#I usually always have low blue light on or ' night ' the lowest blue light for my eyes

[psychxpxthic]

ooc;; Felt really inspired to draw Edgar in the garb he's wearing at the Psychic booth in the rp I'm doing with my pal jokes // @jokethur

[elijahrichardwrites]

Nite & Daye Lore

Supernaturals Part 1 - Vampires

Creatures with bright eyes once known to only roam the night.

More info under the cut

Note: While a majority of the lore mentioned here is accurate for any time/place in the universe, some things here pertain only to the events and story of Nite & Daye.

While "vampire" isn't the final name of these creatures, they are very much inspired by classic vampires.

General Information

Majority of beings in this universe have what's called "essence" (think Chinese's chi/qi). What separates vampires from the rest is that they can use their own essence to heighten their abilities and in turn must also consume essence from an external source. There are many methods of extraction but the best way is usually by consumption of bodily fluids, particularly blood. Hence, why they are called vampires.

Sub-types

There are 3 main sub-types (2 that the majority of the people in this universe are aware of).

Red-Eyes

Most noted by their vibrant, bright red eyes, Red-Eyes are easily revered as the most disliked of the vampires. Known to have more violent and aggressive behaviors as well as extremely bad tempers, it was not uncommon for anyone known to be a Red-Eye to be discriminated against in the past. Time has proven to be helpful to the Red-Eyes as stereotypes of their kind were broken.

Could Red-Eyes be more pugnacious than the other vampires? Sure. However, the real key differences between the Red-Eyed sub-type and the Blue-Eyes are that they're able to use a large amount of strength in quick bursts, move faster, and overall be more destructive in their attacks.

Red-Eyes are also characterized by the fact that while they have a harder time reproducing more Red-Eyes "naturally", they have a higher chance of turning a human into a Red-Eye.

Blue-Eyes

With light, ice-like blue eyes (think Underworld), Blue-Eyes are known as the softer, more kind sub-type of vampires. They are usually stereotyped as having gentle demeanors and in turn are considered one of the weakest supernatural types, let alone sub-type.

While deemed weak, Blue-Eyes actually have strengths in different areas than Red-Eyes. They tend to be a bit more intelligent as well having plenty of endurance. Essentially in most things, Red-Eyes can run faster but Blue-Eyes can run farther.

Mostly being the opposite of Red-Eyes in many ways, Blue-Eyes are the exact opposite of Red-Eyes in the fact that the rate of turning a human into a Blue-Eye is extremely low. With that being said, "natural" reproduction is much higher in Blue-Eyes, therefore most Blue-Eyes are born as Blue-Eyes.

White-Eyes

White-Eyes are different from the other sub-types in the fact that there's not much known about them due to many not even knowing they exist. In fact, when people started to notice the existence of White-Eyes, it was chalked up to being a new kind of Blue-Eyes, eyes so light they appeared white. However, White-Eyes have actually existed since the beginning of time, going as far as being traced back to The First.

White-Eyes are actually the strongest supernatural type (believe to be because of their connection with The First) and can nearly easily kill anything. They're also nearly impossible to kill by anything but another White-Eye. In fact, if someone who isn't a White-Eye kills them, it's purely out of luck.

With White-Eyes, the rate of reproduction is the lowest among all types of supernaturals. Part of the reason they were kept out of the public eye for so long was that their numbers were so low. It would be hard to find something when there's not a lot of it, right?

There's still plenty of information pertaining to vampires in this universe but since I mainly wanted this to be a more general post, I'll save those for another time (especially since some are specific to different WIPs). If anyone has any questions, my ask box is always open (:

Taglist: @midnights-melodiverse, @isherwoodj, @cedar-west, @bardic-tales, @cactus-motif, @fearofahumanplanet, @marinesocks (if you'd like to be added, feel free to ask me or DM me. If you'd like to be removed, please let me know as well!)

[achillieus]

we’re fools. (bucky barnes x reader)

summary: for all bucky barnes knows, he hates clichés. and this thing between you two, happens to be the biggest one. 

(enemies to lovers trope or i watched the society on netflix recently and based this entirely on harry bingham and cassandra pressman)

pairing: college au!bucky x reader

warnings: alcohol, mentions of depression, angst, bucky is a cocky bitch, but bucky also needs a hug

(other parts)  (masterlist)

part 1/3:

It’s December, his sophomore year of college and Bucky’s watching you again. From afar, always from afar. He’s scared if he goes near, something will give him away and you’ll laugh at him. He doesn’t remember when his fixation started but he’s certain it’ll pass. A load of girls on campus like him. Sometimes he thinks he likes some of them back. But not you. Bucky doesn’t like you. He’s beyond you. (Actually, you’re beyond him. He would never admit that.)  He watches you and notices how your fringe has grown the last few weeks and how a few strands are falling down your eyes. You brush them away and keep writing your essay. He decides it’d be better if he started writing his too. You’re a year younger but he knows you’ll probably get a higher score than him anyway. You’re good with words, he has noticed.

-

It’s March, your freshman year and you breathe out. You’re leaving the library, arms wrapped around books about Hamlet and Shakespeare, when you see him. Lately he seems to be everywhere you are. It’s getting annoying. You promise yourself you won’t stare at him again, but you cheat a few times. He’s wearing one of his overpriced shirts and he smiles at a sophomore girl. You know Bucky Barnes. You’d known him even if you didn’t want to. Because everybody does. Because that’s who he is. Everything you dislike about the world distilled into one label-whoring, conceited, 5′11″ tall boy. And everybody seems to be smitten with him.

He comes to you first.

“It’s destiny, Y/N,” he says, a smug look on his face, “third time I bump into you today.”

You tense. This is new. Usually, you don’t talk to each other if not for arguing in Romance Literature class. It’s one of the two classes you share.

“I must be very lucky.” Bucky chuckles and it’s somewhat engaging because he hasn’t given you a smile since the first day you met him.

“Admission office is on the left, doll”.

You had thought he was nice then. And beautiful. God, he was so beautiful. Please, he’s not. He’s an arrogant smartass. And now he’s standing here and for some seconds he laughs and you can see the dimples in his cheeks. You blink.

His light eyes divert to the books you’re holding.

“Try not to have too much fun.”

He mocks and walks away.

-

It’s July, end of sophomore year and Bucky joins a summer book club. (He doesn’t tell anyone. He enjoys his facade.) Every morning he grabs an iced latte and a butter croissant and he goes to the meetings. He reads a lot. And he loves it. It helps him feel. It’s a getaway. Bucky always stands proud and tall, trying to hide how easily he can be torn.

Running one finger along the starched collar of his shirt, he reads quietly and he considers the ever-changing art of literature; words and metaphors that allow him to imagine entire worlds and fathom his own sensitivities. He almost feels vulnerable. He decides that reading together with another person is an intimate act and he’s thankful he doesn’t really have any interest in anyone in the club.

But then it’s Monday and his teenage dream walks in, hair falling gracefully your shoulders, Gone with The Wind in your left hand. And it could have been the sun gleaming through the windows, but Bucky swears his whole being flickers. In a way or another he always responds to your presence.

You sit two rows behind of him and when he involuntary turns to you, you look surprised and yet you smile.

He tries to avoid you and he’s good at it, until someone decides it’d be fun to present the next book in groups. You’re the only two without a friend there and you end up paired together.

“I don’t like this.” he says.

“Oh, I know.” you whisper.

You spend an evening in his dorm, discussing the author and the plot holes. At first, he talks a lot, trying to impress you. But then he lays on his back, listening to the summer rain outside and you reading out loud. Regardless of what you feel for each other, he thinks it’s a beautiful sound.

Next morning, he buys two butter croissants instead of one.

-

It’s October, your sophomore year and you’re not exactly friends. Or enemies. Bucky has stopped teasing you and you think it’s because of your days in the book club. Actually, it’s because he’s dating Natasha Romanoff now and he promised he’d be kinder.

You realize sooner or later and you say it’s obvious you don’t care. (Who is it obvious to?) The girl is pretty, clever and vibrant and she’s a good person. You like her. You just can’t figure out what she sees in Bucky.

-

It’s January, his junior year and he’s not doing well. He knows it’s his fault (he always loved half-heartedly) and that makes the hurting worse. It’s guilt driven. He tries to get Nat back but she’s not ready. And it’s awful because nobody warned him and he didn’t know; it’s hard to feel lovable after a break up. He desperately needs a distraction. He pushes himself past his breaking point. Carves his grades into the back of his neck. Devours facts and theorems. Almost joins the football team for extra credit. But to be honest he’s never been that much into sports. Debate team, it is.

That’s where he truly learns to despise you. Who do you think you are? The proud jaw, those smart eyes, your feet planted on the ground as if the world’s wisdom belongs to you. You’re at your best while he’s at his lowest point.

He watches you and then he watches himself.

“Your last argument was weak,” you say, raising your eyebrows, “you should concentrate more.”

Bucky bites his lip in frustration.

“You’re not the boss around here.” He says, crossing his arms in his chest, “You may think you are, but you’re not.”

(Technically she is, Bucky. She’s the captain of the team.)

“Don’t start again.” You sigh. “I just want us to win next week.”

He rolls his eyes at you. He would never admit it out loud but a part of him is enjoying this. Feuding with Y/N feels natural. It reminds him of who he is.  And he feeds on that.

He takes a step towards you.

“Of course, so you can take all the credit.”

You just stare at him. Sometimes you don’t understand what Bucky is trying to prove. That he’s better? Or that you’re worse? You hate it. How quickly he can make you lose your temper.

(How quickly he can exhilarate you.)

“If you don’t like the team,” you tilt your chin up to meet his gaze, “you’re free to leave.”

Bucky laughs. This is how you are. This is how you will always be. Both strong, you just, him lost.

“You need me to win, Y/N,” he sets his shoulders back and smirks, “I’m good at this.” He remains close to you and refuses to look away. He can see you parting your lips for a second or two.

(Did he just glance at your lips?)

“I know you are,” you breath out and Bucky is incredulous, “so start acting like it.”

(Did you just compliment him?)

-

It’s the first day of February, your sophomore year and you think you’re losing your sanity. Bucky invites everyone at his dorm to celebrate their victory at the National Debate Championship. And it’s strange because Bucky never really invites anyone he doesn’t like. If you didn’t know him, you would have bet that he’s been feeling lonely.

You don’t want to go at first. But you’re glad you do. Under the green lights he has installed and all the alcohol in his body, he looks different and it’s the first time you genuinely see him. A boy with silky black hair, blue eyes and skin that looks like it’d be cool to touch. There’s something attractive about him, in a rugged way, and you’re seeing it again after a long time.

Your allergies must have gotten in your head.

He doesn’t talk a lot that night. Not to you. Not to anyone. You deduce pretty early that Bucky just wanted company to drink. You wonder if he’s still messed up because of the break up.

Probably. Everyone on campus is talking about how Natasha was hanging out with that boy, Clint.

He tells you, you don’t have to, but you still stay to help him clean up.

“Why are you doing this, Y/N?” His voice is low.

You started taking a new antihistamine, maybe it’s the side effects.

“It’s called being nice,” you say firmly, “you should try it.”

Bucky makes a little humming sound and keeps collecting plastic cups. The room is quiet, but for the sound of trash bags and you count the seconds before you speak again.

“How are you?”

“I’m not that drunk, don’t worry.” He half-answers, half laughs but he pronounces the last word with enough irony.

“No, I meant,” you breath, “Is everything okay with you?”

“Seriously, you make no sense Y/N.” He’s careful not to look at you.

“I just wanted to say,” your voice sways for a second, you’re a novice in talking with him about anything different than books and words and that makes you weak and nervous, “You’ll be back with Natasha, I’m sure.”

Bucky’s face hardens around the edges, his eyes saying more about him than any words could. He comes close to you and it could have been the smell of alcohol but you feel like you want to throw up.

“You and I, we’re not friends.”

You don’t blink. You stare blankly at him, waiting for what follows. But he just leaves the room.

You promise you will never go to any of his parties again.

...

feedback is so appreciated and motivates me tons, thank you :)

[ahockeywrites]

Lights Down Low

This is super self-indulgent whoops. I was listening to this playlist and got an idea.

Warnings: minors dni, explicit fem!reader, smut, consensual possessiveness, use of sex toys, oral sex (male and female receiving), rough smut, unprotected sex, dom!josh, sub!reader, masturbation, orgasm denial swearing Word Count: 3.3k

Being named the first start of the night meant that Josh had more media commitments than usual, so your alone time in the apartment you shared in Montreal was extended. The blue of the 17 Reverse Retro jersey you were wearing complimented the blue thong hidden underneath.

The full-length mirror sitting in the corner of the master bedroom was perfectly placed to take sexy photos in and send to Josh and that’s exactly what you did. The Polaroid camera that you had been gifted from Josh for your last birthday was intended to take photos of the pair of you on your travels but had quickly found a more sexual purpose.

The photos taken in front of the Eiffel Tower in Paris and on a Gondola in Venice quickly became ones of you on all fours with Josh's hand pulling at your hair as he pounded himself into you and him walking out of a lake, abs and v-lines on show. You audibly groaned as you thought of previous nights spent under the sheets with Josh and felt the wetness pool between your legs. Josh was sure to notice when he saw you for the first time.

It was easy to take a few photos of you in his jersey, showing the small amount of lace visible underneath it. You made sure to take a few of his name on your back because he loved seeing you with it resting over your shoulder blades. He wasn't usually possessive, but whenever you wore his name or number, it seemed like all he wanted to do was rip all your clothes off and take you right there. Even in public.

Remembering to send a warning text, you didn't need one of the younger players looking over Josh's shoulder and seeing more than he bargained for again, you sent him a photo of the Polaroid images scattered over the freshly made bed. A few spritzes of the perfume you only used for special occasions added to the atmosphere you had created by lighting some candles after taking some time for yourself after Josh's fight.

He was quick to respond to the messages.

J x: you look so good in that jersey. too bad it'll be in pieces on the floor when I'm home x

Josh was always straight to the point after a game like this. You tried to keep yourself together as you connected a playlist of slowed songs to the extensive set of speakers connected through the house. Your hips swayed to the bass of the r&b flowing throughout the room and you grabbed two glasses of wine from the kitchen.

The bedside table drawer was filled with your most commonly used toys. Namely the small bullet vibrator that always went away with you on work trips but Josh always preferred to use the long, slender vibrator when he was with you. He would use it along with his fingers and bring you to climax faster than anyone ever had, even yourself. He knew your body like the back of his hand and you wouldn't have it any other way.

The silver bullet was the way you wanted to start pleasuring yourself before Josh came home and you turned it onto the lowest setting. Before putting it between your legs, you brought it around each of your nipples before teasing yourself by pulling your thong to the side and running it through your folds. Soft moans of pleasure escaped your lips and you began to lightly press it onto your clit. Short, sharp electric, pleasure waves travelled through your body and you were so close to your orgasm, you could almost touch it.

A loud thud of Josh’s black, leather hockey bag alerted you to his arrival home and you quickly dropped the vibrator down to the side but it was too late, he had already noticed that you had started the night before he had arrived home.

"Well isn't this a sight to come home to," Josh said breathlessly. His eyes were filled with passion as he looked up and down your body, taking in every inch. "Stand up for me baby girl, show me what you're wearing."

Your legs felt like jelly as you were still coming down from the almost orgasm but you still followed Josh's instructions and forced yourself off of the bed. A quick twirl showed him everything he needed to see, the way the jersey rode up exposing the lace once more.

"Lay back down for me princess," he said, using his large hands to remove the tie he was wearing. "Play with yourself if you want, you know how hot you look when you do it." Josh could feel himself growing hard at the idea of you touching yourself in front of him.

"With the toy?" you questioned, knowing how quickly you could bring yourself to a high.

"Whatever you want baby girl," he replied, moving to unbutton his shirt.

You flicked the vibrator onto the second-lowest speed and pulled your panties back to the side, immediately pressing the tip to your clit. Unconcious moans came out of your mouth as you twisted and turned under the electricity running under your skin. Your gasps of pleasure filled the room and you were about t-

"Stop. Stop now." Josh demanded. Reluctantly, you pulled the toy away from your most sensitive area. The pulsating force of your clit flowed through your body and all you needed to do was rub a few circles on it and you would be there.

You groaned in complaint but realised that Josh was going to be in control of everything tonight. Even your orgasms.

"Remember your safe word sweat pea?" Josh asked. You quickly nodded. "Say it," he said.

"Cannon," you whispered. A reminder of the time when you lived in Columbus.

You had only used it once before; when your arms were tied above your head and ankles tied to the posts at the end of the bed. You felt comfortable with the blindfold being placed over your eyes but when Josh was about to place the gag into your mouth you shouted the word three times, letting him know that you were uncomfortable. Immediately, Josh removed the blindfold from your face and went to take off the restraints on your extremities. The bathroom contained everything he usually used for aftercare and he went to collect everything he normally would. Gently, he wiped down the red marks on your skin, then moisturised them softly. He brought you into his chest and began to comfort you, never wanting to cross your boundaries.

"Josh," you whispered, looking up at him. His face still looked scared to touch you, thinking that any touch would make you uncomfortable. "I'm okay now, I'm okay now you're holding me."

He held you all throughout the night, pressing soft kisses into your hair as you fell asleep.

"And you'll say it if you need me to stop baby girl?" he asked once more.

"Yes," you whispered.

"Yes, what?"

"Yes, daddy," you spoke, looking up into Josh's eyes.

"Good girl," he moaned, pushing down his dress pants. Josh kicked them to the side, leaving him in just his boxers. All you wanted to do was crawl over and kiss his clothed bulge but you knew that if you even tried moving, you'd be laying over his lap whilst his hand came down on your ass.

The bed dipped as Josh made his way to rest his forearms on either side of your head. His lips were plump and he lowered them to meet yours. One of his hands started patting around, around where you had dropped the vibrator earlier. As soon as he picked up the small toy, he pulled his face away from you but slipped his other hand under the jersey.

"No bra?" he questioned, shaking his head. "Naughty girl. And you know what happens to naughty girls?"

"They get punished, daddy," you replied without hesitation.

"You're right baby girl," he whispered, brushing a strand of hair out of your face. "They get punished. And I have the perfect punishment for you. No cumming until I've cum."

You gasped and Josh found that a perfect time to kiss you deeply once again. His fingers began to trace the outline of one of your nipples, gently squeezing the surrounding flesh. It was a natural response for your back to arch up into his touch, your body begging for more than he was giving.

Rather than moving down your body, Josh shifted his weight so he could caress your other breast in the same way. He could tell that you craved more and reminded you that he always gave you what you needed. "Good girls are patient," Josh lowered his lips to your ear and said that in a deep voice before kissing you there. He spent his time focusing on your chest and collarbones before dragging his pointer finger down your stomach to the waistband of the thong.

Shuffling down the bed, Josh came face to face with your clothed core. He pressed a few soft kisses around your clit before pulling the thin material to the side and kissed around your entrance.

The vibrator that you had almost used to bring yourself to orgasm twice shined under the light of the candles and you noticed Josh place it on the lowest setting before starting to kiss up your thighs, the vibrator following the wet trail he was leaving.

Incorporating your sex toys wasn't something new with Josh, he loved to find out what you just liked and what made your toes curl. He was more than happy to sit between your legs alternating between his mouth, fingers and your favourite vibrator.

"As much as I love these on you," Josh said, motioning towards the lace sitting on your hips. "They have to fucking go." The next thing you heard was the ripping of the fabric and you saw Josh throw the remains of them somewhere in your room.

It took all of Josh's self-restraint not to drive into your pussy and start feasting on it. Instead, he brought one of his fingers through your folds, ghosting your clit. The vibrator was still in his other hand and he began tracing around your folds and you tried to move to catch the tip of the vibrator on your clit.

Josh's muscular arm came down across your hips quickly to stop them from moving. It was with a swift movement of his body that he brought his face right up to your slit, swiping his tongue through the arousal. "Such a sweet little pussy," he groaned, letting the vibrations run to your clit.

He tossed your legs over his shoulders and continued to explore your most sensitive area. Your hips stuttered and Josh could tell that you were very close, so he pulled the toy away before pressing the pad of his thumb to your clit. "Naughty girls don't get to cum, remember?" he said looking up and down your body. "Sit up for me sweetheart."

Still, in a daze, you were unable to move as quickly as Josh wanted so he lightly spanked your pussy to get your attention. "I said, sit up," this time he had an authority about his tone, one that commanded attention. You followed his word and sat up, back flush with the headboard of the bed.

Josh brought his hand to caress your cheek before tracing the outline of your lips that were stained with his favourite deep red shade. Instinctively, you brought his thumb into your mouth and started sucking on it. His head was thrown back in pleasure, imaging that it was something else you had your lips around.

“You ready to be daddy’s good girl?” Josh asked as he ran his large hand over your head. You nodded your head as much as you could with his thumb being shoved in your mouth. "I think you know what to do princess," he said motioning to the large bulge in his boxers.

Josh loved to sit at the end of the bed with you between his thighs so you pushed on his shoulder softly, letting him know exactly where you wanted him to go. Featherlight kisses were pressed against his muscular thighs as he started relaxing into the feeling of your lips on his skin.

Your soft fingers were a delicious contrast to Josh's bruised abs and he revelled in the feeling of the tips of them dancing along the waistband of his boxers. Looking up for his permission before removing his boxers was a must when Josh was in charge. He nodded before running a hand through your hair.

The material barely needed to be moved before his hard length sprung out, lightly slapping his abdomen. You pressed a few gentle kisses to his tip before licking the entire underside of it. Josh wasn't small by any means and he knew it. He never forced you to take more than you could handle.

You brought the tip into your mouth, hollowing out your cheeks around it whilst looking up at him. Josh's stare back was piercing but you could see the pleasure in his face as you began to take more of him.

Unless he was thrusting hard into your mouth, Josh's hard length couldn't fully fit into your mouth so you quickly pulled off it, and spread out the saliva that you had already put onto it. One hand rested on his thigh, the other gripped onto his base rotating slightly to increase his enjoyment.

He could tell when he reached the back of your throat, but your gag reflex had become desensitized to having something shoved down your throat after being with Josh for so long. You took a deep inhale through your nose before swallowing around his tip, feeling the whole length twitch.

The hand that rested in your hair was nothing more than a reminder of Josh. He could easily change the situation at the flip of a switch, but he loved watching you work your magic around him.

Pulling off him once more, you licked the vein on the underside again before attempting to take him back into your mouth. Josh grabbed hold of your hair, stopping you before you could. "Lay back up against the headboard princess," Josh moaned, taking in your body once more.

You followed his instructions once more, back against the headboard, legs open for him. In a split second, he was resting himself on top of you, lips pressed to yours.

Josh ran his hard length through your folds. “You want daddy to fuck you, princess? Daddy always takes care of his girl,” he growled into the shell of your ear. All you could do was nod in response.

Your head hit the headboard as he slowly entered you. Josh took his time, slowly stretching you out underneath him. His lips found yours once again and he timed one particularly hard thrust well as moaned his name into his mouth. It was the perfect time for him to slip his tongue into yours and he took control straight away.

He could feel you start to clench around him and once again brought you to almost being able to feel the orgasm before pulling out of you and flipping you onto all fours. "C'mon baby," Josh said, running his hand down the arch of your back before spanking one ass cheek, followed by the other.

His thrusts were relentless, in and out at a pace that felt unknown to man. "Fuck baby, you feel so fucking good around me," Josh moaned pulling you up by your hair to whisper into your ear. "This sweet pussy always feels good for daddy."

"Just for you daddy," you groaned as he hit an extra sensitive spot inside you. "I'm all yours, daddy." Josh hit the same spot once again and you collapsed underneath him, almost running out of energy to hold yourself up.

"C'mon baby girl," Josh said, slightly manhandling you from underneath him to both his hands resting on your hips. "Gonna ride daddy like the good girl you are, eh?" His large, calloused hand threaded his way through your hair and he pulled on it to force you to nod in response to his question. You loved to be on top, even when you were tired because you were in control, for at least some of the time, and you could see Josh's face perfectly and do exactly what you knew he loved.

Slowly, you lowered yourself onto his throbbing length, moaning loudly and throwing your head back as he filled you up. Josh allowed you to take control for the first few moments before placing one of his hands around your throat and the other on the top of your head. This was nothing new, but when he started thrusting up into you, brushing your g-spot every time, you felt something completely different. It was new but familiar at the same time.

Words were barely coming to you as he kept pounding up into you but through short gasps, you announced to Josh that you were very close to release. One of your hands snaked to your clit but the hand, which was resting on your head, slapped it away. "You wait for me baby," Josh moaned. You looked down at him to see sweat covering his brow and you reached down to press your lips to his. Josh forced his tongue into your mouth and controlled the deep kiss.

You felt him start to twitch inside you but he continued to thrust up into you with force. All of his training may have been for hockey but it came with additional benefits. Josh could easily throw you around the bedroom and it was something that you absolutely loved. He always made sure that you were okay with it but he knew that you enjoyed it more than you told him.

His hips stuttered and he pulled you off of him before releasing hot ropes of cum onto your bare chest. You knew it wouldn't take much to get there and simply sitting on Josh's bare, muscular thigh did it for you. A few back and forth movements allowed you to elongate the pleasure as you moaned your boyfriend's name. It seemed to go on forever, and you thought that you would never feel something this intense again.

A groan escaped Josh's lips as he saw you basking in the post-orgasm glow. He took one of his hands and spread his sweet release over your breasts and the blatant declaration of possessiveness was almost enough to send your overstimulated self over the edge once more.

"That's it, baby," Josh whispered, hand on your hips to help you move, "use me." He watched as you threw your head back in pleasure, repeating his name as if it was a spell.

Sitting was too much for you and you collapsed off his thigh into the plush mattress. Josh sat up on his arms and pulled a few strands of hair out of the way of your eyes. "Maybe I should fight more often," he contemplated. You could barely muster enough energy to shake your head so all he got in response was a groan.

The mattress raised slightly as Josh made his way to the ensuite to collect a washcloth and a drink for each of you. Gently, he wiped between your legs, trying to reduce the marks that his beard had made and also the cum from your chest. More often on nights like this, both of you were too tired to go for a proper shower so a quick clean up like this was common. Josh also liked to go for a softer round in bed sometimes too and even thinking about it made you lean into his touch as he brought you into his arms.

"Get some rest baby girl," he said softly. "I know you need it."

[musings-from-mars]

Valet of a Ticket Machine

An original sci-fi story

~~~

1

Cade Multen is a despicable old scavenger. I sometimes wonder why he does what he does. Yet as I sit aside and watch as he works on another one of his creations, I think there must be some sort of spark in him. But that hope is put out every time he sends a wrench clattering to the floor, every time he shatters a monitor, every time he stands with a huff and leaves his projects halfway completed. “Worthless!” He spits, at who? I’m not sure. Himself? His haul? Me?

I don’t want to be a scavenger, but I want to be stranded on Severen even less. At least in Multen’s old scrap house I can bathe and sleep. Spending so much of my young adulthood drifting through the streets of this bog of a planet has made me fond of the closed quarters here. And the isolation…it’s refreshing. Knowing no one is nearby, it’s an odd feeling of quiet, knowing I have my own few square meters in this vast, crowded galaxy.

Sleep tends to always come easy. My small bed situated in the corner of my small room is just far enough away from the streets outside, and being on the lowest level of a three level building meant the ships passing overhead were never much more than a faint droning. My room is pitch black. I am as comfortable and warm as one can be on Severen. Forsaken to a lesser extent at long last.

I am alone, and yet, some nights like tonight, I am woken by a noise. It sounds like a static shock tonight. It’s usually one of Multen’s bots, sparking or chirping with brief moments of life before returning to their vacant stasis. It startled me, but I ease back to sleep soon enough. I rarely have to do anything about it. Later in the night, however, the same noise, less staticky, more mechanical. I consider getting up and going to check in the storeroom. Maybe something had powered on somehow?

I decide to give it one more moment, and soon, I hear the sound more and more. Ticking. Tick tick tick, tick-tick-tick. It’s so odd. I sit up in my bed and continue to listen. The ticking is constant and rhythmic, almost soothing. Then it dawns on me exactly what the rhythm is—a distress signal.

I get up and slip on my boots, the only footwear fit for walking around the cluttered storeroom. In just my tank top and shorts, it’s an awkward fashion statement. If one of these bots is awake, I wonder what it would think of me if it could see me.

I open the door from my room to the storeroom with a metallic scrap along its frame, just enough to step out. It’s instantly colder, and I hug my arms to my chest as I wander about, around piles to discarded metal and rows of works-in-progress which, on my money, will never be properly operational. I’m listening for the ticking, and I think I’m getting closer.

I find my way to a pile of spare parts. It’s coming from within it. I sigh and carefully pick up each piece, careful to avoid any sharp points or edges since I’m without my gloves. I nick myself here and there, but I’ve experienced worse. After sifting through half of the pile, I decide to try calling for it. If it’s equipped for audio input, maybe that would get me somewhere. “Hello?”

The ticking stops. I hold my breath waiting for the silence to break. The ticking returns. It’s a different rhythm. Not a distress signal, but otherwise not recognizable. So whatever this was, it was operational enough to hear me and respond. How did something like that end up in a pile like this?

I dig through the scrap a bit more before spotting something. In the low light, I see a single bright blue diode. Moving my way through the rubbish, I pick up the small device emitting both the light and the ticking.

It’s some sort of small printer.

I take it back to my room. I don’t have access to Multen’s workshop when he’s away, so I must make do with the sparse equipment of my own, things Multen didn’t need or didn’t want and tossed them aside to me. I sit on my bed and tug my desk towards me, then set the printer on the desktop. I turn on the lights to get a better look.

It’s silvery and in desperate need of a buff. There’s a small glass screen on the upward facing side, next to which is the blinking blue light. Unlike the ticking noise, the blue light is blinking steady and constant, more a beat than a rhythm. There are a few buttons on the upward facing side, their labels long worn off.

I pick up the brick-sized device and turn in over in my hands. There’s no label, serial number, anything. It doesn’t appear to be that old but seems to have gone through decades of wear.

And that ticking. What kind of code was that? It was none I recognized. I opened the drawers in my desk and began searching through them. I faintly remember some sort of codebreaking device. Maybe I could use it to discern what this printer is saying.

“Erm…” I grunt as I struggle to pull various instruments out of the drawers to see if I can find the codebreaker. “Where is it?”

The ticking stops, and now that I’m in my quiet room, I hear it make another sound. A low, soft hum. It then stops, and the ticking resumes, a different rhythm now.

The codebreaker is in the bottom drawer, so I guess I didn’t think I’d need it anytime soon. I pull out the disc-shaped device and set it next to the printer. I switch it on and it’s immediately at full power, it’s circular green display on the top coming to life. I navigate through the options and select “Open Detection.” And then I wait.

>Xenet Tone Code detected

>deciphering…

Xenet? That’s a long ways away. How has something like this little printer made it out here from the other side of the galaxy?

The codebreaker finally brings up a translation of the ticking:

>“Where is what? Are you searching for something?”

Oddly eager to help for a printer. I didn’t know small devices like this to be so cognizant. But at least now we can communicate. “What are you?” I ask.

Another pause in the ticking, and a return of the humming. Was it…thinking?

The ticking returns:

>deciphering…

>“I am a ticks bot.”

Ticks bot? No, TIXbot. “A ticket dispenser?”

More humming, then ticking:

>deciphering…

>“Yes, my primary function was as a ticket dispenser aboard Xenet leisure fleet vessel 9227.”

“Hm.” It’s an interesting little story how this little piece of equipment got out here, one I hoped to know more about eventually. “How’d you get on Severen?”

The humming lasts a lot longer now before I get a response.

>deciphering…

>“Unclear. I am on Severen?”

“Yes, you are,” I say.

Humming. Ticking.

>deciphering…

>“I am so far from home.”

I blink and reread that response again. Home? This printer regarded Xenet as home? That seemed to be a level of sentience far beyond a ticket dispenser. It was reminiscent of an android, robots designed to carry on as people, with varying degrees of efficacy. “How does…that make you feel?” This was a key question. A clear answer would prove my suspicions correct.

>deciphering…

>“Very scared.”

“You’re not supposed to be a TIXbot, are you?” I ask. “You’re supposed to be something else. A proper android, perhaps?”

>deciphering…

>“I am a ticks bot. I have always been a ticks bot.”

Whoever had been in charge of manufacturing this particular batch of TIXbots must have made a mistake, perhaps imbuing them with the wrong AI. I’d heard of humorous stories about cases like this, toasters with an undue hatred for certain kinds of bread, androids who could only wave and say hi. This was another one of those cases, it seemed. “You…” I hesitate. I don’t want to agitate this AI further. It was sending out a distress signal after all. “You said you are very scared. Is there anything I can do to help you feel less scared?”

A long hum.

>deciphering…

>“I am out of paper.”

I chuckle and begin searching through my desk again. I doubt I have the kind of paper this TIXbot is used to, but I did offer to help, after all. I find a notepad. “Erm…the best I can do is a handheld notepad. Is there anything you can do with that?”

The longest hum yet. It’s really considering it.

>deciphering…

>“Insert one page. After each printing finishes, insert another.”

I nod and tear out a page as neatly as I can. I hesitate, not sure where to put the paper before just offering it to the opening on the bottom. The TIXbot seemed satisfied with that and pulled the paper in. After that, the printer began to print, and soon, the page was spat back out. I picked it up and held it to the light to make out the faint ink:

TIXXY TIXXY TIXXY

I LOVE MY LITTLE TIXXY

TIXXY TIXXY TIXXY

I LOVE MY TIXXY BOT

“Tixxy?” I mutter. “Is that your name?”

The ticking has stopped. The TIXbot is no longer communicating through code. I can’t blame a printer for preferring to communicate via print. I feed it another page. It prints out soon after, and I hold it up and read:

She called me that after taking me. I do not know where she is. I am very scared.

My heart leaps into my throat, and I hold my breath for a moment. She? I feed the bot another page. “Who is she? That took you?”

The printed response:

Daley. A dear young human.

“A child,” I concluded. Another page. “You were…a toy of sorts to her?”

A friend.

I nod. “I’m sorry you got separated from your friend, Tixxy.”

When I finish saying that, the blinking blue light stops blinking, instead turning on and staying on. I give Tixxy another page, hoping to understand.

It prints:

What is your name?

I chuckle as I load another page and say, “Ander.”

Tixxy’s response:

Hi Ander. Thank you for finding me. Can you take me home?

[luminnara]

The Dismemberment Song | BOP Victor Zsasz x Reader | 18+

Fandom: Birds of Prey

Words: 3,791

Summary: Zsasz takes a liking to one of the burlesque dancers at Roman’s club.

PART ONE | PART TWO |

WARNINGS: graphic blood/gore/violence, reader may or may not torture and murder a guy, alcohol, all that good Gotham stuff, reader is kinda fucked up

Seriously, don’t read this if you don’t like blood

Based on The Dismemberment Song by Blue Kid! 

This is written as a kinda vague fem!reader, but if there’s interest I can always write alternate versions for different genders, more specific body/personality types, or whatever else might tickle your fancy! Just hit up my ask box!

Requests are open!! Pls, I really wanna write more Zsasz or Zsaszmask x reader, gimme ideas!

The Black Mask was a club that boasted only the best of the best. Top shelf booze, luxurious furnishings, and entertainers that Gotham’s other club owners wished they could get their hands on all came together to form the East End’s trendiest spot. You were lucky enough to be one of those very entertainers, and you had been performing onstage at Roman’s club ever since one of his goons saw you dancing at another spot across town. Roman Sionis had bought you easily, promising a good nightly wage and all the free drinks you could stomach, and a few years later, you were still enjoying the nice gig at the Black Mask. 

Most nights were the same; you showed up around seven, hung around in the dressing room with the others while you all got ready, and enjoyed a drink or two before your first number. You were always in the chorus, not that you really minded--Roman paid you more than enough to keep you happy, even though you knew the stars got more. Girls who did solo numbers, especially if they could sing, those were Mr. Sionis’s favorites. You never really expected to achieve that kind of status, not when people like Dinah Lance were around and holding his attention, so when Roman pulled you aside one night to tell you that he wanted to give you the chance to do your own routine, you nearly dropped your drink. 

“Full creative control,” he said, a hand resting at the small of your back as you gaped at him. 

“I--what?” you managed to choke out. “I-I mean, thank you, Mr. Sionis, really--”

“Please,” he chuckled. “Call me Roman.”

“Thank you, Roman,” you smiled, swallowing down your fear. “I won’t disappoint you, I swear.” 

“I know you won’t, doll.” he motioned for someone to bring him a drink. “Full creative control, like I said. I want to see what’s swirling around in that pretty mind of yours. Put some heart into it for me, k doll?”

You nodded. “You got it, boss.”

He grinned, hugging you to his side and pressing a kiss against your temple like he did with all the girls he liked. “Looking forward to it, beautiful.”

He let you go, turning to leave, and Zsasz slunk after him, but not before casting you an almost annoyed look. 

“Don’t disappoint,” he teased, whistling low before he followed his boss. 

You gulped. You were sure he wouldn’t mind peeling your face off, but you rather preferred staying alive.

“I won’t!” you called after him bravely. 

He glanced at you over his shoulder, his eyes practically boring into you as if were sizing you up. He thought you were just some prissy little girl, didn’t he? Just like Roman, just like everybody else. But you would show them. They wanted to see what kind of shit really ate at your brain? Oh, you’d give them a nice little glimpse.

And so, only a couple shorts weeks later, here you were, getting ready in the dressing room like usual, only you were far more nervous than you had been for any other shift. You had busted your ass getting everything ready, even taking a few nights off to work twice as hard on what you hoped would be a good debut. You had given the band their sheet music, you had learned your lyrics inside and out (because you were absolutely determined to go that extra mile for Roman Sionis and show him that not only could you prance around onstage, but you could sing, too), and you had spent hours upon hours hand-decorating an old corset and lingerie set you had sitting around. Roman wanted this to come from the heart, he wanted a passion project, and you were gonna give it to him. 

You just had to pray that he was in the right mood to enjoy it.

“Think you’re good to go, my love,” the house mom said as she finished with your hair. 

You stared at yourself in the mirror. So far, so good...your hair was in big barrel curls, still warm to the touch as your house mom gave it a couple more passes with the hairspray for good measure. 

“You sure I don’t need--”

“You’re gonna knock ‘em dead,” she interrupted, retreating to her usual chair. 

You kept staring at your reflection. “Do you think it’s too much? I mean...”

She laughed loudly. “Hon, this is Gotham. There’s no such thing as too much.”

Glancing down at your outfit, you weren’t so sure. “But...”

“But nothing. Now go on, go show Roman why he stays in business.”

You stood on shaky legs, nodding to her as you made your way towards the door. “R-right.”

“Break a leg,” she called after you. 

All you could do was nod. You knew what you were doing. You had practiced for hours every day to get ready for this. With a deep breath, you made your way down the hall leading to stage, shaking your hands out as you stood in the wings. You could do this. You were ready.

As soon as your stage name was announced, you stepped out, ruby encrusted heels clicking against the wooden floorboards. The lights were harsh, the crowd quiet as you came out to face them. The stage was set for you, a few props already waiting for you as you stood there, ready for the music to start.

Then, the band began playing, and you sprang into action.

“Hold still, my sweet. I’m tryin to measure the space between your molar and your jaw...” You sang, lunging forward to grab the medical-grade calipers sitting in a metal bucket for you. You trailed them down over your victim’s jaw, smiling as you did so. “...This caliper, no cause for fear. No it...it doesn’t hurt, it only helps me measure how much skin you have...”

Across the club, Zsasz looked up. He was standing near Roman, his boss sitting in a booth while he chatted with some business associates. He was far more interested in you than their conversation, his dark eyes tracking you as you moved across the stage. He was absolutely enthralled by your outfit, your tightly-laced corset covered in blood red rhinestones that glimmered under the stage lights, your matching bra and thong shining just as brightly. You looked like you were covered in blood, the gems catching his eye in a way he hadn’t expected. 

“--and the topmost layer of fat, but I won’t make an incision till you’re nice and numb...” There was an operating table on the stage, where one of Roman’s lowest-ranking goons was tied down. If Zsasz remembered correctly, this guy had fucked up pretty monumentally recently, so seeing him strapped down and struggling brought a grin to his face.

You ran over to the man, the crowd laughing as you leaned across him. “...Oh, and laughing gas can be so much fun, please don’t doubt my decision...”

The scene you had set was both comedic and sexual. In all honesty, Zsasz hadn’t expected you to do anything like this; you were a chorus girl, someone he had thought would go for something overdone and classic. Maybe some old school stupid, annoying, Singin In The Rain type shit, yet there you were, dressed in an outfit that was obviously meant to emulate dripping blood while you flitted around a man on a gurney. 

Zsasz couldn’t look away. 

“This’ll be ooh, this’ll be ahh, this’ll be absolutely whee!” you squealed, teasingly pressing your sawblade to the goon’s torso. “This’ll be nice, this’ll be neat and bring you closer to me...”

You grabbed the goon as he struggled against his restraints, holding him down. Zsasz was sure the man was in on your little number, and he thought it was cute; you were pretending to be some sort of killer, maybe trying to appeal to Roman’s face peely urges. Maybe you were trying to make the boss happy by scaring his lackey like this.

“So don’t you squirm, don't you fret, I'm not gonna hurt you...yet.” You grinned, leaning down before you shoved the man’s face to the side, letting him go as you ran back across the stage. “I just feel the need to be gettin’ a little of you, a lot of blood lettin’, I know the sensation you’re probably dreading...”

You pranced back to the gurney, moving with that little extra theatrical oomph that made everyone think you were just playing. You smiled as they clapped and laughed loudly. They would figure it out soon enough. 

“Cutting you up will be so refreshing for me...” you cooed, discarding the calipers in favor of a scalpel. You traced it down the goon’s bare chest, a little line of blood following the blade as it pierced his flesh. 

He let out a scream, just as you hoped he would, and you gave his little table a shove, sending it wheeling a short distance away. 

“Now don’t you cry,” You sang, “And don’t call Miriam, she’s my alibi...oh let me check your toes out!” You picked up a set of pliers, taking hold of his big toe. “Aren’t your toenails cute?” you grabbed one and pulled, the goon screaming as you removed the nail, leaving a bloody pulp behind. “...and red is such a lovely color on you!” you leaned down in his face, grabbing the opposite foot’s big toenail and yanking. “...But you won’t be needing those!”

Roman began clapping, giving a loud “Whoo!”  as he watched you. He had no idea that when you had asked him for the name of his least favorite henchman, this would be the reason. Now, watching the man suffer onstage in front of everyone while you were dancing around him in six inch heels and a scandalously skimpy outfit, Sionis was more than entertained. He was impressed, absolutely astounding by the cruelty his little burlesque dancer held inside of her. He couldn’t have hoped for more. 

“When you’ve got no knees!” you sang, dropping your weapons in favorite of a crowbar. “...Or shins, or pinky fingers, or arteries....”

You brought your weapon down on each of the man’s legs, somehow still managing to poise yourself perfectly as you did so. You gave him a few good whacks, then dropped the bar, leaning down to pick a knife up out of the bucket and run it over his hands teasingly. 

“...so hold still while I remove them!” you trilled. 

The man tried to sit up, struggling against his restraints, but you shoved him back down with a sweet smile. 

“...Oh, and don’t fight back,” you sang, hopping up to sit next to him. “I think you’ll find you’re missing the point, with that.”

Meanwhile, Victor Zsasz was grinning, showing off his gold teeth while he watched you. He kept a close eye on your hips as they swayed, his trained eyes following your ass as it moved across the stage. Were you really carving a man up right then and there? He wanted it to be true. He wanted to smell the overwhelming tang of blood as you plunged a knife into your victim. But he was too far away, and so he had to settle for watching instead. 

Your victim tried to scream, and you shoved his head to the side playfully. 

“That’s enough outta you!” you sang, holding his jaw tightly.

As you repeated your chorus, your knife returned to the man’s flesh and he grunted in pain, pleading to an audience that didn’t care about him. The Black Mask was a fucked up place for fucked up people, no matter how trendy it was, and nobody in the audience was going to protest when someone was torn apart onstage. Besides, Roman Sionis was far too powerful for the GCPD to go after, and as you heard him laughing loudly in the audience, you had a pretty good feeling that he wasn’t going to send anyone after you for carving somebody up in a way that only you could.

You kept going, peeling your underbust corset off with the same grace and dexterity that Zsasz peeled faces with. As you stood in only your bra, thong, garters and stockings, you felt exhilarated, powerful, as if you had been born to cur people up in front of an audience. 

It’s not like this was your first time chopping a body up, anyways; there was a reason you had to move to Gotham and get a new gig, after all.

Zsasz watched you. In fact, his eyes were glued to you, even when Roman walked away to chat with a few mob bosses in a nearby booth. Were you seriously killing this man right in front of everyone? Victor didn’t necessarily care for all the theatrics, but he could appreciate how seriously you took you took your craft, and he had to admit, he was surprised that this was what you had come up with when Roman told you to give him something good.

“‘Cause I’m all out of hurt, you’ve used up all I’ve got,” you taunted, sneering down at your victim as you brought your saw down on his leg. “So I’m chopping you up and still coming up squat! If I want it to bleed, I’ll just roll up my sleeve and saw and saw and saw...”

The blade cut back and forth, and Zsasz’s eyes followed it. Blood was spurting up, drenching your arms as if you were wearing red opera gloves. 

“And saw, and saw, and saw, and saw....”

“Zsasz, can you believe this?” Roman asked, leaning towards him.

“No, boss,” Zsasz said with a little grin, shaking his head. 

“She’s good. We may have to give her a new job...”

You paused, giving your victim a break as you tossed the saw back into the bucket, drops of blood spattering across the stage as you pulled out a large butcher knife. Before it could touch Roman’s henchman, you used it to flick open the clasp on your bra, tossing the thin little piece of lingerie out into the crowd. You didn’t really care where it went; you were too busy enjoying yourself. 

“This’ll be ooh, this’ll be ahh, this’ll be absolutely whee,” you purred, trailing the blade down the side of the man’s face. “This’ll be nice, this’ll be neat and bring you closer to me...”

“So don’t you squirm, don’t you fret, I’m not gonna hurt you, oh no, no, no, not...yet.” you plunged your blade into his chest, between two of his ribs, not close enough to knick his heart but definitely deep enough to cause him immense pain despite all the adrenaline that was sure to be running through his system now.

You pulled the knife back out, blood dripping off the metal blade as you held it tightly and pranced back across the stage. “I just feel the need to be gettin’ a little of you, a lot of bloodletting, I know the sensation you’re probably dreading but there’s one thing you’re forgetting...”

Turning back to him, you brought the blade to his throat, and in the crowd, Zsasz’s eyes lit up. He was delighted. He was enthralled. His pants were getting a little tight, but whatever. The rest of the audience was gazing up at you with wonder, disgust, amusement...but Zsasz was absolutely admiring the way you so confidently played with your victim. The theatrics were starting to grow on him, he decided, and he wanted nothing more than to go right up there and lick all that blood off your face.

“There’s nothing like the thrill of a shredding,” you sang, almost snarling, “but this is no orthodox beheading...”

You destroyed the man on the gurney, carving through him, drenching yourself in blood in an almost comical way. 

“Cutting you up,” you sang as you made an absolute mess. “Cutting you up...”

“Cutting you up is gonna be....” you finally stepped back, catching your breath as the song slowed. “...so refreshing for me.”

As your routine finished, you took a little bow, still holding the knife as you crossed your ankles and bent at the waist in a delightfully fancy gesture. The man on the gurney was very much dead, blood dripping down onto the stage, and the audience was still eating up every second of it. You could hear Roman cheering, and as you spotted him standing there amidst the crowd with Zsasz at his side, you blew them both a little kiss. 

“How about that?” you heard Roman’s voice boom above the clapping as you strode offstage. “I would call for an encore, but unfortunately, I think we’d need a new victim....”

Your head was still abuzz with the rush of killing, and you walked back to the dressing room in a daze. You were vaguely aware of Dinah Lance wrinkling her nose as you passed her, but you didn’t pay her any mind. Absolutely nothing could kill your good mood now. 

“Well?” the house mom asked as you made your way to your mirror. “Sounds like it went well, judging by those cheers...”

You smiled and hummed to yourself, nodding as you reached for something to clean your face with. You were going to need an entire shower to get all this blood off yourself. 

“Told you.” the house mom snorted a laugh. 

“He loved it,” you grinned. 

She shook her head in amusement. “You are one fucked up girl, I’ll tell you that much.”

“That’s showbiz, baby,” you joked, raising a towel to start working at wiping your face. 

“Oh, pussycat?” a singsong voice made you freeze. 

You could see Zsasz in the mirror. 

He was leaning in the doorway, smirking as he watched you. “Boss wants to talk.”

You paled. Had you fucked up after all? Did Roman get his shits and giggles and now planned on having Zsasz peel your face off? Sionis was infamous for his fickle moods. You’d watched him have plenty of people dragged off into back rooms just for speaking at the wrong time, and you had just done way worse than interrupt him. 

 You gawked at Zsasz, still staring at his reflection. What were you supposed to do? Run? He was blocking the only door, and there was no way you’d be able to get past him. You had no choice but to follow him to Roman. 

“O-Okay,” you managed to stammer out, finally turning towards him. “Lead the way.”

“Might want this.” he held up the bra you had tossed, twirling the strap around his finger while he gave you a smile that showed off his gold teeth.

“Give me that!” you snapped, rushing towards him.

“Ah.” he held it above his head, leering down at you. “Think I like this view more...”

“Zsasz!” you protested, scrambling against his chest and practically trying to claw your way up him to get your lingerie. 

He froze. He finally smelled the metallic tang of all that blood covering you, and coupled with the feeling of your tits against his chest...oh, he was so fucked. 

When he dropped the bra, you grabbed it from him, tossing it back to your mirror and moving to pick up a silky red robe off a nearby hook. You shrugged it on, tying it shut while Zsasz cleared his throat and offered you his arm. 

“Such a gentleman,” you sneered, taking it anyways. 

“When I want to be.” his voice was low and rough, as if his vocal chords were scraping against each other with every syllable. 

You looked up at him, a bit dumbfounded, as he led you out into the club once more. The band was playing as a few people cleaned up the carnage you had left behind, the bar’s patrons all chatting and drinking again. It was as if nothing had even happened and they hadn’t just watched a man be torn apart onstage a few minutes prior. 

Zsasz took you to Roman, the crowd parting before the two of you easily. Sionis was sitting in his favorite booth, sipping his drink and laughing, still seeming to be in a very good mood.

“Ah, there she is!” He said when he saw you, standing up and spreading his arms.

“You wanted to see me, sir?” You asked nervously as Zsasz let you go.

“Yes, yes, I had Mr. Zsasz grab you so that I could congratulate you on a thrilling performance.”

You stared at him. “You liked it?”

“Liked it? I loved it, darling! A bit messy for my tastes, but a lovely show, truly, though I suspect our dear Mr. Zsasz here wishes he could have been the one to take care of your victim. Isn’t that right, Zsasz?”

You glanced up at Zsasz. He grunted, not necessarily in agreement. He didn’t hate watching your performance by any means, and as much as he enjoyed helping little birds fly away from the world, he rather enjoyed watching you do it, too. 

“I’m glad, Mr. Sionis,” you said. 

“I told you, call me Roman.” he took a sip of his drink. “You know, normally, I don’t enjoy it when someone kills the people that belong to me, but I must admit, you certainly have a way with a knife.”

“I would have asked your permission, but I didn’t want to ruin the surprise.” you gulped. 

“And what a lovely surprise it was!” Roman laughed loudly. “You’re very talented...in fact, how’d you like a promotion? Yes? Perfect, perfect! No, no, don’t shake my hand, you’re...well, you’re covered in blood. Quite frankly, it’s disgusting.” He snapped his fingers. “Mr. Zsasz, take her up to the penthouse so she can clean up, I don’t want all this blood getting on the new carpeting in here.”

“Oh, Mr. Sio--Roman,” you cleared your throat, “I can use the shower in the dressing room, really, it’s no trouble--”

“Nonsense, nonsense.” he waved you away. “You’re part of the team now, aren’t you? Besides, a job well done deserves some sort of reward. Zsasz will show you upstairs. Don’t worry, he’s completely harmless.”

As Zsasz put a hand on your lower back, you had your doubts. Harmless wasn’t really a word you would choose to describe Roman’s right hand man. 

“Come on, princess.” Zsasz purred, guiding you through the crowd before you had much of a chance to protest. 

He took you to the elevator in the corner, the bouncer standing guard in front of it stepping aside with a nod. The man hit the up button, and soon, you were pressed up against Zsasz in the small space, on your way up to Roman’s spacious penthouse. 

[dameronology]

silver linings (obi-wan kenobi)

summary: after losing his master, obi-wan's perspective on the world has shifted - luckily, you & a young anakin skywalker are there to change it (for @grapemartini --i hope you enjoy!)

warnings: it gets a little introspective about qui-gon's passing but other than that, nothing!

- jazz xx

For Obi-Wan, Coruscant seemed a little more grey after his master’s death.

Where skies were once blue and empty of rain clouds, they now had a silver facade and a seemingly permanent feeling of thunder and lightning lingering in the air. The hustle and bustle of city life - the late nights and loud noise and bright lights - that had once energised Obi-Wan now exhausted him. It felt as though the metropolitan mass of traffic and people were suffocating him, acting as a weight on his shoulders instead of uplifting him as it had done previously. The rose coloured glasses that he’d worn for so many years had been torn off and he was forced to see the galaxy for what it truly was: dark and scary. A world where being so upbeat all time was, for the most part, fucking exhausting.

Obi-Wan spent the first few days after Qui-Gon’s passing in bed. With the covers pulled up around his neck and the lights dimmed to their lowest setting, it was easier to mope in his own misery than it was to get up and do anything. And who could blame him? By all intents and purposes, he’d lost his father. There was nothing in his years of Jedi training that could have prepared him for that, nor anything within the Force that he could reach out to and seek solace in. In those moments, he was just a human; not a warrior, or a Jedi, or a fighter. Just a man, who had lost the person he valued most.

Well, one of them -- because Obi-Wan still had you. He wasn’t sure how he would have survived otherwise. You’d been by his side since his early years at the Temple and there were times when you were the only thing that kept him grounded. When it felt like things around him were going a thousand miles an hour, you were always there to bring him back to reality. It was a little different now though, because they weren’t going fast; it felt like the universe had ground to a halt around him. The minutes and hours and days kept passing but nothing around Obi-Wan had changed. His master was still gone, and the weight of the world was dragging him down to a dark place.

Some days were easier than others. Anakin was a blessing in disguise; the bright-eyed boy kept him busy a lot of the time. He was a handful but it was what Obi-Wan needed. A distraction and a purpose.

But, the bad days were just that: bad. Absolutely, unbearably terrible. Obi-Wan was letting the nine year old run rampant around the temple whilst he stayed in bed, deep in thought about what his master would have done if he were here. Told him to get off his ass, presumably.

“Obi?” The quiet sound of your voice rang through his room. You’d given him a few weeks to simmer, but you knew he needed intervention now. “Is it okay if I come in?”

The only response you got was a low mmm. Taking that as a signal to come in, you opened the door and slowly stepped inside his quarters. It was messier than usual - strewn robes tossed on the floor, his boots askew on opposite sides of the room, half-eaten plates of food lying about - which was a physical testament to his mental state. Obi-Wan never let his surroundings get messy; not unless he was wildly busy with missions or he was in a bad place. He’d spent half your damn childhood preaching to you about your messy room, after all. Tidy room, tidy mind, and all that.

“Hey, honey,” you lowly greeted him. The old nickname, one you’d used since your early teens, felt like a warm hug. “How are you doing?”

Flipping aside his duvet, Obi-Wan sat up. He looked tired - beyond tired, even. His blue eyes were sunken with days worth of sadness, strawberry blonde hair sticking up in a thousand directions. The only noticeable difference was that his Padawan braid was gone - one of the other last consequences of his battle with Darth Maul. Truthfully, he hadn’t had a chance to even think about what it meant to be a Knight. He knew that it was a good thing in the long run but right now, getting through the week was the only thing he was worried about.

“Hi,” Obi-Wan quietly replied. “I don’t know, to be honest.”

“It’s okay, Obi,” you said. “It’s only been a month.”

“It would have been his birthday yesterday,” he continued. “It doesn’t feel right.”

“I know,” you nodded.

“He was like my father - I didn’t realise how much I needed him til he was gone,” he murmured.

“There are people that need you as well,” you gently reached out a hand, running it down his arm. “I need you. You’re my best friend and nobody else understands my jokes.”

He softly smiled, knowing you were absolutely right. Your friendship ran so long and so deep that you had inside jokes going back years. You were two halves of an ever-so-slightly dysfunctional whole and you needed him just as much as he needed you. It wasn’t the purpose he’d imagined himself having but it was more important than anything else.

“And you can’t forget about Anakin,” you continued. “When you’re not around, he just mopes around Windu and pisses him off. That kid adores you.”

“He does?” Obi-Wan’s eyes flickered over to you. He held your gaze for a moment.

“He really does,” you replied. “I know things feel a bit shit right now but you have so much to come.”

“It’s just...everything happened at once,” he sighed. “I’ve always wanted to become a Knight, and I’ve always wanted to have a Padawan, I just never envisioned that this would be how it happens.”

“You can’t be prepared for everything,” you reminded him. “Life is wild and unpredictable and sometimes it throws terrible things at us, but sometimes it can throw good things at us too. All you can do is roll with the punches and hope for the best, because hope is all we have.”

“Those words sound familiar,” Obi replied.

“Yeah, because they’re yours,” you grinned. “It’s what you said to me when we were like...fifteen, and I lost my lightsaber. And you gave me this massive speech about hope and the future and how I’ll get a better, cooler one.”

“Well, I can’t disagree with me, can I?” He gave you a smile. An actual, real smile, for the first time in months.

“Exactly,” you said. “That’s not to say you can’t be sad, because you’re allowed to be for as long as you need to be, but just remember that you won’t always feel like this, yeah? There’s gonna be a point where the storm passes and then you can look back on your memories with Qui-Gon fondly and be grateful for what you had without mourning for what you’ve lost.”

You weren’t always that wise, but you had your moments. The beautiful thing about your friendship was that you could be each other’s voice of reason when everything was so noisy. When you didn’t have anyone - not even yourself - you always had each other.

Obi-Wan was about to reply, but your conversation was cut short by someone slowly opening the door. A head of tufty blonde hair and curious blue eyes peeked around the side of it, offering a small smile. Anakin.

“Hi,” he greeted you. “Is everything okay?”

“Yeah, we’re good,” you smiled. “Are you okay?”

“I was playing hide and seek with Master Windu but it’s been three hours and he never found me,” Anakin explained. “I think I won.”

“Me too,” you softly chuckled. `He returned the gesture, eyes moving over to look at his master. He might have been young, but he had a good enough understanding of what was going on.

“Are you okay, master?” he asked. “You look sad.”

“I am a little, but I’m getting there,” Obi-Wan said. “Have you eaten?”

“No, I don’t know how to cook,” Anakin replied.

He frowned. “You don’t?”

“I’m nine,” he said, as though that in itself was more than enough explanation.

Obi-Wan had no idea how to look after a child. He knew nothing about them - heck, he struggled to keep his plants alive. If Qui-Gon had been around, he absolutely would have known what to do. He could have helped teach Anakin, or better yet, just done it himself. He would have been there with some oddly wisdomful metaphor that would have been unnecessarily long-winded and complicated but ultimately helpful.

“Oh, right,” Obi-Wan blinked. “Just let me get showered and changed and I’ll come and make you some…”

The Jedi turned to look at you, clearly begging for an answer.

“...pasta.” You finished the sentence for him. “Obi-Wan will make you pasta.”

“Okay,” Anakin smiled. “I’ll be in the kitchens.”

“Perfect,” his master replied. “I’ll be twenty minutes.”

“Alright,” he nodded, before glancing over at you. “You’re really pretty by the way.”

“Anakin!” Obi-Wan quickly said. “That is completely inappropriate-”

“- my mum always taught me to tell people when I think they’re pretty. She said it’s polite,” the kid explained. “Don’t you think they’re pretty?”

You couldn’t help the shit eating grin that had made its way onto your face. Obi-Wan, meanwhile, had gone bright red. Obviously he thought you were the most divine person to have ever walked the planet but he had never planned on that ever being vocalised. He was happy to compliment your fighting skills and your wit - all the things he thought that mattered - but he’d never commented on your appearance. He liked to pretend that he didn’t notice things like that, but in actuality, he’d spent a lot of time admiring you. Not just the way you looked, or the way you smiled, but everything.

“Yeah,” Obi-Wan nodded.

Everything about them is beautiful, he inwardly thought.

“Why thank you,” you gave him a playful wink. “You’re not so bad yourself, Kenobi.”

He tried to calm the panic in his chest. It wasn’t that deep, right? Anakin didn’t have a filter and it was just a...a charming little moment. It probably wouldn’t matter this time in a week - not to you, at least.

“You should head to the kitchens now, Ani,” you said. “See if there’s any snacks, yeah? Obi-Wan will be in soon.”

The kid gave you one last wave before hopping off the bed. It had become clear that he was going to be a handful, and frankly, that was what Obi-Wan needed. It was just the learning curve that he was less excited about.

“I’m so sorry about him,” Obi-Wan groaned, dropping his head in his hands.

“Honestly, that made my week,” you chuckled.

“It just hit me that I have no idea how to raise a child,” he admitted. “I can pass on Qui-Gon’s teachings with ease but it’s the other things I’ve no idea about. He always knew what to do.”

“Not always,” you reminded him. “He was just as clueless as you are right now when you became his Padawan and you still idolised him. Don’t you realise that Anakin looks at you that way? He talks about you constantly when you’re not there and always asks where you are. He thinks the world of you.”

“Do you really think so?” Obi-Wan asked.

“I know so,” you shot back. “He’s the luckiest kid in the world to have you as his master.”

“Thank you,” he gently smiled. “For everything.”

Obi-Wan knew that things weren’t going to be easy - in fact, they were going to be harder than anything he could have imagined, he was tough as hell. And if he forgot that, you would always be there to remind him. Your encouragement and support was all he needed to be absolutely sure that he could make it through.

You were all he needed.

[midnxghtsunwrites]

“ IT WASN'T YOUR FAULT ”

PAIRING —

andy barber x black! pregnant! reader

SUMMARY —

y/n knew something was wrong the moment she woke up with blood soaked sheets and a tightness in her chest.

WARNINGS —

this imagine will contain possibly extremely triggering content such as mentions of infertility, pregnancy irregularities, loss of pregnancy ( stillborn pregnancy ) , explicit language, sadness, and possible anxiety & depression under the cut

proceed with caution, viewer discretion is advised.

IT wasn't the cool draft of breeze flowing from the vent or the soft hum of the AC that woke you up from your sleep. It wasn't Andy shifting on his side of the bed or the loftiness of your two pillows or the fact that your bonnet slid off during the night.

What made you stir was the long forgotten sensation of something running down your inner thigh — the sinking feeling in your belly. Of course, you've felt it before when you were far from pregnant and set to start your period. Usually, however, you would have a gut feeling the night before which often prompted you to wear a pad to bed.

Tonight was different.

You stuck to just panties as pajamas since pregnancy made you hot when you're supposed to be cold and cold when you're supposed to be hot.

When you switch on the lamp on your side of the bed, Andy is spurred awake by the snap of the switch and the sudden influx of light. Since he was laying flat on his back, he just turns his head to look at you with squinted eyes, still adjusting to the brightness.

He furrows his eyebrows as he takes in the look of worry on your face. He knows you well enough to see that you're freaking out internally.

"Sweetheart, what's wrong?" He begins to sit up, "Is it the baby?"

You don't want to look. You don't want to give yourself less faith than you already have. You can't look.

You've already endured years and years of being told that you would never have a child — and the one moment of happiness you got when you found out you were pregnant with your husband's baby is being stripped away. Just like that.

"I think I'm bleeding." Your voice shakes as you speak.

Andy was always the level-headed one in the relationship. Five years of being together and three years of marriage taught you that. You've seen him through his highest highs and lowest lows — lost cases and cases that kept him up at nights. But you have never seen him so panicked at something you said.

Even though his body language screams alarm, his voice is level and calm. "Okay, let's go to the hospital. I'll call ahead."

You nod, squeezing your eyes shut in frustration, "Okay." You whisper.

THE gel is cold against your stomach, shocking you into reality. You listen for the sound of your baby's heartbeat — the one that will let you know that everything is okay.

Everyone seems to be frozen as your gynecologist shifts the wand along your smooth bump. When the room is deathly silent, the only sound to be heard is your heavy exhale, Andy shakes his head, distress on his face.

"What does this..." He can't even finish his sentence. You squeeze your eyes shut. "Why can't we hear a heartbeat?"

Dr. Moore gives her patients sympathetic glances — this is the last thing she would ever wish on any woman. "I'm sorry, Andy, Y/N. It seems... Your baby doesn't have a heartbeat."

It felt like you were struck by an entire planet. Your thought maybe you didn't hear her properly. "What?"

The doctor bows her head in shame, "I am very sorry. Your baby died in utero a couple of hours ago."

Her words seem to be blocked out as you shake you head profusely. You can't breathe, you can't see, you can't even function. You felt it.

"This cannot be happening." You mumble under your breath. This doesn't feel real. Your cheeks are stained with tears at the news.

Andy is by your side, running a hand over your hair that you barely managed to pull back before you entered the hospital. He's holding back tears, but watching you break was enough for him to allow a tear to roll down his red face.

"I'm going to give you guys some time. A nurse will be in soon to discuss your options with you. I'm sorry, Mr. and Mrs. Barber." Dr. Moore reiterates one final time before leaving you to grieve.

When she closes the door behind her, you take no time to grab on to Andy's hand and curl into him. He rests his hand on the back of your head as you sob into his shoulder.

"I know, baby. I know. I'm right here."

ANDREW was right there when the doctors induced your labor. He was right there when you had to endure a painful delivery to your baby girl. Your beautiful baby girl. He was there when you held her for the first and last time. He was there for the next week when you'd decided to stay in the hospital, needing time to come to terms with how quickly everything happened.

With just a picture of her captivating face as a memento, you guys went home. Without your baby.

You felt frozen — stuck in your mind, thinking of what it would've been like had things gone differently. You would be walking in your house with a car seat and a sleeping or babbling baby, a wide smile on your face. Andy would've been absolutely amazed at what you two had made.

Now? You don't even know how you walked out of the hospital or into the house without breaking down and getting yourself admitted into psych.

You're fixed to the threshold of the door — you couldn't move even if you wanted to, struck by a sudden wave of melancholy. All you can think of is the talks you and Andy had about your shared excitement.

"Honey." Andy's voice draws you back to earth. He's stood behind you, going through his own tide of emotions.

He couldn't even imagine the toll this is having on you.

You close your eyes and lean forward, the palms of your hands pressing against the door jamb. "I just need a minute."

"Okay." Andy nods in understanding, resorting to rubbing your back, gingerly.

Moments pass before you finally step into the house, your breathing shallow with anticipation. Andrew is close behind you, eyeing you cautiously and lovingly. He just wants to hold you, but he knows you need some time to yourself.

That's why he simply nods when you suggest that you should go take a shower and lay down.

"I'll make you some food." He tells you.

Your footsteps seem to echo against the walls seeing as you kept your shoes on. You weren't sure you had the energy to care about tracking dirt inside.

Entering the bedroom, you're overwhelmed with a surge of anger and disappointment.

The bed hadn't been touched since the night you went to the hospital and now you can see the sheet is strewn in the center of the mattress, a pool of long-since dried blood staring at you — "Fuck," You run a hand through your matted hair.

Part of you gets to scrubbing because how else would you take the nap you told Andy about? The other part wants to scrub away the reminder of that night. The panic and pure fear in your veins — in Andy's.

On your knees, sleeves rolled up, and fatigue ramming through you like a train, you attempt to wash away the painful memory. No matter how much elbow grease you put into it, the stain doesn't budge.

Thoughts flood your mind — is this a punishment? Am I getting punished for all the harmless things I've done in my life?

You press down further, sinking the springs in the mattress. The frustration is clear in your gaze — exasperated sighs escaping you. You're so caught up in your action that you don't even realize when a loud and defeated wail renders you a sobbing mess.

You don't hear Andy run up the stairs at the sound and stand at the door, eyebrows furrowed in worry and tenderness. He watches you for a second as you hunch forward and hit your hands against the bed in anger.

"I'm so sorry," You cry to no one in particular, "I should've known something or done something — I should've taken more care of you."

Tears gather in your husband's eyes as he hears your words. He wastes no time in stepping towards you and resting a hand on your shoulder. You flinch slightly, not expecting Andy to have heard you.

You can't even look at him, so disappointed and ashamed of yourself that you can't gather the courage to look your husband in the eye.

"Y/N, come here." He gently goads you to stand, his hand warm on your shoulder. When you rise to your feet, Andy pulls you into him, not caring about the snot or tears that transfer from your face to his t-shirt. He rubs a hand down your back and another over your hair and sniffles, "Don't you dare blame yourself for what happened. It wasn't your fault."

In that moment, his words meant nothing to you. They just drowned under the grief you were experiencing. It was only during the silent night when you two were laying on the couch of the living room after dumping your mattress that you realized how much his words meant to you.

With your head resting on his chest, you crane your neck up and gaze at him, watching as he stares up at the ceiling in thought.

"Andrew?" You whisper, voice cracking after hours of weeping.

He shifts his gaze to you, giving you his full attention. "Hmm?"

You take in his blue eyes which have seemed to lose its sparkle. "I love you."

He presses a sweet kiss to your lips, layered in salty tears, "I love you too."

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[dragons-bones]

FFXIV: A Touch of Midnight

Wolmeric Week #5: Home

A/N: OKAY THIS SHOULDN’T MAKE ANYONE CRY. \o/

Day 1 || Day 2 || Day 3 || Day 4 || Day 5 || Day 6 || Day 7 || Bonus!

RATING: G WORD COUNT: 1512 WARNINGS: None! Cross-posted to AO3

---

Near to midnight and Borel Manor was still and quiet, the only sound the steady ticking of the grandfather chronometer that sat in the entrance foyer and could be heard in nearly every room of the building. Hersande and Baptistaux had kept a few oil lamps on for her, creating a small illuminated path up to the master bedroom, and Synnove smiled softly as she picked up the lamp on the pier table next to the front doors.

The carbuncles rubbed against her legs—Tyr her hip, Ivar her knee, Galette her shin, and the twins her ankles—and then beelined right for the stairs in a mass of softly glowing aetheric fur and tails. As Ivar bounded upstairs first, Galette picked up a yawning Roksana while Tyr gently scruffed Amandina, who took the opportunity as she dangled to rub her eyes with her paws before ascending after their ruby brother. Their summoner followed more sedately, turning off the remaining lamps as she passed, carefully grasping the bannister as she climbed upward.

Her quintet of children quietly chittered their goodnights to her (poor little Roksana’s aetheric harmonic came out a barely intelligible mumble, and Amandina’s was broken by the huge yaaaaawn her jaw cracked on), and then headed further down the hall to their room. Synnove blew a kiss after them and turned for the master bedroom, undoing the toggles of her jacket as she walked. When she reached the door, she grasped the handle and gently turned it, then pushed the door open slowly so the hinges wouldn’t creak in protest. For all the oiling Baptistaux did, age and the cold still conspired to the render the manor potentially loud in the middle of the night.

But tonight, the door swung open smoothly with barely a whisper, and she slid inside, setting the lamp on an end table and her pack on the floor next to her vanity. As she slid her jacket off, carefully draping it over the vanity’s matching chair, she turned towards the bed, another smile on her face—and blinked, her brow furrowing.

…Where was Aymeric?

Her eyes darted around the shadowed bedroom as she thought. It was—it was definitely Fireday, and her knight was supposed to be focused on Parliamentary matters this week instead of military. He had even groused to her about his upcoming meeting with the Counts de Durandaire and Dzemael—his least favorite combination of the Heads of the High Houses—and Master Aucheforne of the House of Commons over their linkpearl at lunch. Even if he forgot to call her again if he was kept late, Norlaise would absolutely tattle on him, so Aymeric should be home, but there was no handsome elezen waiting for her in their bed.

A quiet but firm mew got her attention.

Synnove looked down to meet the solemn blue gaze of Lady Crème. The Ala Kharan queen sat primly at her feet, long fluffy tail curled demurely over her paws, and mewed again, insistently.

She crouched down and gently brushed her knuckles between the cat’s ears. “Good evening, my lady,” she crooned. “Could you tell me where your most devoted servant is?”

Lady Crème squinted her eyes shut for a moment, accepting the attention as her due, and then headbutted her hand and stood, padding gracefully from the room. Synnove turned off the oil lamp and obediently followed.

The true lady of Borel Manor led her down the hall—quite dark now, but the white of Lady Crème’s fur was a beacon that kept her from unintentionally veering off course and stubbing her toes—in the opposite direction of the carbuncles’ room, and came to a stop next to the stairs leading up to the third floor. Synnove sighed, shaking her head, and bent down to gently heft the Ala Kharan cat into her arms. “Oh, dear,” she murmured to Lady Crème, “it must have been a bad day.”

Lady Crème mrowled her agreement, and softly papped her cheek with a paw.

As with many Ishgardian noble houses, Borel Manor had been built up rather than out, a specific luxury for the families who had claimed plots in open air, a rarity now even in the Pillars. And the Borels had always been a relatively small family; for the past two generations, it was the first and second floors that saw the most use—even Hersande and Baptistaux’s bedroom was on the second floor, in a discreet corner easily accessed by the back staircase down to the kitchens and stillroom—with the third floor opened only if more guest rooms were necessary. The fourth floor was the attic space, with some spillover storage rooms on the third, and but it had been up there that she and Aymeric had worked to convert one of the attics into a cozy little hideaway when they needed more privacy, or quiet.

Synnove tucked Lady Crème more firmly into the crook of her arm and ascended the stairs to the third floor, then walked down the hallway and turned into another to reach the stairs up to the attics. (Not for the first time, she cursed whichever Borel ancestor had so thoroughly torn apart the manor interior and arranged the stairwells at the ends of whichever halls they had wanted.) The fourth-floor landing was claustrophobic, utterly pitch black, but small enough at least that flailing out her free hand had it smacking into the door of the refurbished attic. Hissing at the lance of pain from her unhappy knuckles, she slid her hand along the door until she found the handle and could pull the latch.

Dimmed light spilled out onto the landing, the attic’s new lightning-crystal powered chandelier turned to its lowest setting. It was more than enough for her purpose, at least, and Synnove stepped inside, shutting the door behind her with a soft click.

Immediately visible, in the comfortable alcove bed on the opposite end of the room, was Aymeric, back to the door, shoulders rigid with tension. A sympathetic hiss escaped her lips, and she carefully set Lady Crème on the floor. The old queen chirped and sat, beginning to wash her paw, as the Highlander tiptoed closer to the alcove.

Synnove leaned over Aymeric, reaching out to gently brush her fingers through his hair. Her knight grunted and cracked a bloodshot eye open to look at her; pain lines radiated from the corners of his eyes and mouth, and he was unusually pale. She made another sympathetic, a croon this time, and very carefully crawled over him into the alcove bed, laying down on her side and cupping his cheek.

“Oh, darling,” she said sadly, pitching her voice as low as possible without having to resort to a raspy whisper that would just grate on his ears, “how long have you had this migraine?”

“Mid-afternoon,” Aymeric said, grimacing and very, very slowly, began to ilm closer to her. “It began as a regular headache, but it exploded after my meeting ended. Was able to come home early, and I came up here to attempt to sleep it off.”

“Didn’t go well, I see,” Synnove murmured, wiggling the rest of the way forward until her knight could shove his face into her neck with a gusty sigh. She threw one arm around his shoulder and dug her fingers into the base of his neck, and wedged the other arm beneath his head as a makeshift pillow while threading those fingers into his hair and slowly petting his head. Aymeric groaned, partially relaxing into her hold.

“Was stupid,” he muttered. “Should have eaten first, especially since it was Baptistaux and Hersande’s night off. Woke up a bell or two ago, I think; couldn’t move. Hurt too much.”

She kissed his forehead and cuddled him closer, continuing to massage and stroke his head in the spots that usually helped release some of the tension. Her poor Aymeric; he’d likely need to take the day tomorrow to finish recovering. He rarely had a migraine this bad, but it was always awful when they struck, and so far, they had proved infuriatingly resistant to potions.

A trill caught her attention, and Lady Crème leapt into the alcove, landing so lightly the bedding didn’t dip at all. She sniffed curiously at Aymeric’s hair, and Synnove felt her beloved twitch—and then Lady Crème very gently draped herself atop Aymeric’s head (and Synnove’s hand), curling her paws under herself, and began purring ferociously.

Aymeric made a noise of surprise, and then an enormous sigh of aching relief escaped him, warming her throat and clavicles as he turned into boneless mush in her arms. Synnove smiled and worked her hand free so she could lay it on Lady Crème’s back while the other now pet the top of her knight’s spine.

“Good girl,” she said to the cat, who squinted her blue eyes shut at the compliment.

“Thank you both,” Aymeric said with a yawn.

“Welcome, darling.”

Mrowl.

And together, both of the Lord Commander’s ladies lulled him into a comfortable sleep.

[mycupoffanfiction]

Mi Amor

Ez Reyes x Reader

Summary: Ez takes his girl on a date to celebrate their anniversary, but he has a special gift for her this year.

Warnings: Mention of public sex and sexual acts but nothing descriptive, mention of slight injury, but no detail, lots and lots of fluff, probably a bit cheesy too.

Word count: Approx 1200

Masterlist

A/N: Hi loves, this was requested by sweet @cocotheclown​​, I hope you enjoy this, I’m a little nervous since it’s my first time writing for Ez, I hope it came out well? Thank you for requesting! 💖

Ez had brought you out to a viewing point at the edge of a quiet hiking trail that overlooked the desert, the pair of you lazing on a blanket you had brought with you.

The sunset in the distance was gentle and hazy, casting a golden, warm light over you both, creating a dreamy atmosphere between the two of you.

At the corner of the blanket stood a little picnic basket, complete with some celebratory food and drink, deciding that a date that marked your fifth year together deserved something more intimate, more personal than eating at a restaurant.

Looking down at you, Ez smiled softly, taking you in, enjoying the way you looked as you lay against him, a feeling of serenity and love shared between you as the lowest rays of the sun turning to twilight gave the sky an ethereal glow.

“I love you, mi amor.” His words were sweet, spoken gently with gentle sincerity. Leaning in, he kissed you slowly, lips brushing against yours before he captured you in a kiss that held so much love, so many feelings he was still yet to find words to describe.

“I love you too, Ez.” You whispered against his lips, the backs of his fingers gently caressing your cheek. Tracing your touch over his arm, your fingers met his as he kissed you and gently you gripped his hand, wanting to feel him. You craved his touch, both gentle and heavy, the feeling of being in his protective embrace, large arms surrounding you, casting a shadow of warmth over you.

Pulling away, a low chuckle made you smile when you chased after his lips, wanting more of him, wanting to feel Ez against you again, the feelings he brought you as his lips touched yours.

“Happy anniversary, mi amor.” He spoke barely above a whisper, almost afraid to break the peaceful atmosphere if he spoke any louder.

“I wanted to make this one special, it’s our fifth year together, after all.” He said, smiling as he reached over his side and taking a somewhat messily wrapped gift and handing it to you. “What’s this? I thought we weren’t doing presents?” You asked, sitting up properly to take the present into your hands. “I know, but I couldn’t resist spoiling you, querida.” Ez grinned, watching the way you smiled with delight as you carefully unwrapped it.

You pulled a small photo album out of the wrapping paper and you immediately opened the first page to see the very first photograph of you and Ez together, before you were even a couple. “I wanted to give you something that documented our story together so far.” He explained and you met his gaze with a grateful smile, your hand resting over your heart, your love for Ez and his sweetness towards you always seemed to surprise you, despite how often he showed his love for you and spoiled you.

“I love it.” You breathed out the words softly and you turned over the page, viewing photos from your early days together when things had been different. The first year had easily been the toughest, taking a friendship and making it something more was always a gamble at first, but even more so when Ez’s work made things dangerous for you. Finding a balance in your knowledge and involvement in the club was one of the biggest hurdles you had to overcome as a couple, but somehow it had all worked out.

“Our first rental.” You smiled, seeing the first apartment you had ever lived in together. It had been tiny, but it had been home. Despite how shit the apartment was and the neon signs outside that seemed to always shine through every material you put in front of the windows, the nights you spent there together were wonderful and passionate.

You remembered the first time Ez had returned from a run since you moved in together, cut up, bruised, morally questioning himself. “Let me take care of you, Ez.” You whispered softly, gently pushing him onto the couch, soft hues of blue and orange neon lights shining through the curtains, creating a gloomy atmosphere in a dimly lit apartment. “No, go back to bed.” He refused, voice devoid of his usual charm, his usual sweet tone as he stood up from the couch, gently pushing you away from him.

“Ez, please-.”

“You shouldn’t have to see me like this.” He snapped. “That’s not your choice, not since you chose to move in together.” You replied, a harsh edge to your tone that he had never heard before and Ez glared at you, his stare hard and dark for a moment. His frown softened, eyes meeting yours with a new gentleness to them and slowly, he reached out for you, taking your hands in his.

“You’re right,” Ez sighed. “I’m sorry, mi amor.” He whispered, letting you pull him into your embrace and melting against you.

Turning a few more pages, you talked about some of the photographs, giggling and smiling about various things you had done together as a couple and as a family with both his club and his brother and pops.

“Look, that’s when we went to that stupid funfair the guys dragged us to.” Ez snorted. “I didn’t think you thought it was so stupid when you pulled me into that photobooth.” You winked at him, a soft chuckle coming from him. “Why aren’t those photos in here, huh?” You teased. “I’ll never forgive myself if pops or Angel ever go through this and find out what we got up to in there.” He laughed, the very idea of his family finding photo evidence of your passionate public sex, making you feel warm with impending embarrassment.

You saw photos of your current house together and the house welcoming party the whole MC had thrown for you both once you had been able to unpack and get the place looking presentable. “These last few pages are blank, because I think we’re going to have some great memories to fill them up with.” Ez told you, making you flip to the end of the book and your heart almost stopped.

On the inside back cover was a ring, secured carefully right in the middle. “I’ve wanted to ask you for a while now, but it never seemed to be the right time.” Ez smiled, reaching down to gently take the ring. “Will you marry me, mi amor?” He asked, holding the ring up, his gaze meeting yours, waiting for your response as you took it all in.

Your heart was racing, a feeling of pure love and happiness blooming in your chest as you drew in a breath to speak. Your words became stuck in your throat, eyes captivated on his as he smiled softly at you.

And suddenly a wave of courage hit you, tears rolling down your cheeks as you grinned uncontrollably at him.

“Yes.” Sliding the ring onto your finger, Ez realised how hopelessly in love with you he was, but he knew he always would be.

Mayans Taglist (OPEN):

@everyhowlmarksthedead​​ @woahitslucyylu​​ @trulysuccubus​​ @iambabyharry​​ @starrynite7114​​ @ifoundmyhappythought​​ @claytoncardenasbabymama​​ @peaches007​​ @angelreyesgirl​​ @thesandbeneathmytoes​​ @plentyoffandoms​​

Permanent Taglist (OPEN):

@scuzmunkie​​ @scarlett-berserker​​ @megantje123​​ @sideeffectsofyou​​ @veganfangirl5​​ @loving-life-my-way​​ @searching-for-neverland​​ @kitkatd7​​ @littlegangrel​​ @shadycupcakefox​​ @psychiccreationtaco​​ @tony-stank3​​ @damienwitcher​​ @thesewaywardskies​​ @abbiesthings​​

[draconica]

Oooo, for the writing prompt, a little 7+4+1? Or just one, I might be a little greedy 😖🤣

7: Engagement sex 4: Petnames 1: Spicing things up in the bedroom

I made it work, anon   ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

I also headcanon Ellis can be a powerbottom so enjoy that

When Ellis returned home from the shop one warm evening, he was humming softly to himself. There was a sly smile to his features as he gently jostled the plastic bag he had brought home. There was no groceries or anything that mundane inside. No, there was something very special inside of this particular carrier.

“Niiick?” he crooned in the hope that his boyfriend was home, and in the mood. Now, he was home, but as Ellis turned the corner into the living room he was met with a sight he wasn't quite expecting to see.

Nick was stood in a black suit - a proper, swanky, three-piece number – and holding a red rose. A soft song was playing on their stereo system, and the lights were turned down low. He had definitely been stood here for some time, waiting for Ellis to return home, and Ellis dropped his smile briefly. The gambler was smooth as silk at the best of times, but this was unexpected.

“Welcome home, sweet peach,” Nick led with, making Ellis blush – that damn pet name of his. “You good?”

Ellis scratched the back of his neck. “Uh, I'm jus' fine,” he smiled, setting down his bag for now, and gesturing to Nick as he took a step towards him. “What's this for?”

In a second, Nick's smile slipped a little, arching his brow. “...You forgot, didn't you?” He rolled his eyes, but that smile soon came right back as he stepped forward also, closing the gap between them and offering him the rose. “July 12th? The day we got out of quarantine?” Nick chuckled, leaning in closer and making it more personal. “The day we moved in together, made the new place official?”

A million thoughts swarmed Ellis's head at that point, taking the rose and knowing he was absolutely overcome with blushes. “O-oh… damn, I guess I did forget,” he giggled, tilting his head a little as his boyfriend leered closer. Even now, Nick was still the most damn attractive man he'd ever met, let alone dated. “M'sorry, darlin', just had a lot on my mind, I guess?” he shrugged.

Nick seemed to understand, nodding once before pulling Ellis in for a kiss. “It's all good, sport. You can make it up to me later. But for now...” he turned and clicked a remote in love control, turning down the music a touch, before his hand returned to where it belonged – holding his lover's.

“Ellis,” he began, looking down at his thumb caressing the back of El's hand. “It's been a hell of a ride to get here, huh? Fighting for our lives every day in the apocalypse, a year of quarantine, and now three years of living together. Before the Green Flu, I was at my lowest point. I… well, wouldn't be alive if I hadn't met you. The zombies were a distraction, but you were a reason to live. You mean the Goddamn world to me, Fireball, and I want to spend every day by your side. So… I have one question for you.” Ellis watched on, mouth dropping, as his boyfriend got down on one knee and produced a velvet box containing a thick silver ring. In the center, there was set a dark blue gemstone. “Ellis, mi tesoro, will you marry me?”

Needless to say, Ellis had not been expecting this today, and that was obvious given the absolute astonishment on his face at that moment. It almost made Nick want to laugh, but he was slightly too nervous for that.

Thankfully, Ellis broke into his lop-sided, brilliant Southern smile. “You sly sumbitch,” he chuckled. “Hell yeah, I'll marry ya!”

The gambler got to his feet, immediately bringing his lover closer into his arms with an unbreakable smile. The ring was a perfect fit onto Ellis's fourth finger, something else that Nick had been worried about, but seeing how snugly it sat made the older man's heart swell. “I love you, Overalls.”

“Love you, too, darlin',” Ellis responded as he brought Nick's face in for a kiss... and then another... and then his arms were around Nick's neck. Any distance between them was suddenly gone.

It wasn't unusual for their kisses to get out of hand, certainly in their earlier days where it seemed like sex was on the table every day (not literally, except for a few times Ellis can remember where they'd gotten adventurous…). That's when Ellis remembered what was in the bag he had brought home. Well, now he had no choice but to surprise his lover with its contents.

By now, Nick's kisses had moved to the mechanic's neck, and Ellis couldn't suppress a shiver as he found his favorite spot just below his ear. Many a hickey had been placed there before, and it was near-enough a certainty that he'd be getting a new one tonight.

“Nick,” he whispered, shifting his hand through the hustler's hair and smiling when he caught sight of the shiny new engagement ring on his finger. “Take me to the bedroom.”

“Oh, sweetheart,” Nick chuckled before tightening his grip around Ellis's waist and hoisting him up, causing the younger man to gasp against his lips. “You don't have to tell me twice.”

Of course, Nick couldn't possibly carry Ellis up a whole staircase and into said bedroom. He wasn't a young man anymore, after all. Not that Ellis minded – it actually gave him a chance to grab the bag he'd brought home. Nick gave him an odd look as he did so, but his young fiancé had simply smiled, told him not to worry about it with a pat to the cheek.

Once they both stepped into the bedroom together, Ellis set the bag down once more and brought Nick into more kisses, having missed them in the thirty seconds they had stopped.

“How long were ya plannin' that for?” asked Ellis curiously as he slipped the black tie from Nick's neck, smiling at him.

Nick shrugged a little. “Few months,” he admitted. “Knew I wanted to marry you someday, seemed like the anniversary of getting out of that Goddamn pandemic was a good time.”

Ellis was now working on those pesky shirt buttons, granting him access to that chest hair he loved so much on Nick. “Romantic as usual,” he mused. “Gotta be honest… I was plannin' a lil' somethin' for us tonight, too. Nothin' big like askin' ya to marry me, so kinda puts my gesture in the shade.”

“Don't be modest, sweet peach,” Nick chuckled, allowing Ellis to remove his suit jacket and leave it on the floor – something he usually gets very picky about.

“Well...” Ellis slipped Nick's belt from his pants, and was pleased at the choice his lover had made – a black leather strap. Yes, this'll do nicely. “I know you like bein' in control 'n all, but I wanna show ya how we ride in the South.”

That piqued the gambler's interest, not in the least because Ellis was looping the belt around his hand, pulling it taught for Nick to see, and something about the sight was enough to set his erection at full mast.

“Ace...” he paused, needing to wet his lips when he found his mouth suddenly dry. “Do I get a say in this?”

“You certainly get to pick the safe word,” mused the mechanic, shifting his weight slightly on his hips as he played with the leather strap some more.

Nick must've been mad, or at least deeply in love, as he decided to shift control over to his little fiancé for the night. “All right,” he conceded, stepping out of his pants which, with lack of support, had pooled onto the floor. “Where do you want me, sugar?”

The mechanic's grin spread further up his cheeks. He led Nick over to their king-sized bed and sat him down. “Now, you go ahead and make yourself comfortable, mister gamblin' man, and I'll go slip outta these here greasy clothes.” With a little canter to his steps, he grabbed the bag once more and headed to their en-suite bathroom, shooting a look over his shoulder. “Recommend losing those there briefs, too. Won't be needin' them at the rodeo.” And with that, he disappeared into the next room, door shutting slowly behind him.

Nick had always been good at following instructions, and Ellis's were about as subtle as a sledgehammer to the face. So, as he stripped himself down completely and got comfortable, he took the time while Ellis was gone to think about some of the more memorable trysts in their relationship.

There was the very first time which had been during the apocalypse. It had been rough and hurried, considering they had just escaped death by the skin of their teeth, and it was more a carnal desire of the most basic of human instincts. Ellis had almost alerted a horde with how loud he'd been.

There was another time, during quarantine, where love had for the first time been entered into the equation. Namely, the first time they had said 'I love you' to each other. Nick had topped then, too. And he wasn't a picky partner by any means – after all, Ellis was young and full of testosterone, and sometimes he needed to fuck just as much as anyone else. Nick had come to enjoy bottoming, absolutely, but he was more or less the one in charge on most nights. Ellis never complained; quite the opposite, in fact. Nick was still lost in thought when suddenly the bathroom door opened at last, revealing Ellis in his attire for the evening: Nothing but a cowboy hat (and one engagement ring).

“Howdy,” he drawled as he leant against the door frame, still playing with Nick's belt in his hands. “Heard there was a no-good city slicker that I needed to take good care of. Assumin' that's you, handsome?”

Nick couldn't' help but smirk up at him, raising an eyebrow. Ellis was unbelievably adorable, especially whenever he was making effort to please him. That included… this. “Goddamn it, Ace,” he shook his head. “Didn't think this was how my night was gonna go.”

Ellis shot him an amused look, then slipped right back into character. “I'm the best darn rodeo rider this side'a Georgia,” he boasted, sauntering closer to the bed. “Ain't no wild stallion I can't tame. So, reck'n you'll be my best ride yet.” The mechanic reached into the bedside drawer to fetch the lube, and took a moment to stand beside the bed, looking over his naked lover. “Safe word?” he asked.

Nick nodded up at him. “Witch.”

Ellis frowned. “Damn, Nick, really? All the words in the entire American language and you had to pick one that reminds me of the time you almost got yourself killed?”

“You almost got me killed,” retorted the hustler, squinting at him. “You're the one who spooked the bitch.” But he shook his head, letting a smile return to his red face. “Fine. Safe word is 'wedding'.”

With a roll of his eyes, Ellis blushed a little as he set the lube down on the table for now. “Good 'nough for me.” Slipping back into character once more, the Southerner crawled his way onto the bed and straddled his lover, halfway up his chest, at one point his erection bobbing near Nick's face. The gambler just watched on with hungry eyes. “Now then… one thing I know about tamin' the wilder beasts is that they need to be trained, sometimes with force.” Ellis looped the leather belt around Nick's neck gently, watching the older's green eyes for any signs of discomfort or fear. There was nothing but trust, and a lot of hunger.

Ellis cinched the belt, not tightly, but enough for Nick to feel the presence of his around his throat. With a twist of his hand, Ellis curled the leather around his wrist and tested the length. There was plenty to work with, and he grinned. “Damn, look at'chu, city boy.” Ellis backed up his hips, grinding himself backwards onto Nick's cock, and watching in triumph as Nick's eyelids fluttered slightly. “I think I'm gonna really enjoy ridin' you.”

The helpless gambler chuckled as he rested his hands on Ellis's thighs, watching those hips move back and forth and craning his neck back a little. A moan almost made it's way out of his mouth, but not quite. Ellis had to try harder. “You're getting more into the kinky sex, Overalls,” he smiled, throwing in a wink. “I'll take credit for that.”

With a tilt of his head, Ellis's hand pulled back, tightening the belt a little like pulling on the leash of a disobedient dog. Nick gasped beneath him, moaning in the afterthought, which made the cowboy grin. “You speak outta turn like that again and you'll be in the doghouse,” he threatened. Reaching over to the nightstand, he took the open tube of lubricant and squirted the thick liquid onto two fingers. The look in his baby blue eyes was so very kinky, and Nick could feel his cock give a twitch in appreciation as he pictured what Ellis was about to do with those fingers.

Picking up the belt once more with his clean hand, those fingers then went behind Ellis, slipped between his cheeks and found his pucker. The younger man was a dab hand at prepping himself, and knew his own body inside and out. While he worked his magic, he moaned aloud and reintroduced his bucking hips back into the mix. The sight was amazingly erotic, and Nick couldn't resist reaching over to play with Ellis's neglected dick. Ellis, for the most part, seemed to allow it, even bucking up again into the gambler's grasp.

“You're thinkin' about it now, aren't ya, city boy?” Ellis chuckled with an open-mouthed grin. “Thinkin' about me ridin' ya real good, getting' ya all hot 'n bothered...” He leant in slightly, pulling once more on Nick's restraint until the man was a little closer. “Thinkin' about how fuckin' good I'm gonna feel around your cock once I'm wet n' ready?”

That accent was so thick, deep with lust, and it was driving Nick crazy. The gambler gave a groan, just as the belt loosened again and allowed him is breath back. His head fell back to the pillow, already seeing a black fuzz around his vision. “God… sweet peach…”

“Yes, my darlin'?” Ellis crooned, by now with three fingers knuckle deep inside of himself.

“Ple…” Nick panted as he closed his eyes. “Please.”

That was all Ellis needed to hear. With another lop-sided smile, the mechanic shifted until he was kneeling and scooted back a little on Nick's body. He kept a keen eye on his fiancé's face, even as he reached behind, took Nick's cock in hand, and slipped himself down onto it like he'd done it a hundred times before.

The card shark grunted and turned his head a little, and Ellis could hear a shift behind him as Nick moved his legs. His feet was planting themselves onto the mattress and knees bending up, in order to provide him with the leverage he needed. Ellis leant back, slipping down further onto Nick's cock while at the same time resting against Nick's thighs like a back rest. He was grateful for that.

“How about that?” Ellis nearly sang as he shifted on Nicolas's lap. “You're bein' a good boy after all.”

Nick said nothing, just looked up at his Southern lover with a smile on his face, throwing in a wink for good measure. Ellis chuckled and wrapped the belt once more around his wrist for another harsh tug, at the same time, lifting his hips and slamming back down in a harsh bounce. The leather crackled in his grip, and Nick drew another breath. His face was getting redder. “El,” he managed, grinding out the noise, and Ellis was careful to make sure he had enough air to speak, should his next breath utter the safe word.

“Giddy up,” purred the cowboy, reaching up to hold his hat before beginning his ride. Putting all his power to his thighs, up and down Ellis's hips went as he bounced away. The sweetest moans left his throat – couldn't rightly help it, as Nick had always been the best lay of his life.

Nick's hands found their way to Ellis's hips, gripping him there and guiding him on and off his dick. In no time at all, Ellis was fully into the sex, letting go of his hat to reach back and steady himself on Nick's knee as he continued to ride him hard.

“Fuck yeah,” Nick murmured to himself as he gazed up at the scene Ellis was blessing him with. He groaned soon afterwards, craning his neck, and smiled up at his lover. “The belt… please… fuck...”

Ellis grinned and slowed his thrusts down a little in order to tug the belt once more, harsher and tighter than previously. Nick's knuckles went white around Ellis's hips.

“Look at ya… enjoyin' yourself so much,” Ellis praised and drove his hips down once more, grinding back on Nick's length. “C'mon, city boy, you know you wanna come inside'a me...”

Nick could hear the blood rushing around his head, fell the pleasure begin to whirlpool around his cock, and did the only thing he knew he could do. He moved a hand to Ellis's dancing erection and gave him a tight sleeve to fuck into, watching with watering eyes. The Southerner groaned and dropped the leather strap in favor of bracing both hands on Nick's legs, rocking himself like crazy. The gambler drew a gasp of air, Ellis threw his head back, and then it all went white.

“NICK!” Ellis broke character at the last minute to shout his fiancé's name in orgasm. He spilled semen all up Nick's chest and some managed to hit his chin. The sight was erotic enough to send the older man tumbling off the precipice himself, filling Ellis up until he was overflowing. Ellis moaned and lifted himself off for the last time, feeling warm liquid seep down the insides of his thighs.

With a sigh, Ellis leant forward and braced his hands on Nick's shoulders to prevent himself from falling atop him. The cowboy hat fell from his head and onto the floor beside the blunt end of the belt. The mechanic looked up at last, seeing Nick with his eyes closed and drawing in large breaths. He blushed as he reached up to carefully removed the leather from his neck, letting it clatter to the carpet.

“Darlin'?” Ellis whispered as he lifted himself off of Nick, in the process grabbing some tissues in order to clear them both up. “Nick.”

Nick opened his eyes at last, letting them fall onto his cute young lover as he grinned. “Even after all these years...” He reached out to cup El's cheek, rubbing his thumb there. “...you still surprise me, Overalls.”

Once the necessary clean-up had been finished, Ellis crawled back onto the bed and cuddled right up to his gambler, running his hand through his fine chest hair. “Glad you enjoyed the show, Nick.” He looked down, admired the ring still snugly on his finger. “Yeah, not quite how you pictured your night goin', huh?”

“No, sir,” agreed Nick and moved his hand up to lace their fingers together. “But if this is how the rest of my life is gonna go, I think I'm okay with that.”

With a short laugh, Ellis reached up to kiss him, rubbing his thumb along Nick's jaw. “Love you, city boy.”

[squid-rp]

So... remember when I said I wanted to make playlists for my characters while stuck at work? WELL... today is the day of results, staring with Cora. See cut below for playlist and a few drabbles that are inspired but may yet change as more info about the world comes out.

TW: Language... both in the playlist and out of it. I'm not kidding when I said Cora needs a swear jar, and some of her song choices definitely uh... reflect that.

DRABBLES:

Cora might not have been a proper witch or warlock, but she knew full and well what storms were, because she saw them in people. She saw it in her mother’s eyes when her parents thought she had been asleep -- the woman’s lips turning to a snarl as she deftly dodged another bottle thrown at her head and the sloppy slur of a yell to get out. Cora knew that sometimes storms collided and one usually gave way to another. Her mother gave way to her father and fled into the night, leaving her alone with a bitter man festering in all of his losses and resentful of what he felt he deserved but could not have. Had it not been for her grandmother, Cora knew she would have felt that wrath turned on herself more severely than sour glances and whiskey touched words. Lavinia Carrington was a storm of her own. She lacked the wild snarl and harsh words that her daughter used so frequently, but her eyes were fixed and focused like the rumble of thunder on the horizon. Steven Mills could barely look up from his kingdom of half-drunken bottles to acknowledge the woman on his doorstep. He did blink lamely at the statuesque woman in his living room who deigned to stand above his recliner like some sort of fairytale queen. She wore a tailored dress, but no crown, although her fading red hair was enough to tell him exactly who she was. “Fuck you want?” Steven managed, but he knew, and although she didn’t know what exactly, Cora knew too. Later, she would ruefully recall that nobody had asked her, but why would they? She was just a slip of a thing hiding against a door frame back then -- eager for a peak of something strange but terrified of being caught. “I refuse to let my legacy nourish itself on whiskey and regrets. That child is mine and she will be great, or she will be nothing at all.” There was no room for argument.

---

Cora had always been a girl who liked to know things. Her mother was a faint shadow in her memories, but sometimes she would recall her mother telling her stories at night -- stories of little girls and the wolves that gobbled them up for their curiosity. Curiosity, her grandmother said, was a useful tool. Curiosity was usually the first step towards folly and the lesson of hurting, which would give away to the much more useful trait of ambition. Cora no longer spent nights being lulled to sleep by scary stories of wolves gobbling up girls. Those weren’t useful tales anymore, especially since nobody was coming to save her. Cora hadn’t exactly shaken curiosity, but she tempered it with caution, and her only ambition was to stay one step ahead of her grandmother -- to learn to be more powerful if only to save herself and others who might be in the bitter hag’s way. But the lesson of hurting had turned to a lesson of haunting, and the most haunting thing Cora learned was that she would never stop looking over her shoulder, even in the crowds of New York.

---

If there was one thing Cora learned since running away, it was that she was always going to be underestimated by people who didn’t know what the hell she was. That was fine on most days. It was easier to traipse around on the sly and have a semblance of a life if people just saw her at face value: small, petite, porcelain skin, a light dusting of freckles, doll eyes, clothes that barely fit. A fragile thing with such a foul mouth. And sometimes it was that mouth that got her into trouble, and the invitation to “fuck around and find out” resulted in a right hook that was far meaner than it had any right to be. Sometimes meanness wasn’t enough, though. There were times Cora limped along home, ribs aching, teeth stained with blood and eyes bruised purple, but she’d be damned if she saw something that bothered her without speaking up. She didn’t run away to hold anything in anymore.

---

It didn’t matter how well she hid: eventually one of her grandmother’s followers would find her. It didn’t matter if she washed her hair out so that it lost its coppery sheen or crafted an identity that was the greatest great or the lowest of the low. Someone always found her, and how could they not? She was an unbound Ephemeral, and a grasping threat to boot, even if she claimed to just want to live. She ran first. Cora ran from jobs. She left homes with nothing but the clothes on her back. She lost her pursuers in subway trains or by dodging into an Uber and -- once -- jumping off a bridge into a freezing river that had her shivering for what felt like weeks. She finally dug her heels in and fought back in Arizona, and when her pursuer was flat on his back in the sand, Cora stood over him while a dust devil raged through the desert. She thought of her grandmother. She thought of those sharp blue eyes, the steel in the woman’s demeanor, and everything she had taken and would continue to take. It would have been easy to kill the man in the dirt. It would have been easy to kill him and leave him to rot in the desert for the coyotes to pick his bones clean. It would have sent a clear message, and it would have been a warning for those who would come after. But it would have been something she would have done, and more than anything, Cora did not want to be her. So she knocked the man out and left him in the desert to make his way to safety once he woke up. By then, she’d be on the way to elsewhere to try and make her way on her own terms. Despite how she had been raised, and despite all of her grooming, Cora was not her, and she never would be. Not if she had anything to say about it.

---

It could not be said that Cora was skilled in Origami as she only knew how to make one shape. She tried to learn others over the years -- the owl, the fan, the boat, the flower -- but her fingers fell into the familiar habits of the crane as if she were being guided along on a string right on back to home. Cora had so few memories of her mother. She had no pictures -- they had been burned at her grandmother’s behest -- and no mementos or trinkets to remind her of the woman who had given her life and then had abandoned her. She remembered stories told in the dark, but the years had distorted the voice that told them. The memories of a face -- the cut of a nose, and the curl of a lip -- had blurred to a void that could have been everything and nothing all at once. What Cora couldn’t forget was muscle memory, and her fingers gracefully folded smooth paper to form a head and wings until another colorful paper crane joined the small army threatening to burst out of her shoebox apartment. “One thousand gets a wish,” the woman murmured as she set the newest crane atop the bundle of blankets that comprised her bed and looked out the window towards the looming city and all its lights. She doubted she would ever get what she wanted. After all, other people wanted, and when it came to her, they only wanted what she could do and who she could be. They never really wanted her for her. It didn’t stop her from reaching for another sheaf of paper and trying again.

TLDR: Pretty sure Cora's grandma (who in my head is super old and reeks of sandalwood and dismissiveness) is the head of a Gramarye coven elsewhere. Cora was meant to take up the mantle or... something else more nefarious but yeeted instead and is hiding out in New York until she can figure out wtf to do. AGAIN, this could change depending on revealed site lore and also the fact that I might see another bright and shiny idea and go crow.

[justforthesakeofitt]

How You Like That (M) Chaelisa (top rosé bot lisa)

Chapter 1

hi. this story contains many mature and adult themes that can be triggering and are just for fictional use. i don't condone any of this in real life, and this is pure fiction. so, therefore, if you can't handle that, please just leave this. but don't report this story. 

enjoy 🤍

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(warning. contains strong language, human trafficing, mentions of degradation, corruption, meansé, topsé, idek but the story in general is dark and mature. so if you can't handle that please don't read!!)

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roseanne smirked and swirled her glass around that was filled with her favorite champagne. the armand de brignac brut gold, which cost a mere two thousand two hundred dollars, had made it into the woman her favorite lists, when she tasted it for the first time when she was in France, at the age of nineteen. it made her feel as if she was drinking creamy silk with a lovely flavor, and she was all for that.

her silver hair, with a blueish undertone, was straightened and hung down

her back and over her perky breasts. the tint of her hair matched perfectly with her lamé velvet jacquard mini dress by one of her favorite brands, saint laurent. the dress was a perfect size, as it had been custom adjusted, and hugged her slim waist yet pretty wide hips quite well.

she was seated alone in her comfortable chair, her three bodyguards surrounding her so that she was protected at all costs. being rich had its many perks, but it also came with lots of downsides, such as constantly being exposed to the cruel world that was playing underneath everyone's feet. normal people usually weren't aware of half of the things that were going on behind the scenes of the portrayed world.

the dim and sensual lights that were present in the room, contradicted quite a lot with the chandeliers hanging from the ceiling. it seemed as if a night club had meet merged with a dining hall in an expensive mansion, yet they somehow made this entire look and vibe work.

and it was dangerous to know these secrets. behind all the glimmer and glamour of being rich, a lot of dark poison was hiding. and simply being aware of the poison, and knowing about how everything was really being run, was dangerous.

it was dangerous knowing which big companies, who were known for their customer service, actually had ten thousand upon then thousands of illegal so-called 'contract workers' working for them. people in the normal projected world thought that the people working for the minimum wage were being treated as slaves and inhumane, but they never saw the layer of people that were working even lower up than the minimum wage workers. and those were plenty.

billions upon billions of dollars would go down the drain if someone were to reveal that the biggest vegan chain in the world, also owned one of the biggest meat industries. if the companies that were known to fight climate change and induce eco-friendly ways of making products were owned by the same person that was one of the biggest carbon emitters.

if people know, that you know their secrets, your life is at great risk. and since the richest people in the world, all play the same game, you always had to be on your watch. this was no soccer game, where you had a theme behind you. this was like wrestle mania. only the strongest and smartest could survive. and the people that you would think are your friends, are the ones that wouldn't even hesitate to hire an assistant the moment they find a weak spot in you.

"number 603 thirty thousand dollars! going once. going twice. sold to miss kang!"

roseanne chuckled as the blonde girl got pulled off of the stage by her leash that watched attached to her neck. her head hung low and tears were streaming down her face as you could see them shimmer in the dim lights,  which made it all more amusing for the woman.

all of them looked like pathetic little lost puppies, getting pulled one by one to the stage where their new fate would be laid out for them. it all depended on who they ended up with.

her best friend, jennie, had found her own little pet this way and had suggested it to her. after years of being alone, and watching her best friend with the girl, she decided to finally come and see for herself. maybe she'd find something interesting here tonight. 

jennie's pet, who's name was jisoo, was quite a lucky girl. while jennie was quite a mean and tough person on a daily basis, she had developed a soft spot for her pet. it wasn't that she let the girl get away with shit, but she treated her well. better than these girls usually got treated.

jisoo had behaved so well and served her so graciously, that after one and a half year of her possession, jennie had granted her the privilege of being addressed by her name, which was quite rare for the girls that came from here.

not may of the owners ended up granting their pets the status of being called by their actual birth-given name, and rosé wouldn't be one of them either. while jennie was more of a dominant woman who loved for jisoo to worship her and take care of her, roseanne was the sadistic type. 

where jennie received pleasure by letting jisoo worship her feet and have the girl smothered underneath her wet dripping slit, eating her out until her thighs were trembling and she was panting heavily, roseanne wanted the girl to be laying at her feet, whimpers escaping her cracked lips as bruises and cuts were layered on her skin. 

the twenty-seven-year-old woman's eyes gravitated towards the podium once again, before she slightly shifted when she saw the girl that got pulled by the thick leather leash. 

her black lingerie contrasted beautifully with her pale skin, and her black hair had been put into two sideways ponytails with big red bows attached to them. that could only mean one thing.

she was a virgin.

girls with their hair loose were previous prostitutes or whores that they picked up from the streets, giving them the lowest value in the entire lineup.

girls with ponytails were normal girls that they managed to kidnap but weren't virgins anymore. 

but girls with their hair in this innocent style, and cute bows attached to it to give

them an even more pure look, were virgins.

and they sold for the highest prices.

almost everyone wanted a little virgin pet. it was a thrill knowing that all they would associate sex with was their owners. no previous partners or experiences to draw

comparisons from. 

just them.

when roseanne saw the girl's face, her doll-like features with her big doe eyes, and her plump pink lips, she knew that the girl was going to be hers.

"number 209! her price starts at a mere five hundred thousand dollars. who bids higher

than that?"

chaeyoung immediately held up her bidding board that had her slim fingers wrapping around the wooden part, "one million!"

another voice rang through the room, a few seconds later, with an offer of one and a half million dollars. but this girl was going to be hers. no matter the cost.

the bidding went on for a while before her offer rang throughout the room of "twenty-five million dollars." 

the man, that previously was bidding for the same girl, chewed on his bottom lip before shaking his head.

a smirk grazed roseanne her dark blue colored lips, "number 209 twenty-five million dollars! once! going twice! sold to miss park!"

her eyes locked with her newly bought pet, and she mindlessly licked her lips. the girl's eyes were glossy and looked with a terrified gaze at her. 

"yes...--" chaeyoung muttered to herself with s grin, "--be scared, doll. you aren't ready for what I have in store for you."

there were only a few girls left, so she patiently sat through it all, satisfied with her purchase of the evening. non of the girls could top her pet. and for once, she was glad that she had listened to jennie's advice.

after the auction was over, she walked to the back and got handed two briefcases by one of her bodyguards, which she delivered to the woman that was behind all of this.

"you made jessie very happy. i hope the girl will make you happy too."

roseanne hummed and watched as the men were counting the money, before turning her attention back to the woman in front of her, "everything is clean right? no traces. no record and no evidence."

jessie nodded and smacked her bright red lips together, "everything is clean. we tripled checked. the police have already been paid to drop the missing person case, so she has been declared dead. the parents are quite poor too so they won't be able to afford to search for her or take any legal actions. she's dead and has been reborn the moment you bought her."

roseanne smirked and, with a firm handshake, greeted the woman before she made her way into a dark hallway that led to where the girl should be.

she opened the door to a room and saw a black wooden crate, which had been sealed by a lid at the top, sitting on the floor in the middle of the room.

when she saw that it was the correct one, she snapped her fingers, making two of the three men quickly make their way over to the side and lifted up the top.

she once again, almost immediately crossed eyes with her toy, and saw how panicked and vulnerable she seemed. this made her feel only more in control and boosted her ego.

there were soft pleading whimpers coming from the bound girl, but she ignored them completely.

after a few seconds of further inspection, the crate got closed again.

"deliver her in an hour to my address. make sure that she keeps whatever bodily fluid she has inside of her. i don't want her to arrive in filth at my place."

she got helped into her thick fur coat, and flicked her hair back, before putting on a peeked black cap.

the men nodded in understanding and turned their attention on the crate. one of them followed her, also functioning as her driver, while the other two stayed behind.

there were two small holes on the top of the crate in the cover, which made sure that the girl got enough fresh air to stay conscious, but not enough to make her feel great, so the chance of her throwing up or peeing herself was a big possibility.

she just hoped that the girl could hold it in, as she was sure that she wouldn't hesitate to hose the poor thing down immediately. 

she climbed up the stairs before walking outside. 

\\\

it was dark, already around the one at night, so the streets were fairly empty. these illegal legal things, were mostly done at night, just to give extra security and privacy.  "ready miss?" her chauffeur asked making her nod, "yes. take me home."

she stared out of the window, the snow slowly cascading down while the streets of Seoul were already covered in a thick layer of the frozen crystals.

it was only november, yet the heavens had sent them snow already. and to be fair, roseanne wasn't complaining. 

she smiled as she started to move up the hills, knowing that she was approaching her lovely home.  

her and her best friend, jennie, were actually neighbors, which was quite fun. this meant that she could show her new purchase off very soon, as all she had to do was go to the mansion next door. even tho it was a five-minute drive.

the moment the car stopped at the entrance of her house, she got out, hugging her black fur coat tighter around her body, before grabbing her purse and made her way inside.

"the room is ready right?" she asked one of her maids, who nodded and bowed slightly, before helping her out of her coat "yes ma'am. it is exactly like you wanted it to be."

she grinned and stretched herself before yawning a bit and walked inside.

"good. now, all we have to do is wait."

///

\\\

[monstersandmaw]

Mute male siren x female reader (nsfw)

Edit which I’m including in all my works after plagiarism and theft has taken place: I do not give my consent for my works to be used, copied, published, or posted anywhere. They are copyrighted and belong to me.

This is a tier reward for a lovely patron who wanted a siren who's never been able to use his voice, and is thus treated poorly by his own kind for being 'useless' in their eyes. Hope you enjoy!

It’s been up on my Patreon for a while now, so if you want to have access to stories before they go up on Tumblr, plus a number of exclusive rewards, access to our Discord server, polls, artwork, character concepts, etc. then head on over and check it out!

___

It was the eerie melody - almost more of a feeling in your chest than a sound in your ears - that drew you out onto the jetty from the beach where you’d been walking barefoot, flip-flops dangling from the fingers of one hand. You knew about the shoal of sirens who lived and hunted off the reef that guarded Starfall Bay, but you’d never seen them; they didn’t come too close to shore very often after all, preferring the vast open waters of the channel beyond.

Something about their song that afternoon seemed harsh, cruel, despite the plainchant beauty of it and a tear spilled from your eye before you’d even noticed it forming. The song faded as the sirens clearly dived back down again, and it left you strangely hollow. Humans were far from immune to the hunting calls and songs of those hauntingly strange creatures, and in the silent wake of their absence, you found yourself humming softly. The tune was a cheerful one as you tried to rally your spirits a little.

Squinting against the reflections of the strong summer sun against the rippling water, you clambered down to sit on the edge of the dock so that you could dangle your feet in the cool, clear water. A little crab scuttled around in the rocks beneath the jetty’s pilings, minding its own business, and you watched him for a bit. As the hairs on your arms prickled suddenly, you looked up and found that you were not alone.

Lying half slumped over a nearby rock which had been smoothed by the constant caress of the sea was a creature that was unmistakably a siren. You frowned, wondering what they could be doing just metres from the shoreline, and half-hauled out of the water. Something about their size and shape suggested that they were male, and you stared openly at the stunning colours of his tail and upper body. The thick muscle was covered with inky blue scales which were in turn dotted here and there with pearlescent scales. It brought to mind the clearest of night skies. The fan of his tail was feathered and spread out in the water behind him, while his upper body was smooth and free of scales. His skin there, however, was a dark blue-grey, and he had little fins of iridescent blue at his elbows. Plastered to his head and hanging halfway down his back, his hair was black as an oil slick, and he stared at you with huge, dolorous, sapphire eyes, blinking slowly.

“Hi,” you called, waving. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen a siren up here before. Do you come here a lot?”

He waved back, somewhat hesitantly, and then gestured with a clawed hand at his throat, opening his mouth silently.

“Oh,” you said. “You don’t speak…? Is that right?”

In answer, he gave a slow, sad nod, those bright, completely blue eyes turning down to stare at a spot of vivid green seaweed on the rock.

Something about his dejected posture made you keep talking, so you asked, “Do you know Sign?”

His head jerked back up at that and he tilted it curiously to one side in a silent question.

“You know, Sign Language?” you asked. “It’s what people who can’t hear or talk - or sometimes both - use to communicate. They use their hands.”

The siren froze but his lips parted in soft astonishment, eyes wide with wonder. He clearly hadn’t known that there were other ways of expressing himself, and your heart twisted at the anguish in his storm-blue eyes.

“My friend teaches it,” you went on, thinking on your feet. “I don’t know it myself, but if you’d like to learn, I’m sure I can ask him for you.”

He nodded emphatically but then went still again.

“What? What’s wrong?”

He made an empty kind of cough, mouth opening in an unvoiced hiss of frustration - more of a choke, really - flashing razor sharp teeth. Then he looked back at you and rubbed his thumb against his fingertips in the gesture that said ‘money’ almost the world over. He’d clearly been around landfolk often enough to have picked that one up.

Waggling your legs slowly through the water as you thought, you pouted and then said, “I can ask if he’d be willing to help out anyway… He’s the kind of guy that would do that.”

The hope that kindled in those sad eyes nearly tore your chest in two.

“I’ll ask him right now. Hang on.”

One quick text later and Jera was agreeing to come down to the beach in ten minutes to meet the siren. The bright green of the lizardfolk’s tail seemed to fascinate your siren, and the two of them seemed to hit it off almost immediately. You couldn’t help but notice the way he flinched away though whenever either of you made a sudden gesture or raised your voices - even to laugh - and as you and Jera made your way back up the beach after promising to return the next morning, your friend voiced his concerns.

“For a siren to have no voice…” he muttered darkly. “He must be the lowest of the low… he…”

“He seems to desperate to communicate,” you commented.

Jera shook his head and made a soft growl like an alligator. “It’s more than that. They use their voices for everything: hunting, mating, socialising… Without that, he… he has no role, no function.”

Your heart ached for him and you said, “You mind if I sit in on the lessons too? That way he’s got me to talk to as well…”

“I kind of assumed you’d want that anyway,” Jera grinned. “We’ll start tomorrow.”

Over the next three weeks, you and Jera spent hours down at the shore with the siren. He was literate as it turned out, and at the start of your first lesson he wrote his name with a talon in the hard, wet sand.

“Ilta,” Jera repeated, looking up at him. “That means ‘evening’,” he added, and both of you eyed the starry night sky of Ilta’s tail.

“Appropriate,” you grinned and Ilta blushed darker. His face was so sharply defined, his features so intense and clearly belonging to a predator, that to see him turn a little softer sent a thrill through you.

When he saw the way you smiled, he signed, “Thank you,” with a hesitant and bashful hand.

One morning perhaps a month into your daily lessons, as you hurried through the town, with your heart fluttering and your chest light with excitement to see him again, your phone buzzed and you paused at the harbour to read the text.

Jera: Hey, I can’t make it today - something’s come up and they need me to cover for another member of staff at school. Sorry! x

You replied that it was fine, and that you and Ilta could practise together anyway. However, he wasn’t there when you got to your usual meeting spot in the cove, and a stab of worry hit you like a hammer blow. Eventually, after thirty long minutes of pacing the sand and staring at the water, the surface of the sea rippled in a rush of bubbles, and you saw Ilta’s dark tail propelling him towards you.

“Hey,” you called, waving to him, but when you saw how dejected he looked, how broken down, you knelt in the water, heedless of the splashing waves, and held out your arms to him. “Come here,” you murmured.

He lay in your lap, his chest heaving silently, and he flung his lean, muscular arms around your waist. Stroking his wet hair seemed to calm him and after a moment you felt him shiver. “Ilta, what happened?” you asked softly, but he only tightened his grip on you and buried his face from sight. “Ok, it’s ok,” you crooned. “I’m here.”

After a while, you recalled something that Jera had said about song being so important to the everyday life of a siren, and you began to hum quietly. It was the tune you’d sung on the day you’d first met him; a variation of a folk melody that had always cheered you up when your grandmother had sung it to you. Within seconds, his body went limp beneath your touch and he let his hands fall to the sand on either side of your thighs. He listened to you sing it through twice before he took a deep, shuddering breath, and then pushed himself upright.

His strange gaze met yours and he reached a lethally-clawed hand for your throat, his fingertips just brushing against your skin as you continued to sing. The urge to stop was overwhelming, but something made you keep humming. He blinked slowly, dark lips slightly parted, and he continued to touch you. Eventually he withdrew his hand and signed an embarrassed, “Thank you… I’m sorry.”

“What happened?” you asked, using your hands instead of your voice now.

He shuffled slightly, splashing you as he got comfortable enough that he could sit half-coiled up on himself, balanced and able to use both hands to speak. “Sorry,” he grinned as you wiped the droplets off your face with a quiet laugh. “I… I had a bad day with my shoal.”

“What do you mean?”

He rolled his eyes in frustration, though it wasn’t directed at you. “They use their voices on me,” he admitted.

“I don’t understand…” you said gently, movements of your hands small, quiet, faltering.

He turned his gaze back to meet yours and said, “You know how we hunt, right? We lure our prey in and then we use our voices to stun them. The sounds are…” he paused, frowning, searching for a way to explain it to you. “You know how some whales hunt by blasting sound at fish, making the air inside them expand or leaving them twitching and immobile…”

Horror slid into your stomach and you stared at him. “They did that to you?”

Ilta nodded. “They’ve always done it,” he went on. “But since I’ve been coming here and learning to talk another way, they’ve been doing it more and more. I… I can’t defend myself from that.”

“Can you leave?” you blurted aloud.

He shrugged. “Probably, but only if I stayed in and around the harbour. I learned to hunt in the shallows the way other merfolk do, with a spear of sharpened shell, but they think that’s hilarious of course.”

You made a disgusted noise in the back of your throat and he smiled broadly.

“What?”

“I love the noises you make,” he said. “Sometimes it’s just really cute and other times it’s beautiful. You have a lovely voice you know?”

You snorted softly, flushing. “You should have heard my grandmother. She was a real singer.”

“What’s a real singer?” he asked.

“You know, someone who sings for audiences… People pay to come and hear her…”

“Oh,” he said. “You sang for me though,” he added, his movements suddenly shrinking down to barely-there twitches of his hands. He’d picked it up much more quickly than you had, and you almost missed what he said.

“I couldn’t think of any other way to make you feel better,” you said shyly. “Did it work?”

“Yeah.” It was obvious that there was more to it though, but he didn’t go on immediately.

“Did… Did I do something wrong?” you asked, trying to catch his eye but he was too busy looking at a patch of bare sand just beside you.

He shook his head.

“Then what is it…?”

He swallowed and looked up at you at last. “It’s something a mate might do,” he said with trembling fingers. “No one has ever done anything like that for me before. I thought they never would… you know… because of…” he finished by gesturing weakly at his voiceless throat.

Feeling brave, you reached for his face and traced your thumb across his cheekbone. “Ilta,” you said and he brought his hand up to your throat again before dropping it so that he could speak.

“I love your voice,” he said. “I wish I could sing for you. I wish… I…” His hands fell limply into the water beside his tail and he sighed. Slowly he brought the fingers of his right hand up to his own throat, claws digging into the muscle of his neck. For a horrible moment you thought he might hurt himself, but he relaxed a second later and opened his mouth. As he exhaled, gills flaring briefly in his neck, he let out a wet choking sound. It was just air in his throat, with no vocalisation at all. “I can’t,” he signed. “I’ve never been able to…”

You took his hands in yours briefly once he’d stopped talking and kissed his knuckles gently. “I know it’s… it’s been awful for you,” you said as you continued to kiss his cold skin, “But… I think that not having a voice has made you partly who you are. I’m not saying I wouldn’t love you if you could sing, but… I love who you are, Ilta. I love spending time with you and listening to your stories about what it’s like underwater… I would never have known any of that if I hadn’t met you.”

Ilta listened to your words and stared at you, stunned, barely breathing. Eventually he slid his hands free of yours and asked, “You mean that?”

“Of course I do,” you reassured him.

“Can I kiss you?” he asked immediately, and when you nodded, he grinned again.

He knocked you back into the sand, pressing his whole body against yours, and it was as if his touch became his song. Silently, he sculpted his feelings for you against your skin, running his hands up your legs, his gills working as he became more and more aroused by the feel of you. He lifted your top and raked his teeth over your warm skin, making you gasp and cry out. The cove was mercifully pretty empty, with only a few people about, but they were a long way off.

His fluke flailed in the surf as he dragged himself up towards your shoulders, his body still pressed along yours. His long hair fell to one side and you looked up into his eyes. “You were going to kiss me,” you grinned.

Ilta’s answering smile was sharp and wicked but full of fondness, and he kissed you hard enough that you let out a low moan. One of his cold hands wrapped lightly around your throat as you continued to mewl and groan under his touch, and you knew that his touch was his answering song for you. Together, the two of you made a song of your own. When you said as much, he tipped his head back, almost in victory, and rutted up against your thigh, his scales suddenly slick where they touched you.

Ilta continued to touch you with reverence and wonder until you could no longer stop the sounds from falling from you. He took every single one of them and returned them with his body until the two of you were gasping together, sharing a breath as he spilled his release across your thighs, his forehead pressed to your collarbones and his fingers tangled in your hair.

With one final, soft, decadent moan, you kissed the top of his head and he signed something vague that might have been ‘thank you’ but you weren’t quite sure. To be fair though, you weren’t in a much better position to be articulating anything either.

—

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[retirementhomecollab]

☾ the witching hour

☾ decision: balcony

☾ warnings: f!reader, swearing, sfw shirtlessness

☾ word count: 1.6k

You push the glass door to the side, into the almost winter night. The chilly air that nips at your cheeks seems closer to the frigidity of December than the tailends of fall. Behind you, the buzz of the party burns, like a smattering of fireflies in an autumnal glass globe, protected from the frost. Leaving October behind you, you choose the night.

You’re not alone in wanting a little cold from the chitter chatter. His figure is dimly lit, but you’d recognize the jersey-clad back and soft black hair anywhere. You’d spent many classes last semester daydreaming of this view from behind, his broad back a total eclipse of any other light in your universe.

You begin to call to him, but he turns around first. And you choke.

What the fuck is he wearing.

“What the fuck are you wearing?”

“Oh, hey.” He holds up a hand, unsure of whether to put down the red solo cup he’s holding in the other.

“Why…” You struggle to find the words. “Why are you like that?”

“Like what?” He looks at you blankly.

You gape at him. Does he not know what he’s wearing? Sometimes, he’s a bit absent in class but he’s never this much of an airhead.

“Kageyama,” you enunciate every syllable, “you are shirtless.”

This most blatantly conspicuous statement hangs between the two of you. You stand there, not entirely sure of what else you could say.

Red blooms across Kageyama’s face like the midnight frost. At the same time, almost impossibly, he pales. If you weren’t in such a situation, you would tease him. But you are in such a situation, so you use the social skills in your arsenal — which always bleeds dry in front of this man — and try to salvage the situation.

“I mean, you’re wearing a jersey.” That’s definitely the wrong way to go about this. Neither of you need a double-spaced, Times New Roman twelve-point font, MLA formatted report on his current state of undress. But then again, in the battle between brain and tongue in these situations, your mouth usually runs you straight into trouble. “But, like, you know — I mean I’m sure you know — it’s quite unzipped, you’re rather naked— sorry, I meant undressed — underneath it, and I can see your very successful abs.”

Very successful abs. What the fuck.

Your brain smothers your mouth at that.

To your partial credit, a switch finally flicks on inside Kageyama’s head after your ending thesis statement. He slams the cup down onto the balcony ledge and scrambles to pull the zipper up.

As your mind’s eye watches your audacity in horror, your eyes are enjoying their newfound independence from your rational. They follow the zipper in disappointed fascination as it hooks into the lowest teeth, clicking in slow motion until it hits the highest, tippiest-toppest teeth. Your eyes damn your mind for even mentioning anything about his state of undress, and your mind damns your eyes for being correct.

Meanwhile, in Kageyama’s own head, he runs through the two-and-a-half excuses he can come up with to explain how he could even forget that his jersey was unzipped in this weather. But the most blatant truth is that his one brain cell had been too focused on how good you look in your costume. And right now, that brain cell is so absorbed in thinking up ways to salvage the situation in his own manner that he doesn’t notice your expression changing from an unabashedly appreciative stare to an embarrassed effort to meet his eyes.

“Sorry,” is what he settles for, gaze truly apologetic. “The senpai thought it would be great for us to match.”

“‘Us’? As...what…?” You frown.

“The Karasuno first years.” Oh, right, his high school buddies. “As some stupid characters from some stupid swimming show.”

You look at him, eyes widening by the second, mouth hitting the ground for the umpteenth time in the past five minutes.

“So you mean you’re…?”

Kageyama nods reluctantly.

“And Hinata is…?”

He hangs his head low.

“And Tsukishima…?”

He smirks a little at this.

“That makes Yamaguchi the cute, friendly softie.”

Kageyama’s eyes narrow a little but he nods.

You stare at him, needing a long moment to process this.

Kageyama looks like he wants to throttle someone. Namely his former vice-captain for suggesting it.

And then the stupider two of this party’s hosts for supporting it.

And then his second former vice-captain for hyping it up.

And then his third captain (aka the ‘cute, friendly softie’ you seem pretty friendly with) and his third captain’s girlfriend slash former second manager for accepting this stupid proposal on all of their behalves.

But when you burst into belated laughter at the absurdity of it all, Kageyama’s face hesitantly moves on from the pinched, murderous look he had on and compromises for a nice bewildered confusion.

“Kageyama,” you catch your breath as you lean a hand on his arm for support, “you have to help me find them later.” He nods questioningly but it’s not like he can say no, not when you have a warm hand pressed against his chilled arms, eyes crinkling in the exact way that had Hinata constantly making fun of him for staring at during group projects.

You grin at him as you explain, “I want pictures next to my new favourite cosplayers. Especially Yamaguchi.”

Man, this really is the devil’s hour.

“Do you like Yamaguchi’s type?” He blurts out before he can stop it.

“Huh?”

Leaning against the railing, he looks back at the apartment filled with friends conversing and couples generating warmth. By the couch, Yamaguchi has his arm around Yachi, laughing at something an upperclassmen friend of Bokuto said.

“The cute, friendly softies.”

You laugh casually, looking out at the expanse of the city before you, not quite understanding the weight of his question.

“Sure, why not? Warm personality, cute face. Nothing to not like about them.”

Or maybe you do understand, since for you, the qualities that make a “cute, friendly softie” most definitely applies to your love interest, who is standing out here in the freezing cold with you, dressed in nothing but swim trunks and a sports jersey.

But Kageyama stays silent.

Feeling that you might have said something wrong, you look at him haltingly. Kageyama continues to look into the apartment for a while, and you think that maybe, with the faraway night sky blue of his irises, he’s not really looking at the apartment. And then you catch your own reflections and his sharp blues staring straight at you through the reflections, and your maybe is now a certainty.

It’s so warm.

“Yeah.” He finally turns to you, the real you. On this cold, frigid night, Kageyama takes your honest, heartfelt words positively, a spark of hope on this Hallows Eve. “I like them, too.”

You wait for the magic to finish casting.

“They’re easy to be around. They’re comfy,” he elaborates, face softening. “They’re really warm.”

With a small, beaming smile, you cling onto that magic. Kageyama returns your smile with an equally bright one of his own. You turn to face the city lights again as he shifts his gaze back to the glow of the apartment. He might’ve moved closer — or was that you? — but you two stay in silence, simply there.

You could get used to this, his warmth besides yours in the chilly night. The fireflies fade straight into the background with the heat and comfort that Kageyama generates. For you, this is enough magic for now.

A delicious buzz runs through you, comfortable against the cold night.

You grin to yourself when you feel him flinch beside you as well.

But when he shivers again, practicality hits you.

“Oh shit, Kageyama!” You whip around to look at him. “Aren’t you freezing in that?”

He looks at you, eyes wide and blue in the night.

You make a move to untie your cloak.

His face starts to glow red once again.

“I’m fine!” He protests as you hold the cloak out to him. “I’m really warm!”

A chuckle erupts from you as you roll your eyes.

“Yeah, you are,” you grin, a teasing glint in your tone. “I was a bit chilly coming out here, but you’re pretty warm, Kageyama.”

The blush that engulfs him has Kageyama believing that you truly are a witch — and not just on this devil’s night.

He knows next to nothing about this stupid swimming show, but he, as Kageyama Tobio, cannot be outdone by a mere witch.

“I guess I am a bit cold,” Kageyama admits with a lopsided smile.

You huff out a satisfactory grin, passing him your cloak, victory in hand. Kageyama throws it around his shoulders, and you watch with barely-concealed admiration as his form dwarfs the cloak.

As you stand there, beaming up at him as if you could successfully ignore the cold, he barks out a short laugh.

Grinning at you slightly, Kageyama opens up his borrowed cloak.

“You look a bit cold.” His eyes hold all the impish blue magic of the hour. “I have a borrowed cloak from a cute friendly softie that we can share.”

You almost choke on the chilly air as it’s now your turn to flush red. He laughs, quite embarrassed at his spurt of gusto, and pulls you close, enveloping you in both the cloak and his body heat. As your city and friends come together for the last of October, you’re here to take on the wintery night, embraced in the magic of December’s warmth.

Pick a different room: > Go to the closed bedroom. > Go to the open bedroom. > Go to the kitchen. > Go to the hallway. > Go to the bathroom. > Go to the living room.

[rohad93]

Worth the Fight

Medival Au, cause i am nothing if not predictable in what i like to write about. dont expect these updates as quickly as MM. im still working out the plot.

Trees, fields, and more, big surprise, more fields. Sometimes she spotted the occasional wild animal scampering through the grass, though that was the most interesting thing she’d seen so far.

”Are we there yet?” Luz asked for the third time in an hour as she and Eda trudged along the dirt road they had been following for two days as it wound through the fields and forests of the countryside.

“Do you see the city?” Eda asked as she glanced at her apprentice out of the corner of her eye.

“No…”

“Then we’re not there yet!” Eda threw up her arms. “Kid, relax, we’ll get there when we get there, I know you’re tired, I’m tired, hell, King is tired.” She gestured to the demonic dire wolf trotting along beside them, tongue lolling out of his mouth. His black fur shined in the sun but was near blinding against the white fur on the top of his head that created a distinct skull-like pattern across the top of his face.

“Poor baby…,” Luz cooed as she reached out and scratched the space between his horns, making his tail wag.

“He’ll live….” Eda rolled her eyes. “but you might not if you ask me if ‘we’re there yet’ one more time,” she grumbled, adjusting the light plate armor on her shoulders. It was the height of summer and as used to traveling in the stuff as she was, she was still baking under the sweltering midday sun.

Luz just pouted as they walked along. The leather of her boots was rubbing raw spots on the soles of her feet with each mile they walked.

Two days ago Eda had shaken her awake from where she and King had been lying curled up in a pile of hay. The seventeen-year-old had been half asleep and had missed most of what the older woman had been saying to her, just trying to keep her eyes open as Eda rambled on and shoved their meager belongings into an old rucksack.

What she managed to glean from the rapid-paced, one-sided conversation was something about a job, money, and leaving town, which did catch her attention.

They had been to a lot of towns over the years she had been training under Eda, and some were definitely better than others in terms of how the locals treated humans, but the one they had been staying in for the last year was probably the worst of them all. It got to the point that when Eda went to meet potential clients for jobs, Luz had to stay behind because they would take one look at Luz trailing behind her and decide that no matter the older woman’s reputation with a blade, they didn’t want the human girl around.

They’d see her rounded ears and sneer, glaring down their noses at her. Surely any self-respecting witch or sell-sword worth her salt wouldn’t be letting a human follow her around. Eda would say something snarky that almost always resulted in a near brawl and Luz would stick her tongue out at them as Eda stomped away, grumbling colorful words under her breath.

Eda was on her side, but it eventually boiled down to being able to eat and Luz decided it was best to just stay behind, even though it meant she wouldn’t get much in the way of training in swordsmanship or the combat magic that went along with it, not that she could actually do the same kind of combat magic that was natural to Witch’s anyway, being human.

As Eda had once explained it to her, witches had an extra organ, a bile sac, she wasn't entirely sure that's what it was actually called, she learned a long time ago that Eda had a tendency to make things up if she didn't know the answer. Supposedly it was an extra organ that allowed witches to absorb the natural magical energy of their world and use it to add powerful effects to items, especially weapons. Those that did were witch knights, the strongest and some of the most respected members of society, and Luz wanted so badly to be one, to prove that she was worth something, human or not, but without a bile sac, she was lacking the magical aspect, which left her at a distinct disadvantage. Heck, she didn’t even have a real sword, so she couldn’t even do the most basic jobs to help Eda feed the three of them, King alone ate like a horse, with Luz trailing behind him. She was a growing girl after all! Eda always said she’d get one when she thought she was ready, not before.

She’d usually just use the dull-practice blade Eda had given her to work on her stances and strikes, beating the living tar out of whatever trees she happened to come across in the woods while she waited for her to come back with King trailing along behind her.

To say she was glad to be out of that town though was an understatement, even if Eda still hadn’t told her where they were going, and as glad as she was to have left the dreary little town of Beldville, she was so tired of walking!

She pulled at the collar of her violet-colored tunic, sweat was making it stick to her clammy skin, but she knew better than to say anything, they were both hot and tired.

They continued the silent trudge beneath the sun, which thankfully was slowly, but surely sinking closer and closer toward the horizon, though it didn’t lessen the heat any. Eventually, the sun had moved to dip just below the horizon, nearly blinding her with its bright orange rays, as it sank and dark blues were starting to rise up over the horizon line in response to the waning light.

Luz shielded her eyes with a hand and glanced into the distance. The dark smudge in the distance was slowly growing into the silhouettes of buildings and she grinned.

“Is that it?” she pointed excitedly toward the end of the road.

"Nope," Eda said, popping the 'p'.

"Whadda ya mean 'nope'?" Luz whined. "That's a town!"

"It's a town, and we're going to spend the night there, but that's not where we're going," she informed her and Luz groaned, shoulder slumping.

"Where ARE we going?" she huffed.

"Patience, apprentice." Eda wagged a finger and grinned at her, making Luz grumble.

Eda always said that when she didn’t feel like explaining herself, which was often.

It was a small town, and although it was nearly dark there were still a number of people milling about the streets.

A few people glanced at her and Luz frowned, pulling up her hood to cover her distinctly rounded ears from view. There was no need to draw any unneeded trouble when they were only going to stay one night.

Eda noticed the motion but said nothing as she dug through a pouch on her belt.

"Here, Kid." She held her hand out to Luz, who held up her upturned palm as Eda dropped a handful of coins into it. "Go get yourself something to eat and I'll meet you back here at this inn." she hooked the thumb over her shoulder to the worn building behind her.

Luz broke out into a wide smile at the silver coins in her hand.

“Thanks, Eda!” She turned and dashed off down the road with King hot on her heels. Eda just smiled as she watched her disappear around the corner.

Luz trotted down the street, she didn’t know this place, but she knew most towns had pretty similar layouts and the market was always at the center of town, and sure enough, she soon found herself walking through the market with King at her side, most people gave the cloaked girl and the demonic creature a wide breadth, understandably. Usually, creatures like King were wild, bloodthirsty monsters that would just as soon rip off your arm, and she’d seen him do it the last time she’d been attacked by a villager with a human problem.

Luz had never feared him, he’s always just been Eda’s silent companion and her big baby ever since she’d started traveling with the gray-maned sell-sword.

She reached over and scratched that certain spot behind his right ear that made him let out a low growl that almost sounded like a happy hum to her.

“Hungry buddy?” she asked, smiling as they walked and he snorted.

There were days Luz was almost sure he understood every word she said. There was just a certain, almost intelligent look in his rusty, red-colored eyes when he looked at her.

“Let’s get some food then!”

She glanced around at the different shops and a few stalls before her eyes fell on a storefront and lit up.

‘Tomes and manuscripts’

“Book shop!” Luz whispered excitedly to herself and made a beeline for it. “Wait here, King.” She turned to the beast, who snorted and plopped himself onto the ground outside the shop. She pushed the door open and grinned as the smell of ink and old parchment filled her nose.

Luz loved books, though she rarely had access to them. Having to carry everything you owned with you at all times meant that you just couldn’t have some things, and books were heavy and took up space that could be put to better use, for food or supplies, that’s what Eda said anyway. Luz would reluctantly admit she was right, but she didn’t have to like it!

“Welcome!” a voice called from her left. She looked over at the old witch peering at her over his spectacles at her. “Can I help you find anything?”

“Uh, thank you, just looking.” she waved a hand.

He nodded and she walked down the many shelves packed with worn leather-bound tomes, grinning to herself as she ran her fingers over their spines, feeling the smooth, cool bindings beneath her fingertips. So many stories, knowledge, and wild adventures aplenty crammed between two hard leather covers. Luz adored books, a lifelong love affair lit aflame by her mother, who had taught her to read and write at a young age. Something uncommon among the lower classes of witches and unheard of for humans in the Empire of the Boiling Isles, who were the lowest class citizens of them all, but her mother hadn’t been from the Isles. She’d always told Luz about a beautiful place across the sea, with fine grain, white sand beaches, and tall trees very unlike the ones here, that dipped and swayed with the wind, their leaves long and few, but still perfect for blocking out the strong rays of sunlight on a clear day.

Luz sometimes wondered what it might actually be like to see it with her own eyes, she doubted she ever would, her mother had always told her it was far away and she’d left to escape a war, bringing only her native tongue and a sack of food.

Luz hummed to herself as she continued browsing up and down the dimly lit rows of books with rapt interest. She turned a corner and glimpsed a small table covered in old, worn books, and felt drawn to them.

They were all hefty tomes and she flipped through the first few on the stack, nothing of any real interest, some play scripts, and something about treaties on the great war. She set them aside and picked up the last one in the stack. It had a dark brown cover with gold inlay around the corners and spine. It’s worn leather bindings were pockmarked with scratches and divots, some worse than others. She flipped it open and found some of the pages were yellowed and crinkled in places as though they had gotten wet and been left out in the sun to dry at some point.

The pages were full of runic writing that she couldn’t even begin to guess at, but as she flipped through the pages she stopped on one with a drawing, a perfect circle with several lines that made up some kind of symbol.

There was very little text in the book that she understood but one set of runes did stand out, the symbols meaning ‘light’. She’d learned them years ago when her mother had told her that her name meant light.

She ran a finger over the crisp, inked lines of the glyph.

They glowed.

“Augh!” she nearly tossed the book across the room, it clattered across the floor with a heavy thump and she grimaced as it landed on the wooden floor. She held her arms up in defense, but the book only continued to lie there.

After a moment quickly scooped it up and gazed at its gold bindings before she flipped it back open to the page with the illustration. She hesitated a moment, hand hovering over the illustration before pressing her fingers over it, skin running across the rough parchment beneath.

The lines began to give off a pale light as she traced them, till eventually, the entire thing was awash in soft glimmering light.

Luz stared at the glowing drawing with open awe and wonder.

“Magic…,” she breathed.

She’d done magic, she wasn’t sure what kind or even what it was supposed to do, but for the first time in her life, magic!"

She needed to look through this, all of it.

"I'll be closing shop in a few minutes!" The shop keeps voice carried out through the store making Luz jerk.

A few minutes wasn't nearly enough time! Her mind raced with thoughts before finally deciding as she slapped the book closed and hurried to the front counter where the shopkeep was still standing.

“How many snails for this book?” she set it on the counter and he eyed it for a moment.

"This? Bah, ten snails, it has little value to any witch, merely theories on old magic.

"I'll take it!" She slapped half the money Eda had given her on the counter.

Only King would be eating tonight it seemed, but the chance at magic? Worth a hungry night.

He nodded and accepted the coins as he pushed the book back toward her, but as he did, got a glimpse under her hood and spotted her rounded ears.

Luz knew what happened the second it happened. His brows crinkled between his eyes and his once, disarming smile, curled into a sneer.

"A human, in my shop!?"

Luz snatched the book off the counter and bolted for the door.

"No take backs!" she squealed as she burst out the door, making King jump up as she did.

She dashed back the way they had come, the black beast loping along behind her with an excited, rumbling bark.

It didn't take long for them to get out of sight, turning the corner and ducking into an alley.

She pressed her back to the wall, clutching the book to her chest, and waited until it finally seemed like she wasn't being chased; she peeked her head out and found the street clear.

She turned back to look at the worn leather-bound book in her hands and grinned.

She couldn't wait to look at it better later.

King whined at her side, scratching at her with his paw.

"Ah, right, right. Let's get you some food, buddy." She smiled at him and snuck toward the other end of the market, spending the rest of the money Eda had given her to buy meat for the beast, who wolfed it down in record time, practically swallowing it whole before they made their way back to the Inn.

"Get some grub?" Eda asked from her place sitting in one of the beds when they walked into their rented room. King immediately trotting over to the empty bed and jumping up on it and curling up into a massive black ball of fur.

"Fed King, yea." She nodded, pulling off her cloak and kicking off her boots before she climbed into bed, shoving King over.

He growled at her but she just shoved harder till there was space for her to lay. He snorted in response but never lifted his head as she laid next to him, book in hand.

“What about you?” Eda narrowed her amber eyes at her, noticing how she only mentioned king. “And where’d you get the book?”

“Uh…” Luz stalled and Eda sighed.

You bought the book instead of eating, didn’t you?” It wasn’t really a question.

“Yeah…,” Luz mumbled and Eda sighed.

"Well, what was so much more important than eating? If it's another flowery love story, kid, I swear…," she trailed off, rolling her eyes.

"It's not!" she insisted. "It's a book about magic!" She flipped it open and opened to the diagram and ran her hands over it, creating the same glow as it had in the bookshop, which made Eda sit up.

"Well, look at that…" she tilted her head. "What's it do?" She looked back up at Luz.

"I'm… not sure yet…" She shrugged. “I need more time to read it." Eda hummed, looking at the glowing glyph on the paper before shrugging and plopping back down on her bed.

“Whatever kid, just don’t stay up all night looking at it,” she grumbled, rolling over and pulling the blanket up over her head.

“You go it, teach!” Luz promised as she snuggled back against King and flipped through the pages.

She really wished she could read any of the writing around it other than the runes for light. She flipped some more pages and found another diagram, a sketch of a sconce, or something similar with a circle drawn above it and little lines indicating rays of light. She hummed to herself.

She had only the basic knowledge of how Eda did magic. She could just kind of think about what kind of effect she wanted to apply to an object and would press her hand to the blade of her sword and it would glow for a second before taking effect, she’d made her show her enough times to know.

Luz pursed her lips and leaned over to her satchel sitting on the floor by her bed and dug out a piece of charcoal she liked to use to draw when they were on the road or she was waiting around on Eda, ignoring the angry rumbling of her empty stomach. She pulled her training sword out of its sheath and looked at the blunt, reflective weapon for a long minute before carefully drawing out the glyph across the flat of the blade.

she glanced back and forth between the book and her blade, humming to herself when the last line was completed. She hesitated a second before pressing a fingertip to it and the glyph glowed before the bright light spread across the entire length of the blade, lighting the room up.

Luz stared at it in awe, before a bright grin stretched across her face, empty stomach forgotten.

She’d done it.

She’d done magic!