#idc if it’s a stick figure I just need it

[straight4joekeery]

Teach Me How To Love In Your Own Lyrics

(Part five)

(TWS ⚠️: mentions homophobia and domestic violence; If you want to skip I’ll put blue dots before and after the scene. I’m sorry if there’s any other areas I missed that talk about this!)

Prev. Part one

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“So he dumped me! Get this! He said ‘is it that time of the month?’ Like he’s so wrong for that! I mean… he wasn’t literally wrong. But still. As a woman I feel attacked. Steve? Are you even listening?” See? Steve doesn’t lie. Very. Annoying.

“Yeah. That’s crazy.”

“What’s your problem today?”

“… nothing”

“Oh. My. God. Steve get over it. It’s been a month! Why would you even want to be friends with him? He killed Chrissy,” (OH NO SHE DIDN’T), “I think he should be behind bars,” (SHE DID), “he disappears for like a week and comes back with a brand new apartment. I don’t know Steve I think it’s kinda messed up-”

“JULIE,” The entire diner went silent. He waved and apologized to the workers before continuing a little quieter, “genuine question. Do you ever shut up?”

“I-“

“Let me finish,” she actually closed her mouth for once what a shock! “It’s not against the law for me to have a friend that I actually care for. You act like I can’t know people besides you. Plus to be honest, I’ve never even liked you. For one, you over share EVERYTHING. Yeah, sorry, news flash I could not care less about your dear dear Bradley boy and wether or not he loves you. And also I’m allowed to have opinions that differ from yours. You don’t have to argue about EVERYTHING. If I said ‘oh hey Julie look at the pretty blue sky’ you’d come up with a six page essay on how the sky isn’t BLUE.”

“You done?”

“Oh I could say more if you’d like,” he grinned. When she said nothing he went to continue his beautifully presented speech.

“Pass,” she interrupted, “I’m sorry Steve. I really am. But it’s not my fault you cannot form a sentence where the subject isn’t Eddie. You’d think you’re in love with him,” (OH REALLY??) the last words rang in his ears. He scoffed as he took the last sip of his shake. He aggressively stood up and thanked the waiter.

“Oh and thank you for paying Julie!” He smiled as he ran out the door. He jumped in the car and laughed. Laughed until he couldn’t breathe. He wondered where all this rage came from. Then he remembered that he promised himself to never yell at anyone…

• Suddenly he’s ten again. His dad had told him something stupid that Steve quite frankly didn’t agree with. He didn’t even yell at him he just said softly that he has a different opinion. But oh no. Richard wasn’t too happy about it. He yelled at Steve until he lost his voice. When he did he had to use the only other form of punishment he knew. He hit Steve. Once. Twice. Seven times. But no. That wasn’t enough. He grabbed Steve by the hair and slammed him into the wall. That’s how he got concussion number 1 (and 2,4, and 5). If you ask anyone else he knew at the time he fell of his bike (Which was believable considering that’s how he got the third one). He remembered going to school the next day and Tommy laughing at him because oh Steve, you’re so stupid. Oh. Tommy.

Now he’s back to age 14. There were two kids in his grade named Cory and Danny. They were both super nice kids. Got good grades, never did anything wrong. But one day Tommy wasn’t to fond of how close they were sitting at lunch. So as usual, he said something. Called them… the word. Now I mean sure, Steve wasn’t the nicest and called Johnathan a queer once. But that? He’d never do that. That’s way too far. He told Tommy to stop. He just pushed him away and said, “or what? Are you a little fairy too?” •

Thinking back on it so what? So what if he was gay? There’s nothing wrong with that. And yeah Julie, so what if he is in love with Eddie…Wait. Pause. What? He had to think for a hot second about that one. He thinks about Nancy and what it felt like to be in love with her. And yeah it’s a lot different actually, but not in the way he thinks. He thought about how he actually felt about Nance he loved her but no… the longer he thought about it the more he realized. He thought about Robin, and how yeah he obviously loves her too. In the same way he loved Nance.

But that’s like saying their whole relationship was a lie so no. He loved her. But… He was hyperventilating at this point. Okay well he’s obviously not gay because he hooked up with like 10 girls a month a while back. He did it in hopes for just the right girl. He hoped it ‘feel different’ with her. Different. Oh.

But he guessed that it doesn’t matter anyways, because Eddie doesn’t like Steve back. Right?

He had to stop thinking about it because he’s been sitting in the car for a while now and he can see Julie inside standing up finally. He pulls out of the parking lot and cranks down the window. Just breathing in the summer air. He makes it about half way home before he realizes that he drove Julie to the diner. Oops.

He turns on the radio. He still hasn’t changed the tape since the airport. He has to admit. This kind of music is growing on him. It’s loud he’ll give it that, but the more he listens the more he actually hears the lyrics. And they’re actually good. Like really good. He pulls up to his house and sits in the car for a bit longer. Just listening.

Once the tape is over he gets out. He unlocks the door and jumps onto the couch. He sees the copy of The Lord of the Rings that Dustin had gotten him after forcing him to watch the movies. He almost cried (but then he thought about his dads stupid words) when he got it. Mostly because it’s probably the best gift he’s ever gotten. But partly because he couldn’t read. After concussion number 13 (12? 14? He didn’t know. I wonder why he couldn’t remember!) he was never able to. The words blend together and make no sense anymore. Every time he picks up a book he gets an instant migraine. (Oh yeah because he gets those too now.) He picks it up anyway. He opens it and… yeah. “Pointless,” He sighed.

It’s the weekend for gods sake, and he just discovered the that his life was a lie (he honestly wasn’t even mad about it. He was happy. It felt like a 50 pound brick just got taken off his shoulder). He should be doing something fun. So he gets up and looks around. He could put on a movie. But then again he’s seen them all about 20 times since Eddie left. Yep he’s got nothing. He could… yeah nope absolutely nothing. He glanced towards the phone and shrugs. He dials the only number he has memorized.

“Hello?”

“Hey Vick!”

“Steve! How are you?”

“I’m good! Really good actually. Uh random question.”

“Hm?”

“Are you and Robin working today? Or just over the weekend in general?”

“I mean we are supposed to be but we can always just close up the shop. Why what’s up.”

“You guys want to go out for a drink? I’ll drive up there.”

Steve could practically here her smiling over the phone. She sighed, “I’ll go inform the wife,” she giggled.

“Thanks Vick, you’re the best.”

“Tell me something I don’t know. When will you head up here?”

“…now?”

She laughed, “yeah okay. See you in a bit!”

“Bye,” he put the phone back on the wall. He walked to his room to find a good outfit.

He put on his skinny jeans because in Eddie’s exact words, “they are very…Flattering?” He searched for a good shirt. Thankfully he expanded from his polo collection. He accidentally pushed a shirt off of its hanger and he couldn’t just leave it on the ground like a normal person because that would ruin “the image”. He picks it up and looks at it. It was a Nirvana shirt Eddie had bought him saying that, “this band will slowly ease you into metal. Grungey but surprisingly good.” He didn’t think they were to bad. He threw on the shirt for fun. It looked alright so he decided to stick with it. Plus it was actually very comfy. He went to walk out of his room when he saw it. Why did he still have it? It’s been seven years. But there it is in the corner of his room. The stupid battle vest. He thought he gave it back to Eddie. He picked it up and went to hang it up when he caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror. I mean. He might as well. He threw on the jacket and… he looked good. Really good. He wondered why he never wore it before. He definitely pulled it off. He ran to the bathroom and grabbed the makeup bag he kept for when Robin came over (he swears it’s for Robin and Robin only). Go big or go home right? He pulled out three things: lipgloss (WHICH HE HAS NEVER USED AND IS ROBINS AND NOT HIS), mascara (WHICH HE HAS ALSO NEVER USED), and eyeliner. (Which he actually hadn’t ever used) He started with the lipgloss. Yep looks good like normal Wow Steve! He should have done this sooner. He put on the eyeliner. He had done this so many times on Robin it was practically muscle memory and… woah. It was… different to say the least. Then he put on the slightest bit of mascara on and checked himself out… for 5 minutes. He actually liked what he saw. He decided it was definitely time to go so he jumped in the car and drove up to his second home. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Next

EEEEEE. YOU GO STEVE. Baddie era fr (I’ll never say that again I swear. Dw it pained me too). I feel kinda bad just giving him piles of trauma. This one’s gooooodddd tho. Sorry if it’s short, it was originally supposed to be combined with the next one but I’m hoping that one will be kinda long. Am I projecting Nirvana onto him? Yes. Ofc. Nirvana is great and deserves more attention in fics. I am stressing a lot over this. I have a post up on my page that like gives updates and spoilers and stuff. So I was saying how I stopped reading my English book for this. Oops. I also don’t even have another chapter written after this so it’s gonna be a fun little weekend project! Also crazy to think I’m most likely half way done. Anyways now the stuff no one cares about. Comment or reblog if you want to be tagged. (I am not being aggressive when I capitalize this I just need people to see it.) MAKE SURE YOU HAVE YOUR TAGS ON GUYS!! Here’s the tag list!: @asbealthgn , @queerbeansworld , @bird-with-pencils , @vecnuthy , @artiststarme , @captain-winter-wolf-aehs , @piningapple @rowendyss @steve-themom-harrington @lfaewrites @azreadytodie @thequeenrainacorn @pastel-dreamscape @importanttimemachinenerd @jehneeg @swagaliciousmarie @mightbeasleep @krazyperson @milkshakeflower @fando-random @bumblebeecuttlefishes @swimmingbirdrunningrock @gregre369

I am going to cry I just found a much easier way to tag people. ⬇️⬇️

[toastsnaffler]

weekend melancholy is starting to kick in >~<

[velarisdusk]

Thawing Boundaries

Hockey AU | Azriel x Reader x Rhysand

Series Masterlist Part 1 <- ✦.⁺.✦.⁺.✦ -> Part 3 - Melted Resolve

word count: 11.7k

content: there's so much in this one i'm bound to miss a few [ explicit sexual content, PIV (protected, a shocker for me i know), rough sex, oral sex (f receiving), voyeuristic elements, dirty talk, degredation, biting/marking, choking, light slapping, public sex (locker room setting), threesome, dominance/submission, infidelity | forced proximity, emotional conflict, dub-con (but reader does want it i promise), injury mention, strong language, and (very light) emotional manipulation and guilt-tripping ]

summary: After tension from a failed move at practice leads to a teammate's injury, you and Azriel unexpectedly meet in the locker room. As you share a heated moment, a surprise arrival heightens the stakes, leading to a steamy, forbidden encounter that leaves you questioning your choices and their consequences.

author's note: AAAAAAAAA? tysm for all the love on Ice Cold Jealousy, this was so fun to write i hope yall like it >;) i might've gone too hard on the dirty talk depending on the type of person you are but idc it's hot OH and i PROMISE these wont all take place in the locker room lmfao, it's just where the plot took me. also, no dp dont get your hopes up.

On the ice, chaos reigns. The game unfolds at breakneck speed, the puck zipping from stick to stick, its path unpredictable. Players shift positions in the blink of an eye, changing possession in heartbeats. Their movements are a blur of speed and precision, leaving you struggling to keep up with the rapid-fire action. 

With 15 seconds left, the Golden Spring Griffins were up 3-2. There was no need to score again — they just had to keep possession. A bunch of show-offs…

And right there was the proof. 

A pass from one of their wingers to the other, cutting it mighty close to the Snowvale Sentinels’ defensive line. He rode it along the left side of the rink for about ten feet before an abrupt 180; clockwise, getting up close and personal with the defenseman who’d chased him down the whole play. The defenseman struck his stick down between the other player and the puck, expecting him to double back around. 

Everyone expected him to double back around.

But there he was — Tamlin, you believed was his name — skating backward for a second, letting the momentum carry him along his path. And he finished out his clockwise turn. Turn back down the ice? Not a chance. It was the perfect opportunity for a spin-o-rama. What a silly name for such a calculated move. What he did next had the arena and fans watching from everywhere on their feet. 

It was common practice to pass after a spin-o-rama, the maneuver simply meant to disorient any nearby opposition if a player was ever in a tough spot. Whoever he passed to would be expected to, as quickly as possible, either go for the shot or pass to someone who could. The downside was that this not only gave the opposing team time to figure out what was happening but to adjust accordingly as well. 

So Tamlin didn’t give them that chance. 

Immediately after coming out of his spin, he brought his stick back, and in a flash, thrust it forward. You could’ve sworn you heard the blade hit the ice just before the puck, and—

Red light. Goal.

Buzzer. That’s game.  

A spin-o-rama, a risky maneuver as is, followed by a slapshot, one of the strongest but least accurate shots, as you’d heard Cassian remind his team countless times over the years.

It was all so fast.

You focus on his footwork throughout the turn, absorbing every detail.

Again, you watch, slower this time, and notice the precise angle of the blade.

Looking up, you see Tarquin attempting the very same move, Cassian standing in as an opposing player. You tap your phone screen, pausing the ESPN stream of last night’s game. You’d gotten your fill of it last night. Lifting the soup spoon from the pot to your lips, you’d very nearly burnt yourself after how badly you’d jumped at Cassian’s exaggerated gasp at the television. For what had to have been at least an hour following, you were subject to the full-volume gushes and shouts of every last one of the Vipers during their group FaceTime. They were playing the Griffins in a couple of weeks. Though they didn’t have a particularly bitter history, their rivalry always had a bit of an edge to it.

It made sense that during practice today, Cassian was on their asses more than usual. The priority for the next couple of days was to teach Tarquin and Rhysand the maneuver (while trying to master it himself), to then teach the others how to counter it. 

Practice ended over half an hour ago, but they still had some time on the ice before Phil the Zamboni Guy came out to resurface it. He was cool, if a bit grouchy-looking.

“Fuck!” 

He was fine regarding the first half of the move, but coming out of the spin, none of his slapshots made it into the net. Hell — none of them made it past Cassian. 

“Again,” he said, firmly but coolly. In response, Tarquin wordlessly skated back to his starting position down ice, head lazily flopped back and arms loose by his sides. 

“Where’s Rhys? Isn’t he supposed to be here too?” Tarquin groaned, shifting back into proper stance. 

“Rhysie’s got a little date tonight,” you could hear the smirk in your boyfriend’s voice, followed by a sound of exaggerated, definitely insincere, enthusiasm from Tarquin. 

Your phone buzzes, a text from Mor.

Karaoke tn?

Truly, you had plans. Plans to stay home and watch bad TLC shows with a large bottle of chilled wine. But really, how bad would it be? You’d be drinking either way. Karaoke is not a sober activity.

uhh

where at?

After a few moments, another buzz, a text with an address, followed by a “Pleaseeeee (y/n), it’s so fun when you come :( I need someone to debrief and shit talk with after.” You roll your eyes with a small snort. Tapping on the address link, the map opens to show you it’s a nice little spot downtown, hopefully better than the sketchy karaoke place you’d followed her to last time.

sure why n-

Your screen goes black. You sigh, realizing you’ve drained your battery watching replays and scrolling through socials during the long practice session. 

Bringing your gaze back up, you notice the palpable frustration radiating from both men. You’ve never seen Tarquin so angry during practice; things usually came quite easily to him. When his next slapshot makes it past Cassian but bounces off the crossbar, you’re stunned. Even more shocking is the feral growl that echoes throughout the arena. You watch, astonished, as he violently hurls his helmet onto the ice. He skates off, fuming, before storming off down the hall. To cool down, you presume. 

Cassian skates over to you, and you meet him at the players’ bench to avoid talking through the glass.

“That move is gonna give us all hell,” Cassian sighs, removing his helmet and running a hand through his sweat-dampened hair.

You nod sympathetically. “It looked tricky. Tarquin seemed pretty frustrated,” you say, stating the obvious. You both share a knowing smile. 

“Yeah… But we’ll get it down,” he says, determination creeping into his voice. “Can’t take as long as the backhand saucer pass with Eris. Remember how many times he nearly took Az’s head off before he got it right?”

You chuckle a bit at the memory. He’d gotten the pass down fairly quickly. The issue was applying it. They’d spend about a week of practice setting up different game situations for him to practice the move. 

Azriel got hit with the puck several times. 

“You look good out there,” you told him with a coy smile. 

“When do I not?”

“When you’re being a narcissist,” you scoff. A blatant lie; he knew you liked your men cocky.

Cassian leans closer, a roguish grin spreading across his face. “Narcissist? Please. It’s not narcissism if it’s true.” He winks, then adds in a lower voice, “Besides, I seem to recall you enjoying my… confidence quite thoroughly last night.”

You roll your eyes but can’t suppress a smile. “And here I thought your ego couldn’t get any bigger. Guess I’ll have to find a way to take you down a peg or two later.”

Cassian leans against the boards, his grin widening. “Is that a promise or a threat?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” you tease, mirroring his posture.

He relents, shaking his head with a chuckle. “You’re something else, babe, you know that?”

“So I’ve been told,” you reply with a wink. “Though usually by guys who can’t keep up.”

“Oh, I think I manage just fine,” Cassian counters, a glint in his eye.

You’re about to respond when his stomach lets out an audible growl. He looks down, slightly embarrassed, and you both chuckle, the moment lightening.

Cassian says, rubbing the back of his neck, “What are you thinking for dinner tonight?”

“Oh, actually,” you start, “I’m going to karaoke with Mor. And some of her friends, I think? I’ll grab something while I’m out.”

Cassian nods, “Sounds fun. Tell Mor I said hi.”

“My phone died while I was texting her. Mind if I use yours to let her know?”

“Sure thing,” Cassian replies, reaching over the wall for his duffel.

Suddenly, the sharp sounds of blades scraping ice cuts through the air. You both turn to see Tarquin charging full speed with the puck toward center ice. His helmet’s off, hair windswept, determination etched on his features. You can’t help but admire the raw athleticism on display as he turns his back to the goal, his footwork mirroring Tamlin’s from the video. 

You inhale sharply. As he initiates the spin, his blade catches the edge of the puck instead of gliding past it. In a split second, his ankle twists at a sickening angle. His body, still carrying the momentum of the spin, topples sideways. You watch in horror as Tarquin crashes onto the ice, a cry of pain echoing through the arena.

Tarquin clutches his ankle, his features twisted in distress. Cassian immediately rushes towards him. You follow, carefully stepping onto the ice, your shoes sliding slightly as you try to keep your balance.  As you near, you hear Rhysand’s voice from the direction of the locker room. “What happened?” he shouts, running towards the scene. 

Rhysand, more sure-footed, reaches you first. As you slip slightly on the ice, his hand finds your lower back, the other on your shoulder, steadying you as he moves swiftly by. He slides to his knees the last few feet, joining Cassian at Tarquin’s side. You follow, more cautiously, moments later. 

“You gotta let me get a look at it bro,” Cassian tells him, face grim as he gently probes at Tarquin’s ankle. He moves his hand, and Cassian carefully unlaces Tarquin’s skate. The process is slow, each tug causing him to wince. His eyes, usually so bright, are now clouded with pain, making your heart ache a little at the sight. When Cassian finally eases the skate off, you all grimace. It’s silent save for the breath you suck in through your teeth. The two men kneeling over Tarquin shoot you a look, and you mouth a small “sorry”. How were you supposed to know they were trying to keep calm? It’s not like Tarquin was some fragile rookie who couldn’t handle it. 

“I don’t think it’s broken,” Tarquin tells them, jaw clenching and nostrils flaring a bit in pain when Cassian tries to move his ankle. “Probably just a sprain, right?”

His ankle is already swelling, an angry red color blooming across the skin. The area around the bone looks puffy and distorted. 

“Yeah… Yeah, probably—help me get him to my truck,” Cassian says to Rhysand, his voice tense with worry. With Cassian supporting his legs and Rhysand at his shoulders, Tarquin cradles his ankle as they lift him. It’s a bit awkward with only one of them in skates but they manage. 

As they carry him towards the exit, Tarquin calls out to you, his voice strained with pain. “(Y/N)! Can you grab my phone from my locker? 1418, combination’s 19-21-13.”

“Got it,” you reply assertively, already turned away. You call back to Cassian, “Just go, I’ll meet you there!”

You hurry down the hallway, your mind racing faster than your feet. The image of Tarquin’s swollen ankle flashes in your mind, making you cringe. How bad was it really? A sprain could mean a few weeks of recovery, but if it was fractured or worse…

As you near the locker room, you force yourself to focus. 1418, 19-21-13. You repeat the numbers in your head, determined not to forget them in your rush. 

The quiet empty corridor feels eerie after the chaos on the ice. You find yourself wondering how Tarquin is holding up, if he’s in much pain. A pang of sympathy hits you — you’ve seen how passionate he is about the game, how hard he pushes himself. Memories of his intense focus during practices, the way his muscles flex as he glides across the ice, his infectious smile, the droplets of water trailing down his chest after a shower…

You quickly push those thoughts aside, feeling a mix of guilt and a confusing thrill at the unbidden images. 

Reaching the locker room door, you push it open without hesitation, your eyes already scanning for locker 1418. 

You spot it quickly enough, your fingers flying over the combination lock. 19-21-13. The locker swings open with a metallic creak. You rummage through the contents, pushing aside gym clothes and equipment until your hand closes around the familiar shape of a phone. 

As you’re about to shut the locker and race back to your car, something catches your eye. Pinned to the inside of the door is a Polaroid — one you took at the team’s annual log cabin retreat last year. The guys are shirtless, grinning at the camera, their arms slung around each other’s shoulders. Cassian stands in the middle, all flexed biceps and confidence, Rhysand to his right and Tarquin on his left with matching, easygoing smiles that you’ve internally swooned at more than once. Azriel, always a bit more reserved than the others, stands slightly behind them, his eyes soft with a rare moment of unguarded joy. Helion and Eris flank the group, their expressions reflecting a mix of mischief and amusement. That was moments before they’d picked Cassian up and thrown him into the lake. You can’t help but smile, remembering the weekend’s camaraderie and the close quarters, the obstacle course that left you all covered in mud and laughing, the impromptu swimming races in the lake, and the countless moments of playful teasing. The cabin’s single bathroom had led to more than a few flustered encounters. You’d lost count of how many times you’d rounded the corner, only to collide with one of the guys fresh from the shower, hair dripping, towel barely clinging to their hips. Each of them had caught you off guard at least once over the years, leaving you to save face and will yourself not to stare.

Your reminiscing is abruptly cut short by a strained sound echoing through the room. You freeze, suddenly aware of the steady hiss of running water. How long have the showers been on? You were so focused on finding the phone, you hadn’t even noticed… Another noise like the last, this one a bit louder. 

Concern creeps in as you wonder if someone else has gotten hurt. First Tarquin, now this? What is it with today? Cautiously, you move towards the showers, ears straining for any more sounds. The rush of water grows louder as you approach. Only the stall at the far end, against the back wall, is running. You notice a small gap between the curtain and the wall, and before you can stop yourself, your eyes are drawn to it. 

Through the narrow space, you catch a glimpse of Azriel. His back is turned, muscles tense, shoulders slightly hunched, his head bowed. There’s a rhythmic quality to his movements that takes you a moment to comprehend. When realization dawns, you feel heat rush to your face.

You know you should leave, give him privacy, but you find yourself frozen in place. The steam seems to thicken the air around you, making it harder to breathe. Suddenly you’re acutely aware of your quickening pulse and the warmth spreading through your body.

Azriel’s back muscles ripple with each movement, the water cascading down his tanned skin, highlighting every ridge and contour. His left hand is splayed flat against the wall for support, fingers flexing slightly every now and then. The muscles in his arm contract and release, contract and release. His right hand, lower and out of view, works in a steady, practiced motion.

You can’t tear your eyes away from the interplay of muscles across his shoulders and back. His wet hair clings to his neck, droplets trailing down to join the rivulets streaming along his spine. Your gaze travels further downward, following the water’s path over the powerful curve of his glutes, the firm muscles clenching with each movement. His legs, strong and slightly apart for balance, show every shift in weight and tension, every flex and release. 

The sight is intoxicating. A flush creeps up your neck, a reaction that’s as involuntary as it is intense. Azriel lets out a low, throaty sound of pleasure, and it sends a shiver down your spine. You’re rooted to the spot, every sense heightened. The steam swirls around you, seemingly thickening the air, making it harder to breathe. The sound of water rushing fills your ears, drowning out rational thought. You can almost feel the heat radiating from his body, the sheer presence of him a magnet pulling you closer.

Suddenly, Azriel’s movements still, and you notice the subtle tension in his muscles. He turns his head slightly, just enough for you to catch a glimpse of his profile. For a moment, you hope he hasn’t seen you, but then his eyes lock onto yours through the small gap. His gaze is intense, piercing, and you can see the realization dawning in his expression.

You feel your heart stop, your breath hitching in your throat. The room seems to shrink around you, the air heavy all of a sudden. Azriel’s lips curl into a slow, knowing smile, his eyes never leaving yours.

“Didn’t expect company,” he says, voice low and husky, cutting through the sound of the shower like a knife.

You stumble back a step, heat flooding your face. “I— Fuck, I’m sorry,” you push out, unable to tear your eyes away from him. From those eyes. He doesn’t move, just continues to watch you, the corner of his mouth twitching with amusement. 

You finally force yourself to move, turning quickly and beelining for the door. “I didn’t mean to— I wasn’t trying to—” you stammer over your shoulder, your heart racing. You reach for the door handle and tug, but it doesn’t budge. Panic flares as you yank harder, but it’s stuck. You slide Tarquin’s phone into your jacket pocket to use both hands.

“Seriously?” you mutter under your breath, trying not to think about what Azriel must be thinking of you right now. 

You hear the sound of footsteps approaching. Your pulse quickens as you keep tugging on the door handle. “You don’t have to pretend it’s locked if you wanna stay in here with me, y’know,” Azriel’s voice comes from behind you, closer now.

You glance back to see him walking towards you, a towel in hand, drying his forearms and hands. The towel barely preserves his modesty, exposing everything from his muscular thighs to the sharp cut of his hip bones and a tantalizing glimpse of his V-line. He’s casual, almost nonchalant, but his eyes never leave yours, dark with amusement and something more.

“I was—” you start, but he cuts you off, raising a brow.

“Enjoying the show?” he asks, voice smooth and teasing.

You manage to arch a brow as well, trying to maintain some of your dignity as you respond, “Didn’t realize you were putting on a performance.”

Azriel chuckles, a deep, rich sound. “For you, (y/n)? I’d put on a private performance anytime.”

You feel your face start to heat up again, but you keep your composure. “How generous of you.”

He grins, finally wrapping the towel around his waist, the movement slow and deliberate. It takes everything in you to keep your gaze from traveling downward. “I aim to please,” he says.

You gesture to the door with your arm. “Since you’re so helpful, how about getting this door open?”

Azriel steps closer, lightly brushing his fingers against your arm as he moves you gently aside. “Let’s see what we have here,” he murmurs, his touch making its way to your waist and lingering a moment longer than necessary.

He gives the handle a firm tug. It doesn’t budge for him either. After a few more tries, he furrows his brows at it, as if it’ll give him an answer. “You weren’t kidding…”

“Shocking, I know,” you reply, rolling your eyes.

As he continues trying the door, you can’t help but be captivated by the muscles rippling in his arms, each sinew flexing with effort. Your eyes wander to the brutal scars crisscrossing his hands, remnants of a fateful game well before your time with the team. But you can’t help but imagine how those roughened fingers would feel inside you. The thought has you biting your lip to keep from sighing.

Azriel’s movements falter, and he glances back at you, a smirk playing on his lips. You quickly divert your eyes, feeling the intensity of his gaze. His smirk widens as he steps closer, his presence overwhelming. He places a hand on your shoulder, his thumb rubbing the side of your neck gently before his grip tightens, almost possessively. “Catch your attention?” His voice drops to a whisper, the rasp sending jolts of arousal through you. 

“Come on, Az…” you murmur weakly, turning your head away from him. His hand moves from your shoulder to cup your jaw, his thumb brushing your cheek.

“You think I don’t see the way you look at me?” he asks, head cocked as he leans in to whisper in your ear. “You can never keep your eyes off of me for long, you make it so obvious.”

Your breath hitches as his fingers trail down your arm, sending a chill through your body. He leans in even closer, his lips almost grazing your skin. “Are you imagining what I could do for you that he can’t? Because I think about it more than I care to admit,” he continues, his voice a low rumble. 

Cass.

Your mind screams his name, but your body is rooted to the spot. Cassian is waiting for you, the urgency of the situation pulling at you like a lifeline. Yet here you stand, trapped in Azriel’s intoxicating presence, the steam in the air persistent. 

“You look tense, (y/n)” Azriel pulls back, his voice low and smooth, a dark melody that raises goosebumps across your skin. His hand moves to your waist, fingers tracing the curve of your hip over your skirt. “Is it because of Cass?”

You swallow hard, trying to find your voice. “Azriel. I need to go. He’s waiting for me.”

Azriel’s lips curl into a knowing smile as his hand slides lower, toying with the hem of your skirt. “Is he?” he asks, his tone teasing.

Your breath catches as his fingers dip beneath the hem, just enough to tease, “Az, please,” you murmur, though the conviction in your voice is waning.

“Please what?” Azriel’s hand moves with slow, deliberate intent, his touch both tender and possessive. “Please stop? Or please don’t stop?”

Your mind is a whirlwind as his touch makes your pulse race. “Cassian,” you whisper, almost a plea. 

“Cassian doesn’t have to know,” Azriel whispers, his voice dripping with reassurance, each word a gentle caress against your skin. “It’ll be our little secret. I promise.”

You should resist, should want to resist, to pull away and run to Cassian. But his hand slips up, under your skirt, fingers brushing over the thin fabric of your tights. Your body betrays you, squeezing your thighs together, a barely perceptible, breathy whine escaping you.

“We can’t,” you breathe out with a barely visible shake of your head, but you don’t push him away. 

“And why not, hm?” He sounds like he’s hardly there, enraptured by the trail of his fingers when they find the waistline of your tights, slipping just beneath the hem to caress your skin directly. 

You grab his wrist to stop him, and it’s only then that you tear your eyes away from his to look at the sight. His hand is under your skirt, the fabric draped over his wrist. The fabric is lifted just enough for him to catch a glimpse of your underwear if he were to lower his gaze. 

Your heart pounds as you struggle to maintain your resolve. “This isn’t right,” you whisper, your voice betraying the war raging within you. 

Azriel’s fingers pause. “Isn’t it?” he asks softly, his voice a soothing murmur. “It feels right, doesn’t it?”

His tone is gentle, almost coaxing. “We’re just sharing a moment,” he continues, his breath warm against your skin. “No one has to know.”

Your grip on his wrist weakens, the conflict within you intensifying with each second. His words, his touch — they’re all weaving a spell around you, pulling you closer. 

Azriel senses your hesitation and presses his advantage, his hand resuming its slow, deliberate movements. “Just let go,” he whispers, his voice a dark promise. “Let me make you feel good.” 

Your resolve crumbles as his touch becomes more insistent, his fingers tracing patterns of fire on your skin. The forbidden thrill of his touch, the intoxicating promise of pleasure — it’s too much to resist.

With a soft gasp, you finally give in, your back arching as your chest presses into him. “Azriel,” you breathe, but it’s different than before. This time, his name tumbles from your lips as both a surrender and a plea. 

Azriel’s smile is triumphant as he captures your lips in a searing kiss, his hands roaming freely now, exploring every inch of you. The world outside fades away, leaving only the two of you in this heated, forbidden moment.

You know you shouldn’t be doing this. Part of your mind screams at you to stop, to push him away, but the way his hands move, the way his lips taste… It’s intoxicating. The guilt gnaws at you, but the desire is overwhelming, drowning out any sense of right or wrong when his hand slips further into the waistband of your tights, his fingers brushing against your panties. He rubs you through the fabric, and as a soft moan escapes your lips, a groan leaves his. The sensation is electric, a pleasure and forbidden thrill that makes your knees weak. You clutch at his shoulders, torn between the need to push him away and the desire to pull him closer.

You gasp, his name a breathless whisper on your lips. He responds with a low, satisfied hum, his fingers working, pushing you further into your haze. His touch is both gentle and demanding, sending shocks of pleasure through your body. You feel his warm breath against your neck as his lips trail down, leaving a blazing path in their wake. Your body craves more, hips moving in a slow, sensual rhythm against his hand. He doesn’t stop, each stroke deliberate and intoxicating. Your breaths come faster, and you tangle your fingers into his still-dripping hair, pulling him back up for a frenzied kiss.

Desperation takes over as you both rush to tear off your clothes. Your jacket falls to the floor with a distant thud, Tarquin’s phone still in the pocket. The sound barely registers in your mind, consumed as you are by the urgent need to feel Azriel’s skin on yours. His hands move with practiced ease, pulling your shirt up and off, your lips hardly separating. His fingers work deftly at the clasp of your bra, and with a single motion, it comes undone, falling away to reveal your bare skin. 

As you kick off your shoes, his lips are already back on your neck, biting, licking, aching for a taste. You step backward, the backs of your thighs brushing against the wall as he tugs down your skirt and tights in one forceful, fluid motion, the urgency in his actions mirrored by your own racing heartbeat. Each step backward leaves a piece of clothing discarded. He pauses, his eyes dark with desire as he takes you in, then his fingers resume their exploration, sliding beneath your panties to rub you directly. You gasp, arching further into his touch, and he takes the opportunity to deepen the kiss, his tongue exploring your mouth with the same intensity as his fingers. He pulls back his hand, peeling away and discarding the last bit of cloth. He lifts you then, your legs wrapping around his waist instinctively. As you both step towards the shower, you hear the soft thud of Azriel’s towel hitting the floor. He guides you closer, the anticipation building with each step. The spray of water hits your skin, and for a moment you're confused.

Azriel’s voice, low and reassuring, cuts through the hiss of the water. “Some privacy,” he murmurs against your lips, a sly smile playing on his face. “In case we get rescued.”

The water cascades over you both. You cling to him, lost in the sensation, the guilt and doubt taking a backseat. His hands roam freely, caressing every inch of your body with a possessive tenderness. His lips trail down your neck, your collarbone, your chest. His fingers find your clit again, circling in slowly, teasingly. You moan into his mouth, the sound swallowed by his kiss.

“You feel so good around my fingers,” Azriel growls against your lips. “So tight and wet for me.”

Your breaths are nothing more than shallow gasps, each one punctuated by the delicious friction of his fingers. “Az,” you moan, trying to keep your voice low. “I need more.”

He smirks, his lips brushing against your ear. “Oh, are you going to beg for it?” A deep hum. “I want to hear those sweet little moans louder, baby, can you do that for me?”

You can’t help but comply, your moans finally growing from whispered gasps as his fingers move faster, curl harder. “Fuck— Yes, Azriel, right there,” you choke out, the last remnant of common sense in you still minding your volume. 

“That’s it,” he purrs. “You’re so fucking perfect like this, falling apart on my hand.” His thumb steadily circles your throbbing clit. 

Your hands grasp at his shoulders for something to anchor yourself with as the pleasure builds. “Please Az,” you whimper, your voice trembling with need. “I’m so close,” you tell him, a hint of disbelief in your tone.

“Come for me, angel,” he commands, a glint in his eyes. “Show me how good I make you feel.”

Your body tenses, the pleasure cresting, and you let out a strangled cry, a hand over your mouth stifling it. Your orgasm crashes over you in waves, and his name spills from your lips, a breathless chant, as he continues to touch you, prolonging the pleasure.

“That was… wow…” you pant as you come down from your high.

“Good,” he says, his fingers slowing but not stopping. “But I’m not done with you yet.”

Before you can respond, he moves his hand from your breast to your mouth, holding his fingers up to your lips. “Suck,” is all he says. And you do. You take his fingers in, swirling your tongue around them, coating them in your saliva. “You look so beautiful like this,” he murmurs, looking down at you with slightly parted lips. “So perfect.”

He pulls out of you, but just as you’re about to whine around his fingers at the loss, you see him bring them to his own mouth, and you whine at that instead. He groans and his eyes roll back when he tastes you, and the sight sends a rush of need to your core. “Azriel,” you mumble around his fingers, the word muffled. 

“Shh, angel,” he soothes, his voice a low rumble. “Just let me take care of you.” His fingers leave your mouth, trailing down your body. Both of his hands come to rest on your hips, squeezing the flesh there. He turns you suddenly, pulling your back flush against his front, and his arms wrap around you. One hand slides between your legs, resuming its torment, while the other moves to cover your mouth.

“Quiet now,” he whispers. “Wouldn’t want anyone walking by outside to hear us, right?”

You nod, hardly processing what he’d said. Your concentration is set on the feel of his toned abdominal muscles pressed against your back. 

“You said Cass was waiting for you, right?” he whispers in your ear, the sensation without being able to see him being all the more delicious, but your eyes widen at his words. You let out a frustrated groan, much louder than the noises you made before, though it’s muffled by his hand. “Doesn’t seem like you care too much anymore… What if he comes looking for you? Hm? What then? Gotta keep quiet for me, okay?” You can practically hear the smile in his voice. “For all we know, he could be right outside the door, worried sick about his sweet little (y/n).”

Your heart races at his words, fear and excitement coursing through you. Azriel’s fingers move faster, his hand stifling your moans. “Imagine the look on his face if he found you like this,” he continues. “So needy, so desperate for my touch.”

You shiver, his words igniting a forbidden thrill within you, far surpassing the teasing and casual touches Cassian permitted them all. “Please…” It’s so muffled behind his hand, but he hears you perfectly.

“Please what?” he murmurs, his fingers continuing to thrust in and out of you. “Please make you come again? Or please stop before Cassian catches us?”

Your mind is a whirlwind, the thought of Cassian finding you like this both terrifying and exhilarating. Azriel loosens his hand long enough to hear your response. “Make me come,” you finally whisper, your voice trembling with need. “Please, Azriel.”

“Good girl,” he purrs, his fingers moving with relentless precision. “I want to feel you come for me again.”

You’re teetering on the edge of another orgasm, every nerve ending alight with sensation. The only sounds in the room are the running water, your ragged breaths, and the wet, slick sounds of his fingers working in and out of you at a punishing speed. Just as you’re about to reach the peak, you hear it — a faint squeak of a sneaker on the tiled floor.

Your eyes snap open, panic mingling with the pleasure. Azriel falters for a beat, barely half a second, but doesn’t stop, his hand tightening over your mouth. “Shh,” he whispers right into your ear, his voice dark and heavy with authority. “Don’t make a sound.”

You’re caught in a delicious torment, the fear of being seen only heightening your arousal. The footsteps grow louder, and closer, and then, abruptly, the curtain is yanked open.

Rhysand stands there, eyes wide with shock, then with something else as his eyes rake over your body. His eyes meet yours, then shift to Azriel behind you, his hand still buried between your legs, still moving in and out. A smile creeps onto Rhysand’s face and he crosses his arms, leaning against the wall with a short breath of a laugh. 

“Does Cass know you’ve got her here like this?” He juts his chin at you.

Azriel smirks, his fingers still working inside you. “What do you think?”

Rhysand chuckles, his eyes roaming over your body with a detached curiosity. “You think he’ll have you skate lines for this?” he muses. His gaze travels up and down your form, lingering on the places where Azriel’s hands are touching you, but his face remains a mask of calm. Yet you notice his knuckles turning white where he’s squeezing his hands into tight fists. 

“Probably. And you’d probably be right there next to me just for seeing her like this,” Azriel replies nonchalantly, only a hint of the raspiness he spoke to you with before remains. “But I think it’s worth it.”

Rhysand nods, his eyes darkening with a predatory gleam. “She’s quite the sight isn’t she?” he says, as if you weren’t even there, as if you were nothing more than a piece of art to be admired and discussed. His gaze meets yours, and you see the raw hunger lurking beneath his cool exterior. It excites you, makes your muscles clench around Azriel’s fingers. 

Azriel hums in agreement, fingers curling inside you, drawing a muffled moan from your lips. “Cass is lucky to have her.”

Rhysand's eyes remain fixed on you, a predatory gleam in their depths. He doesn't say anything more, just watches intently as Azriel continues his ministrations. You cling to Azriel's arms, your nails digging into his skin, the need to come overwhelming you.

"That's it, angel," Azriel murmurs, his voice low and soothing. "Get yours, go ahead."

You can see Rhysand hardening in his pants, his cool demeanor betraying nothing but his body telling a different story. The sight only heightens your arousal, pushing you closer to the edge. 

With a final, desperate cry, you shatter around Azriel's fingers, your body convulsing with the force of your orgasm. He holds you through it, his fingers never stopping until you're trembling and spent.

As you come down from your high, Rhysand steps closer, his gaze never leaving yours. "Mind if I join?" he asks, but his question is directed at you, not Azriel.

You hesitate, the conflict clear in your eyes. Azriel tilts your chin up, forcing you to look at him. "It's okay," he murmurs, his thumb brushing over your cheek. "You want this, don't you?"

You swallow hard, then nod slowly. Rhysand's eyes darken with satisfaction as he begins to strip, his movements unhurried.

Azriel’s fingers finally slip out of you, and he gently guides you to lean back against the shower wall and he kneels before you, bringing one of your legs over his shoulder. The warm water cascades over you both, heightening the intimacy. Between your thighs, eyes locked on yours, he starts to kiss a trail up your inner thigh. “You’ve been such a good girl for me,” he murmurs against your skin. “You ready to be good for Rhys too?”

Rhysand, now fully undressed, steps into the stall with a lazy confident stride. He lowers himself beside Azriel, his eyes devouring the sight of you. You can’t help but look away from the sight of both of them admiring your most intimate parts. “Look at you ,” Rhysand says, his voice dripping with approval, and you whine in embarrassment as he spreads your sex. “So beautiful.”

Azriel’s mouth replaces his fingers, his tongue flicking out to taste you, and you gasp, your hands tangling in his hair. Rhysand stands, his hands cupping your breasts with a thumb circling your nipple, eliciting a soft moan from you. “So fucking good,” he murmurs, leaning in to capture your lips in a searing kiss. 

His lips are even softer than you imagined, his hands both tender and firm, exactly as you’d fantasized. Azriel’s tongue works with expert precision, each stroke sending waves of pleasure coursing through you. Rhysand’s hand trails down your body, his fingers joining Azriel’s mouth between your legs, and the combination of their touches drives you wild. 

“Does that feel good, angel?” Azriel asks, his voice vibrating against your core. 

You nod, unable to say anything more than a quiet ‘uh-huh’.  Rhysand’s lips travel to your neck, sucking gently on the sensitive skin there. Your heart shoots up into your throat, hoping they thought about leaving you free of any marks. “You look so perfect like this,” he whispers, his breath hot against your neck. “Tell us what you need, darling,” Rhysand says softly, gently. 

“Both of you,” you manage to gasp out, your voice trembling. “I need both of you.”

Azriel’s laugh is low and wicked as he pulls back slightly, his eyes dark with amusement, chin slick with your wetness. “Hear that, Rhys? She can’t get enough — she’s fuckin’ begging for it.”

Rhysand’s fingers trail slowly over your skin, away from your most sensitive, a smirk tugging at his lips. “I know, so needy,” he murmurs, his voice dripping with mock sympathy. “Poor Cassian. Does he know what a slut you are for us? How you’re dripping and ready the second we touch you?”

Azriel’s hands move to your hips, gripping them firmly. “I bet he’s pacing right now, worried sick about his sweet little (y/n),” he taunts, his breath fanning over your pulsing cunt. “And here you are, begging for us to fuck you. Does that make you wet, (y/n)? Knowing he’s waiting?”

You whimper, the heat of their words igniting your shame. “I don’t— It— No,” your eyes turn glassy with tears. You should leave, should somehow get through that door and run to Cassian and confess everything, beg for his forgiveness, and pray he doesn’t leave you for betraying his trust. But the need, the raw desire coursing through you, Azriel’s face between your legs, keeps you rooted to the spot. Before you can wonder how Rhysand even got in, he speaks up, his voice dripping with amusement. “Look at you, stuttering and trembling. You can’t even admit it to yourself, can you? That being a good, filthy little slut behind his back turns you on.”

Azriel chuckles against your core, the vibrations sending shivers through you. “He’s right, isn’t he, angel? Answer him,” he commands, tongue and fingers working in tandem. Then Rhysand’s lips suck and bite at your breast, his hand squeezing at the other. It all pushes you to the brink of your sanity. You can’t deny it anymore. The very thought of betraying Cassian while being worshipped by his two best friends, their words and touch stripping away your hesitance, is intoxicating. The way their voices tease and command, the way their hands and mouths worship your body — every sensation, every whisper, is a direct line to your deepest desires. 

With a moan, you finally give in, your voice barely more than a breathless murmur as a single tear falls from your eye. “Yes… God, yes, it turns me on so much…” Your admission hangs heavy in the air for a few moments. Azriel’s eyes gleam with a dark satisfaction, and Rhysand’s smirk widens as if he’s just won some grand prize. The air around you crackles with their shared triumph, and they each seem to revel in having been able to extract the confession from you. 

Rhysand’s fingers continue to slide over your skin, his touch commanding and sure, and Azriel shrugs your leg off his shoulder as he stands and steps aside. “Want to feel her, Rhys? She’s perfect.” He doesn’t hesitate for a moment, pushing his middle and ring fingers into you, a groan escaping him at the feel of you.

“Damn… I can’t wait to stuff you full, (y/n). Do you want that? Want us both to fuck you so good, don’t you?”

You must have whined out your boyfriend’s name, because Azriel’s voice adds, “You know we won’t tell if you don’t. Cassian doesn’t need to know about this, right?” His hand comes up to move a wet strand of hair from your face and stays on the back of your neck, thumb rubbing your skin soothingly. 

Rhysand’s fingers pump into you deeply now. Their faces are both so close to yours and it takes everything in you to continue to listen to what they’re saying. “That’s right, darling. It’s our little secret, just the three of us.”

“You’re doing so well, angel,” Azriel praises. “Just let Rhys take care of you. We’re here for you.”

“Cassian doesn’t need to know. It’s just us.”

“No one else needs to be involved. It’s our little secret.”

Their voices are thick with charm. It’s meant to soothe, to let you know this is a safe space where your desires are understood and indulged. You find yourself lost in their promises, in their intoxicating reassurance. It all creates a heady mix of emotions, drawing you deeper into the experience and further away from any thoughts of right or wrong.

Suddenly, Rhysand lifts your leg, hooking your knee into the crook of his arm. You gasp in surprise, hands grasping for any point of contact with them to keep yourself from falling. One grabs Rhysand’s bicep, the other lands on Azriel’s shoulder. His voice grows more urgent as he teases your slit with the head of his cock, his breath hot and demanding. “Remember, this is all for you. It’s just us making sure you get everything you want. Okay?”

It’s silent save for the spray of water around you all, and their eyes bore into yours expectantly. They were waiting. If you really didn’t want to do this, this was the moment to give the word. But the intensity of their gaze, the heated promises in their voices, and the way their bodies are pressed so close to yours make it nearly impossible to think clearly. The urgency in Rhysand’s voice and the steady reassurance from Azriel leave you trembling in anticipation. The pressure of their touches, the pleasure, the guilt, the need.

A soft, trembling “Yes” escapes your lips, barely audible, but it’s enough. Rhysand’s eyes light up with satisfaction, and he immediately begins to position himself more firmly, his movements confident and assured. 

Azriel’s hand continues to soothe your neck, his thumb stroking gently as he leans in closer. “That’s it,” he sighs absently.

But you reach out and grab Rhysand by the wrist, stopping him. Their expressions shift to confusion; surprise and concern evident on their faces. You pause, a note of urgency in your voice. “Condom,” you manage to say, clearly and firmly. 

Their features seem to relax a bit at that. They exchange a glance, and Azriel nods slightly before stepping away to fetch condoms from his locker.

Rhysand takes the opportunity to lean in closer, a genuine softness in his eyes as he looks at you. He gently places a hand on your cheek, his expression turning serious. “(Y/n), if you’re having any second thoughts, you can tell us. We can stop right here if you’re not completely sure, if you’re not comfortable.”

He pauses, giving you a moment to respond, his gaze unwavering and sincere. “We want you to feel good and to be sure about what you’re doing. If you want us to stop, we’ll stop. No questions asked.”

You distantly hear Azriel throw a locker shut. “Rhys… If I didn’t want this, you wouldn’t still have my leg over your arm.”

Rhysand gives a soft smile. “Alright, then.” He leans in, placing a gentle kiss on your forehead. It felt more intimate than the situation warranted. “Just making sure.”

Azriel returns holding a string of condom wrappers, and steps back into the shower, pulling the curtain shut behind him. Rhysand takes a foil square from him, opening it slowly. Azriel’s hands roam your body, his touch both grounding and electrifying. “We’re going to take our time with you,” he whispers, his breath against your ear. “Make sure you feel every second.”

You look down, watching Rhysand line himself back up, and your breath hitches. He’s big, the thickness of him daunting. The sight sends a thrill of anticipation through you, albeit with a touch of apprehension. He digs his fingers into your hips, the tip of his cock pushing up against your entrance. “Just relax, it’s alright,” he soothes you as he begins to push in, stretching you in ways that leave you breathless. The initial sensation is intense, pleasure and a slight burn as your body adjusts to his size. Every inch that presses into you feels like pure ecstasy. Your fingers tighten on each of them, your eyes wide and not once leaving Rhysand’s.

Azriel’s hand slides from your waist to your lower back, his touch featherlight but reassuring. As Rhysand pushes deeper, Azriel’s fingers trace the sensitive curve of your spine. He leans in, his breath tickling the shell of your ear. “You’re doing so well,” he murmurs. “He’s big, isn’t he?” His other hand cups your breast, rolling and pinching your nipple. The dual sensation of Rhysand slowly filling you and Azriel’s gentle, yet firm, touch on your body makes your head spin. Azriel’s lips find the curve of your neck once again, planting soft, open-mouthed kisses along your skin. The tenderness has you throwing your head back with a sigh. 

“Mhm,” you moan slightly with a soft nod. Azriel, still toying with your nipple, gently grabs your chin and guides you to look back at Rhysand. 

“Tell him, angel. Tell him how you love being split open by his cock, he wants to hear it.” 

You whine, timid, as you look him in the eyes again, the violet deep enough to drown in. “You feel so good,” you manage to whisper, voice trembling. “I love how big you are, how you stretch me.”

But Azriel’s grip on your chin tightened. “Is that what I said?” His tone was domineering. 

You swallow a gasp as Rhysand settles all the way in. “I love… being split open by your cock, Rhys,” your breathing coming in pants. “So good…”

You watch his lips curl into a smug grin. “That’s my girl,” he murmurs, pulling out until only the tip was in, then gently pushing himself back into you. But Azriel isn’t done. 

“Now tell him you need more, beg him for it.” You can tell he’s got a devilish grin on his face by the sound of his voice. 

“Please, Rhys, I need more,” you keen. “I need you to fuck me harder.”

Rhysand’s eyes darken with lust, his nails digging into your hips. “That’s it, beg for it,” he growls, beginning to pick up speed. His thrusts become more powerful, sending waves of pleasure through you. 

“Harder, Rhys,” you plead, your voice quivering. “I need you to fuck me harder, please don’t hold back, I need it so, so bad—Fuck!” Your brows knit together in pleasure. 

Azriel moves behind you, his strong hands sliding under your thighs. With a swift motion, he hoists you up, your legs hooked over his arms, the hold forcing your legs as far apart as they’ll go. Rhysand takes the opportunity to explore your body with his hands, one wrapping loosely around your throat and the other gently tangling in your hair. 

“You feel so fucking good around me,” Rhysand grunts, his breath puffing against your lips. “So tight, so perfect.”

Azriel’s grip on your thighs is firm, his fingers digging into your flesh as he supports your weight. “Doing so well for us, angel,” he whispers, along with other soothing words of affirmation. 

Rhysand’s pace quickens, each thrust harder and deeper than the last. His hand around your throat tightens just enough to make you gasp, his eyes locked onto yours. “You fucking like this, don’t you?” he growls. “Being used by us, being our perfect little slut.”

“Yes, God,” you moan, your voice breathless and full of need. “I love it, Rhys, you fuck me so good.” You feel Azriel’s grip tighten and Rhysand’s hips stutter at your words.

“He fucks you good, angel?” Azriel breathes out. When you nod, Rhysand sees him whisper into your ear, the relentless stream of water muffles his words, rendering them inaudible to him. 

You shake your head adamantly, the glazed-over look clearing from your eyes. “No, Cassian’s the best,” your voice is steady despite the pleasure coursing through your core with every pump in and out. “No one fucks me like he does.”

Rhysand's thrusts slow but grow more deliberate, hitting deeper with every motion. He moves his hand from around your neck only to roughly grab your chin, forcing you to meet his gaze. “Is that so?” he murmurs, brows raised slightly. He thrusts harder, his eyes never leaving yours, determined to make you doubt your own words.

Azriel readjusts his grip on your thighs, and you can feel his hard length pressing against your ass. “Does Cassian treat you like you deserve? Like the whore you are?” Azriel asks, his voice a husky whisper against your ear. “Does he know how to make you tremble like this?”

Your eyes water, and you bite your lip to stifle a moan. “He… he knows me better than anyone,” you manage to say, though your conviction wavers with each thrust and touch.

Rhysand smirks, his grip tightening on your hips as he increases his pace. “We’ll see,” he growls, leaning in to capture your lips in a searing kiss, his tongue dominating yours.

Azriel’s mouth trails hot, open-mouthed kisses down your neck, his teeth grazing your skin just enough to make you gasp. “We’re going to make you feel so good, angel,” he whispers for both of you to hear. “So good that you’ll forget all about him.”

Rhysand’s fingers dig into your flesh, his thrusts becoming more intense. “Tell us how it feels,” he demands, his breath hot against your lips. “Tell us who’s making you feel this way.”

Your mind is a whirlwind of sensations, the relentless pleasure making it hard to think. “It… it feels…” you gasp, unable to form coherent thoughts as Azriel’s lips and Rhysand’s thrusts overwhelm your senses.

 “Tell us,” Rhysand growls, jackhammering into you, a thumb playing with your clit. “Who makes you feel this way?”

Azriel’s breath is hot against your ear, his voice a seductive murmur. “Just admit it to yourself, (y/n).”

You’re teetering on the brink, the overwhelming sensations pushing you closer and closer to the edge. “You… you’re…” you stammer, the words caught in your throat.

“Say it,” Rhysand commands, his voice rough with need.

Azriel’s lips find the sensitive spot just below your ear, his teeth grazing your skin. 

Finally, your orgasm breaks, and you cry out, your body convulsing with the force of it. “Cassian!” you scream, the name ripped from your lips as pleasure crashes over you in waves. Tears stream from your eyes now, whether from the contrition or the sheer bliss, you didn’t know. 

Rhysand's eyes flare with anger. His thrusts become more erratic and forceful, his jaw clenched in frustration. The force of his thrusts now left the previous ones forgotten. “Cassian?” he growls, voice low and dangerous. “Was Cassian the one to make you come just now?” Without a word, he grabs you from Azriel. You wrap your legs around him. Without missing a beat, he pulls out almost entirely, leaving you gasping for breath. He slams back into you with a renewed, relentless force. The raw intensity of his thrusts makes you whimper, your body trembling from the overstimulation. His eyes lock onto yours, filled with a fierce determination to make you forget everything but him.

“I don’t want you saying his name while I’m inside you, while I’m the one fucking you dumb,” Rhysand demands, his voice rough and commanding. “Look at you… A crying mess.” He pulls you down onto him with every upward thrust. “Say my name,” he demands, his tone both seductive and demanding. “I don’t care if it isn’t true, while I’m fucking you, you make me believe I’m the only one you want.”

You gasp and moan as his words cut through your tears. “Rhysand… Rhysand, you’re the one,” you whimper, barely able to form coherent thoughts. “I need you… so much.”

Behind you, Azriel’s eyes gleam with a predatory interest as he watches the intense scene unfold. His hand drifts down his body, fingers brushing against his neglected cock. He strokes himself slowly, savoring the sight of you being claimed by Rhysand, the way your body responds so eagerly to every thrust.

“Prove that I’m fucking you so stupid that all you can think about is my name. Can you do that for me? Can you forget about Cassian and make me the only one who matters?”

You nod fervently, your voice breaking. You shout a mantra of “Yes’s,” your body arching in response to his powerful thrusts. “Want you to come…”

Rhysand’s lips curl into a dark, satisfied grin as he listens to your desperate pleas. “Good girl,” he murmurs, movements growing more urgent, breathing growing heavier. “Scream my name while I come inside you,” he commands, his voice strained.

Your body is trembling from the intensity, every nerve alight with overstimulation. “Rhysand! Rhysand!” you cry out, each plea mingled with breathless moans and cries of ecstasy. “Please, don’t stop! I need more, need you to come!”

With a low, guttural sound, Rhysand finally reaches his climax. His thrusts become sharp and erratic, each one punctuated by a shudder as he fills you completely. His grip on your hips is relentless, his body convulsing with the force of his release. “That’s it,” he growls, his voice thick with satisfaction. “You’re perfect. So good for me…”

As he pulls back, panting heavily, Azriel steps forward with a smirk of his own. His gaze is unwavering, and his presence feels almost predatory. He takes you by the waist, guiding you down gently. Your legs feel like jelly, barely able to support your weight, and you stumble slightly as you catch yourself against the cold tiles of the wall.

“Wait, just a sec…” you manage to murmur, still trying to catch your breath. But Azriel isn’t having any of it. His hands are firm and decisive as he presses you against the wall chest-first, pulling your hips back, and pushing your back into an arch.

“No,” Azriel’s voice is a low, fierce growl, his eyes burning with unrestrained hunger. He steps closer, his movements assertive and commanding, an almost primal need radiating from him. As he presses you against the cold tiles, your legs buckle slightly under the weight of his presence. His hands grip your waist with unyielding strength, holding you firmly in place. “No more waiting,” he murmurs, his voice rough and laced with desire. “I found you first. I’ve been waiting my turn, watching, and now I get my time with you. You’re not getting a moment’s rest.”

Your mind is a hazy whirl of pleasure and confusion, struggling to focus on anything. The remnants of your coherence slipped away at some point while you were in Rhysand’s arms — those strong arms — leaving you a trembling mess against the cold wall. You can barely think.

 “(Y/n),” he says sharply, getting your attention, or what was left of it. “I’m going to take you, right here, hard and deep, and make sure that every time this pussy gets fucked, you wish it was me doing it. Do you understand?”

Your head nods instinctively, but your voice comes out as a breathy murmur, “Y-yes… want it… need you…” Your words barely form.

Rhysand, still catching his breath, watches with a smirk. “She’s completely lost in it, Az,” he teases, stepping up next to you to run a hand over your wet hair. “I fucked you so good. That’s what you said, right?” He chuckles lowly. 

Azriel’s eyes darken as he cuts him a look, jealous when he sees Rhysand running his hand through your hair. “You did. And now you’re done,” Azriel growls, pushing his hand off of you. You whine, missing the comforting touch. He grips your hips firmly and thrusts all the way into you, eliciting a loud shriek from your lips. He doesn’t give you time to adjust to his considerable size before he sets a powerful, unrelenting rhythm, each motion drawing a helpless gasp from your lips. Your legs shake and threaten to give out, but Azriel’s strong hold keeps you steady. 

“So fucked out you can’t even think, hm, darling?” Rhysand says in mock sympathy.

“Good,” Azriel mutters into your ear. “Brainless and begging for my cock.”

Without warning, Rhysand drops to his knees between you and the wall, his tongue tracing a line from your thigh to where Azriel is pounding into you. He wraps his arms around you, hands squeezing your thighs and ass, the sensation makes you gasp, your body jolting as Rhysand’s mouth latches onto your clit, his tongue swirling with expert precision. Azriel's grip on your hips tightens, his thrusts merciless. “Do you think about us when you're with him? Do you wish it was our hands on you, our cocks filling you up?”

Your answer is a high-pitched moan, your mind too foggy to form words. Azriel’s hand slides up to your throat, gripping firmly but not cutting off your air. “Don’t just moan like a dumb fucking whore,” he growls, the other hand slapping your cheek lightly a few times to get your attention. He doesn’t stop plowing into you for a moment. “Answer me.”

“Yes! Yes, I think about you,” you gasp out, your voice trembling. “I want you… both of you… so bad.”

Rhysand chuckles against your skin, his hot breath sending shivers down your spine. “Good girl,” he murmurs against your lips, his tongue flicking your clit mercilessly. “Y’know, Cass’s probably gonna be a fuckin’ mess if he finds out what you’ve been up to, especially since he’s just sitting around waiting for you at the hospital,” he whispers, his voice laced with playful menace. “Just imagine how he’d react…”

Your response is a pitiful whine, tears mixing with sweat as you weakly call out, “Cassian… Cassian… I love him…” Your voice breaks with each syllable, the raw emotion evident in your cries.

You feel Rhysand’s smirk widen against you as he looks up and meets Azriel’s eyes. “Yeah, you love him so much that you’re here with us, right, darling?”

Azriel’s thrusts don’t falter as he grabs you by the shoulders for leverage. “We know you love him, baby. Now take this fucking cock.” And he slams into you with a force that pulls sob after sob out of you. His grip on your shoulders tightens, then shifts. One arm slides up, wrapping a firm, massive bicep around your neck, pulling you back into a headlock, his control over you absolute. Each thrust of his massive cock seems to reach even deeper into you at this angle. “You love being used by us, don’t you? Just a little slut for our cocks.”

“Yes… I love it…” you manage to gasp out, your voice barely above a whisper.

Azriel’s hand comes down sharply on your ass, the sting making you cry out. “That’s right. Scream for me. Let Cassian hear how much you love this.”

He grabs your jaw, forcing you to look back at him. “Look at you, a dumb little whore, taking it so well. You like being fucked like this? Like a toy?”

“Yes… like a toy… your toy…” you whimper, your body trembling.

“Tell me how much you love it, angel. Beg for more. Beg for my cock,” he commands, his voice dripping with dominance.

“Please… Azriel… more… I need more…” you plead, tears streaming down your face.

“I bet Cassian couldn’t fuck you like this. Even when he thinks he’s being rough, he’s too gentle, isn’t he? A pretty little cocksleeve like you needs it rough, huh? Need to be reminded you’re just a hole for us to use,” Azriel growls.

“You’re nothing but a cock-hungry slut, aren’t you? Just a little plaything for us,” he continues, his words sending waves of shame and arousal through you.

Sometimes, you could swear you felt Rhysand’s tongue reach further as if he was tasting you on Azriel’s cock. The sensation is mind-blowing, pushing you deeper, if possible, into submission. Rhysand's tongue continues its relentless torment, occasionally delving deeper, tasting every thrust Azriel gives you. It's overwhelming, the combination of Azriel's cock and Rhysand's tongue driving you to the brink of insanity.

“You’re so fucking tight,” Azriel grunts, his arm tightening around your neck, making you gasp for air. “I can feel you clenching around me. You love this, don’t you? Love being filled up, love being our dirty little secret.”

“Yes… Fuck yes, Az,” you whimper, your voice raw and desperate. “I love it… love our secret.” 

Rhysand chuckles darkly, his hot breath teasing your sensitive skin. “Desperate, dripping, and fucked out of your mind for us. What would they all say…?”

Azriel's hand slides from your jaw to your breasts, roughly squeezing and pinching your nipples, adding to the exquisite mix of pain and pleasure. “I want to hear you beg for it, angel. Beg for me to fuck you harder.”

“Please… Az… fuck me harder… use me,” you plead, each word broken by gasps and moans.

He holds you up effortlessly, his strength and dominance undeniable. “I want you to scream my name,” he commands, his voice low and rough. “Scream it so loud that Cassian hears it in his fucking dreams.”

“Azriel! Azriel!” you scream, your body trembling uncontrollably as he drives you closer to the edge.

“That’s it, you’re doing so good. Show me how much this tight fucking hole loves when I fuck it,” Azriel growls.

“I’m just your — fuck — your worthless slut… your cum dump, both of you…” you whimper, the words spilling from your lips without thought. “I’ll take everything you want to give me…”

Azriel’s and Rhysand’s eyes widen in shock, both momentarily stunned by your shameless, complete submission. The brief pause is charged with a dark thrill, their expressions those of surprise and deepened desire. 

Rhysand recovers first, a dark smile stretching across his face as he leans over to look up at Azriel. “You hear that, Az? You hear what she’s calling herself?” His voice is dripping with mockery and appreciation. “Tell us again, darling, I love hearing it. How much do you like being used like this?” He leans back into you, his tongue flicking over your clit with renewed intensity. 

“Love it so much…! Just want to be filled and used… Want to make you feel good…”

Azriel let out a sound somewhere between a groan and a whimper. “Making me feel so good, angel, you’re perfect… Gonna use you up, nothing else matters but you taking what we give you, do you understand?”

You cry out a string of “yes’s!” the muscles in your body begin to shake uncontrollably. Your ears ring, the sound melding with the pounding of your heart.

Azriel’s hands slide back down to your hips, and he pulls you closer with each powerful thrust, altering the angle to hit deeper. The shift sends a jolt of intense pleasure through you, causing your body to spasm with every stroke. You gasp, feeling every ridge and vein of his cock with heightened sensitivity.

Rhysand pauses his relentless flicking of your clit, his mouth hovering just above your sensitive skin. He takes a moment to savor the sight of you trembling and gasping, his eyes dark with satisfaction. “That’s all us,” he murmurs, his voice a low purr. 

Azriel’s breathing grows ragged. “Just let go and take it all. Your body’s ours to use however we want right now, huh?” The depth of Azriel’s movements, coupled with Rhysand’s teasing touch, pushes you to the edge yet again. You cry out, all desperate moans and incoherent babble. Rhysand’s tongue returns to its torment, tasting you come undone on his tongue, leaving you gasping and clinging to whatever coherence you have left. The ringing in your ears doesn’t subside until they finally relent. 

Azriel’s breaths come in heavy, ragged gasps as he slows his thrusts, satisfaction in his eyes. “You took us so well,” he murmurs, and he sounds almost as spent as you did. You both collapse against the cool tiles, bodies still intertwined, the sound of the water cascading around you. You reach out and turn the water off, the sudden silence only broken by the soft pants of breath.

Rhysand steps out for a moment and returns with a couple of towels from his locker. He hands one to Azriel, who begins to dry you off with a tender, almost reverent touch. Rhysand grins, wrapping his towel around his waist. "You kept up pretty well," he quips, his eyes twinkling with mischief.

You smirk, taking the towel Azriel offers you. "I think you two just like to show off," you tease, patting yourself dry. "Always trying to one-up each other and forgetting about everyone else."

Azriel chuckles, shaking his head as he dries his hair. "Can you blame us?" he replies. "We have a reputation to maintain."

Rhysand steps closer, his eyes darkening with a mix of amusement and desire. "And what about you?" he murmurs, brushing a strand of wet hair from your face. "You’re quite the little fox yourself."

You raise an eyebrow, a playful grin tugging at your lips. "Takes one to know one," you retort, enjoying the way their eyes light up at your sass.

Suddenly, you look at him with curiosity. “Wait, Rhys, what are you even doing here? How did you get in?”

Rhysand smirks, a little sheepishly. "I left my wallet and came back to get it."

Azriel chuckles. "Through the door? We were stuck in here."

Rhysand shrugs. "Oh, that door has been acting up ever since Eris jammed it last month." A look of understanding dawns on Azriel’s face.

Just then, the phone abandoned in your jacket pocket rings, jolting you all. 

Fuck.

You rush over to grab it. Your heart races as you see Cassian's name on Tarquin's phone. You answer the call, trying to steady your breath. "Cassian?”

"Hey, babe, what's taking so long? Are you on your way?"

You hesitate, then reply, "We got stuck in the locker room."

"...We...?"

"Yeah, Rhys and Az are here too."

You can hear the suspicion and jealousy creeping into Cassian's voice. "How long have you been in there? Why didn’t you call?”

“My phone is dead, remember? And I don’t know Tarquin’s password to make a call,” you explain quickly.

There’s a pause before Cassian speaks again, his tone tight. “I'll send Mor to help you out.”

You sigh, relief and anxiety mingling. "Thanks, Cass. Love you."

"Love you, too."

As you end the call, you glance back at Rhysand and Azriel, who are both watching you with a mix of concern and amusement. "Looks like Mor is on her way to rescue us," you say, trying to lighten the mood, though you can’t help but worry about your hair still being wet. She’d notice that right away.

"Better get dressed then," Azriel smirks. "Wouldn't want her to catch us like this." Rhysand chuckles, shaking his head, and you smile, the tension easing a bit.

"Definitely not..."

[stsgluver]

𝐒𝐍𝐀𝐏𝐒𝐇𝐎𝐓 𝐏𝐓.𝟑 — gojo satoru

synopsis. nobara is ill and what better way to spend your day off than trying to figure out who your teacher's high school girlfriend is?

wc. 3.5k

tags. gojo x reader, fluff, one suggestive joke, reader is in gojo's class, implied utahime x shoko, only half proofread

a/n. it's nearly midnight and im so tired and I have to be up at 6 tomorrow but I needed to get this done. I hope there's not too many mistakes <3 the ending is kind of shit but idc :) jk i do pls like it

previous part / next part / series masterlist

“are you sure you’ll be okay alone?”

nobara lazily lifted her head from beneath her duvet, orange bangs clinging to her sweaty forehead as she let out a series of harsh coughs. megumi winced from the doorway, inching back ever so slightly - he'd already brought in a couple bottles of water and a box of tissues, he wasn't looking to contract whatever flu-like disease she had caught.

she rolled her eyes at his not-so-subtle antics and raised a weak thumbs up. “go on fushiguro, i know how much you're dying to spend the afternoon with itadori and sensei."

“haha,” megumi uttered with the most sarcastic tone he could muster. on second thoughts, maybe being sick for a week wouldn't be so bad. with nobara gone, there was no buffer for his teacher and classmate to pester. “call me if you get worse, you know the second years are useless.” 

nobara gave the younger boy a quick salute and small smile, “yes boss.”

she dropped her head back into her pillow and waited till she heard the door click shut till she slipped a little less than elegantly out of bed. whilst yes, there was no denying that she was definitely sick, she also had a mission she couldn’t give up on.

in the three weeks, four days and an unknown number of hours since she had found the dvd of her teacher in his youth, she had been putting all of her free time into trying to find you. megumi had been a dead end when she’d tried asking him about you again and, although nobara knew he had a soft spot for yuuji, she didn’t trust the pink haired boy to treat this situation sensitively.

initially, she’d even considered asking gojo about it but she decided against that pretty quickly. that could get awkward very quickly and she still had at least two years at the school. 

then, she’d moved onto searching through the school for traces of the alumni. all she’d managed to find was a single photo; one that included both kyoto and tokyo students. you were tucked into gojo’s side with your arm around shoko. geto was there too: him and gojo side by side as they always were in their teenage years. all of you were grinning and genuinely happy. where had it all gone so drastically wrong?

nobara wondered if it was geto’s fault that gojo’s class had been all but erased – an effort to forget that the worst curse user to live had in fact once been an aspiring sorcerer.

her next plan (and one she hadn’t full considered the logistics of completely just yet) was to watch every single video on the dvd because surely at some point, there would be some clue of who you were or where you’d gone. 

and even if there wasn’t, what else could she possibly do to amuse herself whilst she was on bed rest?

with a huff, she grabbed her laptop and dropped back onto her bed, tucking herself under the covers. opening up her laptop (her password being ‘12345’), she clicked unpause on a video she’d started the evening prior.

“–and that’s it basically.”

shoko waved her hands around, sat on yaga’s chair at the front of the classroom with a blackboard filled with scribbles behind her. it wasn’t anything legible, more like swirls and stars and nobara thinks that, if she looked hard enough, in the corner were two little stick men: gojo and geto. an unlit cigarette sat between her lips as she kicked her legs up onto her teacher’s desk. yaga clearly wasn’t in the room. 

“that made no sense whatsoever but woo! shoko!” you clapped, out of frame of the camera but enthusiastically nonetheless. the aforementioned girl narrowed her eyes at you across the classroom.

“that’s why i made a video, for you to look back on duh,” she tsked, nodding her head towards the camera. “plus it is easy. i expected dumb and dumber not to understand but you?” shoko patted away a few non-existent tears, taking on the role of disappointed parent and their once star student.

except you’d never really excelled in a class with two prodigies and shoko actually loved having the upperhand in at least one area of sorcery.

shoko picked up the camera, holding it upwards to give a full view of her outfit and hair – like it was any different to any other day she attended school. she swivelled the spinny chair over to an occupied desk, slotting next to it and moving the camera so that it captured all of you in the frame. gojo was sat down in the seat, glasses propped up onto his forehead as you sat sideways on his lap, unsuccessfully trying to decipher shoko’s teachings on the board.

“understanding reversed cursed techniques is way harder than understanding cursed techniques,” you tried to justify, pointing to the board that showed the squiggles that ‘symbolised’ performing a reversed curse technique. stealing gojo’s glasses and popping them on your own face, you popped a quick kiss to the side of his head, “plus, why waste my energy? you’ll figure it out so i never have to.”

“the things i do for you,” gojo sighed happily, dropping his head down onto your shoulder as his arms looped around your waist. the orange-haired sorcerer could practically hear yuuji’s gasps at the simple displays of affection and she almost felt bad for watching some of the clips without him.

almost.

nobara was never one for romance – drama, such as the fight between gojo and naoya, that was her scene. but even she couldn’t help herself from smiling at the teenage love between the two of you. maybe she should give her teacher more credit – there was more to the six foot two man than just his over the top personality and questionable teaching methods.

“this is meant to be an educational video! be less couple-y!” shoko complained, scowling and shuffling away on her chair again.

“oh, we could make it very educational,” gojo wiggled his eyebrows, the devious smirk on his lips only widening at your flushed expression as you tried to hit his chest. failing, though, as he isolated his cursed technique to uphold a thin barrier between your hand and the material of his uniform.

there was the teacher she knew – keen to annoy even those he loved the most.

shoko must’ve ended the video out of spite after his comment, because nobara found herself staring at a black screen. 

all that she’d learnt so far was that you couldn’t perform a reverse cursed technique as a teenager. maybe that was what killed you? if you were even dead, that is. but given the damage that curses can inflict on sorcerers, whether or not you were able to execute a reversed cursed technique could literally be the difference between walking away from a fight a little tired or in a body bag.

nobara coughed several times, picking up the open bottle of water from her bedside table and taking a sip to try and ease her scratchy throat. scrunching up her nose at the slight sting of swallowing, she clicked the next available video, not putting much thought into her choice.

it was you and nanami in frame in a library by the looks of it but if it was on campus, nobara didn’t know where. christmas decorations decorated the shelving units behind you – tinsels of gold, red and green, and hanging snowflakes. you were both wearing your usual uniform but you also had a santa hat on and tinsel lining your jacket.

“we’re the only two on campus,” you said quietly, “because everyone else’s parents loved them–”

“we couldn’t afford to go back for the holidays,” nanami cut you off, without glancing up from what he was writing. being from two non-sorcerer families was a disadvantage normally in terms of status and inherited techniques, but holidays were somehow worse. 

gojo had offered to help you out with a ticket back to your parents and had even extended an invitation for you to stay with him but you didn’t want to leave nanami alone (and although he didn’t seem grateful, he was glad you were there).

“it’s fine. academic comeback time,” you held up a book to the screen. being in a class with three exceptional sorcerers meant that studies were often sidelined to try and improve and perfect your techniques. holidays were usually your opportunity to catch up on the missed classwork and homework you’d fallen behind on.

nanami less so – if anything he was reading ahead. tokyo had never been renowned for academic scores until he’d come along.

“i don’t get why the camera needs to be here,” nanami complained.

“to record us study! it’s motivational.”

“sure,” nanami hummed quietly, reading over your shoulder at the work you’d already completed prior to setting up the camera. “that’s wrong. this is simple mutipli–” he paused at the sound of rustling and his brows furrowed as he tried to peer round the bookshelves. 

“merry christmas!” 

nobara snickered as nanami jumped at the sudden voice and appearance of three people behind him. gojo and geto were capable of masking their cursed energy (and shoko’s) so that they wouldn’t be noticed slipping into the library. although gojo had nearly screwed that up by pulling out a chair trying to trip up geto.

“ieiri!” you slipped out from your seat, running up and hugging your classmate. in the process, the camera got knocked so it was facing the ceiling. nobara frowned as she turned the brightness up on her laptop as if though that would somehow bring everyone back into grame. in the periphery of the screen she could make out just the heads and foreheads of the student sorcerers.

“hi satoru, missed you too satoru, so glad you came to see me satoru,” the white haired sorcerer pouted at the lack of attention and nobara is sure someone responded to him but the audio is muffled by two voices closer to the camera’s microphone.

“here!” haibara slipped into the seat next to nanami that you had occupied moments prior and held up a small wrapped box with red ribbon tied neatly in a bow. “i picked it up on the way. merry christmas nanamin!”

“thanks yu,” nanami smiled softly at his classmate. well that’s what nobara thought he did anyways, his eyes lifted into half crescents but she wasn’t actually sure what his mouth was doing out of frame. she’d never seen the blond so happy from a simple gesture.

she clicked off the video even though it still had thirty seconds left to go. it wasn’t much fun just watching people’s foreheads and she highly doubted that nanami was about to fix the camera’s position.

so you were from a non-sorcerer family and possibly not able to use reverse cursed technique. it wasn’t much but facts were still facts.

there was a little more deliberation before she chose her next video, settling herself back into her cushions as she waited for it to load.

the screen was suddenly very bright and nobara winced, turning it down as the surroundings came into focus. it was the inside of an arcade and the camera was pointed directly at one of those claw machines. inside were different sized plushies of spiderman and haibara was the one controlling the claw.

nobara could vaguely make out everyone’s reflection in the glass – to the left of haibara was geto (who was also the one holding onto the camera), gojo and you, and to his right was shoko, nanami and maybe also utahime? shoko had her arm around a blue haired girl either way.

“no! so close haibara,” you patted the youngest boy on the shoulder gently as the plushie he’d managed to pick up slipped from the claw’s clutches before it could be dropped down the chute and retrieved.

“can i try?” gojo asked and, from the annoyed groans, nobara assumed it wasn’t the first time he’d interjected.

“no, he’ll get it this time,” geto encouraged and gojo flashed him a look of disbelief. 

“if gojo wants a go he can have it!” haibara tried to step away from the machine but nanami halted him, slotting several more coins in the machine.

“take your go yu.”

“i’ll get you a slushie if you win,” shoko called out, clapping her hands together as he accepted his fate, hesitantly pressing down on the buttons as he peered through the side of the machine to get a better angle.

“haibara, haibara.” all of them were chanting his name now, and that was enough of a boost for him to finally get one of the plushies over the barrier and down the chute. the camera shook unsteadily as geto jumped and six of them crowded the youngest in a joint hug.

nobara could see yuuji in haibara and megumi in nanami and herself in shoko and she had to stop herself from tearing up. nanami and shoko seemed like strangers these days and she couldn’t even imagine waking up and yuuji not being the first one to greet her outside her room. 

we’ve got a mission here, she reminded herself, shaking her head lightly before moving onto the next clip.

“utahime, say hi,” you lowered the camera to the kyoto sorcerer’s height. she was sat cross-legged on the floor with a jacket flung haphazardly over her head to try and block out the sun that beamed down.

“hi!” utahime waved, smiling as you dropped down next to her. in her hands was a partially made daisy chain that she’d started to entertain herself whilst she waited for the tokyo students. despite being in kyoto, she’d always chosen to join yourself and shoko at events over her own classmates.

“who do you think is going to win the exchange event this year?” you asked with a raised brow and utahime grimaced.

“don’t make me compliment him.”

“are you implying that our edge is not because of me?” you looked at the camera with a disgusted expression, like you had the power to outshine the gojo satoru, she rolled her eyes – gojo’s dramatics were rubbing off on you. “for that i’m telling ieiri. you may be her girlfriend–”

utahime hit your arm and her eyes darted around for anyone that could’ve heard (like you were not sat alone in a field together whilst the others warmed up), “shut up! we’re not like that…”

you nodded with a condescending hum. “then kindly could you please stop calling her till three in the morning, some of us need our beauty sleep.”

“you’re only ever up at three am because you’re sneaking back from gojo’s dorm,” she retorted with a pointed look. you opened your mouth to defend yourself 

“true,” you jumped at shoko’s voice, swivelling your neck around to find the third piece of your trio standing behind you. shoko gestured towards your uniform jacket, “and if she pulls down her collar there’s a massive hickey i had to help cover up this morning.”

utahime erupted into a fit of giggles and you eyed the camera like it was some sitcom and you were breaking the fourth wall.

“you’re such an asshole.”

shoko pushed in between the two of you to make herself the middle. “you love me.”

nobara frowned as the video ended. while it wasn’t overly helpful, it reaffirmed the seriousness of your relationship with her teacher… but that was obvious from the lovesick heart eyes he constantly had in every video you were together.

although, she would have to show it to maki – the two had suspicions about the kyoto teacher and tokyo healer and this all but confirmed that they were right. 

nobara scrolled down till she found a thumbnail of you, geto and gojo sat around a table of food.

“zenin naoya,” you started, chopsticks in one hand as you held a bowl of food in the other. gojo pretended to vomit at the mention of his name. “yes toru, appropriate response, but have you heard about him and the kamo girl?”

geto nodded with a mouth full. “the one who studied abroad?”

“yes! her,” you waved your chopsticks in his direction, “anyways, she cheated on him.”

the dark haired sorcerer made a sound of shock, “they were together together?”

you nodded enthusiastically, offering gojo some of your rice. “mhmm, they got together new years eve.”

“that did not last long,” gojo snickered. nobara peered at the date in the corner of the screen in a retro, yellow font; 15 january 2006.

“best part? it’s not even the first time,” you revealed, picking up some salmon sushi off of gojo’s plate and quickly eating it.

“stop,” geto gasped and nobara was shocked. this man was a war criminal now, and yet ten years ago he seemed so far from it, gossiping like he was a teenage girl.

“which like i don’t get,” you frowned. “i dont know why he’s trying to save face over some two week old relationship. especially if she’s already cheated multiple times.”

“he’s just desperate because it’s the first girl to ever want to actually be with him.”

“oh yeah she really wants to be with him,” gojo uttered sarcastically with a sparkle in his eyes. he would have a party at the downfall of the zenin.

“are they staying together?”

“i think so,” you nodded, holding a hand over your mouth as you spoke and finished your mouthful. “it’s what me and shoko told him to do, well shoko. he facetimed shoko.” you clarified following gojo’s less than pleased expression. nobara didn’t doubt that naoya had caused some tension in your relationship (though she refused to believe it was ever because you had been interested in him) and she wished that you’d switch the topic solely onto that. that was the sort of drama she was after.

“youre telling me he facetimed ieiri to tell her he’d been cheated on?” geto could bearly finish the question without laughing and he shot gojo a look. “odds on him trying to make yn jealous.”

you couldn’t stop yourself from snorting. “oh yeah because hearing all that made me want to leave satoru for that thing.” sarcasm or not, your words were taken literally by your boyfriend who draped all one hundred and ninety centimetres of himself across your body. “oh my god you’re so heavy.”

“it’s just my love for you in physical form. don’t be mean,” he whined.

nobara didn’t even have the energy to laugh quietly at the pathetic nature of her teacher as she felt herself drifting off. it was fine, she thought, only a quick power nap. she’d earned it, watching all those clips expended lots of energy.

“kugisaki?” gojo gently knocked at the young girl’s door. he’d left yuuji and megumi to do laps to check nobara was still alive and well. the illness had made its way through half the school already and while it obviously wasn’t something fatal, he knew better than to take any risks.

he knocked again and waited thirty seconds before he opened the door enough just to peek in and–

“satoru.”

gojo felt his heart drop at the sound of your voice. one he hadn’t heard in almost two years and he couldn’t remember the last time he’d been so unsteady and thrown off guard. the mere sound of your voice had startled him and gotten more of an upper hand than any curse he’d ever had to exorcise.

although his world had stilled, reality continued on and he was forced to hear himself hum in response. he didn’t have to see the video to vividly remember the day, to remember the smell of the grass and your perfume that were coaxing him into a nap that would make you both late to yaga’s lecture.

“do you think we’ll still be together once high school is over?”

“hope so,” he murmured, half asleep, and gojo wished his younger self was more aware, telling you how much he wanted to be with you, savouring every second he had in your presence rather than sleeping it away. 

like that could’ve changed the outcome.

slipping into her room, gojo lifted the laptop off of her sleeping figure (definitely still alive and breathing). with a press of a button, the disk popped out and he set the device onto the ground as he contemplated what to do.

he could break it in half, make it seem like an accident that nobara hadn’t noticed in her ill state. or he could use his cursed technique and completely eviscerate it from existence.

or maybe he could keep it.

gojo gave nobara one last glance as he silently closed her door once more, grateful for the blindfold he wore as he headed back outside to his students.

taglist. @thefictionalcharacterssimp @hana-patata @mor-pheus @leathairs @sh0ek0 @maliakealoha @levisteeacup @g-kleran @stevenknightmarc @n1kimura @darliingyu @saturn-alone @splxtscreen @leah-rose03 @rinshoe @laurenzitaa @patricia142lilian @sabo-has-my-heart @wooasecret @dahliawarner @kysrion @dreamerdeity @mwah-chia @geromiegerald @arminsarlerts @maliakealoha @cherrypieyourface @k4romis @monsieurgucchi @bofadeezs @777userz @polarbvnny @chonkercatto @tenshis-cake @haitanibros0007 @ba-ks @liaurokodaki @urfavvirg0 @lofasofabread @r0ckst4rjk @vee-ai @aiikuraa @melileli0001 @rinshoe @vinivave @yell0wdreams @sukunasleftkneecap @malikazz243 @sad-darksoul @giannitaa @maliciousmace @name-insert @splxtscreen

this tag list is insane ty all for the support

[another-delta-lover]

YAP [RANT] TO ME ABT HEAVY!!!!!

HE'S SO FUCKING PERFECT.

I get MAD when people simp for medic bc, I understand, tumblr insane sexy man blabla yadda yadda IDGAF

You all CAN'T SEE HOW MUCH OF A PERFECT PERSON HE IS. He's such a good person, he's such a good son and older brother, doin the dishes for his mama, caring about the absolute safety of his sisters, LITERALLY SAVING EM FROM A THING I FORGOT IT'S NAME WHEN HE WAS LIKE, IDK FUCKIN <20< ??? HE'S SUCH A GOOD FAMILY MEMBER. HE WOULD PROTECT U SO WELL AND ALWAYS CARE ABOUT UR SAFETY. AUGH ES UN HOMBRE Q RESUELVE LO JURO. HE ALSO RISKS HIS LIFE TO HAVE MONEY FOR THEM??? AAAAAAAAAAA. He does enjoy his job a lot (WHICH I LOVE IN SOMEONE. HELL YEAH ENJOY UR JOB AND GET WELL PAID), But the main reason of him working is just for his family and the money to help them. DO YOU UNDERSTAND THAT?????

Also HE'S SUCH A GOOD TEAMMATE???? HE WILL PROTECT ALL OF HIS TEAM WITHOUT FEAR AND WIN??? AND ALL HE NEEDS IS SOME CUNTY GAY ASS GERMAN DUDE BEHIND HIM??. He could be such a good grandpa/father figure or even just a really good n close friend to all the mercs, but even so, he acts so cold so quiet and mysterious around em🤭

AND ALSO!!! His masculinity ain't broken by showing love to his teammates??? He can hug em and literally yell to them "I LOVE YOU" from across the map??? Sayin "I LOVE YOU DOKTOR!!" Isn't common between men, even less in that time. If he IS gay, good for him! If he isn't, I'm glad he can express how much he loves someone without the fear of lookin weak is something I admire soso muchhh.

He has a minigun the SIZE OF MY FUCKIN BODY THAT HE CAN CARRY RUNNING WITHOUT ANY KIND OF PROBLEM??? HE COULD CARRY ME AROUND LIKE A STICK AND WOULDN'T EVEN AAHAGAJSHDHAGSH DO YOU REALIZE HE TAKES CARE OF THAT GUN LIKE SHE WAS HIS CHILD??? HE'S A GOOD FUCKING PARENT TOO?? AAAHHHH IM NORMAL

He's a good cook, he cooks really nice meals and doesn't mind to share u some, which I wouldn't do bc I don't share my food. HESO NICE AUGHH. I LOVE IT WHEN MA BOI COOKS😭😭😭 IDK WHY THAT MAKES PEOPLE MORE ATTRACTIVE FOR ME.

Also, HE'S SO FUCKING PRETTY???????? IDGAF HE'S BALD, THAT'S THE BEST PARTY. HIS BLUE EYES ARE SO PRETTY N HIS FACIAL EXPRESSIONS ARE SO SILLYY

LOOK AT HIM!!!! AUGHHH

Also his body is so JAHSLAHDJQHDJALSH he so big so perfect😔😔😔😔😔😔😔😔😔😔 His arms are the size of my whole body. AND HIS HANDS AAAAAAAAAA. He so FAT I LOVE HIM. I need him to crush me un a hug so badly. U all don't understand how much of a good body that could be in a relationship. U cold? U hug him problems gone. U wanna be cozy at night but the pillow is too small? He's the biggest pillow and he can hug u back that's soNSHSJAVDJSHD. He can carry u in his arms when u tired, u can lay on his chest and everything.... sighhh.... AND ALSO HE CAN FIGHT A BEAR WITH HIS BARE FISTS AND WIN, THEN EAT IT???? DO YOU UNDERSTAND HOW MUCH THAT IS????? LIKE HOLY FUCK THAT'S LIKE THE PEAK OF MANLINESS FOR ME. The question "would u rather be in a forest with a man or with a bear" I'M CHOOSING THIS BEAR HOLY FUCK HE WOULD PROTECT ME FROM THE BEARS.

ALSO HIS VOICE OH GOD HIS VOICE. It's such a loud and strong voice in English 🤭 even tho he isn't the best at it (me neither), HE SPEAKS IN SUCH A WAY IT MAKES ME KICK MY FEET GIGGLE AND CRY. I need him to say nice stuff to me with his cool asf voice. And when IT'S IN RUSSIAN AHHH😩~ I SWEAR He's such an elegant and polite man😭😭😭 he sounds so professional and ajsvqkebalhdmaoevs And IDC what u all say to me, he could sing so perfectly<3 for me his dialogs of him singing are well sung/GEN. I just imagine him singing:

To me.... Ik the song is kinda sad and not very romantic but IDC HE WOULD SOUND SO PERFECTLY.

HE HAS A PHD IN RUSSIAN LITERATURE LIKE....... HE'S SO FUCKING SMART. HE'S ALSO PRETTY FUCKIN RICH??? IT COST 400,000 DOLLARS TO FIRE HIS WEAPON FOR 12 SECONDS???? AND I'M PRETTY SURE THAT IF HE KNOWS THAT HE'S 1. really fucking smart 2. THE ONE WHO PAYS??? Even if he wasn't rich I still love him a lot but I'm poor so that would make it slightly better. AND ALLTHE MONEY TO HIS FAMILY MOSTLY AUGHHH ALSHAKSHAKDHA

Also his COSMETICS. HIS FUCKING COSMETICS ARE SO HOT AAAAAAA. Most of em are normal silly hats but WHEN THEY AREN'T. OHMY GOD THOSE DARK GLOVES GOT MY LEGS SHAKIN. AND HAVE YOU SEEN HIM IN SUITS??? OH GOD AUGHHH. Not into mafia people n stuff BUT.... FOR HIM I MAKE A BIG AHH EXCEPTION. And also, i want to point out the fact that HE WEARS DRESSES. I shouldn't make it a big dear but DO YOU UNDERSTAND IT'S THE 60's-70's???? AND HE'S A BIG RUSSIAN MAN???? He broke the gender dressing codes of the time not only bc he's a man wearing dresses, but a BIG MAN WEARING THEM??? AND A RUSSIAN MAN??? DO YOU UNDERSTAND HOW MUCH THAT MEANS TO ME????💔💔💔💔 Also his hats are cute I like them.

Just to summary:

Medic < HEAVY!!!

Good person I general, son, older brother, teammate, friend, father and possible partner, risking his life for his family.

He doesn't think lovin teammates is weird or GAY. Unless he is, but honestly good for him

STRONG AS HELL. AJGAJAHDJA

GOOD COOK!!!!

PRETTY!!!!!PRETTY REALLY PRETTY!!! HANDSOME

GORGEOUS FREAKING BODY.

FOUGHT WITH A BEAR AND WON

VOICE OF AN ANGEL!!!!

SMART AND RICH??? AND HE DESERVES TO BE RICH.

AMAZING STYLE.

DOESN'T CARE ABOUT GENDER NORMS.

YOU ALL DON'T UNDERSTAND. YOU ALL DON'T UNDERSTAND ME. AAAGHHHHH ILOVEHIM YOU ALL CAN'T UNDERSTAND YOU ALL CAN'T UNDERSTAND YOU DON'T YOU CAN'T YOU YOU ALL CAN'T UNDERSTAND YOU ALL DON'T UNDERSTAND.

[galezellybelly]

im back again bitches

EDITED (finally)

MOODBOARD RQS OPEN :3

you can call me gale, stickz (sticks, stix, stikz, or any other spelling also works), glaze, max, aiden, or literally anything else

any and all pronouns including neos and xenos, however you perceive me is fine

transmasc demiboy and pan :3

im a clado-therian canine w/ specifics of doberman (main), aussie, czech wolfdog, german shepherd, and coyote

basically am dog (might make a therian-centered sideblog at some point) (i did that its @/stickz-with-fangs)

i post therian things that include what some might perceive as a “kink thing” but i am here to assure you its not (not for me at least the rest of yall go off)

idc if you follow me and ur nsfw but just pls don’t misinterpret my stuff

i use :3 unironically and also tone indicators so do w/ that what you will

stereotypical weird kid hell yea

open to all! ur valid (unless its illegal get out of here MAPS and zoos) and i think you should do ur own thing as long as its not hurting anyone

if u know me irl no u dont

if there's anything specific you would like me to tag, please ask me! i'm not great at figuring out on my own what needs to be tagged but can definitely tag what is asked. i can also create a user-specific tag for me to use on things i know you dont wanna see

theiran sideblog is @stickz-with-fangs xenogender hoard sideblog is @the-genderzzzz

i occasionally mention whatever i have that is reminiscent of an ED, but try to always tag it w/ "#tw ed mention" so you can block that tag if its not smth u wanna see :3 (same with anything sh, its always tagged "#tw sh mention")

sideblog for all this (major tw) is @bck-here-again

[miseries-mistress]

Okay idk if you write for commander wolffe or ahsoka but if you do can you write something spicy for either of them. You choose who idc, I’m just so down for these two LMAO

Also ur writing is so amazing, like it’s indescribably good ♥︎♥︎

RIPPED AWAY (SEWN TOGETHER) | COMMANDER WOLFFE

Synopsis: You wanted to shout, scream into the night to release your pent-up frustration boiling inside of you. The battle to take a separatist base was fruitless, and with Anakin's instance that none of you retreat and keep pushing forward, despite your protests leads to Ahsoka's injury. In your haste to retrieve Ahsoka, you step away from the ranks to her body in the center of the clearing. Chaos ensues. 

Warnings: female reader, wolffe being mean, like more than usual, but it's okay bc i love mean men, injury, canon typical violence, blood, gore, injury, all the good stuff. W/C: 3,880

star wars masterlist

The battle raged like a storm without end, with each wave of blaster fire raining down upon you with the strength only death alone could possess. It didn't matter how many droids your men shot down or how many shots you and Anakin deflected. It wasn't enough. 

Clouds of smoke spiraled around you, obscuring the moon while your body ached for respite under cover of the ever-twinkling stars. Retreat was becoming more of a prospect by the second, yet another dark reality to face as another volley of bombs dropped in your vicinity, the ear-piercing screams quelled by the exchange of blaster fire. 

Another bolt was deflected. Another droid is down. Another man down. The cycle was endless, and you've had enough. 

"Anakin!" you screamed over the clanking droids. "We need to retreat!"

Anakin's head whipped around to face you, his eyes wide before his eyebrows knitted in frustration, his face twisting in defiance.

"We can take the base!" he shouts, and a man behind you thuds to the ground, his organs mixing with the sloppy sludge of oil, mud, and blood. "If we can break their defenses–"

"The men can't hold out that long, and neither can we! Regrouping is our only hope of surviving this! We are losing them by the minute!" 

"We hold our position. That's final!" 

You wanted to scream, tear the hair out of your head if that meant reasoning with him. If this was your mission, you would have pulled back ages ago, having realized staying here any longer would be fruitless. Their forces were simply too many, overwhelming quick thoughts of attack. You needed a strategy, and it would be impossible to form one in the heat of battle while you deflected oncoming advancements. 

You racked your brain for a solution, frantic to figure out some kind of strategy to not only reduce casualties but also take the separatist base. That was until a crackling, uneven voice spoke urgently over your and Anakin's commlink, his voice barely audible. "Commander Tano is down."

Every nerve, vein, and blood vessel was doused in frozen water, your blood running cold as you could feel it draining from the pores in your face. You've never seen Anakin move so fast, stepping back so Rex could cover him. "What?! Where are you?!"

"We are overrun– we need to pull back," the trooper spoke again, despair thickly coating his entreaty.

"Send your coordinates and hold your position," Anakin orders. You could feel, not in the Force, but physically feel his solicitude radiating off him in unprecedented waves of dread before switching off the commlink. 

"General, go to Ahsoka's position! Rex and I will hold out here!" he orders you with the swiftness and composure he could muster under the circumstances. You curtly nod, your apprehension for Ahsoka outweighing your frustration. 

You turn to your commander, your boots sticking to the mud and clinging to your feet. "Wolffe, Comet, and Boost, you're with me. Sinker, you lead the men while I recover, Commander Tano."

"Yes, sir." Wolffe squeezes Sinker's shoulder before the three troopers follow you as you weave through blaster fire, looking down at the coordinates Anakin sent you every couple of seconds. 

The noise of battle is deafening. A sound that often haunts soldiers' dreams is all that pounds in a hysterical beat against your skull. Dirt and rubble fly around you, men howl in pain, and superiors scream orders in the faint hope of not seeing more numbers on a list of the fallen. Each sound terrorizes you, engulfs you in dark, endless black water, fated to drown you if you stop kicking for the surface where the light resides instead of the void of the darkness beneath you. All your years of training to become a Jedi and being one could never prepare you for this.  

You reach Ahsoka's position in record time, and immediately you are met with red bolts of blaster fire showering upon you. It was worse, so much worse than where you held out with Anakin, and it showed by the disfigured bodies of blue and gray armor stacked upon each other, the stench of death almost too much to bear. 

"Over here, general!" You follow the voice, your feet slapping against the mud as you catch sight of Ahsoka. She was groaning, her hand covering what you could already see as a nasty wound, the skin around it scorched and inflamed. Thick dark red blood oozed around her fingers as another clone pulled her back. He was almost to your position when a flash of light collided with his armor, and his body smashed to the ground next to her.

Your lightsaber sprang to life with a snapping hiss as you began defending Ahsoka's injured form. Wolffe, Comet, and Boost joined the battle as you did, reemerging into the flow of war. 

You tried to inch forward to her position in the middle of the clearing with every battle droid that smashed into the grimy soil, but your efforts were in vain. For every droid that fell, another replaced it. Reinforcements flooded in an endless stream of metal as the bodies beside you grew, your friend's life force dwindling as she slowly bled out, so close yet so far. If only–

Your body slammed into the ground, your arms crumpling beneath your weight. There was an obnoxious high-pitched ringing in your ears, blocking the sound of anything else besides your thundering heartbeat. You blinked, clearing the black spots that had begun to dot your vision, the shock hitting you in full. The infinite dark sky is speckled with luminescent stars, mockingly watching you as they laugh at your collapsed form, doused in the weakest breath of strength.  

Ahsoka. 

You could see her closer now, and your head swam with the force of whatever injury you sustained that you couldn't feel. But it didn't matter. Nothing mattered except getting Ahsoka to safety. Whatever it was, it wasn't severe enough to stop you from stumbling to her, your body throbbing with the phantom of agony as you all but collapsed beside her, your knees wet with silt. You shook her with a ghost of the power you possess, your hands violently shaking as her eyes remained shut. Tears swam in your vision while your chest painfully constricted as you shook her harder, only for her eyes to crack open a moment later, her face covered in a thin sheen of sweat and ash. You could almost collapse in the burden of your injury and hers, but you held yourself up, not brave enough to look at her wound. 

"Ahsoka," you cried in relief, and her features wrung in pain as she returned to a more steady form of consciousness, no doubt feeling the weight of her injuries. "I'm going to get you out of here." 

"I-I'm okay," she wheezed as your arms dived under her head and knees, slowly rising to your feet with her. Colors flashed blindingly in your vision, and lightheadedness and dizziness nearly swept you off your feet. No matter how much your body screamed at you, threatening to crumple, your will filled your chest like a breath of fresh air, stealing your resolve. You had to do this. You had to push through, not for your sake, but for the young Padawan in your arms. 

You two made it behind your forces, and a clamor of voices finally reached your ears after too long of nothing but ear-splitting ringing. 

"They're back! Fall back! Fall back!" someone ordered as the rest of the men began to retreat to the carriers behind you to take you back to base. Even though with each step, pure singing misery rippled down your spine, you pushed for the promise of safety. 

When you entered, the doors closed and lifted into the murky sky. A couple of troopers rushed to your side, carefully taking Ahsoka from your arms and scurrying off to the medical center buried deeply in the confines of the ship. Clones around you dispersed to their positions, and you cautiously lowered yourself to the ground, forgoing the seats as you leaned your head back. The ship was silent besides the roar of the engines, which you hid your labored breathing behind. Every expansion of your lungs felt like you were being burned within an inch of your life, seizing the air from your breast in one fell swoop. Tentatively you lifted your robes, hissing when the fabric caught on your impairment, only for your breath to be sucked back into your irritated lungs. Your exposed flesh was spitting out crimson liquid, the edges of your wound charred in a sickening state of black, and you could faintly smell your burning flesh, binding the torn fabric of your tunic to your heaving meat. 

Just a graze, you thought to yourself as you lowered your tunic, something that could be dealt with when you reach Coruscant. 

"You…okay?" a hesitant voice reaches your ears, and you turn your head to find Wolffe leaning against the doorway, his eyebrows drawn together in concern. It wasn't a look you often saw on him, making your chest tighten as if someone had reached into there and squeezed with all their might to rob the breath from your lungs. You find the same emotion inexplicably rising in the back of your throat.  

"Yeah, yeah, just tired. That's all," you lie, pinching your lips as the intensity of your burned nerves sharpens by the minute. 

He raises an eyebrow, his chin jerking forward. "Then what's all that blood for, sweetheart?"

Shit. You glance down to find that your blood has, in fact, seeped through your clothing, the dark patch expanding into the woven fabric of your wear.

"It-It's not mine. No need to worry," you grit your teeth. Wolffe scowls, and it's then you know you've lost the uphill battle of pride you were fighting. You sigh, slinking further against the wall, and he takes this as your sign of defeat.  

"When were you planning on telling me? Before or after you bleed to death?" He kneels in front of you, and you cringe at the bite in his words. 

"You're being over dramatic. I'm fine, Wolffe." you roll your eyes at his antics, but he scoots closer. Even when taking a knee in front of you, he seems to tower above you, his stoic presence alone engulfing the room. It's impossible not to notice the concern that laces his features as he gulps, his adam's apple bobbing.  

"You're covered in blood," he points out.  

"Like I said, it's nothing–" You yelp, doubling forward when he roughly shoves two fingers into your wound, blood instantly staining your outer robes from your tunic. 

"Fucking liar," he snarls before standing up, his eyes flickering around the room for the first aid kit. You groan, curling within yourself as the damaged skin throbs from Wolffe's painful jab, your vision blurring around the edges as you try to keep your eyes focused, only for him to leave your peripheral a second later. Your eyes begin to droop as the weight of battle, and your injury finally starts to percolate the very fiber of your being. Sleep is now a call from the heavens, a gentle hand forcing your eyes to shut.

There is a clanging sound as a box hits the floor, and out of curiosity, one eye cracks open. Wolffe is back, digging fervently through the med kit on the floor for something…most likely for you. Your eyelids begin to close once more, now at peace knowing Wolffe would take the pain from you as he has done many times before. 

Just as you began to drift off, the pain returned, only doubling in vehemence. You bite back a scream as the clothes melted into your pulsating raw flesh are ripped away. Wolffe places a firm hand over your chest to keep you from doubling over. 

You throb with white-hot agony, every nerve alight as it feels like thousands of boiling hot needles are being shoved into your skin and torn out simultaneously. Your eyes squeeze shut, fat tears collecting in your scrunched waterline. Behind your eyelids, you can see a kaleidoscope of bright colors dancing across the infinite void behind your eyes. 

The searing pain dulls as something cold and slippery runs over the affected area, the scalding burn dissolving into a dull throb. 

"Shit, Wolffe," you whimper as he presses the bacta into your charred skin, his fingers roughly moving into every crevice of your wound. 

"If you wanted gentle, you should have asked for my vod instead," he gruffly replied as you hissed in pain. The bacta was doing its job of settling the fiery burn eating at your flesh, but his hands were far from delicate, and you considered the idea that he was purposely trying to make this hurt more than it should. "Or told me sooner."

"You could be a little nicer. After all, I am–" you grit your teeth as fingers swirl over your side with unnecessary force. "Injured," you finish weakly, slipping further into your position on the floor as he begins to wrap the wound.  

"If you weren't such a brat and tried to lie to me, we wouldn't be in this position, now would we?" he growls, his voice a baritone lower and substantially more gravelly. His eye flares and his lips curl into a snarl in his malice. You advert your gaze, shame filling your sternum, and you can't help but wallow in it while Wolffe finishes patching you up. 

He sits back on his heels, admiring his work while your disheartened expression not going unnoticed by the burly commander. Those feelings, the ones he'd tried to suppress when he witnessed what appeared to be a fall while retrieving Ahsoka, which was now revealed as a blaster wound, came swarming to the surface, brimming at the edge of release. These emotions were dark and tenebrous and made his chest constrict with each second they remained pent up. 

You were a Jedi, you didn't get injured. It was something he never had to fret about whenever you stepped onto the battlefield, but today...today proved that wrong in the nastiest way possible. Your flirt with death was unnecessary and reckless, a show of independence and strength. Your refusal to rely on Wolffe or his men to aid you resulted in your life-threatening injury and the worst part was there was nothing he could do to stop it.

"What you did today was reckless." Your gaze travels from the durasteel floor to the intense silver of his cybernetic eye, the crease between your eyebrows deepening at his accusation. 

"What I did today saved Ahsoka's life." 

"You needlessly put your life on the line instead of relying on your men to help you."

"I did not." you defend yourself, tenderly crossing your arms over your chest with an indignant huff. 

"That's exactly what you did," he snarled. "Don't even try to bullshit your way out of this."

"I'm not!" you exclaim, wincing at the strain you caused on your side from your outburst. "I did what I had to do without risking your lives!"

"Oh, so now you pretend to care," he chuckles darkly. "You seemed too preoccupied with your little hero moment, sweetheart. I almost had the wrong impression."

Your eyes narrowed into crinkled slits, coldness bleeding into your gaze. "I was mindful of the risk and decided it was one I alone had to take!"

"And look where you wound up."

"You're a piece of shit," you spit. "You don't get to harass me about my choices."

"If I wanted to harass you, I would. I'm trying to get it in your thick skull not to put yourself in such unnecessary danger again."

"Oh, you're just full of nice things, aren't you, Wolffe?" you scoff, rolling your eyes skyward while your heart writhes in bitterness. 

"Only for you," he sneered in retaliation. 

The bickering is childish, but both of you don't seem to realize it, too caught up in your own bouts of fury to even consider the other person's words. It's horrible, but it's the only way you can talk to each other unfiltered, without lies to ease the validity of the situation. If you took a moment to collect yourself and remove yourself from the fervent argument, you're afraid he would stop spewing out what he truly feels in harsh comments and resign to silence, bottling up his emotions as he has done all his life. Wolffe's never been one to find the right words or the will to express what's eating away at his war-stained mind. You blame it on the Kamanoins and the environment he was raised in, which is why any progress in opening up the impenetrable vault of his heart is better than nothing, even if it means being on the receiving end of his insults. But, of course, you are not entirely focused on that, your anger stirring at his unreasonableness to listen to you, which in turn only eggs him on. And if you weren't so caught up in your emotions, you would realize that his invectives come from a place of regard for your safety and well-being after you were nearly killed. 

It's not a familial care like he shares with his brothers, but a tender, heart-wrenching fear foreign to a battle-hardened soldier such as himself, hence his inability to process the emotion, turning to lash out in his distress. But of course, that goes over your head, nothing but determination fueling your self-righteous point of view. 

You two stare at each other, and in your own rage, muddled aggravation, you can't pick out the exact emotion swimming in his irises, pushing and pulling against each other. 

"If you are going to continue to be a prick, leave me alone. I'm done trying to deal with your bullshit," you bark, your teeth sinking into your bottom lip to muffle your whimper as you adjust yourself, your wound pricking at the stretch in your torso. 

Wolffe's eyes seem to soften at that moment as their former fiery irises give way to the ocean of regret that fills them. He wilts, his hand finding its way to his hair, carding through it in search of the right words. 

"You almost died." It's not a question or command but a statement- a fact. Words fail you as you continue to stare into his mismatched gaze. "Your reckless behavior almost got you killed."

"But it didn't." You stare at him, begging him to notice your reassurance, to take it with open arms, but he doesn't. Wolffe is too wrapped up in the unfamiliar surge of emotions making his chest strangle with the lump impossibly forming in his throat. He wasn't used to this kind of trepidation for someone else, a worry running so profound it was stifling him. 

 "If I wasn't there..."

"Wolffe–"

"No– fuck listen to me...You would have died." You wrenched your gaze away from him as tears welled in the back of your eyes, the weight of your actions bearing down upon you with the ease only regret could tame. 

"You could have died," his strangled voice bit out as you digested each word, your stomach sinking all the while. "God damn it, look at me."

Your gaze is ripped from the floor when Wolffe grabs your face, forcing you to stare into his eyes, muddled with too many gut-wrenching feelings to process. "Fuck– you can't do that to me. Can't… can't do that to me."

His words are awkward and unsteady as if he doesn't know how to, but there's a desperate plea for your understanding. He wants you to comprehend every word his tongue can't form, every emotion threatening to swallow him up and spit him out, as every facade comes crashing down in his moment of desperation. 

So instead of talking, you lean over, despite your discomfort, and capture his lips between your own. He holds his breath, his body rigid with the sensation of your warm lips cracked by your constant biting. Then he understands the suddenness behind your actions, and his hands find your face instantly, pouring everything out into the open. His lips are feverish, swollen with spirit. He moves his mouth to taste the essence of your life, to devour your sweet taste as if it was the last thing he would ever do. It's as if he's reassuring himself of your beating heart (and flushed cheeks) as his tongue moves over your lips to seek refuge in the cavern of your mouth he calls home.

You don't see Wolffe in distress very often. Instead, you see a mask of calm, composed ruthlessness shielding his ever-cracked and dismantled soul. Your ability to peer through his walls frightened him at first, but over time as you spilled your hearts to one another over and over again, he found less of a need to keep the shields he had readily put in place, an action that came over time. Now, while his lips swallowed yours in a frenzy, his worry, an emotion that would make him a liability in war, was being poured over you. It was passionate how he moved over you, his hands moving to cup your face while the other slid across various parts of your body. He knew his action was not a display of lust but a solace to himself that you were, in fact, here, despite the deepest horrors his mind could conjure. 

As the embrace slowed to a halt, pulling away for a gulp of air, the tension that once smothered the room in its toxic fumes dissipated, leaving peaceful tranquility in its wake. 

"Don't do that shit again, you hear me?" he breathes, his voice hardened by the lilith that tainted his words. 

"Okay." You nod along with your promise. "Okay."

His body sagged with relief at your reply, a short breath of air leaving his lips. 

"I'm sorry." Wolffe shook his head, dismissing your apology. With the condolence you had so given him, the lingering air of hostility melted, and while it didn't soothe the ever-present fear that came with combat and your safety, the unspoken promise that you would heed his words and move less hastily without care for your life was enough for him. He knew you couldn't give him anything more because anything more would be a lie. His hand moved to cup your face as you nuzzled in the ever-present warmth of his hand, praying that your moment of reprieve would last forever.

[terrifying-acceptance]

i just got an idea for a comic and like i get those a lot but i NEEDED to get this one on paper so let me know ow what y'all think!!

Here's the premise: God has decided that humanity is too sinful to be saved, so they send down their army of angels to irradiate all life and start over. This is very bad for our human protagonists for obvious reasons, soooo our main duo, Aster and Paris, become Angel Hunters and try to stop heaven from massacring Earth

^^ their designs so far (Aster [He/They] is the one one the left and Paris [She/They] is the one on the right in the first image)

Aster and Paris are roommates at their University. Paris is a paranoid introvert who is sick of everyone's (especially Aster's) bullshit and isn't afraid to let them know it. They majored in religious studies so they know a lot about the different angels they fight and how to beat them! Aster is a loud fighter who tries his best to keep everyone safe despite his... questionable methods. They may look annoying, but he really does care about everyone around them.

They go on adventures finding and exterminating holy figures from all different pantheons. Hijinx, heresy, and hell await these 2!!

I got this idea when i was rewatching some old mandela catalog theories about the alternates being angels and stuff. I was like, what if we hunted them back?? and BOOM!! new idea :D it's grown into it's own thing since then, but i can't help splicing in things from my fav shows into my brain ://

here's a design i whipped up for the first angel vvv



but yeah!! tell me what y'all think about the idea!!! questions, suggestions, criticism, anything!! i'm thinking about making it a comic but we'll see if the idea sticks with me long enough to get motivation

[baby-fics]

CG! Vampire Coven All together🩷🩶💚 CW: Panic Attacks, Negative Regression (minor mentions of both)

🩷Mona, Alexei, and Frances are not familiar with age regression, so most likely you would be met with confusion when they find a paci or teether in your bag, but no malice. Just love and wanting to understand.

🩶 They've been alive for varying levels of time, so age is more of a construct at this point. So then finding out that you go to the safe, child-like parts of life, it makes sense to them. They just need to learn what childhood is for themselves again when learning to help you in your regression.

💚 Maybe your regression at first was watching cartoons and coloring stick figures with a paci in your mouth, no- now that your coven knows they're taking you to zoos, museums, toy stores, parks, anywhere.

🩷They would probably help you lean into those child like behaviors, getting excited and stimming at an aquarium exhibit. Teaching you to bring back the behaviors that were trained out of you, and in turn they re-learn that whimsical innocence they lost decades ago.

🩶They will get good at knowing your little tells eventually. Maybe your voice gets higher, you sway and rock on your feet, your eyes and body wander absently, you fidget more, etc. They know your tells, and they will always subtly encourage you and make you feel safe to slip around them.

💚Frances is always encouraging his brave baby to explore. If his baby wants to climb and run, he'll be there to catch you and always there to kiss your boo-boos. Being an adventurous baby is difficult work!

🩷 Mona is always making you giggle by covering your face in endless kisses. She has a dedicated spot for you in her studio, where she can work on her designs and see her sweet baby curled up on the cushions with a stuffie.

🩶 Alexei is quiet and enjoys hearing what stories and plotlines you have for your dolls or stuffies. He's crafty, you'll always have a snack while you play and if you need something new for your dolls he'll make it, you only need to ask.

💚 Alexei loves to hold you in a blanket fort while you color and likes when you ask him what colors you should use (even if you don't use his suggestions)

🩷 Speaking of pillow forts, they are a staple in the covens home. They litter the house in different rooms, hardly do you spend time in your bed and them in theirs. Why do that when you can have a cozy makeshift den that's protected and cozy and safe on all sides??

🩶Age regression is not always pretty, sometimes it's hiding away wherever you can and staying still and quiet so the scary things can't get you. But it doesn't matter if you scratch or bite at them, they understand. They will not leave, they will offer space, but they will not abandon you- even when your problems are not pretty or easy.

💚 They are not easy either, there's a reason these three relics of differing times came together. Just because your problems aren't easy, doesn't mean they aren't worth it.

Hope y'all enjoyed! I will not stop writing about these three, they're going in the same monster OC vault as Noor lol (Mona, Alexei, and Frances have my heart btw. Idc if nobody cares for them, if they have zero fans I'm dead.)

[flowerwiththemachinegun]

I CAN NOT WAIT FOR YOU RAINY DAY HC!!! IM CHOMPING AT THE BIT....

THE last anxiety H/C soothed my DNA beyond...I JUST CAN NOT WAIT..

Ok listen know this is a weird one but...your last Hojo got me REALLY thinking him as a person...does that man get any physical contact/needs etc. *wink wink* I'm GENUINELY curious...I figured men like that don't even process those thoughts because...brain focus is elsewhere...I always figured he'd consider an act like that dirty/beneath him or even "a thing for the common man/test subject" ...you can totally dedicate a separate ask just for this one because I have a feeling we're gonna deep dive on this one.

Nsfw.

And your feeling was absolutely correct! I am gonna deep dive on Hojo and fucking. I recently made all of the homies sick with Hojo. First I'll keep it sfw.

Cuddling? Hugs? General affection? Very below him. Might allow you to be touchy with him at times, he won't engage the same sort of affection. If you really want to cuddle he'll let you curl up beside him at times. Throws an arm around you subconsciously and claims he was just trying to adjust his position. If you come and lay down on top of him, he'll let out a heavy sigh but he's not going to move nor is he going to ask you to move. I'd say he would tolerate physical affection but it's not much of his thing. There was a meme that went "Trying to comfort the homies life" and it's someone patting their friends shoulder with a broom stick while hiding behind a door frame. It's giving Hojo.

I can't see Hojo as being completely uninterested in sex. I say he definitely fucks. The Costa Del Sol chicks?? Nobody can tell me he wasn't fondling them. idc idc. Lucrecia, yes yes I know it was for experimentation but he was probably hitting the fuck out of her from the back on a regular. Look at her! I don't see him having sex often but I do see him very occasionally indulging himself. I kind of doubt sex is beneath him, it's a natural function of the human body after all and he's a man of science. Hojo, in my eyes, probably has a breeding kink. (hope you don't mind the tag) @h0jos-f4vorite-t3stsubject got me thinking about a birthing kink with Hojo as well. He's probably bred way more experiments than we can imagine. Hojo fucks in the name of science. Anyways, he doesn't feel as though it's a necessity, just something he'll do from time to time.

[cosmossystem]

running list of things i've learned from making my patch pants:

if you use canvas for your patches, the edges will start to fray. this is inevitable. i'm sure there is some way around this but i haven't figured it out yet. i'm thinking maybe a glue stick or fray check along the edges right after cutting the patch could work. of course, that might be part of the look you're going for, so it might not bother you too much (personally idc lol)

don't bother with fabric markers. they bleed and they won't show up on black fabric and they look like shit. acrylic paint markers are a GODSEND, use them. some are better than others, so try around to see what works for your fabric. i use top notch in white and it works for me.

also, if you use acrylic markers, be careful of it seeping through your material and onto the surface behind. i've ruined my desk this way.

no markers? try just regular ol' acrylic paints. works pretty good too, just keep in mind that it will make your patches stiffer and crack a lot more. also might not be waterproof--but who cares, really.

don't want to freehand all that text? USE STENCILS!!! you can make your own with tape and an exacto knife (apparently, i've never tried) or you can do what my lazy ass does and just buy a bunch of premade letter stencils. it also makes working with acrylic markers much easier.

if your material is black, or if you have a lot of black areas, you can use a sharpie to fix any mistakes. i usually do this to make my edges sharper. go over the area several times if you need to. it smells horrible but it works.

your patches will inevitably start to come off, especially around areas that crease (for pants, that's hips and knees.) that's part of life. there's a few things you can do to make them last longer. if you use a sewing machine, try using something other than a straight stitch, like a zig-zag stitch. if you stitch by hand, try doubling up your thread or double-sewing the edges using a combination of different stitches. i've had the best luck with a very close whipstitch. of course if the patch is beyond repair, you could always just take it off and replace it with something different (ship of theseus that thang!) you could also maybe get away with using embroidery thread but depending on your patch material, it may make it harder to work with.

also, i know this is kind of cheating, but you don't have to just decorate with patches. i added a bunch of safety pins and it adds a bit of Flare. that also means i have a free safety pin whenever i need it! (often)

these rules are not set in stone and you should experiment to see what works for you!!!

if you have anything to add on please feel free :)

[mamaestapa]

hi loves!!!🤍

i’ve seen all of your messages and asks, i appreciate all of the love and kind messages. it means the world to me🤍

i feel terrible for coming back and then leaving again. i keep saying im back for good and then i disappear again…for like weeks. (it seems like as soon as i feel good enough to come back something comes up and im back to where i started LOL). its been good for me to step away from writing and from this blog, but i also miss it so much. i miss you all so much!

it was my escape from reality, gave me something to do, and kept me busy/always looking forward to something—which is what i really need right now!

as many of you have probably seen, my bf and i broke up. it was more of a “break” though because we did end up talking through it and getting back together (could’ve been the dumbest decision ever, but idc. i’m happy with my decision). SO we’re back, we’re both happy and feel we did the right thing. for me, that’s all that matters.

so i’ve been quite busy with him and working on our relationship, plus i got a babysitting job that’s been keeping me busy too. but i miss writing SO SO much.

so i’m deciding to make my comeback by doing a couple things. if you’re sticking around and are still here waiting patiently for new writing, thank you. thank you for your patience and your support, i love you all🫂🤍

here’s my plan!

fresh start on au asks: i’m going to delete all asks in my inbox and just start fresh with requests. i’m too overwhelmed with what i’ve got, so i think starting over with au asks will help a lot with that! (everything on my masterlist i’ll keep!)

fresh start on my drafts: i’m also going to delete all the planned fics in my drafts. once again, i’m overwhelming myself and think i just need to start fresh with those too. so any au fics, song imagines, unfinished works in my drafts will be deleted.

song imagine series: i’m going to try my song imagines series again! i’m still figuring out how i want to do it, but i will be trying that again! ttpd has inspired me with angst, so that’s partially why im going to try to get back into some song imagines lol

however, before i can do any of that, i NEED to update masterlist links for au’s!!! thank you all for being patient about that, i know it can be frustrating lol.

i’ll quit yapping for now, thank you all for your patience and understanding. your support means so much and i love you all SO much🤍🤍

[katiekatdragon27]

I'm so normal about the teensies.

I'm so normal about the teensies that I made a pre-Rayman origin story for the teensies. The teensies built the world lol, idc how inaccurate it is to the lore lol.

It's my interpretation, I get to decide the lore!

(THING TO NOTE: All of their designs are based on already existing teensies, whether it be canon or concept doesn't matter. If you can accurately figure out which teensies inspired who, I will give you a gold star🌟)

General plot synopsis: Polokus made the world. The fairies were also made; however, they were not "sentient" beings yet. All their births were from teeny terraforming of the land but that'll be explained in a later post. Anyways, the teensies were created not only to make sick beats with their noses, but to give the world guides and watchful keepers of order. Once every creature was created, Polokus took his leave, leaving all his "kids" to figure everything out. As one could imagine, that caused a lot of fighting over who's in charge. One teensy in particular knew in his heart he was built to lead. However, due to his short stature and insistence for violence, many did not even lend a passing glance.

When Polokus had a bad dream and a certain first nightmare invades the Glade, death in introduced into the world and no one knows how to deal with it. In a test of leadership and strength. This one teensy beat the odds, uniting every clan of teeny around, recruiting their most powerful fighters, and taking down the nightmare, restoring peace to the Glade.

Despite the win, there were still many rabid creatures running around, so in an attempt to establish order permanently, they "built" the Snoring Tree, the most middle part of the world where every teensy leader (and other creatures if needed) could come to discuss diplomacy and general plans of action (a knights of the round table kind of thing). It is where the Hall of Doors is located along with a direct link to the Livid Dead, which was established just a few years earlier. (After the Snoring Tree was made, that's when the fairies were "born" with Betilla being the first.)

However, his establishment of peace fell on it's face almost immediately due to teensy nature being lowkey selfish lol. The first "generation" of teensies was very good at this "guide and order keeper" job, but as each generation passed, more and more of the teensies' diplomatic mindset was pushed to the wayside in favor of a superiority complex. And when Betilla made Rayman as a protector of the Glade, many teensies lost interest in fighting themselves, leaving them very susceptible to attacks. That's why every creature ever is adamant in sticking these guys in cages. Cuz they're lowkey assholes who can't fight lol.

There are gonna be 10 important people to the plot, but I only got five finished right now. Their bios are below the cut:

_________

Aurthr the Grand Minimus (Fighter):

Aurthr is actually the First King in his prime. He was the first teensy made by Polokus, although he is not the "oldest" (like imagine a creator making ocs of different age ranges but they were all made at the same time). By default, he feels an entitlement to the first throne position in his kingdom, but before he is deemed "king", he has to go though a trial. That trial is ... defeating Jano! Yes, these are gonna be the group of teensies that defeat Jano and create the Livid Dead lol. But in order to do that, he needs to learn to be a leader. Along the way, he also learns that to be a grand leader, he needs to value solutions through diplomacy over violence (something that is lost in later generations *cough cough*).

Orion the Adventurous Ranger:

Orion is Aurthr's childhood best friend who comes from outside the castle walls. Being a Murkin (a clan of teensies that has since disappeared), he is very good at going undetected and just navigating the world outside of civilization in general. Despite his soft-spoken nature and cowardness, he really wants to make a difference for the better in teensy society, and it may just come around by teaching Aurthr to listen first before attacking (along with how to be an amazing Kungfoot player).

And yeah, he has ears. Ears are a recessive gene, but the Murkin were the clan that had that trait the most. (They usually get cropped if they're too big to hide in their hats.)

Sapphie the Beautiful Bard:

Sapphie is a teensy who's primary magic use is of the darker arts (hence her ability to go natural hair). Before being Aurthr's first recruit, she spent most of her days traveling about and doing small thieving jobs. She was a well-know musician, and she performed for money a lot. However, what she loves more than money is adventure. She immediately jumps onboard to Aurthr's crew, leading as healer until a different teensy joins the group later on and giving her the chance to fight. She teaches Aurthr about strength in presentation (and how to play his nose like a musical interment).

Umber the Undead Warlock:

Umber is one of the two mages that Aurthr sought out to help fight Jano. They are the Griskin Chief and trying their best to keep their people safe. This dedication to their people's safety led to a deal with a slumbering spirit, giving up their voice in exchange for power and sanctuary near his den. While constantly struggling to keep their clan quiet, they have been trying to manage the sudden influx in stressed out and scared ghosts showing up and causing a ruckus. Stressed and overwhelmed, it takes more than just some talking to convince them to go with Aurthr. But after helping with some big tasks and beating them in a game of Kungfoot, they decide to assist, and put a stop to whatever is killing everyone from above the bog.

Soria the Stunning Sorceress:

Soria is one of the two mages that Aurthr sought out to help fight Jano. Being part of the Sylkin sorcerers, she was the main protecter of Polokus's resting place high in the mountains. She is incredibly strong for a teensy in terms of magic, making her quite the formidable fighter. However, she would much rather sing and dance, and overall just have fun being alive than perform combat. She decides to help defeat Jano after being bested in music fight with Aurthr and having her eyes open to the destruction occurring down below.

She also has ears. They are long, but since her hat is also long there was no need to crop them.

__________

There are five more characters that will be posted later, but these are the important ones at the beginning of the story. I have a lot of this world thought out with a very solid plotline, so if y'all got any questions, I would be more than happy to answer them. Thank you for your reading all this and have a lovely day ^^

[is-the-snake-video-cute]

So like. I know this is not recommended behavior on my part and against most all advice. But i live on a swamp and rather often have to remove snakes from areas they shouldnt be (ie dangerous for us or the snake, idc if its just in the garden or whatever we're just chillin), and particularly often i find that its baby snakes. There arent many venomous snakes where i live but im like 95% sure ive found venomous ones around, and like. I usually try to use a bucket scooping method for those (as you can see in the pic) but im wondering what the best way is, considering the snake needs moving and its usually too quick to call a pro.

Examples of snakes ive found (usually dont takw pics bc they are for ID purposes and its usually a garter or ringneck that i find) i live in CT

Photo 1: honestly never figured out, never moved it from garden tho bc i only saw it once and we just stayed in our lanes

Photo 2: little guy was in the way of some stuff, scooped it up. Honestly. Thought it was a timber rattlesnake based on how it acted and its markings arent too far off but its head looks off. I dont really know tho.

If a bucket's all you've got on hand and you need to move a snake to safety, go for it. Just be very careful, and never touch even a small snake with your bare hands. If I were you, I'd invest in a collapsible hook - they're small enough to carry around with you, and can pull out so you have plenty of room to safely move snakes with! I keep one on my person at all times. If you don't have a hook, long sticks are also good options for moving snakes to safety.

Now, in your pictures - both of those are actually harmless little DeKay's brownsnakes! You can identify them by a light-colored belly, a barred pattern (the barring can be more distinctive on some snakes than others), and a dark-colored head with big eyes with round pupils.

[certainlytragic]

Just thinking about Regulus coming out to Sirius.

Reg shyly walks over to to the griffindor table and taps his brother on the shoulder. "Oh, you've cut your hair, mums gonna kill ya" Sirius says, smiling a bit. "I need to talk to you" Regulus quietly tells him, his voice almost a whisper. "Yeah, ok, um I'll see you guys later" Sirius directs that last part to his friends, who all mumble agreement before going back to their conversations.

When they make it outside of the great hall, Sirius gently grabs Regulus' arm, "what is is [nickname of deadname]"

"I'd prefer it if you didnt call me that"

"What? [Nickname of Deadname], your my baby sister, I can call you whatever I want"

"I'm not your baby sister"

"You'll always be my baby sist-" Sirius doesnt finish

"IM NOT YOUR FUCKING SISTER!" Regulus says it louder than intended, and quickly looks down, like his shoes were the most interesting in the world. "What..?" Sirius sounds different, quieter.

Regulus is silent for a moment "hey, it's alright, you can tell me anything".

"I..I'm um. I think I'm transgender" Regulus mutters, still not looking at his brother. "Alright, that's fine, that's good. What are your pronouns, and your name?" Sirius smiles at his brother, waiting for a response.

"Well, I did some experimenting, and I prefer to use he/him, but I dont know about a name, I'm thinking 'something Arcturus Black' but I dont know about a first name." Regulus responds, meeting his brothers eyes and letting a small smile break free.

"Ah, sticking with the family tradition then" Sirius chuckles.

They dont talk for a while, but then Sirius breaks the silence. "What about the one star from the leo constellation....what is it. The bright one..you know?"

"Regulus?"

"Yeah! That one, that one suits you. Talking about things that suit you, look at you! The hair! The black nails! The outfit!" Regulus was wearing black baggy ripped jeans, a queen shirt and a black leather jacket, with some oxford style doc martens and his hands covered in rings. He looked good. "Yeah um, Dorcas cut my hair, she's good with that stuff, and um these are Barty's clothes."

Sirius thought they looked big "WAIT, did you tell them?! Before you told me?! How dare you?!?" Sirius practically shrieked, grabbing his brothers shoulders and shaking him a bit. "No, but they probably figured it out"

"Ok, I'll choose to believe you" Sirius and Regulus walk back into the hall, and sit at the table. "Um so this is my brother, Regulus, he just told me that a few minutes ago actually"

"Hi, Regulus" Remus grabbed his boyfriends hand, and smiled at Regulus.

Meanwhile James was staring, mouth slightly agape, Regulus had yawned, and James caught sight of a small silver ball on his tounge. (James wasn't staring at Regulus' lips, of course he wasn't, he just looked and saw it, totally, yeah)

A/N- I know its shit but idc, not spell checked either so yk

[circuscl0wn]

Flowers For Lookwa Pijika

Y’all know how GMMTV sticks to their couple pairings?? Ima need them to kinda do the same with Fourth and Lookwa Pijika (his mom in both My School president and Moonlight chicken). Anytime he needs a parental figure in a show they need to bring her out.

This is an unbeatable duo, idc idc. Both of them have amazing energy and just bring so much as a family unit. I don’t know what it is about her but she just brings warmth and understanding (which is weird considering how she was introduced in MLC). Regardless, this my girl.