#feather tell-a-tale

[alexgrimm78-blog]

Happy Birthday to Feather Tell-a-Tale!

The animal loving, story teller.

[llama-aesthetics]

Feather Tell-A-Tale 🪶

Sewn Date: April 26 (Taurus ♉)

Sewn From: A Pair of Moccasins

Tell A Story Day

Second Year

Theater Club

Roommate: Prairie Dusty Trails

(Dress Designed by Delina White)

[the-bineapple]

sure, I COULD go to bed at a reasonable time, OR I could stay up re-reading those horrifying short stories I read in english class back in middle and high school

[emmatheyoshi]

With Lalaloopsy being originally made in the 2010s, it makes sense that some of the dolls would end up becoming problematic. One of those dolls is Feather Tell-A-Tale. Her design is a walking stereotype of an indigenous girl and her name isn’t helping either. So I took a swing I redesigning her.

For starters, Feather isn’t clearly a part of a specific indigenous tribe. I specifically went the North American Cheyenne tribe. In fact, I color picked her skin tone from a photo of an actual Cheyenne woman. Another thing I did was darken and lengthen her hair. Most native Americans have dark brown/black hair, so I just made her hair a darker blue. Native Americans also have high spiritual value of their hair; it connects them to their identities, family, and community. Because of this, they grow it out. So, I lengthened her hair.

The shirt is actually a poncho from an actual traditional Cheyenne outfit and her earrings are actually real, being made by an actual Cheyenne person. I also made her totem pole bears into two cuddly bear cubs. Finally, I changed her name. I searched for quite a while before settling on Pahoevotna’e, which means “attached feathers woman” in Cheyenne.

If any indigenous people (and especially Cheyenne/Native American people) stumble across this, PLEASE give me some critiques. I want to make sure I’ve made Feather’s new design accurate to your culture.

[finnified]

mermaids are, by and large, a phenomenon that no-pirate really understands. 

they’re not particularly known to be social creatures- in fact, depending on which circles you move in, some will say they don’t even exist, that reports of mermaids are just sirens mis-identified.

adalwulff isn’t sure if she buys it, either way, but she hadn’t guessed before this that it would be something she’d have to give real thought to.

it’s been two months since finneas’s disappearance. adalwulff has been out on the water since day one, searching for a clue of where he might’ve fled or been taken to. the only clue that’s been revealed to any of their motley crew- adalwullf and finneas’s friends, still on the isles- was his star-spangled seajacket, which someone- maybe it was the siren?- found washed up under the docks of one of the kestrel piers.

it had left a sick, metallic taste in everyone’s mouths. 

adalwulff is summoned out of their thoughts by a cry from the starboard side of the ship. “captain! there’s something caught in the line! maybe a dol- woah!”

“jay? speak, man!” adalwulff calls as they practically trip over themself to emerge from belowdecks. the sounds of a frantic struggle ring out from the starboard deck, proper cursing and all. 

the pirate captain’s saber is already drawn as she skids to a halt on the top deck, twisting about in a start to reorient herself as she catches a flash of something ruby-iridescent in the light. she blinks, and then- 

“fi- by jove, men! let him go!” adalwulff rushes over the roiling, flopping figure in the net as fast as ze can, but fae can’t move fast enough to beat the horrible, rotting feeling eating up jaer insides. 

she skids up to the side deck where heath, maryssa and jay are crouched in a loose semicircle around the flailing form caught in the wet mass of netting on the deck. locking xer jaw to keep xemself from crying out, adalwulff takes in dark red and purple scales on thin, pale arms and a huge semi-translucent purple tail-fin twitching under the weight of a heavy fishlike tail and- 

huge, dark brown eyes that seemed blue in their darkest depths, peering out from beneath dark wavy hair plastered to a pale, scaled face by the salt water crusted in the curls. 

adalwulff reaches out vaguely to their left side, and jay takes hyr arm as he hauls himself to standing. “captain?” 

after just a moment, adalwulff shakes off his arm and shakes hyr head, before stumbling over to the moon-white face peering out from the net. zie fumble zir belt for a switchblade and shakily reach out to start cutting the netting, ignoring the way the creature- the mermaid- starts twitching and thrashing when he sees the knife. 

“shh, shhhh, it’s okay… it’s okay-“ adalwulff mutters as she deftly works the net away from what is probably his very sensitive tail. as soon as he’s free enough he immediately begins to lash out, and it’s all adalwulff can do not to cut him. 

“dear seas, finneas-“ adalwulff lunges back as finn growled and snaps at her, releasing a guttural sound from its throat. adalwulff loosens her grip on the knife and allows it to go flying, glancing at it to make sure finn sees its go. 

finn opens its mouth and makes another deep gargling sound, and adalwulff holds up jaer hands in surrender. his name slips out of hyr mouth without her even realizing. “oh, finn- who did this to you?” 

finn vocalizes yet again, and the captain realizes that it’s not an angry sound, maybe- it sounds like he’s trying at her name, maybe- 

“finn, buddy, do you remember me? captain adalwulff?” 

he opens his mouth and his throat catches on the ad- sound at the beginning of hyr name. 

adalwulff sits back on their heels in shock, reeling from the reality of this situation that’s washing over xem like so many waves. the wiry little crafty kite she used to know is a seas-forsaken mermaid. he can’t speak. he’s so thin and battered, even this way. without intent, adalwulff feels their eyes begin to mist. 

“oh, finn.” she reaches out to him again, thoughts a million miles away, trying to craft the best plan on to inform his friends of his fate. “oh, finn, i’m sorry i couldn’t save you from this.”  

—————

if i speak, i am in trouble, so i am NOT going to speak! (To be abundantly clear this is for the MERMAY AU i have been cooking with the gang , finneas is not actually dead. i prommy)

[rayssion]

So in the last 24h I read:

Ms ice sandwich by Mieko Kawakami.

Grief is the thing with feathers by Max Porter.

Night by Elie Wiesel.

Small things like these by Claire Keegan.

Letters to a young poet by Rilke.

Crush by Richard Siken.

The tell-tale heart by Edgar Allan Poe.

And it's safe to say that I'm in an emotional rollercoaster, I don't know how I'll be sleeping tonight.

[feathersnek]

May I introduce her majesty, Haze Cesario Idafield

The sincere ruler of humanity's last remaining safe-haven, the kingdom of Neo-Eidyia.

Our fearless leader in Tales of the Rays new arc: Recollection. It would be my pleasure to tell you more about her. At least that we know of so far in our 3 short chapters.

On the surface:

Haze is a truly kindhearted ruler who wants nothing more than the destruction of the wraiths that brought mankind to its current desperate state. She strives to understand, bring happiness to, and deliver salvation to her people. She loves her people dearly and bears her weight as ruler with diligence.

Once you get to know her more personally you will find her to be not only earnest and caring, but also somewhat oblivious to simpler aspects of life that only commoners know of. She approaches such new things in a very headstrong manner that sometimes leads her to actions quite unexpected of her royal status.

But Haze has more to her than this. Let's delve deeper under the cut:

Haze leads not only her country and her army but also research on the wraiths and how to eradicate them once and for all. During said research, generations ago, she one day ceased to age. She knows not how or why, but views it as god's will for her to wipe out the wraiths. As such, she has lived for many lifetimes now, and her desire to save her people grows each passing day. To her, all of her citizens are like her beloved children.

Immortality has its side effects. Haze's memory is decidedly too full. She must focus intently to remember things at times, even if they happened just yesterday. It's unknown just how deeply this affects her besides momentary times of heavy thought to recall the past.

Haze is also very fond of open affection and contact. She is not shy about stating her love for her people or her friends. Neither will she hesitate to give headpats or hugs. She is confused when others get embarrassed by her doting on them in these ways, but notes when she has made someone uncomfortable and tries to give them space.

Haze has long lived to see wraiths' blight upon mankind erased.

Her constant years of research and battle are about to pay off, though in ways entirely unexpected...

[wherekizzialives]

Ask Me No Questions

The sixth tale in my Flashes of Feathers series, Ask Me No Questions, is now available for your reading pleasure this midsummer weekend:

Summer had arrived in all its lush and lovely glory, a feast for the senses of both villagers and wildwood denizens alike. The Village gardens were bursting with blooms and heavy with scent; tea roses, climbing roses, peonies and chrysanthemums, alstromeria, alliums, sweet william and stocks. The lavender plants in nearly every border were thrumming with bees, as was the purple toadwart and the…

[twst-aceofhearts]

Ramshackle Midnight Mayhem

𝖆/𝖓: third years is finally here. ...I should probably have a better posting schedule

𝖙𝖜: ghosts, Idia passes out

𝖕𝖆𝖎𝖗𝖎𝖓𝖌: third years x reader

𝖜𝖔𝖗𝖉𝖘: 903

𝖙𝖆𝖌𝖑𝖎𝖘𝖙: @luxaryllis @thegoldencontracts @waterthatsmoe @oya-oya-okay @writingattemptsxx

It started as a joke over lunch.

"If all of you think Ramshackle is so 'atmospheric,' you're welcome to stay a night and find out just how drafty and ghost-ridden it really is," you'd said, tossing a chip at Cater for teasing you about the "haunted mansion aesthetic."

"Bet," Cater grinned. "Slumber party at Ramshackle! I’ll bring the ring lights!"

You assumed that would be the end of it.

It wasn’t.

7:34 PM – Arrival

One by one, the third years arrived like ominous omens.

Trey came first with supplies — a cooler, a thermos, and a bakery box. "Crowley asked me to bring food, just in case," he said, eyeing the creaky porch. "And I packed some basic first aid. Just a precaution."

Cater followed, dragging two duffels. One held clothes, the other? Lights, skincare, a mushroom-shaped speaker, and a mini projector. "Time to give Ramshackle a makeover~!"

Leona strolled in, yawning. "Calling dibs on the couch. Anyone tries to move me, and they won't live to tell the tale."

Vil showed up in a shawl and gloves. "I brought cleansing mist, aromatherapy, and satin sheets. I will not sleep directly on any of your cursed mattresses."

Rook didn’t use the door. "Bonsoir~! The ambiance is exquisite! The mildew, the moonlight... the mystique!"

Idia blinked into the room via a glowing teleportation bubble. "I hate it here," he declared, hoodie drawn tight. "This is how horror games start."

Then came Malleus, regal as ever, touching the frame of the door. "What a charming dwelling. I sense the presence of three spirits."

Finally, Lilia descended from the ceiling. "Where's my coffin for the night? I brought snacks! Most are probably safe."

9:13 PM – Unstructured Chaos

Ramshackle became a hive of activity.

Trey claimed the kitchen and started unpacking food. Cater hung fairy lights and set up his tripod. Leona claimed his corner. Vil wiped down a chair and placed a barrier of lavender oil around himself. Rook wandered the halls, humming eerily.

Idia was buried in blankets, streaming from his handheld console. Malleus examined the toaster with intense curiosity. Lilia... well, no one could find Lilia until he reappeared with a cursed music box that played haunting lullabies.

Cater screamed. "Nope. Absolutely not. We’re not summoning anything tonight!"

"Yet," Lilia grinned.

10:45 PM – Games, Ghosts, and Pie

Board games were next. Rook treated Uno like a battle of wits. Lilia cheated. Vil caught him and threw down his cards. Malleus played Go Fish with the seriousness of international diplomacy.

When charades began, Malleus mimed a dragon so realistically that a real ghost fled the cupboard in fear. It waved apologetically and left a note that read: "love the vibe, be back later <3."

Trey unveiled an apple-caramel pie. Leona devoured a third before anyone else got a slice.

Midnight – The Great Pillow War

No one remembers who threw the first pillow. Maybe it was Lilia. Or Rook. Or Cater.

What mattered is that Leona retaliated.

Then Vil got hit.

And then it was war.

Blankets flew. Trey got knocked off his chair. Rook declared himself the "phantom of feathers" and dive-bombed the sofa. Cater live-streamed the chaos. Malleus summoned glowing pillows with mass. Idia retreated under the table.

You tried to protect the furniture.

Grim tried to join in.

Leona and Vil locked in a duel of precise strikes and petty vengeance until Cater yelled, "Omg you two are basically a married couple!"

They both stopped.

The war ended.

2:17 AM – Deep Thoughts and Weird Tea

Trey made cocoa. Malleus brewed a mysterious glowing tea that changed colors. Yours turned minty green. Idia's went pitch black. Lilia drank his glowing magenta without blinking.

The dorm finally started to quiet.

"Y'know," Cater mumbled from a bean bag, "this is kinda cozy."

Vil didn’t open his eyes. "The bar is very low."

"But still," Trey added, "it’s rare we all hang out like this."

You yawned. "You’re welcome any time."

Malleus smiled. "Truly? Then I shall return often."

"Warn me first."

Lilia cackled. "Where’s the fun in that?"

3:12 AM – Ghost Story Finale

Rook told a tale about a mirror that devoured reflections. Vil sighed but listened. Idia shivered.

At the climax of the story, the room temperature dropped.

A translucent woman drifted into view, clapped politely, and whispered, "10/10, very spooky," before fading into the wall.

Idia passed out as you left out a rubber duck with a mustache as a peace offering for the next time she came.

7:36 AM – Breakfast at Ramshackle

You woke to the smell of something surprisingly pleasant.

Trey was in the kitchen flipping pancakes, wearing an apron with a cracked egg on it. Malleus was watching attentively, having cracked all the eggs with perfect form.

Lilia served up skewers of grilled fruit. Cater had brewed fresh coffee with his own mini-press. Rook brought in wild herbs he'd foraged from the woods (you did not ask when).

Vil sipped from a bone china teacup he'd brought in his own bag.

Leona was still asleep, a pancake on his head.

Idia sat at the end of the table, bleary-eyed, chewing toast like it betrayed him.

Cater snapped a group selfie. "Best sleepover ever~!"

Crowley opened the front door, gasped at the sight of the ghost still humming lullabies, and immediately shut it again.

You passed the syrup. "Same time next month?"

Malleus raised his teacup. "Indeed.”

credit to @cursed-carmine for divider

[peachesofteal]

MELOS (PART TWO)

main masterlist / Azriel's masterlist

Part One / Melos masterlist 5k words - AO3 Tags: 18+ mdni. Blood, feelings of fear and panic. Reader POV. Trauma. Protective Azriel. Canon-compliant, post ACOSF and HOFAS. "I would spend a lifetime earning your forgiveness"

The fly amanita has been eluding you.

It’s speckled red cap is usually so easy to spot, but you’ve been trudging through the woods all day, turning over logs and peering around tree trunks to no avail. You’re getting closer and closer to the break in the forest, the one bordering a large meadow rich with wildflowers, the one you hardly venture to unless you’re truly desperate for something specific.

You’re seriously considering it when something dusky red catches your attention from the corner of your eye, and you breathe a sigh of relief as you spot the healthy patch of fungi. “I’ve been looking for you everywhere,” you sink to your knees, digging down to the roots. The soil is wet, freshly damp from a recent rainstorm, and it sticks to your fingertips. “Such a pain in-“

Magic scrapes at your skin. Long gruesome fingers of something unseen try to clutch at you, drag you away, and your power surges to meet it, beating it back to the gloom it calls home. You shudder. The magic from your mother's blood, the gifts the Middle grants you, are enough to keep you safe, protect you from most things in this place, the ones nefarious and full of malice, but that does not mean they do not try. 

You exhale, breathing freely in the crisp winter breeze whispering through the trees, rustling the deadfall into small vortexes that spin across the wood, twisting upward in a delicate dance of changing seasons. You lift your face to the sun just as the wind turns dark, smoky grey, and then explodes in a burst of ink, onyx spilling around the mushrooms, wisps snaking through the stems towards your knees.

You swat them away.

Azriel.

You grit your teeth. Don't think about him, don't think about him, don't think- 

A shadow brushes against you like a feather, and you hiss. 

Azriel.

The male who tortured you. Used you. Gained your trust to hurt you. Suffocated you until you thought you were going to die, until spots appeared in your vision and your heart slowed. The male that hurt you, in more ways than one. 

Fooled into falling for a ruse, you believed it meant something every time your heart thundered when he was near, how your magic crooned for him, tried to reach for him, touch him. The pain you saw in him, over and over again, a mirror to your own, led you to believe in a fairy tale that never existed, a stupid notion about two halves of a whole, only for it to crumble and reveal manipulation and lies.

And after it all, whatever he gleaned from you he must have determined to be inconsequential, since no one has shown up at your door to haul you away for execution. No one came to imprison you, or banish you, or torture you, again. No one came to take you away from your home, your life, like you were expecting.

He did it for nothing.

The shadows are an ever-present reminder.

Ever. Present.

They collect in the corners at work, they trail along the ground as you run your errands, go to dinner, visit your only friend in the city.

Thankfully, they seem to stay out of your house, though in the middle of the night, it’s not so easy to tell.

You shoot them a glare. “Run back to your master and leave me alone, for the hundredth time.” You have no concept of a Shadowsinger’s magic, or an Illyrian’s, no idea if the shadows see, or hear, or speak. Their presence frustrates you, and his hoarse attempt at an apology that night still haunts you. Why does he not just come to speak with you? Explain himself? Justify his actions?

It’s been weeks, and still nothing. Silence from the Spymaster. Your rage that was once all consuming is starting to cool, leaving a mess of confusion and pain in its place. 

You need to let it go, you must, but the music persists, faintly there in the back of your mind, a melody you can’t forget.

It’s a double-edged sword, one that slices and stings. You see him in your nightmares, and your dreams. In the dark, you hear his voice, cold and calculating, pacing around you in a suffocating circle, and in the sun, you see him in the Middle, ablaze in a mist of brilliant blue, brushing his lips against yours.

You’ve grown familiar with how a room changes when one of the Wraith sisters arrive. Shadow rolls in like a fog, dissipating as they materialize, grey gossamer turning to smoky quartz, taking shape as a beautiful female, her eyes iridescent like black pearls. 

Rarely, do the twins ever come together. 

Today is the exception. 

Cerridwen gives you a half smile, gaze lingering on your clothes. “If I made you a new frock, would you throw this one out? It’s nearly in tatters.” You huff.

“This is my work frock; it’s supposed to be a bit messy.”

“It’s not messy, it’s falling apart.” She raises an eyebrow, and Nuala places a slender hand on the stack of brown paper wrapped packages on the table.

“How are you?” The question is loaded, expectant, and they watch you, analyzing every second of whatever is showing on your face.

“I’m fine.” Are you? The lie is so painfully obvious, and they exchange a look. 

“Azriel,” Nuala begins cautiously, “has asked if you would be open to seeing him.” You freeze.

“I..”

“In a public place of your choosing, in the city.” The very idea tips you off balance, blindsides you. Could you do it? See him? 

“With a third party, if you would like.” Cerridwen adds. Maybe this is your chance at closure, an opportunity to put it to rest. “Take some time to decide, and we’ll-“

“No, no. I’ll do it.” You scramble to think of a place where you’ll feel safe, somewhere you’ll be among many, and not few. “Is… Rose and Thorn okay? It’s in the Palace of Thread and Jewels.” They nod.

“Of course. And a third party?” You shake your head. Something in your soul assures you no chaperone is needed, and you allow it to guide you. “Very well.” Nuala waves her hand, wisps of storm clouds floating around her fingers-

And then Wraith sisters are gone.

He’s there before you.

Seated at a table outside, elegant and sculpted, an exquisite, eldritch beauty accentuated by strong, chiseled lines. His skin glows golden brown in the warm bath of the sun, flecks of caramel and green, honey and oak painted together like a priceless landscape in his irises. His wings are tucked in a tight formation at his back, but even in restraint, they shudder, their membranes more unique than a snowflake, more delicate than a spider’s web.

He’s almost too stunning to look at. The beauty of a god. A prince of shadow, shining in winter’s glow.

Suddenly, you’re very self-conscious, fighting the urge to pick at the frayed threads of your dress, too aware of how faded its once emerald green is, how fast your heart is beating, anxiety and pin pricks of fear cascading up your spine, coupled with an undeniable longing that shakes you to your core.

An ocean tide too strong drags your eyes to his, holding you captive in its current, the two of you suspended, floating, woven together in a melody, same song you’ve been hearing, feeling, all this time, elusive, empyreal notes harmonizing across your soul, your magic. The heat of the patio, magic humming in the air producing the equivalent of a warm spring day, urges you out of the cold and towards the table, meeting him where he stands, so tall he towers over you. 

“Hello.” Your stomach flips. This is suddenly harder than you imagined, and you’re being torn in two, afraid and yearning, two sides of a coin. His eyes gentle, and he moves back a fraction, giving you space. You manage to clear your throat.

“Hi.” You can’t look away, and finally, after a second turned eternity, he motions to the chair.

“Would you like to sit?”

“Sure.” The words are stiff, like your back, and you hold yourself rigid, hands clasped together in your lap.

“Thank you for coming, I… I know this was a lot to ask.” You nod, unable to make your mouth move. “Are you well?”

“Yes.” You’ll need more than one syllable answers to get through this, and you fight against the vice squeezing in around you, trying shake loose the battle raging in your blood. There's a need to protect yourself, fortify yourself... and another, one humming a song of wonder, of desire, a song you don't know the words to. He takes a deep breath.

“There’s nothing I can say to excuse what I did, and I know you have no reason to trust me, but I-“

"What you did? You tortured me, you terrorized me. You made me feel like I was dying. and I... why did you… why did you waste your time tricking me into thinking you were… we were… it was all fake.” Your voice breaks, and his eyes flash with despair. “You tricked me into trusting you, letting you get… close,” you study the tabletop, fingertips tracing loops in the woodgrain, trying to maintain your control. You can’t let him see how badly it hurts; how awful it is to know whatever you thought was happening between the two of you wasn’t real, how he's shattered your own trust in yourself. How could you not see the deceit? How could have fallen for such a blatant deception? How could you allow yourself to be hurt like that? These are the questions keeping you from sleep as they toss about in your mind, scolding you, chastising you for allowing yourself to be so weak. Stupid. “Why waste all that time if you were just going to do it? The act itself was... it was terrible but the manipulation, the lie that came with it, feels worse somehow.” Your cheeks heat with shame, mortified at the tears now blurring your vision, and his hand twitches, almost jerks towards yours before sliding away.

“There are no words in any language, anywhere, to tell you how sorry I am. I would spend a lifetime earning your forgiveness, if you’d let me.” Everything you want to fight back with, the words you wish to bury him with, die on your tongue as you stare at him with wide eyes. “I don’t deserve to see you or ask for a moment of your time. I don’t even deserve this chance you’ve given me today but… nothing was a trick, it was not fake. I was a fool.” You know you should say something, but still nothing comes, and there’s a rising uneasiness emanating from his, shadows shivering around him in a halo. “I would ask you to strike a bargain with me.” What?

“A bargain?” He nods solemnly, face set with resolve, foreign limerence weighed down by sorrow reflecting in his gaze.

“Allow me to spend some time with you, to show you how sorry I am, to prove how real it was, and in return, I will owe you a debt.” You fight to keep your face blank, smothering an outward ripple of shock. Maybe he’s gone insane.

“You… the Spymaster of the Night Court… would owe me a debt.” You chew on it, toss it around between your cheeks, try to digest the enormity of it. A debt could be anything, it’s a favor, a wish, a request that must be granted, no matter what it is. You could ask that he drink a vial of poison, and he’d have to do it. Could ask him to leave Pyrthian, and he’d have no choice. Most importantly, you could ask him to leave you alone. Forever. “And if I asked you to never speak to me again?” He winces.

“That would be your right.” This is a bad idea. Your magic trills, vibrating with a strange yearning, again guiding you away from the rational choice and into an agreement.

“I will see you once a week for a month, and in return, you will owe me a debt,” you extend your hand, “and swear not to harm me.” You add hastily, expecting him to refuse, or attempt to change the terms, but he meets you with zero hesitation.

The magic hits you like a gale force wind, wild and too strong, planting itself in your skin to push ink to the surface.

A tree.

The roots sprawl around your wrist, twisting upward into a trunk and then outward into branches, spreading wide until they’re nearly touching on the inside of your forearm. He snags a finger under the cuff of his shirt to reveal the tattoo’s twin, the concrete vow between the two of you plain as day.

What did you just do? 

You’re taking advantage of the first meeting. Having a second with you, a powerful, formidable second, gives you an opportunity to trek into a more dangerous, more unstable part of the Middle in search of a rare mineral.

You’re also using it as punishment, irritated with the small twinge of guilt growing in your side. He strides along at your side silently, shadows skittering ahead across the forest floor, disappearing and reappearing at will, as if they’re scouting and reporting.

“Will you tell me where we’re going?” He finally asks, cocking his head to the side as you stop for a moment to catch your breath. He’s not winded at all, of course, and you’re starting to regret this choice, while also trying to avoid staring at him. Every time he moves into your line of sight, your palms sweat and you remember how his laugh sounded on the steps of your house, how he earnest he was when asking you questions. You remember the kiss, and the way his mouth felt upon yours. You remember it all, and butterflies take flight in your belly. 

But being alone with him in a dangerous place such as this, is also a stark reminder. A reminder of the last time you were alone with the Spymaster, truly alone, and how it ended. 

“There’s a cave a bit from here where a very rare crystal grows. Its mineral compound is a key piece to a specific elixir.” His lips twitch into a small, barely there smile, reading between the lines.

“You’ve brought me along for back up.” You smirk.

“You didn’t say what spending time together had to entail.” You shift your backpack. “It's just past this bog up ahead.” He stops short, eyes sharp, tensing.

“A bog?”

“Yes. You know… like a swamp?”

“Of Oorid?” You blink.

“You know the Bog of Oorid?”

“I’ve been there.” Now it’s your turn to scrutinize him. Could you have underestimated this male, again? 

“Why?” You shiver. You’ve visited the Bog before, twice, and left each time with a new scar, a new nightmare.

“We were looking for something.” We? Questions brew in the back of your mind, so many of them they’re hard to contain, but you’d hate to appear too interested in him and his adventures.

“Did you find it?”  He nods and says nothing. Fine then. “It’s not the Bog of Oorid, just a boring swamp. C’mon.”

You withhold a key piece of information regarding the swamp.

It’s quite hateful, if you’re honest, and a small part of you weeps at your own vindictiveness, but the vengeful side feels too smug, too satisfied.

“It’s this way.” You take the lead, stepping into the ankle-deep muck. “Sorry, you’ll have to get a bit dirty.” The trees here are warped, bent to the undertow of the swamp, stripped of their life, yet still thriving, flourishing in the inert, foul water. Wicked, and greedy, they creak and coo, relishing each cursed step Azriel takes. Your magic crests, drawing up through the Middle, and you smile to yourself as the mud reaches mid-calf. Right about now-

He hisses.

“Are you alright?” You call innocently over your shoulder, now paces away, reveling in the sound of him fighting against the sludge's hold. When he doesn’t answer, your heart quickens, and you turn.

He’s shaking his head, wings flared at his back, muscles flexing beneath his leathers, trying to work himself free, and you bite your tongue to keep from telling him it won't work.

The swamp is a collector, a keeper of things, admirer of the rare and unusual. You’re sure it’s never ensnared an Illyrian before.

“Careful,” you sing, “struggling makes it worse.” He’s knee deep but surprises you when he breaks a leg free and takes another step, cobalt blue siphons beginning to gleam, shining into the dark green stagnant water and pockets of mire. Interesting.

“Clever little witch.” He's amused, reverent, and you're irritated by his reaction. “How does it not trap you?” Keening echoes through your soul, frantic and tortured. It’s reaching for something, crying for something, steeped in a distress you don’t understand. An incessant tugging, the faint sound of a melody. A chiming of bells, ringing, and ringing, and ringing. You steady yourself with a deep breath.

“I ask it not to. My magic comes from the Middle, like my mother’s. It makes things... more amenable to me.” You make it sound far worse than it is to spook him, but he only watches you with interest, keen eyes dissecting you from the inside out.

“And will you ask it to release me?” 

“Maybe.” You shrug. He sinks farther, now trapped to his mid-thigh, and your pulse races. You had planned to leave him here, trap him here until you came back, but your magic is clawing at you, heart trying to beat out of your chest, fear and panic colliding with an instinct buried so deep, it can’t be cut out or ignored, an instinct trying to push you into his arms, pleading with you to help him. It hurts, trying to fight it is like trying to swim against a current, your muscles screaming at the struggle, your power thrashing in your veins. The music is no longer a delicate, enchanting thing but a symphony flowing into a fortissimo, brass and strings and keys digging into your soul.

It's too much, your heart pounds in your ears, magic shredding your restraint.

It's too much, and you long to go to him. 

Release him, you command the swamp, and it tightens its embrace, a lover clinging to another, refusing to relent.

Is this not for me?  

No. He is mine. Release him. Now. You press onward, urging the swamp to relax, it’s reluctant acquiesce bringing you a relief so strong you have to hold yourself steady. It recedes, and the two of you stand face to face, chests heaving. You don’t understand what’s happening to you, what this war that rages in your magic, your heart, your entire being means.

He closes his eyes, the shadows receding, disappearing entirely as he takes a long, measured breath, his hand pressing against his ribs, still deep in the dredge of the fen. 

"Are you alr-" 

“Is there anything else I should be aware of, before we continue?” He cuts you off, the heat radiating from his body coming in waves, and you push against the pull.

“No.” You croak. He inclines his head.

“Very well. Lead the way.”

“Why don’t you winnow here?” You're seated on a rock outside the mouth of the cave. The trek itself is the most dangerous part of this task, and the crystal retrieval was uneventful. Boring, even, as you walked side by side with Azriel in silence, contemplating the unexpected amount of remorse over the swamp settling in your stomach like lead.

“I don’t winnow to most places in the Middle if I can help it.”

“No?”

“You never what will be waiting for you, or what you will discover, when you arrive.” You take a bite of your apple and sneak a glance at him. “You’re not angry. About the swamp.”

“No.” He’s preternaturally still, but rife with intensity, alight with an ache you can’t describe.

“Why?”

“I deserve far worse from you.” You say nothing, because what can you say? It’s true.

But if it’s true, why does it feel so awful? 

You stand abruptly, eager to separate yourself from this situation, this confusion and confliction. “I should get these back.” Winnowing from the Middle, at least, is a perfectly safe option, and you’re eager for the escape now.

“Next week?” Your head is pounding, limbs twitching like your body has a will of its own, and suddenly you’re drained, magic and will quickly depleting. He steps closer, brows knitted together in concern. “Are you okay?” No. 

“Y-yeah. I’m going to… I’m going to go.” He frowns.

“You look ill.”

“I’m just tired. The swamp takes it out of me.” You lie weakly with a halfhearted smile that lacks conviction, and before you can do something stupid like reach for him, you draw on your power, giving him one last look. “Next week.”

You’re at the Palace of Bone and Salt when it happens.

The market is packed to the brim, overflowing, most caught up in the approach of Winter Solstice. It’s still weeks out, but all are always eager to celebrate the city’s favorite holiday. Boughs of holly and evergreen, ribbons of red and green decorate the square, twinkling fae lights nestled high and low. You’re looking for bone marrow, but can’t help loitering by the chocolatier’s stall, his perfectly crafted confections artfully arranged in pyramids stretching far past your head. He catches your eye with a smile. “Would you like to try anything?”

“Oh, no, but thank you. They always look so lovely.” He pulls a pink chocolate swirl from the collection that’s caught your eye and holds it out to you.

“On the house then, for Solstice.”

“Thanks so-“ Your gratitude is stolen by a groan, one rattling upward from beneath your feet, the entire market rumbling so violently the stalls creak, their goods tipping to the side.

A quake. 

They’re rare, but not unheard of. The mountains breathe, stretching and straining, the plates they’re built upon occasionally shifting and realigning, all of it causing Velaris’ foundation to shake. These things you know, but you’ve never experienced it firsthand, and you didn’t expect such… force.

The shopkeeper dives beneath his counter, others running in every direction through the market, panic and fear permeating the air. They’re looking for cover, afraid the second and third story buildings may come crashing down on their heads, while others try to outrun it, sprinting away as fast as they can manage.

It’s pandemonium. Everyone is being tossed around, marble and wood falling and rolling, and you’re frozen, rapidly trying to weigh the options, decide what to do when something catches your eye.

A child.

She’s standing in the middle of an aisle, screaming for her mum, and without hesitation, you snag her around the waist to tuck her into your chest, covering the back of her head as you curl into a ball and huddle beneath the counter of the first stall you see.

That’s where you stay, for the next ten minutes. Curved over this little girl who can’t be more than two, holding onto her as tight as you can to quell her screaming, trying to calm her. Things fall on you, something scrapes the side of your face, and it stings, but you don’t let go. You can’t.

You’re somewhere else in your mind. In the Middle as a child, running as fast as you can to the boundary, trying to get to safety as your mother howls. Claws scratch down your back, blackened, putrid magic tries to drag in the bowels of the forest, all while horrid shrieking and crying fills your head. The boundary is too far, and you fold yourself into a hollow, a damp, muddy nest inside the base of a tree where you hold your breath and sit really still, just like you were taught.

The quake ricochets around you, but the screeching in your ears is not from this time, this moment. It’s from then, you and this small child in your arms now the same, scared, alone, and crying for your mothers.

Even once the rumbling stops, you don’t move. Too afraid it will start again and you’ll be caught in the open, you wait. The sticky, festering sap of the memory clings to your synapses, refusing to let you go, embedding itself beneath your skull like it needs to live there, as if you could ever forget. There are moans from the injured, confusion and worry from those who took shelter, but multiple voices rise over the din of everyone else, giving instructions, looking for the wounded and those who need help immediately.

“- was right here, but she let go of my hand… there were too many-“ a frantic female’s voice echoes over through the market, and her terror is met by a kind, reassuring voice.

“We’ll find her.” The girl in your arms makes no attempt to free herself, still shivering in your hold, clinging to you with all her might, and you stay rooted to your spot.

There’s a brush of magic against your mind, a gentle caress that probes the dense sedge wall, and you push it away, opening your eyes to see a beautiful female crouched in front of you. “Hello.” The High Lady. The little girl finally moves, wriggling against you.

“Mara!” Her mother calls, rushing over and scooping her into her arms, sobbing. She looks her daughter over and then holds her tight before trying to approach you. “Thank you, thank you,” she’s reaching for your hand, trying to squeeze it in a manner of gratitude, of love, but you can’t move, still grappling with the noise ringing in your head. There’s more conversation, more of the High Lady’s voice, patient and gentle, and another’s, deeper, heavier.

“-shock, maybe?”

“-go get him,”

“Cassian-“ The second voice is enough to startle you back to yourself somewhat, and you carefully stretch your limbs, crawling out from under the counter and away from them, standing up on your own two feet. The High Lady holds her hand out as if you steady you. “Easy. You’re hurt.” Hurt? You instinctively touch your face, fingers coming back stained crimson. You need to get out of here, need to get as far away from all of this as you can. You’re still trying to right yourself, convince yourself you’re here, not there.

“Maybe you should sit down.” The other one, the big Illyrian who you met in this very place months ago, watches you with concern. You’re shaking, lungs expanding, searching for as much air as they can find, warm trickle of blood falling over your lips and down your chin. Pain registers slowly, no longer isolated to your face, but in your side too, and when you press your hand to your ribs, wet fabric squishes beneath it. More blood.

“Let's get you to a healer,” the High Lady tries, motioning to your head, your side, and when you don’t respond, she frowns, glancing at her companion. The wailing is finally quieting to a point where you can properly think, but words still won’t come, and she’s about to say something else when shadows swirl around the three of you, and Azriel drops from the sky.

Azriel. Your heart sings his name, and the double-edged sword cuts to the quick, opening you up to a strange spark in your chest.

He looks… awful. Insane, even. Wide eyes find you, his wings stretched into a defensive position, shadows spread around him in a dark cloud, and his fear is so palpable you swear you can feel it. All you can do is stare at him as he frantically takes you in, focus never wavering, even as he speaks to those at your side. “What happened?”

“We found her under here,” Cassian points to your hiding spot, “protecting a little girl. We think she’s in shock.”

“She needs a healer.” He grits, hands flexing and relaxing from flat palm into fist, repeatedly.

“We know.” The High Lady angles her body between you and the Shadowsinger. “Az,” her voice is serious, with an undercurrent of authority, “maybe you should back-“

“You need a healer.” He ignores her, and you shake your head. You need to get out of here, to get somewhere safe where you can try to rip out the rot of these memories still nipping at your heels. 

“I need to go. Home, I need to go… home.” I need to go home? That’s the best you can come up with? Cassian snorts, and Azriel says your name, an edge of dominance cutting through the haze of your mind. The blood loss is making you woozy, and the ground is unsteady, continent turning over as you start to feel sluggish. Your vision grows blurry, and then there’s a hand on your cheek.

“Look at me, it's okay.” Azriel murmurs, and you try. You do. There’s something about his touch, the texture of his hands that soothes you, comforts you, but the world is falling away, and darkness is taking you, tugging you into the lull of sleep.

You curl your fingers into his shirt, a last-ditch effort at staying upright, at staying awake, looking up into a never-ending swirl of hazel, green moss and bright umber drenched in panic.

They’re the last thing you see before everything goes black and you slip under.

[katsukikitten]

Mentions of children and a baby, fluffy and then angst. MDNI

Katsuki wakes up to the sound of laughter, soft giggling before two small bodies crawl into the oversized bed.

"Daddy!" They whisper, or what they call a whisper, having not learned the subtleness of it yet. More of a hushed yell of his title as little hands slap across his bare skin, "Daddy wake up!"

He scoops them to him, pressing them against his scarred chest with a grunt before his eyes flutter open, by the sun alone he can tell it's barely seven am. A glance at his clock confirms it and the kids squeal from how he squeezes them to him. He's barely gotten an hour and a half of sleep and when he glances over his shoulder he sees that you're still in bed, he wonders if it was a late night for you too. You were texting him late last night although that was normal for you, Katsuki still wonders if the newest edition to the family was the cause of your unrest.

Katsuki thinks he can pin his twin boys to him and lull them to sleep for another hour or so, he's done it before but their giggles say otherwise.

"Grandma is comin today to see sissy!" Their hushed yell too loud for Katsuki's liking, at least while you and baby try to sleep. Little hands pressing at his chest and setting off little popping explosions that earn them a fatherly glare although Katsuki was sure yours was sharper than his somehow.

It's befitting that he'd have two little hellions just like himself, a "double curse" his ma has teased about your whole pregnancy but she quietly whispered to Katsuki after she first met the twins, "You were easy to raise."

And the youngest Bakugou, his baby girl, took after you. All of her features a carbon copy of you just as his boys were the spitting image of him.

"We wanna tell her we helped with breakfast!" They're pushing again, although this time without their explosions after the warning glare from their father.

"You'll wake yer mother and yer sister." He grunts, but presses kisses to their faces that they giggle about, "Wait in the kitchen for me yea? But do not touch that stove."

"Okay daddy!" Their "whispers" lost and a full on yell before their eyes widen from their mistake, Katsuki and the boys holding their breath only for the baby to coo and you to let out a sleepy "Hmm?'

Katsuki knows that you can still fall asleep, that you'd have risen if you were more awake so that he could sleep but he's up now and he doesn't mind. He's glad the boys have listened to him that yes, momma is a super woman but that daddy can help them too.

And Katsuki cannot say he isn't proud that the boys love to cook with him.

After the coast is clear he sends them on their way with a playful swat to their butts that they giggle about, always rough housing those two. Encouraged of course by Bakugou but when it comes to the baby their hands shake with a little nervousness asking for gloves because they know their quirk could hurt their baby sister and that they are not in control of their gift yet.

Katsuki rises enough to sit on the side of the bed in nothing but his boxers, chest and half of his face scarred from a tale long ago that his kids beg for the story but he never tells. Not yet anyway. Rubbing his large palms across his handsome features, bromine eyes softened to candied apples thanks to his family. Ash blonde stubble looking more grey and crows feet next to his shining eyes.

He yawns, hears his boys giggle as they try to get the usual stuff for pancakes. One helping the other to climb the counter in order to reach the pancake mix and they're good boys. They don't touch the stove while they wait.

Katsuki rises fully now, grabbing a shirt from the clean hamper and sliding it on. Coming over to your side of the bed to look at you. Sleeping soundly and when he spies the bags under your eyes being kissed by your long lashes, he's more than thankful the boys woke him up instead. He leans over, kisses your temple softly, runs his hand feather light over your arm before his cooing baby girl. Talking to herself softly as she stares up at the ceiling, arms moving here and there but nothing too excitable.

And then she sees her father and her face lights up, pure joy just like when she sees her mom. Not fully Katsuki knows this but maybe it's even better to know that his baby girl still knows that these blurry shapes are him. Her cooing and babble louder now, excited as she reaches up for him and he gives a big smile pulling her up to press her into his arms.

"Good morning sweetheart." He coos back, a kiss to her wispy hairline. Softly shutting the door as he takes her to her room, passing by his boys and shutting the door to each. You insisted they should have separate rooms that you didn't want the twins to feel like one person and although they both had "sleep overs" often, they loved their own space as well.

"Boys you'll have to pick up yer rooms a bit before grams gets here." He says to them as he walks down the hall after baby girl has a fresh diaper and outfit, at least for now.

"Even though she doesn't go in there."

"Yea grams never sees our room unless we show her!'

"Mmhmm even though she doesn't go in there. It's still nice to have a straightened room ain't it?" Katsuki looks to them as they play in the water more than they wash their hands.

The morning is easy somehow and Katsuki is so so thankful he waited as long as he did to have kids. He's much more mellow now, can do more of the gentle parenting shit the baby books talked about. And yes his mother yelled at him often and he knows his ma loves him, he just doesn't want that for his kids. And yea he does yell sometimes, gets frustrated or blows up, they're two six year olds with big ass feelings and little bodies.

But he always apologizes

You taught him that and if you couldn't collect yourself either you always pointed out it isn't kind to yell, apologized and explained your own big feelings. Plus when you had the right partner parenting could be easy, it could be a lot of fucking fun. At least that's what Bakugou has always thought.

He supports you and he listened to his Ma the first time when Mitsuki said you weren't going to ask for help and that Katsuki needed to step up. So he'd take turns before you become exhausted and burned out, he split chores or took on more when you couldn't. And as always you did the same for him.

Now is just one of those weird times where you both are exhausted and trying your best to work with the schedule you have but Katsuki thinks you need a little more rest than him even if you've been home. Even if you can send the boys to grams or your own parents or to their cousins house for a sleepover, you still deserve rest because at the end of the day no matter how much he could step up kids will always want their moms first.

"Katsuki." You call gently from the hall as the boys bounce around while a TV show plays on low, their giggling hushed while Katsuki "spoils" the baby and keeps her held to him.

"Ah did we wake ya?"

"MOM WE HELPED WITH PANCAKES!" They scream excitedly, rushing to their half asleep mom to cling to your legs. Chattering away about how they helped with everything even dishes. How yours is in the microwave and how daddy said he'd heat them up. You respond, brushing your hands over their little skulls, pushing down their hair and they hum on.

"You came home late, you should have woken me up." You say softly, barely enough time to get ready before Mitsuki was due here in less than twenty minutes.

"Haaah? And let you hog all this to yerself?" He gestures to the living room where it looks as if a bomb went off, toys, stuffed animals and blankets scattered about that you and Katsuki would have to sing the clean up song just to have it all put away. Mostly anyway, it'd all come out again as they showed their grams and gramps their collection.

You laugh loudly, god damn does he love that sound. Loves that it echoes in his own chest enough to make him smirk or chuckle. Watches you come closer to kiss the babies forehead from over the back of the couch before kissing him on the lips.

The boys of course erupt in a chorus of EWS before they're getting a look from you both. This was definitely still a lightly teasing household.

"Go get ready. The number one hero can handle this." He leans up for another kiss that you give him of course, your once sharp claws now rounded to soft nails scratch at his scruff.

"Kay."

You're out of the shower and dressed without a second to spare, the doorbell rings. The boys wait impatiently to see if it's okay to answer the door, hopping up and down because they were never allowed to swing it open even if they were expecting someone. When Katsuki confirms on the door bell camera it's his mother, he rises to stand at the door to open it.

Sunlight bleeds in, obstructs the view of his mother for a moment

And then Katsuki wakes up.

His alarm blaring from his bedside table making his heart race with adrenaline, his palm poised and ready. Glowing a deep orange as he collects himself a moment. Growling as he smashes another phone turning to stare at the ceiling. He dares not reach out to your side of the bed even though he knows what he'll find.

Still, his curious, masochist palms reach out to find cool sheets. Sheets on your side of the bed that haven't been warmed for over two years, why would they?

No giggling laughter can be heard in the home, no cooing little girl he can greet with a smile after a hard ass night at work because the four of you made it worth it over and over again.

No visit from his ma on his rare few days off because there was no laughter, no cooing, and there may never be.

There never was because you left him two years ago. Left his sheets cool, the house he bought for his future family frigid in your absence no matter how high he turned up the heat or let the sun bleed into his home.

He couldn't even call it a home, homes were warm, joyful, this?

Well this was just another roof over his head, a bed to sleep in, a fridge to hold milk for his protein shakes.

Nothing for bacon and eggs or pancakes. Nothing for formula in the little bottles that were set out on the grass looking drying rack he'd tell his sons not to play with.

Katsuki rises enough to sit on the edge of the bed, rubbing his handsome features with big palms. Fingers lingering over scars from a tale long ago but with no sons to beg for the story.

He hardly has the strength to rise from the bed as he comes to terms that all it ever was and all that his two sons and daughter that he saw so vividly, ever will be

Was a dream.

[pseudowho]

The Silent Stars Go By

On the night of October 31st, Nanami Kento feels his death approaching. Knowing you are on the battlefield with him, and knowing he cannot die without showing you how he feels, he seeks you out...and subverts destiny.

Warnings: 18+, MDNI, "last night on Earth" smut, truly desperate, frantic, semi-public, Shibuya ending rewrite

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Nanami Kento knew he was to die, on October 31st.

He was no arithmancer. A pragmatist at heart with a mathematical streak, he had, however, carried his barely living friend to safety, found the bodies of many others, punched a young man to death, and lived to tell the tale. The numbers divined great danger ahead, and, by the time a pink-feathered songbird had sung the perish song of Satoru Gojo, Kento could not deny the maths.

Kento could suddenly see no distant future for himself, as he once could. And yet between then, and now, there was one stark similarity; what future Nanami Kento did see, contained only you.

Behind his eyes flashed a montage of memory-- of midnight laughter-filled dinners at the Konbi. Of shielding you in battle, and you shielding him in return. Of you sitting on his lap, stitching his wounds with utmost care, before your reverse-cursed technique had fully developed. Of falling in love with you, and denying himself joy for believing he may give you none.

Being around you was agony. Being away from you was worse.

"I'll be heading underground," he had intoned to Nitta and Nobara, taking in their girlish features for the last time with a stab through his belly, "after I catch up with someone. Stay safe. Don't sacrifice yourself."

He was a hypocrite. He knew this. He would walk to the gallows, proud, if only he could take you in his arms and cry his love for you, first.

+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+

Looking out over the city, having heard Yuuji's cries for 'Nanamin' only a few minutes earlier, you did not know you were being desperately searched for by Kento. You had determined yourself to find and follow Yuuji, the boy without protection.

The night breeze whipped at you, unhindered by walls and trees, on the roof of one of Shibuya's tallest buildings. Turning to leave, you felt a familiar warmth approaching. The man you loved opened the stairwell door, squeaking on its pivot.

Missing his suit jacket and tie, with his sleeves rolled up, he thrummed with raw, uncontained power. Something feverish stormed within his eyes as he looked to you. His steps were slow, and considered. The quiet calm of his voice was deliberate, soft.

"Kento, what...what are you doing here? Is that blood? Oh god, you're bleeding-- let me heal you--"

"Stop. It isn't mine. Just listen for a moment."

"Isn't yours? Then one of the others? We should get them to Shoko--"

"--I need you to listen, now--"

"--we haven't got any time--"

"I love you." The air fell still; a puff of blossom in suspended animation. You had not realised you were holding your breath until Kento's steps caught up to you, and his hands grasped yours. A melancholic certainty rolled off him. Flicks of blond fell over his forehead, that fervour still gripping him; gripping you.

"I love you. You are the purest truth I know. The warmest light. Anything I am, and anything I could have been, is at your mercy, and always has been."

The gut-churning adrenaline you had felt for the fever-pitch of battle was suppressible, before Kento's impassioned promise. That dam broke inside you, and the terror and adoration and injustice heaved out of you in one great sob. You needed his body flush to yours. Public decency took a back seat. So many years of restraint and doubt slid away.

You looped your arms around Kento's neck, one hand grasping his shoulders, and the other sinking into the back of his hair. Kento almost broke, himself, but couldn't; not yet. He had to show you. Needed to show you.

You felt him pull your head away from his shoulder, and you resisted, until his fingers tangled in your hair, angling your head. You were nose to nose. You could feel his heart booming in his chest, fresh from a fight you had not witnessed.

"If this is my last chance," Kento whispered, his nose stroking yours, "will you let me take it?"

"...what...what do you know...that I don't? Kento--"

"Please." Kento growled, his teeth gritted. You felt the twitching contractions of his belly, his hardening cock pressing against you. You couldn't resist his need to control this, and take what he needed, even if you wanted to. Your breaths ached in your chest. Silent, glossy-eyed, you nodded.

Kento broke, possessing your lips in one shuddering kiss. His hands and body squeezed at your softly yielding hips, all-consuming, trying to overfill himself with any scrap of you he could take. He dominated the kiss completely, selflessly, as thoughtlessly altruistic as he had always been. He groaned, panting through the taste of you, his tongue sliding against yours. His cock wept inside his boxers-- it was all too much too much but not enough--

You mewled, little hands gripping onto his collar, sending thunder to Kento's core. Kento pulled away, cursing, feeling the need to know the scars that pleasure etched upon your skin. You were scorched by his touch, too pliable now to do anything but bend to his insistence.

In blood and brutality you sought each other, beacons in the night with stars as your witness. They looked on, disinterested, as if fate held any regard for the lives of mortals, over gods.

With time as his final remaining enemy, Kento pulled you to his lap, sitting with his back against the low wall overlooking the city. He knew for whom the bell tolled. He would see his duty done before the final chime, and he stared into you in your entirety. Though neither a painting nor an ivory box, he handled you with kid gloves.

You straddled his lap, unbuttoning his shirt, and he whispered, groaning and bucking up against your clothed sex as he watched your nimble fingers press his opened shirt apart. Running your hands in reverence down his bared chest and belly, he could not have loved you more than when he saw his own desperation reflected back at him.

In another life-- in any other world-- I--

He lifted you, enough for you to kick your jeans and underwear off, his teeth bared to feel your core press against his aching cock. He spoke through your kisses, a fractured sentence punctuated by his apologies.

"I didn't-- didn't prepare-- no protection-- I can't-- can't stop-- please don't make me stop." He begged, reaching down to hook his cock out. You silenced him with one hand wrapped around his rigid length, and Kento stilled with a hiss.

--take you to dinner first, I'd show you the world-- fill you with its beauty before I fill you with mine--

"Don't care--" You insisted against his neck, "--don't care...need to feel you." Kento almost sobbed with relief to feel you hold him, stroking the head of his cock between your glistening folds. You let his cockhead and slit catch over your clit, shivering, intoxicated by the way he watched you with one hand splayed across your belly, the other on your hip, and blown pupils. He bucked his hips, needy, full of baleful possession.

--and we'd have a Victorian glasshouse with a garden you'd love-- and you'd plant wildflowers while I do the laundry--

Grasping your hips with a snarl as you stroked his cockhead down, Kento impaled you downwards onto him, the moment his cock notched at your entrance. You squeaked, pussy clenching with the sudden blissful invasion, your squirming making you sink lower. Kento felt a telltale throb of impending orgasm in his belly, and he was certain if you clenched one more time--

Your pussy full to the brim, you instinctively bucked downwards. Feeling Kento belly-deep, his trembling fingers dropped to your clit, and you felt Kento's abs twitching beneath your splayed hands. Feeling two clever fingers bracketing your clit and rolling from side to side, you squeezed him, milking his cock and locking him inside you.

--all the late nights and early mornings and train rides and arguments in sickness and health for richer for poorer--

"--love you-- I love you too." You sobbed into his chest, loose and warm against him. Kento saw stars, coming with a shout, thick ropes of cum spurting into you. Looking up at the euphoric agony on his face, and his fingertips bruising your ass as they pinned you down around him, satisfied you spiritually, in a way so alien to you.

You rolled your hips, drinking down every part of him. The long, powerful contractions of his cock inside you, his stilted low moans, his gasps of pleasure as your tight gloved heat continued to stroke him. Starved for him, desperate for more, you rode Kento to frantic overstimulation.

--so unfair this is so unfair, die for you like you'd die for me like I'd die for you like you'd die for me--

You realised with a happy squirm that he hadn't yet removed his glasses or harness. With his shirt trapped against his shoulders, and his lens steamed, fucking upwards and thrashing his head from side to side beneath you, you couldn't stop yourself. You felt the fullness of his creamy load still plugged deeply inside you, and pushed hard against him. Kento cursed, paralyzing you with a hushed roar of agony, and a hand grasping your throat.

"--asked you to make love to me-- not kill me-- but shit, if this is how we go, just take me with you-- take me with you--"

His fingers had never left your clit, now rolling it insistently, until you were the one wriggling and desperate. Still being stuffed with his cock and cum made your pleasure three-dimensional, and Kento's half-hard length began to stir to life again, still high off the adrenaline of punching a man to death. He growled at you with gritted teeth.

"--beautiful...good girl...not done with you yet...shit, keep it in, keep it all in...take me with you...please--"

With half lidded eyes, you grasped Kento's forearm. His hand still braced you with exquisite tenderness around the throat, a necklace instead of a noose. His second hand worked frantically against your clit while you moaned and begged above him, still speared on his cock, feeling him lengthen and thicken again inside you. You whimpered and keened, and Kento committed you to memory, just like this. He would close his eyes in his final moment, and see you, breaking like spun sugar above him, no sweeter sound than his name on your lips.

--bake for you on Sundays, and the bread would always burn, because we'll be too busy--

Kento continued stroking you, pressing kisses onto your forehead as he guided you down from your high. Cautiously starting to roll his hips up again, he moaned at the slick sucks of his cock sliding through his cum and yours. Unthreading his shirt through his harness, Kento threw it to the ground, before lying you down on top of it.

Otherwise fully dressed, with dried stains of blood rusted over his chest and back, Kento bore over you like a vengeful god. Here to take his spoils, he still handled you like glass, resting your head on one of his planted forearms, with a hand under the small of your back to protect you from the floor.

"...I've wanted you for so long-- you don't even know--"

"I knew." Kento faltered. His anguish at leaving you for certain death sharpened, with the sudden knowledge of past chances untaken. His heart clenched, aching down his arms, steeling himself. He couldn't help but lean into your hand, cupping his jaw.

Nuzzling his nose to yours, Kento melted at your smile twinkling up at him. He smiled back, suddenly bashful, lopsided with crinkling eyes, before biting down on one lip and slamming his cock down into you. Your gasp shook through you, clawing into the harness across his chest and shoulders, hearing Kento swear with pleasure at the intensity of a second round.

Kento barely pulled out, wrapped in your arms and tight cunt. He almost spat with anger at the simultaneous need to savour you, and the need to leave, knowing he could not have both. Duty to you held the greater weight and, feeling another orgasm creep through his back and balls far too quickly, he slowed.

Completely engulfed by the enormity of him, you stared up at Kento, made submissive under his emotional insistence, the thick aching stretch of him sheathed inside you. Your back arched off the ground with a guttural moan when Kento slowed, dragging himself through your core from ball to tip in long, languid thrusts, the whole length of his cock glistening with gluey white seed.

He swore he could feel every ridge of you, the mind-altering bend of his cock as it moulded to the curve inside you. He needed you to carry the shape of him forever, an unremovable flesh-memory. Something had changed in him as you carded your fingers through his hair, whispering praises to him, to try to hold him together.

Kento looked drunk. His eyes were distant and hyperfocused all at once, his breaths and groans gruff, his voice gravelly with emotion as his mouth muffled against your shirt.

"--sorry, I...can't move my hands...hurt you, I--" Kento grasped your shirt between his teeth, ragging his head from side to side with a growl to lift it up over your breasts. He did the same to your bra, gripping the cups to yank your breasts free. They bounced out, full and peaked under his hot, frantic breaths.

Kento nosed at them, pulling his cock from you slowly, only to slam back into you with enough force to leave you writhing and whimpering. His mouth and nose played with your breasts, nudging, sucking and biting, hungry and obsessive. Something primal glimmered in his green glass-concealed eyes, as your mounds jiggled every time he fucked into you. The visual stimulus of you spread beneath him, your tight pussy slick with his cum, doe-eyed and completely willing, sent him spiralling towards his high.

"God I wish I--wish I could stay-- more than anything...cum with me, please please please--"

His thrusts became frantic, rough and sloppy with no warning. Kento's eyes darted from your face, to your breasts and pussy, and back again, drinking in the shock and ecstasy plastered over your face. You were trapped within the humid embrace of him, erotically overstimulated by his smell, his desperation, the constant stroke of his weeping cockhead against your spongy soft spot.

You didn't realise how close you were to orgasm until his position shifted, his trimmed honey-gold trail now rubbing against your clit. Clinging onto him, and rubbing upwards to meet his thrusts, you begged for Kento to help you. Your begging was Kento's last straw, and he gasped, his seed slugging out in lazy, creamy trickles against your overstuffed cervix and pussy.

Barely able to see straight, Kento kept rubbing his rigid pelvis against you, gruff and messy while you felt the drag of pleasure through you, softer than bare feet through hot sand. Kento whispered to you, sweat mingling on your foreheads pressed together; "...don't regret a thing...won't regret a minute-- wish this was different...deserve more..."

Panting in each others embrace, the dreadful horror of reality seeped back into you both. You could hear cries in the distance, the rumble of battles. You fought an unwinnable fight. Silent, and pensive, you jolted out of your reverie to hear Kento groan above you, reluctantly pulling his softening cock free. He knelt, dewy-eyed, watching the gluey drip of his cum from you, moaning and shivering as he held his half-hard cock, nudging the cum back inside with his tip.

The sudden emptiness almost made you weep. You felt the same terrible foreboding emanating from him as you had when he arrived on the rooftop. Kento smiled down at you, heartfelt and reassuring, pressing a folded pocket handkerchief to you before pulling your underwear back on over it. He kissed you delicately, from toe to knee while you giggled, before planting one lazy kiss and nuzzle onto your belly. You grasped his head there, scratching gently at his scalp with your fingernails.

"Stay with me, Kento. Just stay." You pressed, knowing in your gut that his decision was already made. His sigh creaked the leather of his harness with broad, corded tugs of his shoulders.

"They need help, underground. I'm one of the few First Grades available. It's only right that I go down there."

Kento's words, as always, rang with decisive finality. Before you could begin to talk again, he interrupted you smoothly.

"You will not come with me."

"You can't stop me."

"Shoko needs you. Your reverse cursed technique is second only to hers, and she's in need of support. It's the proper thing to do."

You squirmed with guilt, knowing you would choose to let Shoko suffer over Kento. Kento glowered down at you, stern, as if he hadn't just fallen apart inside you. You swallowed, a coil of doubt inside your belly.

"...don't be a hero, Kento." Kento frowned as if he didn't understand, and you insisted. "Don't be a hero. Get yourself out first. I mean it." Kento hesitated, looking out over the city lights, the breeze ruffling his mussed hair. He pulled his shirt back on, threading it under his harness.

"...alright." He lied. He paused. You both stood, sticky with each others' cum cooling between your legs. Nuzzling nose to nose, it felt so surreal to have to toss aside post-coital softness, in exchange for the cold embrace of battle.

"Go to Shoko," Kento whispered against your lips, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear, "and help her. Please. Do as I say."

"Promise you'll come back to me." You hushed into his kiss, beseeching him. He softened, deceptively reassuring, while hearing his clocktower chime.

"Always. I'm all yours. Always." Planting one lingering kiss to your forehead, you watched Kento's retreating back, his figure disappearing down the stairwell.

You wondered if you'd ever trust anyone other than Kento, over your own instincts.

+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+

Shoko was surprised to see you, her cigarette drooping as she raised her thick, dark eyebrows.

"Kento told me you wanted me." You insisted. Shoko shot Yaga one questioning look. Yaga shrugged, arms folded.

"We haven't spoken to Kento all evening." Shoko assured. You felt a flash of panicked rage in your gut, knowing he'd lied to you. Knowing he was taking himself to an unwinnable battle. You grabbed Shoko by the arm.

"Where are they? His team? Where is he?"

+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+

Kento was bloodied, missing an arm of his shirt, his vision obscured by the incessant bleed of a head wound. Pushing out of Dagon's domain, he knew he was exhausted, already skirting his limit. He felt a monstrous wave of Cursed energy, so much deadlier than his own.

A volcano-headed Curse approached him, its hand outstretched and hovering over Kento's abdomen. Naobito and Maki already smouldered in agony, and Kento felt the sickening weight of failure in his chest He had only a moment to protect himself, and he may have coated his body in Cursed-energy in its entirety, had he not filled his death-sentenced mind with thoughts of you.

He expected fire and flames...and felt you. When he protected his right half, you had arrived at the edge of a knife blade, and protected his left. The volcano-headed Curse faltered, stepping back with a scowl.

Kento looked down at you, knelt at his side in a braced position. His clock stopped chiming, in a moment of twisted fates reserved previously for the gods alone. He considered that you were, perhaps, a goddess, and he may be your vassal. You looked up at him, bristling with rage, and Kento's heart swelled.

"I'll tell you off later. For now...we have a fight to finish."

+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+

By the end of the night, Itadori Yuuji had gained a brother and retained a beloved father figure. Nanami Kento cast his eyes over Choso with a hum of resignation, considering he may have another boy to look after, too. The patch-faced curse who may have been his executioner in another life, met its end. He witnessed an old friend who was not an old friend, cast a battle royale over the length of Japan.

Gazing in mute horror over the devastation left behind, Kento felt a hand slip into his own. His ears flushed red. He cleared his throat.

"I'm-- I'm so sorry--"

You laughed, your hands over your face. Kento's eyes glimmered with mirth. He plaited his fingers in yours, pressing a kiss to your knuckles, mumbling against them.

"My hero."

[laduenadelswing]

Ex Boyfriend Simon x Reader

Part one

Part two

"One day I will marry you," the informant, Arek, slurred, his voice oozing through the comms. Simon's blood ran cold. The words, the exact same words he'd whispered to her, laced with every ounce of his truth, his hope. He remembered the feeling of her soft hair against his cheek, the quiet sigh of contentment as she’d murmured, “I can’t wait to become Mrs. Simon Riley. Fuck I love you Simon.“ That memory was a knife twisting in the wound of her absence.

He waited, every muscle in his body rigid, for her reaction. For the flinch, the subtle sign of discomfort, the tell-tale hesitation that would betray her true feelings. He needed it. Needed to know this was a charade, a means to an end, anything but genuine.

Then she smiled. A soft, almost tender smile. And the words, light as a feather, yet heavier than any blow, drifted through the comms. "I would love to."

The world tilted. The air in the observation van grew thick, suffocating. Price swore under his breath, Soap let out a strangled sound, and even Gaz looked away, unable to meet Simon's eyes. But Ghost saw none of it. He only saw her smile, heard her words, and the carefully constructed wall around his heart crumbled, leaving him exposed and bleeding.

No. It was impossible. It had to be. He’d searched for her, relentless, a ghost haunting his own life, convinced she’d been taken, forced, anything but willing. He’d replayed their last moments a thousand times, searching for a sign, a reason why she’d just… vanished. Ghosted him. And now, this.

His gloved hand clenched into a fist, knuckles white. The initial target, the informant, was irrelevant. Secondary. Because lying in that bed, next to that piece of trash, was his. And Ghost would burn the world down to get her back. Not just to extract her, but to fix her. To strip away whatever lies had been woven around her, to tear down the walls she'd built, and to mend the broken pieces of the woman he loved. Even if she didn't want to be fixed. Even if she no longer remembered the woman who'd once longed to be Mrs. Simon Riley. He would make her remember. He would make her his again.

The radio burst to life, cutting through the stunned silence in the van. "Price, Soap, Gaz, hold your positions. Do not engage the primary target." Ghost's voice, usually a low growl, was sharp, almost feral. "New objective: extraction. Minimal casualties to the building, maximum care for—" He paused, a flicker of something raw in his voice before he regained his composure. "—for the... collateral."

No one on the team needed it spelled out. They knew who the "collateral" was. The sudden shift in orders, the thinly veiled ferocity in Ghost’s tone, it spoke volumes. The informant, Arek, was no longer just an enemy. He was a pawn, and a dead man walking if he harmed a single hair on her head.

Soap, ever the empath, risked a glance at Ghost. The skull mask was an impenetrable barrier, but the set of his shoulders, the white-knuckle grip on his rifle, told a story of controlled, explosive fury. "Understood, Lieutenant," Soap replied, his own voice tight. He exchanged a knowing look with Gaz. This wasn't just a mission anymore. It was personal.

Inside the building, you felt the shift. The atmosphere, already tense with the knowledge of the 141's presence, crackled with a new, terrifying energy. Arek, oblivious to the change in command, tightened his arm around you, pulling you closer. "What's wrong, moy milyy?" he murmured, a confused frown on his face as he sensed the subtle shift in the air.

You didn't answer. Your gaze was fixed on the window, on the shadow that detached itself from the opposite building, moving with a silent, deadly purpose. It was Ghost. He wasn't waiting for orders to breach. He was coming for you.

A new voice, cold and precise, cut through the comms. "Breaching in 30 seconds. Soap, Gaz, provide covering fire. Price, secure the perimeter." This wasn't just a mission anymore. It was an execution. And you knew, with a certainty that chilled you to the bone, that the man behind that mask would stop at nothing. Not until you were out of Arek’s grasp, and back in his. Even if it meant dragging you kicking and screaming from the life you’d chosen, or been forced into. The silence that had once defined your absence was about to be shattered by the thunder of his return.

The breach was instantaneous. A concussive blast ripped through the apartment door, splintering wood and sending a cloud of dust billowing into the room. Arek, startled, shoved you roughly, scrambling for the pistol on his bedside table.

But Ghost was faster.

He was a blur of tactical gear and contained fury, already across the threshold before the dust could settle. His movements were honed, brutal, a predator scenting its prey. Arek barely had time to register the towering figure before a gloved hand gripped his wrist, twisting, and the pistol clattered to the floor. A swift, brutal strike to the solar plexus doubled the Russian over, a wheezing gasp escaping him.

You scrambled back, pressing yourself against the cold wall, eyes wide with a mixture of terror and a strange, morbid fascination. This wasn't the Simon you remembered, the man who’d held you close and whispered sweet nothings. This was Ghost, unleashed.

He didn't spare Arek a second glance once the man was incapacitated. His head snapped towards you, those shadowed eyes behind the mask burning with an intensity that made you tremble. There was no warmth, no recognition of the past. Only a chilling, singular focus.

"On your feet," he barked, his voice devoid of emotion, yet radiating an undeniable command. He didn't offer a hand, didn't soften his posture. He simply stood there, a formidable, unyielding presence.

Before you could fully process his words, Soap and Gaz were in the room, their weapons up, surveying the scene. Price's voice, calm and steady, came over the comms. "Room clear. Perimeter secure. Package acquired." The word "package" hung in the air, cold and impersonal, and you felt a fresh wave of despair. You weren't a person, not to them. Just an asset, a complication in their mission.

Ghost never took his eyes off you. "Move," he ordered, his voice a low growl that sent shivers down your spine. He gestured with his rifle towards the shattered doorway. You pushed yourself away from the wall, your legs feeling weak, and stumbled forward.

As you passed Arek, slumped and groaning on the floor, Ghost nudged him with the toe of his boot. "Heard you had plans," he said, his voice laced with venom. "Guess those are off the table."

He didn't wait for a response, pushing you gently, but firmly, out of the room. The cold night air hit you, and for a fleeting moment, you felt a strange sense of relief. You were out. But as Ghost’s imposing figure moved to flank you, you knew this was only the beginning. The silent hunt was over. The extraction had begun. And the real reckoning, with the ghost you had tried to escape, was only just beginning.

Ghost looked at you, his eyes scanning you, looking for imperfections. „Mrs Riley….“

[finnified]

the waves beckoned finn easily from the darkness. 

he sat with his knees pulled to his chest on the cool sand. the foam scampered up the ground and then slid back, an eternal game of keep-away it would never win. 

ships sailed in the night ocean. it counted the flags, peered to see the colors- heron, kestrel, heron again. no kites on the water this time of night- some kind of awful symbolism that made it want to roll into a little ball on the sand. 

his ears perked as that sand shifted in a noticeably particular way, not just from the wind but from- 

footsteps? 

finn whipped his head around and was greeted with a lanky, dark-eyed individual with chocolate-colored spikes of hair standing up all over the back of their head. dozens of polished trinkets caught the moonlight on their body- rings and necklaces and little bits of silver hanging off their belt. finn blinked, trying and failing to locate a faction insignia amidst the layers of fabric. 

“bit chilly out for a good old fashioned brood, isn’t it?” the heavily accented voice laid strongly in the air between the two, the standing pirate leaning down slightly to observe the sitting kite.

“you’re the new lad, aren’t you?” the dark-haired stranger asked, sticking one of her legs out to settle in the sand next to him. “blackwood, innit? you used to be a kestrel.” 

“regrettably,” finneas grumbled, flicking an ear at them. “am i supposed to know you? are you a kite?” 

“it’s better that you don’t, but i am,” the stranger laughed. “the name’s adalwulff- captain adalwulff.” she stuck out her hand strongly in front of finneas, and although he had to twist his body awkwardly to shake her hand he still did so. 

“what’s a fine young man like you doing out on a winter’s night all alone?” the captain offered finn a conspiratorial look, as if they were close friends and not completely strangers. something about their energy was strangely familiar to finneas- like a hearth that was the same kind of comfortable no matter where the fire was lit. it flicked its tail twice, considering adalwulff briefly. 

“someone i know tried to cut off one of my fingers today,” he settled for, deliberately avoiding looking at his hand, which was still firmly jammed into his breast pocket. adalwulff gave him a curious look, not quite sympathetic but not judgemental either.

“well, the salt’s not going to help it much, hm?” the captain offered, her dark spikes of hair waving back and forth in the bitter wind pouring off of the ocean. “you should probably take care of that. you need a hand?” after a moment, their face lightened. “my bad. maybe you need a finger?” 

finneas doesn’t quite laugh, but some sort of pale, twisting levity breathes deeply behind its eyes. adalwulff hauled themself to their knees, and then their feet, their dark red pants trailing out behind them and catching salt crystals from the tide. finn kept its hand jammed firmly into its breast pocket, but took with the other the grip that adawulff offered to hoist him to his feet as well. 

it spared one more long glance out over the ocean, watching a heron ship disappear off towards the heron ports. a gaggle of seabirds circled noisily over the sheer cliffs. mist rose over the water.

finn jumped as a strong hand clapped its shoulder. “distractible little thing, aint you, blackwood?” captain adalwulff steered him up towards the driftwood steps that would bring them to the ground level of the public kite living space. “you should work on that- not a good trait on the water.” 

“trust me, i know,” finn grumbled miserably, but for some reason still allowed himself to be led like some sort of lost child under the guidance of someone he could trust. 

—

local boy has depressive episode/panic attack on beach, picked up nonbinary woman for his wet-cat esc tendencies <3

[irishmammonagenda]

MC's magic going wrong 😱😰

or right depending on ur outlook on life ig

warnings: swearing, mentions of death (extremely brief and only notioned towards), physical affection

You hadn´t thought much of it at first when you got back to the human realm. Everything went back to normal. Or as normal as it could be.

Your mother and father sobbed when they saw you, stating how they though´t you were lying in a ditch somewhere in the stretching countryside. You´d lied, told them you were away on a residency based apprenticeship, that you were sorry for worrying them. Your siblings showed signs of worry you never thought they were able to feel for you. Thus you were being babied for a month or so.

That´s when it started.

At first, it was more corvids at the bird feeder in your garden than usual. Then it was stray cats. Then inexplicable black and white feathers dusting your clothing and hair.

Your mother smiled picking out the ivory feather from the confines of your unbrushed hair, "Oh! Your guardian angel´s been watching over you!" she says playfully, an old wives´ tale, nothing too serious.

You tense for a moment, before laughing with her. "Well I´ll take it as a good sign." Stupid old wives being the smartest people.

At first it was easy to brush off.

Then your father started getting lucky, he hadn't been one to gamble persay, putting a few coins in on a bet for the horse racing or the football was a regular occurrence, sometimes he won,sometimes he didn't. The difference of a few silvers, a share bag of sweets basically, made no real strain on your belts. But now, he was winning left right and center. Winning amounts that shouldnt be possible based on the amount he input.

Though, after you woke up to cats and corvids staring at you unblinkingly, in your room, with a few flies and insects on the walls, and your bedsheets covered in feathers and scales of all colours and sizes, enough was enough.

You were going to give those nerds a piece of your mind.

After shooing the animals out, (making sure to pet the cats), you picked up a lipstick, and channeled your pact magic before drawing a circle with various symbols on the floor,

You stilled, "Ah, shit. I dunno how to do this, i mean half of those symbols are angry faces and squiggles...." but ever the theatre nerd, you improved.

"I, MC, call upon the power of my pacts with the Avatars of Hell! and, using their power; a portal to the Devildom shall open for me!"

And a portal did open for you. Unfortunately, not to the best place. As you travelled through the time pocket you ended up stumbling once you made it to the other side, the stumble turnt into a tumble turnt into a fall. Unluckily for you, the thing you fell on was toned flesh and chuckling heartily, you were in Diavolo's lap.

"It's great of you to drop by MC!" He says, his massive hands pulling you further into his frame.

You cover your face with your hands, now noticing the various other nobles in the council room who are staring at their Prince, attempting to mask the fact their jaws are going to hit the floor.

Atleast the Brothers weren't there, but Barbatos' half polite smile half smirk and Diavolo whispering various playful musings of, "Did you miss me that much little human, we missed you too.", and "Summoning a portal illegally into the Demon Lord's castle and onto the Demon Princes lap...tututut." almost made the brothers seem like a mercy....

...almost.

You couldn't tell if this was a win or a lose.

[my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction]

can I have a moon knight x fem reader smut

which the reader is dating the moon knight system and she’s a avatar of thoth that the moon boys find out on accident

Ahhh, thank you so much for this ask! I am so sorry it has taken so long!

Twin Moons

Steven Grant x f!Reader • Rating: 18+ pals • Masterlist• ao3• want to be tagged? | request info • buy me a coffee? •

Summary: You go back to Steven's after a date.

Warnings:, Kissing, pet names, oral sex (both receiving), p in v sex, cream pie, surprise god, not beta read, swearing, overuse of italics, please let me know if I've missed a warning.

Word Count: 2788

“So this is the place.” Steven smiles a little nervously, he scratches the back of his head as he gestures to his living room with his other hand. “Sorry it’s a little messy, I didn’t think- presume, I mean. That you’d be coming back, that’s not polite, is it? No. I mean-” He sighs, screwing up his eyes, and you can’t stop the twist of affection in your chest. 

“Steven,” You smile and take his hand, bringing it to your lips and lightly kissing his knuckles. “It’s okay.” 

His shoulders relax slightly. “Sorry, I’m getting all in my head aren’t I?” 

You shake your head. “It’s cute.” 

He pulls a face. “Cute isn’t exactly what I’m going for…” He glances at the mirror on the side and gives his reflection a glare. 

“What’s Marc saying?” 

“Taking the mick.” 

You can’t help but giggle at the little scowl on his face. The way his nose scrunches is adorable. 

“Tell Marc,” You squeeze Steven’s hand reassuringly, “I’m very much looking forward to my date with him tomorrow.” 

“Yeah,” He looks back to you. “He’s just still pissy about the fact that I won paper, rock, scissors.” They’d decided that after a few casual dates with both of them, that it was time for separate (ish) dates. And what separate really meant was they could choose the location and activity on their own without the other's input. And without too many snide comments.

You giggle, “Is that how you decided?” 

Steven gives you a bashful smile, something you’re sure he simply must know what effect it has on you. “ We didn’t tell you that, did we?” 

You shake your head. “It’s cute.” You repeat. 

“I’m starting to think I’m getting stuck in the ‘cute’ area here.” 

“Oh really?” You tease. 

He nods and steps a little closer to you. “It’s a very serious concern love.” 

“What’s so wrong with the ‘cute’ zone, it’s cute?” 

He pulls a face, an over the top expression to make you smile. “It’s fine, really, and normally I’d be all for it. It’s just not where I want to be right now.” He swallows, his Adam's apple bobbing. Lightly, he places his hands on your hips. It’s a feather touch, barely there. His hands are radiating warmth, like all his pent up nervous energy is trying to escape through his skin. 

“And where do you want to be?” You ask sweetly as you rest your hands on his chest. His heartbeat speeds under your fingers, thumping so fast it’s almost a blur. 

“Between your legs.” He says softly, and quickly. Immediately he screws his face up and smacks his forehead with the heel of his hand. “Oh my god, I’msososorry, that was just fucking awful.” 

You grin, unable to suppress your chuckle. “Hey,” you take hold of his wrist and pull his hand lightly away from his face. “I liked it.” 

“No, you didn’t love, don’t tell tales.” He pretends to chastise but you can see the hint of a smile at the corner of his lips. 

“I did.” 

He shakes his head, “No, I refuse to believe it. It was awful and you’re too wonderful to put up with something like tha-”

You quickly lean forward and kiss him, it’s light and soft and you’re careful not to bump your teeth against his as he is still speaking. But quickly Steven sighs, wrapping his arms around you and cradling the back of your neck. He presses closer when you go to move away, his plush lips moving against yours hypnotisingly. 

You shiver when he darts out his tongue, just teasing the edge of your bottom lip and then retreating when you part your lips. 

You moan softly, screwing up the front of his shirt in your hand as you move your body flush against his, trying to capture his tongue when he teases again. 

He lightly grinds the outline of his semi-hard cock against you, and this time when he retreats again you follow, licking into his mouth eagerly. 

Steven groans softly, welcoming you immediately as you deepen the kiss and racing to react to your every move. His sounds vibrate through his chest, buzzing along your fingers in the most pleasant way. 

When he pulls back his lips are shiny and kiss swollen, there is a soft hint of pink to his cheeks, just highlighting the tan of his skin. 

Steven takes hold of your hand lightly, guiding you slowly to the bed and watching you with his large eyes intently. Seemingly waiting for you to object. 

His breathing hitches as you both come to a stop by the edge of the mattress. 

He swallows, opening his mouth to speak as he rubs his fingers together a little hesitantly. But you kiss him again, swallowing his anxiety as you gently coax him down to sit. You trail your lips over his jaw, his neck, sucking just under his ear and delighting in the shiver and soft sigh he gifts you with.

“That’s really nice.” He mutters, his voice thick. Lightly, he puts his hands on your back as he presses closer, angling himself more and more into your embrace. 

He jumps deliciously when you run your nails up his inner thighs, just missing the solid outline of his cock straining the material. 

Quickly, you untuck and then unbutton his shirt, starting from the bottom and distracting him with your teeth on his skin. 

He groans, his eyelashes fluttering as you suck a love bite into the hollow of his throat. The sound sends a spiral of heat to your belly. 

“Oh, love,” he bites his lip as you push his shirt off his shoulders and nip lightly at his clavicle. The material stays bunched up around his wrists and elbows as you sink down to your knees, kissing a messy trail down his chest to just above his belly button. 

“You, erm, you don’t have to, I mean, only if you want- I mean,” he screws up his face. “I’m assuming here, aren’t I? Yes. What I mean is, it’s not… I don’t expect you to-”

You bite lightly at his belly, hardly more than a grazing of your teeth, but he yelps then giggles in surprise, looking down at you with large eyes. 

“I want you.” You smile. “You’re gonna be good and let me, aren’t you?” You tease, expecting a classic sassy Steven comeback. 

Instead, he audibly gulps, his throat bobbing. “I…” he breathes, his voice low. “Yes.” 

You bite back a smile as you undo his belt and hurriedly unzip his jeans. 

Steven’s thighs shake as he holds himself back, excitement races along his veins at lightning speed. He holds onto the side of the mattress with both hands, trying to focus on keeping himself as still as possible. 

You waste little time as you hook your fingers under his waistband and urge him up a fraction. He raises his hips obediently as you pull his jeans and boxers down to his calves. 

The sight of his cock bouncing free makes your mouth practically water. He’s slightly curved, the tip just brushing against his navel and leaving a snail trail of shinny precome on his soft skin. 

You can’t help yourself as you lightly run your forefinger down his length, reveling in how it jumps under your touch.

Steven sighs desperately, his heart beating so hard in his chest he’s sure he’s going to pass out any second. 

Gently, you cup his balls, just kneading them and feeling the weight of them in your hand for a second. Steven graces you with another breathy moan for your trouble. His pubic hair is neat and trimmed, a little softer than you expected and you can’t help but wonder if he uses conditioner regularly down there, or if this was in hopeful preparation for seeing you.

“You’ve got such a pretty cock.” You whisper and Steven gasps.

He thrusts weakly towards you, unable to hold himself completely back. “Thank, thank you.” He bites his bottom lip the second the words are out of his mouth, looking bashful. 

You smile reassuringly and give his balls a light squeeze before you take the base of his length in hand and flick your tongue across the tip.

He swears, loudly. His back arching as you open your mouth and sink him a few inches past your lips. 

“Shit, shit.” He groans, his thighs practically vibrating under the force of holding himself still. “That’s really- feels so- thank you, oh god, thank you!” He sighs and pants, his head thrown back as he weakly rocks into your mouth, moaning louder and louder as you swallow him deeper and deeper. 

It’s so warm and wet, he’s sure he’s died and gone to heaven as pleasure rushes along his nerves and settles at the base of his spine. You squeeze his hip with one hand, encouraging him to move as you bob your head. 

“Love, fuck, love, please.” He gasps, his skin burning. “Please, please. Can we, can you? Fuuuck.” He bucks lightly, nudging at the back of your throat. “I’m gonna come if you don’t stop.” 

You pull off him slowly with a pop, lightly tracing his slit with the tip of your tongue so he shivers again. “So?” You smile at him.

He pants hard, sweat beading at his temples. “I… can… I think I’d like to fuck you before I finish.”

“You think?” 

He pulls a face at your tease and you giggle. “I know.” 

“Oh, okay.” You stand up, “because you know then.” 

He grins, giving you a familiar sassy look as he takes hold of your hips and starts to pull up your dress. He watches you carefully, checking for any sign that you want him to stop. Instead, you stroke your hand through his hair. 

He shivers, preening into your touch. 

He groans loudly when he sees your underwear, the outline of your pussy and the damp patch that has soaked through. Lightly, he strokes it, swallowing, still holding your dress up with one hand. 

You’re not quite sure what you expect, but it’s not how desperately he pulls your underwear to the side, too eager to waste time by pulling them down. 

He swears lightly, his eyes rolling back at the sight before quickly leaning forward and latching onto your clit greedily. 

You gasp, your fingers tightening in his hair and he groans loudly as he sucks rhymically, easing your bundle of nerves out past his lips before coaxing it back in. 

You can’t help but pull his hair, mirroring the intoxicating pattern of his mouth and eagering a happy whine from him in the process.

“Steven,” you swallow harder, practically gasping for air as he pleases you, his lips so soft and slow. The movement is hypnotic, lulling you into a deep build as the threat of impending pleasure builds at your core. 

He moans against you, sucking and sucking until you’re sure he’s going to pull your soul out of your body. 

Your body tenses, shakes, so close to pulling you over that sweet edge. 

With a herculean strength you lightly push him back, your palm against his forehead. 

He gulps, his eyes lidded and lust blown as he gazes up at you, his cheeks flushed. His voice is a little unsure when he speaks. “Was that…?” 

“I want to come on your cock.” You pause as he groans, and then add. “Please.” 

Steven nods, not trusting his own voice in that moment. You both help each other completely out of your clothing quickly. But he puts his hands on yours when you go to take off your high heels. Normally you would have taken them off at the front door, but in the rush you hadn’t had a chance. 

“Can you… leave them on, love?” He gives you a cheeky smile. 

“You want me to?” You tease lightly, and he nods eagerly. “Didn’t take you as that kind of guy?”

He giggles and shifts back a little into the centre of the bed. “I don’t know, you just look so hot with them on. Is that okay?”

You nod. “More than okay.” You kneel on the bed, your legs either side of his as you inch forward. He leans back a little, propping himself up on his elbows as you cage him in. He watches you eagerly, his chest rising and falling rapidly. Warmth radiates off of his body, permeating the air around him. 

He moans sweetly when you take hold of his cock again, wriggling his hips to move into a slightly better position for you. 

You pump him twice before you lean down and spit onto his dick. Steven groans, his eyes rolling back and cock jumping as you smear your saliva along his skin. 

Painfully slowly you line him up with your soaking entrance, rocking back and forth against his tip but not easing down.

“Can you, fuck,” he swears softly, a little embarrassed before he clears his throat. “Can you tell me how you like it?” He asks so sweetly, his eyes closed and lips parted.

“Yeah?” 

He nods. “While you, shit-” He lets out a loud moan as you start to sink down, a broken string of ‘thank yous’ falling out of his mouth with every breath. “Please, while we fuck, tell me how, tell me what you want?”

“What if I just want you to be still and take it?” You tease, barely managing to keep your voice steady and own sounds of pleasure under control. “Be my own personal fuck toy?”

He swears, gasping for air. “Please.”

“You’d like that?” You groan. 

He’s so thick, you’re barely halfway down and you’re sure you can feel him in your lungs. You ease back up a fraction before you sink down further, getting used to his stretch and size. 

“Yes.” He whines. “Want you just to use me to come.” He breathes hard. “Any time you want, just, just tell me and you can ride my cock or my mouth and just come all over me.” He shivers, his hips bucking up a little at the thought. 

He slides his hands up and down your thighs, moving to sit up more so he can palm your calves and then grab at the sturdy heels of your shoes. “Fuck.” 

The angle change makes him just slide all the way in, bullying his fat cock into your aching heat. 

You gasp his name, groaning as his pubic bone rubs wonderfully against your clit. 

A rumble of approval sounds from his chest. “God, yeah. Just…” He thrusts slowly, rolling his hips against yours so he barely leaves your heat and instead grinds deeply. 

His grip tightens on your shoes as he pulls you back and forth, fucking you onto his cock. 

Your hands fly to his shoulders, your fingers digging in as pleasure bubbles in your lower stomach. 

“Good?” He whines. 

You nod rapidly, not fully trusting your own voice.

“Can, can you come like this?” 

You nod again and he whimpers. The tip of his cock brushes deliciously deep, rubbing deliciously and harmonising with the relentless grind against your clit. 

“Love, fuck, I want you to come so badly, I want to feel you squeeze me and just make a mess of me.” He whines, moving faster to match the pace of your hips. “I’m, I’m gonna come, I can’t help it. You feel so good, so good, so good for me, fuck, please, please, can you? Please? Can I? Can?” 

You shiver as your orgasm hits you suddenly, bucking weakly as you soak his cock. Your body burns and sings as the pleasure is squeezed from you, pulled perfectly as you shake and moan in Steven’s ear. 

He follows you half a second later, your name tumbling from his lips like a prayer as he fills you as deeply as he can. 

He wraps his arms around you, holding you close and snuggling into your neck as you relax against him. “Love, that was-”

“I am in need of your assistance.” Thoth’s booming voice from behind you makes you practically jump out of your skin. The god was not so hot on personal boundaries and had apparently chosen now to appear out of the ether. Well, at the very least it was now, and not a minute ago.

For a second you think Steven’s accompanying flinch is simply because he felt you do it, surprised by your own surprise. 

“What the fuck?” His grip on you tightens and you frown in confusion, from your position you miss his shocked expression, how he stares at the god. 

There’s no way he could see Thoth, was there?

Thank you so much for reading!

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