#i'm in a training room i still get caught. he says this. this is probably the first time i've ever heard R.une get so... serious 😳

[silverselfshippingchaos]

AHEKWHAKQGEKQHW?!?!?!?

[gor3-hound]

FUCK YOU !! (AND, UH, FUCK HER TOO) — LOGAN HOWLETT + SCOTT SUMMERS

ft. scott summers x f!reader x logan howlett

a/n: deadpool and wolverine full throttled me back into my x-men era... rewatched the first two movies and binge wrote this over the course of three hours... it's pure, shameless smut with slightly gay undertones idk what to tell you... reader is basically in place of jean!!

cw: 18+ content, double penetration, almost cucking, cheating, reader is scott's girlfriend, logan is an asshole, competitive sex?? fighting, clawsTM, biting, marking, mild possessive behavior, p in v, mild scent kink, assholery all round tbh, creampies, threesome. gay crisis for a second x

word count: 2.3k words

Scott is starting to think Logan likes his things way too much. First, it was the way he looked at you when he was first brought to the school, eyes raking over your form. Scott wasn't blind – the visor didn't impair his vision that much. He remembers walking into the room when the both of you were alone. He could sense the tension between the two of you before his presence was even made known to you.

It wasn't until a while later he'd figured out Logan probably smelt him coming. Cocky bastard probably wanted to be caught.

Then, it was his motorcycle. His very own pride and joy. Returned with an empty tank, his keys tossed to him like it was nothing. His eyes narrowed imperceptibly behind his visor as he chucked the keys back to Logan. He barely managed to reign in his irritation.

“You gonna tell me to stay away from your girl?” Scott had told him to do so after that comment, despite having the faith in you that you'd be able to avoid Logan's charms. He was clearly wrong. Logan didn't seem like the type to have much respect, but this was just taking the piss.

“Been meaning to test if these beams could pulverise Adamantium.”

All he gets in reply is a shit eating grin from Logan as he pulls away from the heated kiss Scott had walked in on, his hands still gripping your waist. You really had the audacity to get all wide-eyes and shocked, like you weren't just about to fuck Logan with your ass perched on Scott's bike.

“Shit. Scott, I'm-”

“Sorry?” He cuts off, gaze very clearly still trained on Logan despite the way his shades conceal his line of vision. “Yeah. Save it.”

“Thought I could smell that shitty hair gel.” Logan huffs, bringing his head down to nip and suck at your neck, adding to the wide array of marks he's already left. And you fucking let him, tilting your head back and gasping like it's the best thing you've ever felt. Scott's gonna kill you, then Logan, then quite possibly himself. “How long’s it take you to get that done in the mornin’ anyway, pretty boy?”

“Right. Says the guy with kitty ears?” Scott bites back, taking a few steps towards the both of you. “I'm gonna give you about three seconds to get away from my girl and my bike before we see how good your healing factor really is.”

Logan fucking laughs, kissing his way up your neck and along your jaw so he can whisper into your ear, breath hot against your skin. “Stay put for me, yeah? Shouldn't take long, sweetheart.”

He pushes away from the bike, turning around to face Scott. Cocks his head to the side like a damn dog, rolling his shoulders as his claws shoot out from his knuckles. “Don't make me embarrass you in front of your girl, Cy-clops.”

Scott fucking hates that, hates the way he drags out his name as if it's stupider than Wolverine. Hates everything about Logan, if he's being honest. Hates how easily the man manages to get under his skin every single time.

“You're such a fucking asshole, y'know that?” Scott squares up, trying his best not to hurl a beam directly at Logan with the hopes he'd be able to send him flying through the garage wall. He's meant to be a team player. Level-headed. He's not sure how the older man always reduces him to this.

“That really hurts my feelings, bub. I thought we were a team.” Logan stalks closer, and Scott's vaguely aware you've gotten up, ready to break up a fight that never comes. Claws sink into the drywall beside his head at the same time he hears you tell Logan to ‘stop’. His back hits the wall, and then the asshole leans down, lips brushing his ear just like he had to yours moments prior.

“Y'know, I can smell the changes in your scent when you're pissed, happy... Can also smell it when you're turned on.” He breathes out, inhaling deeply just to tease the man further. “So either you're really into you're girl gettin’ passed around, or you wanna fuck me. Shit, or both. Which is it, pretty boy?”

“I don't want you to fuck my girl, Logan.” Scott grits put. His looks literally can kill, and he's becoming increasingly tempted to prove that to the other man. “And I definitely don't wanna fuck you.”

“C'mere, baby.” Logan coos, gaze flicking to you. He tuts when Scott goes to move, pressing his body against his to prevent him from getting too far. “Ah-ah. Stay there, pretty boy.”

You're at Logan’s side in a second, peering up at him through your lashes like an obedient dog waiting for its next command. Shit makes Scott's blood boil, his body going rigid against the other man's.

“D'you wanna kiss me, sweetheart?” He asks you, cocking his head to the side with a shit-eating grin plastered on his face. And you fucking nod, like your boyfriend isn't right there staring at you. “D'you think he wants a kiss from me, too, sweetheart? Think he deserves it? Can't have been treatin’ you right if you came runnin’ to me, huh? Maybe I should teach him?”

“Yeah, think he needs it. He's always so stressed, never wants to do anything.” Now you're airing out your relationship issues? Fucking great. Scott's practically seething now, lips parting to say something – anything – to defend himself.

He doesn't get the chance before Logan's lips crash against his. He tenses up, ready for a fight. His hands come up to push the man away, but fuck he's a good kisser. It's a lot different from a girl – rougher. There's a drag of his stubble, a pleasant burn that comes from it. His teeth sink into Scott's lower lip before tugging, then he's forcing his tongue into his mouth. Scott ends up dragging him closer, eyes fluttering shut as he kisses back.

A growl rises in Scott's throat when he hears you giggle at his reaction, but he doesn't have much time to think on it, ‘cause Logan laughs all breathy and hot into his mouth, and it's making him short circuit. The growl quickly transforms into a low whine, his lips chasing after the other man when he starts to pull back.

His eyes open just in time to watch as Logan grabs you by your hair to pull you into a needy kiss, his free hand grasping at your hip to grind you against his rapidly hardening length. Scott feels his own cock twitching to life at the sight, a breathless ‘fuck’ leaving his lips as he reaches down to palm himself through his jeans. He hasn't been this hard in months – maybe ever. He feels like a horny teenager again, leaking pre-cum steadily into the fabric of his boxers. He isn't sure what to think of it. Humiliating, is what it is.

Logan's lips are on his again, his hands sliding under his shirt, tugging him closer. He feels his cock pressing against the hard ridges of Logan's muscles, feels your own hands join his in exploring Scott's skin, your lips pressing kisses along his neck and jaw.

“Relax, Scott.” You say, as if it's the easiest thing in the world. Relax, yeah. His dick is rubbing against another man's for the first time while his girlfriend is reaching around him to unbutton his jeans, and you want him to relax. This is a totally normal scenario that isn't throwing him head first into an identity crisis.

He gets lost in the hands on his body, the lips against his skin. Before he knows it, the three of you are naked and panting and pressed against each other. Scott feels like he can't breathe properly. His eyes dart between your body, and the fattest dick he's ever seen in his life. He doesn't know if he should be turned on or really, really insecure. His cock answers by jumping against his abdomen and leaving a sticky trail of pre-cum. Traitor.

Logan grunts as he lifts you up almost effortlessly, his arms resting at the back of your knees, using them as makeshift slings to hold you up against his chest, which is flush to your back. He quirks an eyebrow as Scott just stares, unmoving. “Well? You don't need me to tell you where to put your dick, do you? No wonder she's so pent up.”

“Asshole.” Scott says simply in response, stepping towards you. His words lack any real bite – he's too turned on to even think about being pissy. He fists his length leisurely a few times before lining up with your entrance, pushing forward inch by inch until his hips are flush with the backs of your thighs, your legs dangling helplessly at his sides.

You gasp and whine as Logan moves to slide in alongside your boyfriend, nails digging into his skin until Logan is buried to the hilt inside of you. Scott instantly peppers the skin of your neck with kisses, trying to soothe you.

“You alright, baby?” He asks, all soft and sweet. He's forgotten why he was mad at you in the first place, mind foggy with arousal as your cunt clenches around him.

“She's fine, bub. She can take it. Isn't that right, sweet thing.” Another whine, then a nod. It eases Scott, if only slightly, when he feels you relaxing against them. A beat passes, and then another. His eyes meet Logan’s and they both start to move – slowly, at first, before picking up the pace.

You're so much tighter like this, sucking him in desperately as he tries to find a rhythm with Logan. He can barely focus in anything but your heat and the way his cock ruts against Logan's as they both fuck into you. It's almost maddeningly hot, and he's feeling overwhelmingly anxious that he's going to cum in an embarrassingly short amount of time.

Scott leans down, his lips meeting yours as he rocks forward over and over. His lashes flutter as he sucks on your tongue, kissing you greedily. He feels a hand tugging at his hair, pulling him away from you before sharp teeth start to nip at his lower lip, a tongue bullying his way into his mouth. He sucks on Logan's, too, kissing him back just as hungrily as he did to you. He rubs soothing circles into your hips as he picks up the pace, coaxing you into relaxing further.

A growl rumbles Logan's chest when he feels Scott fucking you faster, his hips snapping against the fat of your thighs with more intensity, like he's determined to fuck you better than the other man. He's bigger, tip bullying your cervix with every thrust in a way that makes you tear up. His nose twitches as he smells the saltiness of your tears, then he's pulling away from Scott to lap them off of your face.

“Shhh, shh… you can take it, sweetheart. I know you can.” He coos softly, moving to nuzzle the crook of your neck, nose running along the skin like he's scenting you. Both men continue to slide in and out of your slick heat, grunting and groaning like animals as they chase their release.

“You gonna cum for me, baby?” Your boyfriend coos. Scott needs you to cum soon, because he's barely holding on as it is. He doesn't want to leave you unsatisfied – especially now he's very aware Logan will gladly pick up his slack. His hand falls from your hip to make its way between your legs, thumb rubbing circles into your clit until your muscles grow taut. He grins, sucking a possessive mark over one of the hickies Logan had left earlier. Take that, asshole.

Your walls flutter and clench around both cocks as you reach your peak, a shaky moan of Scott's name leaving your lips as your head falls back against Logan's shoulder. Check and mate.

“Hear that, kitty claws? I'm still her favourite.” He huffs out, hands returning to your hips in an almost bruising grip as he ruts helplessly inside your tight heat, balls tightening as his orgasm rapidly approaches.

“S'only ‘cause she's lookin’ at ya, dumbass.” Really, it shouldn't be Logan's gruff, fucked-out tone that drives him over the edge, but it is. He blows his load a second later, forehead dropping against the crook of your neck as he fills you with spurts of hot, white liquid. He gasps against your skin, nails digging into your plush flesh.

Logan isn't far behind, grunting as he forces every inch of his cock deep inside of you, head tipping back as he releases. The tips of his claws threaten to breach the skin of his knuckles, but he manages to suppress them enough that they never fully unsheathe. He pants softly, chest heaving as he thrusts shallowly through his orgasm.

“Fuck.” He hisses, slowly pulling out of you. He lifts you off of Scott's cock, settling you down on the seat of the motorcycle so you can all catch your breath. Logan rubs soothing circles into your back as Scott steps forward, all but slumping against you as he embraces you.

“Did so good, baby. Was perfect.” He breathes out, pressing kisses along your bare shoulder. He pulls back just enough to look at Logan, who's already lighting up a cigar. “The fuck did that even come from?”

That shit-eating grin lights up the older man's face again as he takes a few short draws from the cigar in his mouth. He exhales the smoke, pulling it out of his mouth to speak.

“Trust me, pretty boy. You really don't wanna know.”

[novemberheart]

{overview} you and John take another step in you relationship, the startling truth about how you see your pack comes to light

{warnings} fem reader, a/b/o dynamics, cursing

Chapter 14 <- Chapter 15 -> Chapter 16

The situation had been hard for you to rationalize. On one hand you spent the whole night curled into a ball sobbing your eyes out. A few knocks echoed throughout your room, and you politely requested some alone time. They obliged you. On the other hand, you had a hard time taking what Simon said completely to heart. His actions had always shown he had your best interest at heart. You had upset him and he was hurt. His hurt made him say things that may not entirely be true- but what he was trying to convince himself of.

You prayed it was the second hand.

Regardless, you had taken the words hard.

You have been causing a lot of crises this past week. You were attacked, you caused Johns’ rut, and now Simon was pissed.

At this point, it would be a mercy to send you back to where you came from.

Not even a month in and you had turned into a problem. Omegas weren't supposed to be problems. Problems were eliminated.

You whined curling yourself deeper into your mattress. The alarm on your bedside table went off, making you flinch. You pulled yourself out of bed with heavy limbs. You were exhausted. You didn't sleep a wink, you had hardly eaten any food the day before and you were more emotionally drained than you had been in years. You didn't bother changing out of your sleep shorts but threw on a consoling knitted sweater.

You looked at your closet wondering if you should begin shoving all your clothes bag into your duffle.

You were usually alone at this time. Unless one of them had night training and was just getting home. You took a deep breath, hoping that was the case today. You pushed open your door, it getting caught on Simon’s boot. You gasped staring up at him with wide eyes.

Was he still angry?

Was he going to be the one to tell you that you were being sent back?

He cleared his throat, standing up straight so he wasn't leaning against the door frame. He was uncomfortable.

“Hey, pup,” he greeted softly. Any words you could think of got caught in your throat. As you stared at him a conclusion popped into your head, one that hadn't before. He was fine. His eyes were not rubbed raw, his voice not cracking from hours of crying. He had been much meaner to you and it seemed to have no toll on him. He didn't lose an ounce of sleep over it. He probably just rolled over in his bed and decided to apologize to you tomorrow.

It made you mad. Typical alpha behavior. Causing hurt feelings and omegas to spiral without a second thought. You weren't sure you wanted to be around someone so…..so uncaring.

“Simon,” you greeted gently, still keeping the door partly shut. Would he lash out at you again for not being warm to him?

He sighed, clearing his throat.

“I need to apologize to you about yesterday,” He started, his eyes staring down at you. His eyes held no emotion, even though they were big and round. He smelled sincere. There were no warnings going off in your head that this was a trick. “I’m sorry I said those things, even if you hadn't heard them it was not appropriate or even the type of person I want to be. Especially to you.”

That softened you a bit.

“Thank you for apologizing,” you were able to grasp words finally. “I'm sorry I didn't list you as my alpha,” it was your turn.

“Not that I have earned the title,” he added. You remained silent. He cleared his throat again. Did he expect you to disagree? “I would like to work towards it- you seeing me as your Alpha.”

“Of course Simon,” you said quickly. “You have been very good to me in the past, don't think I have forgotten or hadn't noticed.”

He seemed to appreciate the sentiment. He excused himself after, saying he had to get to training. You were fine leaving it there and you felt better about the situation. There was still something that had bothered you, though. Why hadn't you written his name down in the first place?

There was only one reason you could truly think of. He didn't feel like an alpha towards you. That's not to say you hadn't bonded with him over time but he didn't have the same effect on you as John had. All John had to do was look at you and he had your omega belly up and your head tilting back, practically begging him to mark you.

Everyone knew there were different types of alphas in the world. Domineering ones. Modern ones who treated their omegas as equals. Traditional ones who treated them like they were servants. Soft and gentle ones who acted like betas.

John was a provider. He didn't treat you as his equal. He treated you like you were of higher status than him. He was at your service. When you were with him touching a door handle was beneath you. Yet there was that domineering side to him. The part that needed to have control- him needed to have you chipped for example. Yet you knew that was less about ego and more about making sure you were safe.

The truth was, when you thought about your alpha, the first thing that popped into your head was John.

That was why you wrote his name down.

The rest of the day had been a breeze. You decided maybe you should stay home for a few days to hopefully minimize the trouble you could cause.

You had just changed into your pajamas when there was a knock on your door.

“Hi,” you grinned at John.

“I want to show you something. Put your shoes on,” he smiled, his eyes crinkling. You quickly grabbed your shoes and he held up a coat for you to get into. You slipped your arms in, feeling warm and fuzzy from the gesture. It was one of his, the smell of campfire making your brain lull into a state of comfort. He zipped it up for you, grabbing your hand in his and leading you out the door.

“Where are we going?” you questioned in the elevator.

“It's a surprise, pretty girl,” he asserted, holding back a smirk. You ran your fingers over his knuckles. They were rough and a bit swollen. Years of hard work embedded in them.

He led you down a path you had never gone before, weaving past the training grounds and over to where the offices were.

“Now this is our little secret,” he reminded. You two strayed away from the path, walking towards the treeline. “Need to get you proper shoes.” he huffed, looking down at your flats. You giggled, remembering when Simon had said the same thing to you. You two walked for a while, the sounds of war slowly growing more and more distant. “You cold?” he checked. You quickly shook your head. Despite that, he ran his hands up and down your arms to heat you up. “Just a little further,” he assured. “Here we are,” he stopped suddenly, causing you to furrow your brows at him.

You were in the middle of a forest. What was so special? He put a finger under your chin, slowly tilting your head up.

You gasped, your hands gripping onto his jacket in awe.

A sky full of stars. They took up the parts of the sky that weren't covered by the treetops.

“It's beautiful,” you whispered.

“The base only gets dark enough one day a month to see them,” he explained quietly. You wished you could see this every night. But then, you might not appreciate them. You stared up until you got a neck ache, slowly pulling yourself back to earth. His eyes remained focused on you.

He regrets it. Deeply. Not allowing you into the pack sooner. Granted you had brought with you some challenges- but you were well worth it. You were quickly growing to be an indispensable part of the pack and you weren't even marked yet.

So when you looked up at him it was only natural for him to lean down. You nearly went cross-eyed trying to maintain eye contact. Your eyes fluttered closed and he sealed the distance. It was short and sweet.

A dream first kiss.

“This is beginning to feel personal,” you whined, causing them to chuckle.

“Not personal, peachy. Just the game,” Johnny smirked. He leaned over pressing a kiss against your temple. You growled at him playfully.

“Easy for you to say. You've plus-four-ed me twice in a row,” you exclaimed, waving your ridiculously large stack of Uno cards in his face. It was Kyle's idea and it started out with a few lighthearted games between the two of you and John. The addition of Simon and Johnny turned it into a full-on attack. After it was John's turn, he put down a reverse card sending the direction of the game back to you.

“Get him, honey.” He smirked at you, nodding his head towards Johnny. The only thing you had that could do any damage was a color changer- if you played it right. You leaned close to Johnny and he quickly reciprocated resting his forehead against yours.

“Interesting tactic,” Kyle chuckled, causing you to giggle.

“What’re we doing right now, Bonnie?” Johnny whispered, his pretty blue eyes lighting up in excitement (both kinds).

“I'm reading your mind,” you whispered back.

“Wanna read my mind in my room later?” he smirked, pressing his forehead against yours harder.

“I choose blue.” you smiled, waiting expectantly.

“Shite, only one I don't have.” he groaned, beginning to grab cards from the deck. You and Simon both celebrated. You for getting him back and Simon because now he was next in line to win.

Simon won, and you all moved into the next round. You crawled around the coffee table so you were sitting in between John and Kyle.

“I took a shower,” Johnny snorted as you moved away from him.

“I'm not being after you!” you explained, grabbing the cards that Simon dealt out. You couldn't stop a smile as you got two plus fours in your pile. You crawled back over to be in between John and Johnny.

“I changed my mind. Can we go this way?” you smirked, twirling your finger in a clockwise motion.

“I'm a bit frightened.” Johnny gulped.

“You've been giggly lately.” Kyle hummed, the feeling vibrating through your shoulder.

“That's because you keep tickling me,” you whined. As if on cue his lips skimmed over your shoulder and against your neck, causing you to erupt in laughter all over again. “Kyle,” you groaned playfully, pushing him away. “I'm not used to being touched so much,” you reminded. You had never been so physical with anyone before. Johnny and Kyle were always all over you, and John had been growing more and more affectionate. Even Simon had his claws in you when the two of you went out.

“Want me to stop?” he questioned, causing you to shiver.

“No,” you mumbled, burying yourself in his chest. He ended his attack and was content with having you rest on his chest. It was his “day off”- well as close to a day off as they get around here. You yawned, stretching out, your limbs popping back into place. He was tired, his eyes fluttering shut before he abruptly opened them again. “Sleep, Gazza,” you murmured, wrapping your arms around his middle.

“I have to get up soon,” he yawned, causing you to whine.

“Night training?” you mumbled. He nodded his head. The front door opened causing you to peek your head up from Kyle’s chest. In came Johnny, shirtless and dripping sweat. You gasped, eyes widening like saucers. “Kyle, your boyfriend is almost naked,” you whispered. Kyle leaned up with you, his cheek pressing against yours. You both stared at Johnny through the kitchen passthrough window, as he gulped down a large electrolyte drink.

“Wow,” you whispered in unison. Johnny's head snapped to where you two were lying and you both quickly shrunk back into the couch. You could feel your heart rate pick up as Johnny's footsteps got closer and closer and closer and……

A large, wet raspberry was blown against your cheek.

“Mac!” you shrieked, wiping his spit away. He chuckled, kissing the top of yours and Kyle's head before heading towards the bathroom. “Kyle, your boyfriend was flirting with me.” you poked.

“Can’t say I blame him, doll,” Kyle chuckled, getting the two of you comfortable on the couch again.

You could tell something was off the moment he walked in.

You already had a twisting gut feeling you knew what this was about.

“Hey, pretty girl,” he greeted. His large hand runs up and down your back. You leaned into him, your ear resting against the broad expansion of his chest.

“You're leaving aren't you?” you mumbled, your hand tangling itself in his shirt. John hummed in agreement, sitting in the stool next to you.

“Me and Johnny leave tomorrow. Then a few days later Simon and Kyle will have to head out too.”

“All of you?” you sputtered. You thought at the beginning they would take it slow. Not just leave you here by yourself. Especially after what happened last week.

“We should all wrap up fairly quickly, especially Simon and Kyle. Me and Johnny will be gone for at least two weeks, but when we come back we’ll get to go on leave. Think about where you want to go.”

It wasn't much consolation. You knew this was the agreement. You just wished you had more than a month to adjust. It had gone by so fast.

Hopefully, their being gone will go by just as fast.

Hello friends! Let me know how you feel about the way Simon and Omegas relationship is playing out so far. Or any other thoughts you have about the series. I love to hear what all of you think! See you in two days for chapter 16. 🧡

[kaiser1ns]

𝗶𝘁𝗼𝘀𝗵𝗶 𝗿𝗶𝗻 𝘅 𝗳𝗲𝗺!𝗿𝗲𝗮𝗱𝗲𝗿

╹synopsis :: you can't play hide-and-seek forever, right? well, that's until someone discovers your secret.

╹contents :: fem!reader, fluff, secret relationship, softie rin, shidou being a menace as usual

╹notes :: i love rin so much<333 hope you enjoy it! sorry for any grammar mistakes.

The aroma of delicious food filled the air as the members of PXG gathered around a large table. Y/N, who had been tirelessly assisting Loki, their mentor, was surprised when the Frenchman insisted on treating her to dinner as a token of appreciation for her hard work. There was a rare moment of peace, and to the surprise of everyone at the table, there was no food fight as they enjoyed their well-deserved meal from the hard training.

Shidou couldn't resist teasing his favorite(and only) female friend. He turned to Y/N with a mischievous shit-eating grin and asked, "Hey Y/N, do you like someone from here?" The question caught her off guard, and she raised an eyebrow before responding, "It's none of your business." she replied, returning her attention to her plate.

But we all know Shidou Ryusei’s nature, you will be teased for the rest of your life, "Oh, come on! There's definitely someone, hmm?" Y/N rolled her eyes, replying with a hint of sarcasm, "The only thing I like is the money I'm getting from Ego, nothing more, nothing less." She finished her last bite of food and added, "Now, if you excuse me, I have more work to do. If anyone needs me, I'll be analyzing Bastard Munchen's players in the monitor room."

With that, the girl excused herself from the table, bid everyone good night, and disappeared into her work. The glow of the large TV screen illuminated her focused expression as she delved into her analysis, ”I swear if I don’t get more money in my paycheck”. Little did she know that, in the moment of her murmuring, someone was approaching her from behind.

She felt a pair of strong hands gently wrap around her waist, and a familiar voice whispered in her ear, "You work too hard, you know that?" Y/N smiled, recognizing the voice instantly. Itoshi Rin, her secret boyfriend, leaned down to kiss her cheek, putting his head in the crock of her neck.

“And you do that too, but at least I’m taking breaks, Mister Striker”.  The dark-haired boy didn’t say anything, his head still resting on his girlfriend's head. It's so nice — the feeling of peace when no one is looking at you, no teasing remarks from Shidou, no homework from Loki, and no high expectations — she's so nice.  

With his body relaxing and all his weight on her body, he can fall asleep right then and now, but he knows he can't do that. "Hey, sleepyhead," she said, nudging his head lightly with her finger, earning a groan from Rin "Go have some rest in your room, Loki said, not to tell anyone, but tomorrow's training will be even harder." Again, no answer. Still in his embrace, she decided to somehow move to the chairs with the 186 cm tall boy wrapped around her like a koala. "You are so cute, but you will break my bones."

What she didn't expect was Rin's sharp turn, as he sat down and y/n settled onto his lap, she couldn't help but feel her heart beating faster at the sudden turn of events. His arms tightened around her, securing her place, and she found herself looking up into his tired but vibrant teal eyes, blush coming up to her cheeks. "What got you so clingy, Rin?” 

“Nothing. I just wanted to be with you…” he admitted, his voice carrying a hint of vulnerability. Y/n's blush deepened, but she smiled back at him, understanding the unspoken words between them. Savoring any moment they can spend together. With a gentle laugh, she teased, "Well, next time you feel like using me as a human pillow, just ask nicely." 

Hearing noise from outside, they looked at each other, fearing that someone would enter the room in need of Y/N’s help. The striker suddenly stood up, releasing her from his embrace. “I should probably get going. Have a good night, Y/N”

With a teasing grin, she replied, "Well, get some rest, Rin. You have to be fresh like a daisy tomorrow." tip-toeing to reward him for today - a little peck on the lips. “Love you.” With one last nod, he left the room with a smile on his face.

As he disappeared into the hallway, Y/N couldn't help but smile. Yes, their relationship is a secret from everyone—a game of hide-and-seek, it’s hard to manage but as long as no-one suspects a thing, everything is okay.

“I KNEW IT!” again a familiar voice called from behind her, and it’s no other than Shidou Ryusei himself. Y/N's eyes widened in surprise, turning around to face “the demon” and in a threatening tone said, "If you even dare to tell anybody about this, I will personally make your life a living hell - no more Chainsaw Man manga, no more yukhoe and a restraining order against you for Itoshi Sae.”

If until now Shidou was not afraid of anything, now he is definitely afraid.

©2024 kaiser1ns do not copy, repost or modify my work.

[fatesundress]

⭑ observations ii. tom riddle x reader

part i here.

summary. two weeks after your last encounter with tom shatters all of your previous observations, tensions are high, and eventually, something's gotta give. (it's tom. he’s giving head)

tags. smut (so. so much. minors BE GONE TO WHENCE YOU CAME!), fem anatomy + reader is referred to as a woman by someone, fingering, cunnilingus, piv, again implied tall!tom or short!reader (take it however you prefer), jealous tom does not understand friendship but then again neither does reader apparently, a little wine is had, the room of requirement is used shamelessly as a plot device, did i mention smut, i’ve lost my mind etc etc.

note. this is a part two, so go ahead and read the first part and come back if you'd like :) obligatory preface: it's safe to assume any smut i write within hogwarts is a university au — these people are all 18+ tyvm. also woahh was not expecting the love on my last post so thank you! i'm still trying to figure this whole acc out so support, questions, (requests? never done those before) anything is appreciated ♡

word count. 6.3k

The next two weeks are agony. You don’t, in fact, stop meeting with Godefrey to study, because you do, in fact, still need a good mark in Ancient Runes and for all his faults he can reach the tallest shelves and he’s a faster writer than you. Also, Tom Riddle is fantastic with his hands but this does not make him God.

You find pureblood politics a bit archaic. You find muggle courting a bit stifling. This leaves very little space for what took place between you and Tom in the middle of a corridor two weeks ago (you can’t stop wincing at how insane that sounds) and very little patience for his utterly original and not-at-all entitled request that you halt your studies with Godefrey. Godefrey doesn’t stick his hands up your skirts while the two of you are studying, doesn’t silence your gasps with a shush and a finger to your mouth, doesn’t — wouldn’t (you’re so imaginative when you want to be) — tell you to keep reading as his thumb draws circles between your legs, tell you to repeat the words that get caught in your throat, tell you how much he likes it when your eyes go dumb and glassy and all you can say is his name. So, really, Tom should have nothing to worry about.

“I swear,” Selwyn says, picking at a plate you don’t think she’s actually eaten anything off with how distracted she is, “he’s looked over here at least three times.”

You don’t dare glance at who you know she’s talking about. “You’re obsessed.”

Pot. Kettle. Whatever.

“Are you sure you didn’t do something to upset him in Potions? Didn’t botch something that might mar his perfect record?”

You flick her forehead and she scowls. “I’m not an idiot, Selwyn. I handle myself just as well in Potions as he does — he wouldn’t —” Wouldn’t have complimented your rapport if that weren’t true, wouldn’t have said you communicate efficiently, make a good pair, probably wouldn’t have — fingered you in the hallway? — yes, that too. Slipped your mind. So easy to forget.

You take a long exhale, and smile impassively at her. “I didn’t botch anything, trust me.”

She finally takes a bite of food. “Maybe I did something…”

And then she’s lost in thought again, eating now, at least, and you shake your head softly as you watch what are likely a million different theories flitting through her head.

“Morning,” Tom says to you when you enter Potions after breakfast, a delicate smile tugging at his lips.

You have, of course, trained for this. 

It’s your fifth — sixth? — time sharing a table with him since that night and it is somehow easier by nature and harder by anticipation (of what, you have no idea) every time. The first was terrible. Unsalvageable and without a silver lining. It had taken almost an hour that morning to charm the violent hues of red and purple spanning the column of your throat, and ultimately, the marks were so persistent you’d forgone the glamours and decided to just wear a turtleneck. You’d been fortunate it was completely inconspicuous to wear such a thing in December, but that was about all there’d been to be grateful for. You hadn’t been able to look at Tom all class and his hand had brushed yours once to take a phial from you and you’d flinched so sharply it would have shattered on the floor if he hadn’t caught it. And he’d smiled, like he’s smiling now, a soft, “Careful,” that honestly, for a short moment, made you want him dead.

Now you could speak just fine, look him in the eyes in practised intervals, and almost, impressively, make articulate conversation with him again. Make stupid comments about Slughorn and Lestrange and bear the weight of his grin knowing it was there for you.

His, he’d called you. A very funny thing.

“Morning,” you answer on a smiling sigh, sleepy but jovial all the same. 

You deserve applause for this.

“Tired?”

“Mhm — Essays for Ancient Runes are due Friday and it’s been keeping us up all night.”

His eyes flash with something you’ve yet to ascertain. Your research has been put temporarily on hold, scattered and splintered by the revelation that your first observation was, admittedly, a little bit off, and you have no means of figuring out a look like that when you can’t even begin to figure out anything else.

“Has it?” he asks, a tinge less friendly.

“Well,” you say, grinding the lacewing flies, “that’s commonplace, isn’t it? You take all sorts of advanced classes, I’m sure you understand the work it takes.”

“...Hm.”

That’s it. That’s all you get from him.

And if Selwyn’s concern over you botching your work in Potions wasn’t already, obviously dispelled, the glee on Slughorn’s face as he assesses your and Tom’s cauldron should do it.

“Brilliant! Just brilliant!” He claps a hand over Tom’s back, regarding you both with pride so thick it clouds his eyes, like he's drifted into a revery of the future (you and Tom, you expect, are his most prized graduates, making history under his name, proving his immense wisdom) before he appears to return to Earth. “Ten points between the two of you, hm? Very, very good — though, of course, no surprises there!”

He chuckles to himself as he evaluates the other students, and you catch a horrified wheeze of Godefrey’s name (bless his heart) as one of the cauldrons in the back begins to sputter and froth.

You look to Tom with some droll little comment at making it to the end of term with top marks, but his gaze is burning into Godefrey’s table in such a way you wouldn’t be surprised if it was what was causing his cauldron to boil.

Well. Perhaps not, then.

You and Godefrey hand in your essay that Friday with more relief than apprehension — you both decide it’s quite good — and you laugh loudly and breathlessly as he picks you up and thanks you a thousand times, spinning you until you’re dizzy. You refrain from making any promises to attend his Quidditch games, but he vows to let you have the snitch he catches.

And Slughorn, you come to find, was not exaggerating his elation at your skill. After trotting after you on your walk back from Ancient Runes to invite you to the last Slug Club dinner of the year, your spirits are high with the blissful satisfaction of a job well done and a night to celebrate it with.

You can breathe, finally, when it’s the last week of school before Christmas break and Selwyn’s zipping the back of a last-minute dress you purchased in Hogsmeade.

“Gorgeous,” Selwyn says with a grin. “Wish this school would have a bloody ball so I could really dress you up.”

“Buy a doll, Selwyn; you can dress them however you like.”

“You are such a —”

You burst into laugher, swatting her wand away as she pokes your side with it. 

“Just — go then, before I hex you.”

“All right, all right!” you concede, arms raised in surrender. “Don’t ruin all your hard work now.”

“Oh,” she calls on your way out the door. You turn and there’s a mischievous look in her eyes as she tucks her wand back in her pocket. “And do tell me before I leave tomorrow if Riddle stares at you all night.”

You groan as if it’s a truly abominable thing to imagine. Riddle, staring with those dark eyes of his? You, the centre of his attention? Ghastly. You daresay you’d never recover from the horror of it.

“Don’t leave before I tell you how remarkably uneventful a night it was,” you say with a sidelong glare, and leave before she can edge in the final word.

You have no idea what a Slug Club supper typically consists of, but you imagine for Christmas he’s gone a little further with his festivities. His office is glittering in hues of green and red and fleecy, snow-dappled gold. The lights overheard (some similar charm to the one in the Great Hall but a tad less complex, you think) drip and then vanish into the air like squeezed berries, and the berries — served with pastries and ice cream — taste like they must be enchanted with something.

Selwyn was right that the standard dress isn’t quite formal enough for a ball, but it’s… formal. The boys are in clean-cut dress robes and the girls are in fine gowns of different lengths. By the overwhelming number of them you recall being archetypes of Slytherin pureblood fanaticism, it makes sense how expensive they all look. You yourself brush up nicely, if not a bit more frugally, but you haven’t been to an event like this at the school yet, and that’s exciting on its own.

It’s another degree of training (is there going to be a marathon? Are you at war?), a step up from your preparations before Potions every other day, to be ready when Tom Riddle enters the room a respectable five minutes late with a gleam about him more captivating than any of the lights.

“Ah, Tom!” Slughorn exclaims, and ushers him into a seat you remark before Tom is even in it is discomfitingly near to yours. “We’re all here at last… Supper, then? Hope you aren’t too full already, I’ve got the House Elves running laps!”

You’re spared Tom’s closeness by a Ravenclaw couple sat in the chairs between you, their hands clasped under the table while they sip wine from their goblets, and you only realise the length of your observation when Tom glances at you from the spot over, and you startle yourself into reaching for your own goblet and pretending to enjoy Slughorn’s bitter wine.

You eat. You listen to cluttered, unending tales of Slughorn’s time at school and how he earned his post. You drink, and then you regret not drinking before eating because there’s only a very light, very nice buzz that warms you when you finish your cup, and the Ravenclaw couple is — oh, wait, it isn’t just them — they’re standing up to dance as a gramophone sparks to life and a low, dulcet instrumental begins to play. There are now two notably empty seats separating you from Tom.

What had you said this night would be? Blissful satisfaction? 

You couldn’t blame Selwyn for suggesting you’d blundered Potions — you didn’t feel exceptionally smart right now.

“I didn’t know you would be here tonight,” Tom says, pulling the chair beside you.

Where is the bottle of wine? No. Nevermind. You behave regrettably enough sober.

You manage a simple, “And yet.”

“...And yet.” His lips quirk before he takes a drink from his goblet. 

You lament for a second that you’ve only actually kissed those lips once. They spent a great deal longer on your neck.

“Will you be here over break?” he asks, and it isn’t an unreasonable thing to ask, you suppose.

“I think so. Why?”

“I’d like to know whether to expect you or not.”

Expect you… No, yes — revert to observation two: unusual is not an apt enough word for him.

It takes you a moment to conjure a response befitting polite dinner conversation. That is, after all, still what this is.

“I suppose you can. I’ll be busy, of course.”

Well, you didn’t say you conjured something good. It’s a big fat lie. Placating, vague, empty. And you suspect Tom knows that.

“Pity.”

Yes, he knows. He’s all quiet amusement again.

You stare off, satisfied to be left alone —

"And what is it that'll be taking so much of your time?"

“Well, I'm —” And now you have to build the lie — “I’ve told Godefrey I’ll attend to his Quidditch practise. Since the pitch isn’t in use.”

God, it’s so stupid it’s almost impressive — you don’t even know if Godefrey will be here over break, and you could have chosen any number of excuses that would pique Tom’s interest less than it’s apparently consistently piqued by the mention of your study partner. 

There’s that strange, indecipherable look again. Riddle is a perfect surname for him, you decide then, and you almost laugh at yourself for it, but that would probably not go over well should he ask what’s so funny.

“Have you, now? That’s very kind of you.”

“It’s hardly charity.”

“Hm, it’s kind of you to think so.”

You huff, tipping your goblet back to swallow the last meagre dregs of your wine.

“You look lovely.”

It’s just a little bit — just a tiny, straggling little bit of elderflower that captures your throat — and you cough into your goblet. “Thank — thank you.”

And, well, he looks lovely too. Obviously. Sickeningly so. You know little about his personal life but you’re positive he’s at least a half-blood, if not muggle-born, and it makes you wonder the influence of his renownedly plain black suit in a crowd of neat, long robes.

He manages with little effort to look better than all of them at their best.

His eyes drift over you appreciatively, quick enough not to be rude but — enough. (Enough that you daresay you might never recover from the horror of it.) You adjust under his gaze even when it’s situated on your face, far too heavy a thing for you to carry. “Does Godefrey call you lovely?”

What?

You blink at him, your mouth is probably open and you probably look stupid but he’s so… irritating. Yes, of course Godefrey calls you lovely. Godefrey tells you you’re the smartest woman he’s ever met (after his mother), and he drowns you with sherbet lemons at no cost, and he writes at the speed of light to match the quickness with which you recite your textbook, and none of it means anything. Tom is just —

“Unbelievable…”

He quirks a brow. “What was that?”

“I said you’re unbelievable, Riddle. Is it impossible for you to comprehend that I might have friends? That Godefrey is my friend?”

“Well, memory serves me right that you seemed a bit confused on the conventions of friendship last you mentioned it. Do forgive my uncertainty.”

He — that was —

“Well, that’s because we are not friends.”

“No.” He leans in. “We are not.”

You push your chair from the table with all the grace you can manage for such an abrupt thing: a tight, impersonal smile on your face as you walk away and approach Slughorn, only realising when you get there that your empty goblet is clutched in your hand like you’re trying to strangle it.

Whatever he sees on your face, he isn’t drunk enough not to frown at. “Ah, our newest gem — hardly seen you all night! Not leaving already, are we?”

You glance at the clock. It isn’t as though you’re being impolite by abandoning his party in the middle of the event. It’s quite late, the servers are stuck to the walls with little to do, and most of the room has divided into waltzing pairs.

“I’m taking my friend to the train station tomorrow, sir. Unfortunately I need to be up quite early.”

Yes, yes, it’s all so tragic. You’re depressed to go.

“Such a shame,” Slughorn frets, wobbling a tad and balancing himself on the wall. “You’ll be all right getting back? Not at all dizzy, are you?” His laugh is cleaved by a loud hiccough, and then he laughs even more. “My, well, I myself will need to be carried!”

“...I’ll be fine, sir. Thank you.”

“Oh, no trouble at all — there’s — hm… ah, Tom!”

No, no — is it bad you almost reach over and slap your palm over your professor’s mouth? Is it at all impressive that you don’t? You should look on the bright side in moments like these. You should admire your restraint.

But of course, Slughorn’s eyes don’t fall upon Tom for nothing. He's halfway across the room already, and Slughorn must have spotted him approaching to achieve this brilliant solution. “Tom can escort you back, no?”

Tom (unforgivably) is beside you now, a very mean, very pretty smile on his face.

“Not too much to ask, I should think? You know the castle best. Head Boy — sometimes I still can’t believe it!”

You look up at Tom and your jaw is clenched where you’ve since put down your goblet. There is too much tension in you to know what to do with, and he looks positively thrilled.

“It’s hardly charity, sir.” He holds out his arm.

You wonder what spell would catch him most off-guard if you were to blast him in the face right now.

Slughorn claps his hands together. “Ha! Yes, well… perfect, then! Off now, the two of you, off now. Do have a good — ” He hiccoughs again — “rest!”

You don’t even bother the diplomacy of smiling at Slughorn as your arm loops through Tom’s and you’re exiting the party. 

Neither of you say a word on the journey, and that’s very well.

If you could just get back to bed without speaking to him you may still consider it a good night. You may be able to push his strangeness and his entitlement and the annoying way his hair falls to another day, when he pesters you about Godefrey’s nonexistent Quidditch practise, which — come to think of it — you do think he told you he'd be headed home for the holidays. You really fumbled that one.

And then Tom’s thumb is brushing the bare skin of your arm and your walk stutters a bit. But he doesn’t mention it, and so neither do you.

And then he’s drawing down your elbow to your forearm so softly it almost feels like he isn’t touching you at all. He doesn’t mention it. Neither do you.

And then your arm, without really meaning for it to, is slipping from his and his hand is holding yours instead, feather-light as his fingers clasp yours and your breath is not the same as it was when you left.

He doesn’t mention it. He just keeps going.

His fingers work back up your arm and you shiver as they drag across your shoulder, gaze searing your neck as the soft digits find their way to your jaw, and you get the sense he’s remembering just how much he liked the taste of it, and you’re… you’re allowing it all again. You’re leaning in, you’re seeking him out, you want him flush against you and even that might not be satisfactory.

You are, in the end, a half-decent observer and a terrible liar.

You’re grabbing his hand with a small amount of direction and a great deal of meaning. You suppose it's because, historically, you’ve proven to have trouble with words in moments like these, and you don’t really know where you’re taking him but god, you know where you want him. Somewhere soft, this time, thick enough that you can fist your hands around it and melt. Somewhere he can hover over you, maybe hold you down a little, just until — maybe, miraculously — you might make him break a little too. Clamber over his lap. Make him yours.

“Tom,” you mouth, some question in the way your eyebrows knit.

The moment you say his name — the instant — he’s pulling you in, crushing his mouth against yours. And, ah, right, that’s what his lips feel like. You’d almost forgotten. 

This kiss is not chaste, hardly tender. It resists in that it asks you to push, to plead, to take this for yourself to prove how badly you want it, and he smiles into it when you do. And then, sated by your efforts, he lets you have him. You’re gripping the collar of his suit in your hands as his wander appreciatively over the back of your dress, pulling you into him as the kiss deepens. He’s savouring you like you’re something religious that’s been offered to him, and there’s the taste of wine on his tongue and you’re still here, aware enough that the symbolism isn’t lost on you.

“I've been thinking," he says between kisses, “about the way you felt when I touched you. I've been thinking about how long it might take before you need it again." 

You gasp at the sensation, and god, god, you've been wondering too, haven't you?

You’re pulling him impossibly closer and something hard is pressing into your hip and you clutch tighter onto his shirt as you moan into his mouth. You need it off, you think, and — has your dress been clinging to you like this all night? You need that off too. You need skin on skin. You careen him backwards without aim, your mind a muddled mess of all the many things your body is screaming it needs, like this is fucking imperative; to give it up would be catastrophic.

You suppose, based on what you’ve read, that that’s how the Room of Requirement works, but it’s still funny to think it would apply to this.

It hurts to remove yourself from him to watch in dumb awe as the door forms in the stone (to see the dark, languid shape of his eyes bearing down on you, the wet, stained pink of his lips), and Tom seems to recover from the revelation much faster than you.

His mouth is on yours once more, a hungry kiss; his free hand at your waist, guiding you through the door and shutting it carelessly behind him. 

He’s like fire against you, radiating as he presses down on you, his hand tangled in your hair and his hips flush against yours. You shiver as his mouth starts to move down (a cheap trick — he hasn’t forgotten how much you liked it the last time) from your jaw to your throat, as his lips trail down your chest and you're shivering into the warmth of him.

You’ve heard it said before, in some romantic sense, that it’s sometimes hard to tell where you end and someone else begins. 

This is not like that.

You've never been more aware of anything than the point where you and him meet.

You’re tugging at him blindly again, trusting in the nature of the Room like this isn't the first time you've been in it, and then you're stumbling down onto a bed you're quite sure wasn't there a moment ago (people say magic is a neutral force but evidently this is not the fucking case), fingers carding through Tom's hair as his body pins you into the mattress.

His mouth is molten hot as you squirm and pant beneath him, your breath coming faster than it ever has. Everything feels sharper and deeper and more intense under his touch, every sensation heightened until it's almost impossible to tell pleasure from pain, his tongue from his teeth.

How did it take you this long to do this again? To need him like this?

And his — you should really have the mind to see the mistake in all of this but perhaps that's for later — his fingers are pulling your sleeves down, propping your back to arch as he reaches under you to unzip your dress, apparently too impatient to sit you up and take it off properly so he just bunches it around your waist instead. There’s a moment where he stops to look at you, your chest exposed to him in the dim sconce-light, and then his mouth returns to circle your breast and you're biting down on a pillow to hold back the whimpering gasp that seeks to escape you. He hums around your flesh, and then he’s at your sternum, kissing a stripe to your belly button before pushing past the dress he's left ringed around your abdomen.

You shimmy under the weight of him to prop your head up — to see past the mass of silk that obscures his face from you as moves lower and lower, hands spanning your hips to keep you still.

His face hovers above your thighs, and he doesn’t move.

“Did you enjoy my fingers?" he asks. 

At that you freeze, thighs pressing together to bury the hand that's rising between them. 

Tom smiles. “Hm, you did." 

And then he spreads your legs apart, one hand pushing your underwear aside and regarding you with delicate, shameless appetite — something that might even be adoration: like this is all he ever wanted you to want.

“Do you think you'd enjoy my mouth, too?"

Words are gone. There's nothing left in you.

His head moves happily between your knees, holding them apart, pressing kisses to the base of your thighs. Your hands flail from the sheets, desperate to grip something else and you hold back a sound that feels like irritation and need at the same time. You need him closer, higher than this. He knows. You can feel his smile biting into your skin.

And then you manage a nod though you're not even sure he's looking at your face anymore (and what a picture to imagine he is) and you worry momentarily it won’t be enough for him — that he’ll ask you to be nice and say it out loud for him — but he hums with something merciful, and — his chin dips. You catch the smallest glimpse of his tongue before it’s on you, wet and slow and unrelenting and you say his name, but it’s a mewl; you choke on it. It sounds like a cry.

Pitiful, needy, undone. Just how he wants you.

You think all efforts to remain even remotely composed are thrown to the wind as soon as his tongue is lapping at you, fast and then slow, everything you want and not even remotely close. He sinks all his weight down as if he can predict the moment you'll writhe before you do — and you do. And with his grip he tells you to endure it. You only need him to say it with his hands and his mouth but he breathes back, licking his lips and he actually says it. “Be good.”

That makes your breath hitch and your cheeks swell impossibly hotter, and reality is a small glint in your peripheral where everything else is burning red. “Y-you’re—”

His mouth returns to you, tongue catching your clit in a drawn-out, agonising motion, and you gasp and lurch forward to inch through the sensation, craving more, more, more. Reason is lost on you, a throbbing familiarity forcing you to grind your teeth down on the pillow to stop yourself from telling him to — you don’t even know. Finish you. Abandon all reluctance. Just let you come as hard as you know he wants you to.

But he pauses, observant as he starts to work his fingers against you. Watching how your slick coats them like it’s the most enthralling sight he’s ever witnessed. Slowly, ever so slowly, he starts to push one inside of you, hearing your breath catch above him and the moan that comes tumbling out of your throat, pillow be damned.

You do your best to breathe through it, and you know he knows how to make you unfold like this, so the meticulous lightness of his ministrations tells you he’s trying to keep it from you now. You’re almost embarrassed about the fact that you’re dripping onto his hand regardless; his lips puffy, his gaze unnervingly, dizzyingly carving you in two.

“Just,” you rasp, clutching desperately at his wrist. “Tom, please.” 

Your begging must be music to his ears. (It’s a rare, unplanned fifth observation: that you think he’ll never get tired of hearing you say his name like that.)

He adds a finger. It’s encircling you, first, and no amount of restraint can stop the harsh gasp that leaves you, but then it’s his tongue and two fingers and he’s pushing into you how you wanted, and he makes a pleased sound against you, gripping you tighter with his free hand, still not allowing you movement and fuck, are you trying. What you're feeling now — the need, the want, everything —  is more than rational thought. Your mind goes blank, and all that matters is this, him, right here and now; nothing else exists, not even for a second. You moan, a low, throaty noise that's a little too loud, a little too intense; you can't recall if anything has ever come from you quite like it and Tom devours you at the sound.

More, you agree; it's almost an obsession in you now; more, more, please, anything and everything.

It’s the precision of his touch — not some bored, hurried transgression — that brings your hands helplessly to his hair.

“Tom,” you whine, holding him tight, and the purr of his mouth finding you again is something destructive.

As soon as you feel another swell of something deep down, your mouth is dropping open.

His tongue is sliding through you, fingers curling, and then your clit is in his mouth, and he’s watching you between your thighs as your eyes clench shut, and you’re coming.

Your voice breaks somewhere in the catastrophe of it. Your body spasms, electric down to every atom, and he pins you down through it. He doesn’t grant you the reprieve of escaping the frenzied, glorious torture of it. His mouth still lingers. His tongue moves thankful and unrelenting. 

He takes all of you, and you think this is destruction — creation — both. How terrifyingly similar they suddenly feel.

His lips are swollen and slick when he finally detaches them from you and you want to kiss him, but he’s leaning back to admire his work. You swallow, unable to blame him for it because you look down at yourself and — this is something else. You’re dripping down his chin. You're shaking. Your legs are still clenching around his torso. They’re holding him so tight you can’t imagine it doesn’t hurt.

But he just rolls off of you. Adjusts his trousers and your abdomen flutters and you think, don’t.

You don’t even realise you’re reaching for him until your hand is around his wrist and you’re still fucking sighing through the come-down, panting into the hot air.

He presses a kiss to your forehead, fingers damp on your chin as he holds you. You make a note that that’s the second time he’s done that. That you thought it was strangely intimate the first time and nothing’s changed other than how much more you like it.

And it doesn’t really feel like you can help it but crawl with gooey, trembling legs onto his lap. Doesn’t feel like you can help it when you lean in and capture his lips with yours, moan unabashedly into his mouth at the stiffness that presses against your core when you do, steal his tongue and the taste of you on it.

When he pulls away he’s looking at you like he doesn’t think you can actually do this. Like you’d just crumble the moment you tried.

A low, determined protest rises in your throat and you’re kissing him again. You’re unbuttoning his dress shirt, you’re trembling to reach for his trousers. 

When you can finally shrug his shirt off, press yourself against him, feel that skin on skin you wanted so badly, you find it somehow even more suffocating than its absence. You’re left wanting a more you aren’t able to even conceptualise, but you’re grinding involuntarily against him and his teeth are scraping your neck and he's hissing at the sensation, and — yes, there’s more.

Your breath is staggered when your hips stutter into a roll and you — fuck. You’re tugging desperately to remove his belt and he smiles against your throat as he takes your hands and guides them to him. You can feel his bulge against your thigh and you’re spreading your legs to usher him where you want, clawing at his chest without even meaning to.

Tom’s taking off his belt, and he’s pulling down his trousers just enough to bare himself to you, and maybe he’s right that you can’t manage it yourself but he stops his assistance like the intrigue of finding out is too good to resist. There's something both intimate and imperious, in a way, about the way he's looking at you now; it's a kind of focus and intensity and withheld hunger just for you; and you're more than happy to give yourself over to it, to let his hands and his eyes and his mouth claim you for his own. To claim him for yours, at last.

You do. You struggle for it. He’s very patient. 

But then it’s there — more — as you finally sink down on him and bite his shoulder and he shudders a low, pained exhale, his hands clutching your waist.

There’s a silent, suspended moment where neither of you move. The room feels entirely still. 

Your lips quiver over his pulse, and your stomach flips at the intensity of it, the undeniable rate of his desire beneath you. You smile against him now, like he always does to you, conscious enough to mumble into his neck, “Mine.”

Tom stutters inside you, fingers gripping you impossible tighter as you dare to think he even gasps. You dare to think he likes it.

And then one of his hands grabs your jaw and his kiss is searing. He thrusts upward and you cry into his mouth, searching to match his pace in a way that you appreciate, for once, he seems unlearned in. 

It’s all a bit messy, a bit new, palms in fists, in skin, in hair, digging for every part they haven’t already taken from. The sound in the back of Tom’s throat is divine, the feeling of him inside you as he slips his hand back between your legs — like he needs everything, like he knows you do too — it’s ineffable. It coils somewhere deep, touches something you didn’t know existed. Your hips are rotating, thighs still soft and slack from coming apart on his tongue, but you’re determined. It feels like finding even ground. It feels like something you deserve: to make him feel how you did.

Your head rolls back, eyes pinching shut in bliss, but Tom is there at your jaw again, forcing your blurry gaze back to him.

His hips are inching even further, the intensity of his pace as he adjusts to you making you dizzy. You think, realistically, there’s sound coming out of you, but you aren’t entirely sure when it’s so close to him, when your mouth is between his fingers and your ears are ringing and he’s looking at you like you’re made for him. 

“Mine.” And it isn’t a dismissal of your own claim but a confirmation that one will not be without the other. His voice is raw and breathy and something about the way he says it makes you contract inadvertently around him, hands swatting his chest like they don’t know what else to do. There’s just too much.

You recognize you’re trying to say something. Some plea, a moan, his name (is there anything else left?), but you’re just babbling into his mouth and he holds you there. He doesn’t kiss you. It’s your failing words against his lips. He swallows whatever syllables try to shape them.

It’s there again when you need it most; the heavy, swirling feeling inside you as he snaps his hips, his fingers returning to your waist with punishing firmness. His breathing accelerates, low in his throat, and you push harder against him. Your vision is gone again, head held in his hands to keep from rolling back so that, you suspect, he can watch defeat split you down the middle again — not over your shoulder, not with his head between your legs — with his eyes on yours, with every broken moan you let out so close to his face he can feel the breath of each one.

You’re grappling desperately at skin that doesn’t feel like enough, even though he’s rocking inside you, and you see the insanity of it, you see that it isn’t logical. Too much and not enough at once — you’re smart enough to know that doesn’t work, but it just is.

“Please,” you manage in a voice you don’t recognize. “Please, Tom, pleasepleaseplease —”

Had you said before it was foolish to call him forgiving? You take it back. He’s very eager to oblige you.

He finds some place inside of you and you don’t know quite what it is that he changes but it's new, uncharted, and you break there. You dissolve. You’re liquid in his hands as you sob, stuttering around him, trembling like you didn’t know was possible, and you swear — you swear you’re going to take him there with you. It isn’t that you could stop yourself if you tried but your body is gripping around him, fingers carving halved spheres into his skin, and you’re pushing down on him through the ecstasy — you’re forcing your eyes open so he can see you break, watch them flutter back all soft and pretty.

And you're sated by your ruin when it ruins him too.

The sound he makes is ragged. Undone. He can only bury it halfway with a kiss you think is actually more of a bite, twitching inside you as he fucks you through it.

You’re both lost in each other for a moment that feels detached from time, feeling his hips stutter to a halt, feeling your body soften. And he’s pulling out of you like it hurts, mouth falling open as he does. You wince at the loss, the sweet soreness between your legs, and you’re held only by the weight of him. You think — and you actually sway like the mere idea is too strong — that if it weren’t for his hands, you’d fall flat off the bed.

But he sort of lifts you off him, lays you down and watches you for a long time as if to decide something important before he's laying down beside you. You watch him too. His fingers brush your hair out of your face, and when there’s not a single curl left clinging to the sweat on your skin, he continues anyway. You let him trace your lips, your jaw, your nose, and somehow, a bit terrifyingly, your final observation: nothing about it feels unusual at all.

You did say he was yours.

[hypewinter]

Bruce sighed. He was in over his head. Wayyyy over his head. Honestly he only had himself to blame. Really what was he thinking? He'd taken in one child and suddenly thought he was an expert in traumatized youths? He'd been overconfident and rash and now Danny was suffering for it and would probably hate him forever now and-

"I can hear you fidgeting through the door!" Came a voice that broke Bruce out of his spiral. There was a shuffle before the heavy wooden door swung open. A boy with floppy black hair and ice blue eyes stared up at him.

"You could've just knocked ya know?" Danny said.

Bruce fidgeted a little more, embarrassed that he'd been caught. "Bu- I thought you were-"

"Still mad at you?" Danny interrupted. "Yeah, I can tell by your face. You didn't even bother to wipe off your eyeshadow."

It was true. Bruce had rushed through patrol and gotten back home as quickly as possible. He'd barely shed his armor as he practically tripped over himself trying to get up to Danny's room. He had come up with and memorized the perfect apology to smooth things over between the two of them and had been dying to get it out before he messed anything else up. But now all the words he'd rehearsed left him.

"Wait. You're not angry?"

Danny leveled him with a blank stare as he leaned on the door frame. "Oh I'm always angry. Just not at you. At least not right now."

Upon seeing Bruce struggle to form words, Danny continued. "You were right," he said. "I shouldn't have beat up Dylan and his little minions. I knew they were intentionally trying to goad me into hitting them and I did it anyway. I-I'm sorry."

For the first time since their conversation began, Danny looked away. His look of mild annoyance was now replaced with one of shame.

"I just- they were making fun of my family. Saying stuff like 'they were small town trash and no one would miss them'. And that comment just set me off." Tears were now springing to Danny's eyes as anger took over his features.

Danny's hands balled into fists as he continued. "I couldn't just let that go. Especially not when they're the ones that are trash. They're so bothered by a 'commoner' wearing the same uniform as them that they feel the need to persistently bully me even when I have nothing to do with them. We don't share any classes, I eat lunch alone, I'm not in any clubs or extracurriculars and if I had a choice I wouldn't even be going to that damn school to begin with!"

Tears were freely streaming down Danny's cheeks as he stopped to catch his breath. His whole body was shuddering with fury. Bruce carefully put a hand on the boy's shoulder, ready to back off if Danny pulled away but he leaned in instead. Given the go ahead, Bruce carefully pulled Danny into a hug, slowly patting his back.

It took a while before either of them spoke. "I know what they said was out of line," Bruce started. "And trust me, they'll definitely receive punishment. But-"

"I know, I know," Danny murmured, turning his face to the side while still clutching onto Bruce's shirt. "Sending 5 boys to the hospital with my training is still bad."

After staying like that for a while, Danny finally looked up at Bruce. "Am I gonna be expelled?" he asked.

Bruce gave a soft smile. "Don't worry. You'll be fine. I promise."

Danny finally pulled away, rubbing at his face with his sleeve and returned Bruce's smile with a toothy one of his own. "You're gonna bribe them or something aren't you? There's gonna be a conveniently placed donation or something. You're just like those rich pricks," he teased.

"Heyyyy! How come Danny gets to cuss?" came a small voice from beyond the shadows of Danny's room. Soon enough, Dick made himself seen, Zitka cradled in his arms as he sleepily stolled forth.

"He's not," Bruce answered quickly. They had just convinced Dick to use more "colorful" insults as opposed to outright cursing and Bruce for one was not willing to face Alfred's wrath if he reverted back. A side glance at Danny told him the exact same thought was running through the boy's mind too. Leave it to Alfred to put the fear of God into two vigilantes who beat up criminals every night.

Dick yawned as he reached out for Bruce. "Then why'd he just say-"

"Don't tell Alfred and you'll have my dessert for a week," Danny interrupted in a panic.

Dick grinned. "Deal," he said as Bruce picked him up. The little boy blinked his eyes a few times before falling back asleep in Bruce's embrace.

Danny halfheartedly glared at the sleeping child. "I swear that kid is gonna grow up to be a politician the way he manipulates like that."

All Bruce could do was sigh. After all Danny was probably onto something. Dick knew very well the influence he had on others and never shied away from using it. It was very likely that he would be holding this particular little incident over their heads for at least the next two weeks.

Bruce looked at Danny, a thought suddenly dawning on him. "Why was Dick sleeping in your room? Did he have a nightmare again?" he asked, shifting the conversation.

Danny shook his head. "Nah. He just insisted that we both make up. He wouldn't leave until I agreed. That kid really doesn't know the meaning of 'no'."

Bruce felt his heart melt as he looked down at the boy in his arms. Why was Dick such a sweet child?

Danny grinned as he started heading downstairs. "Don't get all sappy yet. He was also walking me through his plan of how he got back at Dylan and his gang for my suspension."

The smile dropped from Bruce's face. "Wh... what do you mean revenge? Danny? Danny!?"

I told y'all I'd do it myself if I had to.

[xxchumanixx]

Hii, are gonna do a part 2 of “doomed” where they get together?

Doomed pt. 3

Tim Bradford x rookie!reader

Warnings/Tags: fluff, hurt, angst, unspoken feelings, Grey raging Word count: 2.197 Authors note: Hello love, thanks for the request! (I'm sorry it's so late!) Not a part 2, but a part 3 for you! Hope you'll like it anyways! Also, this isn't entirely proof read yet!

Enjoy!

Did he even breathe?

Looking at Tim through your peripheral, you knew he thought the same.

Grey was raging on, talking without breathing.

Soon he'd suffocate, you were sure of it. Luna would have a heart attack, when he would die because of you - because you were dumb enough to be caught by him.

It wasn't even your fault, really.

It was Tim's.

At least that's what you told yourself.

"And I will not be the one who will take the brunt when one of you dies, because you were too busy making love eyes to notice a threat!"

Maybe you should have just told him - at least that's what Grey thought to himself, as he yelled at one of his best officers and his rookie.

Who were sleeping with each other.

He mentally flinched, not wanting to think about it too deeply.

"You are responsible for her training!" he continued, pointing at Tim who had his hands at his sides, trying to just get past this.

He had never felt this uncomfortable in his life before - at least there wasn't much that compared to this situation.

"How do you think will others judge when they learn about your relationship? Do you think they will see her ratings fit? Or will they think you rated her better, because you-" he had to stop himself, or else it would have gotten out of hand - though you all knew, what he wanted to say.

Because you are sleeping with her.

Your career would be ruined, if the right people found out. No one would want you to work for them, never fully trusting you.

As the tears welled up in your eyes, you tried your best to suppress them.

Grey was right, and he had every right to be angry.

"This will have consequences!" he continued, finally taking a deep breath, as he tried to calm himself, for the sake of his heart.

His wife would have killed him, if he dared to have a heart attack - especially when she was currently trying to convince him to retire.

Maybe he should have.

"You will be replaced as her TO - that's the least I will have to do. Other than that, this conversation will never, and I mean never, leave this room. If anyone asks why you were replaced as her TO, you tell them that you don't know."

His eyes wandered from Tim to you, his head shaking in disappointment.

Never would he let you forget this day.

"I can't believe that this happened right under my nose and I didn't notice it." he spoke a little quieter, before his voice rose again. "And I would have never expected such behavior from you, of all people, Bradford!"

Tim swallowed, gaze fixed on the table in front of him. He didn't know what to say, guilt making his tongue heavy as lead.

Grey grumbled to himself, sitting down in his chair. He sighed in exhaustion, wiping over his face with his hand.

"I know I'll regret it later." he began, putting his head in his hand with his elbow on the armrest, as he looked up at you.

You two stood straight as sticks, and for a moment Grey had to smirk inwardly.

"Are you in a relationship or do you plan to be in one?" The same moment he voiced his question, he regretted it. His daughter would have probably told him how embarrassing he was.

Did he want to do the talk now, too?

Your eyes widened, looking at Tim in shock. His gaze was fixed somewhere behind Grey, jaw clenched.

It had been a few months now, since you regularly started to sleep with each other. You couldn't deny that you had become attached, having gathered feelings for him.

But did he feel the same?

Biting your cheek, you looked away.

Of course he wouldn't.

"Okay..." Grey mumbled, scratching his chin, as he leaned back in his chair. "I will still tell you what will await you anyway, in case you decide to be in a relationship somewhere in the future."

He shook himself inwardly, one eye twitching, as he tried to stay as professional as possible.

"I hardly advise you to work separate. Like I said, if one of you dies because you aren't focused on the task at hand, the other will pay the consequences. The LAPD doesn't like it, when two of their officers are in a relationship and in the same unit. It's a risk the intern doesn't want to take."

You simply nodded, swallowing against the lump in your throat.

What other choice did you have anyway?

Grey nodded to himself, not happy his evening had been ruined. Luna would be furious if she knew how close he had been to having a heart attack.

"And now go home. Your shift is over, anyways."

Breathing a silent sigh of relief, you nodded, heading out of the office. You had been lucky the blinds had been closed, otherwise the whole LAPD would have witnessed that conversation.

You didn't look at Tim, as you made your way to the locker room, biting back the emotions trying to take over.

The Mexican food you wanted to order at his place, would be cancelled now, your whole evening ruined.

You really should have looked better if anyone was near, before you talked about private things.

Seriously, how could you miss Grey?

He had seen how close you seemed, after parking the shop, Tim's hand almost brushing yours as he leaned closer to talk into your ear.

This one gesture had spoken more than a thousand words to him.

And it was exactly the reason, why Tim avoided to talk about his private life.

Or show it, for that matter.

But he had a moment of weakness, your flirtatious behavior over the day constantly turning him on.

He really should have known better.

His eyes scanned the parking lot for you, trying to make you out in the dark. He spotted your car, seeing that you weren't there yet, as he made his way over to it.

He decided to wait, fingers drumming on the strap of his backpack, as you left the station.

Fumbling for your keys, you didn't notice him at first, only when you almost stood in front of him.

Blinking a few times in confusion, your cheeks heated up. "What do you want?" you asked, inhaling shakily. "We should talk." he gave back, shifting his weight.

Brows furrowed, you looked at him. "If you want to end things, then just say it, Tim." you told him, trying to act nonchalant about it, even if your heart broke at the possibility of him ending whatever it was you two had.

"Wh- No!" he responded a little too fast, taking a step forward with his mouth agape. "I mean- If you want to end this, then I'll stay away from you."

Eyes widening, you felt how they burned from tears again. Of course you didn't want to end this.

Shaking your head, you told him exactly that.

"I don't want to end this." you spoke, taking a step forward as well, all the while feeling Grey's gaze burning holes in your back, even if he wasn't even near.

"But I don't think we should continue on like this. Grey is right, what we're doing is risky." you continued, sighing heavily. "We're jeopardizing our careers, risking to lose our jobs. Or at least risking our credibility and the trust they have in us. I think it's better, that he replaces you as my TO."

Your words struck something deep inside him, making him swallow. On one side he thought you were right - if he continued being your TO, though not able to keep his hands from you, your career would have been over, before it even started.

On the other hand, he feared that he'd lose you.

"If you want to keep this up, what do you mean we shouldn't continue on like this?" he wanted to know, the crease between his brows deepening.

"Are you breaking up?"

The words had left his lips, before he had a chance to properly think about it. His cheeks burned up, and he was thankful that you weren't able to see it in the dim light of the parking lot.

Your mouth opened, but you weren't able to utter a single word, only staring at him. Chuckling uneasily, you shook your head.

"Breaking up postulates there's something to break up." you told him, voice small. You didn't want him to see the heartbreak in your eyes, so you averted them.

"We're not together - there is nothing to break up."

He swallowed heavily, his throat suddenly way too dry. His heart seemed to be in an iron grip, pumping ice crystals through his veins.

He hated the way you said it, the way you sounded so broken.

"Grey is right." he muttered bitterly, nodding to himself, as he took a step backwards. Your eyes snapped back to his, following his movement.

"We shouldn't do this. The LAPD doesn't approve of it and we only risk our jobs. You're right, we shouldn't continue this."

He turned around and started to walk away, your heart breaking as he did. Tears welled up in your eyes, and you felt as if you couldn't breathe.

"Tim!" you called out, voice shaking, as you practically jumped after him, grabbing his arm to stop him from walking further away from you.

He stiffened, but didn't turn around. He only stopped, with your hand still on his arm. Inhaling shakily, you braced yourself for your next words.

"I don't want to break up." you softly spoke, one of the tears managing to free itself. Biting your lip, you shook your head. "I don't want to let you go - I can't."

He slowly turned around to you, giving you the chance to take your words back.

But you didn't.

Staring straight back at him, you stood your ground. That you were still at the almost empty parking lot, wasn't important anymore.

Neither were the people that could walk out of the station at any moment.

"If I have to do more tests, have another TO, then so be it. But I don't want to lose you, Tim."

More tears rolled down your cheeks, betraying your aching heart. Your emotions were on display for him to see, and you weren't planning on backing down.

He took a shaky breath, mouth slightly open. He didn't know what to say - hell, he wasn't even sure what you were trying to say. Had you fallen for him? As much as he had fallen for you?

"Hate me, abandon me, whatever you want." you told him, wet lips pressing together, head shaking. "But I can't act like I don't have feelings for you, any longer. Yes, it can cost us our jobs, or just mine, since you're one of the best officers here, but I'm willing to take that risk. Let Grey be angry, shout at us or transfer me when im a p2 - I don't care."

He was speechless, a rare sight.

Swallowing, he took a step closer. "What are you trying to say?" He had to know, had to hear it one more time, in case he had misunderstood you.

"I'm saying that I have feelings for you, that I have fallen in love with you, Tim." you brought over your shaking lips, heart racing as you were nervous how he would respond to your confession.

He huffed, amusement and relief hugging him like a warm blanket. Honestly, he hadn't known how he'd reacted, if you'd pushed him away for real.

His arms wrapped around you tightly, bringing you into his embrace, as he exhaled slowly. Hugging him back, your cheek rested on his chest, hearing his heart race.

"I have feelings for you, too." he confessed, smiling into your hair. "Fuck the LAPD and their opinion. I have the sergeant exam in my pocket, if they want to punish us, I'll find another station, maybe I'll even go to the metro."

You couldn't help but laugh quietly at him, knowing he'd do it.

"Go out with me." he spoke, looking down at you, after you separated, his hands on your upper arms.

Smiling, you sniffed, face still tear stained. "I'd love to." you agreed, nodding to underline your words. He smiled back, before his hand wrapped around your shoulder, walking you towards your car.

"Are we still getting Mexican tonight?" he asked, a smirk playing at his lips. Rolling your eyes, you nodded with a grin.

"I'll get us a table." he told you, sending you a wink, as you gaped at him, stopping at your car. "I know the owner."

Shaking your head, you couldn't help but smile. "Okay." He nodded, smiling right back.

As Tim told you he'd pick you up in an hour, Grey smiled to himself.

He'd been watching your interaction through a window, secretly happy about your smiling faces, as his wife caught him stalking you two, hitting his arm in warning.

"Wade!"

<- Part two

Tag List

@laheysfilm

@newobsessionweekly

[bubbles-for-all-of-us]

Gonna hold you

Gonna kiss you in my arms

Gonna take you away from harm

a/n: So first and foremost, this is an early birthday present to my one and only true mate @brekkershadowsinger. You're an absolute love of my life and I'll never get tired of telling you that! Second of all, be gentle with me I haven't written for Az in a hot minute. 🤍

request: Since your requests are open could I ask for a Azriel x reader scenario? One where they are pinning for each other but someone obssesed with reader seduces/controls her with a enchantment or a spell and suceeds at some point, but our batboy realizes and comes to save her and that's when the bond snaps.

warnings: capture, kidnapping, murder... yeah

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

"You're so smitten", Cassian says, trying to catch up with Azriel, who strides past the streets of Velaris. "No, I am not", the male grumbles back, picking up his pace. The two batboys were making their way to the little bakery that had opened not long ago. Well, it wasn't the bakery itself that was the reason for the trip, even if the baked goods there were to die for. It was you and you alone who had Azriel go there every free moment that he had.

"No, but you so are", Cassian said once again, since Azriel slowed down slightly while his thought lingered. "I swear if you don't shut up…", "You will stab me, burry me where no one could find me…", Cassian bent finger after finger as he named all the threats Azriel had made in the past two weeks since you had walked into his life. "But, dear friend, I'm mated to Nesta, so be wary of that", Azriel rolled his eyes at that threat. "As if she doesn't want to leave you in the ditch herself most of the time". To that, Cassian let out a loud gasp, "You take that back", but Azriel didn't even bother as he stepped into the little building, bending slightly since the doors were rather low for his tall frame.

This place used to be an ancient supply store before the war, but the owner never returned. Rhys had worked night and day trying to provide for families, hold their broken lives in his hands, and help them build them right back up. But the town shifted. There were many more new faces. Quite a handful of refugees from different courts have traveled here, full of hope and dreams, and Rhys has welcomed them all. Among that mass was you.

And mother struck Azriel dead, but he had never seen anyone else that was even close to what you were. He doubted that you had any magical powers. But in his eyes, you were the goddess of beauty herself. Someone who felt like a home at first glance. Someone who made it feel right. Who finally made Azriel slow down. Who got him so lost in his own mind that Azriel forgot about the steps in training.

The spymaster caught you refilling some couple's cups with a bright smile, and it was as if the room was glowing alongside you. You lifted your head, probably weary of the eyes watching you, and your face lit up once more. With the last goodbyes, you moved to walk closer to Azriel. Who looked way too big for this tiny place with his broad shoulders.

"Amazing, you're here. I thought I'd have to sit next to this sulking ass all morning", Cassian said, beating you to your first hello and leaving you quietly taken back by his words. Azriel threw him a deathly glare before yanking his man bun backward, causing the soldier to stagger back. "Don't pay him any attention; hit his head during training", Azriel's grip didn't loosen, and you couldn't help but frown slightly. "Ice?", the shadow singer hummed. "If it's not too much trouble, and two cups of tea while you're at it". You nod quickly before rushing towards the back room. "If you'll open your mouth one more time", Azriel glared at Cassian, who looked more like a toddler who just got a proper scolding from his mother than a scary Illyrian, "I'll sit still and look pretty, soldiers promise".

Azriel wasn't sure why he took Cassian with him in the first place, but he just had to. A part of him was scared. He got nervous around you. It was like all of his systems would overheat, and he would start ranting the most stupid nonsense, looking like an absolute loser. And well, no one besides Cassian knew about the feelings blossoming in the spymaster's heart. He was the one to point out that Azriel had fallen for you. The one who encouraged his brother to go offer you help with getting the bakery ready. The one who told him how to compliment you from time to time, even if it came out slightly weird at times. Azriel had never truly taken a liking to someone to this extent. So he needed backup, and well, Cassian was the best he got.

"You sure you don't need to see a healer?", Azriel snapped his gaze up, watching as you carefully pressed the pack of ice to Cassian's head. "I'm a worrier, lady; I've seen worse", Cassian's fingers brushed yours as he took the pack from your delicate fingers. A part of Azriel grew jealous. He wouldn't call himself territorial, and well, you weren't his, but still, it just didn't sit well with him. "And I made you tea how you like it", Pushing the cup towards the shadow singer, you smiled lightly. "Dash of milk and some honey", "Thank you, Y/N.", Azriel gave you a tight smile. Cassian nudged him under the table slightly, but it didn't seem to change much.

Your eyes scanned the bakery; considering that it was still pretty early, you didn't have too many customers to tend to, so you pulled the chair for yourself, wanting nothing more but to stay in the Illyrian presence for as long as possible. "The paint for the walls came", you muttered quietly, "I didn't open all the cans but had to peek to see the color", a light giggle escaped your lips, and Azriel wished he could hear that sound forever. "Do you have someone to help you?", Azriel never really liked that his voice sounded so harsh compared to yours, but he just didn't know how to make it sound more gentle. You shook your head. "Brian still can't move his arm; the healer said it has to stay wrapped for at least a couple more weeks". Brian was an older male who came along with you. You had told Azriel that he was the closest thing to family you had ever had, and so Azriel grew to respect the man who had given up a lot just so he could provide for you.

"I can come by and help; the next couple of evenings are free for me", Azriel said, but you shook your head, "I can't ask the spymaster of the night court to help me paint the walls". It was nice for him to offer, but this was too much. They had all done way too much already. "Don't worry, Azriel over here is capable of many things", Cassian said, clapping his brother on the shoulder, "Getting dirty just happens to be one of them", and Cassian was surprised that his head didn't meet the tabletop after those words.

Azriel did return to the bakery that same evening. The place was much more lively. All the tables were occupied, and you were twirling around them like a little bee, buzzing away with a never-ending smile on your face. Your light was the first thing that made you way out of his league. Everything you were, Azriel wasn't, and all he could think of was how he would stain you with his darkness.

"We don't have free tables, but I can make you a spot by the counter if you want?", Azriel jumped slightly at the sound of your voice. Mother, he needed to stop daydreaming around you so much. It was not good for his image, yet he just can't seem to keep his head in check. If beforehand all he could think about was work and the past, now it was all occupied by you.

"I can always just stay here", Azriel blurted out, gesturing to the side of the street, making your eyes grow big. "And eat on the ground, no way". Your much smaller hand grabbed his palm. And Azriel wanted to pull away, not wanting you to feel the scars that covered his skin, but your soft skin only presses against his palm firmly as you dragged him through the filled room.

Only when you two stepped into the little side room did Azriel speak up again, "I came to help with the paint". Another bland response; he generally needed to start working on that, but then you didn't seem to mind it. But what if you did? What if that ended up being the reason why you would potentially reject him? Not that you would ever want to do anything with him anyway.

"Az no..", his name rolling from your lips sounded sweeter than honey, and Azriel had to hold himself back from asking you to say it once again. "I'll work on some paperwork till you close, then we'll start painting", The spymaster shrugged his shoulders, summoning one of his shadows and pointing to the pile of papers the little dark creature barely managed to hold up. You gave him a look. One of those looks that Azriel hadn't yet learned to read.

"You know you won't reach the top of the wall anyway", the spymaster tried to reason, but you only crossed your arms over your chest. "I can get a ladder", you shrugged, "And fall over potentially, no", Azriel's voice sounded way higher. And now all he could see was you laying there unconscious. You said nothing for a bit, then leaned in, pressing a gentle kiss to Azriel's cheek. Some of his shadows started to twirl around him, causing the crimson blush on your cheeks to darken even more. You two lingered in silence tomorrow until you ran your hands over your apron and quietly slipped through the door back to the main part of the bakery. Azriel lifted his hand to his cheek, rubbing his fingers over the spot where your lips had been a moment ago.

"Can we paint shapes and then paint over them?", you giggled to yourself softly, a brush in your hand as you looked back at Azriel, who stood not far away from you, the sleeves of his shirt rolling up his arms, making his mucky arms seem even thicker. "Sure, do it if you feel like it", Azriel had watched you almost all night, and how could he not when you came to drag him out of the side room. Everyone was gone. You had pushed a couple of tables together, lit some candles, and had a warm meal steaming in the middle of the table. To say that Azriel's heart had nearly burst would have been an understatement. You had refused to tell him where the paint cans were until he had a proper meal because you had a feeling that he hadn't eaten much today.

"Do you paint?", you asked suddenly, finishing the outline of the flower that you had chosen to paint on the wall. "No, Fayre is the painter in the family", but that was only partly true. Feyre was the one who everyone knew for a fact painted in the family. So did Azriel; he just chose to do it in the comfort of his room. And for a while now, all he could draw and sketch was you. Was it in some way creepy? Yes, and that was the reason why no one would ever see it. But a part of Azriel feared that with time the memories of you might fade, so he wanted to capture and keep at least a couple of them.

"I heard that the high lady is a true beauty as well", you said with a dreamy sigh. Not even half as beautiful as you, Azriel wanted to say, yet he didn't. "Is it strange now that the city has been fed with newcomers?", You had dropped the brush back into the can by then, turning to watch Azriel's face. "More work on the safety part, but other than that, I don't care for it much", The hurt that suddenly shimmered in your eyes made Azriel want to add that you and Brian were by no means a part of the trouble. Or that he did care because that wave of refugees had brought you into his life, but those words seemed too big. Too close to the shadow singer's heart, so he choked them out.

"I guess everyone adapts differently", your eyes fell on the big bakery window, and for a moment, the room fell silent. Azriel found himself asking, "What do you mean?", when a stranger sensation started to twist his guts. "Oh, nothing too serious", you waved your head carelessly, "There's just this male. He comes by, stares through the window, and murmurs stuff ". Azriel's eyebrows knitted together in an instant. The worrier inside him woke up immediately. Red flags and warning signals rang in his ears. You must have sensed the tension and the shift in soft energy.

"Brian ushered him away a couple of times", you tried to reassure the spymaster. Brushing your fingers over one of the shadows that had started to swirl around the room. "I'll look into him", Azriel said firmly. "That is unnecessary", you followed suit straight away, but it seemed as if Azriel didn't hear you. "Maybe get one of the males I trust to stay nearby". You pulled at his hand softly. Letting your fingers tangle with him as you squeezed his hand, you said, "That is even more unnecessary".

Azrie wanted to argue, but then you were so close to him. He could feel your heartbeat. He could feel your body's warmth. He could smell you. He could touch you. And he did softly brush a strand of hair away from your face. "I'm sure the man just suffered a serious trauma during the war. We all deserve to have some peace, and if watching through the bakery window gives him that, let it be", you broke the silence once more before leaning in to press a kiss to Azriel's chest.

Just Azriel couldn't let it be. Especially when Rhys and the work on his hands kept him away from the bakery for the next couple of days. He felt restless. Even on the first night after not seeing you, Azriel was ready to just fly to you. Even if it was just so he could listen to your heartbeat for a moment.

And his concerns only grow when he and Cassian eventually made their way to the bakery. Brian was pacing in front of the building, the cane he uses to get around wobbling in his hands. "Sir", Azriel called out carefully, not wanting to startle the old man even more. And the way Brian's face both lit up at the sight of the spymaster and fell at the same time made Azriel think of the worst possible scenarios. "She's gone", Brian reached the bandaged hand towards Azriel, shaking as a leaf in the midnight air. "What do you mean gone?", Azriel tried to stay professional, to not let the words spoken affect him—not yet, not now; he needed a clear mind. "She.. she just", Brian's legs bucked, but Azriel quickly steadied him, throwing a glance at his brother who stood nearby, "Cassian, grab a glass of water".

Walking the male to the nearest chair to sit down, Azriel allowed him a moment to breathe. But he can see the need in Brian's eyes as he spoke up again< "She wasn't like herself. Her eyes… they looked dead". At this point, Azriel felt the fear start to choke him slowly. Let its nails dig into his throat and squeeze as hard as possible.

"Then that man came, and she just walked out with him", Brian gestured to the window, and Azriel instantly knew that he had made the biggest mistake when he agreed to drop this. Everyone deals with their trauma differently. How does this man do, then? By stealing young, innocent females?

"What man?", Cassian asked, and the question was needed. In place. And required when they dealt with trouble in the city. Just Azriel didn't count this as yet another mission in the city. His mind was working so fast that he gently started to feel like he was seeing sounds and hearing colors. "Azriel…", Brian called out for the spymaster, and he instantly drew his eyes back to the man, who had reached out to him once again. "She's been so happy with you the past couple of weeks, and it looked like she had no recollection of that when she left". Azriel didn't let the words set it. Happier. Happier because of you. Happier because she found something in you. Happier for the first time in a long while. Happier, just like you deserved to be, but where are you now? Where was he supposed to find you?

"We're going to the house of wind", Azriel said firmly as he stood up. "Rhys will look into your mind. I need to see the man's face. I need to know what to look for. Need to…", Cassian clasped Azriel's shoulder and said, "Start by taking a breath in", The general of bloodshed could practically feel Azriel's heart trying to beat out of his chest, "We'll find her; we won't stop until she's back home".

They are not wrong when they say that the unknown is what you fear most in life. You can handle things going bad; you can even prepare for and predict some of them, but it's when the situation is laced with uncertainty that it hits you, crippling you to your core. Azriel felt like he had lost a part of himself. As if one of his limbs had been cut off and he just now realized the necessity of it. Walking aimlessly, thinking thoughts that lead nowhere. He had everything. Everything that he didn't even know he had was gone. He hadn't even stopped to acknowledge it. Azriel's shadows had been twirling all over Velaris, but in a couple of hours, they had led him nowhere near you.

That was until such a strong sensation hit him. Like banging from behind closed doors. Something was reaching and clawing to get his attention. Azriel gripped his chest abruptly. The voices in the room died down. Turning into unidentified muffles. Where are you, Azriel ran that question through his mind once more. Where are you, my little light? The pain ripped through him once more, and the spymaster let out a quiet growl.

"I say we move the search out of the city", Rhys said, pointing to the areas he would suggest checking first on the map. "The mountains", Cassian also added. But Azriel shook his head, "No", the two bat boys exchanged glances, "Azriel", "I said no". Cassian wanted to speak, but Rhys shook his head quickly before saying, "We just want to…", "I can fucking feel her. I feel her here. She's here", Azriel roared as he quickly stood up.

Rhys read the situation fast, a knowing gleam flickering in his eyes. He too had been in a situation where the world was working against him and the love of his life, and now, with Azriel standing in front of him panting like a hurt animal, Rhys knew the truth and knew where this was leading, "Say a word, and we will go where you feel that she is kept".

The place was nothing more than a cave, a cave covered and drenched in dark magic enchantments. Tucked away on the north side of Velaris. Easy to miss because nothing hid you away more than the darkness itself. In the darkness, you could easily blend into absolute nothingness. You were there with your dress ripped to bits, twirling like a spring flower; just your face looked dead. No emotions. Eyes unseeing. The male motioned for you to step forward. And you did—no fighting, no pleading. Fully in control. The necklace gleamed in the firelight. The voices inside Azriel's head roared. That must be the main source of this insanity, then.

It took all of Azriel's self-control not to just march in there right then and there. He didn't want to wait for everyone to get into their position. This meant that he had to watch you being toyed with for one more minute, and it was already one minute too long. His hands gripped both of the daggers that he was holding. He thought of all the ways he knew how to end a life. All the ways he could drag out a death. Everyone deals with trauma in their own way. Your voice echoed in Azriel's mind once more. Well, this was how Azriel dealt with his.

When they finally struck, they quickly realized that the place was filled with at least a handful of other girls, all drained to the point of barely standing. Whatever had been happening here had been overseen, and for that, Azriel was ready to take the blame because this should have never been a thing in the first place. It was Azriel who pierced the male straight through the heart, letting Rhys devour the rest with his dark magic, crushing whatever remained of it around the cave. The moment the enchantments vanished, the place was filled with females gasping and crying. Please, confusion. Azriel noticed Cassian softly talking to some of the women. We're here to help, not to harm. Even if it seemed far too late.

Azriel's eyes fell on your shaky frame. The tugging in his chest continued with every step that he took closer to you. Your body flinched right as the spymaster kneeled in front of you, but the moment your eyes met his, you leaped forward, burying yourself in his strong chest. Azriel wrapped his arms around your middle without a second thought.

"I got you; you're safe; you're all okay", he whispered over and over, fingers brushing through your hair gently. "Az", you muttered almost in disbelief still, holding onto the spymaster as if your life depended on it, and in a way it did. "Yeah, my love, it's me", pulling away slightly, Azriel cupped your face, wanting nothing more than to bring back that happy gleam to your eyes once more.

"Az", you murmured once more, now watching him, memorizing him, and remembering him. "No one will ever harm you", Azriel stated firmly. He wouldn't allow it. Never again. You were his to look after now. You shook your head in disbelief, your delicate fingers brushing over the spymaster's sharp jaw. "It's you", your voice was nothing but a whisper, and Azriel couldn't help but smile as he turned his head to the side to kiss your palm, "It's me", he said.

"My…", but your breathing hitched as your head lulled back. Azriel was quick to steady your neck, but it didn't stop the panic from spiraling. You can't die. You couldn't have just died. His eyes darted to Rhys, who slowly approached you two and said, "Let's bring her back home, hun?".

Watching you sleep—at least that's what Madje said—was torture. Azriel was glad that your body was doing everything in its power to wear off the stress as quickly as possible, but he had to hear you tell him that you were okay. That you weren't hurt. That nothing happened there because he would bring back that fucker once again just so he could skin him again.

Your body stirred slightly, and Azriel held his breath. The flicker of the bond between you grew brighter. It fully snapped into place for Azriel when he stepped out of the cave with your unconscious body in his arms. He couldn't help but wonder what the last thing you wanted to say was. My what? Love? Savor? Mate? He would take any of those; he just needed to see your eyes once more.

With a couple of slow blinks, your eyes shot open, your breath picking up as the unfamiliar room filled your senses. He did not bring you back home, he wanted to be with you until you woke up, so his room felt like the most comfortable place at the time. "It's okay; you're in my room; you're safe now", he said softly, reaching out for your hand. Your gaze fell onto him once more, eyes filling up with tears.

"Come here", Azriel muttered. Sitting closer to you, he brought you into his arms, mindful of the weight of his wings pressing against your legs. Your arms sneaked around his neck as you held him close. Azriel sent nothing but love and light through the bond in hopes of soothing you even more, and he was more than surprised when he felt the same love coming back from your side.

The shadow singer pulled away slightly; he hated seeing your tear-stained eyes. "You…", he started, and you nodded your head. Knowing without words what he was about to say. Mates. As odd and unexpected as it was, you two were chosen for each other. A light smile painted your lips as you pressed your forehead against his. Azriel breathed you in. Finally allowing himself to let go of the tension. Finally letting himself believe that you were safe.

"Could I", you started, crimson tinting your still pale cheeks, "Could I kiss you?" The question was nothing but innocent. Yet carried by nothing but a desire to feel whole. To find that extra strength in having someone you could fully lean onto. Azriel brushed some of your hair from your face, his fingers caressing your cheek, "You don't have to ask because I would love nothing more".

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All acotar writing taglist: @brekkershadowsinger @cityofidek @baebeepeach @lucyysthings @hideings @urfavbrunettebish @historygeekqueen @marina468 @courtofjurdan

[hart269]

Slithering Hearts

Chapter 1

Pairing : Regulus Black x Fem! Reader

Synopsis : You begin an unlikely friendship with the little Black. And soon your whole life seems to have become a tumultuous pathway. The catch, James Potter is your brother.

Masterlist / Series Masterlist

You never know how much you're gonna miss a person until they are going away, even for a small period of time. Less to say you were feelling a little bummed watching your dear brother James standing in the platform waiting for the Hogwarts train. It was gonna be his first year, and even though you were gonna join him next year, it still didn't change the fact that he was going away, that too for a year.

While he busy getting being fussed over by mum and dad, you glanced up at the sound of the train coming. James turned excitedly, hugging mom and dad, before he could fully turn to you, you jumped on him cluthching him, "Aww, little zouwu, are you going to miss me"

"No", came your muffled sound, James patted your back, "I know I am special but don't cry over me now". He grinned at your glare.

"I'm not crying" you huffed.

"Whatever you say" James smirked.

"Write me letters" you mumbled.

"I will" He smiled, he probably will, if he didn't you had plans to *ahem* renovate his room.

And thus he walked towards the train, you looked around the station to see similar scenarios, your eyes met another kid's, your age probably considering he was still with his parents, his mom seemed to be scolding the older brother probably who looked physically pained to stand there. You waved at the boy, causing him to stare confusingly. That's when the train signalled, causing the older one to run towards the train. And soon you saw the train took off while clinging onto your dad's hand. "Let's go now", your mum muttered. As you turned to leave, you once again turned towards the boy you saw, just to find him already looking at you.

After that the whole year went in a blur, you learned about James's new adventures every week from his letters, there were ramblings of the new friends he had made, the annoying and the good teachers, journeys to hagrid's hut, about pranks that even your parents didn't know of and of the many adventures he had. All that only went into details when he came back for christmas and summer break.

The whole of summer break you pestered James to tell you everything you should know. You sat on the couch, legs resting on his stomach as he remain sprawled on the couch.

"Jamie, what house do you think I'll go to?"

"Hufflepuff, obviously" James smirked.

"What, why" you huffed, crosing your arms.

"I mean, you're not smart, not brave, not ambitious and that leaves you in- James voice craclked as his face was hit by the force of the couch pillow. He removed it, getting up staring at you with a malicious glint, causing you to run yelling "Dad, help me, James is hitting me"

"I didn't even -she did it first"

The Diagon alley was always a wonderful place to be, they always had some new and exciting things, you got your wand, a sleek yew wood with white river monster spine at its core.

Mr.Ollivander had glanced at her strangely, "Treat it poorly and you won't access its power, treat it right, it will be loyal to no other". You had nodded, deciding later to brew upon it. For the most part, you were happy to get your own, cause when James got it last year, he didn't even let you touch his, no matter how much you begged him.

You were currently left by your parents at the pet shop, you were searching for a good owl, when a small hustle caught your eye, a snow great horned owl, fighting with another brown one. As you came close, he stood up and stood in the front, fluffing his feathers as if it had done no wrong, cute, you thought.

Taking the owl in your hand, you had turned swiftly, almost colliding with the boy who was standing behind you, the owl screeched, catching him, you exclaimed a loud "Merlin". Staring wide eyed at him you seem to find his face quite familiar, but you couldn't pinpoint, why. Regulus hadn't meant to stand there but he too had found the owl's commotioninteresting. And before he could move, you collided into him, he kept looking at you before realizing he was blocking the way, "Oh, sorry" he muttered moved sideways, You smiled moving past him.

He stared back at the owl on the rack, he lifted his finger, the barn owl moved towards him, nuzlzling in his fingers, he smiled "She's sweet', taking the owl to the counter, he again glaced at the same girl, the shopowner smiled, "Oh, the lovebirds", Regulus head snapped towards the cashier, "What". The shopowner chuckled, "I meant the owls, they are quite in love with each other". You glanced at her curiously "But they were fighting". The shopkeeper smiled looking at them, "Oh, they haven't realised it yet".

Author's Note : The writer means no Hufflepuff slander, it is meant to taken as just a jest. The writer fully supports Hufflepufs like the other houses.

[moonydustx]

Law or Zoro (maybe both separately 🙇‍♀️?) with their s/o secretly being a kunoichi 🤭

Thank u 🙏

Hi Hi! I'll start with: I'm sorry. I didn't know much about the term and I tried to research it, but to be honest, I don't think I got the best of it. I used the point of view in which the character actually became an ally. Maybe I got a little carried away with Law.

After all, how can you disappoint them? (I mean, look at these two happy just seeing Raizo)

requests | one piece masterlist

Zoro

Warnings: blood, use of swords, the two like each other but are unable to deal with it maturely.

"Leaving friendship aside" you shouted, dodging the blow. "You're too slow, Zoro."

" What did you say?" He tried to attack you again, but it only took a few steps for you to dodge his attacks. "What the hell!"

"I said: slow." You stopped the sword with your forearm, turning it and letting it rest against the swordsman's skin. "And sloppy."

"How can you do that?"

"A lady doesn't tell your secrets." You laughed, letting him go.

The sun streamed through the crow's nest windows, illuminating the entire space.

Occasionally you and the swordsman would take time out to train. Your excuse was always that you needed to improve your skills and his was that he needed a punching bag. You knew there was a lot behind it - the hours wasted together, the accidental skin-to-skin touches. Those workouts were your favorite part of your schedule.

A crash caught the two of you's attention as well as the uneven rocking and some screams coming from beneath you.

"We are being attacked." Zoro looked out the small window seeing the reason for the small chaos that had formed. "Stay here."

He disappeared from your field of vision in a few seconds. You were determined to follow his orders, not that you owed any kind of obligation, but returning to fight seemed like a distant choice.

Your eyes narrowed at the edge of the window, trying to understand the scale of what was happening. Three pirate ships surrounded the Sunny, each with a flag. Probably a group has allied together to try to overthrow you. Ignoring it no longer seemed like an option.

You practically jumped halfway down the stairs, finding the ship full of enemies. Everyone fought as best they could, but the number of people interested in taking down the Straw Hats seemed too much for you.

Using the same technique you had used in previous training, you dodged each attack, trying to take as little damage as possible. On the other side, you saw one of the men suddenly throw Nami's Clima-tact stick away. Your eyes quickly searched for the best and closest alternative within your reach.

Dodging two guys, you didn't bother asking for permission to take out the third sword that Zoro still kept in its sheath, only seeing him look at you sideways without much room to question.

Before the bullet hit Nami, you positioned the katana blade and watched the fragment turn into two. Ignoring your friend's screams, you threw blows at the first man who had attacked her. A cut in the middle of the chest was enough to knock him down and make room for other enemies to find you.

The sharp blade paraded across the deck of the Sunny, arms fell around you, enemy blood splashed on your clothes and the floor. The presence of the other companions was a memory in the fog, you just needed to help everyone get rid of the little problem. Losing your balance when you saw the ship accelerate in the opposite direction to the enemy ship, it wasn't long before you were just contemplating the blue horizon in front of you.

The absolute silence took a few seconds to bother you until you realized what it was. All your companions looked at you curiously, probably the blood that dripped from the katana and that also stained your clothes was what attracted most of their attention.

The words came to the tip of your tongue and died for a few moments, you were fully aware that you owed your friends satisfaction, it was just difficult to bring the story to light.

"Since when did you know how to do that?" Nami was the first to ask, without any type of ceremony.

"There's been a good, good time."

"But you weren't just an expert in languages, I mean, for someone who has their face buried in books translating those strange things, you know your way around a katana very well." Usopp pointed out, making clear all the curiosity - which was probably in the others' minds.

"I was trained for a long time, longer than I would have liked." you declared, walking to the edge of the ship and leaning against it.

The crew's swordsman did the same, stopping next to you and the others practically circled you. Your hand nervously squeezed the blunt end of the sword in your hand.

"I was taught to infiltrate, to go unnoticed, to kill. I never had much of a choice in the meantime."

"And how did you end up here?" Chopper asked almost adorably, his curiosity leaning more toward admiration than anything else.

"I had a mission." your eyes found Robin in the background. "I needed to infiltrate and take Robin away from here, a high price for someone with high qualifications."

"This is getting interesting." the archaeologist smiled almost understandingly. For some reason you seemed to have given up on the plan and she had already found herself in a similar position. "What made you stop?"

"You, all of you." the answer sounded obvious coming from you. "You all welcomed me so well, I felt like part of a family. So I never answered the calls again and decided to stay here, to be honest, if I had any other choice I wouldn't have done all this." you gestured towards the blood on your clothes. "I understand if you want me to leave, a secret this big..."

"No." Luffy responded immediately. "You're not going to leave."

"But..."

"The captain decided, you're still a Straw Hat." Sanji completed, leaving room for a brief drag on his cigarette. "And with all that blood you're still beautiful."

"Shut up idiot" Zoro grumbled. "But I agree with Luffy, it's decided, you stay. Now everyone, let's get these scraps out of here." the man pointed to the downed enemies.

Without much desire to continue arguing, one by one you saw your companions move away and begin to clean the deck. Zoro however remained there, standing a few meters away.

"I bet you hate me for my petty theft." You turned to him.

"Are you feeling good?" His calm voice broke your expectations. "You didn't seem comfortable telling all that."

"It's a past that I wanted to leave behind, you know? Being a linguist is much cooler than having to scrub clothes dirty with enemy remains, but now I don't have much choice."

"What do you mean by that?"

"I've already proven that I can fight, I believe that in the next battles it won't make much sense for me to try to escape." a dejected smile crossed your lips as you approached him.

"Only if you want." Zoro replied as you parked yourself in front of him, your feet aligned with his. "If you want to fight, I'll be happy to help you get a katana. If you want to continue just being you, I promise I have enough strength and swords for both of us."

The promise implicit in his voice gave you goosebumps, as well as warming your cheeks in a certain shyness.

"And leaving friendship aside?" he started and you just nodded. "You look beautiful using my katana to take out idiots."

"Leaving friendship aside..." you replied, taking the opportunity to reduce the small space between you.

Without taking your eyes off Zoro's eyes, you slid the sword back into his sheath, completing the trio that now rested after the battle.

"I'd love to be able to do both. Maybe you can help me." your faces were just a short distance away, ignoring the entire world around you.

"Meet me tonight, upstairs. I think we can take some time to train."

"You two make this mess, come help!" Nami's scream broke you both out of your little trance, but the promise still hung in the air.

♡

Law

Warnings: cute, brief hint of something hotter at the end, pre-established relationship. Law is a super nerd in this one.

Something was out of place. Something felt like it was about to go wrong, you just didn't know what. Following the corridors of the submarine, you made a point of looking room by room, corner by corner, in search of what you didn't even know what you were looking for. The Polar Tang, despite being moored on an island, was occupied by all the crew. Almost all, the captain was absent.

"Bepo?" you entered the room he was in, hitting the switch sharply.

With nightfall and no longer sailing, there weren't many tasks left to be carried out inside Polar Tang. The bear - who was apparently taking a brief nap - rubbed his eyes, trying to understand where the call was coming from.

"Sorry to wake you up. Did you have any news from the captain?"

"He just said he was going to leave for a few hours and that if possible, we would be ready to leave." If it weren't for the worry you would definitely be teasing Bepo and his habit of making mini roars instead of yawns.

"Taking a nap is being ready, mister furry?" the bear's grumbling filled the room. "I don't know Bepo, I have a bad feeling."

"About the captain?" he rose to his feet, more alert than before. "He said he had things to sort out."

"I don't know." you murmured, thinking about possibilities, perhaps the worst possible ones echoed in your mind. "From what I remember, Law was alone for a long time before he went, am I right?"

"Yes! He said he needed to focus on something."

"Okay, let's go through his desk."

Papers hung on the wall, notes spread out on the table, a large web connected the information he had gathered so far about Doflamingo. Occupying his chair, you didn't hesitate to turn over some pages, finding names and positions written down and a map of the island. An X marking a specific point next to a photo attracted your gaze, making you search your own memories to understand the familiarity with such a situation.

"Flander..." you brought the photo of the man with white hair and a black suit closer. You remembered the man but even so, your brain burned trying to remember why and it gave you a bad feeling.

"Do you know him?" "An idiot tycoon who's also a mobster. Last time I bumped into him it was to recover a stolen devil fruit. He craves power, so he uses the black market to sell them and also use... oh, shit!"

"What happened?" the bear tried to keep up with you as you ran back to your room, thankful to find it empty.

"Get everything ready for us to escape. Also prepare the defenses." you pulled out a large hidden brown box. "Law may have been ambushed."

In other situations you would even ask him to leave, but while the bear screamed and ran from side to side you didn't hesitate to throw your overalls and in seconds put on the suit. The minutes lost in getting dressed would certainly be recovered with help in camouflaging.

"Wait, what is this?"

"No questions Bepo! Go now!"

You adjusted the cloth that covered part of your face. Ignoring the curious stares, you crossed Polar Tang in seconds, finding a full moon shining all over the pier that night. That costume, that story, you had chosen to leave behind, but the thought of someone hurting your captain was too much for you to ignore.

Following through the trees it didn't take long to find Flander's compound. Trying to avoid the presence of the security guards, you followed their movement pattern, finding a small gap to climb onto the first floor of roofs. Even though the rooms that were within reach of your eyes seemed empty, you still chose to go outside. Leaning on the gutter and avoiding any noise as much as possible, you didn't have much difficulty finding the next floor.

This time, coming across some lights on in the indoor area, you could feel closer to your goal. Using the noise of voices and the distraction to your advantage, you managed to peek inside the room.

Flander was sitting in one of the chairs, three huge men accompanied him and Law was sitting on the floor. A trickle of blood ran from his eyebrow and his hands were tied together. You hated being right in your suspicions.

Using the point of illumination to your advantage, you opted for the lack of it, throwing your dagger towards the lamp. The sound of breaking glass attracted the attention of everyone there - including Law.

"Where did that come from?" one of the men bent down picking up the small gray object.

The moonlight might still be an advantage for them, but it wouldn't be a problem for you. Rolling into the window, you took advantage of having fallen in a crouch to cut the ankle of the first man within your reach and joining a trip, he soon found the ground.

The other two gathered around you and using the ratio of size to speed, you managed to dodge them, reaching Flander and putting your other dagger through his leg, leaving it stuck between his thigh and the upholstery of the expensive bench he was sitting on. One of the other men managed to hit you, making you lose your balance, but it only took a few kicks and both he and the other man were on the ground.

"Who are you?" Flanders shouted, probably not only trying to clear the doubt but also trying to get the attention of more henchmen.

Before he could continue shouting, you slammed his head against the expensive wooden table in front of the man.

"Cap... Trafalgar." you corrected yourself almost at the last second. "Do you know where your handcuff keys are?"

"In my left pocket." your eyes - which were one of the few things discovered on your face looked in pure disbelief at him. "I knew he would try to trick me, I changed all the handcuffs here to regular versions."

"I do not believe that." despite the relief in knowing that in a way, he already knew what awaited him, it didn't stop you from staying alert.

"You're Shadow Moon, right? The konoichi who helps Sora in magazine 147 of the regular story. From Yushe Island?" He stood up, approaching the table and picking up a small brown notebook, leafing through it quickly. "Am I right, Shadow Moon?"

"Law, we have time to sort this out later." you pulled the cloth away, revealing your face. "Is this the only notebook you need?"

"Are you Sora's Shadow Moon from the Yushe Islands?" for the first time you saw Law's voice rise a few decibels in pure surprise. A slightly more serious version of a child who just got the doll he always wanted. "You?"

"We really can... Shit!" you felt your arm burn as more men appeared in your field of vision. Before you could prepare to fight, the blue dome enveloped you and the bodies lying in the room were replaced by the trees of the island's small forest, the same one that had helped you camouflage your arrival.

"Well, it was a graze." you checked your own arm and it didn't take long for Law to take the job for himself.

"Yes, you almost don't need stitches. A bandage should do the trick, Shadow Moon."

"Are you really going to call me that all night?" Law decided to back off the subject when he noticed the irritation in your voice, but you knew the subject wouldn't remain quiet for long. "When we arrive at Polar Tang, I'll explain. I've already got everyone ready for us to set sail."

You were never so happy to be back in the little metal cocoon, or at least that was the affectionate way you called the yellow submarine. After reassuring everyone, you followed Law to his room, knowing that he must have doubts about everything that happened.

"How did you know I was there?" he asked as soon as you slammed the door behind you. Taking advantage of the small peace to catch your breath, you leaned against the wall.

"I had a strange feeling and when I found Flander's photo, I knew something was wrong. I already knew his history with Devil Fruit users."

"I understood." Law seemed distracted by something on his stand. "I knew he would try to catch me, I wanted to make the most of my time to extract information."

"Next time, please let your girlfriend know." you murmured, crossing your arms and watching him walk towards you. "No way."

Law placed a small doll next to you and you knew what it was without even looking.

"Shadow Moon, I knew it!"

"I'm sorry I kept this from you." You asked and saw him nod. The same hand that held the action figure pulled you closer to the bed.

"How did you end up in Sora?" he sat down, giving you space to sit next to him or in it.

"Long story short, I helped one of the comic's editors, it was his way of thanking me." Law's eyes sparkled as you adjusted yourself over his hips.

"My girlfriend is Shadow Moon. Do you have any idea how badass that is?" he again looked at the doll and placed it aside. "Although you look a lot hotter in the real version."

"Is this serious? I took down several idiots at once to save you and you're impressed by this?" You pointed to your own clothes.

"This? You mean the legendary Shadow Moon responsible for taking down enemy armies and who can disappear into the shadows?" Your loud laugh also brought a light laugh from Law. "Shadow Moon herself came to save me. Where were you hiding all this?"

"Kind of wanted to put that story behind me." you bent down and pushed him against the bed, using the gap to lay on his chest. Just a few hours apart along with the adrenaline in your body made you miss Law's contact. "It was really lucky they left my suit in Sabaody."

"If you don't want to talk about it, that's okay." Noticing the hesitation in your voice, Law tried to steer you away from that subject. But his presence was comforting, it was as if the old memories were just that: things left behind.

"After my parents died, these women took me in. They gave me a home, food, but in return they trained me. They did this with different types of girls."

"You know why?"

"A lot of us went on missions for them, but the purpose was always to teach us how to defend ourselves." You smiled when you felt his fingers caress your skin, encouraging you to keep talking.

"I started to stand out, taking down many of the enemies until the mission where they discovered me infiltrated. I was pretending to be a doctor for one of the pirates who stole them."

"So that's why you already knew how to deal with everything here."

"Exactly, it was almost like a vocation, or destiny" a provocative smile dared to cross your lips, soon disappearing. "After finding out, they locked me up for a while. When they got tired of my presence, they sold me into slavery."

"You're lucky that a guy with a good heart was there, right?" Law's cynicism was something almost immersed in him. You quickly took the man's lips.

"They say he was very handsome." you murmured, catching his kisses.

"Babe, please." his tone was strangled when he felt your hips press against his. "But it's okay if you say no..."

"Trafalgar!" You lightly patted his shoulder when you saw him blush - like you hadn't seen in the time you were together. The way his gaze roamed your body made it clear what he wanted. "Okay, the costumes are still on my body."

"Hm.. my beautiful little konoichi." he turned you over on the bed, pinning you beneath him. "This time you won't be able to hide."

[1800-page-not-found]

■■ (Kim Dokja x Reader)

in honor of the latest chapters of the manhwa

reincarnated reader x kim dokja

not really romantic, more like how kdj and yjh are to each other

i think i might open req again but probably just writing about orv.

in which the reader reincarnates and they become a streamer for 'our' earth in the orv world, representing every reader from 'our' world.

---------

[Kim Dokja will be killed by the person he loves most.]

They still...messed with kim dokja's fate. Damn it!... You bit your lip in frustration. You made sure he wouldn't become a constellation, so why?! You became a constellation in his stead, all for this!

You looked at your stream of viewers, who were just as anxious as you.

No... I won't let it end this way. You closed your eyes. This was a very risky bet.

[The constellation '■■■■■■■■■■■■' has used their life force to call upon an outer god.]

[The constellation '■■■■■■■■■■■■' has changed ■■]

[Many constellations have marked the constellation '■■■■■■■■■■■■' an enemy.]

[Many constellations have start to fear the constellation '■■■■■■■■■■■■']

Originally, the outer god, Eater of Dreams should have appeared. However, probability has increased to an amount where an outer god can not handle.

[A new being has appeared!]

Ņ̷̛̰͇̹̈́ó̶̳̫̯̦̘̣̊̃̈͐!̸̭͉͇͙̊̑̈̎͌ ̶̼͕̄̀́I̷̲̓̐̀̀͘'̵̬̦̤̂̐͒̔̋̉̓͜v̵̨̢̛̝͕ě̶̹͈̣̜͉̱̿̒̕ ̷̙͓̮̐̓̊̃́̈́a̷̗̣͎̩͗͊͌̈́̂̓l̷̡̗̤̘͇͊̔͐̈́w̴̟̘̺͓̬̬̼̃̋̇͝a̵̧̛̤̰̾͋y̸̞̳̫͐s̷̬̹̤͇̦͆̒͛͆͊̚ͅ ̶̦̫̳̆̅̍̉͘̕͜͜b̶̩̮̽̅̕͘e̷̞̺̖͉͆̈̽͘è̸̯̫̣̩̏͠n̵̡̮̩̟̏͜ ̷̨̮͉̤̬͈̊̆̀̽̐͘h̵͙̅̉̌̄͌̓̐e̷̜̹̱̬̘̠̒͝ͅŗ̸̰̭̭̄ė̴͔͔͐̏͛͘!̵͕̥̠̊̐

[A new fable has been created.]

Ḧ̶͓́͛̀ō̴̡͎͈̱͓̰̫̊̂͋̀̚͝w̶̢̨̐̊̈́̉̕?̷̜͍̭̜̮̅

[Great Fable, 'Fantasy's Single Observer', has been acquired.]

[Everything's and Nothing's Only Fear has been found.]

[Everything's and Nothing's Only Fear is you.]

[The Constellations watch [L. Name] [Name].]

[■■ will be reached very soon!]

You are dying...You? Me? [Name].

[The viewers of your stream have decided unanimously.]

[Legendary Fable, 'A Unanimous Vote', has been acquired.]

[Everything's and Nothing's Only Fear's 'Home' will consume this universe.]

"I refuse to let the dominos fall." You looked up at the constellations. "I'm sorry. You will all cease to exist."

Yoo Joonghyuk stared at his companion. He then went to check again at his attribute window. His sponsor was gone. So was his Stigma. Looking at other people's reaction, theirs were too.

[Great Fable 'What is a Constellation?' Has been acquired.]

[You are now the sole constellation to exist.]

[The rebirth of the world has started.]

Then, everyone got a new message.

[Sorry! You do not exist yet.]

"Wha-?" Before anyone could react, suddenly, nothing existed.

And then it did.

-13.8 billion years later.

Kim Dokja sat on the train, reading The World After the Fall. He couldn't wait to go home and eat the great food his roommate cooked. He got off his stop, walking home. He put the phone in his pocket and looked around himself. His eye caught a poster of his roommate, plastered onto a billboard.

Damn...it's so unfair! He thought. He gets to play games and be handsome? He even makes more than I do!

He reached the place he called home, and stepped in, taking off his shoes. "I'm home!" He shouted.

A little girl ran up to him. "Ahjussi!" She jumped into his arms.

Kim Dokja laughed dryly. "Mia-ya, you don't have to call me that...I'm not that old you know..."

"Huh? But Joonghyuk-oppa says I should!" Ah that bastard...

"Ah is that so?.." He carried her to the dining room. "Let me call my mother before we eat alright?" He smiled, placing her down on a chair.

"Okay!"

He went into another room and dialed his mom. "Dokja?" He heard his mom say.

"Omma, how are you doing?" He said warmly.

"Its good, I have Yoosung and Gilyoung to keep me company. Along with Biyoo too. She keeps getting cat fur all over me though." She laughs light heartedly. "How about you?"

"I'm doing well, I quite like it."

-

[■■ will never be reached.]

[The world will continue forever.]

[No one's story will end.]

['A being who swallowed a universe' watches over the one she loves most, Kim Dokja]

y̸͍̔͋ō̷̟͚̣̣̪̱̐̏͜ṷ̷̧̮̘̐͊̌̏́̕̚ ̷͖̯̆̑̔̈̾̊̈ẘ̶̡̻̯̫̮͊̂i̸̛͈̠̬̝̿̇̈l̸̨̯͚͍̹̝̰̮̹̎̅͛́l̵͚͈̭̀ ̷̣̘̻̜̮̰̏̀̋́̉̓̈͊̾̎n̵͕͇̪̭̳̖̼̘̯̄͗̂̚ͅȩ̵͍̪̭͙̞́v̴̪̉̉̄̽̿͆͛̌͠ę̶̛̹͎̙̞͈r̵̜̲̞̙̠̣̘̝̝̫̈́̽̅̈́͌͑͗ ̵̨̢͍̼͈̱̪́͌͜͜b̵̯͔̜̹͚̩̗̌́̏͒̑͌̾͘͝ē̷̡̜̭̟̞͔̳͕̘̟̊͂ ̷̪̈́̐f̸̟̣͎̪̟̞̳̥̯̝̈ŕ̴̛̺̯̤̤͚̰͖̥̲̐͗͊̀͐ͅḙ̷̬̣͎͂͌̽ȩ̵̻̹̖́̉̃͌̏̀̃ ̵̢̧̭̘̙̝̞̻͋̈͐̽̆̅̚ͅt̶͓̩̊́̃͐͑̂̐͘ḥ̸̥̺͓͌̃̚͜͝͝͝͠o̵̢̢̻̥̝̥̪͍̝͓͛͛̆͋̍ṷ̸̢̥͕͎͖̘̥̀̓̿̌̐̊̃͜g̶̢̬̘̥̻͙͍͎̀̏͋ḩ̸̻̳͚̟̜̖̘̰̱͊͒̆̾̅̃͒͑̏,̷͎̮͌̈̾ ̸̛̗͖̗̳̜̰̎̕ạ̸́̀̈́r̶̛͇̜̘̼͍̲͛͂ͅȩ̴̘̙̳̪̗̍́͜ͅ ̷̳̅͋́̋̾̍͝y̸̖͛̎̏͂́͠ǒ̵̥̜͉̹̺̘̊ǘ̴̺͔̅̃͋̌̋̄ͅ ̵̡̬̫̳͙̝̼̦̔͒̓̀̃̍̈́̕͝͝ͅs̷̺̝̻͎̄̔́͆̏̑͑͆͝͝t̵͔̪̙̾͂̊̚͝i̴̧̺̘̫̘̅̽̽̆̋́̏͐͂ļ̷̰̤̼͌̽̏̽͋̓̑̓̏͠l̷̤̩̲͗̇͑͐̆͗̄͝ ̴̢͑͘h̷͈̠̤̦̳̍͑͑ä̷̡͈̖̫̻̰́̓̈́̐͠͝p̵̢̧̱̤̞͓͒̈͛̔̂́͐p̵̪̩̎̄̾̑̐͐̉̈́̐̀͜y̴̢͙̜̱̖̣͉̪̌͌̏͂͊͠͝ͅ?̸̡̢͎̟̠̇͊̀̂̉̚̚̚

Yes.

[The stream has ended.]

[Stream time: 13.8 billion years, 5 months, 3 days, 9 hours, 7 minutes, and 4 seconds]

-----------

This is my once in a blue moon post to say im alive! I've dropped genshin but I'm still into orv but ive forgotten like everything so im gonna read everything again if i have the motivation to.

This was kinda rushed cuz i spent most of the time trying to remember how orv worked lolol

[siilvan]

sun showers

characters: kyle "gaz" garrick

summary: gaz warms you up after you get caught in the rain.

prompts: 2. "do i make you nervous?"

genre: fluff, very light angst, roommate!gaz, fem!reader (no desc.)

warnings: semi-proofread, light cursing, brief references to canon-typical violence, like one innuendo at the end lol

word count: 1.5k

note: learned about gazfest and proceeded to speed-write a drabble-fic to celebrate :) big shoutout to @glitterypirateduck for curating this!

wrote half of this in one day and the other half the next. the quality drop is very obvious lol. i promise i've got better gaz fics planned for the future </3

"y'look like you just went swimming."

you slam the front door behind you, dropping your bag on the floor unceremoniously as you glare daggers at your roommate. kyle is lounging on the sofa, hot cup of tea in hand, sending you an amused look after tearing his eyes from the television.

"there wasn't any rain in the forecast today," you grumble in response, kicking off your sopping wet boots. you can see kyle set his mug on the table and rise from his spot, casually strolling into the small kitchen you shared. you figure he's going to grab a snack for himself and ignore him before trudging to your room to change clothes.

when you emerge again, in dry clothes and with a slightly better attitude, you're immediately greeted by your designated mug sitting on the countertop, filled nearly to the brim with steaming tea. you glance over and see kyle standing at another counter, busying himself with building a small plate of snacks, quietly humming a random showtune under his breath.

you carefully pick up the cup and take a sip, a comfortable warmth flowing through you, chasing away the bone-deep cold that you couldn't seem to shake even after arriving home. your eyes squeeze close briefly as you revel in it, and you miss the way he glances at you with a smile on his lips.

"figured you could use a little pick-me-up," kyle says, catching your attention. he brushes past you gently, carrying the plate to the coffee table and setting it down. "c'mon, you're probably still freezing." he adds, patting the spot next to him after sitting on the couch again.

"sometimes i forget how sweet you are." you shake your head and settle in next to him, carefully lifting your cup as he tosses a blanket over your legs.

he turns whatever show he was watching back on - some history documentary, you realize - and munches on one of the cookies from the plate, quietly relaxing next to you. you, meanwhile, are sipping on your tea, split between paying attention the show and watching him from the corner of your eye.

moments like this were truly rare for you two, despite your living situation. you came home at the end of every day, but for kyle, that wasn't a guarantee. he'd be gone for weeks, sometimes months, at a time, leaving you to care for your flat until he returned. you've never said it aloud, but you've grown to dread him leaving. the place felt lonely without him, like there was something important missing.

the way he reassures you before leaving and the check-in texts you receive daily while he's gone makes you think he knows already, despite you never saying a word to him about your feelings. he's attentive to a fault - you wouldn't be surprised if he knows you just as well as you know yourself.

"you okay?" his voice interrupts your train of thought suddenly. you jolt, almost spilling your tea, and hastily set it down on the table before turning to him. kyle's gaze is already on you, and your eyes quickly dart anywhere but his face as a warmth slowly creeps up the back of your neck.

"yeah, of course." you wave him off, pulling the blanket closer around yourself. "just chilly, is all. i'm already starting to feel better."

he hums, and you can still sense his gaze on you when he goes quiet. you desperately avoid eye contract, electing to stare at the television whilst not comprehending a single thing on the screen. anything to convince him that you're not having an internal war over whether you like him as a roommate or as something more.

a minute passes, and you think he's dropped it. until his voice, dropped to a near whisper, suddenly speaks right next to your ear.

"do i make you nervous?"

you jump, again, and whip your head around to look at him. kyle's leaned in close, a kind yet nervous smile on his lips, his arm swung over the back cushion to face you properly.

you quirk a brow at him. "nervous?" you ask, gaze finally flicking up to meet his. "no, not at all. why?"

he shrugs his shoulders and chuckles, visibly relaxing at your reply. "i don't know, i just– i'm not here often, i guess. didn't know if i was overstepping or something." he waves his free hand as he talks, trying to find the right words.

"kyle, you're probably the person i feel the safest around." you remark, scooting just a bit closer to him to emphasize your point. well, and to steal some of the heat radiating off him.

"i get that you feel safe, but–" he drops his hand to his side and sighs. "maybe i'm misunderstanding, but you looked like you felt off. just wanted to check in."

tell him, your brain shouts at you, seeing the opportunity. he already knows, all you'll be doing is giving him the reassurance that he always gives to you. the worst thing he can say is no; you'll lose your best friend and have to find a new place to live if he rejects you. that isn't a terrible risk, right?

except, it is. you worry the inside of your cheek and leave the comment hanging in the air for far too long. just as kyle opens his mouth to say something, you interrupt him.

"i don't like when you leave for work," you start, hands fidgeting in your lap. "the apartment feels empty without you– i feel empty without you. i was thinking about that and how much i'll miss stuff like this when you leave again."

for a moment, he just stares at you. it doesn't help with the nerves at all, and you mentally squirm under his scrutiny. your discomfort seems to snap him back into the present, though. kyle's face lights up, practically beaming with joy as he finally responds.

"i'm not going anywhere, not right now." he cups your cheek when you attempt to look away, keeping your focus on him with gentle fingers holding your head in place. "i hate leaving you. if i could be in two places at once, i'd be here around the clock. seeing your smile fall every time i walk out the door hurts like nothing else."

you stifle a small laugh and place your palm over his. "kyle, you've been shot. pretty sure that hurts worse than seeing me sad."

he purses his lips, thinking, before making a noise of disagreement. "ah, think i'd rather take a bullet than see you cry." he counters with a pensive nod, sending you into a fit of bemused giggles.

when you manage to compose yourself, mouth split in a wide grin, you meet his gaze again. kyle's mirroring your expression, though his attention is very clearly elsewhere. his eyes narrow, head dipping ever so slightly as his eyes flit between your own and your lips. it's a subtle gesture, a quiet way of asking for something without pushing you in any particular direction. your tongue darts out to wet your lips, an action that he watches with great interest, and you take in a calming breath before making your next move.

you lean forward, hands finding purchase on his shoulders, and press a kiss to his barely-parted lips. he hesitates for a moment, taken aback, but the reluctance is short-lived as he responds in kind, his hand sliding from your cheek to wrap around the nape of your neck. he pulls you in closer as his unoccupied arm slides off the back cushion, snaking around your waist.

the kiss was saccharine sweet from the start, but as you both pour every pent-up emotion you've suppressed into it, it almost becomes too much.

keyword: almost. it's not enough to make you want to stop.

kyle pulls back just enough to talk a few seconds later, resting his forehead against yours. "that, uh... you have no idea how long i've been dreaming about this." he mutters, chuckling.

"dreamed about anything else?" you ask, lips ghosting over his. he leans in to the featherlight touch, chasing it, forcing you to tilt back with an amused huff. he groans under his breath and straightens his back, giving your words some thought.

"yeah, loads of stuff. about you, though?" he pauses, clicking his tongue as he recalls the aforementioned dreams. "not sure if you're ready to hear those yet. most of 'em are probably best saved until after a proper date."

"there's going to be a date, then?" you ask, draping your arms over his shoulders.

with a lighthearted roll of his eyes, kyle nods. "'course there will. several dates, if you'll have me long enough." he presses a lingering kiss to your lips, muffling your pleased hum.

your reply is a mere whisper fanning against his skin. "i'll have you as long as you're around. i'm already yours."

taglist: @sofasoap, @rohansregret

[mokulule]

The Number You Have Called Cannot Be Reached 3

Part 1|Part 2

Ship: Dead on Main (Danny/Jason) Warnings: angst/depression and canon typical violence

I'm not entirely happy with this, but I hope you enjoy it anyways. Some things will probably be changed for the Ao3 version, this is very much first draft and I want to do a proper rewrite before then.

Jason parked his bike next to the Batmobile. There was a strange air in the Batcave or maybe it was just him being different. He couldn’t tell for sure. He stepped off the bike so he had his back towards Bruce, who sat by the Batcomputer with his cowl off. Jason could still feel his gaze when he looked up. He didn’t know what to feel. Where was he supposed to start?

“Little Wing!” Dick announced happily, suddenly slinging an arm across his shoulder from behind. It was only all his training that stopped him from jumping three feet into the air from the fright and he managed to just tense - but that was normal. Dick would consider that normal. Pull yourself together, Jason, he scolded himself. Normal, act normal, for one long moment he was grasping for what was normal. It definitely wasn’t the urge to lean into his big brother.

“Jay?” Dick asked quietly, worried, thankfully too quiet for anyone to hear. Panic grasped him and he elbowed Dick to get him off. Dick bent over with an oomph. At least elbowing Dick was a normal response, even if it was for the wrong reason.

Ignoring the strange urge to check on Dick, he squared his shoulders, firmly didn’t look back and walked forward towards the Batcomputer, where now that he had arrived the rest of this night’s patrol team gathered. Damian already out of his suit with damp hair and a towel slung around his neck glanced surreptitiously at Jason out the corner of his eyes even as he pretended to look towards Bruce - brat was still worried. Tim was curled up in an office chair doing who knew what with his laptop in a way that did not seem conducive to the healing of the broken ribs he’d been benched for. Bruce himself, paused what he was doing and spun around in his chair. Even sitting he managed to draw everyone’s attention, Tim even closed his laptop.

Jason purposefully crossed his arms and widened his stance. That’s what they expected of him, probably? How did he usually stand? He usually always felt one wrong comment away from a fight when he was here, he should stand like he expected it, right? Defensive.

This was exhausting.

At last Dick walked up to them completing their loose circle. He was rubbing his side and Jason felt a stab of worry and guilt. Had he aggravated an existing wound? Shit. Fuck. What was wrong with him? Why was he so worried?

“Oracle,” Bruce spoke, “please start.”

“Thanks to Hood, we now have a better headshot of the thief,” Oracle announced from the computer speakers“The Ghost,” Dick interjected in a sing song voice, “after what happened tonight you can’t disagree.”“Nightwing,” Barbara replied flatly, she didn’t even need to say she thought it was a stupid name. “The thief,” she reiterated in a way that left no room for any other arguments and Dick wisely held his silence. At least Dick knew Barbara well enough when to stop. Finally she pulled two photos up on the large screen. The one on the right was an older/early photo with the green glassed goggles obstructing much of the upper half of the face, a grin was a sharp line of white on the lower half of the face in the blurry photo, the quality was terrible and caught in movement.

The newer photo on the left showed a young man, maybe even late teens, eyes were wide, bright green, not quite glowing and his face beet red in embarrassment, mouth slightly open - this was taken just after he’d pushed away from Jason. His goggles sat at the edge of his messy black hair, just high enough to see the way he was beginning to swell on his forehead where Jason had clocked him.

Jason looked from one picture to the other, something was off to him. The grin was an obvious difference, but these where snapped in very different moments, and he shouldn’t let different emotions cloud his judgment.

“He’s lost weight.” The realization hit him with the certainty of a sledgehammer.

There’s dubious mumbling around him, about the blurriness of the first picture. But Jason is unmoved, there’s a hollowness to the guy’s cheeks that wasn’t there before.

“We can’t really judge that sort of thing with the quality of the first image,” Barbara cut through the murmurs. Jason knows he right, but he doesn’t feel like arguing.

He doesn’t feel like arguing, it’s another realization that leaves him wrong footed and he’s not listening for a minute. Checking back into the conversation he only caught the tail end of the conversation that was apparently about the Meta’s skills.“-we can now add phase shifting powers-““Like a Ghost.”

Tim groaned and Barbara outright growled - Jason reevaluated his earlier thought that Dick knew Barbara’s limits. Damian had already accepted the logic and Bruce had long since become immune to this sort of Dick antic.

“Back on topic,” was all he said. “Tim.”

Tim opened his laptop back up.

“Yes, so the items the thief-” There was a small beat as everyone waited for Dick to interrupt, Tim was side-eyeing him but continued; “-is stealing are still painting a very alarming picture, and there is a multitude of very dangerous uses, not to mention what kind of world ending horror they could be built into. Luckily he didn’t get the prototype spectral calibrator tonight, and we’ll be keeping it here for the time being and set the project on an indefinite hold at Wayne Enterprise.”Tim looked up at Bruce. “We’ll be needing to monitor Star Labs as they have a similar project, but so far the Ghost has not operated outside of Gotham to our knowledge.”

Bruce nodded, “I’ll arrange something.”

It was a signal for Tim to continue, “we’re still no closer to a way to capture him and the phase shifting is a whole other added concern. We’ll need to figure out if there’s something he can’t phase through, some denser materials perhaps. I just finished looking through tonight’s footage and from what I’m seeing at least the new filter program is holding up; both the audio and visuals have very few glitches now. But we still don’t know how he’s sending out the electromagnetic interference.”

“Ghoooost,” Dick said quietly under his breath.Tim’s left eye twitched dangerously. Jason couldn’t help smiling, it was very good he was wearing the helmet. Bruce once more ignored Dick looking to Damian.The kid straightened imperceptibly at the attention, it really was adorable, but his voice was as haughty as ever. “Blood sample is already being analyzed of course, tt.” Blood sample? Oh, that’s what Bruce had been doing on the roof, when Jason was distracted. A sick feeling rose in his stomach thinking of the blood, was Ghost even alive? He could be bleeding inside the head for all they knew.

“Hood,” Bruce asked quietly, “do you know why the Ghost reacted to you like that?”Jason stiffened. Fear grabbing cold onto his heart. There was no way he could tell them he thought it had to do with the pits. They’d think Jason was being influenced by the Ghost and bench him. He couldn’t let that happen, he needed answers. He didn’t need to fight his family.

“No damn clue,” he scoffed, hoping he sounded nonchalant and none of his panic shone through, “some weird trauma response? He’d just hit his head real good.”

Bruce looked at him dubiously, but he was clearly unwilling to risk pushing. Their truce was a tentative one after all, one they’d come to after many false starts and stops. Jason had never before been so glad for their tattered relationship.

“So to conclude,” Dick drew everyone’s attention off Jason, “the Ghost is still a mystery, we don’t know if he’s just a thief or a supervillain biding his time.”

“He’s not a supervillain.” Jason could have cursed himself, he’d just gotten their attention off him. Now he was forced to elaborate. “He’s not wearing any sort of body armor, just that hoodie.”

And he’d definitely broken some of his ribs landing on him, Jason thought with a pang of guilt.

“Not all villains wear body armor though,” Tim pointed out carefully, and now Tim was worried too, Jason had no clue what had given him away.

“The ones who engage in close combat with us usually do though,” Dick returned, and Jason could have hugged him for bailing him out again (if that had been normal, which it was NOT).

“He could just not be a very good villain?”

“Or he’s just banking on the fact that he’s very good at dodging,” Barbara interjected with annoyance before the discussion got out of hand, “or did you all just forget you’ve been chasing this guy for weeks without landing a substantial hit on him?” She could always be counted on to be the voice of reason.

Dick scratched the back of his head sheepishly. Tim looked down at his computer. Damian scoffed, trying to look unaffected but that was definitely almost a pout.

Bruce’s eyes twinkled in amusement as he stood up and was that almost a smile? How was this happening? It felt… His fingers dug into his arms. It felt like all the things Jason had convinced himself had never really been there. And there was Bruce’s hand landing on Damian’s shoulder; a silent comfort-encouragement, because Bruce was terrible with words but his touches always spoke volumes. And as the small smile bloomed on Damian’s face and he quickly looked away to hide it, Jason remembered exactly how that felt. Shit.

“Oracle, that’s all for tonight, we’re not getting anywhere without more information.”

“You got it, B, Oracle out.”

Jason spun and stalked towards his bike, before he did something, he didn’t know what exactly.

“Jay?”

Bruce’s voice stopped him in place. He glanced over his shoulder to see them all watching him. Don’t give anything away, he scolded himself.

“What is it, old man?” Jason asked trying to interject as much annoyance into his voice as he could, but it was so hard dredging up any of that when they looked at him worried like that, and his chest ached and he just sounded tired.

“It’s late,” Bruce said with a small unconscious wave of his hand as if anyone could tell the time of day from within the cave, “you could stay the night?”

After a beat he added, “Alfred would love to see you.”

Jason’s jaw clenched. Alfred would, but that’s not what Bruce was really saying, he was saying he would love to have him stay, but didn’t think Jason would be receptive to that and so he brought out the Alfred card. It was plain as day and how had Jason never seen that? Seen the longing on his dad’s face? His chest ached, he knew why. He was always so busy reading everything Bruce did as him trying to control him, every interaction tinted in green. His chest ached. Every inch of his body wanted to stay, to take a step back, see where this could lead, but he couldn’t.

He had to act normal. Normal Jason would never. Normal Jason could be back tomorrow for all he knew. He couldn’t do that to any of them, to himself.

With great difficulty he tore his gaze away from his family and walked the last steps over to his bike.

“Tell Alfred I’ll be coming over for tea on Tuesday,” he said loudly over the noise of his bike, not looking, because he didn’t want to see any of their reactions, then he tore out of there.

This was better for everyone.

Poor Jay really is having the time of it, maybe next part he'll get to actually enjoy not being angry.

next Masterpost for subscription link

[wanderingsoul6261]

Gif credit to thepalmofyourfreezinghand

James Beaufort x tailor!Reader(Female)

Synopsis: Reader is James new tailor. Will be a small series. This fic is small, as it sets the basis, paves the way, whatever, for the series.

Mortimer is probably a bit OOC in this (but I set it where he is good friends with the reader's family? And things will be explained further in the series. But Mortimer is good friends with her father and grandfather primarily) I don't know. We will see where it goes. I might make edits if it's not working in the way I'd like.

The doors to the room burst open, alerting the Beauforts. Heads turned, and glares were given at the intrusion. James had wrinkled his nose in disgust at the newcomer, who wore ripped jeans and a baggy hoodie and had all but practically fell into the room. His eyes moved to his father, whose eyes were on the girl in an instant. James had expected his father to look at her the same way he had and give her an earful, but instead, James was caught by surprise by his father's reaction.

“Ms. Y/L/N.” James whipped his head back towards her. This was his new tailor. This girl, in civilian clothes. Could she even afford lavish clothes? Did she live in a one bedroom house with the rest of her family? 

“Mr. Beaufort. I'm so sorry for being late. I had a family emergency to attend to. I told someone to let you know.” James went to open his mouth to say something sarcastic in response, but his father beat him to it. 

“No need for apologies. I was informed. I hope all is well. We aren't in particularly a rush today, so all is well.” Mortimer turned to his son, who looked between his father and the girl in astonishment? What happened to his father? The brute that threatened to wreak havoc at the smallest of inconveniences. 

“This is Y/N Y/L/N. She is your new tailor. She has trained under some of the finest tailors in the business, so I expect some good things.” James only stared in silence at his father, before his attention turned to her, his jaw clenching. This had to be some joke, but as she readied herself with a measuring tape and motioned for him to take his spot, he knew it wasn't so. “In the meantime, me and your mother have business to attend to.” With that, Mr. and Mrs. Beaufort gave her a polite smile and left the room, Lydia in tow. She shared a look with her brother, who didn't look enthused in the slightest. 

He watched his family leave, and then turned to Y/N, who waited for him to move. But he stood there and stared at her. 

“You're my tailor?” He spoke with a tone that held disgust, his eyes somehow showing the same as he looked her over again. 

“And you're my client? I know. Not how I wanted to spend my afternoon.” She bit back and it surprised him. Not many spoke to him in such a tone, especially someone dressed in such a way that she was. “The Beauforts. Known for their money, and their arrogance.” His jaw clenched, as well as his fists. He wanted to fire back. She hadn't said much to warrant anything too nasty from, but he didn’t like people speaking about his family in such a way.

“You say that, but you still decided to work for us?” It came out as more of a question.

“My family has worked for the Beauforts for many years. Just carrying it on.” her tone altered slightly, almost in a solemn way, before it changed into a mock cheeky tone. 

“And while I know that much about your family, we both also know how your father can be with inconveniences, so we better get started before we really set him behind schedule.” He did know his father, which was why James was surprised when he didn’t lash out when she was half an hour late to their appointment. But he also knew that she was right. The half an hour was small, miniscule. But anything more than that, was up for debate. He didn’t want to see or hear what would come if they fell even further behind schedule. 

“Aren't my measurements already on file?” He asked instead, looking at her pointedly.

“Bodies change, Mr. Beaufort.” She spoke with snark in her tone. “I just want to be sure. Ya know. The ‘do the job once and do it right’ kind of thing’.” She gave him a cheeky grin. Oh how bad he wanted to swipe that grin off her face. She infuriated him, and they have known each other for all but ten minutes. 

He finally took a few steps towards her. 

“Oh, what a good Beaufort!” She exclaimed. He whipped his head towards her in a sneer. 

“Do not, speak to me in such a way.” Y/N had looked almost bored at him. 

“I'm so threatened. Now get over here so I can do my job. I don't want to be here as much as you do, you can trust me that much. But I'm not doing it for me or you, no less your father.” She matched his glare, the two of them knowing full well where these appointments were going to go every time he had one. 

James blew air out of his nose in irritation, his jaw clenching and unclenching as he stared her down. When she only raised an eyebrow and stood her ground, he finally gave in, but if she wanted a fight, James was going to give her one. 

When she was finally allowed to, she finally got to work with measurements, surprising James with how gentle she was being, despite their tiny spat. 

But as she continued to do her job, he felt several emotions. Anger, frustration, disgust, amongst others that described his distaste for her. The other was confusion. Who was she? What was her status? Why did his father treat her with so much respect? And what happened to the man that was his previous tailor? 

----

taglist: @honethatty12 @lifeonawhim @ashamedtobewhitemanswhore27 @maryvibess @wheredidmyeyesgo @imasimptoowth @avada-kedavra-bitch-187

@sillyfreakfanparty

[shanastoryteller]

SHANA HAPPY PRIDE U AWESOME LADY! Can I please maybe get some merlin content? Either time travel Ygraine or something else entirely!

a continuation of 1 2 3 4

His mother is here.

Not an illusion, or a ghost, but his actual mother - confirmed by his father and his knights and Gaius.

She looks like him. Or he looks like her, he supposes. He's fruitlessly searched for himself in his father's face enough times that seeing himself so easily in her is almost jarring.

They have the same hair, they same eyes, the same lips. She scrunches her nose and scowls and it's like looking into a mirror, not even necessarily what she looks like but how she moves.

It explains a lot of looks he's gotten from his father over the years over seemingly innocuous gestures and comments.

After ordering Gaius to find some wizards, she insists on going for a walk in the woods, since too many people seeing her could cause a commotion and she insists that if she has to look at his father's face she's going to beat it.

He'd thought his father was the strong willed one between them. In his mind, his mother had always been docile, because that's the only way he thought anyone could manage a life alongside his father. The reality is better, and more entertaining.

Merlin is still here, trailing awkwardly behind them, but Arthur doesn't tell him to leave because a part of him is anxious over being left alone with his mother.

"Sorry about that display in the throne room," she says, as if reading his thoughts. "Sometimes Uther needs some sense knocked into him, for the good the kingdom. And our marriage."

"It's okay," he says, because it's not like she'd given him more than bruises. "Did you - did you mean it? What you said about magic?"

"Oh, Arthur," she sighs, squeezing his arm. "I'm so sorry you grew up without it. You'd understand if you'd been raised how I wanted you raised."

"How was that?" he asks, desperate and clumsy and not caring because he wants to know so badly.

She softens, looking at him with something warm and affectionate that he's only caught glimpses of behind his father's eyes. "I understand that she changed, after my - my death. But Nimueh was my best friend. You would grown up with magic in every facet of your life, it would have been there in kitchen helping the bread rise and on the training grounds to treat your wounds, it would have been - did you know, I was pregnant before?"

He looks at her, wide eyed, then shakes his head. He knows so little about his mother, only what other people have told him, and so few people are willing to speak of her and upset his father.

"A few times, actually," she continues, mouth twisting bitterly. "But this one got rather far along, we thought we were going to finally - but it wasn't to be. But we were so hopeful, already planning, and Nimueh had carved and enchanted these wooden butterflies to fly above the baby's basinet, to keep them entertained. I still have them, because after, she said to keep them, that one day I would have a child and I'd need them." She lets out a watery laugh. "I imagine Uther had them destroyed, so you never got their benefit. But that's what magic is, Arthur. It's just another way for the people around us to love us, even if it's a bit differently."

His throat is dry and he doesn't know what to say, but he licks his lips and forced out, "I probably could have used it. I was a fussy baby. Really - really, just, always crying, never sleeping through the night, I always needed someone's attention. I apparently drove several nursemaids to tears."

"Did you really?" she asks, trying to laugh, but it comes out eager, and he can't blame her for it.

The same reason that he knows nothing about her is why she'll know nothing about him, why the only way she has to know what he was like as a baby is if he tells her.

She dies giving birth to him, after all.

[lixxen]

Details I have catched after watching Across the Spider-Verse four times:

(spoilers UTC)

Miguel telling Gwen and Peter B he's only going to keep Miles in his little bubble for two or three days so the event can pass

Hobie calling Peter B "the Ultimate Spider-Man", referencing that he's 616

Miguel having heart pupils while watching his monitors, specifically watching Gabriella

Popsicle Spider-Man is in the movie

Miguel doesn't bare his fangs at Miles until the final part. Only claws

Rio has green eyes in 42

Miles STILL doesn't know what Comic Con is

Therapist Spider-Man does have a diploma with his name on it (I don't remember it)

The frownie face on the dead 42 spider label

Spot clearing the room of the 50101 collider so no one else gets hurt (I noticed this the first time but no one mentioned it yet)

Miguel has freckles on his back when we see it for .01 seconds

The Spot is actually looking at the chess game and probably about to make a move before Miles drags him away at the beginning fight

In Gwen's backstory, as we watch Cptn. Stacy walk towards the scene, a man walks into the road but gets pushed behind the barriers by an officer

"I'm not your guy in a chair" is probably a direct reference to the fans calling Ganke that and forcing him into Ned's role from the MCU [EDIT: I KNOW he was originally that in the comics. It's a meta joke. They know he used to be before Ned, but people were being obnoxious]

Ned is Peter's bully I'm Gwen's universe

There's a Spider-Man holding the cat variant on the train at the end

We actually get to see the deleted Spot intro scene on Miguel's monitor, but not the cut end credit (since it hasn't happened)

Miguel actually isn't a bloodthirsty dick until Miles runs. He's being rather nice to Miles considering everything until the end (my friend brought this up)

The "I actually heard he's Dominican" (in response to Rio saying Spider-Man is Puerto Rican) is a meta joke

I hate the AM I hate the PM is a reference to the prime minister and mornings. Not everyone caught that apparently