#I RISE FROM THE DEPTHS OF MY SLUMBER

[pinocthepiccolo]

The sillies. <3

[ellenhghg]

Very short imagine of Sol visiting you at night. Thought I would feed the fandom with something small since we're all so starving ;-; Also to feed my obsession. No warnings and gender neutral :)

Sol's heart swelled with adoration as he gazed upon your sleeping form, his eyes drinking in every perfect detail - the flutter of your lashes, the rhythmic rise and fall of your chest, the way you clutched the blankets close as if seeking comfort. A tender smile curled his lips while warmth flooded his entire being, the aching depths of his obsession momentarily soothed by your presence.

"My love, my life, my everything…" he murmured, the devotion in his hushed tone evident as he slowly approached the bed. Kneeling beside you, he carefully brushed a stray lock of hair from your face, fingertips trailing feather-light over the soft skin of your cheek. You looked so peaceful, so beautifully vulnerable that he had to actively restrain the nearly overwhelming urge to shower you with fierce, desperate kisses.

Instead he settled for ghosting his lips over your forehead, breathing you in like a man starved before reluctantly pulling away. As always, the fragile restraint he maintained threatened to snap; it was intoxicating torment being so close to his heart's desire yet unable to fully claim you as his own. Not yet… but soon…

«Patience is key,» he reminded himself, jaw clenching with the effort it took to withdraw from your side. Rising, he crossed to the window and peered out at the night-cloaked city, hands curling into tight fists. «I've waited this long to find my soulmate, I can endure a bit longer…»

The sleeping pills he covertly administered ensured you remained oblivious to his clandestine visits; a necessary evil to guarantee they wouldn't be interrupted. Still… your lack of response, however medically induced, sparked an aching loneliness in his chest. He craved your reciprocal touch, yearned to hear his name upon your lips…

«All in due time, my pumpkin…» The thought was bittersweet yet it granted meager comfort nonetheless. Sol stayed a while longer, content to simply bask in your presence as you slumbered. But eventually he slipped away into the shadows with great reluctance, his heart clinging to the promise of tomorrow when they would meet again beneath the waking sun.

[confessioncassette]

𝐔𝐧𝐫𝐚𝐯𝐞𝐥𝐞𝐝 - 𝐀𝐥𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐫 𝐱 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 : 𝐀𝐥𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐫 𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐜𝐤𝐬 𝐢𝐧 𝐨𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐰𝐡𝐢𝐥𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐬𝐥𝐞𝐞𝐩.

𝐭𝐰 : 𝐧𝐨 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬, 𝐧𝐨 𝐬𝐦𝐮𝐭

𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬 : 𝐈’𝐝 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐤 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐮𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐧𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐡 𝐢𝐭 𝐚𝐥𝐥, 𝐀𝐥𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐫 𝐰𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐛𝐞𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐚𝐭𝐭𝐚𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐲𝐨𝐮.

me and the devil, when you knocked upon my door.

Just one more time.

He'll check just one more time.

Alastor's footsteps are soft over the carpet leading up to your room, the faint glow of the lanterns pass over his face. Conflicted, he hesitates at the foot of your door.

The hotel is still. Charlie and her people fast asleep. The hallways smell of fresh carpet, wood and paint due to the new renovations of the hotel after the extermination.

It should be safe enough for you, but he can't help the feeling that gnaws at the pit of his stomach.

Mortification burns through his veins. The pathetic act of cockiness nearly killed him. How could he let himself slip up so badly? His battle with Adam should have been easy, but he overestimated. He should have reminded himself that he's bound as well- and to not push a limit that's out of reach.

The one thing that boils within his chest is now something that cannot be ignored- something he refused to acknowledge for a while.

That his composure that was once tightly woven is now unraveling. His composure is slipping through his fingers.

The face of your door mocks him. He shouldn't be here.

He stares at the wood to find an answer, but he's left with nothing. Not even a shadow. And yet, everything that is within himself stares right back at him.

Taunting. Insulting.

Pathetic.

"Alastor," that familiar feminine voice echoes throughout his head, "you've really let yourself go."

He knows what lies beyond, and he knows that he cannot mess with this any longer. But no matter how hard he pushes this feeling down, he's always pulled back to where you lie.

A moth to a flame.

With a rush of anxiety, similar to a child about to do something bad and knows of the consequence, he melts into shadows and slithers into your room.

And there you are, lying peacefully as you sleep. Your body slowly rises and falls to the rhythm of your breath.

Safe.

He just needed to see it.

"You know she won't be safe for long," the voice coos, a mental hand caresses his brain, "all the things you sentiment will always die."

Alastors face remains calm, ignoring the nagging voice that unsolicitedly forces its way in his head.

"Pathetic... I expected more from you."

Drowning out the voice, Alastor is focused only on you.

You.

A leach. A bloodsucking creature that slithered your way in and sunk claws into his soul. It simultaneously confuses and angers him that a small, insignificant sinner could pry their way down into the depths of his being. It's disgusting.

It's a problem that he can no longer dance around.

He knows what he is, and he never denies it. He thrives in death, the beauty of torture, the screams he can produce from pain. The temptation of killing is always pricking his fingertips. And yet here you are, a harmless little fawn.

You never matched him in power, but the depths of your soul are intriguing. It calls to him like a song that never stops singing. That day he bound your soul was the first time he's heard such beauty. It's infuriating.

It's hard to ignore.

"You'll never be able to keep her safe... A pathetic excuse for an overlord like you will never be enough."

Red eyes scan over your sleeping form. His ear twitches with annoyance as he admires your parted soft lips, your hair splayed out over your pillow, your face peaceful and slack with slumber.

Alastor doesn't make a sound as he saunters to your bed. He wonders what lies in your dreams, if he's there with you or if you prefer to be alone. He wonders what worlds you travel to when you drift away.

His gloved hand slides over your soft bedding before gently sitting down into the plush mattress. He's careful not to wake you with the movement. He's been in your room plenty of times- it feels both foreign and familiar. Your decorations down to the pillows are soft and delicate, like you're trying to find a comfort in this hell- a perfect reflection of you.

How fitting.

Do you dream of a life outside of this inferno? Do you believe him when he tells you that you're protected? What lies beneath your smile? Do you have any inkling of his growing passion for you?

Do you wish to spend your eternity elsewhere?

"My little doe, so delicate." He murmurs as he brushes a stray hair out of your face.

She'll be safe, he reminds himself, just never let the facade falter.

"For now."

Moments like this remind him that in the midst of chaos, in the midst of his sadistic desires, that you're the one thing he needs to come back to at the end of the day.

[prowlingz]

ღ Atta' Girl ღ

⚜ Captain John Price x AFAB Reader ⚜ - No use of y/n | Second Person Perspective | ღ - wc - 1.3k | ღ - ✪ WARNINGS: porn slight plot, established relationship, degration kink, praise kink, spitting, smut 18+ ✪

You reclined on your stomach, engrossed in the pages of "Narnia." The clock had long struck past 11 pm, and drowsiness began to wash over you. Switching off your bedside lamp, you welcomed the gentle moonlight that bathed your room. Remaining in your prone position, you turned your head toward the window, fixing your gaze on the luminous orb in the night sky.

As slumber gradually enveloped you, an unexpected sound—a clearing of the throat—jolted you awake. Your eyes widened, yet your body seemed immobilized by fear. Darting your eyes around the room, you found no one in sight.

As you lay there, the notion that it might have all been a product of your imagination began to creep into your mind. However, that perception vanished in an instant when a familiar voice, with a distinct raspiness to it, reverberated through the room, asking, "Miss me?" Your heart skipped a beat as you turned, and there, standing before you, was none other than your boyfriend, John Price.

Your face erupted into a radiant smile, so wide it could rival the moon itself. Without a second thought, you hurled yourself into his strong embrace, the comforter tangled up with your excited leap. He held you tightly and guided you both back onto the bed, your legs still firmly entwined around him.

Playfully, you nibbled at his neck and exclaimed, "I missed you so fucking much," the excitement in your voice palpable.

In response, he let out his signature hearty chuckle, his beard gently tickling your neck as he reciprocated with a flurry of affectionate kisses. "Not a day went by," he declared, the kisses never ceasing.

"Guess what? I just finished writing you a heartfelt letter, bummer" you giggled sarcastically, disappointment feigning in your tone as he finally pulled back, his gaze locked onto you as though you were the most beautiful sight in the world.

His eyes remained fixated on yours, unwavering and full of adoration. Soon your legs lazily descended, he deftly raised them over his broad shoulders, pulling you closer to him, the subtle firmness beneath his clothing pressing against you.

Your gaze descended along the path of his neck, lingering on the tender love bites you had planted just moments ago. Your eyes continued their journey, tracing down to his chest, which was already rising and falling with intense desire, and further down to his clearly aroused member. It was evident from the way his pants seemed to constrict around that particular area.

With a wordless understanding, he drew you even closer, his eyes widening with desire and a sly smirk playing on his lips. You cautiously shifted your hips, a subtle movement that drew a low, almost primal groan from deep within him. Your mouth fell slightly agape as you continued to roll your hips, doing your best to maintain control despite the overwhelming sensations, and he willingly yielded to your advances.

"So fucking pretty," he whispered huskily under his breath, his words laden with longing. "How long has it been, my love? Four long months?" his voice raspy with want-no-need.

As his words hung in the air, a rush of emotions surged through you, mixing desire with the depth of your connection. You nodded, your eyes locked onto his with an intensity that needed no words to convey. Four months had felt like an eternity, and the desire that had built during that time was now igniting with an irresistible force.

He lowered his head, capturing your lips in a searing kiss that left no doubt about his longing. Your mouths moved together with a passionate urgency, tongues entwined as if trying to make up for every second lost. His hands roamed over your body, fingers tracing patterns of desire along your skin, igniting a fiery longing within you.

The room seemed to vanish, leaving only the two of you, entangled in a dance of yearning and affection. Clothes became discarded remnants of anticipation, revealing the contours of your bodies, which had become so achingly familiar yet tantalizingly new in this moment of reunion.

His hands cupped your face as he pulled back from the kiss, his eyes locked onto yours. "I've missed you more than words can say," he confessed, his voice a husky whisper, before guiding you into an embrace that promised to erase the months of separation with every touch and kiss.

He deftly flips you onto your stomach, prompting a surprised gasp to escape your lips as you bury your face into the pillow, cheeks flushed with embarrassment. His strong hands explore your curves, gently spreading them apart, and you can sense his intense focus on your most intimate area, accompanied by a low, appreciative whistle.

"All mine," he declares in a husky tone, and you lift your head from the pillow, turning your neck to catch a glimpse of his self-assured smirk. He guides his throbbing desire towards your eager entrance, teasingly circling it as he studies your reactions intently. You bite your lip, your eyes half-lidded as you whimper, "Johnnn... please."

Normally, he might savor your pleas a bit longer, but the pent-up desire from four long months of separation overwhelms him, and he immediately obliges. With a swift, possessive thrust, he enters you deeply, causing you to arch your back and release a muffled scream of ecstasy into the pillow before you.

Your eyes feel like they cross as he continues ravaging your seeping hole.

"So fucking tight, played with yourself while I was gone, hmm, princess?" he hums to you. You close your eyes and continuing to arch your back, almost helping him fuck you as you buck your hips back into him.

"Answer me, slut. Tell me you played with yourself while I was away" he restates in between huffed breaths.

You lift your head from the soaked pillow, "Fuck..Ah- I..I.." the lewd noises filling the room, you begin to not be able to think straight.

He hums at your lack of response, and pushes a hand onto the small of your back before he slams into you faster and harder, "Be a good girl and answer me".

You take a moment before responding. You open your mouth to tell him you did indeed touch yourself, so, so, so, so much while he was gone, but before you can..

"AH!" you scream as he slaps your ass with so much force, almost guarunteeing a bruise and a swollen ass in the morning.

"I said tell me", he speaks primally.

"I touched myself..ah..f-fuck..So much, John.. So fuck-FUCKING much!" your voice crackling with pleasure as his fucking becomes almost unbearable.

A pause of vocal silence, other than your moans and lewd noises filling the room.

"How much?" he finally speaks, his pace becoming irregular and off rythm.

Not wanting another smack on your ass, you swiftly reply with honesty, "Every fucKIng day!" you scream as he begins to twitch inside of you, feeling his balls hitting your bundle of nerves with each pound.

You begin to see white as your orgasm soon takes over. You feel him groan as your walls pulse around him, milking him of his seed.

"Fuck.." he groans as he pulls out from you, watching his seed dribble down your coated thighs. You lay, out of breath with your head hanging onto the pillow in front of you.

You soon find hands gripping onto your hips lightly, and rolling you over to face him. You stare into him, eyes drooping from depravity and mouth still slightly agape to help you catch your breath.

Not even realising he has a polaroid film in his hand, he lifts your left leg up for a better view of your abused cunt, and snaps a photo; capturing both you and his seed leaking from you.

"Taking that with me on my next mission" he mumbles, bending over to kiss you. "You did so good baby, so fucking good" his beard scratching your face.

"Let's run you a bath, hm?" he hums, causing a smile to grow onto your face.

"Only if you join me" you snarkly reply.

[happilyhertale]

Sweet dreams – Tom Bennett x female!reader

Pairing: Tom Bennett x fem!reader

Summary: Like every night, Tom sneaks into your room so you can have some togetherness. But after you've fallen asleep, he suddenly has other things on his mind than letting you sleep.

Warnings: 18+ NSFW, fingering, dirty talk

Author’s note: English is my second language, please forgive me if I made any mistakes (:

Word count: 1k

Other stories of mine

12 days of smuff

Tom lies in the warm bed, his eyes fixed on the ceiling, a silent observer of the dance of shadows. Sleep eludes him, and the cigarette dangling casually between his lips releases a delicate stream of smoke with each puff, enveloping him. Outside, a relentless snowfall rages, enveloping the world in a serene white embrace.

However, the pristine beauty of the snow presented a challenge, making it difficult to climb up the façade to your window. But just seeing you standing at the top spurred him on, and every near slip was just a fleeting obstacle on the way to you.

His gaze wanders thoughtfully to the window. The glow of a distant street lamp falls into the room and casts a soft light on his outline. You lie next to him, your form turned away, and your rhythmic breaths create a soothing rhythm. The calm lulled you into a peaceful slumber after he made you cum on his cock, a subtle smile gracing your lips as you sank into the depths of dreams.

But as he listens to the soft murmur that escapes your lips, followed by a gentle sigh, his attention turns back to you. He watches your form, from your shoulders to your waist, until his gaze remains fixed on your ass – until you mumble something again.

Was that a "Tommy"?

He leans towards the bedside table for a moment, puts out his cigarette and then turns to you. His face finds its usual place in the crook of your neck, he inhales your sweet scent, which almost drives him crazy.

His hand slides under the blanket, covering your body with caresses until he gently caresses your bum. You haven't put your panties back on yet, his hand has free rein. You stir slightly, but your eyes are still closed, lost in your sweet dream. He savours your soft skin and how he can snuggle up to your body almost perfectly. Gentle kisses adorn your neck as his fingers continue to caress you. Until you suddenly moan softly in your sleep. Very softly, almost inaudibly.

He starts to knead the soft flesh of your bum, gripping it lightly. His face is still pressed into the crook of your neck as you whimper lightly in your sleep. A slight grin now forms on his lips. The soft, sweet sounds leaving your lips make the desire inside him rise.

His hand glides around your body. It reaches purposefully between your legs and he lets it slide gently through your already wet folds. Your whimpers get louder.

"Hmm... already so wet for me," he murmurs into your neck. A sigh leaves your lips as his fingers find your sensitive bundle of nerves. Gentle but firm movements are left by his fingers and you begin to move your hips slightly.

He nibbles lightly on your neck as the movements of his fingers quicken. Your eyes flutter open as his fingers begin to lightly tease your entrance.

"Tommy," you gasp.

But Tom only grunts slightly, letting his fingers enter you slightly.

"I couldn't resist, love... You were already so wet..." he whispers.

You whimper again as his fingers penetrate you deeper. Your hips start to move towards his fingers, hoping they would thrust deeper.

You bite your lip to stifle a moan so your parents in the other room don't get suspicious

"Tell me what you were dreaming about, Love," Tommy whispers suddenly. For a moment, a slight irritation crosses your face as your breathing becomes heavier. A low moan fills your room as his fingers thrusts deeper.

"You made such sweet whimpers in your sleep..." he continues to whisper.

He slips another finger in, rubbing just the right places. You gasp slightly, your eyes closed. You've been dreaming about Tommy visiting you at night and you spending wonderful hours together – like he really does every night.

"I-I've been dreaming about you, Tommy," you gasp.

He growls slightly as he hears your words, "About me? What were you dreaming about, Love?" he grunts lightly. You feel his hard cock pressing harder and harder against your bum and you whimper again.

"Of your tongue Tommy... How you make me come.. with your tongue..." you whimper.

Tom chuckles softly. His thumb begins to tease your sensitive bundle of nerves as his fingers rub over the rough patch deep inside you again and again.

You moan softly, biting into the pillow beneath you, your thighs begin to tremble slightly.

"Mmm, you'll have to make do with my fingers now... Is that okay, love?" he whispers.

But you can't answer – you feel your climax approaching and Tom‘s fingers thrusting into you faster. You're breathing heavily.

"Love? Is that okay... if I make you come with my fingers? When I thrust them deep inside you? Rub your sweet clit until your pussy clenches around my fingers... because she doesn't want to let go of my fingers?" Tom murmurs in your ear, nibbling gently on your earlobe. But again you don't answer, fearing that only a moan will leave your lips.

"But the way you're soaking my fingers, I'll take that as a yes..." he continues to murmur.

And that's enough. You literally cry out into the pillow as Tom pushes his fingers further into your spasming pussy.

He gently kisses your neck, "That's it, love... Enjoy it..." he whispers. The movements of his fingers slowly subside. You breathe heavily as the warm feeling floods your body and slowly subsides.

He slowly pulls his fingers out of you and you whimper slightly in response. As you look over your shoulder, you see him licking his fingers clean. You blush slightly.

"Tommy..." you whisper and slowly turn towards him. But he just grins and pulls you closer to him.

"Don't be so shy, love. You know you taste delicious... After all, you always kiss me when I've made you come with my tongue," he whispers.

"Tom!" you gasp, but he just chuckles slightly and pulls you closer to him.

@hoshi-miharu-blog @arryn-nyx @aemonds-eyeball @praline357 @melsunshine @drinking-tea-and-be-obsessed @lauftivy @valeskafics @bellaisasleep @snh96 @echos-muses @bl4ckph0enix @autumnhymns @fan-goddess @msmorningstaarr

[seivsite]

SWEET NOTHINGS.

includes: itoshi sae x fem!reader. hurt/comfort ( it’s mostly the latter ), established relationship, he calls you spanish petnames, lowkey self indulgent — wc: 620

It was 3:56 am, and she had lost track of how long (Name) had been sitting on the couch, eagerly awaiting Sae’s return. Earlier, she had attempted to find solace in sleep, but restlessness took hold, leaving her uncomfortable and yearning for Sae’s tender embrace. She’s acutely aware of her obligation to be in bed, particularly with morning classes awaiting her on the horizon. Yet, an unexplained surge of melancholy envelops her, its origin a mystery dancing in the shadows of her consciousness. Unaware of the silent tears that have slipped from her eyes, she remains lost in the depths of her emotions, unable to decipher their cryptic whispers.

The bedroom doors swung open, unveiling the figure of Sae. Snapping out of her trance, her gaze locked onto Sae, her eyes shimmering with tears. Sae instinctively closed the distance between them, his thumb tenderly wiping away the cascading tears. Kneeling down, he sought to truly see her face and softly inquired, “What’s troubling you, mi amor?”

She averted her gaze from his eyes filled with concern, and Sae, recognizing her need for solace, gently enveloped her in his embrace. Guiding her head towards the shelter of his chest, he tenderly wove his fingers through her hair, seeking to offer solace and comfort, silently whispering reassurance with each gentle stroke.

Mumbled apologies escaped her lips as she nestled her head upon his shoulder. Sae tilted his head in perplexity, his voice gentle as he inquired, “For what?”

Tears welled in her eyes as she continued, “I don’t understand why you’re with me. What makes me special? I feel undeserving of your love and presence—”

Without hesitation, Sae silenced her worries with a tender kiss, unwilling to entertain her self-deprecating thoughts. For in his eyes, she was a radiant, captivating presence, the embodiment of love and beauty that surpassed all measure.

As their lips separated, Sae delicately pressed his forehead against hers, their closeness becoming a profound expression of his unwavering devotion and genuine care.

“Do not let those words escape your lips,” Sae implored, his voice a gentle caress. “In my life, you are the very essence of perfection, the embodiment of all that is extraordinary. My love for you knows no bounds, and it shatters my heart to witness you question your worth. Please, trust in the love I hold for you.”

Tears continued to flow down (Name)’s face, not borne of sadness, but instead fueled by overwhelming happiness and gratitude. Sae tenderly cradled her in his arms, pressing gentle kisses upon her forehead, whispering sweet nothings. With each passing moment, her sobs began to subside, finding solace in his comforting presence.

Sae suggested they freshen up, leading (Name) to the bathroom. While he took a swift shower, (Name) tended to her tear-stained face, indulging in a long overdue skincare routine alongside him. Giggles escaped her lips as Sae’s serum threatened to spill onto the counter, a lighthearted moment amid their shared intimacy.

By the time they were done, the first rays of the rising sun painted the sky in a soft palette of colours, heralding the dawning of a new day. (Name) had made the decision to call in sick, and Sae, sensing her weariness, insisted that she take much-needed rest by his side. They found their way to the comfort of the bed, where Sae enveloped her in a tender embrace.

“Sleep well, mi sol,” he whispered, planting a gentle kiss upon her lips.

She responded with a contented hum, the weariness from her earlier emotional release finally catching up with her. Drifting into the realm of dreams, she found solace and tranquillity in the comforting rhythm of his heartbeat, surrendering herself to a peaceful slumber.

NOTES. i forgot i had this in my drafts unfinished, so, here’s the finished piece! mi amor means my love, mi sol means my sun. i think sae calling his s/o his sun while he’s like the moon ykyk its kinda cute to me i rly like the idea heheehhe

TAG LIST. @yanqingisim @rintosei @m8bius

LIKES AND REBLOGS ARE APPRECIATED! ‹3

[lieutnt]

morning, love

Trans!Captain John Price x Male Reader Summary: Price discovers the best way to get you motivated in the morning. Warnings: NSFW, 18+ Only. Morning sex, fingering, unprotected, creampie.

Your eyelids flutter with each gentle kiss pressed into your chest, a groan of displeasure rising in your throat at being dragged from the depths of unconsciousness. You attempt to burrow back under the covers, pulling them up to hide underneath only to hear a soft chuckle from Price before he pulls them back down again. “We have to get up soon, love.”

Grunting in response you were close to drifting off again, body almost succumbing to slumber when Price pressed himself against you, the heat radiating from his body having the opposite intended effect and making it harder to open your eyes. 

Distracted by trying to fall back asleep you almost miss the way he trails a hand dangerously low down your abdomen, fingers playing the waistband of your boxers. “Guess I’ll have to deal with my problem myself.” That made your eyes finally flicker open, taking a few seconds to adjust to the light streaming around the edges of the curtains before Price came into focus, staring at you with a sly grin on his face. He huffed in amusement, “Thought that’d wake you up.”

Humming in acknowledgement you angled your head forward just enough so that your forehead could rest against his. “What problem’s that?” You ask, tone still thick with sleep.

“Check for yourself.” Price threw his leg over your hip and grabbed one of your hands by the wrist, guiding it down and to his boxers. It doesn’t take long to find his ‘problem’, the crotch of his boxers damp and desperately clinging to his skin.

That woke you up. “So wet already?” You ask, lazily skirting your fingers over the bulge where his cunt sits. He exhales slightly harder when you press against his pussy, fingers drifting up to rub small circles on his clit through the fabric.

Price groans, throwing his arms around you to pull you into a desperate kiss, lips parting in response when your tongue swipes against them. He tilts his head to deepen the kiss, moaning into your mouth when your tongues connect and shifts his hips closer, trying to move with you but he soon breaks the kiss, tilting his head back as you move down to tease his jaw. “I need more.”

You disconnect long enough to tug his boxers down, only bothering to free one leg completely and letting them hang around an ankle before you’re back on him, capturing his mouth again and feeling his sigh of relief when your fingers brush against his soaked folds, slowly beginning to stroke the swollen lips of his puffy cunt and spread his arousal. The moan he lets out when you push one finger inside has your cock twitching in arousal, blood beginning to pool south as you press against his spongy walls, his cunt already trying to pull you in deeper. 

A second finger easily slips in, and when you curl them he gasps, hips twitching in response as you begin to scissor them, stretching him open in an uneven rhythm before curling them again, fingertips striking the soft spot inside him that has Price’s grip tightening around you. Your thumb moves up to massage tight circles on his clit, his cunt clenching around your digits. “Fuck- right there,” he groans.

He grinds against your fingers, rolling his hips with your rhythm as you press and press and press insistently against the soft spot inside him, the coil building with each stroke until finally it snaps, Price bucking his hips wildly as you continue your pace, drawing his orgasm out for as long as possible while he moans and trembles around your fingers. When the pleasure fizzles out you withdraw your hand, Price flopping onto his back to rest his arm against his forehead, body buzzing with the aftershocks.

Rolling onto your side you push yourself up just enough to crawl and hover over Price, cock achingly hard and resting between his thighs. “Looks like I have a problem as well,” you mumble, dipping down to brush your lips against his as you continue speaking. “Can I fuck you?” You already know the answer, but hearing him say it always sends a wave of excitement through your body.

“You’re not leaving this bed until you do,” Price growls, one hand coming up to hold you against him when your lips meet again, the kiss hungry, desperate. It’s awkward to try and push your boxers down but you eventually manage, leaving them once they’re mid-thigh and you can take hold of your cock, teasing your head against Price’s clit with a few slow thrusts before angling down and inching side. 

Sounds of relief and pleasure swirl between you both, Price’s cunt already hot and tight around you. Dropping down to rest on your forearms he wraps his legs around your waist, ankles almost crossing in the small of your back. Another moan fills the air when you sink deeper and start off slow, rolling your hips while you gasp into each other's mouths, the soft squelching of his wet cunt only increasing your desire - to know that you’re the one who makes him so wet.

“You’re so perfect around me, fuck-” A moan cuts off your praises, Price clenching around you at your words. “I want to keep you here all day, keep you split open on my cock while I fuck you again and again.” You punctuate your words by drawing out until just your tip is inside and punching back in, knocking the air from Price’s lungs.

Giving him little time to recover you set a new pace, skin slapping against skin as his hole stretches to accommodate your unruly thrusts, each push filling him completely. You snake a hand down to toy with his clit, rolling the sensitive bundle of nerves between your fingers as he jolts around you, head collapsing back in pleasure.

Price pants a combination of breathy “Ohhh’s” and curses into the air, body moving in time with yours. It’s one of the best sounds you can hear, a man so normally reserved crumbling underneath you.

You’re already close - the tight, wet, heat too much for your body. “Tell me you’re close, shit, I can’t last much longer.” You beg, almost on the precipice. Normally you would feel bad, about to cum so quickly, but with Price, he’s always either one step ahead or following close behind.

He nods in confirmation, “Please, please, please- keep going.” How desperate Price gets when he’s close to cumming never fails to ignite the fire in your belly, so unlike his usual self who gives and gives and gives. In these moments you encourage him to be selfish, to take the pleasure he wants that you’re so willing to give. So you do, fucking him hard and deep, circling his clit until his hips are attempting to arch up as he falls over the edge.

His cunt pulls you in and clenches like a vice as he cums, mingled chants of curses pouring from his lips as his body trembles around you. It’s enough to pull you over, your cum hot and thick as you fill him - both of you able to feel each new rope that pools inside as his walls pulse around you, desperately trying to keep your cum inside as a creamy ring forms around where you’re joined, your cock acting as a plug to keep him filled. You grind forwards in blind pleasure, seeking the edge of your orgasm as each burst of cum steadily grows weaker.

Hips coming to a stop once you’re balancing on the edge between pleasure and overstimulation you let yourself collapse on his chest, Price loosening the lock his legs have around your waist. Neither of you speak, only the last remnants of your joined moans as Price’s cunt twitches around you.

Time loses all meaning as you remain pressed against one another, unsure of how long you do, but Price cuts through the silence first, quickly glancing at the clock and then towards you. He always recovers quickly. “Shit love, we really should get a move on.” He tries to sit up but you remain still, keeping him pinned under your body and dismissing his statement with a grunt. He sighs and relaxes back onto the bed, dull nails scratching down your back in teasing motions. “If we go now we might have time for you to fuck me in the shower.”

Your interest peaks, head tilting up to smack your lips against his, body suddenly invigorated before finally lifting yourself off him and sitting back. “You have a deal.”

[soulofapatrick]

Behind Closed Doors - Henry Fox x Male Reader

Summary: Henry is in your bed having sneaked into the Whitehouse with the help of Amy and it's been nearly six months since you've seen each other

Words: 2.3k

Warnings: Smut; very gay smut; anal fingering; anal sex; blowjobs; fluff

Y/N’s POV

The laptop screen flickers to life, casting a cold, bluish hue across the dimly lit room. On the screen, Prince Henry is the epitome of regal composure, his posture immaculate, his expression stoic and controlled. The tension in his shoulders is palpable, the lines etched on his forehead telling tales of the countless responsibilities that rest on his shoulders. His azure eyes, although mesmerising, appear guarded, a perpetual veil of restraint concealing the depths of his emotions. The smile that graced his lips is a well practiced one, polite and diplomatic, but it never truly reaches his eyes, leaving them to shimmer with a distant glint. 

I glance away from the screen to the very same Prince fast asleep beside me. The contrast striking. 

Here, in the soft glow of the bedside lamp, Prince Henry is just Henry. He’s a world away from the formalities of his public and royal life. He lies on his side, his body sprawled in a relaxed, unguarded manner that defies the rigid protocols of royalty. His chest rises and falls in a gentle, even rhythm, his breaths syncing with the tranquility of the moment. The meticulously coiffed hair that graced my screen is now a disheveled mess, each strand of his golden locks framing his face in wild abandon. His cheeks are tinged with a natural, healthy flush, a stark contrast to the pale veneer he often wears in public. 

As I observe him, I can’t help but notice the subtle shifts in his expression as he dreams. The stoic mask he wears for the world has slipped away, revealing the true Prince Henry beneath. A small, contented smile plays on his lips, and it’s genuine - unburdened by the expectations of diplomacy. It’s a smile that comes from the heart. In his slumber, he’s just a man, stripped of titles and obligations, free to express his emotions without restraint. 

I can’t help myself, reaching out and gently brushing my fingers against his cheek, marvelling at the softness of his skin and the warmth beneath. He stirs slightly, nuzzling his face into the pillow, seeking comfort and letting out a small snuffle before those beautiful eyes flutter open sleepily.

The cool, distant glint in his azure eyes has been replaced with a sense of serenity and vulnerability. He blinks a few times, adjusting to the soft lighting in the room, and then he turns his gaze towards me. It’s a moment of unspoken connection, as if we share a secret, a world of our own. 

With a lazy, contented smile, Henry reaches out to gently take my laptop from my hands, placing it on the bedside table. Then, in a slow and deliberate move, he grips the front of my pyjama shirt and tugs until I find myself hovering over him. 

Our lips meet in a tired, yet passionate kiss. It’s a kiss that speaks of comfort and love. Our mouths move together, synchronised in a dance of affection, and I can taste the lingering sweetness of sleep on his lips. It’s a gentle, unhurried kiss, having all the time in the world as no one knows he’s here in America or the Whitehouse let alone half naked in my bed.

Henry’s hands, warm and exploring, roam over my back, causing a shiver to run down my spine. His blunt nails trail sensually, raking down my skin in a way that elicits a gasp from me. It’s a delightful mix of pleasure and surprise, encouraging him further. He seizes the opportunity, slipping his tongue past my parted lips, deepening the kiss. Our tongues dance together, an intricate and passionate tango, conveying desire and longing. The taste of him, mingled with the faintest hint of mint from his toothpaste, is intoxicating. 

My hands, guiding by instinct and desire, find their way to his tousled hair, My fingers thread through the golden strands, and I revel in the sensation of the soft, silken locks between my fingertips. Our bodies press closer together, the heat and desire building between us like an irresistible force. 

Suddenly, in a move that leaves me breathless, Henry flips us over, his body now hovering above mine. His lips trail down from my mouth to my neck, and I’m arching into his touch, granting him better access, a soft man escaping my lips. His hands find my hips, pressing them into the mattress to keep them still, a silent declaration of his intentions. His warm breath against my skin as he places tender kisses along the sensitive curve of my neck. Each kiss sends waves of pleasure radiating through my body, and I clutch the sheets beneath us, my heart pounding with anticipation and my dick jumps in my boxers. 

Henry’s movements are deliberate, and his plump lips leave a trail of fire in their wake as they journey downward from my neck. Each kiss, every brush of his mouth against my skin, sends a surge of pleasure radiating through my body. As his lips continue their descent, I arch my back, offering more of my chest, and a soft sigh escapes my lips. His hands, still on my hips, hold me firmly in place when his thumbs dip under the waistband of my boxers. I can’t stop the whimper or the way my hips jerk when he grazes his teeth down my lower stomach. 

“Now, now Darling,” Henry murmurs, voice a velvet whisper that washes over me like a soothing balm. It’s gentle and loving, a stark contrast to the passionate urgency of our actions. His words are tender, carrying an undertone of teasing and deep affection, “Be a good boy for me.”

“Fuuuckkkk,” I’m throwing my head back when he mouths over my almost painful erection, the thin layer of my boxers making me want to scream, “Hen, please.” I’m whining and he’s grinning up at me through those pretty eyelashes, eyes dark and wanting. He’s tugging my boxers down my thighs and discarding them somewhere to my left before he’s mouthing at my hips and inner thighs. Lips trailing across every bit of skin except where I want him… where I need him. 

Then suddenly, his tongue is on my lower stomach, lapping at the precum leaking onto my bare skin from the teasing and it takes everything in me not to grab his hair and stop this teasing or he will just drag it out even more. I think I let out a strangled sound, too loud for these walls when Henry finally wraps those fantasy inducing lips around the head of my aching dick as he also shoves three fingers in my mouth to muffle the sounds. Obediently, I begin to suck on them, lathering them up with saliva while he teases his tongue over the frenulum and hollowing out his cheeks. 

Before long his fingers are slipping from my lips and are circling my entrance, my whole body tensing in anticipation which has Henry pulling away, “Darling, you need to relax.”

He pushes a finger pass the tight ring of muscles at the same time swallowing me down whole, my body jerking with pain and pleasure. His free hand is rubbing soothing circles against my hip, trying to relax me enough for him to add another finger and loosen me up enough. His throat constricts, trying to gag around me and I have to throw a hand over my mouth as my older brother’s room is just next door. 

Almost too soon he’s pulling away, drawing himself up and his azure eyes meet mine, a silent question there. I don’t reply, wrapping my legs around his waist and finally tangling my hands in his soft locks to drag him into an almost bruising kiss. Somewhere between him stripping me and now he’s rid himself of his boxers. His right hand caresses my cheek while his other moves to help guide himself in place, the tip pushing past the ring of muscles. I can’t help but tense up at the intrusion but then his lips are on mine, sweet and delicate, coaxing whimpers from me as he slowly pushes into me. 

“It’s okay Darling,” He cooes against my lips, “That’s it Sweetheart, just breathe.” He finds my hands, intertwining our fingers as he begin to rock his hips, watching my face for my reaction. I can’t stop the wince, hips twitching as Henry tries to find a steady rhythm, his lips parted and eyes fluttering shut for a second, breath coming out in gasps as he seems to be holding himself back to not hurt me. The sight of him like this and stretch of him filling me oh so full has my dick twitching between us and his eyes fly open again. It’s a prickling sensation, somewhere between pain and pleasure and has me needing something more. 

“Henry, please.” I don’t know what I’m asking for, clenching around his thick length and rocking my hips down to meet his, drawing out a low sound from him and his head falls against my shoulder. 

“Darling,” He moans out, pushing back in quickly, hitting that bundle of nerves that has my hips jerking and him grinning into the crook of my neck. My hands scrabble for purchase when his grip my hips again, settling in his hair and raking down his back. It’s not just the physical connection with Henry as our bodies intertwine, it’s as if time itself slows down and we exist in a world of our own making. Every touch, every caress, carries the weight of emotions that can’t be expressed in words. 

Every rock of his hips hits that bundle of nerves, and I can’t help rocking my hips up to meet his, my back arching into every movement. I’m sure I’m speaking, sounds leaving my throat as Henry picks up his pace, making me see stars. 

“Kiss me.” I hear myself whine and Henry’s chest rumbles with  a broken chuckle before his lips brush teasingly against mine. His hands grip my hips almost bruisingly, pulling my hips down to meet his harsh thrusts as that knot in my stomach begins to tighten. Low and guttural sounds rumble in his chest as out bodies shine with a thin layer of sweat, his blond locks sticking to his forehead, pale skin flushing as he makes love to me. Henry and I have had sex and made love before but this feels different, more intimate somehow as he whispers sweet nothings against my neck, nose nuzzling my jaw and lips soft and breath hot. The coil in my stomach tightening as he lets my hands go to wrap around me and pull me closer to him, my hands finding his hair and tugging his lips back to mine as a sound leaves his kiss swollen lips again. It’s all hot and heavy and sensual, full of love and passion and a promise of forever. 

“Almost there Baby,” he’s murmuring and I think I’ve lost the ability to speak as all I can do is nod so fast I think I’m going to break my neck. I’m whimpering, my hands trying to fins purchase on his back, nails raking almost painfully down his smooth and muscular skin. One of his hands ghost down my chest and stomach to wrap around my throbbing erection, barely making one full jerk before that coil snaps and I’m crying his name with no care for how loud we are. My whole body convulses and shakes as my vision whites out and I’m clamping around him. He bites down on my bottom lip almost painfully as he comes, his seed filling me up. The aching pain of him pulsating inside me makes me almost come again, a new feeling that adds to the pleasure and I think I might pass out from the bliss of it all. 

“Baby, hey, Y/N.” Henry’s murmurs to me and his thumbs soothing my cheeks gently, “There you ar pretty boy.” He peppers kisses all over my face, and I can't help but let out an almost embarrassing giggle, despite our passionate activities just moments ago. His hips are still moving in gentle circles of overstimulation against mine, but his focus now is solely on me, his affectionate touches like a soothing balm.

"BREAKFAST WHEN YOU TWO ARE DONE!" Alex pounds his fists on my door, making me jump, and I instinctively tense up, causing us both to wince. Henry carefully pulls out, his gaze never leaving mine. 

”BE QUIETER NEXT TIME!" June’s voice rings through the door as well, and we exchange amused glances before bursting into quiet laughter.

"Breakfast?" Henry asks softly, his arms wrapping around me as he pulls me close, his warmth enveloping me in a cocoon of love.

I shake my head, my heart full of contentment. "Hell no."

With a loving smile, Henry leans in and captures my lips in a sweet, lingering kiss. It's a kiss that speaks of all the emotions we've shared, the love that binds us, and the intimacy that's brought us even closer.

As our lips part, Henry murmurs, "I love you, Y/N."

I smile back at him, my heart swelling with affection. "I love you too, Henry."

In each other's arms, we drift off to sleep, the world outside forgotten, and our love the only thing that matters. Wrapped in the warmth of our embrace, we know that no matter what challenges lie ahead, we have each other—a love that's deep, passionate, and unbreakable.I’ll deal with the outcome of Alex and June later but for now, it’s just me and Henry and that’s all I need. 

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

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[callsigns-haze]

That's the past but I'm the future

Pairing: Azriel x reader Warning: This chapter contains explicit scenes of intimacy and references to strained family dynamics. Summary: In a tender moment of shared vulnerability and passion, YN finds solace in Azriel's unwavering support amidst family tensions and doubts about her identity.

So this can be read alone or it can be read as the third part of Shadows Blade. Please go and check out the series!

Three months had passed since the day YN's wings were severed, altering the course of her life in ways she never could have imagined. And yet, with each passing day, she found herself drawing strength from the love and support of Azriel, her rock and constant companion.

As the first rays of dawn filtered through the windows of their shared chambers, YN stirred from her slumber, her eyes fluttering open to the sight of Azriel lying beside her. She couldn't help but smile at the sight of him, his features softened in the gentle light of morning, his chest rising and falling rhythmically beneath her head.

With a contented sigh, YN shifted closer to him, snuggling against his bare chest as she reveled in the warmth of his embrace. She traced lazy patterns across his skin with her fingertips, savoring the intimacy of the moment as they lay tangled together in the sheets.

Azriel stirred beside her, his arms instinctively tightening around her as he pulled her closer to him. He pressed a soft kiss to the top of her head, his lips lingering against her skin in a silent gesture of love and affection.

"Good morning, my love," he murmured, his voice husky with sleep but filled with warmth and tenderness.

"Good morning, Az," YN replied, her voice soft with affection as she nestled closer to him. "I love waking up like this, with you beside me."

Azriel brushed a strand of hair from her face, his gaze filled with adoration as he looked down at her. "And I love you, more than words can say," he whispered, his voice filled with a depth of feeling that took her breath away.

As YN prepared to return to work alongside Cassian, Azriel couldn't shake the feeling of unease that settled in the pit of his stomach. He watched her with a cautious gaze, his concern evident in the furrow of his brow as she gathered her belongings.

"Are you sure you're ready for this?" he asked softly, his voice laced with concern. "It's only been three months since... since the incident."

YN met his gaze with determination, her eyes steady and unwavering despite the hint of uncertainty that lingered within them. She reached out to take his hand in hers, squeezing it reassuringly as she offered him a small smile.

"I know it's soon, Az," she admitted, her voice calm and resolute. "But I need to do this. I can't let fear hold me back from living my life."

Azriel nodded, his expression softening as he squeezed her hand in return. He understood her need to reclaim a sense of normalcy after everything she had been through, but he couldn't shake the feeling of protectiveness that surged within him.

"I'll be right here if you need me," he promised, his voice filled with sincerity. "And so will Cassian. We've got your back, YN."

With a grateful smile, YN leaned in to press a kiss to Azriel's cheek, her heart swelling with love and gratitude for the man who stood beside her, unwavering in his support.

"Thank you, Az," she murmured, her voice filled with warmth. "I couldn't do this without you."

----

As YN winnowed into the Illyrian camps, she found Cassian waiting for her, his expression a mix of relief and guilt. He stepped forward to greet her, his eyes filled with a mixture of emotions as he took in her presence once more.

"YN," he said softly, his voice tinged with both sorrow and gratitude. "I'm glad you're back."

YN returned his gaze, her own eyes reflecting a mixture of emotions as she took in the sight of him. She reached out to clasp his forearm in a gesture of solidarity, her touch gentle yet filled with unspoken understanding.

"It's good to be back," she replied, her voice steady despite the undercurrent of emotion that pulsed beneath the surface. "I've missed this place."

Cassian nodded, his expression solemn as he struggled to find the right words to express the turmoil that churned within him. "YN, I... I'm sorry," he began, his voice thick with emotion. "For what happened. It should never have happened, and I'll never forgive myself for putting you in harm's way."

YN's heart ached at his words, her own guilt weighing heavily upon her soul. She reached out to place a comforting hand on his shoulder, her touch a silent reassurance of her forgiveness and understanding.

"It wasn't your fault, Cassian," she replied softly, her voice filled with empathy. "We were both just doing our duty. And besides, I'm here now, aren't I? That's all that matters."

Cassian met her gaze, his eyes searching hers for any sign of doubt or resentment. Finding none, he offered her a small, grateful smile, his heart lighter knowing that she harbored no ill will towards him.

"Thank you, YN," he said, his voice filled with gratitude. "For understanding."

YN returned his smile, her own heart lifting at the sight of his relieved expression. "Always, Cassian," she replied, her voice filled with warmth. "We're in this together, remember?"

As YN and Cassian stood together in the Illyrian camps, she turned to him with a determined expression, her gaze steady as she sought to refocus their attention on the task at hand.

"Cassian," she began, her voice firm yet gentle. "What's the aim and plan for today?"

Cassian met her gaze, his eyes reflecting a mixture of determination and resolve as he considered her question. He knew that despite the weight of their past experiences, they had a duty to fulfill, a responsibility to their people and their comrades in arms.

"Our aim for today," he replied, his voice steady with conviction, "is to outline the new training plan for the camps. With the recent developments and challenges we've faced, it's more important than ever that we ensure our warriors are prepared and ready for whatever may come."

YN nodded, her expression thoughtful as she absorbed his words. She knew that their duty as leaders of the Illyrian camps was paramount, and she was determined to do whatever it took to fulfill that duty, no matter the obstacles they faced.

"Agreed," she said, her voice filled with determination. "Let's get to work then. We have a plan to outline and warriors to train."

With that, YN and Cassian set to work, their minds focused and their spirits determined as they tackled the task before them. Together, they would ensure that the Illyrian camps were stronger and more prepared than ever before, ready to face whatever challenges the future may hold. And as they worked side by side, united in their purpose and resolve.

s YN and Cassian delved into planning the new training system for the Illyrian camps, they found themselves immersed in a whirlwind of ideas and strategies. They gathered around a table strewn with maps, scrolls, and parchment, their minds buzzing with the task at hand.

"We need to ensure that our warriors are trained not just in combat skills, but also in leadership, strategy, and teamwork," YN remarked, her voice filled with determination as she outlined her vision for the training program.

Cassian nodded in agreement, his brow furrowed with concentration as he considered her words. "Agreed. We'll need to implement specialized training sessions tailored to each warrior's strengths and weaknesses, as well as regular drills to maintain their skills."

They began to sketch out the framework for the training program, mapping out various exercises and scenarios designed to challenge and strengthen the warriors both physically and mentally. They discussed the importance of incorporating real-world simulations and practical experience into the training regimen, ensuring that the warriors would be prepared for the rigors of battle.

"We also need to foster a sense of camaraderie and unity among the warriors," Cassian added, his eyes alight with passion. "Teamwork is essential on the battlefield, and we need to instill a sense of trust and cooperation among our ranks."

YN nodded in agreement, her heart swelling with pride at the thought of the strong, cohesive unit they were building. "We'll organize team-building exercises, group missions, and collaborative training sessions to foster a sense of solidarity and mutual respect among the warriors."

As they continued to refine their plans, YN and Cassian found themselves filled with a sense of purpose and determination. They knew that the training program they were designing would not only prepare the warriors for the challenges ahead but also strengthen the bonds that united them as a community.

And as they worked tirelessly into the night, their minds ablaze with ideas and strategies, YN and Cassian knew that they were laying the foundation for a brighter, stronger future for the Illyrian camps.

As YN interrupted their intense planning session with a hesitant request, Cassian couldn't help but notice the gravity in her tone. He set aside his quill, giving her his full attention, though a flicker of concern crossed his features at the unexpected turn of conversation.

"Of course, YN," he replied, his voice gentle as he waited for her question.

Taking a moment to gather her thoughts, YN's gaze met his with a mixture of compassion and curiosity. "Cassian," she began, her voice steady yet tender, "I can't help but see how hard you've been taking everything since... since what happened. How are you really holding up?"

Cassian's chest tightened at her words, his gaze flickering briefly as he grappled with the weight of his emotions. He took a deep breath, feeling the familiar pang of guilt resurface in the depths of his being.

"It's been... difficult," he admitted, his voice tinged with remorse. "I can't shake this feeling that I failed you, YN. That I failed to protect you when you needed me most."

YN reached out to gently grasp his hand, her touch a comforting anchor amidst the storm of his thoughts. "Cassian, you didn't fail me," she said firmly, her voice filled with conviction. "You were there for me every step of the way, doing everything in your power to keep me safe. What happened was beyond our control."

Cassian's gaze softened as he met hers, the weight of her words slowly starting to ease the burden of guilt that had settled in his heart. "Thank you, YN," he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. "I needed to hear that."

As YN witnessed the vulnerability in Cassian's admission, she couldn't help but feel a surge of affection for her strong and steadfast companion. Yet, ever the teasing spirit, she couldn't resist a playful jab at his expense.

"Well, well," she teased, a mischievous twinkle dancing in her eyes. "Who knew that beneath that tough exterior beats the heart of a big, sensitive Illyrian warrior?"

Cassian's expression shifted from somber to sheepish, a faint blush dusting his cheeks as he playfully rolled his eyes at her jest. "Oh, hush," he retorted, though a hint of amusement tinged his voice. "I'll have you know that even the mightiest warriors have feelings, thank you very much."

The tension in the room dissipated as laughter bubbled between them, the weight of their conversation momentarily forgotten in the warmth of their camaraderie. YN couldn't help but admire the way Cassian embraced both his strength and vulnerability, finding strength in his willingness to open up, even in moments of uncertainty.

Their playful banter served as a reminder that even in the darkest of times, there was light to be found in the bonds of friendship and the shared laughter between kindred spirits. And as they returned to their planning, their spirits buoyed by the lighthearted exchange, YN knew that together, they could weather any storm that came their way, armed not only with strength and courage but also with the enduring power of their connection.

As the planning session drew to a close, Cassian's voice broke the silence with an announcement that caught YN off guard. He spoke of an upcoming honor ceremony to commemorate their bravery in battle, a moment of recognition for their courage and sacrifice. YN listened intently as Cassian continued, revealing that not only would they be presented with medals, but YN's family had been invited to attend the ceremony as well.

YN's heart skipped a beat at the mention of her family. She had two sisters and a brother, but her relationship with her oldest sister had always been strained, marred by resentment and bitterness. Despite her efforts to bridge the gap between them, her sister's disdain seemed to grow with each passing day, casting a shadow over their familial bond.

As Cassian spoke, YN couldn't help but feel a mix of excitement and apprehension. The prospect of being honored for her bravery filled her with pride, but the thought of facing her sister's hostility in such a public setting left her feeling uneasy.

Cassian must have sensed her unease, for he reached out to place a comforting hand on her shoulder, his touch a silent reassurance of his support. "I know this might be difficult for you, YN," he said softly, his eyes filled with understanding. "But your bravery deserves to be celebrated, and your family deserves to witness it."

YN nodded, grateful for his words of encouragement. She knew that facing her sister wouldn't be easy, but she also knew that she couldn't let her sister's animosity diminish her accomplishments or dampen her spirit.

"Thank you, Cassian," she replied, her voice filled with determination. "I'll be there, no matter what."

And as they prepared to face the challenges and triumphs that lay ahead, YN knew that with Cassian by her side, she could handle whatever came her way, even the complexities of family dynamics and the weight of unresolved conflicts. For their bond was unbreakable, forged in the fires of adversity and tempered by the trials they had endured. And together, they would rise, stronger and more resilient than ever before.

----

As the evening wore on, Azriel couldn't shake the nagging worry that gripped his heart when YN failed to appear at dinner. His mind raced with concern, his thoughts consumed by the possibility of danger or distress befalling her.

With a furrowed brow, Azriel excused himself from the table, his steps quickening as he made his way back to their shared quarters. His heart pounded in his chest as he pushed open the door, his eyes scanning the room in search of YN's familiar form.

Relief flooded through him when he spotted her sitting on the edge of their bed, her gaze fixed on something in her hands. He approached her cautiously, his worry giving way to curiosity as he tried to discern the source of her distraction.

"YN," he began, his voice soft with concern. "Is everything alright? You didn't come to dinner, and I was starting to worry."

YN looked up at him, her expression a mix of surprise and guilt. "Az," she said, her voice tinged with regret. "I'm sorry for causing you to worry. I just... needed some time alone."

Azriel's brow furrowed with concern as he took a seat beside her, his hand reaching out to gently grasp hers. "You know you can talk to me, right?" he said softly, his voice filled with warmth and reassurance. "Whatever it is, I'm here for you."

YN nodded, a small smile tugging at the corners of her lips as she leaned into his touch. "I know, Az," she replied, her voice filled with gratitude.

As YN opened up about her feelings regarding her oldest sister's presence at the upcoming ceremony, Azriel listened with empathy, his heart heavy with understanding. He knew all too well the pain of strained family relationships, and he couldn't bear to see YN burdened by the weight of her sister's animosity.

"I'm sorry, YN," he murmured, his voice soft with compassion. "I know how difficult this must be for you."

YN nodded, her gaze fixed on her hands as she struggled to put her feelings into words. "It's just... our relationship is so strained, Az," she admitted, her voice tinged with sadness. "I hate the thought of her being there, judging me and everything I do."

Azriel reached out to gently cup her cheek, his touch a soothing balm against the ache in her heart. "You don't have to face this alone, YN," he said earnestly, his eyes filled with warmth and determination. "I'll be there for you every step of the way, no matter what."

YN met his gaze, her eyes shimmering with gratitude for his unwavering support. "Thank you, Az," she whispered, her voice choked with emotion. "I don't know what I'd do without you."

Azriel pulled her into his arms, holding her close as he pressed a kiss to the top of her head. "You'll never have to find out," he murmured against her hair, his voice filled with a quiet strength. "I love you, YN, and I'll always be here for you, no matter what."

And as they held each other in the quiet sanctuary of their room, YN knew that with Azriel by her side, she could face whatever challenges lay ahead, even the complexities of family dynamics and the weight of unresolved conflicts. For their love was a beacon of light in the darkness, guiding them through even the toughest of times, and she wouldn't have it any other way.

As YN poured out her heart to Azriel, her words weighed heavy with the burden of years of resentment and bitterness. She spoke of her oldest sister's disdain for her chosen path as a soldier, of the constant belittlement and judgment she endured because of it.

"It's like she can't see me for who I am," YN confessed, her voice thick with emotion. "To her, I'm just a disappointment, a failure who should have given up on my dreams long ago."

Azriel's heart ached as he listened to YN's words, his arms tightening around her in a silent gesture of solidarity and support. He knew all too well the pain of being judged and misunderstood by those closest to him, and he couldn't bear to see YN suffer because of it.

"You are so much more than her narrow-minded beliefs, YN," he said firmly, his voice filled with conviction. "You are strong and brave, and you have every right to pursue your dreams, regardless of what anyone else says."

YN met his gaze, her eyes shimmering with unshed tears as she searched his face for reassurance. "But what if she's right, Az?" she whispered, her voice trembling with doubt. "What if I'm not meant to be a soldier?"

Azriel cupped her face in his hands, his touch gentle yet filled with unwavering resolve. "You are meant to be exactly who you are, YN," he said earnestly, his eyes burning with determination. "And no one, not even your sister, can take that away from you. You are strong, capable, and deserving of every opportunity to chase your dreams."

YN's breath caught in her throat at his words, her heart swelling with gratitude for his unwavering belief in her. "Thank you, Az," she whispered, her voice filled with emotion. "For always seeing the best in me, even when I can't see it myself."

And as they held each other in the quiet sanctuary of their room, YN knew that with Azriel by her side, she could overcome any obstacle, no matter how daunting.

As YN's heart felt heavy with the weight of her strained relationship with her oldest sister, Azriel gently reminded her of the brighter aspects of her family. He spoke of her other sister, the one who had always stood by her side with unwavering support and love, offering a beacon of warmth and understanding amidst the shadows of discord.

"And don't forget about Rylie," Azriel added with a soft smile, his eyes alight with warmth as he mentioned YN's young nephew. "He adores you, YN. He sees you as his hero, his fearless aunt who can do anything."

YN's lips quirked into a small smile at the mention of Rylie, her heart warming at the thought of the little boy who never failed to bring joy into her life. "You're right," she acknowledged, her voice tinged with gratitude. "Rylie has a way of brightening even the darkest of days."

Azriel nodded in agreement, his gaze softening as he reached out to gently squeeze her hand. "And your other sister," he continued, his voice filled with reassurance. "She's always been there for you, YN. Lean on her for support, and together, you can weather whatever storm comes your way."

As YN absorbed Azriel's words, a sense of hope began to stir within her, overshadowing the darkness of her doubts and fears. With his unwavering support and the reminder of the love that surrounded her, she felt a newfound strength coursing through her veins.

"Thank you, Az," she whispered, her voice filled with gratitude. "For always being there for me, and for reminding me of the better parts of my family."

Feeling the weight of the emotional conversation lifting from their shoulders, Azriel's touch became more tender, more intimate. He leaned in, his lips brushing against YN's with a soft, lingering kiss that spoke volumes of the love and desire he held for her.

As the kiss deepened, passion ignited between them, their bodies moving together in a dance of longing and affection. Azriel's arms wrapped around YN, pulling her closer to him until she was sitting upon his lap, their bodies pressed together in a deliciously intimate embrace.

Lost in the heat of the moment, Azriel's hands roamed over YN's body, tracing the curves and contours of her form with a reverence that spoke of his adoration for her. His touch ignited a fire within her, sending shivers of pleasure coursing through her veins as she melted against him, her heart racing with anticipation.

Their kisses grew more fervent, more urgent, as they lost themselves in the intoxicating passion that burned between them. In that moment, there was nothing else in the world but the two of them, their love a flame that burned bright and unyielding against the backdrop of their shared desire.

And as they surrendered to the depths of their passion, YN knew that she was exactly where she belonged, in the arms of the man she loved more than anything in the world. For in his embrace, she found solace, comfort, and an overwhelming sense of belonging that filled her heart with joy and contentment. And together, they would navigate whatever challenges lay ahead, their love serving as a guiding light through even the darkest of times.

Tagging some:

@callsign-magnolia

@kmc1989

@hardballoonlove

@senawashere

@hookslove1592

@marvel-molly

@lucky7rosie

[butmakeitgayblog]

I think I speak for everyone when I say the answer to “Y'all want a lil snippet? 👀” will ALWAYS be HELL YES WE DO! No matter which story.

That's cuz you guys are sweet 🥰

Ok, it's only mildly edited and also my first attempt at canon. So, please lmk what you think, but be gentle 🥺 👉👈

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A tap against the door barely breaks the silence of the night for how soft it is. The sound makes Clarke's stomach swoop with elation and a wonderful sense of dread as the hairs on her arms rise on end. Instinct has her grabbing up her knife and resting a hand on the pistol at her hip again. She slips away from the table, back to the very edge of the shadows, prepared to sink further into the darkness that cloaks the farthest corners depending on what comes through the door that eases open.

Her own heartbeat pops like gunshots as Clarke holds her breath, watching. Waiting. But the fingers that wrap around the wood have her sighing in instant relief. 

She knows those fingers intimately.

The hinges whine in protest at being shaken yet again from their slumber after such a good long sleep. Still, they obey, and twist enough to allow a head of intricate braids to ease past. Clarke's heart jumps to her throat when the head turns and surveys the candlelit room, eyes as dark as the kohl mask that surrounds them sweeping from one corner to the next, before landing squarely on her.

A flurry of emotions wash through Clarke at the silent stare that seems to stretch far past dawn. It feels as though days pass in the static silence that hangs between them in the cramped space of the room, despite it surely only being a handful of seconds. It is The Commander who breaks the moment and slips the rest of the way inside, of that there is no doubt. Her shoulder guard, sword, and dagger strapped to a lean thigh scrape against the wood as she squeezes herself in through the gap - all the trappings that mark this meeting as purely business. 

Clarke's heart sinks.

The door shuts with a thump that echoes in Clarke's ears long after it's settled in its frame. The sight of her causes some piece of Clarke to uncoil in violent release of breath, like a spring let loose from its point of tension just to wobble and fall riotously still. Dark eyes stare at her in silence. Reminding Clarke so vividly of her first weeks here on the ground. Their depths carry the memories of alliances born and broken in the deathly quiet of night. Of trust found and lost, of promises made and broken, back when she'd gone toe to toe with the foreboding commander of the blood and somehow lived to tell about it. 

The glittering pools of those eyes seem endless against the burnished amber of the room's candle light. But… Despite looking every bit as menacing as she had in those early days before Clarke had seen the girl beneath the warrior, Clarke can't help seeing the tenderness she knows is patiently waiting underneath. She can see it in the way her throat flexes with a swallow as Lexa takes another step into the room.

"You came."

The hand holding her knife drops back down to her side as Clarke lets out a whisper of a laugh. “Of course I did.”

The thought of anything else twists like snakes in the pit of Clarke's stomach. The question that laces the words feeling almost like a slap to the face. Lexa had asked her to meet here. After so many weeks of one-way messages being delivered and left unanswered, the slip of scroll with a crudely sketched map next to a date and time had felt like a lifeline. After everything, in what alternate timeline would Clarke have entertained being anywhere else?

Lexa's eyes scan her face, trace her shoulders, fall to her feet and back up. “You're well?”

Horrible, unimaginable thoughts race through Clarke's mind. Thoughts of crying, of collapsing in a relieved, exhausted heap at the Heda's feet. Thoughts of crossing the room and flinging herself against the commander's chest just to feel the strength of those arms cradle her close and make things simpler again. It's a humiliating collection of scenes that play through Clarke's head in the seconds that they stand there simply watching each other. Neither moving. Neither breaching the chasm that divides them. 

All Clarke does is lean heavier against the wall behind her. “Yes, Lexa. I'm, I'm fine… You?”

Lexa's chin dips in the mere suggestion of a nod instead of answering, but Clarke hopes that she is reading the lines that flex along the edges of her eyes for what they are: a chip in the armor. A crack in the facade. An acknowledgment that, maybe, Lexa had been as nervous for this meeting as her.

Whatever the emotion is, it's gone as quickly as it came, because it's all business when Lexa draws herself up a moment later. Her body falls into its second-nature stance of a queen ruling from the steps of her throne. Even in the absence of her halo of antler horns, the effect is just as striking. 

Lexa's hands tuck neatly together at the front and her shoulders set, she nods toward the table between them. “Your last correspondence suggested you have news?”

The tap-clunk, tap-clunk of Heda's boots against the neglect-brittled flooring as she steps to the table is enough to startle Clarke from her staring. Apparently the time for pleasantries was over. She loops her way around to stand beside the commander as Lexa takes in her every move with that cool, detached gaze she seems to have down to a science. 

It's unnerving. No, she thinks. Not unnerving. Rather it's… Disarming. Penetrating in how it cuts Clarke down to the bone. That constant sensation of Lexa's eyes on her, taking in Clarke's every minute act and twitch of her face as she upturns the rest of the contents of her bag into a pile on the table. She'd forgotten the exact flush that inches up her neck whenever she feels that weighted stare on her. 

In a crowded council meeting, across a village bustling with life. Far too often than is strictly necessary: exactly three damn inches from her own face. In the beginning, Clarke had wondered if such blatant disregard for personal space was simply a Woods clan quirk. But in the preceding months on the ground she's learned that lapse in skaikru etiquette is most definitely just a, ‘Lexa Thing’.

But whatever the distance or cause, Clarke finds herself entirely too aware of herself whenever Lexa's eyes land on her. Which does nothing to help steady her hand as she lays out the newer sketches of Arkadia she'd painstakingly prepared in the days prior. Nor does it make her find the specific page she'd marked in her journal any faster. Flashing past sketches of hands draped across furs, collarbones bruised by fervent lips, past drawings of tattoos committed to memory put down on paper without pause.

“So, things are… progressing,” Clarke says more to buy her time than anything. She sets the journal down and slides the nearest candle closer to better read the script of her own writing. Lexa leans her hands on the table next to Clarke's as she looks over the pages. Clarke only lets her eyes dash to the inch of space between them before continuing on. “The, um, the first month was basically a lost cause because I was stuck in solitary—”

“Your messenger informed me,” Lexa interjects in an expelled breath, tight lipped in its delivery, but adding nothing more. 

Clarke nods to that, knowing she herself had been the one who made sure the information was delivered. Because three nights into her confined stay at “home” had been all it took for Lexa's, admittedly dramatic, words of ‘You've been living with their enemy. If it were me, I would kill you on the spot’ to begin ringing continuously in her ears. Knowing her own tendencies to always brace for the worse, the decision had been easy. With little more than a scrap of napkin and chip of charcoal from the remnants of her drawing set, Clarke had sent word with Octavia - the only one she trusted to wriggle her way in and out of Ark without detection - to pass the whereabouts of her status along. 

Still, Clarke rolls her eyes for good measure.

“Right. And, as you also know,” she says with a pointed edge to her words, “these last few months have been… difficult. But I'm making ground.”

It feels like a race against the clock explaining what she's been doing the past few months since they parted ways - convey in carefully selected tidbits of information how the days trickle by only inches or miles. Nothing in between. It sounds feeble to her own ears, the lack of tangible progress to show the commander undoubtedly growing impatient with the ever troublesome Skaikru, but Clarke barrels on with each lack of response from Lexa whenever she dares to pause for breath. Doesn't give the Heda time to point out the finer points of her lackluster coup, thus far. 

She leaves out any glimpses into her days that her better judgment tells her to keep hidden. Ones that allude to exactly how precarious the situation is behind the Ark's heavily gated walls. Like the fact that she had to run for her life the second she crossed the skaikru boundary - that sneaking past the commander's own kill-order guard wasn't the thing that had spiked her adrenaline, but rather the trigger happy guards set to walk the parameter. The ones collared with a kill order of their own. 

Every glance at the commander leaves Clarke grasping for another sentence. Something more to prove that this time hasn't passed in vain. But it all feels empty under the scrutiny of the woman standing at attention beside her, not a twitch of muscle or bend of brow giving any of the Heda's thoughts away. 

She's just staring. In that arresting way only Lexa seems able to do. Eyes a midnight slate wiped clean of emotion, brittle in their vacuum of light - iris and pupil so cloaked in the shadow of her war paint it's hard to discern between the two. 

A near quarter mark of the candle burns in rifts of her fumbling vibrato and drops of spilled oily wax, when the air becomes more stifling at Lexa's sudden shift closer. Near enough Clarke can feel her body heat slice clean through the cold. “I'll admit, at times it's like pulling teeth. Everything is always two steps forward, one step back with them. But I promise, Lexa, my people— Our people, they're getting restless with—”

“Have you slept?” 

The question lands like a punch just below the ribs, the softness of Lexa's voice feeling almost violent as it slices through the ringing in Clarke's ears. It cuts her off as effectively as clamping in vice grip around her throat. The skim of a glove-clad knuckle against her cheek makes her sway. She'd almost forgotten such tenderness actually existed in this world.

Her eyes flutter closed and she leans into the touch without a thought. The table wobbles under Clarke's hands as she gives up the fight and sags her weight onto her palms. She opens her mouth to assure the commander just how fine she is despite the display, but—

“Not much,” is all Clarke can manage in the sudden exhaustion that floods her bones. “I try. When I can, but…”

The knuckle slips down to bend a delicate hook around her chin. It curls inward, turning her face with it. Eyes darkened in shadow and half-spent candlelight take their time with her, searching for everything Clarke doesn't have the energy to say. Time expands and contracts to the razor point of a knife, plunging itself into her most vital, beating organ in those few precious moments when Lexa simply holds her there. Giving her every chance to pull away. 

Despite all the unanswered questions and emotions that still linger between them - doubt, mistrust, hunger, betrayal - Clarke doesn't have the words to explain why she can't make herself move even one inch away. Or… exactly how much she doesn't particularly want to. 

“Clarke,” Lexa whispers in an exhale that sounds like it's been held since the day Clarke had left her standing there in her room. She is so close Clarke can measure the exact flutter of her lashes as she warms under the chilled puff from her lips. In her silence, Lexa inches closer, leaning down enough to bring her forehead to Clarke's. Barely close enough for the touch to tickle against the fine hairs of her skin, but Clarke feels its burn everywhere. “Breathe.”

Fingers fan out and smooth along her neck. The feel of them tangling in the curls that cling to her skin send a shiver down Clarke's spine. It makes her tip forward, press fuller into the steeled softened woman all but propping her up, trusting Lexa to accept even more of Clarke's burdens as her own.

“It's hard sleeping there now,” Clarke admits. It feels like a weight lifting off of her shoulders just releasing that truth into the world. But the guilt of it lingers. Because how can she explain that the stale air and metal of the Ark's inner workings that used to give her a sense of peace and safety, doesn't anymore? How can she explain that despite her duty, and her unyielding love for her people… none of it feels like home anymore? How can she explain that between the darkest hours of midnight and the breaking of every dawn, feelings of home come in memories of incense scented furs, and a breeze that winds through cracked windows of a certain tower?

Most nights she pushes the feeling away. Stares at the rust lined rivets and peeling paint of her quarters on the Ark, chastising herself for just how far she's drifted from being that girl who crashed down from the stars. 

Clarke pulls back and meets the worry that lingers in Lexa's eyes with a wry smile. “The war drums beating twenty-four seven don't particularly help.”

There's something endearing about the guilt that creeps into Lexa's stare. “It's strategic.”

“I gathered as much. Is the strategy to drive everyone insane?”

Clarke finds Lexa's hand when she sighs and lets her arm drop, unwilling to break all contact just yet. Not after so many weeks apart. The shadow of Heda's eyes slant down to the touch and linger there, watching the way Clarke's hand holds hers. “Not… entirely.”

“Lexa, that really isn't—”

“I need your people to see what being part of the coalition means. And more, what breaking from it will bring,” Lexa cuts her off. The tenderness with which she laces her fingers through Clarke's is starkly at odds with the frustration that bleeds into her words. “All that most of them know is what they have heard from your chancellor, or decisions made before they were one of my clans. They take no time to see things beyond the gates of Arkadia. But now it is there. We are there so they can see the strength in our numbers. The unity in which we fight. They can see with their own eyes the safety that comes from being with us.”

It's annoying that an argument doesn't immediately spring to Clarke's mind, even as the more stubborn pieces of herself howl a tinny echo of revolt. But her exhaustion keeps her quiet. The higher reasoning within her, too. All the pieces of herself that have heard the misgivings of so many of her fellow Skaikru, and still know that what Lexa is saying is… not technically wrong.

“And the dangers of being against you,” Clarke tacks on just for the hell of it, sighing as she untangles their fingers and turns to lean back on the table. “I understand that, Lexa, I do. But I'm not entirely sure if psychological warfare is the right tactic given the circumstances.”

The shuffled thunk of Lexa's boot as she steps closer is enough to pull Clarke's gaze back to her. “While a show of strength is a factor, that is not the only goal here, Clarke. And I believe you know that.” 

Again, the lack of obvious points to needle at or undermine is infuriating, because what Lexa says is true. Because the boundary of warriors that stretch off in the distance does do so much more than stand guard over the lines of the blockade.

The first flood of the kongeda infantry that had erected the initial boundary of the kill-order came in a wave of tents, fanfare, and flying coalition flags. Axes and hammers had split through the surrounding trees like warm butter to make room for large temporary settlements, each dotting the forest eye-line with the colors and symbols of the twelve clans. At every angle from the watchtower's view from the Ark, the only sight that mingled within the sea of forestry was warriors of the coalition converging in a united front. Floukru beside Sankru. Yujleda beside Ingranrona. Azgeda camped close, under guarded Trikru eyes. 

It hadn't taken long for the second wave to join them. And then a third right on its heels. Even warriors from the Capitol join their ranks - faces covered in familiar streaks of warpaint, ones that Clarke had spoken to personally within the beating heart of Polis itself peppered throughout the encampments to stand vigil among the festivities. All bringing with them a level of noise that Clarke knew meant the warriors must have been given explicit orders to be as loud as humanly possible. The weeks that had followed had been nothing but an unending cacophony that surrounded Arkadia on all sides. 

Each day the forest filled with the sounds of relentless training from each settled camp; the singing clash of swords and the whistled-thump of arrows, blotted only by seconds of eerie silence between rounds. But the nights. The night's were somehow even worse. A fresh hell with every setting sun. Because after full days of training, the warriors are allowed to rest at ease. Under a canopy of stars, the air swells in a clattering of music that mingles with the steady beat of the war drum. Each night the forest echoes with the roar of their laughter as the salty perfume of mead and slowly roasted meats hangs heavy in the noses of Skaikru.

Clarke understands the strategy for what it is: a mindfuck on all fronts. An unambiguous message to the village of invaders-turned-kru directly from Heda herself. A truth simply waiting to be accepted. You're either with us, or you're against us. Flourish beside us, or wither within your cage. I understand your struggles - your hunger and your fear. And while one day all of our bodies will return to salt the earth, carrying on this way only ensures that death is far, far more miserable. Either way. We're thriving.

And we are not going anywhere.   

It's an effective strategy, if not polarizing in its delivery, at least as far as messaging goes. Though to be perfectly honest, at the core of Clarke’s frustration is the fact that she hadn't exactly been prepared to deal with the pain in the ass fallout of yet another political pissing match to begin the second she'd slunk back to the place she once considered home. 

Lexa reaches out and picks Clarke's hands up from where they'd fallen against her lap in a sigh of utter defeat. “I'm not trying to make things more difficult for you. Our agendas are the same, Clarke. And I think, given time… they will see it too.”

“Yes, but when you called for the blockade I was expecting, like, a sentry or two. Not a thousand warriors practicing their knife skills and having nightly feasts.” If Clarke squeezes Lexa's hands back a few hundred pascals tighter than strictly necessary, the commander has the grace not to show it.

“That had been the plan. Initially. I had every intention of waiting Pike out. But then, after we… After everything…” 

Clarke feels her heart wobble at the flex of Lexa's jaw. “What?”

“I felt… inclined to hurry the process along. I do want to give you time to work within your ranks, because I trust you, and I know how capable you are. But also I—” Lexa falters, then swallows. Gives the barest shake of her head, her eyes staying glued to the hands held within her own as she visibly forces herself to speak. “Selfishly, I want this conflict finished as soon as possible.”

/////////

[he4rtsforjoao]

Joao angst where he forgets readers birthday???Thanks bae??

BIRTHDAY- J.F

Pairings: João Félix x F!Reader

Summary: written on request

Warnings: angst

Author note: not a lot of angst tbh SORRY😞

As you slowly emerged from the depths of sleep, you were gently woken up by the restless movements of João beside you. The soft rays of the morning sun cascaded through the windows, casting a warm glow upon your room, signaling the beginning of a new day. Despite it being your special day, a day in which you could have indulged in the luxury of sleeping in, you chose to rise and make João some breakfast.

Slipping your feet into cozy slippers, you stretched your tired limbs and quietly walked out the room, careful not to disturb João's peaceful slumber. The door silently swung open, revealing the pathway that led straight into the kitchen, merging seamlessly with the living room. With a serene determination, you decided to keep things simple, opting for a comforting spread of pancakes, sizzling bacon, and perfectly scrambled eggs.

As you cooked breakfast, the atmosphere exuded a relaxed ambiance, matching your leisurely pace. The aroma of freshly brewed coffee mingled with the subtle sizzle of bacon, creating a heavenly symphony of scents. With each flip of a pancake and gentle whisking of eggs, you poured your love into every dish, knowing that these small acts of culinary affection would mean a lot to João.

As you finished up the bacon, you heard the bedroom door open and saw João shirtless, rubbing his eyes as he walked over to you. "Morning, how did you sleep?" You asked, as he sneaked up behind you and planting a small kiss on your head. "I slept really well, one of the best sleeps I've had in a long time" he replied, already starting to pick at the eggs. "That's good" you said, feeling a little confused that he didn't even bother to wish you a happy birthday. It made you wonder if it was some kind of prank.

As you started finishing up breakfast, he excused himself to freshen up with a quick shower before starting his day. When he returned, his plate was ready and he began to eat. You sat across from him at the compact table nestled in the corner of your shared apartment. "You okay?" he asked, rising to the kitchen to pour himself a drink, his eyes narrowing at your unusual silence. Breakfast was typically a time for sharing the day's plans and casual chitchat.

"I’m fine," you responded, absently picking at your food. You didn't want to confront him about forgetting your birthday. The thought of sounding self-centered held you back. "Something's up, what is it? You're unusually quiet today," he pressed, returning to the table with two cups, one for each of you.

"Nothing, João. I’m totally fine, okay," you answered, your irritation seeping into your words over such a minor thing. Rising abruptly, you retreated to your bedroom, closing the door with finality behind you, flopping back onto the bed.

A few seconds after retreating to the bedroom, the door creaked open, and João reappeared, confusion etched across his face, mingled with concern. "Y/n? What's wrong? Why did you suddenly get angry? Did I do something to upset you?" His questions tumbled out all at once, a torrent of worry filling the room.

You let out a weary groan into the softness of the pillow, attempting to gather the courage to express the complex emotions swirling within you. The sadness stemming from João forgetting your birthday clashed with the nagging voice telling you it was foolish to be upset over small words. Sensing your inner turmoil, João settled on the edge of the bed, his hand tenderly resting on your leg.

You sat up, feeling the weight of your words pressing against your chest, and finally confessed, "I don't know, João. You’ve seem to forgotten my birthday, and it just makes me feel some type of way." As the words left your lips, João's brain clicked into place, finally remembering the days he had been consumed by, without being able to pinpoint what it was. It was your birthday. The realization washed over him, leaving him feeling foolish and inadequate as a boyfriend.

"I'm so sorry, baby. I've been so caught up in everything that it slipped my mind. Please, let me make it up to you," he pleaded, his arms enveloping you in a tight embrace, allowing you to rest your head on his shoulder. Overwhelmed by his genuine remorse, you pulled away from the hug, your thumb gently caressing his cheek.

"It's okay, João. I forgive you," you reassured him softly. And then, with a warmth in his voice that resonated deeply within you, he whispered

"Happy birthday, meu amor."

[bots-and-cons]

Could you do tfp predaking tfp optimus and tfp megatron meeting an eastern dragon s/o that's been asleep in a lake for thousands of years gaurding an ancient/powerful cybertronion relic? (I just want to see their reactions to meeting an actual dragon, good day.)

I did it so they're meeting the reader for the first time, so it's not romantic. I didn’t do Optimus, because I couldn’t come up with enough stuff. I kinda changed some of the stuff for the Predaking one, but I hope you still like it

~Megatron~

•When Soundwave was decrypting the Iacon files (or whatever they were called) he found a mention of a powerful relic, that was hidden somewhere in the east 

•The coordinates lead Soundwave to somewhere in rural Japan, and Megatron decided to go find it himself

•He was getting bored, since he hadn’t left the Nemesis for a while and he wanted something to do

•So he took the ground bridge near the location of the relic and found himself near a big lake

•Megatron doesn’t exactly enjoy getting wet, so he wasn’t really thrilled about the idea of diving into the lake

•Turns out he didn’t need to though, because the second he touched the water, there was a tremor and he could see something rising to the surface of the water

•Something big came out of the water and of course Megatron aimed his blaster at it, but for some reason he didn’t start firing like he usually would

•The thing that came out of the water lowered itself back to the surface of the water, like it was standing on it

•You sensed something familiar and were stirred from your slumber, when you felt the presence come closer and touch the water

•When you broke the surface of the water, you saw something familiar standing on the shore

•You landed on the surface of the water and looked as the mech standing in front of you

•”And which faction might you be with?” you asked

•Megatron was very surprised that this giant creature in front of him could speak, but he answered your question anyway

•”You’ve come for the relic I assume?”

•”You know of it?” Megatron asked, finally lowering his blaster

•”Yes, of course. It is my job to guard it” you tell him

•Megatron considered his choices for a moment, he could fight you and take the relic by force, or he could hear you out

•Opposed to what he might usually do, he decided to talk to you instead of just punching you, because there was something about you that was making him a bit hesitant about getting in a fight with you

•”I’m here to take the relic back to where it belongs” Megatron said, trying not to escalate the situation, while still sounding very commanding

•”No” you just said, before swiping him with your tail and sending him flying into the woods

•When Megatron marched back to the beach, you had disappeared back into the depths of the lake

•Megatron is not familiar with human folklore or myths, so he has no idea what you were, he just thought you were some sort of animal

•When he described you to Soundwave though, he showed Megatron a few pictures of eastern dragons and the pictures were pretty spot on

•Obviously he’s not going to give up on the relic, he’s not opposed to getting you out of the way by any means necessary, but he also has a feeling you’re not going to be an easy opponent

~Predaking~

•Predaking had left the decepticons to travel and to see the world

•One night he landed in the middle of the woods on a mountain side, because the trees had caught his attention and he felt like something was drawing him there

•He had landed in a grove of beautiful trees with purple flowers, he later learned they were wisteria trees

•He decided to rest there, but soon after he settled down to recharge he saw the air in front of him vibrate and move

•It was like you just materialized in front of him, a big, snake like, dark blue and gray creature

•Predaking got back to his feet and took a few steps back in surprise

•You didn’t seem hostile or malicious, but Predaking was so surprised by your sudden appearance

•”I thought I sensed one of your kind, but you seem different than the ones before you” you said as you stretched a bit

•You didn’t know how long you’d been sleeping, but it had clearly been quite a long time

•You’d sensed a cybertronian closeby so you came out of your little pocket dimension where you’d been sleeping

•Predaking obviously had no idea what you were, the only thing he was sure of was that you weren’t a human

•”What are you?” he asked

•”I have many names but the one you might be most familiar with is “a dragon”” you told him

•Predaking was in awe, your scales were shimmering in the moonlight and you exuded this sort of graceful and majestic air, that he hadn’t really felt before

•Predaking was also a bit confused by what you meant by the “ones before you” comment so he asked you about it

•”You’re not the first cybertronian I’ve met, young one” you said. “Why have you come?”

•”I just happened to stop here”

•You were a bit surprised by his answer, since you thought someone had finally come to get the object that had been left in your care, but since it seemed that was not the case, you decided not to mention it

•You found yourself interested in this odd cybertronian that had found his way to your grove

•You let Predaking rest there, but you kept an eye on him while he recharged, making sure he didn’t accidentally burn down the wisteria grove you called home

[lavineyou]

A Twisted Bond: Trapped in the Depths of Manipulation

Warning: Angst? A/N: Might make more chapters of this if i manage to gain enough motivation to do so... I think y'all can see how i'm that bias towards Miranda LMAOOO okey enjoyyy hopefully? idk

You had been by her side for as long as your memory allowed. From the moment you emerged from a deep slumber, she was the first face you beheld. With her cold blue eyes, long flowing blonde hair, and a pallid complexion, she seemed like an ethereal being.

In those initial moments, she regarded you with a gaze that made you feel like a mere specimen in her grand experiment. And as if to confirm your suspicions, it didn't take long before she revealed that you were indeed a subject of her unsettling antidote injections.

Try as you might, resistance was futile against her overpowering strength. It was a harsh realization that struck you mere minutes after awakening.

As you reflected on those memories, a sigh escaped your lips. A decade had passed since that fateful awakening. Now, you served as her loyal subordinate in the village, functioning as her watchful eyes and attentive ears alongside the crows she strategically positioned throughout the area.

Unlike the lords who handled general tasks and experiments, you were assigned to the most specific and delicate missions she desired. Whether it was eliminating a troublesome villager, uncovering infidelity among the inhabitants, or acting as the messenger between the lords, you executed each task with unwavering obedience.

As you made your way home, a sense of weariness settled upon you. For the past nine years, you had resided in this modest abode. You vividly recalled the day when Miranda, your enigmatic overseer, had expelled you with the declaration, "It's time for you to prove your worth." Unconcerned with her words, you had forged your own path.

Walking through the village streets, you exchanged warm smiles and greetings with the unsuspecting villagers. To them, you were known as the helpful carpenter, a facade carefully crafted by Miranda to ensure your seamless integration into this community of unsuspecting lambs—lambs primed for her twisted experiments.

But beneath that veneer, you were a wolf in sheep's clothing, concealing your true nature.

As you approached your dwelling, the heart of the village, the familiar sound of wings flapping reached your ears. With a resigned sigh, you instinctively glanced upward, spotting a perched bird on your head. Taking hold of it, you entered your home, preparing for yet another encounter with Miranda.

Upon turning around, your eyes met the sight of the blonde woman who had haunted your thoughts. Standing before the wall adorned with pictures you had carefully arranged as decorations, she appeared lost in contemplation.

"I hadn't expected your return," you uttered softly, your confusion mounting. After all, she only resurfaced when she required something from you.

Minutes passed in silence before she finally spoke, her voice laced with a hint of annoyance. "I thought I had made my arrival quite clear," she replied, her brows furrowing as she tilted her head. Perplexed, you furrowed your own brows, struggling to comprehend her cryptic words. "Of course, you wouldn't have noticed. You were too busy mingling with that village girl instead of fulfilling the duties I had assigned you," she declared stoically, causing an uneasy gulp to rise in your throat as you lowered your head.

Anger simmered within her, and you knew it well. It was the wrath that consumed her when her desires went unfulfilled. Gathering your courage, you reasoned, "Mother, I have diligently accomplished everything on my list for today." You nodded, hoping to convey your commitment, but she hummed skeptically, still refusing to meet your gaze.

Her attention turned to a portrait of you and Elena, her eyes fixated upon it. "You're growing soft, Charlatan," she hissed, her words like venom. Bewildered, you raised your head, furrowing your eyebrows in protest. "I haven't..." you began, but she abruptly shifted her focus, her face devoid of its usual mask.

A scowl etched across her features, her eyes piercing into your soul like a thousand daggers. With an explosive motion, she hurled the portrait against the wall, shattering the glass and splintering the frame. "She's corrupting you, my dear lup," she spat venomously, referring to Elena.

Drawing closer, she seized your cheeks in an iron grip, her fingers digging into your flesh. Holding your waist, she pressed her lips against yours with a mixture of urgency and aggression—an expression of her seething anger. As you reciprocated the kiss, her hand slid from your cheeks to the back of your head, deepening the connection.

When she finally released your lips, your faces remained in close proximity. Opening your eyes, you beheld her, her eyes shut and her mouth slightly parted. With a heavy sigh, you rested your head against her shoulder.

This had become the routine in your life for years on end—an existence where you served as her plaything, a tool to further her control over the village, and a source of pleasure. Strangely, you found solace in this twisted dynamic, as if it were the only reality you deserved.

In your eyes, she was perfection incarnate. And despite yearning to build a life with her, to bring back her daughter and create a genuine family, you were painfully aware that such dreams were forbidden.

Because, in the end, you were nothing more than an experiment—a used tool, a discarded plaything.

[mononijikayu]

love wins all ━ geto suguru.

A fleeting sadness crossed Suguru's eyes, a silent acknowledgment of the divide that now existed between them. The weight of the priestly robes seemed to intensify, as if the fabric itself bore witness to the complexities of their shared history. Whispers of the impossibilities that had consistently echoed in his mind for years when it came to them, to the life they could have had. The life they could have deserved. He was certain that their words shattered him, his mind full of chances and roads not taken.

note: this is the story 'to build a home' from suguru's perspective!!! i wanted to get it out much early for his birthday but i was hungover from uni night!!! anyway, enjoy this little gift!!! happy birthday, my beloved suguru!!!

Genre: No Curses AU, Priest Suguru AU, Fleabag AU;

Warning/s: Angst, Hurt/Comfort, First Love, Grief, First Heartbreak, Break Up, Emotional Scars, Forbidden Love, Star Crossed Lovers, Closure to Healing;

masterlist

play: love wins all by iu

WHEN HE WOKE UP THAT MORNING, GETO SUGURU WONDERED WHAT WOULD COME. As the first light of day filtered through the window, its gentle glow fell upon his squinting eyes, coaxing him reluctantly into wakefulness. Despite the beckoning of dawn, he found himself unwilling to rise from the comfort of his bed. A petulant expression settled upon his face, a silent protest against the intrusion of consciousness into the sanctuary of sleep. Memories, long buried or so he thought, resurfaced in his mind, clouding his thoughts like a thick mist refusing to dissipate.

Each detail of the dream remained vivid, etched into his consciousness as he lay beneath the guileless gaze of the ceiling. With an almost desperate longing, his hand reached towards the blank expanse above him, as if attempting to project the fleeting images onto its unimaginative surface. Dreams of them, recurring like a haunting melody, stirred his heart with a warmth that contrasted sharply with the chill of reality. He welcomed their ghostly presence, for in those ephemeral moments, they were all he had, all he desired.

In the relentless march of time, Geto Suguru found himself ensnared by a persistent yearning, an ache that defied the finality of separation. Despite the temporal chasm that had grown between them, the specter of a love once vibrant and all-encompassing lingered in the recesses of his being. It was a love that had etched its indelible mark deep within his soul, an intricate tapestry woven with threads of shared moments and intertwined destinies.

The memory of tender hands, the warmth of fingers interlocked with his own, resonated within him like an echo of a bygone melody. The captivating hue of mischievous eyes, pools of depth and mystery, still held him captive in the realm of nostalgia. Those lips, once orchestrators of joy that painted color onto the canvas of his world, now lived on in the corridors of his mind, their ghostly kisses a bittersweet reminder of what once was.

This longing, profound and relentless, manifested as a bittersweet symphony within his consciousness. Each note played with the delicate precision of cherished recollections, harmonizing the echoes of laughter, the soft caress of shared glances, and the sweet cadence of whispered confessions. The symphony was at once an ode to the beauty of their connection and a requiem for the irretrievable moments that slipped through the hourglass of time.

In the tapestry of his dreams, their shared moments became vivid landscapes, painted with the hues of emotions that transcended the boundaries of reality. These dreams, so palpable and alive, became sanctuaries where the boundaries between the corporeal and the ethereal blurred. In the realm of slumber, he could almost reach out and touch the contours of a love that once enveloped him, a love that refused to be relegated to the annals of the past.

These dreams, though ephemeral, became pillars of solace in the stark absence of their physical presence. They were a fragile bridge between the realms of memory and waking life, offering respite from the harsh reality that they were no longer intertwined in the dance of existence. Each night, as his consciousness surrendered to the realm of dreams, he willingly embraced the illusion, allowing it to weave its enchantment around his senses.

As he traversed the waking world, the yearning persisted, an ever-present companion whispering in the recesses of his mind. It was a testament to the enduring power of a love that, even in its absence, refused to be extinguished. And so, Geto Suguru found himself caught between the echoes of a cherished past and the uncharted territories of a future that beckoned with both uncertainty and promise.

With a heavy sigh, he reluctantly relinquished his grip on the dreams that bound him to the past. The bed, once a sanctuary, now felt unyielding beneath his weight, its surface as unforgiving as his thoughts. Yet, still he lingered, clinging to the remnants of a love that refused to fade. Slowly, he rose from his prone position, strands of raven hair swaying with his movements, a silent testament to the weight of his burden.

Geto Suguru stood in front of the mirror, his reflection a stark reminder of the responsibilities he bore. The smooth fabric of his robes felt heavy against his skin, a tangible weight that matched the burden of his obligations. As he straightened his collar, his thoughts drifted to her—the one he loved, the one he could never have.

He remembered their stolen moments together, fleeting and forbidden. The warmth of her touch lingered in his memory, a bittersweet reminder of what could never be. He had made his choice long ago, committing himself to a life of service and sacrifice. But with each passing day, the ache in his heart only grew deeper, gnawing at his resolve.

The tolling of the church bell echoed once more, pulling him back to the present moment. With a resigned sigh, Suguru steeled himself for another day cloaked in duty and devotion. As he made his way towards the sanctuary, he whispered a silent prayer, seeking solace in the divine presence he longed to feel.

But deep down, he knew that his true salvation lay elsewhere—in the tender embrace of the one he loved, a love that could never be spoken aloud, a love condemned by the very vows he had sworn to uphold.

Yet still, he carried on, a solitary figure in a world colored by shades of longing and regret. For Geto Suguru, this was the price of loving someone—a price he paid willingly, even as it weighed heavily upon his soul. And so, with each step forward, he embraced his fate, walking the narrow path laid out before him, guided by the flickering light of a love that could never be extinguished.

Suguru knew that he sins against God often.

But God also knew the truth of all his vows.

God knew he would never abandon him now.

For he made sure that love, even now, wins all.

IT WAS JUST LIKE YESTERDAY WHEN HE WAS TOLD THAT THE CAR CRASH HAPPENED TO HIS LOVER. Everything about that day had played into his mind as though it was from the pictures. They reeled in a loop over and over ever so raw, burning his head into grief. Geto Suguru felt like the air was sucked from his lungs, leaving him gasping for breath. The sunflowers he had saved up to buy wrestling against his tight touch. He ran like a madman, he really did. Suguru couldn’t even care about the cars rushing here and there in the narrow streets, nearly killing him from the force. He knew he had to get to his lover. 

When he took his first steps into the hospital halls, petals of the sunflower clustered into a mess. Almost as though the sun itself has been torn apart. A distressed look passed his face, chest tightening as he huffed for air. Nothing was making him feel relieved. He was shattered at the sight of his lover, eyes closed, full of bruises and cuts. His lover lay motionless, almost as though there was no life in them. Everything was in a haze. He drops the sunflowers as he tries to get closer. Tears streamed down his face like a sudden downpour, blurring his vision and leaving him stumbling blindly.

His legs gave way beneath him, buckling as if the ground itself had turned to quicksand. He collapsed to the floor with a heavy thud, the sound echoing in the sterile hospital room. His lover’s mother looked at him, clearly as distraught as him. Her hand wrapped against his back, telling him to be strong, that it would be alright. Tears clouded his vision, obscuring the sight of crisp white coats and polished floors that overwhelmed him. It was the worst news of Suguru’s life, a blow that left me reeling and broken.

He does not remember how he managed to stand, to even fathom to gather himself from the wreckage of my despair. He was told that there was doubt whether or not his beloved would ever wake. Those words echoed in his head. He could not fathom it. His beloved was fine when they bid each other good night, wrapped in those fits of laughter in between of those greedy kisses. Suguru shook as he wiped the tears from his face. 

It was pathetic. He couldn’t do anything. He couldn’t even do anything to prevent this from happening. He could feel the weight of guilt in all the world. If he had not left the night before, if he had not let himself go out early by himself to pick up those damn sunflowers. His hands curl into a fist. Suguru squeezes and squeezes until his knuckles turn white.

With trembling steps, the dragon eyed young man curtailed to her bedside. There they were, my love, laying on the bed as though they were mere corpses rather than one with the living. The sight of them filled Suguru with a bittersweet ache. The memories composed of happier times spent together fractured at the sight of his worst nightmare come to pass. He could not help but bring his hand on top of their own, his weary hand resting on his lover’s colder one. 

Tears threatened to spill once more, but he gathered all his strength and fought to hold them back. The memories in his head were no comfort to him. His grief shadowing the happier ghost, all of it fading into the recesses of time like wisps of smoke. Suguru wished that his joy was not ruined, shattered by the thought of bitter goodbye. He longed to hold onto them, to freeze time and relive those precious moments again and again. To make more and more memories once more. To live together, to love each other till they were old and gray. 

He traced the lines of their face with trembling fingers, committing every curve and contour to memory. The bruises and cuts stood out starkly against their pale skin, a cruel testament to the violence of the accident that had torn them from him. Suguru's heart clenched with each shallow breath they took, a painful reminder of their struggle for life.

His mind raced with a torrent of emotions—guilt, regret, despair. If only he had been there, if only he had never left their side. The weight of his choices bore down on him like a heavy burden, threatening to crush him under its unforgiving weight. He squeezed their hand tighter, as if trying to anchor himself to the present moment, to this fragile connection that bound them together.

But amidst the despair, a flicker of hope remained. Hope that they would wake, that they would open their eyes and smile at him once more. Suguru clung to that hope with all his might, refusing to let go even as the darkness threatened to consume him.

Time seemed to stand still as he sat by their bedside, lost in his thoughts and prayers. The steady rhythm of their heartbeat was a comfort to him, a reassurance that they were still fighting, still holding on. And so, with a silent vow, Geto Suguru resolved to stay by their side, to weather this storm together, no matter what the future held.

For in that moment, as he gazed upon the face of his beloved, he knew that love was stronger than any tragedy, stronger even than death itself. And though the road ahead was fraught with uncertainty and pain, he would walk it with unwavering determination, fueled by the boundless power of his love.

He wishes he could give them his life.

He wishes that they wouldn’t suffer anymore.

Geto Suguru wished that fate would be kind.

He wishes that fate would let love win it all.

THE RAIN HAD KEPT POURING THROUGH THE WEEKS THAT PASSED. Misery has become him, one with the sky with the tears he had shed till his eyes were red. Until his there were no tears left to shed, until everything had become swollen with grief. As Geto Suguru stood in front of the towering wooden doors of the church, a sense of solemnity washed over him, mingling with the tears shed by the heavens. The rain fell in a steady rhythm, its soft patter echoing the turmoil in his heart. He took a deep breath, the weight of his emotions pressing down on him like a heavy burden.

As the rain continued to fall, mingling with his tears, Suguru closed his eyes and offered up a silent prayer to the heavens. He prayed for strength, for courage, for the wisdom to navigate the tumultuous waters of his heart.

The wide wooden doors of the church creaked open as Geto Suguru stepped inside, the dim light filtering through stained glass casting colorful patterns on the ancient stone walls. The scent of incense hung heavy in the air, wrapping around him like a comforting embrace as he made his way down the aisle, his footsteps echoing in the cavernous space.

The ancient stones of the church embraced him as he stepped inside, the hallowed air wrapping around him like a familiar cloak. The scent of polished wood and aged hymnals filled his senses, a poignant reminder of the solace he once sought within these walls. The flickering candles on the altar cast dancing shadows, and the dim light played on the arches and stained glass windows, creating an ethereal atmosphere.

Suguru's heart echoed with wants and desires in the silent chamber. The teachings ingrained in him from childhood whispered in the recesses of his mind, urging him to find refuge in prayer and divine guidance. The echoes of hymns sung by generations before him seemed to linger in the air, inviting him to return to the fold of tradition and the comfort of familiar rituals.

Yet, as he stood before the altar, the image of his beloved flashed in his mind—their laughter, their touch, the profound connection that transcended the boundaries of his faith. The pull of his love was relentless, an undeniable force that demanded his allegiance, even if it meant deviating from the path he had been raised to follow.

Suguru felt the weight of his decision settling on his shoulders, a burden he willingly bore for the sake of love. His humanity, with all its complexities and emotions, now took precedence over the structured teachings of the church. The internal conflict simmered within him, a storm raging in the sanctuary of his soul.

He closed his eyes, seeking a moment of inner peace amidst the turmoil. The hushed whispers of his prayers mingled with the quiet echoes of the sacred space. In that moment of vulnerability, he admitted to himself that, while a part of him longed for divine reassurance, the deeper recesses of his heart yearned for relief.

As Suguru opened his eyes, a sense of resolve hardened in his gaze. The silent sanctuary bore witness to his decision. He would navigate the uncharted waters of his heart, where the currents of love clashed with the tides of tradition. Whatever trials lay ahead, he would face them with the strength drawn from his love, embracing the complexities of his humanity with an unwavering spirit. And so, within the sacred walls that had once been a refuge, Suguru embarked on a journey that would test the boundaries of faith, love, and the intricate dance between the two.

With each step, his heart beat louder in his chest, a frantic rhythm matching the desperation in his soul. He approached the altar, where candles flickered and cast dancing shadows across the marble floor. Dropping to his knees before the crucifix, Suguru clasped his hands together in prayer, his voice trembling with emotion.

And as he opened his eyes once more, a sense of determination settled over him like a cloak. For he knew that his love was worth fighting for, worth sacrificing everything for. And no matter the obstacles that stood in his way, he would persevere, driven by the unwavering power of his love. Even at the cost of his suffering, he would do it all. As long as there is mercy on his grievous soul. As long as his beloved lived.

"God, please," he whispered, his voice raw with anguish. "I beg of you, spare their life. I would do anything, anything at all, to see them open their eyes again, to feel their touch, to hear their voice."

Tears streamed down his face unchecked as he poured out his heart to the heavens, his words a desperate plea for mercy. He recounted every moment they had shared, every laugh, every touch, every whispered word of love. He promised to devote his life to serving others, to spreading kindness and compassion in their name, if only they would be granted another chance at life.

"Take me instead," he pleaded, his voice breaking with emotion. "Let me bear their suffering, their pain. Just please, don't take them from me. I cannot bear to live in a world without them."

His anguished cries echoed off the stone walls, only to be swallowed by the oppressive stillness that surrounded him. The weight of his despair pressed down on him like a physical force, threatening to crush him under its unbearable burden.

The ancient tapestries that adorned the walls seemed to hang motionless, their once-vibrant colors muted by the somber atmosphere of the sacred space. The flickering candles on the altar cast dancing shadows that danced across the floor, but even their gentle movements failed to break the oppressive silence that enveloped Suguru like a shroud.

He bowed his head in resignation, his heart heavy with grief as he awaited any sign, any glimmer of hope in the suffocating darkness. His breath came in shallow gasps, the sound barely audible in the quietude of the church.

In the absence of any response, Suguru's mind raced with doubt and fear. Was he truly alone in his suffering? Had his prayers fallen on deaf ears, unheard and unanswered by the divine presence he had once believed in so fervently?

Desperation clawed at his chest as he searched for some semblance of comfort, some sign that he was not abandoned in his hour of need. But the silence remained unbroken, stretching on endlessly like a vast expanse of emptiness.

And yet, amidst the despair that threatened to consume him, Suguru clung to a fragile thread of hope. He refused to surrender to the darkness that threatened to engulf him, determined to find solace in the faint whisper of his own breath and the gentle rustle of the church's ancient tapestries.

For in the depths of his despair, he knew that even the smallest glimmer of hope could illuminate the darkest corners of his soul, guiding him through the shadows and leading him towards the light. And so, with a heavy heart and a steadfast resolve, Suguru bowed his head and continued to wait, praying for the strength to endure and the courage to persevere in the face of adversity.

Grief clung so desperately for hours and hours.

When he left, he was told of the good news.

Yet, when he came back to the church, he knew.

All good things, even love, come with a price.

SUGURU HAD NEVER CRIED SO MUCH IN HIS LIFE. But he was sure his beloved cried even more than him.The room exuded an aura of scarred intimacy, illuminated by the gentle flicker of candlelight that danced across the walls, painting them in hues of warm amber and soft gold. The soft glow cast a serene ambiance, enveloping the space in a cocoon of tranquility, yet beneath its soothing facade lay an undercurrent of tension that crackled in the air like static electricity. 

The silence hung in the air like a heavy fog, thick and suffocating, wrapping around Geto Suguru and his beloved like a vice. It was not the comforting silence of a peaceful night, but rather a haunting void that seemed to echo with the weight of unspoken words and suppressed emotions. Everything about this moment felt like a ripple of harsh waves crashing against the two of them over and over again. Yet they knew they couldn't do much about it. 

Each passing moment only served to amplify the eerie stillness that permeated the room, casting a pall of unease over the space. It felt as though time itself had frozen, leaving Suguru and his beloved suspended in a limbo of uncertainty and apprehension. 

The bitter taste of silence lingered on Suguru's tongue, a bitter reminder of the words left unsaid and the emotions left unexpressed. It was a silence that felt cruel in its relentless grip, refusing to yield even as the tension between them threatened to suffocate them both.

As they sat in the suffocating stillness, Suguru's heart ached with the weight of the unspoken, the words trapped within him like caged birds desperate to be set free. But the silence held them captive, binding them in its icy embrace and leaving them to grapple with the bitter reality of their unvoiced fears and unacknowledged desires.

In the midst of this oppressive silence, Suguru and his beloved found themselves adrift in a sea of uncertainty, their hearts heavy with the burden of what could have been, what should have been, but was not. And as they struggled to navigate the treacherous waters of their shared silence, they could only cling to each other, seeking solace in the warmth of their intertwined hands amidst the bitter chill of the eerie stillness that enveloped them.

Geto Suguru sat across from his beloved, their hands intertwined in a tight embrace, fingers laced together in a silent resignation. The flickering shadows cast by the candles danced across the room, their movements reflecting the depth of the turmoil that churned within Suguru's heart. The atmosphere was heavy with anticipation, each breath laden with unspoken words and unvoiced fears. The palpable sense of unease hung thick in the air, wrapping around them like a heavy shroud, casting a shadow over the room despite the warmth of the candlelight.

Suguru's gaze never wavered from his beloved's face, his eyes searching theirs for any sign of understanding, any flicker of acceptance. But beneath the surface, he could sense the tumult of emotions that roiled within them, a storm of uncertainty and apprehension that mirrored his own inner turmoil. His beloved’s eyes were red from crying, swollen with grief as they made sense of the words uttered. What does it all mean, they wanted to ask. What does parting mean?

The air between them crackled with tension, a silent barrier that seemed to grow thicker with each passing moment. Suguru felt the weight of their shared silence pressing down on him, a suffocating presence that threatened to choke the words from his throat. And yet, despite the heaviness that hung between them, Suguru clung to the fragile thread of hope that lingered in the air. Hope that there would still be love, that there would be understanding. Even if he has to leave, leave the person he loved dearest, that love still wins. 

In the soft glow of the candlelight, amidst the flickering shadows and the palpable tension that filled the room, Suguru and his beloved sat together in a silent embrace, their hands clasped tightly as they braced themselves to make sense of the world that now was birthed with his words. Suguru took a deep breath, steeling himself for the conversation he knew would change everything. His heart raced in his chest as he met his lover's gaze, the warmth of their eyes like a balm to his troubled soul.

"I know this is hard to accept." Suguru began, his voice steady despite the turmoil raging within him. "But I have to. I have to leave. I need to.”

His lover's eyes widened in shock, their grip on his hand tightening almost imperceptibly. "But why?" they whispered, brows furrowing into sorrow. "Why now? What about us?"

Suguru's heart ached at the pain in their voice, the anguish written plainly on their face. "I love you," he repeated, his voice trembling with emotion. "More than anything in this world. But I….”

"But you love God," his lover countered, their words heavy with resignation. "More than you love me."

Tears welled in Suguru's eyes as he shook his head, his heart breaking at the accusation in their words. "No," he whispered hoarsely. "That's not true. I love you with every fiber of my being. But this is something I need to do. I need to. Not because I…..”

His lover's shoulders slumped in defeat, tears glistening in their eyes as they looked away. Suguru reached out, gently cupping their face in his hands, willing them to understand.

"I'm sorry," he murmured, his voice filled with regret. "I'm sorry for the pain this will cause you. But please know that my love for you will never waver. It will always be a part of me, no matter where life takes me."

He leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to the top of their head, his lips lingering against their hair. "I love you," he whispered, his voice barely above a breath. "I love you more than words can express."

And in that moment, as they sat together in the dimly lit room, surrounded by flickering candlelight and the weight of unspoken words, Suguru held his lover close, praying silently that they would find solace in the depth of his love, even as he embarked on a journey that would take him away from them.

When the morning came, he was already gone.

By the afternoon, he looked at the altar once more.

By night, he surrendered to the heavy priestly robes.

Love wins all, even the dawn of all the heartbreak.

WHEN HE SAW THEM AGAIN, HE KNEW HE WOULD BE BREAKING HIS HEART OVER AND OVER AGAIN. But as Father Suguru Geto looked into his lover – how they lived and how they have aged so beautifully, he couldn't help but feel no regret at breaking his heart once again. They still look the same, so wondrous. It was as though they were the beckoning stars watching over them. His heart pounded against his chest, bursting with yearning and grief, over a life already lost. His love for his beloved continued to persist, to win it all – at the expense of his beloved standing before him, living a life beyond him. 

“Long time no see," Suguru whispered, the words escaping his lips in a hushed tone, laden with a mixture of nostalgia and restraint. The blink that followed seemed to bridge the gap between the past and the present, a futile attempt to clear away the emotional fog that hung between them.

“It’s been a while since I’ve seen you too.”

"Sugu—No, uh, Father. Father Geto," they stammered, the words catching in their throat as they struggled to reconcile the familiarity of the old name with the newfound title of reverence. The transition from the intimate to the formal underscored the undeniable transformation Suguru had undergone.

A fleeting sadness crossed Suguru's eyes, a silent acknowledgment of the divide that now existed between them. The weight of the priestly robes seemed to intensify, as if the fabric itself bore witness to the complexities of their shared history.  Whispers of the impossibilities that had consistently echoed in his mind for years when it came to them, to the life they could have had. The life they could have deserved. He was certain that their words shattered him, his mind full of chances and roads not taken. 

"Indeed, it has been a long time," Suguru replied, his voice carrying the weight of unspoken truths. The use of the formal title added a layer of formality to their exchange, a thin veil attempting to conceal the depth of the emotions lingering beneath the surface.

A heavy silence settled between them, and the flickering street lamp seemed to cast a spotlight on the unresolved tension in the air. Their gaze lingered on Suguru's face, searching for traces of the person they once knew within the contours of the priest before them. Father Geto, his expression a mask of duty and restraint, nodded in acknowledgment. 

"Yes, it has," he replied, his voice a measured cadence that echoed through the quiet night.

They bit hard at their lower lip, a nervous habit that betrayed the turbulence within. The words unsaid, the questions unasked, hung in the air like a delicate thread waiting to unravel. The night embraced the weight of their emotions, and the street lamp continued to flicker, casting its dim glow further upon the scene—a reunion tainted by the passage of time and the choices that led them down divergent paths.

Their eyes shimmered with unshed tears as Suguru let the passage of time settle in the air. The chasm between them widened, and in that moment of silence, it seemed to stretch into eternity—a vast expanse of unspoken emotions and missed opportunities.

"Suguru," They whispered, unable to mask the vulnerability in their voice. The name hung between them, a bridge attempting to span the gap created by titles and time.

Suguru's gaze flickered with a mixture of pain and understanding. Yet in between, so much love. So much devotion – sealed away for what remained of all his life. Reserved for a lifetime where his yearning to duty, to god, did not win.

"Please," he began, the weight of his own emotions evident in the quiver of his voice, "Call me Father Geto. It's the only way we can navigate this... this impossibility."

The words hung heavy in the air, a poignant acknowledgment of the constraints that bound them. They merely nodded, a small, pained acceptance of the reality that lay before them. He could see their despair in their orbs. He could feel himself wishing he could rush to them, to wrap his arms around them once again. To comfort them. To give them the warmth of the world, to keep them safe—beside him. Yet he knew more than anyone that this was better. This distance was better. 

"Father Geto," They uttered, the words tasting foreign on their tongue.

A sigh, heavy with the burden of unspoken regrets and heartfelt apologies, escaped Suguru's lips, its fragile tendrils weaving through the quiet air like wisps of smoke seeking release from the confines of his troubled soul. Each breath seemed to carry with it the weight of a thousand moments left unsaid, a silent lament for the words left unspoken and the emotions left unexpressed.

In that fleeting exhale, Suguru released the pent-up tension that had coiled within him like a tightly wound spring, allowing the weight of his regrets to spill forth into the quiet space between them. It was a sound that spoke volumes, a poignant expression of the complex emotions that churned within him—a mixture of remorse, longing, and the profound ache of a heart burdened by the weight of its own unfulfilled desires.

As the sigh dissipated into the stillness of the room, it left behind a palpable sense of vulnerability, a raw honesty that hung in the air like a delicate thread waiting to be acknowledged. Suguru's gaze, haunted by the ghosts of what could have been, met theirs, seeking solace in the silent communion of shared pain and unspoken truths.

In that fragile exhale, Suguru bared his soul, offering a silent apology for the wounds he had inflicted, both intentionally and unintentionally. It was a gesture of humility, a recognition of his own fallibility and the impact of his choices on those he held dear. And though his words remained unspoken, their presence lingered in the air like a whispered prayer, a plea for forgiveness in a universe that seemed indifferent to the intricacies of human hearts.

"I never wanted it to be like this," he confessed, his eyes betraying a sadness that transcended the boundaries of their shared history.

"I know," they replied, aching with the burden of understanding. The streetlamp's flickering light cast a dance of shadows on Suguru's face, emphasizing the lines etched by time and choices.

The heavy silence persisted, a tangible force that hung in the air like a shroud. Their gaze fought to be tender as they remained fixed on Suguru's face, as though trying to find solace in the familiar features that had once provided comfort and warmth.

Father Geto, a master of self-discipline, struggled to maintain the mask of duty and restraint. Yet he no doubt knows that his lover knew him better than that. His eyes tell every story ever so easily. Only his beloved would know how to see the universe in his eyes. Yet he knew that his beloved wouldn’t dare. He knew that they would not want to break even more than they already have. It was the right thing to do. Suguru was certain that he would let the tears flow, to let his eyes reflect the sufferings of his own heart in full view.

"We are bound by different paths now," he said, each word resonating with the finality of their choices.

They took a hesitant step forward, their movements tentative as if navigating the treacherous terrain of an emotional battlefield. Each footfall seemed to echo in the silent space between them, a solemn cadence that resonated with the weight of unspoken words and unresolved emotions.

With each step, they inched closer, their gaze fixed on Suguru's face as if seeking reassurance in the depths of his eyes. It was a gesture fraught with uncertainty, a silent plea for understanding in a moment fraught with tension and apprehension.

As they bridged the distance between them, it was as though they were traversing an invisible barrier that separated their hearts, a boundary erected by the complexities of their shared history and the weight of unspoken truths. The air crackled with anticipation, a palpable sense of unease hanging heavy in the space between them like a shroud.

Their movements were cautious, deliberate, as if treading on fragile ground that threatened to give way beneath their feet. Each step forward carried with it the weight of their shared past, a delicate dance of vulnerability and courage as they navigated the uncharted territory of their emotions.

And yet, despite the uncertainty that hung in the air like a veil, there was a palpable sense of determination in their movements, a silent resolve to confront the barriers that stood between them and the possibility of reconciliation. With each hesitant step, they drew closer to Suguru, their hearts yearning for the connection they had lost but never forgotten.

"Do you ever regret it?" they asked, their voice a mere whisper in the quiet night.

Suguru's eyes, haunted by the ghosts of what could have been, met theirs in a poignant exchange that spoke volumes without the need for words. In the depths of his gaze, they glimpsed the echoes of their shared past, a tapestry woven with the threads of laughter and tears, joy and sorrow.

There was a vulnerability in Suguru's eyes, a rawness that betrayed the weight of his unspoken regrets and the ache of missed opportunities. In that moment of silent communion, they felt the weight of their shared history pressing down upon them, a burden too heavy to bear yet impossible to ignore.

And yet, beneath the veil of sadness that shrouded Suguru's gaze, there lingered a flicker of hope—a glimmer of possibility that danced on the edges of their shared sorrow. It was a fleeting moment, a fragile ember amidst the ashes of their broken dreams, but it was enough to kindle a spark of longing within their hearts.

As they stood locked in a silent exchange, each searching the other for traces of the love they had lost, they found themselves teetering on the precipice of a decision that would shape the course of their shared future. In the depths of Suguru's haunted eyes, they saw a reflection of their own yearning, a silent plea for a second chance at the love that had eluded them.

And in that moment, as the weight of their unspoken desires hung heavy in the air, they knew that they stood at a crossroads—a fleeting moment suspended in time where the possibility of reconciliation hung in the balance, waiting to be seized or lost forever.

"I would be lying if I said I didn’t," he admitted, the confession heavy with the weight of his own longing.

Tears welled up in their eyes, and they fought to keep their composure. They struggled against the truth of their feelings yet soon enough, they spilled the truth as easily as one would notice a river flowed into the stream. His beloved looked down, almost besotted with the nostalgia of a love still overflowing. They would never escape the thought of loving one another. Not in this lifetime and nor the next. Their love for one another would win all, even this distance wrought with sacrifice and tears. 

"I thought time would make it easier," they confessed, a raw vulnerability laid bare beneath the dim glow of the streetlamp.

Suguru offered them a weary smile, a flicker of shared pain passing between them like a silent lament for what once was. The weight of their unspoken emotions hung heavy in the air, a palpable reminder of the wounds that time had failed to fully heal.

"Time has a way of revealing wounds we thought were healed," he said, his voice carrying the weight of hard-earned wisdom as he gazed into their eyes, searching for traces of the love they had lost. The truth echoed through the hallowed space between them, resonating with the bittersweet melody of their shared history.

The night embraced them, its silent embrace a testament to the intricacies of their intertwined destinies. Beneath the flickering street lamp, they stood as silent witnesses to the fragile beauty of a love both tender and tormented, its echoes reverberating through the quiet air like a haunting melody.

"I miss you," they whispered, the words a whispered confession that hung in the cool night air like a delicate promise, laden with the weight of untold stories and the lingering ache of unresolved emotions.

Suguru, offering a tender smile that belied the depths of his own sorrow, whispered back, "It'll pass," his voice a gentle reassurance in the face of their shared pain.

"I know," they replied, their voice carrying the wisdom of a soul that had weathered the storms of love and loss, accepting the transient beauty of their shared pain with a quiet resignation that spoke volumes of their resilience and strength.

As if prompted by an unseen force, they both turned, their hearts guiding them toward separate destinies. They who are still tethered to the past, lingered in the shadows of what could have been, as if waiting for a final resolution that might never come. Suguru, facing the far reach of the church's dome like a silent sentinel, took a moment to compose himself, tears betraying the stoic facade he wore as a priest.

"I love you too," Suguru confessed, the words a whispered goodbye, a final benediction offered to a love that had been both a sanctuary and a storm.

And then, with a heavy silence enveloping them like a shroud, they finally parted ways. Each step echoed the closing of a chapter, a poignant farewell etched into the fabric of their souls—a bittersweet symphony played beneath the dim glow of a street lamp, where love and destiny converged and diverged in the grand tapestry of life.

As if propelled by some unseen force, a cosmic hand guiding their movements, they both turned away from each other, their hearts pulling them in opposite directions, toward separate destinies. Yet, they remained tethered to the past by the fragile threads of memories and regrets, lingering in the shadows of what could have been, their souls yearning for closure that might forever elude them.

Suguru, standing before the grandeur of the church's dome like a silent sentinel, faced the far-reaching expanse with a heavy heart. His demeanor, usually composed and stoic, betrayed the turmoil within as tears welled in his eyes, threatening to shatter the carefully crafted facade he wore as a priest.

"I love you too," Suguru confessed softly, his voice barely audible above the hushed whisper of the night, the words a whispered goodbye that hung in the air like a solemn vow, a final benediction offered to a love that had been both a sanctuary and a storm.

With a heavy silence enveloping them like a suffocating shroud, they finally parted ways. Each step they took echoed the closing of a chapter, a poignant farewell etched into the fabric of their souls—a bittersweet symphony played beneath the dim glow of a street lamp, where love and destiny converged and diverged in the intricate tapestry of life's ever-unfolding narrative.

They will be fine.

They will live together.

They will continue to love.

Love will forever win all.

[mochaintherain]

Pleonexia

Summary: Cemented as a false God, the title of "The Creator" warranted a certain Fatui Harbinger to impose his greed upon you.

Word Count: 1.3k

CW: SAGAU, implied violence, implied cultish themes, the fatui comes as it's own warning, slight jealousy?

A/N: formatted on mobile </3 A little drabble I had lying around (*´▽｀*) I really like SAGAU but only a specific flavor of it RAUGHH I also have so,,, many ideas for other fics. Yippee for summer!!! (delusional)

Zapolyarny Palace was destitute of warmth.

The room the Tsaritsa had generously provided on account of your descending far outgrew your meager body; the walls stretched too far, any insulation it may have mustered in the heart of a blizzard out your reach, and the chandeliers hung from the ceiling too high to provide any ample light, encompassing you in darkness. The only reprieve within your residence laid a stately hearth. The fire roared, breaking the monotonous cold hues of the bedroom. Its heat blanketed your face in a sweet caress. Soft whispers of crackled wood lulled you to slumber.

Temptation gnawed at your being. You wanted to rest.

But something you quickly learned about the palace was its capacity for people.

For Fatui.

And they wanted anything but your comfort.

The Regrator hummed, cold fingers trailing the bare of your neck, reveling in your shudders as he clicked the gold necklace onto your figure. Illustrious gemstones and the smoothest links of gold culminated to create art - now adorned by you. It could have been beautiful, had it not been tainted by avarice. Had it not been tainted by his prayer.

"Your Grace, do you like it?"

That moniker stirred ill within the depths of your stomach. When would be the day they realized they deluded themselves into a lie? When would be the day they killed you for being something you never claimed you were?

As intriguing as the Fatui were on one side of the screen, they were sinister zealots on the other. They despised the Gods so much their hatred festered piousness--and they paraded you like a doll around the estate, an object to collect worship and donate it to rising influence. You were another gnosis, another piece to their revolution.

The match to inevitably burn away the Old World.

"Your Grace," the Regrator repeated, the edge on each syllable chiding, "is this not up to your tastes? ...Not refined enough?"

Your head snapped up to meet his gaze. No semblance of warmth pierced his icy veil. For all the devoutness the Harbingers touted, their theatrics fell short. Ugly, false fidelity bled through their altruistic ministrations.

How you wished to curl up next to the fireplace instead of having to cling onto your robes.

"No...no, it's, ah, beautiful. Thank you," you mumbled, forcing a smile onto your face.

"Of course. Someone of your status—" he grit that phrase out from his throat, you swore it—"deserves only to be lavished in the finest treasures Teyvat has to offer! Wouldn't you agree?"

When they killed you, would he scatter his riches upon your corpse? Or maybe Pantalone would bury you with all the accessories he gifted you--

Perhaps they’d continue the facade, setting your still heart upon the altar dedicated to the Creator. The name you unwittingly stole from its rightful place.

He took your long, drawn, silence as acquiscence. "It's quite alright if you're shy. I fully understand, as your acolyte, but really, you must be more open about you and your capabilities--humbleness goes hand in hand with honesty, after all! Surely that's nothing to hide, hm?"

His hands found their way to your own, and he traced the shape of a diamond on your palm.

"What did you call them again? What was it...oh, primogems?" From your visage, the corners of his lips curled. "Your Grace, won't you show me your divinity? For all my offerings, a glimpse wouldn't hurt."

It's only fair.

"I'm...truly grateful for everything the Fatui, and especially you, have provided," you started slowly, eyes falling to his rings, unable to harbor the weight of his scrutiny any longer, "but...I'm sorry. I can't just use them whenever I wish—" the words died on your tongue as his grip tightened, leaving behind desiccated sputters.

"And why is that?"

"I'm—I'm sorry—"

"Am I not worthy?" Pantalone laughed a little, devoid of joy, "have I not given you enough, Your Grace? What more can I give? I've already built myself up from nothing, despite the Gods' negligence—must I give that up too, to bask in Your warmth?"

You winced, trying to pull away. Yet he held firm, as if it wasn't wrists he was holding, but the bags of mora he hoarded.

"That's not—"

"I really am not asking for much, Your Grace. You've shown the Balladeer—even the Doctor—your powers. So why not me? Dottore and I are close partners, and if you trust him, I can assure you, you can have complete and utter faith in me, just as I do you."

"I...Okay. But only one summon," you conceded, the crystalline shards manifesting into your hands.

As if he hadn't been intimidating you moments prior, Pantalone stared in awe, clasping his hands together and humming.

"Oh! You're too kind, Your Grace!"

"Please, just call me by my name," you whispered, before cupping the primos together into an Intertwined Fate.

"How beautiful," he gasped, "may I?"

Reluctantly, you handed it to him. The size of his figure dwarfed the small orb, brimming with power. A pink and blue glow breathed life into his otherwise dull fur coat.

"How do you use…this?” Pantalone’s brows furrowed together, raising it up to the light as if to get a better view. “It’s quite…tiny.”

"Well, I'm not sure how it fully works in Teyvat—but you wish for something and hope to get it."

"Hm? So you leave it up to chance?"

"Yes, in a way..."

"How pitiful," he whispered, before his voice dropped an octave, "you must have more power than that. You’re a God.”

“I’ve already told you all…” you stopped in your tracks, images of corpses scattered across Dottore’s lab. You were almost a test subject, “godhood” shielding you from the vivisection table by a narrow margin. If they learned the truth…

“I…am not a god in my home world,” you stammered, picking words haphazardly from the floor of your mind, “I’m still getting used to Teyvat, so…”

He sighed, squeezing your shoulder. “I see. Well, demonstrate how it works.” The reassuring gesture only spurred your unease.

With a slight nod, you pondered what to wish for.

“…Thrilling Tales,” you declared, the fate sizzling with luminescence before shooting up into the sky.

Pantalone’s mouth fell agape as a bright, blue, light enveloped your hands, swirled together, then dissipated, revealing the weapon. Another wish granted. More primos depleted, with no way to earn them back.

“A book; Is it a catalyst?” He took the tomb from your grasp, skimming its contents. “From what I can tell, not a very good one.” A frown slowly painted over his countenance. “Are you playing games with me, Your Grace?”

“W-whatever do you mean, Pantalone?” Your voice faltered as he took a step towards you. Gripping your face just hard enough for his rings to chafe and dig into your cheeks, he tilted your chin up.

“When you were with Dottore, you summoned a brilliant sword that he remarked, “wasn’t from this world”. And, with me, you summon this…” He pinched the book by its cover, letting the pages sway limply below. “Fairy tale?”

“Well—! The Doctor scared me—I, I am much more comfortable with you.” Though not necessarily a lie, it wasn’t a truth either. Of all the people you’d interacted with so far, mainly the harbingers—only the harbingers, when you thought about it—Pantalone, compared to the Doctor, was much less scary.

Eyes widening, the grip on your face went slack, morphing into a soft caress of your cheek. You shuddered again.

He smiled, returning to that cheery demeanor.

“Well, if that is the case, I’m glad, and honored, Your Grace.”

You nodded, every muscle in your body taut and strangled by your lies.

“Of course.”

.

[shitouttabuck]

Buddie unintentional cuddles can power me through a whole week, so the prompt 3. Person A waking up to Person B curled up and sleeping on top of them really spoke to me <3

hiya thank u frida and @colonoscopys for sendin this one in (and an anon too!!!) very much distracted me from my wisdom tooth woes. i need to add a disclaimer that this is NOT kink it’s just sleepy drunkenness please trust me lol (rated t even!!!! not horny!!!!!!! just unbelievably stupid!!!!)

bed-sharing prompts: person A waking up to person B curled up and sleeping on top of them

put on a slow dumb show for you | 2.2k | read under cut or on ao3

Buck wakes with the same unshiftable heaviness on his chest that he gets mid-panic attack. Except—his body is incredibly confused, because while the physical pressure is bearing down, making breathing a struggle, every other cell in his body is telling him the opposite: no reason to panic, he’s warm and swaddled and safer than he’s ever been.

His brain scrambles to organise this juxtaposition of sensations. The room is dark, and not unfamiliar, even if he’s spent the night in here less than a handful of times. Eddie’s digital alarm clock is blinking at him, and Eddie’s recently mounted décor of three framed photographs on the far wall is facing him, and Eddie’s entire fucking body is draped over Buck’s and crushing the breath out of him.

Oh. Okay. The second half of his cells were right, then—he’s safe. His heart can stop racing now. And it does, a bit.

But his brain keeps reaching for puzzle pieces, laying them out for assessment before him. His mouth tastes like he licked the bottom of a public trash can, and there’s a sharp twinge behind his temple, and he feels more than a little nauseous.

That’ll be the last five tequila shots Ravi pressed into his hands pre-karaoke. Eddie’d just stumbled off stage, arm-in-arm with Karen, fresh off a You’re Still The One duet that had Karen sniffling half-way through and making grabby-hands at an amused but equally-smitten Hen. Buck had only enough time to whoop as Eddie curtsied dramatically before they were calling his name.

Buck’s good at a lot of things, but singing is not one of them. He’d whined and stammered and straight-up crawled under the table before Ravi, sweet, evil Ravi, had ducked down to join him with a tray of shots. After that is—a bit of a blur, to be honest. There was some Carly Rae Jepsen, maybe? He remembers sliding back into their booth next to Eddie and watching the rest of their friends be disgustingly romantic.

That, coupled with the best friend he’s a little unbearably in love with singing the most hopeful love song ever written, is just a recipe for Buck’s heart to get a little messy. And maybe it made him bolder with his affection than usual? Clingier, anyway. He must’ve been pretty needy for Eddie to let him crash in his bed. But Eddie’s always making sure Buck has what he needs, so that isn’t anything new. And Eddie must’ve been pretty wasted too, if this total lack of personal space is any indication.

Buck doesn’t think Eddie’ll mind waking up like this—a perk of having a physically affectionate straight best friend is that he’s mostly oblivious to a classic no homo situation. He breathes deep, weight on top of him grounding instead of suffocating, lets himself tentatively wrap an arm around Eddie to hold him steady as his chest rises with the depth of his inhale, and closes his eyes again.

Except Eddie snuffles and shifts and then jams his knee directly into Buck’s bladder. After the drinks he put away tonight? Buck’s dangerously full bladder.

“Fuck,” he squeaks, desperately trying to shift Eddie to the side. “Oh—fuck.” He clenches—everything, really, because he’s too old to wet the bed and too fond of the life he has to wet Eddie’s bed, as the aftermath of that really only involves fleeing the country.

In the end, fear of that outweighs any qualms he has about waking a peacefully slumbering Eddie, and he all but shoves him off, gasping a breath of relief when Eddie’s weight shifts from his bladder to his thighs.

“Whu—what?” Eddie slurs, scrambling up with a pinched expression. “Buck? What’s wrong?” He sits up clumsily, straddling Buck’s thighs.

“Nothing,” Buck says, voice strained. “Sorry, I’m sorry, just—really need to piss. And…” He gestures uselessly between them, face contorted in apology.

“Oh,” Eddie frowns. “Okay. Cool.”

“Cool,” Buck echoes, feeling hysterical. “Um, I’m gonna…” He tries to tug his legs free from under Eddie and Eddie clambers off obligingly.

Buck swings himself out of bed and hurries down the hall to the bathroom, cursing himself for everything from waking Eddie to ruining what could’ve been the cuddle session of his dreams to going and fucking falling in love with his best friend in the first place.

He lets the door swing shut behind him and absentmindedly lifts the toilet seat, shoving a hand into his boxers and then just about leaping a foot in the air when the door squeaks open again and Eddie shuffles over to stand behind him, resting his chin on Buck’s shoulder.

“Um,” Buck says, feeling dizzy for reasons that are only partly alcohol related. “Uh.”

“D’you need a hand?” Eddie asks sleepily.

Buck laughs nervously, frozen facing the wall with his hand down his boxers. “Uh. What?”

Eddie yawns, muffling the back-half of it into Buck’s shoulder and crowding closer, plastering himself along Buck’s back. Does Buck have alcohol poisoning? Is this the tequila version of an absinthe hallucination?

“D’you need me to hold it?” Eddie clarifies, nuzzling Buck’s shoulder gently.

Buck chokes on his own spit, body buckling as he pulls his hand out his underwear to thump his own chest. No, he skipped straight past the alcohol poisoning, he’s dead, not even a coma could dream this up.

Eddie steps back, frowning in concern when Buck finally spins to face him, eyes wide. His whole body is taut, stark contrast to the sleepy slump of Eddie’s shoulders.

“Do I—what?” he manages.

“Sorry, I wasn’t, like, trying to baby you,” Eddie says, looking unsure. “But after earlier—”

“Earlier,” Buck echoes. Eddie’s gaze has dropped to south of Buck’s navel, where his boxers have rucked up enough to leave a considerable amount of his happy trail on display. He yanks the waistband up quickly, and Eddie’s head snaps up too, cheeks dusted pink. Then his face, his perfect, beautiful face, falls.

“Wait, Buck—do you not remember? After karaoke?” he asks, taking a step back. “Oh, I—I didn’t think you were that drunk.”

“I wasn’t,” Buck insists, racking his brain, and oh.

The tequila-soaked memory swims up, Buck desperate for the toilet and stubborn about being able to get there himself, despite tripping over his stupid Bambi legs not two steps from their table. Eddie laughing and slinging an arm around him, half-carrying him to the men’s room. Buck standing in front of the urinal, frowning and arms flopping helplessly at his sides.

“Eddie,” he’d whined. “My hands aren’t working.”

Eddie’d laughed again, fond and warm, and asked if he wanted to sit in a stall.

“No,” Buck had pouted. “My zip…” He’d turned to Eddie, lopsided grin and beseeching eyes, and Eddie’d shaken his head and come to stand behind him. He’d undone Buck’s zipper and asked, “Alright?” and Buck had pouted some more.

“Can you help?” he’d asked, mortifyingly pathetic. Eddie’d raised an eyebrow and snorted, and then Buck had said, “Eddieee. These are my nice jeans. My hands don’t work. Your hands are perfect.”

Eddie’d muttered, “Might as well happen like this,” and slipped a hand into Buck’s jeans and—ah. Held his dick while he peed.

“Oh,” Buck says now, voice small. “Fuck, Eds, I’m sorry.”

Eddie narrows his eyes, somewhat blearily. “Why? I wouldn’t have if I didn’t want to.”

“Yeah, but I know—I don’t think we’re on the same page. I don’t—” Buck closes his eyes and presses the heels of his palms into them. “I don’t think it meant the same thing for us.”

“Oh,” Eddie’s face is suddenly unreadable. He crosses his arms over his chest and takes another step back. Buck wants to cry. He basically tricked his best friend into touching him—doesn’t matter if Eddie did it platonically, because drunk or not, genuinely needing help to piss or not, Buck’s pretty sure his own intentions were not all that innocent.

“I’m so sorry, Eds,” he says. “I was drunk as hell—that’s not an excuse, but it won’t happen again. I—I’ll be better at keeping it to myself. The last thing I ever want is to make you feel uncomfortable around me.”

Something passes over Eddie’s face. “Wait,” he says slowly, “you asked me to hold your dick as friends?” There’s an uncertain lilt to the question, like he truly doesn’t know what the answer is anymore.

“Uh,” Buck says. He could use the confusion to wrestle the cat back into the bag and then ship said bag one-way to Nicaragua, but Eddie’s looking a little lost, arms crossed in his black vest and boxers and mismatched socks. Buck can’t be the cause of that. “No. I’m sorry. I wasn’t—I swear I wasn’t trying to trick you. I was just really drunk.”

“Okay,” Eddie says, stepping forward again and reaching out to tug Buck in by the hem of his t-shirt. “What’s the problem then?” He slides a warm hand under Buck’s shirt, smoothing it across his skin.

Buck inhales sharply, blood rushing to his brain and cheeks and cock so quickly he reaches for the porcelain toilet tank behind him to steady himself. “W-wait. Were you holding my dick as friends?”

Eddie blinks at him, disbelief slowly overtaking the slack sleepiness of his facial muscles. “You thought—is that generally something your friends do for you?”

“No, but…” Buck falters. “Why—why did you, then? Why else would you…”

“I was holding your dick because I want to kiss it,” Eddie snaps, and then claps a hand over his mouth, eyes wide and horrified. “I want to kiss you,” he amends. “You, not your—I mean, sure, that too, but. Can you say something.”

The many million times Buck has daydreamed and fantasised and wished for this, he’s never anticipated fuzzy patches in his memory of it. But these things are clear: waking up with Eddie plastered to him like he wants to touch Buck at every possible point, Eddie following him in here unprompted and pressing up against him with unchecked affection, because even in his sleepy state Eddie just wants to make sure Buck has what he needs, even if what he needs is help holding his dick in a context that’s soft and sleepy and miles from sexual.

“You came in here to hold my dick,” he says, grin spreading.

Eddie’s cheeks are so rosy, rosier than they’d been with the flush of alcohol, even. “I came in here because I didn’t want your uncoordinated drunk ass pissing all over my bathroom.”

“Aw, Eds, you romantic,” Buck says, stepping closer. Eddie sighs exasperatedly, tilting his face up expectantly anyway. But, oh—

“Did we kiss already?” Buck asks, heart dropping. “Do I not remember?”

Eddie brings up one large palm to rub Buck’s sternum gently. “Nah. Didn’t seem like the right time. I kinda—I wanted to do that not-drunk.”

“Oh,” Buck says, sagging with relief. “Good.” Eddie gives him a sleepy, wonky smile, and Buck says, “I’m not drunk now.”

Eddie huffs a laugh, stepping back and patting Buck’s chest. “Nope, just hungover and harbouring the most toxic tequila-flavoured morning breath anyone’s ever had.”

“Don’t forget desperate to pee,” Buck grins. “You gonna help a guy out?” He flaps his arms limply, batting his lashes at Eddie.

Eddie grumbles unintelligibly, lips twitching with amusement as he bodily rearranges Buck to face the toilet again. Buck melts back into the cradle of his arms, safe and sleepy and sated enough that his dick doesn’t do any more than he needs it to right now, even with Eddie’s warm hand wrapped around it.

They stumble back to bed, Buck belatedly remembering he’s not washed his hands but deciding not to care if Eddie doesn’t, and when Buck flops down, Eddie’s right back on top of him.

Buck wheezes as the breath’s punched out of his lungs, and it becomes a laugh, and this time he wraps both arms firmly around Eddie to hold him tight. Eddie exhales into the crook of his neck, breath hot and a little gross, and then lifts his head to press a close-mouthed kiss to the corner of Buck’s lips.

“This one doesn’t count,” he murmurs against Buck’s cheek. “I just can’t believe you thought I wanted to hold your dick as friends, so. It’s an almost-kiss. An IOU. Tomorrow I’m gonna kiss you till one of us passes out. Not as friends.”

“As enemies,” Buck whispers solemnly and then grunts when Eddie digs an elbow into his ribs. “As anything you want, s’long as I can keep the kissing and the dick-holding and—this.” He tightens his arms around Eddie, feeling his chest reverberate against Buck’s as he laughs.

“Deal,” he agrees, nestling closer, messy hair getting in Buck’s mouth as he shifts. “But just so you know what I want—and I don’t mean to skip ahead—though I guess we’re doing the regular dating bases all out of order anyway—” He sighs, deep and satisfied as he gets comfortable, and says, “I’m ready to have and to dick-hold you every day of the week, you know?”

Buck didn’t know, but now he does, and in eleven months’ time when he and Eddie are saying these words in front of their friends and family, sans penis, not one single person can blame him for lurching forward and kissing the adoring smirk off Eddie’s face miles before poor ordained Bobby gives him the go-ahead. Doing true love in order is overrated, anyway.