#here's our chance to go back through with knowledge of where it's going

[svtskneecaps]

ngl if streams get dry i think qsmpblr should create some initiative where we day by day watch the series over again in order. give it some fuckin stupid ass tag name like "qsmp reverse redux" for proper filtering and tag it all as vodblogging and set ourselves loose on bits of the series that some people may never have had a chance to watch because this series moves SO. GODDAMN FAST. and there's barely ever time for vodwatching.

pick your pov or watch multiple who cares but it has to be in our pocket dimension reverse time day. a qsmp electric boogaloo. idc if we have to make a fucking discord server to keep track of what day we're on or to maybe even coordinate those "watch2gether" youtube tool groups or whatever it was so those who feel inclined to twitch chat can still feel the feeling of being in a live chat except the streamers can't hear you.

i just think it would be fun. and i like liveblogging with y'all. and not everybody was around from day 1, so we can try to give them that. unfortunately we missed the exact one year so it'd be a bit messy but who the fuckkkkk cares :D

[ha-rinrin]

A Chance at Something Better

summary: Jinx's brings a little girl to your home, hoping to give her something better than what she had.

Pairing; Jinx x fem!reader ( they're married)

wordcount: 3.1k

Authors note: I saw on TikTok this one video saying that Jinx adopted a child, soo thats what I tried to do even if I have zero knowledge of whaat going on🤞🏻. If you want more married content just tell me and I'll do it, I kinda liked the idea of you and Jinx adopting a kid so, tell me if you want more of it.

masterlist

You’re in the dim glow of Jinx’s hideout, the familiar hum of metal and machinery filling the air. Her workbench is littered with tools, scraps, and half-assembled parts, each piece part of a weapon you’re carefully crafting for her—a small, sleek pistol that packs a powerful punch. The faint scent of gunpowder lingers in the room, and you can hear the quiet drip of water echoing from somewhere deep within the cavernous walls.

The two long braids and her purple eyes come into view before she does, Jinx’s shadow moving just a second ahead of her as she slips into the room. She grins, her smile sharp yet playful, watching you like she’s seen her favorite person in the world—because you know, deep down, that’s exactly what you are.

The moment Jinx steps into the room, a prickle of awareness slides down your spine. You sense another presence. Instinct kicks in before reason, and in one swift motion, you reach for a pistol on the workbench and whip around, aiming it directly at the darkened corner just beyond Jinx.

Jinx’s eyes widen as she realizes where your attention has landed, her mouth parting in surprise. “Whoa, whoa! Easy there, sharpshooter,” she says, her tone a mix of amusement and shock. She holds up her hands. “Drop the gun, okay? There’s… no need for that.”

You keep your stance firm, the pistol steady in your hand. “Why is it here?” you ask, eyes narrowed, keeping your gaze locked on the shadows in the corner.

From the darkness steps a small, timid figure, her steps cautious but curious. She’s barely up to Jinx’s hip, with wild blue hair that nearly mirrors the shade Jinx once had. The girl peers up at you, big eyes full of a mixture of awe and trepidation.

Jinx glances at her, then back at you, her expression shifting to one of guilty excitement. “She’s here,” Jinx corrects, her voice softening as she looks at the girl. “I know I was gonna… ease you into this, but, well…” She shrugs, her mischievous smile returning. “Surprise?”

You keep your gaze steady, the girl’s shy eyes darting between you and Jinx. The situation feels surreal, and though you’ve lowered the gun, the tension is far from gone.

“Jinx,” you say, voice firm, “can we talk… in private?” You emphasize the last word, giving her a look that says you’re serious.

Jinx’s grin wavers, a flash of nervousness crossing her face. She glances down at the girl, patting her shoulder gently. “Isha, stay here, alright? Just for a second.” Her voice is soothing, trying to keep the girl at ease as she leads you further back, just out of earshot.

Once you’re out of Isha’s line of sight, you cross your arms, keeping your voice low. “Jinx, we agreed… if anything this big was gonna happen, we’d talk about it first.”

Her fingers fidget with the edge of her sleeve, and she bites her lip, a little sheepish. “I know, I know. I just… I couldn’t leave her there. She looked so scared, y/n. Like she’d seen the worst of the Lanes in one day. I tried to picture leaving her, but… it felt too close to everything I went through.”

You sigh, the frustration melting into something softer as you watch her, seeing the hint of vulnerability she rarely lets anyone glimpse. “I understand that, Jinx. But bringing someone into our lives like this—it’s… it’s not just about a good heart, you know?”

She runs a hand through her braids, glancing down, trying to meet your eyes without completely meeting them. “Look, I know I rushed it. But she’s got nobody else. No one who understands. And if I’m honest… I thought maybe, with us, she could have a chance.” She glances up at you with a hopeful, almost pleading look

You let out a heavy sigh, pinching the bridge of your nose as you glance back toward Isha, then back at Jinx. “We make weapons, Jinx. Bombs. There’s nothing about our lives that screams ‘safe’ or ‘stable’ for a kid. Adding her into this… it’s not exactly ideal, you know?”

Jinx bites her lip, visibly torn but resolute. “I know what we do isn’t exactly kid-friendly, but it’s not like we’re blowing things up every single day. We’ll be careful. And… maybe she doesn’t have to see all that. We could keep that part separate. We’d figure out a way.”

You shake your head, though a small part of you understands where she’s coming from. “It’s not just about keeping her out of the crossfire. You know as well as I do that our lives are unpredictable. We’re not exactly… parental role models.”

Jinx crosses her arms, her brows drawn as she stares at the ground. “Maybe. But I think we could be. I mean, we’re not the monsters the world sees us as.” Her voice softens, barely above a whisper, “Isha deserves better than what I had. She deserves a chance. And we’ve got each other, y/n. Doesn’t that count for something?”

You let her words sink in, feeling the weight of her solve. The idea still feels overwhelming—foreign, even—but the determination in her eyes, that unbreakable hope, reminds you why you love her.

You take a deep breath, glancing from Jinx to the tools and parts scattered across the room. “Look, Jinx, we’re married, and yeah, we’ve talked about a family someday. But this?” You gesture around the hideout, with weapons and half-finished bombs lying out in the open. “This isn’t exactly what I’d call a safe space for a kid. It’s dangerous—everything about what we do is dangerous.”

Jinx’s gaze doesn’t waver, her fingers laced in yours. “I know it’s risky. But I also know we’re more than the things we make here. We’ve made a life together, y/n. Maybe it’s not perfect or normal, but it’s ours. And Isha… she could be part of that.”

You sigh, feeling her conviction but unable to shake your hesitation. “Jinx, we can’t just decide this overnight. It’s not just about us anymore.”

Her grip tightens slightly, her eyes softening. “She needs us, y/n. We can give her a place where she’s not alone, where she doesn’t have to be scared all the time. We’ve got each other… isn’t that enough to try?”

You look down at your wedding ring, feeling its weight more than usual. The decision ahead is heavy, and Jinx’s fingers tracing the edge of the ring only intensifies that feeling. She meets your gaze, her voice soft. “I know we didn’t plan this, but when I saw her, I couldn’t walk away. She’s like me… like us. And she needs someone.”

You exhale, still unsure. “I know, but we’re not exactly the perfect environment for a kid. We’re surrounded by weapons and bombs, Jinx. This life... it’s dangerous.”

Her touch lingers on your wedding ring as she looks up at you, her expression sincere. “I get that. But when I was a kid, I had Silco… and he was all I had, even if it wasn’t perfect. I thought maybe we could give her something real—something better than what I had.”

You rub your forehead, feeling the weight of it all. “It’s not just about helping her. It’s about how much it’ll change our lives. Are we ready for that?”

Jinx squeezes your hand, her voice steady. “I don’t know, but I want to try. I want to give her a chance.”

You watch as Jinx’s eyes glisten, the faint shimmer of tears threatening to fall. Her usual bravado is gone, replaced by something raw and vulnerable. You can see the weight of her words sinking in deeper than she lets on, the fear of repeating the past, of making the wrong choice.

Without thinking, you reach out and gently cup her face in your hands, your thumb brushing away the tear that escapes the corner of her eye. The action is tender, your touch grounding both of you in the midst of the storm.

"Hey," you say softly, your voice low but firm. "We don’t have to do this perfectly. But we need to know what we’re getting into, Jinx. It’s not just about the heart—it’s about everything that comes with it. The good, the bad… and the ugly."

Jinx sniffles, nodding as she leans into your touch. “I know. I just… I don’t want her to end up like me. Like I did back then.” She swallows, her voice trembling. “I just want to give her a shot at something better.”

You hold her gaze, your hands steady as you keep her close. “You’re not alone in this,” you say again, the words sounding stronger this time. “You won’t be doing it alone. And neither will she. We’ll figure it out together. No matter what.”

Jinx’s lip quivers, but she manages to hold your gaze. “I never thought I’d have a family. Hell, I didn’t even think I could be a part of one.” Her voice cracks, but she presses on. “But when I saw her, I saw that little version of me—someone who’s been left behind, someone who just needs a place to feel safe.”

You can’t help the tightness that forms in your chest as you listen. You know she’s right. It’s like a mirror to her past, the girl standing there alone, hoping for someone to care. You pull her into you, your embrace warm and solid. “We’ll make sure she has that. Safety. Love. A chance to be something more than what this place wants her to be.”

Jinx clings to you, a quiet sob escaping her. You can feel the depth of her emotions, the mixture of fear and hope swirling within her. She’s vulnerable right now, in a way you’ve rarely seen, and it makes everything feel more real.

"I don’t know if I can do this, but I’ll try," she murmurs against your chest, her voice muffled but full of determination. "I need you by my side. I need you to help me figure this out."

You hold her tighter, pressing a kiss to her hair. "We’ll figure it out, Jinx. Together. I’m not going anywhere."

You hold her close, letting the silence wrap around you both, the weight of the conversation settling between your hearts. Jinx’s breaths come a little easier now, though you can still feel the trembling in her body. Her fingers curl into the fabric of your shirt, grounding herself in the safety of your presence.

After a moment, she pulls back slightly, enough to look up at you with those wide, purple eyes. “You really mean it, don’t you?” she asks, her voice a mixture of wonder and vulnerability. “You’re not just saying that to make me feel better?”

You gently tuck a loose strand of hair behind her ear, a small smile tugging at your lips. “I mean it. I’m not going anywhere, Jinx. We’ll do this together. We’ve always figured things out, even when it’s been tough.”

She nods, her lips quivering into a small smile, though it doesn’t quite reach her eyes. "I don’t want to fail her. I don’t want to mess this up." Her voice drops lower, almost a whisper. "I just… I don’t know how to be a mom."

You lean in, brushing your forehead against hers, the intimacy of the moment wrapping around you both. "And you don’t have to know how to be one right now," you reassure her. "But you’ve got a lot of love to give. You’ve got that. And that’s a hell of a start."

She lets out a shaky breath, nodding slowly. "I guess we’ll learn as we go, huh?" There’s a trace of her old mischief in her voice, a glimmer of that familiar spark.

"Yeah," you say, your hand gently cupping her face again, “we’ll learn. And we’ll do it together. One step at a time.”

Jinx leans into your touch, her eyes closing briefly. “I never thought this could be my life... but maybe... maybe it could be.” She looks up at you, a new kind of determination in her eyes. "I want to make sure she has a chance to be better than I was. We can give her that.”

You nod, the weight of the decision no longer feeling quite so heavy. "We will."

And for the first time, there’s a real sense of hope, something unfamiliar yet comforting, settling between you both. You kiss her forehead softly, reassuring her once more that you’re in this together—no matter what comes next.

You both stand in the silence, the hum of the hideout settling around you. The girl, Isha, is still standing a few feet away, her eyes fixed on you both, her small frame tense but not entirely withdrawn. She’s looking at Jinx one moment, then at you, almost like she’s waiting to see how you’ll react, unsure of how this new chapter will begin.

You take a cautious step toward her, the floor creaking lightly beneath your feet. Isha doesn’t move, her posture defensive, but there’s a hint of curiosity in the way her blue hair flutters slightly with every slight movement you make.

You crouch in front of her, your knees sinking just enough to meet her gaze without overwhelming her. “Hey there,” you say softly, trying to keep the tone light. “I’m not going to bite, promise.”

Isha’s eyes flicker to your face, her lips parting slightly as if weighing whether to trust you. It’s quiet for a moment, and then, after a long stretch of silence, she hesitantly reaches out, her small fingers brushing against yours.

You give her a small, encouraging smile and gently take her hand, your grip light, offering her the space she needs to pull away if she wants to. You feel the chill of her hand against your skin, the coldness of someone who’s been through too much too soon.

“You’re safe here,” you say, voice low and reassuring. “You don’t have to be scared.”

Behind you, Jinx shifts, her usual chaotic energy subdued for once, her gaze trained on the interaction. There’s a look in her eyes—part gratitude, part uncertainty—that makes you pause for a moment. She’s watching, almost as if she’s holding her breath, waiting for something.

She takes a small step closer, her voice quieter than usual. “Thanks,” she says, the words tumbling out before she can stop them, more to herself than to you. “For not running off.”

You glance over your shoulder at her, seeing the vulnerability in her eyes. “I told you I’m not going anywhere, Jinx.” Your voice is firm, steady, grounding. “We’ll figure this out. All three of us.”

Isha’s small hand tightens in yours, a soft, tentative pressure that feels like the first sign of trust she’s given. You smile, a little more genuine this time, and shift to stand beside her, giving Jinx a glance that holds a promise.

Jinx looks back at you, her expression softening, and for the first time, you see something almost like hope flicker in her eyes. She steps up beside you, her presence a quiet reassurance to Isha.

“We’ll figure it out,” Jinx echoes, her voice quieter now. She glances at Isha, her fingers nervously twitching but keeping steady. “We’ll make sure she has a chance.”

Isha, though still cautious, seems to soften just a little in response. Her gaze shifts from you to Jinx and back again, like she’s beginning to believe that maybe—just maybe—she’s found something worth trusting.

Jinx’s eyes flicker toward the workbench, her gaze catching the sleek pistol you’d been carefully crafting. The change in her demeanor is almost immediate, the air around her crackling with a familiar energy. Her lips curl into a mischievous grin, the kind that only she could pull off. The uncertainty from moments ago seems to evaporate, replaced by a spark of excitement.

“Well, well…” she mutters, stepping over to the workbench and running her fingers along the edges of the half-assembled weapon. “Looks like someone’s been busy.”

You watch her, her movements quick and sure as she inspects the weapon. “I was making it for you,” you say, your voice holding a touch of amusement. “Had to give it some personal touches.”

Her grin widens, and she picks up the gun with a careful but almost possessive gesture, weighing it in her hands. “I know, I know… You always make the best toys.” Her voice drops a little lower, a mischievous twinkle in her purple eyes. “But I could use something like this, especially if I’m gonna be a good role model.”

You raise an eyebrow, your hands resting on your hips. “Role model? Are you sure you know what that means?”

Jinx gives a playful shrug, flipping the gun in her hands and inspecting it. “Hey, maybe I don’t know everything about being a ‘good’ role model… but I’m pretty damn good at keeping people entertained.” She gives you a sly wink, her usual wild energy creeping back into her voice.

For a brief moment, the weight of the situation seems to lift as Jinx takes a shot at her old self. The chaos, the thrill—it’s all there, in her eyes, in her grin. But beneath it, there’s something different. A protective edge. She’s not just planning her next move—she’s trying to figure out how to be something else, something more.

You sigh, crossing your arms, and take in the sight of her, the wild spark still there but now tempered with something else. “Just don’t get too carried away, alright?”

Her eyes narrow in playful challenge. “Who, me? Never.”

You shake your head, but the corners of your mouth lift slightly, the tension between you easing as you watch Jinx’s usual self return, in all her unpredictable, fiery glory.

“We’ll see how long that lasts,” you mutter, though it’s more affectionate than anything.

Jinx’s grin softens a bit as she looks over at you, the weapon still in hand, but her attention fully on you now. “Hey, thanks for sticking with me,” she says quietly, her voice softer than before, but the familiar edge is still there. “I know this... this is a lot. But I’ll do everything I can to make it work.”

You nod, feeling the weight of the moment, of the decision ahead. “I know you will, Jinx. Just don’t let this turn into another one of your schemes, alright?”

Jinx’s eyes sparkle as she steps closer, her lips curling into another grin. “No promises,” she teases, then lowers her voice to something more sincere. “But I’ll try.”

[amuseoffyre]

I've been rolling around in Good Omens thoughts again and a gifset made something jump out at me.

This is where the Metatron is going to come undone. He's got the same binary thinking as Heaven. Good or bad. Heaven or hell. Coffee or death. So predictable.

It reminded me of the scene in S1 when Aziraphale is confronted by the angels and they tell him "it's time to choose a side" and this is where it gets chewy and delicious.

Aziraphale points out "there obviously has to be two sides. That's the whole point, so people can make choices. That's what being human means - choices, but that's for them. Our job as angels should be to keep all this working so they can make choices".

He's already arguing for humanity all the way through S1, which is a problem, but it's something he's done consistently. Not questioning. Very much, not questioning. Just... offering suggestions. So this isn't news. He's even made these kind of suggestions to the Metatron before, so not new.

At the end of S1, Crowley points out that he thinks the real 'big one' is coming "Heaven and Hell against humanity". Aziraphale has been sitting with that knowledge for years. He and Crowley have been dancing on the edge of disaster with Heaven and Hell turning up whenever they wanted, invading their space, demanding their time and compliance even though they are seen as rogue agents.

Everything in S2 is Aziraphale trying to maintain the veneer of everything is fine while still dealing with the terror of it all falling apart. The "or death" has been hanging over them the whole time. He saw the attempted execution. He's been told by Heaven that Crowley is under threat.

But the thing about Aziraphale is that he never ever does the predictable thing. Yes, he agreed to go back to Heaven. Yes, the Metatron leveraged Crowley's safety against him to guarantee it. The statement of "I don't want to go back to Heaven" turning around as soon as Crowley's safety is brought into it. Yes, he'll be the Archangel.

But this is the angel who gave away his flaming sword and lied to God's face. This is the angel who interfered in a bet between God and Satan to save the lives of three children. This is the angel who collaborated with a demon so they could have more down time. This is the angel who was swayed towards saving the world because he loves his life there and all his favourite foods and music and indulgences. This is the angel who flipped the bird and dive-bombed out of Heaven to possess a medium and fly a scooter to the end of the world.

Whatever the Metatron thinks he's done by separating Crowley and Aziraphale, he has no idea what he's unleashed. Crowley's bee metaphor comes to mind here. Angels are fiercely protective of Heaven but once you're inside? Well, that's another story. Aziraphale may look like a bee, but he hasn't been a bee for a long, long time. They knew it at his trial.

And Aziraphale can't say he didn't warn them:

"So you're probably thinking if he can do this, I wonder what else he can do and very, very soon, you're all going to get the chance to find out"

Heaven's got a big storm coming and they let it right in through the front door.

[solelifauna]

Definitely NOT Invincible (Yandere Invincible & Reader) Pt.2

Of reunions, both good and bad. Nonetheless, still heartbreaking for our dear (Y/n).

It all hit you at once. You hadn’t just survived somehow. You had fucking time-traveled. You were back. Back before everything went to hell. Before Omni-Man and Mark, Invincible, revealed their true selves and shattered the world.

You crumpled to the floor, knees hitting the soft carpet as the enormity of the situation weighed on your chest, crushing the air out of you. It felt like someone was squeezing your lungs, and no matter how much you gasped, you couldn’t breathe. Your head spun as you tried to fight off the oncoming panic attack. Tears welled in your eyes as your trembling hands gripped the edge of the bed for support.

You had died. You had felt your father—your own father—kill you. And now, somehow, you were alive again, thrown back into a time when everything was still normal. But it wasn’t normal.

You were back in your house, back with them. With your family. With him.

God, you were going to throw up.

How were you supposed to face them? How could you go on living with this knowledge, with this horrific future looming over you, knowing that in a few short months, everything you knew would come crashing down again?

Then, another thought enters your mind sending you spiraling. Your friends;  Haymitch, Hallie, Connor, Weston, they were all dead. The realization hit you like a truck, ripping through your chest as more tears spilled down your face. You had fought side by side with them, bled with them, and now they were just gone. No warning. No chance to save them. You had been ripped away from that reality, thrown back here, and the loss of them left a gaping hole in your heart. Sure, technically they’re still here, they weren’t dead yet, but it wouldn't be the same. It wouldn't be the same, knowing they were all dead.

Pain and panic bubbled up inside you, making it hard to breathe. Your chest heaved as you tried to calm yourself down, desperate to get a grip. You couldn’t afford to lose it, not now. You forced yourself to take deep breaths, each inhale shaky and uneven.

In and out, in and out.

You had to calm down, you had to breathe.

You were doing your best to regulate your sobs when a knock came at your bedroom door. You froze, panic flooding through you again.

“(Y/n)? Is everything okay up there? I called you down for breakfast ages ago!”

It was your mom, Debbie. Her voice, one you hadn’t heard in so long, since Omni-Man and Invincible had declared themselves the rulers of the planet. They had whisked her away, somewhere safe, away from the destruction and rebellion that ravaged the rest of the world. You never knew where, but she was kept out of harm’s way, untouched by the horrors you lived through.

And now she was here, standing just outside your door, in a time before it all fell apart.

Tears welled in your eyes again as the sound of her voice hit you like a tidal wave of emotion. You hadn’t even realized how much you missed her. How much you missed the normalcy of this time.

But the sound of her voice also sent another surge of dread through you. Shit. You couldn’t go down there. You couldn’t face her, them, not now. How could you sit at the table and pretend everything was fine? Pretend you didn’t know that in just a few months, your father and brother would tear the world apart? How could you look at their faces knowing what they would become?

You had faced so much, Demogorgons, the Viltrumites, the rebellion—but this? Going downstairs, sitting at the breakfast table with your family, knowing everything you knew? It felt impossibly cruel.

You stayed silent, biting your lip to keep the sobs from spilling out, praying your mom wouldn’t come in. 

‘Please, don’t come in.’

‘Please.’

‘I can’t do this right now.’

But your mom knocked again, the concern in her voice growing stronger. “(Y/n)? Are you okay? I’m coming in.”

Your heart raced. No, no, no. You weren’t ready. You weren’t ready to face them, to pretend like things were fine.

You scrambled to your feet, wiping the tears from your face as quickly as you could. Your voice came out rough and desperate as you called out, "No!" You winced, hearing your mother startle from the other side of the door. Crap.

"God–sorry, mom. I'm just super tired this morning. I'll be right down," you added, trying to sound more gentle, more normal. There was a long pause, the silence stretching between you. You knew she was mulling over your odd behavior.

It wasn’t like you didn’t have nightmares before, waking up crying in a cold sweat wasn’t anything new. Even before the world went to hell, you had fought off Demogorgons, and those battles were nothing short of traumatizing. Your mom had seen you like this before, but this was different. You weren’t just waking up from a bad dream. You were waking up from death.

After what felt like an eternity, your mother finally called out, her voice laced with concern. "Okay…" she said, her tone hesitant, but she turned and made her way back down the stairs.

You exhaled sharply in relief, the tension momentarily releasing from your body. But that relief was short-lived. You stood there for a moment, staring at your reflection, trying to get a grip on yourself. You had to prepare. Your family was waiting downstairs, and you knew that your father and Mark would be there too. Just the thought of seeing their faces again made your stomach twist into knots.

You quickly washed your face, brushed your teeth, and changed into fresh clothes, anything to make yourself feel more normal. All the while, you tried to mentally prepare for what was to come. You can’t let them know. Under no circumstances could they figure out that you knew what they were going to do. That would only lead to an earlier grave, and you weren’t planning on dying again.

You needed a plan.

Your mind raced, thinking of everything you needed to do, warn the Guardians of the Globe about the incoming danger, keep fighting the Demogorgons, and somehow protect your loved ones without tipping off Omni-Man or Invincible. You had to play your cards carefully. But first, you had to survive breakfast.

With a waning resolve, you steeled yourself, locking away your fear and emotions the best you could. You took a deep breath and opened your door, stepping out into the hallway. Each step felt heavy, like you were walking toward your own execution.

The familiar smell of fresh pancakes hit you as you descended the stairs, and you almost choked on the emotions that welled up inside you. Pancakes. Your mom always made them on weekends. You hadn’t had them in what felt like years. The simplicity of it, the normalcy, hit you like a punch to the gut. You felt the unwelcome sting of tears in your eyes again, but you blinked them away furiously.

Gods, how you missed this. It was something so mundane, so ordinary, but it felt like a memory from a different life. You couldn’t even remember the last time you’d sat at the table with your family, eating pancakes like the world wasn’t about to end.

You can do this, you told yourself as you headed toward the kitchen. You walked into the dining area, every muscle in your body stiff, as if you were bracing for impact. You knew there was no point in trying to hide your anxiety—Omni-Man and Invincible could probably hear your heart hammering in your chest, the scared pitter-patter that betrayed you the moment you stepped out of your room. Even from the other side of the wall, they likely sensed your presence long before you made yourself known.

Calm down, you reminded yourself. You had to be careful. The last thing you needed was to give them any reason to suspect that something was off.

Your mother stood by the stove, flipping pancakes, and the familiar scent of butter and batter filled the air. When she noticed you, she looked up and smiled warmly, as if nothing in the world was wrong. As if everything was just like it had always been. “Morning, sweetie,” she greeted, her tone soft and motherly, oblivious to the storm raging inside you.

You tried your best to smile back, but judging by the way her own expression faltered, it was more of a grimace than a real smile. Her brow furrowed slightly, her eyes searching your face for a moment. “Are you okay? You look… tired.”

You froze for a heartbeat, trying to find the right words. “Yeah, just didn’t sleep well,” you managed to say, forcing your voice to sound casual, though it came out more strained than you’d intended.

She nodded sympathetically, her face softening. “I figured. We’ll talk about your work habits later, okay? But for now, let’s get some food in you.”

You nodded back, feeling a knot of guilt twist in your stomach. She had no idea what was coming. None of them did. You swallowed hard and turned to face the table.

There they were.

Your father—Omni-Man—sat at the head of the table, reading the newspaper like this was just another normal fucking Sunday morning. His face, strong and unreadable, gave nothing away. His eyes flickered up to meet yours, and for a split second, you swore you saw something shift in his expression. But then it was gone, replaced by the stoic calm you’d grown used to.

Mark gave you a small nod.

“You finally made it,” he said, but the usual playfulness wasn’t there. It was more of an observation than a joke. There was no grin, no teasing remark. You missed your brother.

You took a seat, your hands shaking as you reached for a plate. The weight of both their eyes on you was suffocating. Usually, you’d be vying for their attention, seeking out their praise, doing anything to connect with them. But not today. Today, you could barely keep it together, and the tension in the air was palpable.

Omni-Man lowered the newspaper slightly, his gaze sharp and focused as he looked at you again. “Late night?” he asked, his deep voice carrying a weight that made your skin crawl.

You swallowed, trying not to let your voice shake. “Yeah,” you replied, forcing the words out. “Stayed up too late studying.”

He hummed, his eyes narrowing just enough to make your breath hitch. “Don’t make a habit of it,” he said, his tone neutral but carrying a warning. “You need your rest.”

You nodded quickly, your heart thudding in your chest. “I won’t,” you mumbled, reaching for a pancake, trying to avoid his gaze. You could feel him analyzing you, taking in every nervous movement, every strained breath. He could sense that something was off, and so could Mark.

Mark wasn’t as oblivious as he had once been. He was more serious now, colder. He watched you from across the table, the way your hands trembled as you cut into your food, your elevated heart rate, your nervous energy. Usually, you’d be trying to get their attention, proving yourself, seeking validation. But now? You were barely able to hold a conversation.

Mark exchanged a brief look with Omni-Man, both of them silently acknowledging your strange behavior. But in their minds, you were just a weak human—this weirdness would pass. They had bigger things to worry about than your nerves. Still, Mark’s eyes lingered on you longer than usual, suspicion creeping into his gaze. He wasn’t going to say anything now, but he’d decided to keep a closer eye on you. Something wasn’t right.

But they had no idea how much you knew. And you had no intention of letting them figure it out. You forced yourself to eat, every bite tasting like ash as you tried to block out their presence and focus on what came next.

Things took an odd turn halfway through breakfast when a loud chorus of knocks echoed through the house, followed by muffled voices outside. The sudden noise cut through the awkward silence at the table, and you could feel the tension immediately shift.

Omni-Man grunted in annoyance, folding the newspaper with a sharp flick of his wrist, and Mark let out an irritated sigh, his fork clattering on his plate. Your mom just sighed tiredly, clearly not interested in whatever disturbance had interrupted her peaceful morning.

“I’ll take care of it,” you blurted, the words tumbling out faster than you intended. Anything to get out of that room, away from the suffocating presence of your father and brother. Without waiting for a response, you shot up from your seat and made your way to the front door, your heart racing for a different reason now.

When you opened the door, you froze.

Standing there, right on your doorstep, were Hallie, Connor, and Weston.

Your friends. Your dead friends.

They stood before you, each wearing a different expression—Hallie’s face lit up with a gleeful smile, Weston’s eyes glistened with unshed tears, and Connor, usually so stoic, looked like he was on the verge of breaking down. They looked so real, so alive, and that’s when it hit you: they were here. They had come back too.

Before you even knew what was happening, tears began streaming down your face, your vision blurring as the flood of emotion overwhelmed you. You barely had time to register it before they all enveloped you in their arms, pulling you into the tightest group hug you’d ever experienced. The weight of their presence, their warmth, the feeling of being held by them again—it was too much. You sobbed, your chest heaving as you held onto them for dear life.

“Y-you’re here,” you choked out, your words barely comprehensible through your tears. “Oh my god, you’re here. I’ve missed you so much. I’m so sorry, I—” You couldn’t even finish the sentence. Everything you wanted to say was trapped between sobs as you clung to them, the reality of the situation slowly sinking in.

You weren’t alone. You weren’t the only one who had come back.

Hallie laughed through her tears, squeezing you tighter. “We thought we’d lost you,” she murmured, her voice breaking with emotion. “We thought… we didn’t know if you made it.”

Weston chuckled softly, though his voice was thick with tears. “Turns out we all got another shot, huh?” he said, resting his head against yours in the embrace.

Connor didn’t say much, but his grip on you was tight, as if he wasn’t willing to let go anytime soon. It was a reunion you never thought possible, a second chance none of you had anticipated.

For a few moments, it was just the four of you—crying, holding onto each other, grateful beyond words. You hadn’t felt this kind of relief in years, the weight of loss finally lifted from your shoulders. You were all here, together again, and for a brief second, it felt like everything was going to be okay.

In the middle of the emotional reunion, a thought hit you hard. You pulled back slightly, your breath still shaky as you wiped the tears from your face. “Have you… have you seen Haymitch?” you asked, your voice quiet but urgent. “Did he… did he come back too?”

Hallie, Weston, and Connor exchanged looks, their expressions sobering. For a moment, the joy of the reunion was dimmed by uncertainty.

“We–We don’t know,” Hallie finally said, biting her lip. “We haven’t seen him. We’ve been trying to find him, but… there’s been no sign.”

Connor nodded, his voice low. “We’re hoping he made it, but so far, it’s just been us.”

You felt your heart sink. Haymitch had been your mentor, your rock through the chaos of the resistance. The idea that he might not have made it back, that he could still be gone, was almost too much to bear.

“I hope he’s out there,” Weston added, his hand resting on your shoulder in comfort. “If anyone could survive… it’d be him.”

You nodded, swallowing hard. “Yeah.  I just hope we can find him.”

For a second, it was just the four of you again, clinging to the idea that maybe you could find Haymitch, that maybe this second chance would let you set things right.

You hadn’t realized it, but your family—your father, Mark, and your mom—had followed you to the entrance, likely wondering what was taking so long. The hug ended abruptly as you turned, wiping your eyes hastily, and your friends straightened up, suddenly aware of the looming presence behind you.

Omni-Man stood in the doorway, his expression unreadable, but you could feel his suspicion. His eyes scanned the scene, analyzing everything with that sharp, detached gaze you knew all too well. Beside him stood Mark, arms crossed, his brow furrowed as he watched the reunion, clearly picking up on your uncharacteristic behavior. You were a mess—holding onto your friends like your life depended on it, tears streaking your face. That wasn’t the version of you they were used to.

But it wasn’t just your behavior that had thrown them off. Omni-Man’s expression hardened, and Mark’s eyes narrowed slightly as they exchanged a brief glance. They had overheard parts of your conversation, not that you were aware. 

Back? What did you mean by “came back”? And more importantly, who was Haymitch?

Omni-Man’s voice cut through the thick tension, calm but laced with an edge that made your skin prickle. “Who are these people?” he asked, his gaze shifting from you to your friends.

Your mind raced, scrambling for an explanation. You had to play this carefully—one wrong word and the suspicion you already felt simmering beneath the surface could explode into something much worse. “They’re–they’re my friends from school,” you said, your voice still shaky from the emotional reunion.

Omni-Man’s eyes narrowed slightly, his gaze sharpening. “Friends from school,” he repeated, the words hanging in the air like a challenge. His attention flicked to your friends, and you could practically feel him assessing them, weighing every detail of the situation. He just sighed, whatever was going on with you would be resolved eventually. He's heard about the hormones and “teenager” talk from Debbie, so he wasn't too concerned. He knew you were hiding something, most likely something non trivial, but if he needed to find out he would. 

Mark, however, wasn’t as quick to dismiss you. He kept his eyes on you, watching closely, the wheels turning in his head. He didn’t say anything, but you could tell he wasn’t convinced. Something about your behavior had struck him as off, and he wasn’t going to let it go. He’d be keeping a closer watch on you from now on.

Unbeknownst to you, you’ve already doomed yourself and its hasn't even been 24 hours.

Taglist: @plsfckmedxddy, @marsmabe

[sweetbunpura]

Upendi - The Fierce, Lioness Princess 4

WC: 1834

The morning starts with Yuu hyperfocusing on revising the restoration docs and saying goodbye to those who had visited for the event.

“It’s fine, Potato.” Vil tells her. “You’ve been trying to push this for a while and you may finally have that chance. Good luck.”

“Call me once you get it through!” Kalim cheerfully said. “I want to be the first one to establish a trade route there!”

“I wish you luck, Child of Man, do call us after the meeting regardless of what happens.”

“Don’t worry about us, you’ve done enough already.” Jamil said. “We thank you for the time you were able to give us.”

With a few teasing remakes from Yuu, as well as departure hugs, they left and she went to join a lurking Leona standing with her new lionguards. 

“Done saying goodbye?” He handed the revision papers to her. “Everything’s good, but you should increase the asking amount.”

“Damnit.” She waved her hand and he handed her a pen. “Everyone’s waiting in the councilroom?” She scribbled a higher amount and showed the paper to Leona, who gave a nod once he saw it.

“Mm-hmm.”

“I gotta say, Princess.” Yuu glanced at Nova. “Sorry, Yuu. You sure know a lotta important guys.”

She laughed. “Oh just wait until you meet the others. I got a big gray furball on his way home after this meeting.”

“Gray furball?” Jackie blinked. “...That large Direbeast that’s normally seen with you?”

“The very same.” Yuu hummed. “Hopefully he didn’t cause too much trouble for Ace and Deuce.”

“Knowing how the three of them are together, they caused trouble for everyone else.” Leona said as the group began to make their way towards the council room.

“They’ve changed.” Leona sent her a look. “...Slightly, but they changed.” 

“Ah, Yuu!” The group paused as Farena made his way over to them. “Hello.” He greeted the lion guards before directing his attention towards Leona and Yuu. “May I speak with you both for a moment?”

The women looked at Yuu, who waited a few moments before dismissing them towards the council room down the hall. Leona crossed his arms and waited for Farena to speak.

“Now, now, Leona.” The king held up his hands. “It’s nothing bad. I just wanted to tell you both that I read your proposal.”

Yuu and Leona shared a confused look before looking back at him.

“My...proposal?” She raised an eyebrow.

“Yes.” Farena pulled the papers out of his folder. “You brought up several different key points that I never knew or had knowledge of.”

“Who gave you the papers?” Leona asked.

“Ah, Thema did. Last night, before I retired to our room.” He laughed and rubbed the back of his head. “She told me I missed one and I should read it before going to bed! I’m dreadfully sorry about that!”

“....Remind me to thank her.” Yuu smiled warmly. “And you were busy, so it’s no problem.”

“I just hope you don’t think so lowly of your brother-in-law.” Farena teases lightly.

“Never of you, Farena.”

“Good.” He walked towards the door. “Let's get this meeting started then.”

The grand doors stood in front of them and a pair of guards were standing off to the side. The women bowed their heads and opened the doors, allowing the trio to walk inside. In the middle of a room was a large round table with a 3D map of Sunset Savanna on it and a few of the councilmen were seated. The room was a warm sierra color and there was a set of open arched windows in the back. The guards, including Yuu’s lionguards, were standing in the back of the room. Thema was already sitting in the chair next to one of the larger and more elegant ones, where Farena would sit at the head of the table.

Cheka sat on the opposite side of the chair and waved to Leona and Yuu upon spotting them. The moment the remainder of the royal family was present, any councilmen still left standing sat down. Leona pulled out Yuu’s chair and pushed it in once she sat down, he sat in his seat next to hers.

“Good, we’re all here.” Farena said as he set the folder down before sitting. “First order of business is a proposal.”

“A proposal?” Kifaji asked with a confused look on his face. “Has one come to your desk?”

“Yes. In fact, it’s Yuu’s very own.”

A look of confusion swept through the council as Kifaji fought to keep his face straight.

“Yuu.” Farena addressed her. “If you will.”

“I’d be delighted to.” Yuu stood up with a smile on her face. “As some of you are aware, I made the proposal to fix the slums a month ago. For those of you who need a refresher,” She handed the papers to Leona, who with a flick of his wrist, sent them to the councilmen with a touch of levitation magic. “I wanted to fix their housing, pave the roads, construct new buildings, as well as fix up the well so they will have fresh water.”

“This all seems...extensive if I may say so, Princess.” Kifaji said as he looked over the papers. “As well as clashing with our way of life.”

“If you’re worried about that.” She kept her voice level. “Do not be. The wind turbines and the solar panels all rely on natural energy, renewable energy. The turbines use the wind and the panels use the sun. Sunset Savanna has an abundance of sun and we have some very windy valleys we can install the turbines in.”

“And all the material when it comes to the buildings?” Kifaji brought it up. “Where will you be obtaining these?”

“Terra cotta and other natural building materials.”

“Terra cotta?” One of the councilmen spoke up. “You want to use clay... for housing?”

“Yes, as it is a perfect building material for a place as hot as the Savanna.” Yuu pointed out. “As well as perfect for planting plants as it IS clay.”

“And how much will this cost?”

“Approximately 1.5 million madols.”

“1.5 million!?” Some of the councilmen shouted out.

“Your highness!” Kifaji addressed Farena. “Did you hear the price? We cannot give such a large amount to this project! One that might not even work!”

Farena held up his hand and waited for the yelling to cease. “Kifaji, that money is nothing in return for giving the hyenas better living conditions. In fact, that price is not correct.” A silence befell the room as Leona and Yuu stared at Farena. “It should be closer to 3 million.”

“3!?”

“Yuu had a lot more in her proposal which included a school and a market place in the slums as well as healthcare for everyone located there.” Farena’s ear flick as he heard the hushed sounds of disapproval. “And I will grant her that 3 million.”

Yuu blinked in surprise as noise erupted in the room again. She looked at Leona, who fixed her with an equally bewildered look.

“But, your highness!” A councilman starts. “Her plan demands gold, ore, and other precious metals to build the turbines and panels! We do not have the resources for that!”

This time, Thema chimed in. “We do, actually. We just have to open the mines again.”

“The mines? B-but a rockslide has closed them many years ago and thus making it impossible to retrieve anything within.”

Cheka, with a strong voice to be heard above the shouts, spoke. “Uncle’s unique magic can easily deal with that as well as unclog the wells in the slums.”

Leona looked at Cheka, who sent him a warm smile in return.

“The prince’s unique magic?” Another councilman responded. “But it strips life away from anything it touches and renders it into sand.”

“Which means, he is able to turn the rocks into sand and clear the blockage.” Cheka crossed his arms. “The years of the incorrect assumption of my Uncle’s unique magic ends here as well. No one will speak ill of it ever again. Am I clear?”

Noticing that all of the royal family has backed Leona and Yuu, the councilmen settle down, knowing they had lost the fight to oppose it.

“If that is all.” Farena said with authority. “Then Yuu’s proposal passed. The slums are getting fixed and will be starting as soon as possible.

A weight was dropped from Yuu’s shoulders as she gave a shaky exhale. “Thank you, Farena.”

“Do not thank me.” He gave a smile, although it was sad. “It was about time someone spoke up for those we continue to silence.” 

She nodded at that and as the meeting drew to a close, Farena dismissed everyone. The councilmen left without a word and Kifaji followed them. Yuu, excited for the outcome, pulled Leona out of the room and the palace.

“Where are you dragging me?” He chuckled as he watched her.

“The market. I wanna get some of that meat from the other day in celebration.” She smiled a big smile. “I can’t believe it’s finally happening!”

Leona picked her up and carried her the rest of the way into the market. Various beastmen greeted the couple before continuing on with their day. Leona set Yuu down just as shouts started coming from nearby.

“Stop thief!”

A small hyena girl was running from what looked to be a shopkeeper. The girl clutched a loaf of bread to her chest as she tripped and rolled on the ground. The shopkeeper reached out for her, only for a large gray blur to stand in front of her.

“Hey!” The creature said with its teeth bared and blue flames in his ears. “Back off!”

“Gah!’

“Grim?” Yuu walked over to the direbeast. “What happened?”

“This guy tried to steal that from her.” His tail flicked towards the girl as she got up. “She paid for it fair and square!”

Leona looked at the girl and bent down to her height. “...Nailah?”

“Papa?” The girl looked up at him. “Papa!” She clung to him. “This man chased me! A-And I paid for this bread! It’s for Jelani!”

A dark shadow fell over Leona’s face as he stood up to glare at the shopkeeper.

“M-My prince-”

“I don’t want to hear it.” He growled as some guards started to approach. “Explain it to someone who cares. Yuu, Furball, c’mon.”

Leona turned to leave, letting the guards grab the shopkeeper, as Yuu and Grim went to join him. Grim huff, sending out a puff of smoke.

“Yeesh, I come back and you can’t do anything without the mighty Grim.”

Yuu side eyed him. “First of all, welcome back. Second of all, I know you ain’t saying something.”

“I-”

“Thank you, Mr. Grim!” Nailah smiled at the direbeast. 

“Funa! That’s more like it!” Grim puffed out his chest. “Of course! Nothing’s too big for me to handle!”

Leona leaned towards Yuu. “Is it too late to send him back?”

[florencemtrash]

The Shadowsinger & The Inkbird: Chapter Twenty-Six

Summary: Y/n's clairvoyance is a gift from the Mother, but it feels more like a curse. With the power to gain knowledge through touch alone, Y/n holes herself up in The Alcove and hopes her powers and parentage will remain a secret. But things will change after the Summer Solstice ball and a chance encounter with a certain Shadowsinger.

Warnings: smut (I finally wrote it y'all), fluff, *minors! DNI*

To skip this chapter, click this link to go immediately to Chapter Twenty-Seven

The Shadowsinger & The Inkbird: Masterlist

Masterlist of Masterlists

Azriel had no shortage of secret hiding places scattered across Prythian — apartments paid for under alias names, safe houses in towns where everyone minded their own business, hell there was even a residence in the countryside he’d help build with his own two hands. 

But he didn’t bring you to any of those. Those places were either in dangerous territory, tainted by the work he conducted as a Shadowsinger and Spymaster, or touched by the hands of lovers he couldn’t even remember anymore. For you, he wanted someplace new. Someplace special. 

He grinned with excitement, squeezing the flesh of your thigh as he held you close and trekked through the forest.

“Where are we going?” You kissed the curve of his ear, peppering his skin with kisses wherever you could reach. 

“Why are you whispering?”

You shrugged, smiling against his neck as he continued. The mountain woods were silent save for the rustling of cicada wings and the wing beats of owls as they hunted in the night. Moonlight blinked through the foliage, scattering the ground with salt and starshine. 

It was calm here. Peaceful. 

Shadows covered your eyes and flicked away low hanging branches so they wouldn’t snap on your dress or get tangled in your hair. You heard the rustling of the branches whenever they were moved aside and couldn’t help but flush at the shadows’ politeness. 

“Just a little further now.” 

You could hear the anticipation growing in Azriel’s voice. His hands were becoming greedy, slipping beneath your dress when it shifted and leaving molten fingerprints wherever he touched. He shivered when you sighed against his neck, washing his skin with a warm breeze. 

There was a fire burning close by. You could smell the chimney smoke in the air and the fragrant smell of flowers.

You shifted in his arms, prepared for him to let you back down to your feet, but Azriel didn’t let you go, nuzzling his face into the soft skin of your neck as his shadows finally dissipated. 

“Welcome to our new home, my love.” 

You gasped softly—a sound that had Azriel’s tongue darting out to feel your pulse as you caught your breath. 

High in the mountains and deep in the woods, a clearing had been cut out and the ground turned over. Star magnolias lined the edges of the clearing, their white blossoms clinging to their branches like freshly fallen snow. Grass grew soft and unencumbered, the occasional flowering weed adding drops of color onto the rolling, green canvas that brushed against Azriel’s ankles. 

But the cottage… oh, the cottage was a beauty. Cream-white windows bright with firelight peered out from walls made of pale brown stone. Blue curtains hung in the windows like eyelids and an ironwood door made up the cottage’s mouth. The door was nestled between two hanging lamps and they poured their light onto two wicker chairs, a table, and a hanging daybed on the porch. Blue wisteria crawled up the porch columns onto the stone walls, lit up by moonlight until they glowed stronger than the stars in the sky. 

“This… this is ours?” You breathed in disbelief. 

“It’s ours.” 

Azriel made a subtle point of stepping over the threshold with you in his arms before quietly letting you down to your feet. It felt like the right thing to do. 

You walked through the cottage in a daze, the roaring blood in your body momentarily forgotten as you moved through the front room to the living room where a cream-colored sofa with plush blue pillows and two armchairs surrounded a flickering fireplace. A bay window looked out over the front lawn arranged with cushions and a small bookcase so you could read. The adjacent kitchen hummed with quiet energy, and you knew that whatever magic touched the House of Wind and the River House also lived here. 

It was a fairytale cottage come to life, clean and cozy with its cream-colored walls and exposed wood beams. 

There was also a conservatory at the back of the cottage you hadn’t seen from out front and its domed, glass roof reminded you of the Day Court athenaeums — a piece of home away from home. Already plants flourished along the windowsill — courtesy of Elain — and green strings of pearls spilled out of white hanging planters like miniature chandeliers. 

“We’re still in the Night Court,” Azriel explained. His hands drifted up to your shoulders as you stood transfixed in the conservatory. “In the mountains along the western coast ten miles from the Day Court border. I figured it would allow us both to be close to home… and far enough away for some peace and quiet.” 

Since coming to the Night Court — since meeting Azriel — there had hardly been time or space to breathe. The River House and House of Wind bubbled with talk, constantly moving as people came and went more frequently than the tide. 

But here it was just you two. 

You were here… alone.

Rooms remained unexplored in the cottage, but all thought of them flew out the window as you turned in Azriel’s arms and took in his burning, hazel eyes. You flung your arms around his neck, fingernails gently dragging through his hair as you kissed him dizzy.

You stumbled up the staircase, still lip-locked with Azriel groaning against your mouth as the buttons of his shirt were ripped off and trickled to the floor like raindrops. 

“Which one’s the bedroom?” You murmured as you staggered down the hallway. You were vaguely aware of some beautiful portraits hanging along the wall, flashes of blue, black, white, and gold paint expertly melted onto canvas, but admiring them was for another day. You had other, more important, things currently on your mind — like finding a gods-damned bed to fall into. 

You reached the very last door of the hallway before Azriel gasped out, “Here,” and grappled at the door handle, his other arm wrapped tightly around your waist like you were at risk of floating away. 

You and Azriel all but fell through the handsome wooden door engraved with some Illyrian markings you couldn’t make out and a large symbol of the sun. 

The fireplace roared to life, spurred on by the Cottage’s magic as Azriel dropped to his knees and started undoing the ties of your shoes. He looked radiant even while on his knees. His wings flared out from his back burning gold and orange as the firelight seeped through the thin, delicate membrane coloring his tan skin even more vibrantly as he looked up at you with hungry reverence. 

Blue velvet ribbons fell to the floor and your shoes came with them. They were the first piece of clothing discarded as Azriel gripped your ankles and began trailing kisses along your calves.

 He threw off his mating crown and it skittered along the floor, disappearing somewhere beneath the dresser. 

His lips moved up to your knees. Then further still. 

“Azriel.” You breathed your mate’s name. 

A four-poster bed took up most of the far wall, bracketed on both sides by wall sconces shaped like roses and mahogany nightstands. Gauzy curtains fluttered in the open windows, allowing inside a cool wind that smelled of petrichor and pine. 

You were never more grateful for a bed and a breeze as Azriel’s head disappeared beneath your dress. 

You gripped the bedpost, soft sighs turning to breathy moans as feather-light brushes of lips over skin turned to hungry, open-mouth kisses along your thighs. No one had ever kissed you like this. 

Azriel’s fingers dug into the flesh of your hips as he groaned. 

No one had ever touched you like this. 

You felt the air move between your legs and gasped. 

You scrambled to bunch your dress in your hands, revealing Azriel’s dark head of hair and his hazel eyes, pupils blown so wide they were nearly black. 

“Where did these come from?” He groaned, tucking his fingers into the waistband of your lacy, dark blue undergarments. 

“Sloane’s,” You said, chest heaving. It was a miracle you could speak at all. 

You’d never been with a male. Hell, you’d never been with anyone. Azriel had been your first for everything that mattered, and he would remain the only one who had you in this way. 

Azriel stilled as if the same thought had passed his mind. A shadow curled around your chin, tilting it down ever so slightly at the same time his eyes drifted up to yours, soft and vulnerable and golden. Your cheeks were flush with color, excitement and anticipation written in every muscle of your body. 

“Tell me to stop and I will,” he promised.  

You swallowed thickly and nodded, but you didn’t think you’d ever want him to stop. 

Your head hit the bedpost with a dull thud, mouth open and panting as Azriel pushed aside the lace and tasted you. 

You weren’t oblivious to what happened during sex. You were a grown female with access to just about any book on any subject in the entire world. You knew what happened during the frenzy — had been imagining it far too often the last few days— but experiencing it was another thing entirely. 

Every time Azriel moved his tongue — every time he so much as breathed — your hips were jolting, fingers twitching as you buried them in his hair and shoved his face closer. He was strong beneath you, breath and tongue hot and wanting. 

Azriel let out a strangled noise when the first thrust of his tongue had you tugging on his hair. Hard. 

“Sorry, sorry,” you hissed, squeezing your eyes shut. But Azriel grabbed your hand before you could bury it in the folds of your dress and brought it back to his head. 

“Do it again,” he all but growled and dove back in between your thighs. 

In the beginning, you tried to contain yourself — to drag out this moment that had been ages in the making. You bit down on your lips and stifled your moans in your fist until Azriel’s shadows came to pin your hand to the bedpost. 

But then he slipped his fingers between your folds, pressing and twisting and testing you until he’d sunk in knuckles deep. Then there was no stopping the pressure building between your legs and within your core. 

“Az,” you moaned, hips bucking against him. You couldn’t see his face, but you could feel his smugness and pride as he brought you to the edge. “Oh… oh gods, Az! Fuck!”

You came around his fingers, thighs clamping down around his head as you shivered and moaned, but he didn’t stop, not even when you began to whine and jerk from the overwhelming feeling. You thought he would stop. 

“Az,” You gasped, tugging at his hair. “Az, stop.” 

Azriel snapped back from your core, eyes glazed over in a drunken haze. His mouth glistened and he swallowed, standing up and sliding his leg between yours so you wouldn’t fall on shaky legs. 

You stared at each other, taking in the sight of flushed cheeks and wet lips and unruly hair. He licked his lips, then slowly wiped his mouth with the sleeve of his jacket. 

“Was that alright?” He asked seriously. 

You sprang forward, lips colliding with his as you pulled at his jacket. You undid the buttons that closed up the slits beneath his wings and in less than a second Azriel had it pulled off and thrown across the room. The buttons of his shirt were mostly undone, but he didn’t hesitate before ripping it open and scattering the tattered silk across the floor. 

You’d seen Azriel shirtless plenty of times before. It was how he preferred to sleep. And many hours had been spent awake in bed tracing the tattoos that swirled across his chest and shoulders with your eyes and with your hands. Now you traced them with your lips, sucking gently at the hollow of his neck where one of the dark marks curled. 

Azriel closed his eyes and sighed. 

He was much gentler with your dress than with his shirt. There was no tugging or tearing. He simply buried his face between your breasts while loosening the corset ties at the back, then slipped the dress off your shoulders. The dress fell to the floor with a whisper and you stepped out of the pool of silk.

Azriel took a step back and went completely, utterly still. 

You shivered beneath his unflinching gaze, resisting the urge to bring up your arms and hide yourself. It was a knee-jerk reaction, but one that you no longer needed. This was Azriel standing in front of you — beautiful, kind, and loving, Azriel, who already knew things about you more intimate than your body. 

Your lace underthings did little to cover you — a very intentional choice — and you found yourself flushing the longer Azriel went without saying or doing anything. 

Finally, he broke the silence and breathed in awe. “You’re beautiful, Y/n.” 

Emboldened by his words, you crawled onto the bed, holding out your hand for Azriel to join you. He hovered over you as you reached for his belt buckle, undid the buttons of his trousers, and slowly slid them far enough down that Azriel could kick them off. His shadows took his shoes. 

You watched carefully as Azriel leaned you back on the bed and placed his elbows on either side of your head. Every ripple of muscle, every stretch of skin, did not go unnoticed by you. Azriel was your mate and you were desperate for the sight of him. 

You slowly moved your hand between his thighs, experimental strokes setting his lungs ablaze as he groaned. The sound sent a new wave of heat between your legs and confidence through your bones, especially as Azriel fisted the sheets by your head, brows furrowed in concentration. 

Without warning he tore your undergarments off you, exposing every inch of your skin to the cool wind that blew through the windows. Nesta was right — the blue lace did not survive the first night of the frenzy. 

“I’ll… I’ll buy you more.” He promised, leaning down to smother his moans against your lips as you kept stroking him. 

“It doesn’t matter.” You whispered and drew him close to you. So close he could feel the wetness that had gathered below. “I want you to see me, Azriel.” You kissed the corner of his mouth before moving your lips to his ear. “I want you to touch me. All of me.” 

And who was he to deny you? 

His hand took over yours and you gasped when he finally slid inside you. Moans slipped into the open air, interrupting the rumble of storm clouds as they gathered close by. 

Azriel breathed heavily against your lips, right hand moving to reposition your legs so they wrapped around his waist. “Are you alright? Are you in any pain?” 

You shook your head fervently. You’d worried it would hurt the first time, and certainly there was an odd, but not unwelcome, tightness where you and Azriel met, but all you could focus on was the roar of the bond in your chest and the flutter of Azriel’s wings as he buried his face in your neck. 

Inch by delicious inch, Azriel pushed forward, always waiting for your permission to continue until his hips were pressed flush against yours.

You both panted for breath as your bodies molded to fit one another in this new way and Azriel swore there was a faint, otherworldly glow to your eyes as you stared at him and smiled. 

You dragged your nails down his back, reveling in the strangled noise that came from deep in Azriel’s throat. A noise that grew louder when you gave a small roll of your hips, testing the waters and loving the pleasure that shot through you. 

Azriel’s hands flew to your hips, clamping down and stopping your movements as he struggled to catch his breath. 

“Az.” You moaned his name and your core tightened around him.

“Don’t move,” Azriel choked out. “Just… just give me a moment.” 

He would never live it down if he came inside you now. 

You lifted your head from the pillow, wide eyes staring down at him as he squeezed his eyes shut as if in pain. Maybe he shouldn’t have said anything, then he wouldn’t have to deal with your shuddering walls clenching around him as you stifled your giggles. Who would have thought the Shadowsinger would be so easy to bring to the edge? There was a thrill that shot through you as you realized, once again, just how much he loved you — just how much you drove him wild. 

One sharp snap of his hips was all it took for your laughing to turn to whines, hands reaching up and bracing against the headboard. Azriel began slowly, methodically, timing his thrusts to your breathing so he could draw those sweet noises from your lips like music. 

“Mother save me, Y/n,” he groaned, capturing your breast in his mouth and swirling it around his tongue.  

He flung open his side of the bond and you did the same, drowning in dual pleasure as his thrusts sped up. You thought your heart might explode in your chest. 

Azriel kissed his way up to your temple and pressed his forehead against yours, hot breath fanning over your cheeks as he tangled his fingers in your hair. He wished he was an artist so he could capture the sight of you beneath him. Your flushed cheeks and glowing eyes. The stretch of your neck as you tensed. The hot, fervent press of your breasts against his chest as your back arched off the bed. 

I love you, Azriel. Your words flowed across the bond, carried on waves and waves of pleasure as you jolted up and let out a choked cry. 

That sound. Azriel wanted to hear it every day for the rest of his life. He didn’t stop his thrusts, rolling his hips forward and chasing after his own release as one hand slipped between your bodies. You squirmed beneath him, hips bucking up wildly as he urged you on. 

“I’m here, Y/n. I love you so much. Keep making those noises for me. Please.” Azriel clasped his hand in yours, chanting your name as he felt that coil of pleasure tighten further. 

Illyrian wings are one of the most sensitive areas of the body, evolutionarily adapted to sense even the smallest changes in air pressure and wind speed. The apex of their wings alone contain nearly 3,000 nerve endings. 

Even through the daze of pleasure, you eyed the curve of Azriel’s wings with curiosity. 

Do it. Azriel begged. Please. 

You squeezed your legs around his waist, mind cloudy with pleasure as you dragged your fingers along the membrane just below the talon. 

This time you shattered together, hips slapping and cries of each others’ names spilling out into the night sky for all the stars to hear. Shadows burst forth from Azriel and mixed with the blinding rays of sunlight that exploded from your chest. Together, your magic blew out all the windows in the cottage and sent a roll of thunder so far over the mountains that Rhysand, Feyre, and even Helion felt a disturbance along the border. 

The hand you’d caressed Azriel’s wing with shot upward as you came for the second time in a row, slamming into the headboard and punching a hole through the solid wood. You held onto the ruined headboard as every tense muscle in your body slowly loosened with a twitch, spreading warmth and ecstasy across your skin and through the bond. 

Azriel collapsed onto your chest sweaty and spent. He could hear your heartbeat within your ribs running faster than a jackrabbit. You breathed heavily, blinking the fog from your eyes as you stared up at the ceiling. 

You brought your hands to Azriel’s back, holding him tight as you gathered your breath and tried to calm your racing heart lest it decide to fly out of your ribcage. 

“Did you…did you just break the headboard?” Azriel breathed out after some time had passed and neither of you were trembling anymore. 

“......No.”  

Azriel peered up first at you, and then the fist-shaped hole in the maple bed frame. He burst out laughing. The noise was brighter than sunlight and you couldn’t help but join in. 

“Are you hurt?” He grinned. 

You shook your head. Laughter spilled out of your lips so brilliantly they were more gasps for air than anything else. He kissed your knuckles, smooth and unharmed. Then, he attacked your neck, leaving gentle bites that tickled as you squirmed and sighed. 

“Shall we try and break the bed again?” Azriel offered, still smiling. 

“I think we can do more than try.” You grinned mischievously. You rolled over top of Azriel, tracing the smooth skin of his chest before bracing your hands over his heart. 

And so the frenzy began. 

6 weeks later

You leaned forward, chest pressing against Azriel’s as you gave him a drowsy, content smile. Steam coated the bathroom mirror in a film and condensed on the bottles you’d carefully arranged alongside the bathtub. One of the bottles was empty. It had taken that much to fill the Illyrian-sized tub until you and Azriel were both comfortably submerged in bubbles that smelled of sea salt and lavender. A platter of food — courtesy of the Cottage — gleamed on the low-rise table beside you, cheese, nuts, and cuts of meat half-eaten. 

Azriel tore off a piece of bread, dipped it in honey, and placed it on your tongue. He tilted his head back in thought. “The first floor bath?” He suggested. 

“The first floor has a bath?” 

Azriel smiled and you heard the scratching of pen on parchment as his shadows wrote down the room. 

Just this morning Rhysand had gently knocked on the doors of your mind, asking if you and Azriel would ever come back home to Velaris or if they should consider themselves abandoned. The prospect of hiding away in the Cottage forever was tempting, but you and Azriel had agreed on a flexible deadline — you’d both return to Velaris once you had… hmmmm, marked each room of the Cottage. 

“We haven’t done it outside.” You offered, looking out the window. The mid-afternoon sun hung lazily in the sky, rendering even the birds and insects drowsy. 

“We agreed the porch counts, remember?”

“Since when?” You sat up straight, water sloshing around your waist. 

“Since the last time we slept there two weeks ago.” 

You rolled your hips down, resting your head on his shoulder and peering up with a look that would have put him on his knees if he wasn’t already on his back. 

“We’ll add it to the list.” Azriel breathed out tightly. 

There was more scratching of pen on paper. 

You decided that of all the rooms in the cottage, you liked the conservatory the best. When Azriel was making those beautiful noises against you, arms wrapped around your back and pressing you into the floor, you could watch the stars as they moved in the sky and drew close to the Shadowsinger. When it rained you could feel the electricity splinter through the sky, almost in tune with your body. 

Azriel was partial to the library in the second floor’s west wing. You’d spent days there propped up on every wall and bent over every piece of furniture until you could name over a dozen species of wood. 

You blushed just to think about it as you sank beneath the bath bubbles. 

Azriel sat in a chair beside the tub, damp hair curling over his forehead as he read aloud from a book you’d stumbled upon during your… activities. 

The frenzy had finally burned its way through your system, leaving you sore in places you didn’t know possible. It had taken you and Azriel two days just to sleep off the exhaustion, tangled up in bedsheets heavy with your scent. 

You leaned your head against his shoulder, breathing in the smell of night-chilled mist and cedar. Azriel wordlessly kissed your temple, slipping his hand into your hair and dragging his nails along your scalp until you were sighing in contentment. 

This… this felt right. You wanted Azriel to know that he was everything. He was the wash of color over the world that makes things bright and safe. He was the only person you felt perfectly at home with. Someone to trust with your body and heart as much as your mind. Someone whose touch you could never dream of shying away from ever again. 

I know, my Y/n. Hazel eyes met yours, warm and soft. And you must know that you are everything to me as well. 

Everything? You smiled softly at him.

Everything. He replied.

<- Previous Chapter Next Chapter ->

______________

Author's Note:

*insert meme* Why is it spicy?

This was my first try writing anything explicit so... hope you enjoyed it! Only took us half a year and 100k+ words to get to a spicy scene LOL

^^ this has been both my reaction, and Y/n's reaction

As always, I appreciate you immensely for reading and would love feedback/to hear what you guys think! We're nearing the end folks!

[hoonieyun]

meet the potential and future lovebirds!

welcome to, "is he mr. right?", the dating game! where a lucky girl who is looking for love has the opportunity to go on a date with four handsome and eager bachelor's who are also looking for love.

this is an interactive dating show au where the readers can vote on "yn's" decisions, ultimately leading to who she will be with at the end... but more on that later!

heeseung 𐐪♡𐑂 jongseong 𐐪♡𐑂 jaeyun 𐐪♡𐑂 sunghoon

warnings: nothing really? maybe like judgemental glances and awkward tension? lmk if i miss something, 18+ not proofread lol!

wc: 2571

episode one: meet the potential and future lovebirds

“welcome! welcome! i’m your host, the love guru, and today we’ve got a great lineup of people who are looking to find the love of their lives!” the host of the dating show, “is he mr. right?” says to the audience, a roar of applause erupts within the room as she addresses the crowd. the host was beautiful, big bouncy hair and a bright smile as the spotlight found its way to her. waving and greeting some audience members. 

“let’s get right into it, shall we?” the love magician says as she further hypes up the crowd. “now let’s go over how this show works…

we bring in a lovely contestant who we call “the dove” and she will have the opportunity to get to know our bachelors before she chooses who she wants to go on a date first. once she’s able to go on a date with each bachelor; she’ll have the chance to make her final pick on who her mr. right will be! and with the help of you guys at home and in the live audience, you all will be able to vote on who you think she should choose as her mr. right! 

got it? good, because i’m not repeating myself.” 

the host jokingly says and a successful applause and laughter can be heard in response. 

“now, let’s bring in our dove! every one please give a warm welcome to YN!” the love guru says, waving her hand around as a wall rises, revealing you. 

you were fairly nervous, you weren’t entirely sure why you were going on a dating show so soon after your breakup but your friends pushed you to do it, having signed you up without your knowledge and by the time it came around you were too deep into it to back out. you had to do several background checks and interviews with the show's producers before you were even chosen but it seemed like you were the right pick for them because the producers loved your energy and smile. your friends had convinced you to go further with the interviews and before you knew it, you were willing to go along with all of it. 

even when you would tell your friends that maybe it’s too soon to get back into dating, they would all roll their eyes and remind you that it’s almost been a year since the breakup and that you need to put yourself out there. 

so here you are now, standing behind a levitating wall and waiting for the dating show host who calls herself “the love guru” to introduce you and begin the show. 

your nerves were through the roof because not only has it been a long time since you’ve dated but you never thought that it would be on a dating show of all things– your heart was beating in your ears when suddenly the wall in front of you was raised and you’re met with bright lights and and the sounds of applause drown out the sound of your own heartbeat. 

in almost an instant you snap into a different person, like your show mode just activates. 

a smile spreads across your face as you carefully walk down the stairs, waving at the audience and taking in all of the cheers and welcome from the audience. 

“you are so beautiful, yn! are you ready to find mr. right?” the love guru asks you and you nodded, your smile widening as your eyes squint just a bit as you adjust to the lighting.

"so, yn.. tell us a little bit about yourself?" the host asks you as you’re waving to everyone cheering you on.

"well.. i like to read books, baking, and taking long walks to the bank because my future man better have a hefty bank account." you joke with the audience and to your surprise they accept your humor just fine as you were a bit scared that it wouldn’t come out as a joke and you didn’t want to be seen as a gold digger. 

“perfect answer! now, tell us why you are on this show?” the host asks and you explain your somewhat long history of dating and what ultimately got you on the show. the crowd ooh’d and aww’d at your story of how your last relationship ended because the two of you just couldn’t see eye to eye on where your relationship was going. 

you wanted to have more freedom in your life and felt that you were too young to settle down but your ex was ready to do just that. he often would talk about your life in the future, having a family, buying your dream house, and raising your family until the two of you became old and wrinkly. 

and although it sounded nice, you weren’t ready for that and it seemed like it was all moving too fast. so you ended up breaking off your year and a half long relationship and fast forward 8 months; here you are now ready to find your mr. right. 

“what are you looking for in a man?” the love guru asks. 

“aside from a man that has a wallet that’s heavy–” you joke once again. 

“i want someone who understands me the way my best friends do, someone who is honest and smart, maybe a little shy? but he likes being outgoing with me.. 

oh! and a guy who knows how to communicate and has a good hold on his emotions. i’m not looking for someone perfect because i wanna grow with him but i’m also not here to look for someone who has no idea of who he is.” you confidently respond and you earn nods and smiles from the audience, indicating that they either agree or find your answer admirable. 

“love these answers, yn! we’ve got some really cute bachelor’s lined up for you so why don’t you put these sound proof headphones on as we introduce our bachelor’s to our audience!” the love guru instructs as you take the headphones from one of the assistants, sliding it onto your head carefully so you don’t ruin your hair. 

you were excited to get to know the bachelor’s because eventually they’d be someone you were going to go on a date with and potentially be your future boyfriend. the audience smiled and laughed at you as you slightly danced around to the music playing through the headphones. 

“isn’t she cute, guys?” the love guru asks the audiences and they all cheer. 

“alright! let’s get to know our bachelor’s and potentially, yn’s future mr. right!” she says and with tv magic, four guys suddenly appear, all of them sitting on stools and waving to the audience present in the studio. 

“ok! let’s go down the line! please introduce yourself, starting with you.” the love guru says, gesturing to the first guy sitting on the stool from the left. 

“um.. hi guys. my name is sunghoon.” he says timidly with a tightlipped smile and the love guru just knows the girls in the audience and at home are swooning at his shy demeanor. “tell us sunghoon, what are you looking for?” the love guru asks, trying to get more information out of the shy boy for television purposes. 

“um..” he begins, scratching his head slightly. “i’m not sure.. i want her to be sweet and nice.. i think?” sunghoon says and as the audience oohs and awws at his response, a shade of pink spreads across his cheeks as he gets shy from their reactions. 

“well, best of luck to you sunghoon! maybe our dove can bring you out of your shell.” she teases and he just nods with a small smile. sunghoon wasn’t completely sure why he ever decided to be on this show. he wasn’t the most outgoing person and truly he only had a few friends who have ever witnessed his true persona. he was shy, there was no hiding that, but he was looking for someone he can be himself around. 

someone who wouldn’t force him to be outgoing and would welcome his naturally timid demeanor to the point where he’d be comfortable enough around them so that he could slowly but surely, show more of his personality. a lot of sunghoon’s friends say that he’s funny and a sweet guy and that any girl would be lucky to have him as their boyfriend; but sunghoon thinks his shyness was a curse. sure, some girls found it cute at first but the longer they realized he was shy and not just putting on an act, they’d lose interest just as fast as they got it. 

he just wants someone to get him. 

“alright, your turn! tell us about yourself, fluffy hair!” the love guru once again gestures to the next guy and he chuckles at her nickname for him. his soft and slightly curly hair does make it look like he’s extra fluffy and the audience definitely agrees as they all cheer for the cute nickname. 

“hi everyone, my name is jake, im from australia and i’m here to not only be someone’s mr. right but to be their mr. forever.” jake announces and his thick australian accent instantly has all of the girls in the audience melting. his voice was like silk and everyone was instantly entranced. 

“love the accent! what brings you over here?” the love guru asks. 

“to find love. i want to settle down and start living my dream world with my dream girl.” jake explains and he’s slightly startled when the audience erupts in adoration for him. his head whips around from looking at the host to the audience and although he can barely see them because of the bright stage lights, he can make out a few smiles in the crowd. 

“well mr. aussie, let’s see if our dove is ready to live with you in your dream world as your dream girl!” she says enthusiastically before moving to the next bachelor. 

jake was ready. for all of it. he’s wanted to settle down and build a family for a while now but after his last failed relationship he had to reevaluate a lot of his decisions. was he ready to settle down? he was so young but that’s what he wanted. 

he wanted to live in his dream home with his dream girl and build the family of his dreams so they could all live happily. sure it may seem a bit immature to imagine such a fairytale life, but that’s what he wanted and hopefully this show will be the start of that. 

“you know the drill, tell us about yourself.” she says shortly as she arrived to the third bachelor. “what’s up, everyone. i’m heeseung and i know i’m going to be mr. right.- looking beautiful by the way miss love guru.” he says while flashing his smile and twinkling eyes. the audience absolutely falls in love with him. 

his charm was on a different love and heeseung just oozed a different type of confidence that the show hadn’t seen prior. “why, thank you.” she responds. 

“but flattery will get you nowhere, i’m not the dove.” she teases and the audience laughs at her joke while heeseung nods and chuckles, his laugh causing the audience to fall even deeper for him. they look at him adoring as the spotlight seems to shine so much brighter on him than the previous bachelors. 

“what are you looking for in a girl?” she asks and heeseung’s face slightly contorted with thought. 

“someone my parents would be proud of. i want them to look at my future wife and think about all the ways they can brag to the world about how i’ve got the best wife.” heeseung says and although the answer wasn’t traditional in the slightest, the love guru nods her head in response. 

was she impressed with the answer? sure. was it slightly strange? a bit!

the audience however, didn’t care. they were going to love anything that heeseung said because he was just so charming and alluring, he had the audience eating out of his palm. 

heeseung was somewhat known as a playboy within his friend circle. sure he’s only had 1 or 2 girlfriends but he was known to be a serial dater. it may seem like a bad thing but he doesn’t think. unashamed that he’s gone on several dates because he was looking for the right girl. he wanted to make sure that the girl he’d be marrying was the one his parents also wanted him to marry. 

it’s where his charm came from. his parents always boasted about how good of a son he was, bragging to his relatives about his intelligence, successes, and prowess. it was only fair that heeseung also found someone his parents would be proud of. 

“last in line, hello hello! tell us a bit about yourself.” she says once again and the last guy clears his throat before answering and the room is dead silent. his presence alone was so strong that the audience couldn’t help but have their mouths agape. he was handsome with sharp features paired with a mysterious aura that surrounded him. 

“hey, i’m jay.” he says, short and sweet. 

although he didn’t have much to say, the audience swooned at his cool demeanor and laid back vibe. incomparison to sunghoon who had received a few awkward glances for his short response because of his shyness, jay received heart eyes from the crowd because they found him to be mysterious, like he was a puzzle to be solved. 

“we’ve got a few shy ones in the cast this time huh?” she says, looking directly into the camera and as if on cue, the audience erupts in laughter. “nah, not shy. just saving myself for the dove.” jay speaks up and although he wasn’t necessarily addressed by the love guru; his confidence in answering her regardless of being referenced made the audience want to know even more about him. 

“well! there you have it! our four bachelors and one of them will be our dove’s mr. right! tune in next week for the question and answer portion and first rounds of voting on who you, at home, think she should go on a date first!” the love guru says and continues to go on about the show's logistics. the first episode is typically the shortest as it only includes introductions while the rest of the episodes would play out a lot longer. 

jay tunes her out once she steps away and does her job as a host to close out the show. he was slightly relieved that she didn’t ask any questions further and wasn’t a victim of the audiences judging glances like the first guy. he felt bad for him because he could tell that he was just shy and wasn’t deserving of the perception of the audience for one instance. 

jay wasn’t sure what he was looking for in a girl nor did he know what he was even doing here. he had a lot to go through in his head and he somehow found himself on a dating show. he was trying to understand who he was as a person and he assumed that what better way to get to know yourself than through the lense of someone who loves you right? 

surely, he’d find love one way or another. 

𐐪♡𐑂 next ep

hoonieyun notes: first ep is out wooo!! i wanted to keep what number each enha member would a mystery because moving forward, they will be referred to as bachelor's 1-4 instead of their names. only i will know which number they are so you guys will also be playing into the mystery of who yn will end up going on a date with when you guys vote! also updates will be every saturday at 6pm pst <3

copyright 2025 - present © hoonieyun all rights reserved all writing here is fiction & not in any association with characters mentioned. if you enjoyed reading this please consider reblogging and following <3

ᡣ•.•𐭩♡ @pagemiah @jiiyen @jnysaln @xh01bri @rairaiblog @laurradoesloveu @17ericas @manaah02 @heeseung64 @zorange13 @firstclassjaylee @leipforggy

@berries-n-blues @simsungsims @softpia @enhastolemyheart @ilovbeshotaro @zwithae

[nonbinarypirat]

education vs. fascism in iruma-kun

someone mentioned this in another post but iruma-kun does a wonderful job of showing that education is key to fighting fascist and harmful radical ideas. As soon as it became clear that things were going to change in the netherworld what was Sullivan's response? It wasn't "oh we need to send spies" or "we need to find the people" (though im sure people are working hard to find those answers) it was "we need to focus on educating our students." Because only knowledge and diversity in thoughts can combat fascist ideas. The issue only becomes worse with a lack of understanding and an echo chamber. And by doubling down with education, we can make sure our students are prepared for what lies ahead. Thats how we truly fight the power.

The teachers themselves can tell that things are changing. They stay informed and guess what? its obvious things are about to throw down soon. And so they work tirelessly not just because it's their jobs, but because they need to. this is their protest. this is how we can prevent the spread of gross rhetoric. And after Heartbreaker what they do? they double down on their education too. Because there is always something new to learn, always a way to grow/sharpen your strength. They too know that they can't stay stagnant, they must continue pushing to provide their students with the best chance of survival.

When you have villians that believe in these ideas in media, there's a big issue of them leaving out education as a weapon. But it's crucial if we want anything to truly change. Iruma himself wants to no longer be naive about the netherworld which was growing to be an issue the longer he stays. because yeah, you can't stay uninformed anymore iruma. its time to learn about the history of you new home and the leaders. taking being the king out of it, ignorance about these topics is a breeding ground for becoming complacent. iruma wants to be a hero? or at least, do the right thing when he can? that requires knowledge to make sure you aren't inadvertently hurting someone along the way.

Iruma loves the netherworld, the place he proudly calls home. but it's frought with danger and cruel people. And yet, Iruma is still proud of his new home and friends and wants to do anything he can to stay here. This reflects real life, where there is goodness and pride in the place you live and yet a faction of people who taint it with othering ideas. However, it's always worth fighting for the good overall and bettering yourself so you can see another tomorrow through. Iruma knows he can only protect himself and his loved ones is through learning. And I love Nishi for truly understanding this too. You can't fight fascism through pure will, it has to be beaten by education and the williness to better one's knowledge. That is how we will take back the Netherworld.

but yeah, this is just my little spiel as someone who loves educational activism and is going to school to become a teacher :). If i can find the original post I'll make sure to credit the op!

[teojira]

Running our fingers through their fur, either as grooming or being half asleep and looking for the blanket lol

[Noa + Caesar and touching their fur] [drabbles]

Summary: Touching an ape's fur is different, but not strange. Noa wants you to take your fill, Caesar offers you himself.

Word count: 900+ words

Warnings: Romance between you and the Apes, don't like? Don't read!

A/N: I hope this is good anon! Thank you for the prompt, I'm personally really proud of these so if it sucks, don't tell me 💀😭

Noa:

The Chimp will never admit just how much he loves when you run your fingers through his fur, but it's easy to tell.

Even before you two were mates, Noa found himself constantly wanting to be in your company. Lying to himself that it was just to learn and grow his knowledge, not because he felt anything for you.

That was ridiculous, you were his friend, a small Echo that he was in charge of to keep in check, to keep safe.

His staring wasn't because he so desperately wanted to explore what made you, you. To feel how different your skin would be compared to his, to feel your hands on him, taking in each other's differences.

Watching you run your fingers through your hair, gliding gently to get the tangles out, he remembers when he wishes you'd do that to him. Only to shake his head and try and go on about his day.

Noa would have never imagined himself here, sharing a space with you at long last.

In your nest, after a long day, he will press his entire body next to yours, body damn near shaking at the thought of being able to be all over you in private.

It was an adjustment he had to make peace with, when you told him that humans value their privacy and that intimate acts were to be away from prying eyes.

Noa did it for you, though, taking your word as law.

It made it even more exciting to see you at the end of the night, to know he didn't have to hold back.

Which leads us to here, Noa draping himself over you as he silently prays you'll start threading your fingers in his fur.

"....tired....stressed." He mumbles against the skin of your neck, aware that it's senstive, smirking when you shudder a bit.

"My poor baby." You coo, giggling at the huge ape curling into you, like he wants to be in your skin.

"I do..much work." a huff, lifting his head up to meet your teasing.

You bring a small hand up, moving to brush the fur along his nape up and down, smiling at your mate.

His reaction is instantaneous, his whole body dropping like a puppet with its strings slack. His head resting on your chest, nuzzling his face there until he's sure he may suffocate.

Every bit on tension floods out of his body. Any annoyance from dealing with the many issues of the rapidly growing clan is gone from mind.

"Noa, you're heavy." But you don't stop caressing him, instead bringing another hand up to brush at his head.

All you get is a grunt is in response. He's probably gonna knock out in your hold.

You pray you don't have to use the bathroom anytime soon.

Caesar:

It's hard being new, even more so when you're the only human in an entire colony full of apes, majority of which more or less don't like your existence. Only dealing with the choice their leader made because what he says goes.

You're grateful he let you integrate with them, instead of turning you away in to no doubt succumb to the woods, the snow no doubt lessening your chance in surviving.

You're forever grateful, but the isolation is almost too much, to the point where you think of leaving in the night, when the weather lets up.

Sitting next to your small fire, a little ways off from the rest of the group, you're stoking the fire absentmindedly, your head resting on your knees as you soak in the meager warmth it provides. The fish you caught earlier sitting by untouched.

You don't pick up on footsteps coming your way, and it isn't until you feel a new warmth by your side that you look up.

It's Caesar, hunched next to you, the size difference between you two, very much apparent. He's staring at you expectantly, though you're not sure what he wants from you. He's usually never this far out, eating and conversing with the others, namely Maurice and Koba.

"Oh, uh, Hi." You mumble you're not sure what to say other than that.

Eyes following the way his fur ever so slightly shifts with the breeze going by, wondering how it would feel, no doubt he runs warm due to it.

The Ape king shifts in his place slightly before he speaks finally.

"It is okay." He gestures his arm towards you, giving you ample opportunity. He wants you to, to trust him, to be comfortable in his presence.

"What?"

"You have never felt ape," He murmurs, moving his arm closer ever so slightly, not wanting you to fear him. He'd never lay a hand on you, but he knows how humans are, so he goes slow.

"I don't want to make you uncomfortable." Is all you can say, curling your fists and placing them on the cold earth. He's being so nice to you, for no reason. It makes your head hurt, to see how kind his eyes are watching you.

"You won't."

With the added reassurance, you reach out your hand and gently brush your fingers along his fur.

It's course, but still pleasant to the touch, the heat radiating from him is an added bonus, warming your cold fingers.

While you're wrapped up in your mind, Caesar suppresses the feeling that works his way down his spine,  your touch sending off signals in his brain, some he hasn't felt since Cornelia passed.

He decides then and there that he will get you used to him, and maybe you'll be gracious enough for him to learn about you.

[angstywaifu]

Black Dahlia - 37. Disappointed (Garrick)

Summary: Both Garrick and Dahlia have survived the year in the rider's quadrant, but their now found relationship is already causing some issues for the marked ones.

Garrick Tavis x OC (Dahlia Aetos)

Black Dahlia Masterlist | Masterlist | Links

I’m thankful for the breeze that chooses to blow my way as I make my way down the path. Despite being late in the evening, the sun having set long ago, the summer heat was still notable. My black cloak only making it worse. The things we do to make sure no one can tell who we are if they do see us.

“You’re late.” Xaden states as he looks over at me from where he leans up against a tree.

“Barely. Not easy to sneak off when there’s no classes or outposts I can say I’ve been called to.” I tell him bluntly.

He nods in agreement. We might be in third year now, but the week between years is usually quiet for all cadets. Barely any classes to attend, and only preparation for the new first years being a priority for anyone in leadership roles.

“She’s not exactly easy to fool either. You’re going to have your work cut out for you.” Bodhi adds as he smirks at me knowingly.

As much as I wanted to snap back at him, he wasn’t wrong. Dahlia was easily one of the smartest and observant people here. Something that was seriously going to be an issue now I’d publicly laid out my feelings towards her. Yes I had been known for sleeping around here and there. But never once had I shown public affection towards someone. Especially like that. But it was fucking worth it.

“Yes, which is why we need to discuss this. How the hell do you plan on hiding our supply runs from her?” Xaden asks with a raised eyebrow.

Yeah. That part I did not think through. Last year it was easy. I hadn’t really gotten to know her till later in the year, and even then it wasn’t like we were hanging out every day. But now, it was going to be significantly harder.

“We just use the same cover up we’ve always discussed. Say we’re out doing third year things. Second years aren’t told about what we go do.” I say with a shrug, walking over and leaning against one of the trees.

“Or we just tell her.” Bodhi says as if it’s the most obvious answer. “We know she’s trust worthy. And she’s defended us on countless occasions. And if she knew what was going on I think she would help.”

The thought had crossed my mind many times once it was clear she was not like her family, and shared very different opinions. Especially with her comments on Reunification Day. But the only way to be certain was if we could read her mind. And that wasn’t something we had access to.

I look over at Xaden who furrows his brow, as if thinking what to say. “That’s a big if. We can assume all we want, but without knowing her intentions it’s too much of a gamble.” His voice carrying a hint of uncertainty.

“So now you choose to get iffy on her intentions? At the start of last year you were the one telling him to give her a chance and she wasn’t like her family.” Bodhi adds, angrily gesturing towards me. “And now you’re starting to talk like she could be.”

“This is different Bodhi.” Xaden snaps at him, narrowing his eyes at his cousin. “There is a lot more at stake here. All your lives are on the line if the wrong person gets involved or finds out. Especially not with Dain’s signet. I can’t risk him touching her and finding out.”

Bodhi scoffs and shakes his head. “He’s just as likely to get his hands on her as he is us. Hell she can probably shield him out better than we can with the work she’s been doing to control her signet.”

“He’s right.” I say as I hang my head. I hated having to lie to her. Having to hide this. She was going to be pissed when she found out, because one day she would. “We can’t verify what she would do with the knowledge. One day when we’re ready she can find out.“

Bodhi looks between us and shakes his head, clearly disappointed in the outcome. “Let me guess, you’ll let her train any first years that cross the parapet and need help though?”

“She’s good at combat. She’s nearly got as many patches as Garrick now. I’d be stupid not to.” Xaden tells him. She’d already gotten the most patches of her year for how many weapons she was proficient in. We’d be stupid not to ask for her help, though I’m sure she would offer it all of her own accord. “All your lives are on me. And I’ll be damned if I don’t use the skills of those around me to make sure you all survive.”

“But you’ll keep her in the dark just because of her last name. I thought we were past this with her.” He says sadly, clearly knowing he’s lost.

I hate agreeing with Xaden. I want to fight for her like Bodhi is right now. But there’s too many lives at risk.

“We'll let her in one day Bodhi. Just not yet.” I tell him.

Bodhi turns and looks at me, guilt coursing through me with how he looks at me. Disappointed. Yeah… so was I Bodhi.

@imtoanonymousforyou @simplyme-fornow @omalmal @lalaluch @wolfbc97 @leptitlu @fullmoon-94 @the-fandom-ness @fan-of-many-bands @awkardnerd @heeseungthel0ml @acourtofsmutandstarlight @fairchild06 @freyagallileaevans @pit-and-the-pen @hannraumari @elliot-rain @thestarseternaal @stupid-and-contagious01 @hyperfixation-train-station @lxnvmvrzx @thebreadisthetruevillian @red0202 @fangirling-galore @craftytrashprincess @taliyahvermillion @xadenswhore @fenixyrie @lagrandeourse @hellodarling1357 @iambored24601  @thegiftofacreativemind @fanfictionjunkie1112 @mysticalfuncollectorus

[qqueenofhades]

fwiw: a lot of people follow @roach-works who just reblogged yo ur comments on history, books, and authoritarian regimes' inability to indoctrinate entire populations.

I'm an ex classics major with a lot of history under my belt, who knows Rome sutmr under a corrupt oligarchy even when it coughed up a hairball like Nero or Commodus. (Of course, it helped that Rome worked on the pragmatic principle, "How can we keep society and infrastructure functioning, given that positions of power tend to be occupied by the rich & corrupt?" I like to joke that Western Rome never fell; it just became the mafia.)

At any rate, my tendency to see the US through the lens of Rome makes me a pessimist: I assume we'll manage even in a dystopia.

I'm working on expanding my knowledge of world history to counteract that, but it's great to check in with a sane historian who will help me resist crowdsourced panicmongering.

Look, as I have said, I 0% blame anyone for being scared. I'm scared. With no exaggeration or hyperbole, Shit Real Bad, and it's undoubtedly going to get worse, at least in some ways, before we have a chance to make it better. It was completely avoidable, but half of America decided they didn't want to avoid it, so here we are.

Nonetheless, as my last reblog also pointed out, there are still basic historical and critical-thinking skills that we can use here, and to acknowledge that even if it is obviously unprecedented to us, it is not unprecedented to others, and we can study those lessons and think about how to apply them to our own situation. Rome is the obvious model for a world empire brought down by corruption, oligarchy, imperialism, endless foreign wars, income inequality, economic upheaval, excessive militarism, etc etc, but it's not the only one, and the "fall of Rome and start of the Dark Ages" is one of those narratives that gets my premodern-historian rant especially exercised. By the time Rome "fell" in 476, the city of Rome wasn't even the capital of the Empire; the western capital was in Ravenna, northern Italy, and the eastern capital was in Constantinople, where it endured for another thousand years. Roman successor kingdoms were founded in Visigothic Spain, Merovingian Francia, etc., and often imported Roman law, religion, bureaucracy/administration, and nobility relatively unchanged, which is why Latin was the legal, ecclesiastical, and educational language of western Europe until as late as 1962 and Vatican II. The "Dark Ages" are likewise at best an extreme simplification and at worst exceedingly misleading imperial-nostalgia propaganda. Etc etc. I will restrain myself.

Rome dominated the (European/Near Eastern/north African) world in the way that the 19th-century British Empire dominated the actual world and American empire dominates now, at least for the moment, and thus we have to recognize that similar dynamics are at play here in a late-stage imperial decline. However, Rome did not just up and vanish in a puff of smoke one day and never appear again, and we also have to recognize that the end of empires is generally a good thing, historically speaking. Yes, absolutely a turbulent, dangerous, and traumatizing time, especially for those living within the imperial core, but still. There's also the blunt fact that America itself has been responsible for a lot (a LOT) of violent regime change, coups, overthrows, bombings, and other disastrous foreign policy interventions for almost the entirety of its existence, and we can't pretend that we are just the shining beacon of unproblematic truth, freedom, and faith that most conservatives, and a lot of saccharine American-exceptionalism liberals, tend to think. If that comes back to bite us and we have to experience the kind of political and social upheaval that we have arrantly and unrepentantly inflicted on other places in the name of our Superior Right... well.

As for the post about history books (here), that was another attempt to push back against the kind of broad-strokes fearmongering that is often prevalent right now. Again: for completely understandable reasons, but still. There is literally no way on earth that the practice of academic history, or the procession of human events, is going to be destroyed because an orange dumbass and his idiot followers took power in America for eight nonconsecutive years. Even if by some miracle he managed to do it in America and the only thing ever officially published was Heritage Foundation balderdash, a) historians in countries other than America would still be writing books about it, and b) again, literally impossible. To return to the history of Soviet totalitarianism that I was addressing in that post, I suggest that people look into the samizdat, the contraband news and literature widely shared in the USSR. They faced far more stringent conditions than we ever will: the KGB controlled access to all word processors and copiers, precisely because they could be used to spread non-regime-approved information, and dissidents had to write and circulate it by hand. If they were caught, they could be disappeared, sent to the gulag, confined in a psychiatric hospital, subject to intensive "state education," etc. But they still managed to pass it around and read it, and it would be literally impossible for this collection of Trumpster chucklefucks to exert even a fraction of this logistical and physical control, when every citizen already owns a laptop and a smartphone. The history books aren't going anywhere.

That all said, of course we are all hyper-alert and anxious and afraid, and we don't want to miss anything that might be important or dangerous or anything else. I get that, I completely do. But we still have to pace ourselves, we still have to apply critical thought and learn how to educate ourselves when something seems huge and scary and unstoppable, and I am attempting to do a small part of that on a niche blue hellsite that won the social media competition by literally doing nothing while its peers all fell face first into being corporate Nazis. The bar is low. But hey, I'm here, and you're here and you're reading it, and we will get through it. I promise.

Courage, etc.

[tacticaldiary]

hi hello, if you have the chance, could u write a ghost x reader of an overworked/ burnt out reader who faints or something. just stressed out overprotective ghost to warm our hearts <3

thank you so much xxx

Bone Tired

Pairing: Simon 'Ghost' Riley x Reader

Genre: Hurt/Comfort ; Fluff

Ghost knows she's been pushing herself but he didn't think it was this bad. She nearly gives him a goddamn heart attack by collapsing right in front of him.

"Don't make me tie you to the bed."

"Jokes on you, I'm into that." She snickers at the long-suffering sigh he lets out.

Masterlist

Just because they weren't deployed on a mission didn't mean things were any less busy for them back at base. Drills, morning runs, training, paperwork, and more; there was always something to keep them busy.

"Focus." The low timber of his voice snaps her out of her thoughts, dragging her back to the present. "I would've incapacitated you three times by now." Ghost says with a frown. Or at least she thinks he's frowning under that mask. He sure sounds like it.

"Yeah, sorry L.T." She blinks, widening her stance and dragging her tired mind to attention. Everything just felt...off. Her clothes were too itchy, the bright fluorescent lights hanging from the room were too prickly, and the training mat under her feet felt difficult to get her footing into. Maybe she was catching a bug? She'd been feeling mildly feverish the past few days, after all, sporting a headache she opted to power through with painkillers.

Grunts and groans and jeers echo around them as others take their turn to spar with each other. She'd already lost against Gaz once, a rare outcome in itself, and now she was pretty sure Ghost was going easy on her. She's surprised she isn't face-first on the mat right now, actually.

Blinking away the knowledge that her arms feel like lead and her mind foggy, she lunges at him with her fist, an attack easily parried and side stepped by the man.

In all honestly, she's known for a while that she needed a proper break. A few days to herself full of nothing. The last op she'd been on had been long and gruelling, a solo one at that, weeks' worth of trekking through a mountain range far south in the cold to get to an isolated camp where their target had been laying low. It was a success, but she swears she can still feel the snow bite into her flesh if she thinks too hard about it.

The moment she'd got back there had been debriefings with Price to attend, files to be reported to Laswell, all the while keeping up with her usual routine and drills...

Her eyes widen as she's spun around, an arm circling her throat and pinning her in a hold.

"You're sloppy." Ghost clicks his tongue from behind her, and if she were any less exhausted, maybe she would have felt a shiver go down her spine.

Here, they were just soldiers, but in private? That's a whole other story. Their relationship had to be kept under wraps for a multitude of reasons, but Simon was one of the best things that had ever happened to her. Having someone who understood her work, who shared the experience and knew exactly what she was talking about, who knew the best ways to comfort and listen and advise her...it was rare.

A rare and beautiful thing, that's what they had. They helped each other grow, made up for the others weaknesses and blind spots.

But they weren't in private right now, so after she taps his arm to concede, he pushes her away, eyes narrowing in suspicion.

"Are you ill?" He asks tightly, eyes going up and down her body as if he could detect whatever was making her pause. She'd seemed fine the last time he saw her, but clearly something was wrong if she was this...dazed?

She shakes her head. "Just didn't sleep well last night." She lies through her teeth. She couldn't afford to be sick right now, couldn't afford the luxury of wasting time resting. She still had to report to Laswell, attend a meeting on what the next steps were to reach their targets close contacts. Then she promised Soap she'd hit the shooting range with him, and then Gaz asked her to help him with that paperwork he had to fill out...

Taking a step back, she stumbles a little.

It all bubbles up inside her, overwhelming and insurmountable, a mountain of work that keeps piling up to reach new heights and-

Was Ghost talking? She blinks, trying to get the ringing out of her ears. It was loud and annoying, and it made the headache she'd been sporting since yesterday stronger.

Ghost's eyes widen. He's definitely saying something. She hopes Simon knows she wasn't ignoring her on purpose. She was always good at reading him, so maybe if her vision would stop spotting and focus, she could actually see his eyes properly and figure out what was wrong.

In the end, the roaring in her ears becomes deafening, to the point where she squeezes her eyes shut. How easy would it be to just...stay like this. Just for one moment. To revel in the nothingness of the dark, where she got just one second of silence away from the list of things she had to keep doing.

Just one more moment.

Another step back, an unsteady sway.

She hits the ground hard, the last thing she hears being the yell of her name from that familiar, rough voice.

                                  · · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Bleary eyes blink themselves awake, squinting against the warm glow of the lamp by her bedside table. Groaning, she attempts to sit up, only to widen her eyes in alarm when a hand firmly pushes her back.

Instincts kicking in, her hand flies up to latch onto the wrist in a weak grip.

"It's just me." The low voice has her relaxes instantly, hand falling away onto the bed.

"Simon." She says, surprised when her voice doesn't come out as more than a whisper. "Where...what happened?" She winces at the throbbing in her head as she takes in the scene. Simon settled down in a chair next to her, a book laying open faced on her side table.

"You passed out." He says, plainly worried. "The medics said you fainted from exhaustion. Ain't that something to explain, love?" Now that he's ditched the mask, she can see the creases of worry in his forehead, the downwards quirk of his lips. "Damn near gave me a heart attack."

"Passed out?" She echoes, trying to remember. "I...guess I did."

She sure feels like it. Her body feels like lead, as if it's doing everything it can to ensure she stays in bed. Shivering slightly, she looks around for another blanket. When she reaches for the fluffy duvet folded at the foot of her bed, it's immediately snatched out of reach by Simon.

"Give it." She demands, reaching a hand out.

"You have a fever." Simon shakes his head, holding the item out of reach. "It'll break quicker this way."

"I'm fine." She protests, managing to sit up this time under his unimpressed stare. "I'm alright, Simon. Can't afford to be sick right now."

"That's not how it works." He sighs, standing up. "I thought I'd hurt you for a moment." She watches him walk towards the small table near the opposite wall, fiddling with something there while he talked. "Damn near took a year of my life away with how you crumpled onto the mat."

"It wasn't you." She assures him quickly. Some of the tension visibly drains from his shoulder in what she can only assume is relief. Needless as it is, she feels a little guilty. How long had he been thinking her passing out had been his fault? No, this was on her, on her busy schedule and-

Wait, what time was it?

Dread curls up in her gut as she slowly turns towards the small window. The lamp was on when she woke up, of course it was night.

"I was just tired is all." She says, swinging her legs over the side of the bed. "But I'm as fresh as a daisy now, and I've got so much shit to do." She lets out an anxious, long breath as her brain kicks in, charting how much time she'd lost, how quickly she'd need to work to get it all done-

"I have that meeting with Laswell...I wonder if Price thinks I just didn't show up to his office..." She doesn't realise she's been muttering her thoughts aloud until Ghost cuts her off.

"You're not going anywhere, sweetheart." He declares over his shoulder. "Get your ass back in bed."

"I can't, there's too much I have to do today." She protests. "And I've already lost half the day-"

"I wasn't asking."

"Simon-" He turns around and she finally sees what he's been doing.

"Don't make me tie you to the bed." His threat is much less effective when he's holding one of her mugs that says 'Bad Bitch' in obnoxious neon pink calligraphy, the phrase surrounded by a flowery border. She'd got it for him as a gag gift for his last birthday and had cackled at the dead, unimpressed stare he fixed her with. It had remained in his room for a while before she'd snatched it, claiming she'd actually appreciate it.

"Jokes on you, I'm into that." She snickers at the long-suffering sigh he lets out. Her laughs morph into a deep chest-rattling cough that wipes the smile off her face and leaves her wincing.

Sitting next to her after tossing the pillow onto the mattress, he brings the warm mug of tea up to her. "Easy does it." He mutters quietly when she grabs it from him and takes a drink.

"Thank you." She sighs, handing it back.

"Talk to me." He orders, not unkindly. Simon wasn't someone who was all lovey-dovey, but he loved just as hard and much as the next person. Just because he didn't choose to flourish it with pretty words and smiles doesn't mean she felt any less cared for.

He was a man of action, through and through.

Little touches throughout the day, silent glances checking in with her. Staying by her side during missions, working in tandem and recognising when she needed space versus when she needed him near.

He was her other half, and it had been eating away at him that he didn't fucking realise she was this unwell until the consequences caught up with her.

Ghost won't admit the primal flash of fear that struck through him when she'd crumpled to the ground like that. He thought he'd hurt her while sparring, that he'd done something to make her pass out like that. Even after the medics cleared her and he carried her here, tucked her in and everything, there was still a nagging worry of 'what-if' in his mind.

The relief of hearing her confirm it wasn't him was tainted by the knowledge that he hadn't noticed her pushing herself.

After a moment of deliberation, she gives in, tucking herself back into bed and thinking for a moment. She tells him everything, tells him how she hasn't had a second to herself in these past few days, telling him about the load she has on her shoulders and the crushing time limit ticking down in her ears for every task she had.

He listens quietly, to his credit, doesn't interrupt her even when she trails off, having to muster up the energy to keep going.

The fact that talking tired her out to this degree made his heart twist uncomfortably.

"I didn't think I had a choice but to take it all head on." She finishes, stifling a yawn. She looks up at him for his response when he doesn't talk, finds him staring at her with a half-lidded gaze, a furrow in his brow.

"Why didn't you ask me?"

"Ask you what?" She asks, confused.

"For help."

That was...a good question. It takes her a second to come up with a sheepish answer. "I...I didn't think of that." She admits, drawing out another quiet sigh from him.

"You're going to be the death of me." He grumbles, but she can't complain when he's gently tugging her to the side and climbing in with her under the covers. "I've sorted things out with Price and Laswell. Do whatever else you need to when you're capable of not face planting into the mats again."

A warm feeling of gratitude washes over her, her heart warming with the kind gesture. It was so...it was so Simon.

When he tangles their legs together and tucks her into his side, she wrinkles her nose. "I'm all sweaty." She tries to argue, tapping at his shoulder half-heartedly when he lays down with her, a strong arm around her waist pulling her in.

"I've had your blood on my hands before, I don't think sweat is going to be a problem." She can hear his voice rumble low in his chest, right under where he head rests, and she hides a smile in the fabric of his shirt.

When he runs a hand through her hair, she practically melts against him.

Eventually, her shivering stops, replaced with a bone-deep warmth that nothing could chase away. Simon. The warmth of him, of his care, of his love. She'd take it over a heatpack any day.

His arms around her make her relax. Nothing would nag at her, drag her away to chain her to a desk under Simon's watch, that much she knows. Safe. Protected. The feeling was rare living the life she did with her job, but Simon made it so easy to believe that she was untouchable as long as she was with him.

Before she knows it, her eyes flutter shut and her breathing evens out, because goddamn did the bastard know exactly where and how to touch her to get her all sleepy and relaxed.

"Thank you." She mumbles against him, words half incoherent.

"Always, love." He rumbles back, brushing his lips over her head.

Requests Are Open! Reblog, Like and Comment!

(16/07/2023)

[pretending-ican-write]

Cowboy Up - Pt. 12

A/N: Apologies for the radio silence for so long but it's been hectic getting my dissertation finished! I only have a few more weeks of assignments left and then uni is done which is very scary. For now enjoy this part! As always let me know if you want to be added to the tag list or send any requests you have for this pairing!

I make no claim that my ranching knowledge is accurate, it's all made up.

Pairing: Ryan (Yellowstone) x Dutton!reader

Previous part - Next part

---

The first colours of the day are starting to paint the sky when y/n stepped out of the house, hat securely on her head and cooler full of food for Gator who was waiting for her.  She dropped it next to the stone grill in exchange for two steaming mugs of coffee that she took to the barn where Jimmy was opening up.

When he got to the open door she handed him one of the mugs, “learning to do this shit one-handed is vital to starting the day properly caffeinated.”

The pair worked through tacking up the horses for the day in a comfortable routine that they had perfected over the last few weeks working together.  Despite repeated reminders that it was low man’s job to tack up in the morning, y/n just glared at whoever directed the reminder at her and insisted that it was a ritual she enjoyed.  Besides, anything she could do to help Jimmy pick up ranch skills quicker and avoid ridicule from the hands.

Comanche was the last horse y/n tacked up, always choosing to leave her own horse until the end when she could give him a little bit of extra attention (and her apple core, an important part of his day).  She led him outside of the barn in time to hear Rip calling out the start of the day.  Mourning the fact that she hadn’t had time for a morning cigarette, y/n mounted up to follow the hands out of the gate towards the herd.

-/-/-

A few hours later, the hands were moving all the cattle from their grazing with the help of the helicopter.  Y/n had Comanche positioned at the back of the group with Ryan and Colby to the left of her to keep the herd moving forward.

“I thought you’d be better to deal with once we finally got over 10 years of pining but no turns out you’re just more of a soft fucker,” Colby complained to Ryan.

She laughed at her friend, “not all cowboys are emotionally stunted like you Colby, no need to be jealous I’m sure you’ll find a real girl to love you one day.”

“A real girl?  As opposed to a what girl?”

“A blow up one,” Ryan sighed, “she’s saying you have a sex doll.”

He didn’t get a chance to insult her back as she opted to leave the boys at the back to check in at the front.  She eased to a walk next to Lloyd when Rip rode up to them.

“Y/n you’re in charge of keeping everyone on track,” he directed, “I gotta deal with stragglers.”

She saluted him and shouted after him, “take Jimmy with you!”

“You’ll take all our jobs when we retire, kid,” Lloyd commented.

Y/n laughed, “old man you ain’t ever gonna retire.  I know you’re gonna die on that horse herding cattle.”

She peeled away and returned to the back next to Ryan who smiled softly at her.  Colby gagged at his friends which earned a middle finger from both of them.  Everyone’s eyes snapped to the trees when there was a shout followed by hooves at speed.

“Ryan, Colby go get those cattle back here!” Y/n shouted, “Lloyd help Jimmy with the horse!”

Repositioning her hat to keep the sun out of her eyes, y/n groaned internally as she scanned over the remaining hands to ensure no more cattle would slip through the cracks.  John had spent her whole life preparing Lee to take over the ranch but now that he was gone, it seemed that her father was desperately scrambling.  In her opinion it seemed far too convenient that John had decided to reconcile with Kayce when the ranch needed an heir, overlooking the fact that she’d been part of the operation for 8 years.  She was pretty sure that she could handle the (legitimate) side of the ranch with her eyes closed.

“You looking deep in thought there sweetheart,” Ryan cut through the anger simmering under the surface.

She smiled at him, “just wishing that dad would see I could handle the ranch.  Jimmy alright?”

“Anyone would think that you feel sorry for him,” he joked half-heartedly.

Lucy shrugged, “I do Ry.  I was born doing this and y’all chose it but he didn’t.  Least I can do is hope he adapts quick.”

She watched as the cattle slipped into the rest of the herd, keeping an eye out for any of them that might have sustained an injury going through the woods.  They were followed by Lloyd who she gestured over to the back before he could get to Rip.

“He’s finding his hat before he comes back,” He answered her question before she got it out.

Y/n huffed out a breath, “fuck knows losing that would not go over well.”

With a nod to her, he turned his horse around and cantered back to head up the herd.  Lucy patted Comanche’s neck and turned her eyes back to the cattle in front of her.

-/-/-

With all the cattle down by the barn, y/n settled into the familiar movements of separating the herd.  Even when she wasn’t old enough to be in the pen, she could remember sitting on the fence helping  John organise the hands.  When she was 10, she’d been allowed to take part on her horse and Lloyd had spent many a evening helping so that y/n would be able to keep up with her brothers.  At this point in her life, there was a chance she could do this job with one arm tied behind her back.

In the other pen, y/n watched as Kayce’s stallion continued to give John a hard time.  She rolled her eyes and leant over to speak to Lloyd, “I question my brother’s motives for giving dad that horse unless he’s tryna get his inheritance early.”

“I think it’s gonna take a bit more than a horse with a vendetta to kill your father,” he remarked.  

Y/n laughed, “here’s hoping a concussion might knock some sense into him.  That or finally kill the rest of his brain cells and I can take over the whole thing.”

She turned her attention back to the cattle encouraging Comanche forward to cut off one of the heifers that had made a break for it.  With her thoughts back on the job and not her father, y/n quickly fell back into the rhythm of working the cattle.

-/-/-

A little while later, y/n’s attention was pulled away from the cattle to Kayce’s truck pulling up outside the barn.  She watched her brother get out before helping Tate out of the other side.  Her nephew made a beeline to the corral to climb the fence, fascinated with what the hands were doing.  Y/n sought out Rip’s gaze from the opposite side who waved her towards the fence where Tate was watching from.  With a smile of thanks to the foreman, she brought Comanche parallel to the boy.

“What are you doing?” Tate asked in greeting, reaching out to stroke the horse’s spotted neck.

His aunt glanced back at the herd, “well we’ve got to split up the herd before we can send them off to make sure they all go to the right place.  Different colours mean different things.  It’s up to us to know which colour is meant to go to who.”

“Mind if I steal your nephew from you?” John leant up against the fence next to him.

She leant down from Comanche to receive a high-five from her nephew, “he’s all your dad.  Misbehave for me Tate.”

Ignoring her dad’s groan and her suggestion, she directed the gelding around the remaining herd to where Ryan had been watching the conversation with hearts in his eyes.

“Why you looking at me like that?  Someone will see you,” Y/n teased.

He rolled his eyes at her, “you’re good with him.  That’s all.”

“For all my brother’s faults he and Mon made a damn good kid,” Y/n admitted, “I just hope dad doesn’t mess it up with how he’s gettin’ his claws in of late.  Tate practically worships him.”

“He adores you too y’know,” Ryan pointed out to her.

Y/n shrugged him off, “that’s just because I’m the only part of this side of the family that’s been around since he was born.  Dad has a lot more interest to a young boy than boring aunt y/n.”

“You ain’t boring to me sweetheart.”

---

@child-of-of-the-sunshine @kendallroydefender @qardasngan @thecobraghost @little-diable

[softpascalito]

Dulcissima I Marcus Acacius x Vestal!Reader I Chapter III

! This Fic contains major spoilers for Gladiator II ! Proceed with caution !

Pairing: Marcus Acacius x Vestal Virgin Reader Rating: Explicit / MDNI Word count: 12k+ Tags: Secret Relationship, Vestal Virgins, Religious Guilt, Gladiator fights, Gladiator II compliant (more or less), Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Ancient Rome, Age Difference, Slow Burn (ish), Injury, Kissing, Historical Inaccuracy, More tags to be added (!)

AO3 // Series Masterlist // Masterlist // Fic Playlist

notes: ! last major spoiler warning for gladiator II below the cut !

we finally get a little glimpse into the life of the vestals in this chapter. i'm trying to write this in a way that requires no prior knowledge of them, but if it sounds interesting to you, i'd highly recommend reading up on them, it's very interesting! also wanted to mention from here on we will dive into how acacius and our vestal get to know each other (until we reach the plot of gladiator II again). enjoy! <3

vestal (vigins) - priestesses of vesta, virgin goddess of Rome's sacred flame dulcissima - sweetest (fond nickname) vero - yes paludamentum - a cloak worn by high ranking military officials bonam noctem - good night

Chapter III

211 AD

You whisper small apologies under your breath as you carefully pierce the needle through Acacius' skin, feeling him tremble under your touch. “Only one more, then I am done. I promise,” you mumble, casting an anxious glance at his face and the cold sweat building on his forehead. “Take a deep breath. Stay with me, vero?”

He nods, his voice rumbling deep in his chest when he speaks up. “I always stay with you.”

“That is not what I meant,” you mumble back and wince as he tenses at the last stitch. You quickly tie the loose ends of the thread together and lift the wet rag to his arm again, wiping down the fresh blood that's trickling from the wound. It’s not too much but you do not need to be a medicus to know that he has lost too much of it today.

Your hands shake as you reach for your gown, ripping a long shred off it. Acacius raises his head at the noise, staring at you. “What is this for?”

“What do you think it is for? That wound cannot stay unprotected.” You reach around his arm, beginning to tightly wrap the linen around it, soon covering the red stains that slowly appear on the first few layers. You have seen him wounded–in fact, you can barely recall a time where he has been completely healthy. But you haven't seen him so weak before. His head keeps drooping, like he will fall asleep in his seated position in mere moments.

With a satisfied nod you tie the bandage into place, nudging the General's shoulder as you make to stand. “Acacius.”

Soft brown eyes stare up at yours, a sliver of something odd in them. It only lasts a moment–then he shakes his head as if to get rid of the ill feeling settling over his body. “You have to go.”

“I cannot leave you alone when you are like this. You need someone to watch over you. You’ve lost blood and the wound–” You are cut off by a strong arm curling around your waist, pulling you down onto his lap like it costs him no effort at all. At least he is limiting his movements to his unwounded arm.

“Acacius–” Before you have a chance to speak properly, his lips crash onto yours. The kiss tastes of blood and wine and desperation. You do not have it in you to put up any resistance, instead letting him take what he so clearly needs in this moment. Your hand creeps up his chest, ghosting over his red tunic and the exposed skin of his neck until you reach his hair. A small sigh travels from your mouth into his quite involuntarily when one of his soft curls wraps around your index finger. The world could crash and burn around you. He would still find time to press his lips onto yours, to hold you tight.

When he pulls back, you’re both panting, his chest rising and falling next to you. His arm is still wrapped tightly around your waist and you reach for his hand, intertwining it with your free one. A squeeze is his immediate response. His eyes fly back and forth between your eyes and you can practically feel his words coming. You’re half tempted to kiss him again, just to keep him from speaking.

“Dulcissima, I need you to listen to me.” You open your mouth to argue but he gives a firm shake of his head. “No. There is no time. I need you to take the path at the back of the house. Go back to the Temple. If anything happens–”

“What would happen?” You interrupt, your voice shaking slightly. Your stomach lurches slightly as you think back to what he has told you mere weeks before. His troops, that will be landing in Ostia and marching towards Rome.

“If there are riots–”

“No. I'm not leaving you. Not now,” you choke out, raising your voice slightly. It echoes eerily in the otherwise silent atrium. You know your tears are as imminent as the riots outside the door.

“If there are riots–” Acacius repeats, and you hate how controlled and stern his voice sounds. You aren't one of his soldiers. Yet he speaks to you like one. You’re ready to follow him no matter where he goes. But he is not your General. “–I will personally make sure some of our best soldiers are sent to protect you and the others. We have always protected the Vestals with our lives, you know we have.”

A choked sound leaves your throat because he is already speaking like a man who doesn't plan to return in the morning. Acacius pulls you in closer, wrapping both arms around your trembling form. His dried blood leaves stains on the linen of your white dress. No matter how careful he is with his hands, he always leaves you stained. Red, no matter where he goes. He turns flourishing cities into battlefields and their citizens into grievers. Wives into widows, children into orphans.

No more.

“Rome will fall. Won’t it?” You whisper into his chest and you feel him sway slightly as he shakes his head. He takes a deep breath before nudging your head back just enough to press his forehead against yours.

“No. The Emperors will fall. Rome will rise out of their ashes.”

His face tells you that he is speaking the truth. And this is precisely what scares you. “I want to stay with you. You cannot make me leave,” you whimper, squeezing his hand so tight that it must hurt. He presses one last kiss to your forehead before nudging you up with his leg, forcing you to stand again.

“Truthfully, I cannot make you. I can only ask.” A sad smile decorates his lips as he looks up at you, his eyes gone soft. “Besides, it is bad luck to touch someone marked for death, dulcissima. You of all people should know that.”

***

209 AD

You carefully balance the slender pot of water between your hands, the ceramic cold against your fingertips. Tending to the herb garden is one of your preferred duties, allowing you to feel the warmth of the sun on your skin while you work. The temple is never cold, not with the fire of Rome burning in its middle. But the longer your shifts become, the more weary you become of the lack of the sky and sun above.

Tipping the pot over ever so slightly, you let a thin string of water flow down onto the row of small herbs that stick out of the ground. Your head tilts upward towards a blue sky, just enough to peek over the roof of the house that you and the other Vestals live in, located right next to the temple of Vesta–and conveniently at the foot of Palatine Hill.

You can see the General’s–no, you mentally correct yourself, remembering your conversation with him–Lucilla’s house from here, at least the part that is not hidden by trees. You haven't seen him again since taking his will and storing it safely in one of the upper chambers, labeling it carefully and placing it on its assigned shelf, to be retrieved only in one of two cases–on his command or his death. The thought makes you shiver and you mumble a quiet prayer for him to the earth below you.

You see people, mostly women, come to the temple to pray to Vesta. To ask the goddess of the house and hearth for safety, for enough food on their table, for the health of their family. You pray with them, of course. You pray for each and every citizen of Rome. But you remember what one of the older Vestals said to you when you arrived at the house as a mere child, picked for nearly a lifetime of service.

Her eyes had been kind as she had bent down, adjusting the veil that was still much too big on your form.

“She is not just in the flame, my child. She is in the smoke that rises above and the earth that stretches below. Vesta will always hear you. She will always be near.”

You bow your head towards the earth at that, setting the pot aside to instead place your hands between the green and brown, fingertips grazing the earth that feeds you.

It is one of your tasks to pray for all of Rome, often with a special few words for the soldiers, to ask Vesta for their safe and victorious return. But the image in front of your eyes shifts as you speak the prayer that falls off your lips so naturally. It summons the memory of the gentle, brown eyes that promised you their trust.

Keep him safe.

It is a prayer you repeat over and over again, sending it into the earth as well as the air as you kneel under the roman sun, asking for the gods to hear you.

When you raise your head again, squinting slightly as your eyes adjust once more to the brightness of the day, he is there.

You called on the gods. But it is Acacius who has appeared.

You see him taking slow steps through his garden, one hand outstretched as he lets it brush past the fields of lavender. Your own hand, still tucked into the bed below you, moves against the herbs absent-mindedly as your eyes stay fixed on the small figure above the Forum Romanum.

He’s too far away to make out his expression–or even his face. But the broad shoulders, the red paludamentum, the gentleness with which he carries himself–they all let you know it is Acacius you’re looking at. It’s like he has heard your prayers and instead of waiting for one of the gods to answer, he has taken them upon himself.

It happens more frequently after that. The courtyard garden of the Vestals spans almost the entire length of the house, with two small pools lowered into the ground on each side. You pass around it by day and by night and your gaze flies between the columns and upward more frequently than ever.

Just in passing, of course. Just for reassurance. A constant, a joyful moment when you spot his figure. A pinch of something else in your stomach, something you force yourself to ignore, when you see Lucilla's robes billowing in the wind while she walks beside him. He rarely wears his armour, but when he does, it glistens in the sun, reflecting the rays of light, almost blinding.

You often wonder what he is thinking about. If he is pondering the next campaign, possibly even politics, though you have rarely heard about him being involved in them. He strikes you more as a soldier than a politician. A man as loyal to his army as he is to the Emperors.

“Senator Gracchus told me that they are moving some troops south,” Severa announces as you settle down for your evening meal. She is about your age, having been chosen in the same year as you. And she has taken the most interest in politics out of all the current six priestesses, often volunteering to deliver and pick up scrolls from the palace or the senate to hear the news of the day.

“Did he say why?” You ask as you reach for the carafe of wine, motioning towards her glass and, at her nod, pouring her some. You repeat the motion with your own glass before leaning back again.

“No. But I suppose the people further south are not happy.” Her voice drops slightly as she speaks. “They do not wish to risk an uprising, that I am sure of.” You nod carefully, casting a glance to the other side of the room where the two eldest vestals are taking their meal. It is not your duty to meddle in politics. You are the guardians of the hearth of Rome. Day and night, one of you is always in the temple, watching over the flame. Making sure it does not burn low.

If extinguished, it is not just the fall for the Vestals. It predicts the fall of Rome. So now more than ever, you do your duty carefully.

“May I ask you something?” Severa leans towards you, always keeping one careful eye on the others. Making sure neither of you are drawing attention to yourself.

You nod, adjusting your voice to her level as you set down your glass. “Of course. Is something the matter?”

She gives a quick, short shake of her head. “No, not the matter. I was just curious–” You raise a brow at that, though you both know neither of you mean each other harm. “Curiosity is a dangerous trait for a Vestal.”

“Curiousity is a dangerous trait for any woman,” Severa whispers back, lowering her eyes onto the floor. You understand why. It is not easy to speak ill of something. It is simply not in your nature. It goes against the years of teaching you have sat through. “You brought the will of the General, did you not?”

You feel your cheeks heat slightly at the mention of Acacius and shift onto your side, hoping that the dim light inside the room hides the way your face flushes. “Yes. The first one I collected, actually.”

“You collect Generals now?”

Neither of you can successfully stifle the giggles that follow her question and you quickly bow your head, just as one of the older Vestals calls out to you. “If you are finished with your meal, please retire to your quarters and get some rest.” You both nod, whispering apologies into their direction as you stand up.

“I am to guard the flame tonight,” Severa adds softly and the other of the two women nods.

“Then you may take your fellow priestess to her quarters and head to the Temple after.” You mumble your good nights to the others, walking along the courtyard in silence. The noise of cicadas fills the night that has settled over the valley. When you stop outside the door to your cubiculum, you pause. “Why did you ask about the General?”

For a moment, you think Severa will not answer, her shoulders shrugging slightly as if to dismiss her prior interest. “I heard some of the Senators speak of him. I merely wondered how he seemed to you.”

“Kind,” you blurt out before you can stop yourself. He was kind to me.

Her brows furrow slightly but then she nods, giving you a gentle smile. “I better go and not leave the others waiting. Bonam noctem.”

“Bonam noctem,” you repeat quietly. A few moments later, you pull your door closed behind you and begin to undress. When you crawl into the bed placed near the far end of the room, your mind is already distracted and you allow your thoughts to slip out of the small window and rush up the hill. They settle between a field of lavender and wait for a light to appear in one of the windows of the house, just as you extinguish yours.

! when commenting or reblogging, please make sure to hide spoilers from others !

[spookypete-94]

Heels John PricexFem!reader

Thought for a long time about who I would rather write about in this scenario. The big intimidating but loving Ghost, or our rather caring and gentle man of a Captain. The more I thought about it, the more John fit into this better. So! I present to you a short story called Heels (inspired by a TikTok I saw but can no longer find) that lives in my brain rent free.

Trigger warning for language, implied smut at the end.

Working alongside the TF141 is generally anything but boring. This time however, it is radically outside your normal specialties of defensive tactics. Commonly, your multilingual self worked with the front lines. Either making peace or declaring war with the faces of many enemies in their native tongue. Always willing to follow up with your promise of violence with your knowledge of weaponry.

You should have known something was off by the way Laswell pronounced herself half way in front of your make shift office in the hotel you were staying in, blocking herself with the other half of the doorway to what you would consider an evil plan trick. Using the entry way as a blockade hiding the tight black dress in a bag in her other hand.

"I need you to do me a favor." By her tone you could tell she was addressing something, rather delicately but still trying to be direct. Still acting strange none the less.

"A favor? Or is this an order?" Your tone not believing her, looking up at her through your loose hair and up past your eyebrows over the stack of papers you had finished for her.

She sighed seeing the direction this was going sensing your attitude.

"It's a mission, one I've already assigned you to."

"I'm finishing the last report for you and now you're sending me on another mission? What the fuck, Laswell?" You asked confused sitting back in your chair.

"You see," she said beating around the bush, "the dress doesn't fit me so I can't do it myself." Side stepping from the door frame and exposing the dress bag that was in her hand.

A long pregnant pause filled your office as your heated gaze glanced back at her, and back to dress bag.

"What entirety of a shit show have you signed me up for??" Your question booming out of your office and spilling into the hallway where Price stood leaning. He was watching the interaction of you and Laswell, trying to keep his snicker to himself. Laswell seeing this out of the corner of her eye stepped in and shut your office door hoping to save her hide from the embarrassment.

Behind close doors she explained that you were needed for an undercover mission at a gathering. One that you needed to drop off a mic that would allow them to get information on a weapons runner, however with this being a Russian party, they felt they would be going in blind.

"I'm your translator, not your spy. This is espionage, isn't that more your forte?"

"Please, I need your help and already told John we would help his team. You're the only one that can bullshit your way through this."

A loud scoff left you as you snagged the dress from her hand. Pulling the bag apart you could see the sparkly black dress. As much as you didn't want to admit it, your heart skipped a beat at something so feminine, fingers running against the fabric catching on the stones periodically.

"It's the only dress we have on base... And it's your size."

"You fucking owe me."

Laswell zipped up the back of the dress leaving you to smooth out the material trying to make it longer on your skin.

"Looks nice."

"Mm." Was the only thing your brain could come up with.

Finding some heels you kept with your pant suit you wore with, you slipped those on. They were a little risque seeming as your pant legs were long enough to cover them, but with the dress you could definitely see the red velvet on the back of the black heels. The heel, a normal 5" inch shaft with a tight point at the end. You always thought they would make a nice weapon if needed and here you might just get your chance.

Stepping out into the hallway following Laswell, you joined Price who was waiting patiently still. You could immediately feel his eyes on you. Somehow, even though the bright blue was like the frozen tundra, they were warm... like you could stay there.

"You ready?" His voice grumbled out.

"As much as I'll ever be," you said side stepping the two ready for this to be over.

*********************************

In the thick of it, you had been let in to the "social gathering". Turns out, if you dress yourself up well enough- no questions are even asked. Looking around, it really was rich socialites. Most of them made rich from their dirty deeds, or the lengths of how far they are willing to sell their souls.

But Laswell was right, the ability of your capability to bullshit your way through this, was impeccable. How grateful you were fluent in Russian.

"Nearly there," Price said being overwatch for you, seeing you make your way into the meeting room of the house where you had learned TF141's target would be assembling his counsel.

Placing your mic and wire under a shelf in a bookcase near the desk, you then quickly slipped out the door and found a way out of the party, heading back to the hotel to help Price and Laswell with translation.

*********************************

The meeting had already started once you had walked back into the office off of Price's room this time. Price offered you headphones which you had put on, closing your eyes to listen. Thankfully with were you had placed the wire, you were hearing everything. Repeating everything that was being said as Laswell wrote it down and Price made sure it was recording in case needing to return back to the information later.

As the meeting called to an end, you had discovered they were doing a weapons drop off tomorrow. Later in the evening to be concealed by dark to be exact. From the work you had done, you had the amount of men that would be there down to the amount of guns and bullets being exchanged.

Laswell stood up ready to go call this in as she squeezed your bare shoulder, leaving Price's office quickly due to their recent break through.

Doing so left you and Price alone.

"Thank you, I know that wasn't easy for you," he said getting up and reaching into his desk pulling out 2 whiskey glasses and a bottle with ember liquid.

"Glad its over, don't ever wish to do it again. Didn't enjoy it," you replied shuddering thinking about the many eyes that were on you. Thankfully you had quietly left, all unscathed and without issue. The whole idea of being in the enemies den however, was a bit much for you. You preferred it to be at the hands of combat, where everyone knows where they stand on the battlefield- not waiting for your cover to be blown.

He gave a quiet single chuckle, sliding the glass to you his way of showing his gratitude. Eventually leaning on the front of his desk near you.

"Dress looks nice, you look nice," he said making you flush but you tried to hide it with the glass he had just supplied you with.

"How funny, Captain. I had men with their eyes on me and none of them brave enough to flirt with me there," you quipped trying to break the awkward tension that was rising.

"Can you really call them men then?" The question he gave only rising your flush further. You snorted, still trying to play this off as banter- not realizing his full intentions of getting you riled. Finding the question rhetorical, you did not answer. Instead you focused on how sore your feet where from trying to almost sprint in the heels away from the lions den.

Making a grimace, you reached down to slip them off. The heavy feeling of Price's hand on your shoulder pushing you back though made you look at him wide eyed.

"What are you doing?"

"My girl can let me do that." He said reaching forward grabbing the leg of the chair you were in and pulling it towards him abruptly. The whole idea of him making a motion looks so easy made you weak at the knees... good thing you were sitting down. Large fingers around the back of your foot, slipping the heel down and off, quickly removing the other one as well.

A sigh of relief left you as you sat back in the chair but quickly looked up as Price was still standing above you.

"Captain?" You asked face now feeling permanently red and warm. Maybe it was the bourbon...

"John. That's the name you're gonna being saying tonight, love." A promise he intended to hold you to.

Making your jaw go slack, his chest reverberated in his normal laugh all while he kneeled in front of you. The sight of it all feeling like a dream to you. Slowly, he left kisses up your legs, taking turns moving back and forth on each one. Finally resting at your thighs, he pushed your dress up revealing your panties that he pushed to the side and buried his face in gently. Tongue separating your warmth.

"John," was all you could say near whisper. Thank god John kept his promises.

[alexanderlightweight]

an agile predator at bay - magnus is annoyed at what they [the Clave] have put alec through and wants to make sure they pay up before he takes his lovely new prize away?

so this is incredibly long and was meant to be broken between two prompts but Tumblr is eating my prompts atm and this was a bit of a monster and yeah.

hopefully Tumblr will release its thievery but here is the next part and its like 4k+ and please recall this is NSFW and 3DNE this is a dark/obsessive and violent, very kinky fic. also telepathy I guess? mind link?

<3 lumine

an agile predator at bay

Alexander’s eyes watch him closely and without fear, delight crinkling the corners of his eyes.

“What has you so pleased, lovely?” Magnus has his hand, firm on Alexander’s hip and grins, teeth bared in a sharp smile, when Alexander just pushes closer to him. There’s a whisper, a hoarse request barely spoken and even harder to decipher but Magnus catches the murmur all the same.

“One chance.” He whispers back, they’re almost to the dais where Alexander’s ties to the Clave will be publicly and ritually severed.  He will give Alexander one chance to rescind the request he’s just made, one chance because Magnus is already being overly generous in offering a chance at all.

Alexander’s gaze is as stubborn as the mulish set of his mouth and Magnus leans forward, catching his gaze and flicking his eyes to Alexander’s own mouth.  Catching on, his boy bites his own lip just as Magnus does the same. They meet with a messy kiss, one vivid with sensation and pain and blood bursting on the tongue. Magnus can barely enjoy it.  Focusing too hard on the way his magic tangles its way into Alexander’s veins and breath, until it can press possessively against the private intimacy of his inner thoughts and emotions.

Coiling there like a dragon around the heart of its hoard, never to let go or allow another near.

You paid my blood price.

Alexander’s thoughts ooze smug superiority as he gloats in his knowledge. Magnus is pleased by how eagerly Alexander’s mind has accepted what most would consider the worst of intrusions.  

It’s with ease that Magnus nudges his boy with magic and thought, curiously poking at the information that currently only Alexander knows.

Whatever vicious little treat his boy has found and sunk his teeth into, Magnus wants to know.  Wants to share in the dark satisfaction that clings to Alexander like a lover's embrace.  Wants to share his own satiation at the fact that Alexander did in fact know what he was asking for, when he asked Magnus to link their minds together.

Whether in defense of myself or your own claim, you killed twenty-three men and except for you, I saw all the competitors. You killed enough men to pay my body weight with blood. It’s one of the highest honors for a shadowhunter, Magnus. Regardless of why you killed them, you killed them in my name and christened our union in death. 

Magnus’ jaw clenches with both pride and irritation. 

As delightful the discovery is — because what Alexander is sharing with him is wondrous — he had forgotten about the fact that Alexander would have at the very least been paraded before the original hunters and separately to the crowd.  As Magnus hadn’t intended to participate until he laid eyes upon Alexander, it hadn’t mattered to him until now. 

Twenty-three out of thirty-five slain, a bloodprice paid in full for a shadowhunter spouse held in honor.

A beautiful way to both mock the Clave and ensure that no shadowhunter will ever look at Alexander with anything other than awe and envy.

Still, the reminder that some of those still alive must have looked at Alexander and thought they could have him make Magnus want to even it out.

To thirty-five exactly.

Just to be fair.

After all, despite the gravity of some sins extending further than others, didn’t all who participated dare to think they could in some way, possess the man Magnus has chosen as a consort?

How, by the very laws of the Elders and Dominion magic itself, can Magnus ignore their treason?

Still, despite the fact that Magnus is about to lose a few more subjects, the fact that Magnus has a way to further wound the Clave — and with a blade handed to him by Alexander no less.  Is almost as great a delight as his impromptu marriage and the fact that he’s found such a compatible consort.

The release of Alexander — the severance of his oaths to the Clave — is something Magnus claims with vengeful authority.  With Alexander’s mind so tightly pressed to his own, there is no need for verbal vows between them. Instead just as Alexander’s mind cries out in agony from a severed tie, another is being woven into existence with nothing more than Alexander smirking against Magnus’ jaw and a joint communion of the mind.

While the Clave currently remain none the wiser that Alexander is already far, far beyond their grasp and authority.

Alexander’s new oaths form a tether between them as the magic begins to settle and the Dominion magic crackles possessively down the newly formed link, searing itself into the brittle cracks of Alexander’s mind like lava reshaping the terrain of a volcano.

“As his newly vowed husband, I’m entitled to collect Alexander’s inheritance as a Commander and the Lightwood heir. Though I do understand that some parts of what he is owed will need to be exchanged for compensation with items rather than titles.”

“Inheritances are not political, they’re won or earned. You do not qualify by the standards and customs of our people to ask for such an honor.” Imogen’s voice is smug, her disdain clear as she expects Magnus to obey her words. To accept that she thinks he doesn’t deserve it, that Alexander doesn’t deserve it by proxy.

“And yet I’ve paid Alexander’s blood price, by my own hand, magic and deed.”

Imogen’s face twists in a nasty grimace and she gives Alexander a look of such loathing that Magnus is tempted to blind her in defense of his boy. Yet she says nothing that would excuse such an act and so he waits. 

There is a long stretch of silence, Imogen flustered despite her attempt at stoicism as she clearly tries to buy time. Trying to figure out a way to deny Magnus — deny the audacity of any downworlder but especially him — the honor of such a lauded nephilim tradition.

Magnus chuckles darkly, the sound loud across the prolonged silence and while Imogen shivers — Alexander presses both mind and body flush to Magnus’ own in delight.

“Would you like the evidence of my claim then, Imogen?” The wind picks up, copper and iron pungent on the sudden breeze and the first gust of magic — a bloodrain — scatters droplets across Imogen’s pure white outfit and face and the altar.

Blood pools upon the altar where the Silent Brother raised a stele and cut Raziel away from Alexander and drips down over it in a waterfall of blood.

Against him Alexander hides a laugh against Magnus’ shoulder, his breath a rasping whisper barely heard.

To add insult to injury, Magnus tosses the few soulgems he collected and Imogen flinches, recognizing the rarity and worth of them scattered like worthless pebbles on the floor even as she’s put distance between herself and the storm of blood.

“Your claim is recognized.” 

Magnus doesn’t recognize her but Alexander presses the name ‘Jia’ to his thoughts and it’s easier than breathing, taking in a short few vivid memories that give him a better measure of this shadowhunter.

The most important thing is that while she won’t help Magnus out, she hates Imogen enough to let the other woman suffer, even if it’s only her pride.  Which at the moment, is more than enough help for Magnus to salt the wounds.

“His vows of release from the Clave mean he can now give his oaths to another. I want a Writ to ensure that there will be no repercussions for whatever oaths he makes.”

Jia agrees before Imogen can do more than stutter in outrage and Magnus summons a Writ, Alexander’s glee heavy in his mind, extending it to be signed and sealed in ink, blood and rune.

Written with the precision of a shadowhunter Commander, with the language only a nephilim is taught and a knowledge of the rules and laws so deep that it would impress Ragnor.

A Writ formed exactly as Alexander has suggested.

—-

Alec doesn’t care that Imogen is watching him carefully — her eyes still gleaming with disgust and disdain — and tilts his head ever so slightly.

The next time Magnus looks at him — because Alec has noticed how Magnus only looks away from Alec long enough to check their surroundings — Alec kisses him.  Presses their lips together and licks the taste of salt and tears and blood and Magnus’ own come from his mouth with a sigh of relief.

The idea of having to listen to Imogen or Jia — or anyone else — while Magnus is right here, holding onto Alec and stating just how strongly he’s claimed Alec but without getting to taste him is impossible.

Beyond that, Magnus has proven that beyond whatever strange reasoning he uses, he will listen to Alec exactly the amount Alec needs.

He’s not sure if it’s the linking of their minds — which Alec is very pleased he was right about.  It was a brilliant idea, despite Magnus hesitating over it. Alec doesn’t ask for things he doesn’t want — though he is beginning to wonder if he completely knows what he wants, because several times Magnus has proven him wrong about his priorities.

And currently, if Alec considered his priorities, they did not involve him listening to more Clave spewed horseshit.

You couldn’t have just fucked me unconscious and dealt with this on your own? It’s a logical question, despite Magnus’ amused and completely unwarranted surprise.

Then I wouldn’t have known about the blood price, sweetheart. Or Jia Penhallow and her dislike of Imogen. Or how to write that lovely little Writ you so thoughtfully penned for me.

Alec sighs and mentally luxuriates in the feeling of his knowledge and efforts being recognized.  Perhaps having to deal with Imogen is worth the pleasure of Magnus’ pride and delight petting over him.  After all, if Alec intended to live his life as he always has — obeying the rules and laws and orders of people who don’t care about him — then he would have just let the poison run its course.

Life is different now.  

Magnus allows life to be different in a way that no one else could have guaranteed. Especially now that Alec can feel the same primal thrum that beats in Magnus’ pulse, the one that instantly drew Alec to Magnus.

As far as Alec is concerned, the Clave has carved their last pound of flesh from his body. Which means he can do what he wants in front of them, without fear of repercussions.

Or at least, fear of repercussions he won’t end up enjoying.  

That last thought may cross over and press daringly against Magnus because his husband — and doesn’t that make Alec viciously happy to think — chuckles, dark and delighted and kisses him again.

“You're just full of surprises.”

Wonder blooms and presses against his mind and Alec made that happen. Magnus feels like that because of Alec and Alec is going to do whatever he needs to do to make it happen again and again in a thousand different ways.

So — if it’s not already — Magnus better find a way to make the link between them permanent.  Because Alec can’t stand the thought of being silent and alone in his own thoughts again, not when Magnus’ presence in his mind is so devouring that it encompasses Alec’s mind.

They step through another portal and Alec wonders if this is what walking through the stars feels like, the world unraveling beneath and around him and the only thing keeping him whole and bound together is Magnus’ magic and his hand on Alec’s back.

“A potion will help best but magic will soothe it enough for you to speak.”

That’s the last thing Alec wants and he frowns, protest forming in his mind even as he stays in place, unwilling to resist or avoid Magnus’ touch, even if it brings something he doesn’t want.

—-

“It won’t hurt, Alexander.” Magnus fingers press against skin even as Alexander’s mind clings desperately to him. That’s not why Alexander is worried and Magnus chuckles, sending soothing pulses to Alexander to calm him. “I won’t take it away, sweetheart. Do you think I’d let you wallow alone? When I can tie you up and surround you without anyone even knowing how deeply we are tied.”

Alexander’s relief is a visible, tangible thing.  He doesn't want to have to explain himself.  His thoughts or his wants. The only thing he wants is Magnus to take control, to relieve him of the burden of choice.

Alexander wants Magnus to know, without having to speak, exactly what he wants and needs and can handle from Magnus.

“If your words haven’t mattered before, then I will make them matter from now on.  Your words, whether in my mind only or not, are what dealt the Clave a bitter blow, Alexander. You will be protected, coveted, adored.”

—-

Magnus promises are sweeter than ambrosia and Alec drinks them in with a greed that surprises himself.

Because he's allowed to be greedy now.

He can tell because the way Magnus is so ardently praising him at the moment is a reward for Alec being too ravenous. That Alec isn’t sated enough to relinquish the peace that Magnus’ presence offers him is something good. Even now, Magnus’ mind is sharp, powerful and strong, like nothing Alec feels or thinks can overwhelm him.  

It’s a relief that has him pressing closer to Magnus, physically and mentally, and trying to silently beg him for his magic.  To press it back to Alec’s skin and sink it deep within him until his entire body is thrumming with it.

The Clave can’t touch Alec ever again and Alec can tell that Magnus won’t let anyone else.

Consort, he’d said between just the two of them. A proclamation that should not be paraded in front of the Clave just yet. 

But still.

Not just husband, consort.

That’s not an empty claim or a title given to an easy or even a prized fuck, no matter how good of a fuck it is.

That’s a souldeep promise that can only be undone with death and that’s only what Alec knows, considering the very limited knowledge he has.

If it’s an honor for warlocks — and since Alec at least knows that much is true — then it’s doubly so for Alec, who thought his options were death or suffering by the Clave’s command and hand.

“You like that.” Magnus' voice is contemplative as his thoughts and magic wrap around Alec. Alec can’t help the groan he lets out, or the way he wants to rock into Magnus’ touch but is afraid of the magic stopping him.

Of Magnus rejecting Alec’s touch.

There’s a soft, thoughtful noise and then Magnus is shoving him to fall on a couch Alec hadn’t even noticed. He follows. Pressing his perfect, calloused and hot hands against Alec’s skin and Alec can feel the pressure of a lifetime crumbling under the solid weight of Magnus’ body sliding atop his.

“There you go—”

—

Alexander is a sweet wonder, Magnus muses to himself as he settles more solidly atop his boy.  He’s soothed now, breathing steady and even as his eyes watch Magnus with that same, pleased awe from earlier.

Alexander’s mind is brittle.

Not with the fragility of hollow bones but of ice, deep and thick and being mined slowly by sun and the world changing around it until an avalanche collapses the entirety of it into itself.

He’s better now, like this.  Thoughts full of eager wonder and vicious joy and so very grateful for Magnus hoarding Alexander and his thoughts close, caressing them, even changing them with just his presence alone.

This is not an intimacy offered lightly and one even Magnus has rarely indulged in.  Too often there is a risk of fight, of distrust that brews, stemming from feelings of invasion in the mind.

There is none of that here.

Alexander welcomes Magnus with the ease of a blossom lured open and bare by moonlight. Desperately delicate and yet stronger than silk when Magnus brushes thoughts and tangles feelings with him.  Alexander wants him there, to coat his mind with admiration and desire, to feel wanted and adored and protected and to be able to rely on Magnus.

It’s almost as delightful as the laugh Magnus had at Alexander thinking Magnus would ever let this connection be cut now that it’s formed.

Magnus will never let go of the feeling of Alexander’s mind luxuriating in the embrace of his own.

To give it up would be like giving up air, or sunlight or the dominion magic that hungrily gnaws at his marrow and replaces the blood in his veins with power.

Yet instead of needing to bargain or cajole or threaten for such a treasure, it's being handed over to him as sweetly as can be, accompanied with delicious begging and desperate pleas.

Magnus understands better now how little Alexander’s own words have ever served him.  Small memories ghost past him with fleeting, phantom kisses and while he has barely a glimpse, it’s enough for Magnus to understand in ways Alexander is still unaware.

Still, now that Alexander is settled, they can move forward and Magnus can figure out how much he’ll need to heal him.

“First, you eat.” 

The longing in Alexander as Magnus gets off of him and the sheer unfairness he feels at how Magnus is making him suffer has Magnus chuckling, shaking his head with amusement.

“You’re going to be so spoiled, aren’t you Alexander? Hmm, darling? I’ll have to let you get away with everything when you sulk like that.” 

—-

Magnus hardly thinks it's a bad thing, Alec can tell by the way he feels both pleased and charmed, amusement fondly dappling across Alec’s mind. If anything, he wants Alec to be spoiled and that in turn makes Alec want to earn it, no matter how easily Magnus indulges him.

Still, if Magnus is finally giving him what Alec wants means that he is finally going to come. 

In Magnus’ lair, in Magnus’ home with his touch and magic around Alec.

“Pity, I wanted the first time you came to be on my cock or inside me. I’ll have to make this quick then if I want a taste.” Magnus says it so nonchalantly that Alec feels like he’s going to die, his body desperately wanting release but he also suddenly wonders if he should have waited. But he’s hungry not just for food and then, as Alec sits up, Magnus is on his knees. A smirk on his lips and blood still speckled on his jaw and flaking from his lips and then he’s snapping Alec’s pants across the room.

—-

Magnus chuckles as he presses a kiss to Alexander’s hipbone and then bites, “darling, use your hands for something other than trying to make yourself bleed.”

At the permission, Alexander’s fists unclench and his fingers greedily stroke through Magnus’ hair, clinging desperately and trembling with either restraint or the force of his own strength.

“So eager,” Magnus is pleased by that.  Pleased by the fact that when he finally gets his fingers around Alexander’s cock, his boy stutters into the touch.  Hips unconsciously fucking forward and Magnus uses his other hand to pinch the tip of Alexander’s dick, just to hear him whine out loud and feel how desperate he is for every touch.

When Magnus finally puts his mouth on him, Alexander goes boneless, only held up by the couch and Magnus’ hands and magic that keep him from sprawling out.  He’s fisting Magnus’ hair so tightly he’s cut himself on the strands but he won’t pull, as if afraid that will be the final straw.

Magnus swirls his tongue, letting his teeth drag down and then he sucks.

Alexander’s barely lasts, his hips fucking forward with an eager stutter though his strength fails him as he comes.  Magnus keeps him upright with magic, fingers leaving bruises on Alexander’s ass as Alexander’s blood dyes the white streaks in his hair red.

Magnus swallows around Alexander until he’s whining, subvocal little whimpers and keeps at it until Alexander’s mind is tense and coiled, ready to spring and snap and break from the overstimulation.

Then he pulls off, lips lingering in a drawn out caress that has Alexander shuddering and nearly falling off the couch before he manages to kneel in front of Magnus. Alexander’s breathing so harshly that all he can do is pitch forward and sink into Magnus’ hold.

The tension has eased, the livewire uncoiled and soothed and Alexander’s eased and settling against him.

“Good boy,” Magnus murmurs, because he is being a delightfully good boy and Alexander’s thoughts turn molten with a rush of emotions that tangle with delight. There’s a relieved sigh against his neck and Magnus soothes him through the aftershocks with a firm hand down his back.

“Now up, so you can eat, Alexander. And tell me the side effects of the poison and antidote, because it doesn’t matter how good I am, there’s enough adrenaline in your system that an orgasm shouldn’t take you to your knees like that. Even if you haven’t eaten since this morning.”

Which is the only thing that Magnus can think of. Nephilim physiology isn’t something he knows extensively beyond how to kill and wound. It seems Magnus will be calling Catarina over sooner, rather than later.

There’s a hesitancy to Alexander’s thoughts and Magnus nudges it out of the way with a frown as he gets to his feet and offers a hand to Alexander. 

Hesitancy has no place between them.

It isn’t a side effect of the poison, or the antidote. It’s a side effect of the Clave. Limited hydration and no food or sleep for two days before the hunt of those who could be chosen, nothing was confirmed until three days ago. Just enough time for a shadowhunter heir to get together their things and not enough time to escape or talk their way out of it.

It doesn’t surprise Magnus, just what the Clave will do in the name of their laws, but it does make him seethe.  Alexander luxuriates in his rage, practically purring and pressing against his anger like a large cat seeking heat as he uses Magnus' hand to get up.  And then boldly locks their fingers together when Magnus thoughts share nothing but pleasure at their fingers touching.

A moment later Alexander shamelessly kicks his pants out of the way rather than picking them up. Magnus’ shirt barely covering anything on him and Magnus knows it's because he’d felt Magnus’ ire at the thought of Alexander’s bruised thighs being parted from Magnus touch by even a single layer of clothing.

It’s going to be delightful, seeing how Alexander responds to the presence of Magnus’ many whims. How he adapts and reacts and delights in them.

It’s a pity that Magnus can’t show off his knowledge of delicious restaurants, but Alexander barely seems to be holding it together. The best thing for him is a rich, hearty magical stew, thick soft bread and tea with honey made with pollen harvested from flowers that only bloomed in starlight.

Alexander eats begrudgingly, every bite swallowed with indignation at the fact that Magnus is feeding him rather than fucking him.

—-

“If I want to enjoy myself fully, I need you stronger than this.” Magnus teases him, his hand a hot brand on the bruised skin of Alec’s thigh. It’s a tantalizing tease and Alec mutinously eats another portion, tired of being coherent enough to both luxuriate in and still miss Magnus’ touch.

All over and against and in him, where it belongs.

It’s a struggle to finish and thankfully Magnus doesn’t push it, snapping away the food the moment Alec’s stomach protests the thought of another bite and summoning fresh, hot tea that Alec can sip slowly at.

In the silence, Alec feels Magnus’ eyes on him and slouches against him, thighs pressed together on dining chairs pressed equally close. No space between them and between Magnus’ shoulder and the table, Alec stays upright enough to drain the cup.

Then he’s being pulled up and manhandled down a hallway.

“Shower next, Alexander.” 

He’s directed, smoothly transitioned through another doorway and the only reason Alec doesn’t fall into the bed on the way by, is because his skin itches and Magnus is already stripping. Finally baring his body and how is Alec supposed to resist that? Sleep eludes him the moment Magnus takes off his shirt and Alec follows like a sailor to a siren's call.

Magnus chuckles and Alec shoves away his embarrassment as he fumbles through the doorway, tripping over his own feet in order to not lose sight of Magnus.

Magnus’ amusement is fierce and vibrant and so very rich that Alec doesn’t even care that it's formed at his own expense.  Magnus can laugh at how clumsy he makes Alec as much as he wants, as long as Alec gets to feel that amusement as he admires Magnus’ body.

The shower is a blur. Just wet skin and firm, centering touches that Alec loses himself to. Hot hands and water and soap that smells like Magnus and fingers that caress every part of him without hesitation.

Alec doesn’t even need to worry about drying off, Magnus using magic and then pushing him to the bed where Alec finally — finally — can crawl into soft sheets that smell like Magnus and feel like his magic and relax.

He’s boneless in seconds, facedown and relaxed and uncaring as Magnus moves him with magic before tucking in close around him.

“Pity the Clave had to torture you, I would have preferred fucking you all night.” Magnus’ words cause another spike of anger at the Clave to form in Alec’s tired mind. He also doesn’t see why exactly Magnus’ plans are ruined.

Alec isn’t going anywhere, there’s no need for Magnus to suffer just because Alec needs rest.

—-

You could still fuck me to sleep?

Alexander’s thought is hopeful, eager and yearning and Magnus chuckles.

I could, couldn’t I? But you’re already asleep, Alexander. You just don’t realize it yet.

Alexander’s body jolts a little but his eyes remain closed and his breathing even. His mind will register that fact in a moment but Magnus enjoys the muted pulse of his betrayed shock.

Fuck me anyways. I dont care if I’m asleep, fuck me anyways Magnus.

Alexander’s presence fades, sleepy and smug and also with more than a touch of yearning in it and how can Magnus say no to such a plea.

Alexander is the perfect prey in that he wants to be Magnus' prey. 

Alexander craves his attention and his desire, his lust and affection and both Magnus' mind and his magic. It sates something in Magnus but also awakens a new hunger and a new thought.

Magnus doesn’t need to hunt his prey and make it submit when it lays before him, docile and eager and willingly baring its neck for his teeth.

However he can hunt with his prey. 

Alexander may yield to him sweetly, but he’s a vision with strategies and a brilliant mind and he’s a predator.

They already have one common enemy in mind, the Clave. 

Magnus finds the thought of planning the downfall and slaughter of others with Alexander almost as appealing as the idea of carrying these plans out together.

Magnus won’t be opposed to fucking Alexander with deadmans blood if the people in question look at his boy with fear, not lust.