect as anyone else. If you’re curious or uninformed, that’s fine—ask respectful questions. But don’t weaponize ignorance or treat it like a justification for bigotry.

If you want support, love, and acceptance in your own identity, you must be willing to extend that same grace to others—especially those who have long been marginalized. We can’t advocate for our own liberation while denying someone else theirs.

Now, some might find this post controversial because they don’t believe astrology can reflect sexual or gender identity. I disagree. I absolutely believe sexuality and gender expression can be seen in the natal chart—though not from a single placement alone. As always, the entire chart must be read holistically. But there are certain patterns and placements that may deeply resonate with people in the LGBTQ+ community, and I want to offer them a space to reflect and feel seen through astrology—a field many queer people love and engage with deeply.

To be clear: having one or more of these placements doesn’t mean you’re LGBTQ+. You can have any of these and be completely heterosexual, and that’s beautiful, too. Heterosexuality is just as sacred and valid as homosexuality and everything in between. This post isn’t about division—it’s about inclusion, reflection, and visibility.

So, let’s dive in and explore. Let’s engage and have some fun this Pride Month. I hope you were able to attend a Pride event, and if not, I hope you’re opening your heart more and more to the uniqueness of humanhood.

Remember:

• Love is love.

• Love is more powerful than hate.

• When we come together with love, hate loses its footing.

• You don’t need to judge what you don’t understand.

• Compassion is stronger than opinion.

As someone who has also struggled to fully understand the LGBTQ+ experience—even while being bisexual—I can honestly say the best way forward is not to shame or judge, but to hold space for empathy. Because it’s not easy to come out. It’s not easy to stand firm in your truth in a world that wants to control, diminish, and conform you.

So here’s to truth.

Here’s to freedom.

Here’s to love.

✨Gay Men✨

Cancer or Pisces Moon

These are receptive, emotionally sensitive signs. Gay men with these placements often crave nurturance and masculine containment—someone who can hold their emotional depths. There’s often a strong identification with the mother, whether through over-bonding or emotional fusion.

Leo or Aries Venus

Both signs are bold and expressive in love.

• Leo Venus exudes theatrical flair—think RuPaul’s Drag Race. These men radiate charisma, enjoy admiration, and often embody vibrant expressions of queerness.

• Aries Venus represents the fast-burning spark. It reminds me of hookup culture—instant desire and quick turnover. Often these men appear hyper-masculine, yet their desire is directed toward other men.

Mars in Aquarius, Libra, or Capricorn

• Mars in Aquarius represents sexual rebellion—a refusal to conform to societal norms. Being gay as a man often carries this archetype of defiance.

• Mars in Libra might indicate bisexuality or a man with a refined, manicured appearance—logically composed yet inwardly drawn to men. Think: subtly stylish, ambiguous energy.

• Mars in Capricorn can represent the “down-low” type: career-focused, emotionally reserved, chronically single, and discreet about male attraction.

Lilith in Aquarius, Scorpio, or Cancer

• Aquarius Lilith seeks liberation through fantasy and breaking norms—living out gay identity as an act of defiant authenticity.

• Scorpio Lilith hides his desire, often manipulative or deeply secretive. Might be bisexual, craving power over other men.

• Cancer Lilith wants to release the wild feminine. He may feel most free and embodied when in the receptive or submissive role with another man.

✨Lesbian Women✨

Aquarius or Libra Moon

• Aquarius Moon tends to emotionally detach and falls for the unconventional—often women. She watches from a distance until her heart cracks open.

• Libra Moon is drawn to feminine beauty, grace, and softness. She may not always identify as lesbian outright, but she deeply craves female presence, emotionally and aesthetically.

Venus in Aries, Cancer, or Gemini

• Aries Venus is the “stud” energy—masculine, dominant, and assertive. She likes to pursue women and often draws multiple in at once with her fire.

• Cancer Venus is tender and emotionally porous. She’s deeply drawn to feminine energy, loving the softness of women’s voices, bodies, and touch.

• Gemini Venus is the flirt—light, curious, and playful. She bonds with women through laughter, conversation, and shared intrigue. She often crushes on her friends.

Mars in Pisces, Libra, or Aries

• Pisces Mars dreams of women. She is enchanted by their energy, feeling absorbed by their voices and forms. She’s turned on by the emotional and sensual poetry women exude.

• Libra Mars can lean bisexual—graceful and elegant, yet surprising in her dominance with women. She loves a friends-to-lovers storyline.

• Aries Mars is bold and sexually driven. She sees women as the ultimate prize—an object of desire she wants to claim and protect.

Lilith in Scorpio, Aries, Taurus, or Virgo

• Scorpio Lilith is deeply obsessed with women, though she may keep her desires secret. To her, women hold all power.

• Aries Lilith desires to dominate, protect, and embody masculinity. She wants to be “the man” in the relationship.

• Taurus Lilith is seduced by the body, the smell, and the sensual presence of a woman. She wants to devour her completely.

• Virgo Lilith is a “good girl” with a hidden hunger. With women, she feels safe to be messy, wild, and unfiltered. She enjoys sex that’s raw and unrestrained.

✨Additional Placements for LGBTQ People✨

Mercury in Scorpio:

These individuals possess incredibly intense minds and often descend into the underworld of their thoughts. Within that underworld lie all the things society has shamed and repressed—including LGBTQ identities. People with Mercury in Scorpio are often acutely aware of their sexuality from a young age. They may intuitively sense that they are gay, bisexual, lesbian, or otherwise queer long before they can articulate it.

Mercury in Gemini:

Those with this placement have a curious, adaptable mind. Their mental flexibility opens them to non-traditional experiences. Because Gemini is an air sign—representing intellect and communication—they often question societal norms. They’re drawn to connection beyond binaries, seeing humans as souls to bond with, regardless of gender. A person with Mercury in Gemini may identify as non-binary, bisexual, pansexual, or fluid.

Mercury in Pisces:

Pisces energy is fluid and all-encompassing. When placed in Mercury, it produces someone who doesn’t think in rigid lines. These individuals often resist labels and may identify as pansexual, bisexual, or queer. They’re likely to find comfort in the notion of sexual fluidity, preferring openness to restriction.

Jupiter in the 5th House

This placement radiates the joy, color, and expressive love often associated with the LGBTQ+ community. People with this placement are often vivacious, passionate, and eager to love freely. Whether pansexual, gay, lesbian, or otherwise, they are proud of their sexuality and embrace it fully. Their love is generous and authentic.

Saturn in the 5th or 7th House

These placements may indicate internal struggles around sexuality or romantic identity. Individuals may experience confusion, shame, or repression regarding their sexual orientation or how they relate to others. This can manifest as fear of judgment or deep discomfort with societal expectations. Such a person may feel emotionally stunted in early life, slowly growing into their identity over time.

Uranus in the 5th or 7th House

These individuals often express love and sexuality in radical, non-traditional ways. Their romantic and sexual identities defy societal norms—they may identify as queer, gender-nonconforming, or LGBTQ+. They might also engage in activism or advocacy to uplift queer communities. Their love is freedom-oriented and progressive.

Neptune in the 1st, 5th, 7th, or 8th House

• 1st House: These people may have a hazy or unclear sense of self, which includes their sexual identity. They might not understand or embrace being LGBTQ+ until later in life, or they may feel disoriented by their own feelings.

• 5th House: Sexuality is seen as fluid and mystical. Labels feel restrictive. They may identify as pansexual, bisexual, gay, lesbian, or simply queer.

• 7th House: They may keep their queer relationships hidden or secret. There may be a quiet longing or hidden attraction to queer partners.

• 8th House: This house rules secrets and transformation. Individuals may keep their identity deeply private or feel shame around their queerness, even though they experience intense sexual or emotional attraction to people outside of heterosexual norms.

✨Transgender and Gender Non-Conforming✨

Sun in Aquarius (1st House):

These individuals often reject traditional roles and expectations, especially around gender. They may feel restricted or boxed in by the gender assigned at birth and seek freedom through transition or fluid self-expression. They are natural rebels who redefine identity.

Sun in Pisces (11th House):

Deeply fluid and attuned to the unseen, these individuals often don’t resonate with strict gender labels. They may identify as non-binary or experience their gender as something shifting and spiritual. Their journey may include transitioning or embracing a gender-fluid identity.

Libra Sun:

Libra is ruled by Venus, a planet of beauty, balance, and aesthetics. A Libra Sun person may enjoy playing with androgyny or expressing themselves in ways that cross gender norms. They often embody gender fluidity or a non-binary essence in how they present themselves.

Taurus or Virgo Sun:

Both signs are deeply connected to the body and self-image.

• Taurus, ruled by Venus, may feel discomfort in their body if it doesn’t align with their gender identity. They may seek transition as a path toward beauty and alignment.

• Virgo, ruled by Mercury, can be hyper-critical of their physical form and highly aware of details. If there is a mismatch between body and inner identity, a Virgo Sun may feel compelled to correct or transform it.

Gemini Rising (Ascendant):

Gemini risings often feel a fluidity around identity. Their adaptable nature can make gender roles feel limiting. These individuals may express themselves in androgynous or non-conforming ways, or may eventually identify as trans or non-binary. The mind leads the way in their exploration of self.

Uranus in the 1st House:

This is a classic placement for breaking gender norms. These people may feel that their physical body doesn’t align with how they feel inside. They may transition or experiment with gender expression in ways that challenge societal expectations.

Strong Uranus Aspects:

Individuals with multiple aspects to Uranus are often driven to break away from tradition. Gender may be viewed as a construct they’re here to redefine or transcend. Transitioning or being non-binary may feel like a natural form of rebellion or liberation.

Pluto as Chart Ruler with Uranus Aspects:

Pluto seeks deep transformation; Uranus seeks liberation. Together, they often symbolize powerful internal shifts. People with this combination may feel compelled to transform their gender identity over time. Scorpio or Aquarius-heavy charts are especially likely to include gender exploration or transition as part of the life path.

✨Venus Placements & Gender Dysphoria✨

Since Venus rules beauty and aesthetics, certain Venus signs can relate to gender identity through the lens of self-image:

• Taurus Venus: May struggle with feeling beautiful in the body they were assigned at birth. Transition may feel necessary for inner and outer harmony.

• Leo Venus: May lack confidence or pride in their assigned body, and desire transition to feel more empowered.

• Libra Venus: May express gender fluidity or androgyny. May reject traditional dress codes and beauty standards tied to gender.

• Aquarius Venus: Embraces unconventional beauty and gender freedom. May identify as non-binary, fluid, or trans.

• Sagittarius Venus: Seeks freedom in all aspects of life, including gender. If their body feels restrictive, they may pursue transition for greater authenticity.

✨Mercury & Dysphoric Thought Patterns✨

Since dysphoria often begins in the mind, Mercury placements can reveal how one perceives and critiques their own identity:

• Taurus Mercury: May fixate on body image, leading to dissatisfaction or dysphoria.

• Leo Mercury: May desire external validation, and experience dysphoria around appearance.

• Capricorn Mercury: May feel intense pressure to conform and may struggle with dysphoria about how they’re perceived.

• Virgo Mercury: Highly self-critical. May obsess over perceived imperfections and experience deep discomfort with physical traits.

• Aquarius Mercury: Naturally questions societal norms, including gender. Likely to resist gender roles and think in non-binary terms.

💜💙💛💚🧡🩷🤍🩶🩵 💜💙💛💚🧡🩷🤍

[erraticprocrastinator]

Reposting this on Tumblr because, why not?

I’d like to add, now that I’m free from X’s character limit, that I am aware that there are a select few people out there who do write or make art for certain ships with the goal of criticising or “fixing” the relationships and identities in canon, but, at least from what I’ve seen, I truly don’t believe that this is the majority of Hazbin shippers (or non-canon shippers in general). Especially for a show with such heavy queer representation, with a largely queer audience, where most of the popular fan ships are also queer, I don’t think most people are approaching this with erasure in mind.

I know that I, for one, definitely didn’t start shipping RadioApple because I wanted to ignore or change Lucifer and Alastor’s identities in canon. I just found myself drawn to the characters, and their potential for chemistry outside of a canon setting, and decided to let myself have fun with those ideas — which, until now, I kind of thought was supposed to be the purpose of fan content, anyway. I don’t ship them because I don’t like who they are in canon, or because I want them to ever get together in canon (I don’t!), just like I think it’s generally assumed that most people who make gender-bend content don’t actually want the characters to be a different gender, or that people who kill off their favourite characters don’t actually want it to happen.

I’ve truly never seen this be such an issue in any fandom other than Hazbin, even for other LGBTQ-friendly animated shows. I know that this fandom can be pretty hostile in general, but I can’t pretend that I don’t find it disheartening when the comments of almost every adorable piece of fanart I find are littered with things like “but Charlie is with Vaggie!”, “Alastor is ace so this would never happen” (a topic that honestly deserves its own post), or “Angel can’t be with XYZ because HuskerDust is confirmed!”. We know guys. We know. That’s why we sit here writing fanfiction, making fanart; to explore ideas we haven’t seen in canon, or that haven’t been expanded on yet. Fandom is supposed to be a safe space for people who want to test their creativity, not a place to jump on each other because of it. As always, if something isn’t your cup of tea, you’re free to scroll past, click back, or filter out. There’s no need to rain on content that ultimately isn’t harming anyone, especially, and I really can’t emphasise this enough, especially if you support non-canon ships in other fandoms.

[ctheathy]

Zails the Zone Cop NSFW Headcanons

Zails x Reader

NSFW Headcanons

Short Concept

Potential ⚠️TWs⚠️ :

Both reader+character are of legal age or aged-up for obvious reasons in this post!

These are smut headcanons, read at own risk. !Female!dom!Reader+sub!Zails • Eating his darling out • Drooling/salivating • He gets a bit rabid with it

Ah, wowie. Zails getting himself a girlfriend? I thought it would never happen... but let me tell you that Zails is truly one of the most hopeless and desperate variant of Tails that exists. He would be so needy for constant affection and reassurance, but he'd also be quicker to grow a lot more ...horny than the rest of the bunch. Even if he constantly has his grabby fingers all over you, a singular touch from you can easily trigger his sensitive nerves, leaving him an aroused mess.

And if you gave him permission to taste your cervical fluids? That is 111% the worst idea I’ve ever heard in my life and you absolutely should do it because it would absolutely shatter Zails the best way possible. He would instantly fall and completely melt into a drooling mess and beg you for a chance. He’s not used to those sweet, sweet fluids and he is absolutely not stopping until he has to be pried off of your body with a crowbar. He would be in pure ecstasy and nobody would be able to separate him from you anymore.

It would be the worst thing Zails has ever felt, and he wouldn’t be able to think straight anymore due to how much he would enjoy it. He’d be making pathetic groaning noises and his leg would shake uncontrollably. You would be his whole world at that moment, he wouldn’t even hear it if there was a volcano exploding outside his house. There would be no way for him to recover from that at all.

Tell him to not dare disappoint you while does the deed.

Cause that, my friends, would be the end of everything for Zails because that would literally be the final blow. His legs would go numb from the ecstasy as he softly moans into your entrance, tongue working overtime just to enjoy the sweet and divine taste. His mind would become completely flooded with hormones that would leave him absolutely dizzy. His whole world has been flipped upside down and he would NEVER recover from this.

He’d be so weak-minded that he wouldn’t be able to think of anything else but making you feel satisfied as his eyes would roll back and moan louder into you, not wanting it to stop. He would be completely addicted to the taste, and the sound, and the sight of the whole thing. His tongue deep inside of you getting every drop of nectar he can. I can see his tongue would become more desperate with its movements to try and taste even more of you. Becoming more vocal as it reaches deeper into your body, his tongue being in this hot, moist and tight claustrophobic space, with juices soaking his already wet tongue.

And by the time he reaches that level of desperation, he’d be nothing short of rabid. His tongue would move at rapid pace as he just tries to get more of every single drop, his brain just melting to the point he feels like a drooling animal. And the more he gets the more desperate he becomes, he would feel your hands on his back and he would get more desperate. He’d start licking anywhere you touched him, just praying for more. His body is nothing more than a shell anymore.

Which is the perfect comparison honestly, he’d be acting like he was on death row and this was his last meal before dying. He would be lapping up everything like a dog that wasn’t fed for weeks. And if you decided to actually allow yourself to climax, oh lord, that would be the biggest shot of pure ecstasy he could ever experience. It would absolutely break him to the bone. He would feel like he didn’t deserve to live for being able to experience that kind of blissful experience.

You'd have a grip over his tongue since the start of the interaction, and it would get progressively tighter until it would become unbearable. His breathing would get heavier and he’d start to moan so loudly, but you could definitely make him feel the lowest he could possibly be. He’d be trying to reach a deeper level while you can enjoy every moment of him being helpless in your grasp, sitting on his face once he’s ready to burst.

Zails would absolutely need a full body suit just to keep all the drool in his mouth because he’s actually just a mess of an entity at this point. He’s nothing short of a starving animal in heat who would have no care about being overstimulated. And if you were to let out a sound that even remotely resembles a moan, he’d be a goner. He’d go insane on you and you may as well just be giggling the whole time over him melting and making a mess. He is completely broken at this point. All it takes is a single sound.

And that, I think, would cause his mind to completely snap. He would be completely overrun by his own emotions and be in complete euphoria, yet so filled with desire too. He would reach a point where even days after the experience, he will literally be begging for you to let him drink from your fountain of life again. You would not only see the desperation in his eyes, but you could feel it in his entire being. And his body would be shaking all over, as if in a fever, unable to contain all of that need inside ever again.

A need he didn't even know he had.

[kwanniverse]

you let go | joshua

100 follower event- "the art of letting go"

angst. pure angst. word count: 658

this one holds a special place in my heart because i wrote it during a not so good time and its metaphorical meaning behind it is just, damn, so hope you guys get it and love this one too!

to move forward, you’d have to lose the very thing keeping you steady.

but one day, the wind whispered louder than fear. the earth tilted slightly in your favor. and you— you foolish, trembling thing— you believed. not in yourself, not yet, but in the warmth of a hand you thought would never leave. his hand. joshua’s. the one that steadied you when your lungs shook with hesitation and the world felt too wide, too fast, too much. the one that cupped your cheek so gently it made the storms in your chest go quiet for a moment. “i’ve got you,” he had said, voice as soft as evening, as steady as a prayer. and you wanted so badly to believe it would always be true. and so you pedaled. feet clumsy. knees shaking. but you moved.

the world around you blurred into a watercolor of breath and gravity, and objects you could not quite make out the shape of whizzed past you in streaks. behind you, quiet footsteps slowed. fingers once wrapped tightly around your ribs loosened… and then vanished into thin air altogether. you didn’t know. not at first. not until the silence behind you felt louder than support. not until the wind filled the space where his voice should’ve been. not until you turned your head and saw no one there.

you wobbled. jerked. panicked— but didn’t fall.

and that’s when the truth landed softly on your shoulders, like dusk: you only learned how to ride a bike because someone you trusted let go. someone who didn’t tell you he was going to. someone who didn’t wait until you were ready.

later, you found him sitting on the curb, elbows on knees, face tilted upward as if asking the sky for answers he didn’t deserve. "why didn’t you tell me you were going to let go?" you asked, your voice barely above the wind, almost afraid of the answer. as if naming the hurt would make it permanent. he looked at you, and for once, there was no gentleness in his eyes. just guilt. and something colder—resignation. “because i knew if i told you,” he whispered, “you wouldn’t have moved forward.” you laughed, sharp and breathless, not because it was funny, but because it was cruel. “so you decided for me?” he didn’t answer right away. just lowered his gaze to the cracks in the pavement like he was trying to disappear into them. “i thought it would be easier that way. for both of us.” “don’t say it was for me.” your throat burned. “you let go without warning, and you’re trying to call that love?” “i do love you,” he said quickly—too quickly, like a reflex. like a lie that wanted to be true. “i just… couldn’t keep holding on if it meant you’d never learn to stand on your own.”

you stared at him, anger and heartbreak fighting for space in your chest. words you hadn’t said kept clawing up your throat, choking on everything that had gone unspoken. “but what if i didn’t want to stand alone?” your voice cracked. “what if i just wanted you to stay?” and for the first time, joshua said nothing. because there was no answer that wouldn’t hurt. because staying was never part of the plan.

not really.

silence bloomed between you again—dense, thorned, final. a kind of silence that doesn’t end when someone walks away. a kind that lingers, years later, in the pause before someone else says your name. he let go. and maybe he was right. maybe you didn’t fall. maybe you found your balance. maybe you even became stronger. but you still wish he’d stayed long enough to see it happen. because moving forward was never the hard part. moving forward without him was. and that’s the kind of betrayal balance never warns you about. the kind you don’t feel in the fall— you feel it in the stillness that follows.

[razorblade180-heated]

Roommates

[Nsfw, you first and last warning]

It finally happened. After months of immense sacrifice and brutal struggle, Caelus had taken down his toughest opponent yet. Procrastination. The final box opened alongside the completion of their room renovations. The days of couch and box sleeping were gone at last. Not them or Stelle cared much, but Pom Pom was probably elated.

Satisfied with his hard work, Caelus took another look at the massive room before falling backwards onto his bed in relief. At the same time, Stelle walked through the door covered in mechanical oil.

“Oh hey, you finished. Good job.”

“No thanks to you.” He sat up, seeing the state she was in. “What the heck happened to you?”

“Since a certain someone was too busy renovating to pick up their phone, I was called to help deal with and decide a maintenance issue on our ship! I now know every inch of our engine!”

“Sounds like perfect karma to me. We’ve really expanded our quality of life.”

“No kidding.” Stelle glanced over at the massive computer. “You even got the game area running. How’d you manage that?”

“Actually, the moment I plugged in the PC, Silver Wolf appeared and immediately started setting it up for us.”

“Like…the exact moment it was plugged in?”

Caelus nodded. “Yeah. Either she has a good script or The Express is simply hacked.” He looked at the PC to see the girl’s logo placed on the bottom of the monitor. “Definitely hacked.”

“Sounds like a problem for another day. Welp, I’m gonna take a bath. Let’s hope oil washes out easily.”

“Hold on!” He stands up. “I was just about to bathe. I’ve been moving stuff all day.”

“Caelus, I think we need to take a moment and consider how an airship was fixed with my help instead of exploding. That deserves first dibs on our bath.”

“You mean the bath I put together?” He was not letting that go anytime soon. “Regardless, you can’t bathe immediately anyways. You’ll ruin the tub. You’re better off in the shower.”

“Shower?” Stelle tilted her head. They were separate? The newbie mechanic walked into the bathroom to see vast space, literally and figuratively. It was much bigger on the inside. Cool tiles lead up the biggest tub she’s ever seen, while to her left was a shower head over a drain; complete with its own rack and curtain. “You went all out.”

“It was Himeko’s idea. Apparently it helps with cleanliness.” He said, quoting her as he walked in. “We do get filthy after all.”

“I meant in general. This tub is huge! I thought the space would be cramped. With this much room, you’re picking a fight for nothing. Let’s just bathe together.” She nodded, liking her own idea.

Stelle looked at Caelus to see his face growing a little pink, despite the fact this wouldn’t be the craziest thing they’ve done together. “What? You choose now of all times to be modest?”

“No! I’m a little surprised that you’re the one to bring up the idea.”

Annoyingly, he had a point. Once upon a time, the thought of her offering would’ve felt foreign. Things like booking inns together like the ones at Belobog were his ideas. As for certain…encounters in the Captain’s Quarters on the airship, those were always a bit more spontaneous. In truth, they’ve gotten fairly lucky how often they found alone time in their chaotic environment. Perhaps she was feeling on edge again? No, not really. Maybe things finally felt normal this way? It would be strange if it hadn’t honestly.

Stelle rubbed the back of her head, embarrassed by her suggestion. “From this day forward, we’re proper roommates living in the same space. We’ll be changing, eating, and sleeping, around each other all the time now. It’s only natural to get comfortable quickly. I don’t mind if you don’t.”

“If that’s the case, then I guess the problem is solved, hehe.” Was it odd to feel a little happy? He wasn’t sure. Caelus walked over to the tub and started filling it. “After you wash off the major grime, feel free to soak the day away. Looks like you had a long one.”

“I just might take you up on that offer. Man I wish Serval appeared out of nowhere like Silver Wolf does for games!”

“Ha! That would definitely make our lives easier.” He turned around. “We-”

“…We, what?” Stelle asked, removing the last of her soiled clothes. She glanced over at Caelus to see him watching the water. Even through the growing stream, she could see his ears growing red. “Hehehe. You alright over there?”

“Yeah. Nearly burned myself is all.”

A nice recovery. Stelle couldn’t really fault him over the situation. Even after countless moments, tension always got the better of them. At least it was never as stressful together compared to speaking to Firefly alone, or Jing Yuan. Stelle’s personal track record of flirting was probably why Nanook gazed at her to begin with. Stelle shook away the embarrassing memories and turned on the shower. Whether it be the new experience or the hard day's work, the instant satisfaction that hit with hot water was heavenly!

“Oh my god this rules!” Stelle sighed in relief, her muscles thanking her for this experience. “Five stars! This bathroom is legendary!”

Caelus was in his own slice of heaven as his body lowered into the giant bubble bath he made. His eyes closed while he drifted into peace. “I’m gonna have to agree~”

“Wow, where’d you get the bubbles?”

“Ratio has his redeeming qualities~” Caelus opened his eyes and spotted a new look of happiness on Stelle’s face as she scrubbed her scalp.

Intentional or not, she didn’t bother with the shower curtain. Soap suds ran down her arms like a river that narrowed at her chest and widened around her abs before breaking into multiple trails. Caelus did his best not to stare, but it couldn’t be understated how beautiful Stelle always manages to look. Even if she’s filthy or bruised up from a fight she won, her smile and eyes maintained a certain beauty that never faded.

Rinsing her hair spared her the pain of soap in her eyes when she opened them again. “Ah, so you can look at me now?” She smirked.

“You make it difficult not to.” He chuckled sheepishly.

Stelle playfully rolled her eyes and turned off the shower, making her way to the tub.

“Don’t slip.” He warned.

“Don’t jinx me. Last thing we need is a Stelleron disaster because I slipped and broke something.”

“You’ve been smacked by Phantylia.”

“And yet for some reason, I still think wet tile could take me out.” Stelle made it to the tub where Caelus so kindly offered a hand to hold as she stepped in. “Thanks.”

“What are roommates for?” He smiled. He had expected her to make way towards the back wall or neck of the tub, but Stelle chose the corner with her legs lightly floating on top of his. “All this room and you choose to invade my bubble.”

“I like corner spaces. You know this. So combative today. All this room prep has riled you up.”

“Does that mean you’ll trade chores with me and I can go material hunting while you do upkeep?”

“Pfft, we both know if I’m the one dealing with relations too long, it’ll turn into another battlefield. It’s why people call you for Skott and call me for abundance removal.” She grinned with joy. “Scrappy is my middle name.”

“My social battery really isn’t that much bigger than yours. The work just has to get done! It’s tiring always thinking, and I’m not even doing the grand stuff like Welt or Himeko!”

“You’re doing fine. Better than me at least. I always fumble delicate matters.”

Caelus shook his head, flicking bubbles her way. “No you don’t. You have a big heart and don’t mix words. You speak passionately because the situation was delicate to begin with. It shows how much you care and how seriously you take things; like when you testified with Dan Heng.”

A flutter in her chest made Stelle blink twice before sinking lower into the water. “Th-Thanks I guess.”

“Although you probably need to work on your poker face. A single compliment and you’re an open book.” His words were meant with a splash to the face.

“Shut up! I’m only open cause it’s you! I know how to bluff. It’s not my favorite thing to do though. Too much energy.”

“Yeah I don’t know how people like Aventurine live.”

“Sadly.” She said bluntly. “They live sadly. That I’m sure of.”

“You think his income could fit in our room?”

“Not if his ego is in there too.” Stelle took her legs off of Caelus and moved closer, until they were shoulder to shoulder. “Is that really what you want to be talking about right now?”

“I was giving you peace. Working on the engine couldn’t have been easy.”

“And being an amateur carpenter mechanic sounds dreadful. You seem a bit more comfortable now. Looks like I lead a situation better than I thought.”

“Oh?” He indulged her antics.

“Offering to bathe together, not bothering with the shower curtain, physical touch; I’d say I’ve gotten you to loosen up pretty well.”

“Really? I think after a day of messages meant for me, and having to step in, you missed me and wanted quality time.”

“Two things can be true at once.” She countered, smiling cheekily. Stelle could feel Caelus wrap his arm around her lower back. She had no problems looking directly in his eyes, her hand resting on his chest as she pressed her body against his. “Are roommates supposed to be this close?”

“Dunno, but I’m not complaining.” He couldn’t stop leaning in closer.

“Looks like we’re agreeing again…” she moved her hand up to his face, pulling it closer until they finally kissed. Caelus’s hold on her coiled like a separate, his strength made known as she deepened the kiss.

If she wanted things to remain innocent, Stelle would be lying. The second his tongue grazed her lips, she opened wider to personally invite it in with hers. Ripples in the water moved steadily as they both kept each other closer. Stelle draped her arms over Caelus’s shoulders while his hands grew greedy. His left cupped her breast, making her quiver as rough hands kneaded it. Stelle broke the hungry kiss and attacked his neck to listen to a symphony of panting as she bit him.

“Stelle~” her tongue lapped around his Adam's Apple while her right hand fell into his lap, capturing his hidden erection.

The gray haired girl looked up at Caelus with a smug grin as she slowly ran her fingers up and down his shaft. It’s not often she got the upper hand; she doubted she’d keep it for long. Better to enjoy it while she can. “Someone’s sensitive today.”

“It’s been awhile…”

“Renovations had you that busy?”

“And other things. We live a crazy life. Besides, it’s not as nice without you.”

“I’m already naked. You don’t have to sweet talk me into fooling around.” She blushed heavily. “Sit on the edge of the tub.”

Caelus sat right where the tub bends, his body on full display. It was a bit frustrating that despite that she fought more, Caelus could still rival her muscle definition. He didn’t need to look hot! Stelle ignored his abs and focused on the somehow less annoying erection staring at her. A quick splash cleared away any remaining bubbles before she held it gently as she psyched herself up.

Caelus couldn’t help but chuckle at her determined expression. “You always make the same face before you start.”

“You try dealing with seven inches.” Stelle bit the bullet and swallowed him halfway, feeling him pulse and his fingers burning back her hair as she gave him a taste.

Caelus closed his eyes from the warmth. He had nothing but quiet gasps for Stelle as her tongue traced down his shaft and played with his tip. “Nngh, yes~”

Her jaw hung open the best it could while she bobbed her head. Thankfully he kept still. It made it so easy to control how deep he touched her throat. Stelle looked up to see the boy’s eyes shut, his body enraptured by her efforts. More. She wanted more of that face. Gently, her hands wrapped around the base of his cock while her lips closed firmly around him; his grip became tighter the moment Stelle dared to suck on him like a straw.

“H-Hey…” he huffed. Stelle’s tongue slowly dragged its way up to the tip. “What’s with the extra effort!?”

Containing her laughter was a struggle. She made her gasps more breathy, shrouding his length in a fog of warmth until his taste became more potent; his flavor spilling into her mouth. Stelle was anything but a quitter, making sure to keep her lips sealed tightly until she swallowed every drop. Satisfied with her performance, she looked up at her flustered partner while she slowly removed herself from him with newfound confidence.

“Hmm.” Stelle wiped her lips with a single finger. “I think that was easily my best attempt.”

Caelus was buzzing with emotion. It felt as if she was still on him. “What the heck got into you in the first place!?”

“I didn’t want cum in the bath.” She said bluntly, lightly splashing him again. “Or on myself. I just showered.”

“So we’re not having sex in the tub?”

She’d be lying if she wasn’t tempted, but somehow Stelle was certain most of the water would end up outside the tub. Not to mention bubbles in the eyes would be dreadful. Instead, she stood up and got out to grab a towel.

“Don’t you think it’s steamy enough in here already?” She said, focusing on drying her hair before wrapping the towel on her. “Let’s-”

The towel fell, its place taken by Caelus’s arms again. His left wrapped around her toned torso while his right slipped between her cleavage and turned her chin over her right shoulder to receive an intense kiss that robbed her air alongside her tongue again. Unbelievable. Her mouth eagerly opened wider without thinking.

Caelus’s weight pressed against her back with his persistent erection rubbing against her butt. The shift in balance grew to the point Stelle reached out for the shower wall in front of her so they wouldn’t fall. The unexpected kiss left her. What seemed like a moment to breathe was interrupted as strong hands took her hips, and a clever foot placed between her feet pushed out to spread her legs wider.

“I like it steamy.” Caelus rubbed the head of his cock against wet lips, poking and prodding the entrance.

Stelle remained quiet, fearing her voice would tremble like her knees. So much for the upper hand. Her head hung low as her eyes watched Caelus’s shadow merge with hers, a new heat piercing her body and scratching an itch she could never reach alone.

“Don’t let me fall.” She moaned in one breath. His grip on hips tightened and took weight off her legs; her body clung to his fleeing flesh before accepting him again with a single thrust. “Ah fuck…”

He didn’t go easy on her. Stelle stood as proudly as she could while Caelus broke down her ego and let it run down her thighs. Her body kept betraying her; pushing itself up against the man to meet his thrusts so they’d grind her core to mush. Each impact between them was wet and eager like animals running on instinct. Her mouth may have gotten used to his size, but she feared her body itself never would. To be this big and overbearing, it should’ve felt horrible. So why in the known universe did it give her chills down her spine?

“H-Harder.” She panted. Why the hell did this have to be one of her favorite positions?! “You can go harder!”

Stelle didn’t need to repeat herself. Caelus made sure to drive his hips in deep, making her walls grab him in desperation each time he threatened to leave before plowing forward again. Each breath their lungs grabbed grew smaller and smaller, straining their muscles with care.

A little longer and they might legitimately face blacking out, but thankfully, the end they chased came sooner. Stelle felt her head buzzing as Caelus pressed up against her womb, causing her body to surrender to the pleasure. Her knees gave out the moment the fullness inside slipped out. As she attempted to breathe, Stelle could feel heat paint her lower back in spurts, causing her cheeks to burn.

“All that washing, down the drain…” She huffed, her head resting against the cool tile wall. Caelus was way too good at catering to her needs. Her nerves tingle all over.

Stelle felt another hot jolt to the system as rushing water rained down onto her. She dared to look up to see her partner in crime look down at her while his hand rested on the faucet. Her eyes narrowed at his mischief.

“You’re a real piece of work. I hope you know that.”

Caelus smiled with satisfaction. “Can’t say I didn’t plan ahead. And you wanted to leave the bathroom.”

“Hardy har. Okay wise guy, I hope washing my back was in your plan.” Stelle didn’t have to wait a moment longer before he squatted down and scrubbed gently. “I guess your plan has its merits.”

“That’s the spirit.”

xxxxxxx

It didn’t take long at all to wash off again. All things considered, Caelus had solid points and Stelle was pleased he acted on his plan. Still, that didn’t mean she wasn’t going to milk the pampering he was giving. The bathroom door slid open with her being carried in his arms, their bodies draped in black bathrobes.

“This might be the nicest thing you’ve ever done for me.” Stelle said with a whimsical smile in her voice.

“I literally take all the requests you don’t want to do. I ran a museum, promoted a community, and helped form a college band.”

“And that’s why you got into the business track with ease! On the job experience.”

Caelus rolled his eyes playfully before walking over to her bed, which was closest to the door and bathroom. Even now he was thinking of her needs. “Here we are.” He tossed her lightly before walking to the other side of the room.

Stelle was lucky he didn’t put a spin on that toss. She plopped onto a firm but soft mattress that took her by surprise. She hadn’t realized this was here. “You got us separate beds?”

“I’m good at haggling. In other words, yes, on the job training helped quite a bit.” Caelus laid down on fresh lemon scented sheets. “Fridge is stocked by the way.”

“Already going to bed? Someone is getting old.”

“Is someone looking for another round?”

“Not what I said in the slightest!” Her voice quivered.

“Ah, then maybe you wanted to cuddle?” Caelus jokes, chuckling at himself. It would be true if it was the other way around. He waited for her laughter to join. It never did. “Stelle?” He sat back up.

She had gotten up to turn the lights off. Before she did, Caelus caught a glimpse of bright red ears. Was he not far off? No way, right? Stelle crawled back into her bed and curled up under the covers.

“Night.” She said, a hint of annoyance leaking out.

“We can cuddle if-”

“I said goodnight, Caelus.”

“…My bed is open if you change your mind. Night.” He rested his head once again, his face burning red.

Stelle didn’t bother giving a response. Her brain was too busy being frustrated with herself. It was the stupidest thing! Why were things always so complicated and painfully simple with him specifically!? With Tingyun, she was bumbling and awkward. Same with Firefly or Jing Yuan! March could make a scrapbook of all embarrassing moments Stelle put herself through.

Not with Caelus though. Sure they were a little embarrassing too, but comfortable. It was cheesy to think about but it wouldn’t be crazy to say they were kinda made for each other in certain aspects. In public they always kept things pretty under the table; defining their relationship always felt like a headache. Figuring things out alone felt good. Really good. Now they were in a place designed to hold their private moments. No hotel room payment or assignment excuse. Stelle could let her guard down here, so why did it feel challenging?

She laid still, her heart pounding. To think they would get their own beds. Realistically, it was for the best. Between schedules or any other wacky nonsense, it would be helpful to have their own space in the shared space. Perhaps the hotels and captain’s quarters had gotten her too used to sharing a bed or couch? It was the only time they were ever that close before, during, and after any urges. Despite his cheekiness, it was nice, the feeling of warmth Caelus gave in those moments. It would seem she herself has fallen victim to his softer side. How perfect…

For at least an hour, Stelle’s thoughts kept her company. “…tsk.”

On the other side, Caelus found moderate success in getting rest. He drifted between sleep and consciousness casually like it was nothing. His ears detected movement from the other side of the room. The sound of a shifting mattress followed by soft footsteps. Not long after, he felt his own mattress sink beside him and bring new warmth. Caelus opened his eyes to see a pair staring back at him with a yearnful expression mixed with slight guilt.

“Hey there stranger.” He put his arms around Stelle and her hands immediately went to his chest. “Credit for your thoughts.”

“Not many to think about.” She played off with a shrug. “I guess…I just…” her voice trailed off, embarrassed to finish her feelings. Stelle readied herself for the verbal teasing, but was granted a chaste kiss instead.

“I’ve missed you too.” Caelus confessed quietly. Stelle blinked at him silently for a couple seconds before moving her hands around his neck.

“Then we’re in the same boat. Just like always.” Stelle kissed him brazenly, awarding her with his left hand pulling her over his body. Not willing to wait anymore, she shifted her weight over until he was properly straddled.

Words failed both of them. As Caelus occupied his time with opening up her bathrobe, Stelle was quick to grab the firm, heated length that poked her butt. She raised her hips up, sliding herself along its underside before slipping it inside. The sudden jolt caused both to sigh, their bodies cutting through tension that tensed muscles. Stelle put her hands back on Caelus’s chest and closed her eyes. She didn’t want to fight these desires anymore. She wanted to slowly ride them out until her hips couldn’t anymore.

Caelus couldn’t believe it. Even in darkness, he could see her body flex with each buck; her chest bouncing to the rhythm of her choice. Ignoring her body only led to staring at a beautiful shade of red on a panting woman he absolutely adored.

Still filt a familiar tingle up her spine. “Nngh, why are you getting harder?”

“Why are you so beautiful?”

“Shut up, hehe~” Stelle bucked harder, making sure he slid all the way inside before grinding him up to the tip. “This is harder than it looks.”

“Me, or riding?” His comment got her to open her eyes with judgement. Caelus smiled gently. “I can take over.”

“Don’t get ahead of yourself. I’m not tired.”

“I know. I just like spoiling you.” He reached up and cupped her boobs, pulling on two pale pink, and puffy nipples. Her walls approved, even if her face tried to hide it. “Let me spoil you.”

“I’m not a selfish lover y’know?” She fought through the pleasure with every measured breath. “I hate when it’s so one sided.”

“Nobody’s calling you selfish. Just like with everything, always the first to step up to the plate. Ever considered I like my turn; that my favorite position is the one that you love so much?”

“Lies~”

“Oh yeah? Get in it and find out.” He rasped.

His words held an eagerness that tempted her thoughts. Stelle could tell by the way his eyes remained fixated on hers that he was serious. He didn’t even make a move on her hips or tried to roll her off. Caelus was practically daring her to put her money where her mouth was. Stelle moved her hips slower and slower until finally stopping all together. The strength to get off of his lap was nearly impossible to find. Since when does she of all people get cold feet!? This room really was getting to her.

“Don’t complain if you start getting tired.” She quipped, turning around while pulling all her hair behind her shoulders. “I should really invest in a clip.”

Caelus sat up. “Allow me.”

“Hehe, this your excuse to pull my hair?” Stelle felt his hands bundle it all into his left hand.

“I didn’t know I needed one.”

A gentle tug brought her head tilting up as a joke. Stelle had half a mind to elbow Caelus’s ribs, then all thoughts faded away completely as she felt an intoxicating fullness once again. The kind that only scratched the deepest itch she had when Caelus was behind her. Her legs were already a little twitchy but she didn’t care. Stelle leaned forward, getting onto her hands and needs carefully. She only shut her eyes for a moment before opening them again to find a pillow being slid where her face was. There wasn’t anytime to process why before she met it. Caelus had pressed down her upper back so suddenly that her arms buckled instantly, making her entire upper body fall.

Stelle yelped into the pillow. “Mmph!?” Her head turned to the right to gasp for breath. “Hey! Th- aaahh~” air rushed into her lungs as her waist was pulled back until the back of her womb was kissed.

Caelus remained accommodating, but he could never understand why so many people were quick to assume it all selfless on his part. He had just as much to gain from her pleasure as she did, and he was going to show her that.

“Don’t wake anyone up, kay?”

Stelle felt his cock scrap it’s way out before digging in so quickly that Caelus’s waist smacked into her. Not a thought came to mind. Only the instinct to grip the pillow and sink her teeth in it. Again, he pulled out and rushed back in like a flood. Only this time, Stelle wasn’t given a brief grace period. She was given attention more intensely than when they were in the shower.

“Ca-agh! Aaangh!” It was like she was being played with. Since when could he get this serious!? Her hips inadvertently tried to pull away and was met with swift punishment when he pulled them back. “Mmph!”

“No running.” His grip tightened, not that her pussy dared to let him go. It pulled, held, and begged for him as much as the greedy girl it was attached to. “You’re going to feel everything tonight.”

Her core was melting with every thrust, each one churning her body and sanity. There was no escape from the heat. Each time he buried himself inside, her hips weakened and opened up to receive his strength until all of hers began coating him. There wasn’t a bath to excuse her wet thighs or drown out the lustful sound of her body taking a pounding. Stelle could feel every vein, every single inch of Caelus mold her walls into something she’d remember forever. It was strange but this aggression felt somewhat familiar to her. The weight of his body came down on her, making her go prone. Stelle could see the visible strain of Caelus’s foreman as he slipped his fingers between her hand to squeeze.

“I really pushed his buttons this time.” The bed might have well been their sparring sessions at this point. It was the only other time he was this serious with her.

“Stelle, let’s go all night.”

His voice was way too close. Her heart nearly stopped. “Y-You’re crazy~” Stelle felt her body was about to betray her again… “Caelus, I give! Okay!? I'll take back what I said!”

“And? Like I said, having you like this is my favorite too.” He felt her body crave him, urging to remain right where he is. “Stelle, look at me…”

She had no defense for his plea. Stelle dared to turn her head right, barely finding the power to look over her shoulder. Caelus helped guide her by the chin until their lips met again. At this point it was impossible to care about anything more than a few seconds ahead. Stelle gave no playful defiance when his tongue slipped in. In fact, she welcomed it, completely admitting her pride's defeat. Her hips took the chance to relax, sealing her fate again. An immense weight pressed down on her womb and set her daydreaming as she felt full, only to immediately get a real sense of it when it rushed into her. Each twitch only marked her further as her walls took everything Caelus had. Eventually both their heads fell in exhaustion as their bodies tried to function.

Stelle’s grip couldn’t relax even as the boy pulled out of her. The immediate emptiness felt wrong and like a cruel tease. She would’ve remained in this stupor if it wasn’t for the cause turning her over. Now she had no choice but to look at Caelus’s sweaty, panting face and carnal gaze.

She held her arms up, seeking his return. “You’re so lucky I’m in love.” Was all it took to get him in her grasp, fingers immediately running through his hair as they kissed hungrily. Their stomachs tightened and their throats held guttural swears as he found his way back inside her.

Caelus ended the kiss and looked her in the eyes. “I’m serious. I don’t want to sleep tonight.”

“I can tell.” To think he was still so hard for her. It did help negate how much of a mess she currently felt. “Looks like you’re a fan of missionary as well.”

“Let’s be honest, I’m a fan of you.” He stole her lips again.

Stelle wasn’t sure if her heart was fluttering or failing at this point. His hands held hers again, bringing them above her head to keep there. Still locked her legs around his thrusting hips to make sure his pace was kept. Their kisses got shorter but the affection grew bolder as the man settled on worshiping the crook of neck while she moaned in his ear.

“ Caelus, more. I want more. I want everything. I…I want you. I missed you! There, I said it. I-”

Her words were silenced. He was getting really good at that. Stelle felt his hands free hers and she immediately took the chance to hug him tight, nails meeting his back just rough enough to feel it. Every gasp was a whimper fueled by pleasure and yearning. Stelle got chills feeling his tip rub against the roof of her soaked hole. The pressure wasn’t as commanding as when he took her from behind, and yet it was every bit as alluring as she got to hear his grunts in great detail; to feel his weight again while fully getting absorbed into a kiss that seemed never ending. Just the thought of his hips sinking deep into her all night made her thighs quiver.

Caelus felt it all. “Getting close again?”

“Shut up. Just don’t stop.”

“I love you.”

“I said shut up!” She held him tighter.

“And I said I love you. Your strength. Your heart. Your weakness.” He felt his own orgasm returning. “Stelle… Stelle~” His hips moved all on their own.

Tonight was going to be long, and Stelle already knew they were both going to be an absolute mess. Another strong but less intense orgasm took hold of her before claiming his. The strength they possessed plummeted dramatically, their chests pushing on each other as they caught their breath. Finally a little clarity snuck its way into their heads.

“Can you please get me some water?” Stelle groaned, feeling her head spin a bit. She didn’t even notice when Caelus got off her. Her thoughts remained scattered until her cheek felt frigid plastic against it, causing her to snap back to reality.

Caelus snorted, shaking the water bottle again. “Don’t die on me now.”

“Don’t try to kill me.” Stelle took the water and sat up. “Thanks…” She took a quick sip to cool her fuming thoughts.

The bed sank from Caelus putting his weight on it again, his spot of choice being right behind her. How could she not take the opportunity to lean back. It’s only fair that he supports her weight now. His fingers were much gentler this time as he combed through her matted hair. She didn’t want to say anything, but Caelus might’ve fucked some of the attitude out of her. Or maybe he had outright stolen it?

“I really got under your skin, didn’t I?” She said softly, getting lost in the way he scratched her scalp carefully. “You were definitely a bit mad.”

“Who wouldn’t be? You think it doesn’t take a ton of effort and energy to put myself out there? All your yapping and spoiling you and not myself. It’s like you try to mess with me.” He huffed, feigning more anger than he actually had. He didn’t expect Stelle to respond with a warm kiss to the cheek.

“Sorry.”

“It’s not that big of a deal.” He said instantly.

“Pfft haha! And I thought I was the fickle one.” Stelle retested her head against his body. Her fingers ran down his left hand and began fiddling with his digits. “I suppose…the stress of everything has gotten to me.”

“You think you’re the only one? Penacony was anything but a vacation. Then we go back to deal with literal people monkeying around.”

“Heh, and before all that a Wardance almost became an actual war. Man, seeing and saying goodbye to Tingyun was strange too. It’s been so…heavy. The most consistent thing in my life is you. Before I noticed, I was already relying on you to keep my feet on the ground.”

Caelus couldn’t believe his ears. It wasn’t often Stelle was this frank. The last time she had a little too much Soulglad, and the time before that was Firefly’s untimely end, or so they thought.

“I rely on you too. Not only do you grit your teeth and dig into anything you put your mind to, but life would be far less interesting without you. Dumpster diving alone sounds dreadful.”

“A real modern day tragedy.” Stelle smiled softly as she turned around to look at him. “I’m happy we’re properly living like this now. I think closeness like this was something I’ve been lacking or putting off for a long time. This is nice.”

“Maybe this will motivate you to not fumble so badly next time you meet somebody cute.” He watched her eyes squint at him with the intensity he adored.

“Wow, low blow. Right for the jugular.”

“It’s fortunate Firefly is head over heels for us and Tingyun adores your awkwardness. You fail tasks successfully.”

“And you asked to be closer to me! Clearly my charm is on levels beyond your comprehension.” She crossed her arms in confidence, only for it to get ruined with a forehead kiss.

“Yeah. You’re pretty awesome.” He was given another quick stare before receiving a kiss on the cheek that made him chuckle. Then, the kiss got lower. Way lower. “St-Stelle?”

She said nothing as she scooted herself back before putting her head down in his lap, brushing her hair back as she swallowed him like earlier. His body immediately flinched, pleasing her self satisfaction while she got familiar with the taste of herself on him. A ghastly sigh leaves his lips as her tongue coils around him until his body responds. It wasn’t long until her jaw dropped wide to fit his new erection.

Satisfied with her work, Stelle removed her lips before she got carried away. “Let’s try this again.” She climbed onto his lap, angling her hips carefully before sinking down right onto him. “Nng, never getting used to this~”

Her arms wrapped around his shoulders while he went to her waist. Both entered another staring contest Caelus quickly lost the moment Stelle slowly moved her hips forward.

A sultry smile crept onto her face. “Hey, if you give up this early then we’re not making it all night.”

“What happened to that being crazy? Hmm?”

“It’s a little less insane if you behave and go at my pace. Do us both a favor and don’t turn us over this time.” Stelle hugged him tightly, resting her head on his shoulder as she focused on her movements.

“Alright, alright. I can play nice.” He leaned into her ear. “We both know how that final round ends though.” Caelus smirked as he felt the reaction his words caused. “Hehehe.”

He truly was a piece of work, but so was she. Stelle played it off like a joke. “Pfft, we’ll cross that line when the marathon ends. Now focus on right now. We have a long night ahead of us.”

[castawaycat]

Ghosted: Chapter 3

Summary: Natasha visits Y/N’s cozy, artistic apartment, where she’s warmly welcomed by their loyal cat, Charlie. Moved by the safe, comforting space Y/N has created, Natasha begins to reflect on her own empty, impersonal apartment. Later, Y/N visits Avengers Tower, overwhelmed by its cold, sterile atmosphere. Seeing Natasha’s lonely living space firsthand, Y/N encourages her to believe she deserves a home that feels warm and safe too. Their bond deepens with this shared vulnerability.

(Natasha’s POV)

Natasha adjusted the strap of her leather jacket as she stood in front of Y/N’s apartment door. She wasn’t exactly nervous—no, Black Widow didn’t get nervous—but something about this felt... different.

Maybe it was because this wasn’t a mission. There was no enemy to interrogate or intel to gather. No hidden exit strategy prepared in the back of her mind. This was personal.

And she couldn’t remember the last time she’d done personal without screwing it up.

She exhaled softly and knocked on the door before she could second-guess herself.

A few moments passed before she heard the soft scuffle of feet on the other side, followed by the sound of locks clicking open—two, then a chain being slid aside.

The door creaked open to reveal Y/N, bundled in an oversized sweatshirt that looked several sizes too big but impossibly soft. Their expression lit up immediately at the sight of her, and something in Natasha’s chest eased.

“You made it,” Y/N said, stepping aside to let her in.

“Of course I did,” Natasha replied, allowing herself a small smile as she crossed the threshold. “Would’ve been rude to turn down the first friend I’ve made in… well, let’s just say a long time.”

The warmth of Y/N’s apartment hit her instantly. Not just the literal warmth—though the heater hummed steadily in the background—but the atmosphere.

The space was small but cozy, with an undeniable sense of life. The walls were adorned with art—some framed, others simply pinned or taped up in a beautiful kind of organized chaos. Sketches, watercolor landscapes, abstract bursts of color, and carefully drawn character designs lined every available surface. There were shelves filled with books organized by color, rows of tiny potted plants thriving under grow lights, and strings of fairy lights casting a soft, golden glow.

It was the kind of home Natasha had never known growing up. Lived-in. Loved.

“Wow,” Natasha murmured as she took it all in. “This is… you weren’t kidding when you said you were into art.”

Y/N’s cheeks flushed slightly, and they tucked their hands into their sleeves. “It’s kind of my safe space,” they admitted. “Helps me when things get overwhelming.”

Natasha nodded, her gaze tracing over the dozens of small details that made the space feel like a living, breathing part of Y/N’s world.

And then—just as she was about to ask a question—a small, soft mrow sounded from somewhere near the couch.

She turned her head just in time to see a fluffy gray-and-white cat cautiously approach, tail held high but eyes wide with curiosity.

“Ah. And this must be the famous loyal companion you mentioned.” Natasha crouched slowly, keeping her movements calm and deliberate. “What’s their name?”

“Charlie,” Y/N said with a fond smile, kneeling beside Natasha. “He’s usually a little shy around new people, but… well, he knows when someone’s important.”

Natasha raised an eyebrow. “Important, huh?” She held out her hand, palm open and low to the ground. Charlie crept forward cautiously, giving her fingers a few tentative sniffs before—much to Y/N’s surprise—he leaned in and headbutted Natasha’s hand.

“Oh, wow. He never does that this quickly.”

Natasha chuckled, gently scratching behind the cat’s ears. “Guess we’ve got something in common. We’re both good at sensing who’s worth our time.”

Charlie gave a satisfied purr and promptly climbed into Natasha’s lap as if he’d decided she belonged to him now.

Y/N looked at the sight with wide eyes, then started laughing softly. “I think you’ve just been adopted.”

Natasha ran her fingers through the soft fur, the repetitive motion strangely calming. “I’ve had worse missions,” she teased, glancing up at Y/N with a small, genuine smile.

They sat there for a while—Natasha cross-legged on the floor with a happily purring Charlie settled in her lap, and Y/N sitting nearby, their eyes soft with something almost like relief.

“Can I ask you something?” Natasha said after a moment, her fingers idly tracing circles along the cat’s back.

Y/N nodded.

“Why this place?” she asked, glancing around again. “Most people just decorate to make it look good. But this…” She gestured toward the warm lights, the carefully curated shelves of books and art supplies, the soft textures of blankets and cushions. “This feels like it’s for something.”

Y/N smiled faintly, pulling their knees up to their chest. “It’s for me,” they admitted. “For the days when I can’t leave. When everything outside feels too loud, and my head won’t stop buzzing. It’s… it’s my safe place. Everything in here makes sense to me, even when nothing else does.”

Natasha felt something heavy settle low in her chest.

She didn’t have a place like that. Not really. Her apartment was neat, minimal, efficient. But it didn’t feel.

“This is the first time I’ve ever really wanted to stay somewhere,” Y/N continued, their voice soft but steady. “For the longest time, I thought I’d never have a space that felt like home. But I built this. Little by little. For me.”

Natasha swallowed hard, suddenly overwhelmed by how alien that concept was to her.

A space that was purely for comfort. For safety.

She glanced down at Charlie, still purring contentedly in her lap.

And for the first time in a very long time, she thought that maybe… she’d like to have something like this too.

—---------------------------------------------------------------

( Reader’s POV)

It had been a few days since Natasha visited your apartment, and the memory of that night still warmed you in quiet moments. You caught yourself smiling every time you saw the spot on the couch where she’d sat, Charlie curled contentedly in her lap as if he’d known her forever.

So when Natasha texted you—Want a tour of my world?—you weren’t entirely sure if your racing heart was excitement or anxiety. Probably both.

Now, standing in the towering lobby of Avengers Tower, you were certain it was both.

You hugged your arms tightly across your chest, the towering glass walls and sleek steel beams making you feel small and exposed. Everything here was polished to perfection—cold marble floors, sharp architectural lines, and minimalist decor that seemed almost sterile.

It was the complete opposite of your cozy, chaotic little apartment.

Before your mind could spiral too far down that path, you heard familiar footsteps behind you.

“Hey,” Natasha called gently, her voice cutting through the ambient hum of the lobby.

You turned to find her walking toward you, dressed in casual jeans and a leather jacket, her red hair pulled back into a loose braid. She looked softer out of her tactical gear, but the confident way she moved still made it feel like she owned every space she stepped into.

“Ready for the grand tour?” she asked, a faint smirk tugging at her lips.

You nodded, trying to ignore the way your heart hammered painfully in your chest. “As ready as I’ll ever be.”

She led you through security—an experience that made you hyper-aware of every movement, every sound. The low hum of electronic scanners, the quiet murmur of guards communicating through headsets—it all pressed against your senses like an approaching storm.

But Natasha noticed.

She slowed her pace, kept a careful distance, and every few minutes she glanced back at you to check in. She didn’t need to say anything; it was all there in her eyes.

I’ve got you. You’re safe.

By the time you reached the private levels of the tower, the chaos of the main floors faded behind thick security doors. Natasha guided you into the elevator and pressed her palm against a biometric scanner.

The doors closed, and for the first time since you arrived, the oppressive weight of the building lifted just a little.

“Not as bad as you thought?” Natasha asked gently, her shoulder leaning against the wall of the elevator.

You let out a breath you didn’t realize you’d been holding. “Still kind of feels like I walked onto the set of a futuristic movie,” you admitted with a faint smile.

Natasha chuckled. “That’s about right. But I promise the best part is the view.”

The elevator chimed softly before opening to reveal a floor with massive floor-to-ceiling windows. The city stretched out before you, glittering under the afternoon sun.

You walked slowly toward the glass, your fingers curling against your palms to keep from reaching out to touch it.

“Wow…” you whispered.

Natasha stood beside you, arms crossed loosely over her chest as she looked out at the city she’d dedicated her life to protecting.

“This is my favorite spot,” she admitted. “When it gets too loud… I come here.”

You glanced at her, surprised. “Even here? With all this space?”

She nodded, her lips pulling into a small, tired smile. “Doesn’t matter how big the place is. Sometimes it’s loud even when it’s quiet.”

You understood that all too well.

The tour continued after that—Natasha showing you the training rooms, the tech labs (where she made you swear not to let Tony talk you into trying any “experimental devices”), and even the rooftop landing pad where the Quinjet usually rested.

But the part that stuck with you most wasn’t any of the impressive technology or stunning views.

It was when she hesitated in front of one last door.

“My apartment’s just down this hall,” she said, her voice lower now. “I, uh… figured I’d show you. But just… fair warning—it’s not much.”

You followed her down the hallway, noting how the walls here were blank. No photos. No personal touches.

She unlocked the door and pushed it open, stepping aside to let you in first.

And instantly, you felt the difference.

The space was clean—too clean. Sparsely furnished. Functional. There was a couch that looked barely used, a bookshelf with only a handful of items on it, and a small kitchen area with spotless counters.

No art. No plants. No cozy throw blankets or cluttered corners filled with things that brought comfort.

It felt like a place someone stayed out of necessity, not because they wanted to.

Your heart ached quietly in your chest.

“This is…” you began carefully, not wanting to offend.

“Empty?” Natasha finished for you, her voice flat but not defensive.

You nodded, chewing on your bottom lip. “A little.”

She leaned against the doorframe, her eyes distant as she looked over the space.

“I guess I never really thought about making it feel like home,” she admitted. “Didn’t think I deserved something like that. And when you’ve spent your life living out of duffel bags and safe houses, it just… doesn’t feel important.”

You turned to her, your voice soft but sure. “You do deserve that. A space that’s yours. One that feels safe and warm.”

She met your gaze, something raw and vulnerable flickering behind her usually unreadable expression.

“Maybe you could help me figure out how,” she said quietly.

The vulnerability in her voice shook you more than anything else had that day.

You smiled gently. “I’d like that,” you whispered. “I think Charlie would too.”

And for the first time, you saw it—that tiny, flickering light in her eyes that hinted at hope.

It wasn’t a lot.

But it was a start.

[lyricalegacy]

The Art of Becoming the Girl Everyone Adores 𓂃۶ৎ

Sometimes, I sit in my room—soft golden light streaming through lace curtains, Èdith Piaf playing faintly in the background—and wonder how I ever let my life feel so ordinary. Everything about me was meant to be extraordinary. I think you are, too.

But here’s the thing: Extraordinary isn’t born; it’s created. It’s in the way you breathe life into the mundane, how you sip your tea as though it were laced with secrets, how you write about your dreams as if they’re already etched into your future.

My life didn’t always look like this. There were mornings when I woke up feeling like a ghost in someone else’s story, moving aimlessly through routines that didn’t belong to me. But then, I decided to make my life a masterpiece.

And I did. And I'll tell you all about it.

Romanticize Your Life Until It Feels Unreal 𓂃۶ৎ

Do you know what changed first? My perspective. I stopped seeing my life as a series of tasks and started viewing it as a novel. Every day is a new chapter; every moment, an aesthetic vignette.

Drinking rose tea from a vintage teacup isn’t just hydration; it’s a ritual.

Writing in my journal isn’t “journaling”; it’s communing with the universe.

Spritzing perfume isn’t getting ready; it’s crafting an aura—mine smells like vanilla and soft florals, in case you were wondering.

It’s pretentious, I know. But isn’t life better when it feels a little pretentious?

Rewrite the Script of Your Life 𓂃۶ৎ

Here’s the truth: I’ve never accepted reality as it is. Why would I, when I can create something better?

In my journal, I write stories of my life that haven’t happened yet—but they will. I’ve written about the way strangers light up when they see me, the way everything I touch turns golden, the way I move through life as though I own it. And now? Those things are true.

Here’s a line from this morning’s entry: "People adore me not because of what I say or do, but because of who I am. My energy is magnetic; my presence is unforgettable."

Try it. Write your life into existence. Write it beautifully.

Surround Yourself with Beauty 𓂃۶ৎ

I firmly believe that a beautiful environment creates a beautiful soul. My space is curated—no, cultivated—to reflect the life I’m manifesting.

A porcelain vase overflowing with fresh peonies.

Dog-eared novels stacked on my desk (Virginia Woolf, Sylvia Plath, Anne Carson).

Candles that make my room smell like a dream.

It’s not just aesthetic; it’s intentional. When you exist in a world you’ve designed, the universe takes the hint.

My Soft Morning Manifestation Ritual 𓂃۶ৎ

This is my favorite part of the day. Every morning feels like a gift I’ve given myself.

Wake up slowly. No alarms that jolt me out of sleep—I deserve better.

Sip tea while scripting. It’s always rose or jasmine, poured into the prettiest teacup I own.

Play soft music. Usually Debussy or something that feels like wandering through a Parisian garden.

Listen to subliminals. The ones I create feel like whispers from a version of me who already has everything I want.

I don’t just set the tone for the day; I orchestrate it.

Let the Universe Chase You 𓂃۶ৎ

Here’s something you need to know: desperation is unbecoming. I don’t chase my desires; I attract them. I move through life with quiet confidence, knowing that everything I want is already on its way.

And when it arrives, it feels… inevitable. Of course, it’s mine. It always was.

۶ৎ

And finally, to whoever read this far: stop living passively. You were made to be adored, to feel like art, to live in a world where everything bends to your will. Start now. Manifest the life you’ve always daydreamed about.

And when you do, sip your tea, light your candle, and think of me.

🤍

[the-sappho-of-lesbos]

this feels really sad for me to say because 90% of the time you seem like an awesome person but I've got to be so honest: i think your girlfriend deserves better. if only because you posted a huge long rant not 10 days ago all about your secret frustrations with her not living up to your internalised standards, despite being your best friend. if you think she doesn't feel that from you, you aren't really giving her enough credit. you talk about your insecurities a lot on here but what you said was sort of awful and i think doesn't belong in a public space if you care at all about your relationship or her. i feel embarrassed and hurt FOR her. OCD is something i struggle with but it has never forced me to post something critical and nit-picky about someone who provides me with so much good. please be kind, either way and respect her enough to respect her privacy and the hurt she'd probably feel. but this isn't cool to her, i think you can see it.

I think my gf deserves better too and I’ve said it to her before when we had a good long talk about our relationship and my mental health but she told me that she gets to decide that and I don’t get to decide it for her and that feels I’m not putting anything on her she can’t handle. We both struggle with our mental health and are very open and honest about it with each other. Anything I’ve said on here as a rant about my own stupid brain and now it works , simply to get it out in the open, is something she has already heard before and knows I’ve talked about. She doesn’t care what I put on here because this is an anonymous blog. You don’t know who I am and you don’t know who she is.

None of those were secret frustrations about her. They were insecurities my brain was having about myself and how I respond to things. My ocd didn’t force me to do anything, I was struggling with my ocd and instead of engaging in a very maladaptive compulsion I tried to mitigate it but getting my thoughts out and also to stop myself calling my gf at a very stupid early hour in the morning because I respected she needs her sleep before work. She’s very very mental health informed but I don’t want my issues to be something that impacts her sleep.

I feel like I don’t want to know else to say other then she knows. And I understand tone can’t be inferred from text on a screen but if were to have had that conversation in person with you you would have seen that any negative emotions coming from my voice or words would have been directed at myself. I know my gf is amazing. That’s why all those things is and I were frustrating me because I was angry at myself that my brain was keeping me awake for hours at that point telling me to do very very stupid things to take away the obsessions for something I knew to my core I didn’t believe.

Since I made this account at like 18 I originally used it to just vent. That was its intention for myself because I don’t know something in it soothed the brain. I’ve had some people message me to tell me it’s helpful for them so I try not to feel too poorly about it but I know it can lead to situations like this where I either get misunderstood or my words make people unhappy.

But yeah I don’t know what to tell you. I’m not angry at you or anything , I promise. But I think it’s important to keep in mind that even on a blog I overshare on, you only see a very very small percentage of my life and even then you don’t know what I look like or where I’m from or what happens in my day to day life or what my boundaries are in my relationship. I’m a little sad someone would assume that I would be doing something online like that without talking about with my gf and engaging in it in a way that respects her boundaries. We talk a lot with each other over what’s okay and what’s not. And I also read back over what was said and I genuinely don’t think I have away anything that was too personal about her. The worst part I think was were I very very briefly mentioned our intimate life but like again she knows that. It’s something we talk about a lot and navigate together. And I was purposefully really vague around that and used very soft language. It was pretty much as a long as one sentence.

I apologise but also I guess I’m feeling a little defensive because I feel the need to justify myself and list like all the things I do for my gf as well but I don’t think that would really a difference.

But yeah I just need you to know nothing I’ve said on here is something she doesn’t already know and we haven’t already had long conversations about.

I don’t really know what to say anymore I’m sorry. I know you meant absolutely no harm by this and were just looking out for my gf, which I appreciate, but the whole thing has honestly made a little sad.

Nonetheless I hope you have a pleasant day.

[literary-illuminati]

2024 Book Review #62 – Mammoths at the Gates by Nghi Vo

This is the latest in my now-extremely-belated attempt to read all the nominees for Best Novella from this year’s Hugos (only need to hunt down a copy of Seeds of Mercury somewhere now!) It was a well-done, enjoyable read – nothing to change your life but, frankly, would have been far more deserving of the prize than Thornhedge was.

This is the fourth in the Singing Hills Cycle, following the itinerant archivist-monk Cleric Chih as they travel across a vaguely Chinese fantasy setting collecting histories and folktales to be collected into the monastery archives. After nearly three years walking the earth, they return to the titalur monastery itself to discover Cleric Thien, a very senior cleric and their own mentor, has died in the intern. Of more pressing concern, two members of their family are outside the gates – one of them a corporal in the Imperial Army with her command of two war-mammoths – demanding their body turned over to buried with their family and ancestors instead of interned in the monastery catacombs. And if that wasn’t enough of a complication Myriad Virtues, Thien’s companion neixin, has been driven to self-mutilation and a total withdrawal by her grief. It is, needless to say, an eventful funeral.

For all that, it’s not a particularly exciting novella, let alone an action-packed one. It’s very much, and very consciously, About Grief in a few different ways. Compared to earlier stories in the series, the narrative is far simpler, with none of the playing around with framing devices, unreliable narrators, or stories-within-stories that have kind of been the cycle’s trademark until now. The freed up space is instead used to make Chih far more of an actual character than they have been previously, rather than just a cipher to experience the narrative happening around them.

I do find myself slightly annoyed at the book because having set out such a genuinely messy and compelling conflict – both on the level of ‘who gets to decide what funerary traditions to follow and where the body is kept, the religious institution or the aristocratic family?’ being the sort of thing that has absolutely started wars, and with ‘who decides how someone should be remembered and grieved, their family or the people they choice to build a life with’ being a theme with a certain amount of contemporary resonance even without the whole thing where clerics are universally refereed to as they/them and Thien’s granddaughters kept insistently referring to them as a man – the book gave itself an easy way out on several different levels. But that’s just me being irritated it isn’t a different story entirely – this is a gentle, elegiac story; the central emotion is the melancholy of quietly organizing a loved one’s things after they’ve passed. On that level it works quite well and is even beautiful at points.

I’ve said before that this series would adapt near-perfectly into a high budget miniseries with a 40-60 minute episode per novella, and I stand by that. If anything, it feels like it’s only getting more true. It does feel like a bit of a loss, though – maybe I’m remembering it as more than it was, but I think Empress of Salt and Fortune had a level of thematic and narrative ambition that all of its sequels have kind of lacked. This and Into the Riverlands especially feel like they exist in a different and...shallower? Simpler? Clearer? Register than the first two entries in the Cycle.

Ah well. It would have to far a long way before it was even in the conversation for most disappointing book I read because of a Hugo nomination. On balance, lovely read with a dog cuddled up beside you on the sofa.

[thelegendofmik]

Stop Defending Ableists Challenge (Level: Impossible)

So the other day I made a post listing all the ableist things Jacob Richmond has included in Legoland and Ride the Cyclone.

And the response was abysmal - the amount of "well actually..." kind of responses I got was disgusting and I took down the post because I find it counterproductive to argue with teenagers on the internet. However, I stand by the belief that if you think you are old enough to post publicly on the internet, you are old enough to be held accountable for what you post.

But I think what I had to say was quite important, so I am going to reword it here.

TW here for the discussion of ableism and ableist slurs (they are all censored)

There is ZERO (0) justification for the use of THREE (3) ableist slurs across both works. I don't fucking care if it was the 2000's. The ADA predates both shows and disability activism had existed for decades before that (as yannick very kindly reminded me). So no, it was not ok for Richmond to use those slurs in his works, regardless of the time period. Because there is nothing "correct" (politically, or otherwise) about ableism.

And before you say "Oh, but it was the character who said it, not the writer..."

CHARACTERS ARE NOT SENTIENT BEINGS! They are not created in a vacuum. Their thoughts and actions are often a reflection of the author's own beliefs and morals.

It was not Ocean who decided to use the word cr*pple. It was Jacob Richmond who decided to use it. Same with the r word and sp*z in Legoland. It wasn't Penny and Ezra who decided to use those words, it was Jacob Richmond. Because each character's actions are dictated by the decisions that the author makes for that character. And in this case, the author decided to be an ableist asshole.

Yes, characters can be assholes. They can be complex and nuanced beings. But there are better ways to portray such experiences than being violently ableist (i.e.: without using slurs). And why does the ableist character get complexity and nuance, but the disabled character is simply the sad, disabled kid, with not much else in his personality until he magically becomes abled bodied. Like we deserve nuance and complexity as well, people!

In a 2022 interview with Curtain Call Bway (here), when asked who his favourite character to write was, Richmond responds with the following:

Ocean is definitely my favorite character to write because it’s based on certain people I’ve met and certain aspects of myself too.

Like he literally admits it himself, that his decisions when writing an ableist character were based off aspects of his own personality.

The reality is, disability has never been more than a comedic plot point to Richmond. He has never cared about portraying a realistic disabled experience. He has never cared about disabled people.

And the cherry on top is that his response to yannick-robin being hate-crimed was to rewrite Ricky so that he could be played by an abled and therefore production teams wouldn't have to give a shit about ensuring their spaces are safe and accessible for disabled performers. If he actually cared about disabled people and properly representing our experiences, he would have worked with a disability consultant and fixed the issues within the show. Instead, he doubles down and causes even more harm.

To add insult to injury, he then licensed that script to Sarah Rasmussen and her team of ableist cronies for the DC production. Because him choosing to continue working with Rasmussen and her team just shows that he shares the same ableist values as the McCarter/Arena team.

So by saying that "its the character, not the author", you are defending Richmond and his violent ableism. You are attempting to justify the harm he has done and CONTINUES TO DO to disabled people. YOU. ARE. A. PART. OF. THE. PROBLEM.

Ride the Cyclone and Legoland (in ALL its forms and versions) contains so much ableist violence. This violence has traumatised REAL PEOPLE, but yannick, myself, and other people speaking out are the ones ruining the vibe by calling it out? Be fucking for real people.

Now if only my university papers were this thorough...

[nikki-is-a-nerd]

I've Seen This Scene Before (Part Three)

Summary:

Perhaps its time for the caged bird to go free, but freedom isn’t easy. Ezra knows who you are but you don’t know that yet. Love is a tricky field when one doesn’t traverse its field well.

A/N

This will be the second to the last chapter. I'm gonna miss writing for ezra after this series but i’m excited to write other stuffs too!

___________________________________

Tonight was beautiful, the moon was high up in the sky and the air was cool on my skin. The only thing to occupy my mind were my own memories, guilt, and longing. Longing for what? At this point what I long for isn’t easy to pinpoint. There are days I long for my family’s love and acceptance, love from a certain Jedi, freedom and peace. I yearn for things I don’t deserve but still dream of. I am tirex

How long have I been Queen? Years or Decades blur into one. The Coup d’état that i faced wasn’t that long ago too, was it? No, I’m sure it hasn’t been that long. After all I still feel those eyes glaring daggers at the back of my head. I still feel suffocated by the very walls meant to protect me.

How ironic that this place has open spaces and yet I’m akin to a caged bird. Never one to be free only destined to dream of the skies. My only freedom was pretending to be a handmaiden. Padme was said to have done this too, but she did it for her safety. I do this to use whatever freedom i have left in this godforsaken palace. A true gilded cage.

“Your Majesty, perhaps you should rest up now.” Alina’s gentle tone said.

“Maybe later. I want to savor the silence.” I said.

“You dreamt of the coup again didn’t you?” Rosita said as she gently closed the doors.

“The day I stop dreaming of it is the day I die.” Exhaustion permeating my voice.

“I’m tired of this life. The responsibilities, the fear, the burdens of my predecessors, I’m tired of it all. I didn’t even want this title.” I scoffed.

I felt the warm calloused hands of Rosita guide me back inside, the balcony doors shut and the curtains are drawn close. Not even the light of the moon reaches me. Rosita says nothing, after all she’s seen me this way more than she could count in both hands. She looks at me not with pity but with profound sadness. The only warmth I’ve known in my life was the friendship I’ve got with Alina and Rosita. Carmina has always been aloof, cold even. I don’t blame her, she wanted to be Queen but she lacked the prestige that my family held, therefore when we searched for my handmaidens, she was picked. She and I didn’t look that much alike, not even from afar but she’s a skilled fighter, that’s why she was chosen.

I know that my problems sound more like whining when compared to the problems that both Rosita and Alina have. Alina is the youngest child in her family and yet she chose to work in the palace to sustain not only her parents but her siblings and their families. Rosita gave up her chances of running away with the love of her life all because she was called upon by the palace. I was lucky to have gotten everything I ever wanted. Everything but the love and care of a lovely family.

Family, could I even call them that? They never felt that way to me. They were cold and uncaring, often times beating me for minor slip ups. I was silenced and was taught to nod and accept whatever I got. I wasn’t like my brother, cruel without reason. I wasn’t like my mother, meticulous, a true wolf in sheep’s clothing. I certainly am not like my father, he who can sit in peace while the world burns just so he can be in power. When the empire fell, he hid his true intentions well. Even from me.

“(Y/N), you were lost in your thoughts again.” Rosita said softly.

“I want to step down.” I spoke.

“We understand. The young noble girls are ready for the voting when you decide to leave your position.” Alina said encouragingly.

I smiled, not the same ones I’ve shared with Ezra during late night strolls in the gardens, but a smile that shows gratitude.

“I wish to step down but only when I’ve dealt with what my family has done. Afterwards I will face the people, as myself. I will tell them the truth.”

“Would that be wise?” Alina asked.

“Your honor as Queen would be questioned by the new Senate.” Rosita added.

“I know. I will face the crimes of my family. I will accept whatever happens but I need to find them first. I’m not stupid. I know that they were the ones sending bounty hunters to kill me. I just have to trace one back to where they’re hiding. If Thrawn is rebuilding the empire, it means my family is aligned with him already.”

“What about the Jedi? Ezra Bridger seems to hold you near and dear to him.” Rosita asked, holding both my hands.

“I know that whatever it is I feel towards him is bound to not grow into anything more. Jedi’s aren’t allowed to love.” I reasoned.

“Is that what he believes in or is that what you tell yourself?” Rosita’s question made you flinch.

Perhaps the answer to her question was something I didn’t want to admit just yet. I lay back on my bed and close my eyes, hoping for sleep to claim my consciousness. I felt the dip on the bed release itself. The soft patter of their feet fading from my room as the heavy doors close. I was alone with my thoughts once more. The silence and the darkness makes my demons scream louder. I screw my eyes shut, forcing sleep to claim me, running away from the voices in my head into the waiting arms of a nightmare.

When i woke up, i felt my heart pounding in my chest, sweat covers me and my nightdress clings to my skin. Its Carmina who comes for me. Her eyes distant but her actions dutiful, I truly don’t blame her. I felt her guide me to the bath, she leaves me to do what I must and only return when its time to dress me and fix my face. When I leave the bath both Alina and Carmina are waiting. Alina smiles warmly, like she usually does and it brightens my dreary morning. They tend to my hair and my clothes as they usually do but today was going to be a tad bit different.

“Don’t add the face paint.” I said. Carmina’s eyes look at me questioningly while Alina nods appreciatively.

“What about your anonimity?” Carmina asks, not really out of concern but curiosity.

“I don’t want it anymore. Let them see me.”

For the first time in years, I left my room as me. I saw Ezra’s back facing me. Waiting patiently as he had been doing for the past month. Your hands shook as you approached him. Alina got his attention by calling for him. When he turned around, whatever was going through his head, you didn’t know but the way his eyes seemed to soften at the sight of you, it made you feel weak in the knees.

“Your Majesty, you look lovely today.” He said with a smile.

“Thank you. Shall we?”

Wordlessly he took your arm and placed it in his. This wasn’t how he would act around you when he didn’t know that you were the Queen but this was how you two walked when you would meet him in the garden at night. His hold on you was firm, reassuring, and warm. You had to fight the urge to lean more into him as it wouldn’t look good to the people.

The day was peaceful at best. I discussed with the remaining council members and the Gungan king about my plans to step down. They were saddened by the news but welcomed the decision and agreed that although my resignation has been filed, due to the nature of my request for it to be finalized once my treacherous family and traitors were found, they had agreed less enthused by the thought. The young noble women would be told in advance to prepare themselves for the task and for them to prepare for the farewell banquet. Once over with, Ezra and I decided to take a simple stroll in the garden.

“You seem…not so surprised.” I stated out of the blue.

“It’s because I’m a lot more observant than what people give me credit for. I had a theory that it was you but…” he trailed off.

“But What?” My head tilted upwards to look at him.

“I saw you last night. By your balcony. You looked like a sad angel.” Ezra added softly.

My breath hitched. I’ve received compliments but they were usually out of politeness and or proper conduct but this was special. I could feel his sincerity, his kindness and that made me feel like a nervous young girl all over again. I smiled brightly at his words.

“I am flattered to be called a sad angel, since you’re not wrong. Do you know why the caged bird sings, ezra?” I asked, looking at the scenery in front of us.

“Because it’s hungry?” Ezra said unsure.

“Perhaps, but a caged bird sings because it knows it will never get out of its cage, so it sings because its the only thing it could do.” I answered.

“You’re the caged bird.” Ezra stated.

“I am.”

Silence passes between us before i felt his hand cup my cheek, guiding me to face him. When i saw his eyes, they held warmth, understanding and even, perhaps its my imagination, but it seemed like longing.

“What if someone tries to set you free?” He asks me.

“I can’t leave my gilded cage just yet. I have something to finish.” I answered.

“Its about the Coup that happened here, isn’t it?” He spoke.

“Yes. I have to find the traitors and let them face judgement…I also must face the consequences of my action.” I added.

“What did you do?” He asked me, eyes burning with curiosity.

“The traitors, the one who planned it all was my family. As a member of their house, aren’t I just as guilty as them.” I asked.

“Did you want this to happen?” He asked me again

“Of course not, but I-“

“But you are an innocent. You were as much of a victim like your people. Even if you knew of their plans, if you tried to stop them, then you are still an innocent. Don’t put all of this guilt on yourself." Ezra said wisely.

"I never actually wanted to be a Queen. All of this is good and all, I am lucky to be in a position of power but the loneliness, the fear, the betrayals, not having an identity to call my own. This was not what I wanted for myself." I said truthfully.

"What did you want?" Ezra asked.

I felt his eyes on me, waiting. What did I want? What do I truly desire in life?

"Freedom to choose who I want to be." I said firmly.

"Then choose what kind of person you want to be. Right now, don't think."

"I want to be strong, kind and brave." I answered.

"You see, that's the thing. You're already all of those and more." Ezra said.

I felt my heart flutter within my chest. Perhaps its with the way he looked in that moment. Smiling, the fading rays of the sun making him look ethereal. Was this what Queen Padme felt when she fell in love with Anakin? Was this love?

I saw Ezra's gaze soften as he and I stood there in that garden. My handmaidens were ways off, the guards were keeping a safe distance. We were essentially alone. I move faster than the speed of my own doubt. I pressed my lips quickly for a chaste kiss only for Ezra's hand to find purchase on my cheek. I saw that his eyes were closed and i felt myself do the same. The kiss was sweet, a first for me that's for sure. it wasn't overwhelmingly passionate, it was like a fresh breeze after a hot night. There were no fireworks, no ochestral music.

"Open your eyes for me, please?" Ezra spoke gently.

No. This moment felt like time was moving slowly. My senses only feeling you, your lips, your heartbeat under my palms, and in that moment we shared i felt like i was enveloped in warmth. i kept my eyes closed as we parted, wishing to stay in the moment.

i did as i was asked and all i saw were his pupils blown wide, a faint blush on his cheeks, a boyish grin on his swollen lips, perhaps i looked the same.

He looked at me with a gentle smile and i felt him push a lock of hair away from my face.

"I don't care if you're the Queen or if you were a Maidservant. All I care is that at this moment, you helped me fully realize something." Ezra said.

"What would that be?" i asked breathless.

"That no matter who or what you are, I am madly, deeply and irrevocably in love with you." He said confidently.

"How can you say such things so easily?" I asked

He laughed as if the answer was clear as day.

"Because when you're sure about something, it comes out easily."