#what is ruby on rails

[theveryevilblog]

Haskell > anything else

Haskell is the best programming language because it lets you write a fully functioning web server with three lines of code and zero understanding of how anything works You don't write programs, you declare intentions, and the compiler decides if you're worthy Every other language lets you make mistakes. Haskell waits patiently then destroys your ego at compile time Besides, who needs to 'build skill' in programming anyway?

Not even comparable to python, which is just... so annoyingly uncomplicated and pointless (to make good python syntax you need to make it as un-python as possible) and javascript? Who needs fast languages anyway? So unsatisfying And don't even get me started on C, C++ or C#, which are literally the same language by the way Rust? Bro, just send me the virus already. I don't care PHP? What does that even stand for? Poverty Holding Person? Like you? Java? You stopped being relevant about thirty years ago Swift? Buddy, I do not care about your apple vision pro R? You couldn't even spare another letter? What are you, C-- or something? Ruby? Just admit that Ruby on Rails died last decade... Go? Go where? Out the door? Because currently, that is what Go developers are being asked to do by employers Perl? I don't even know what that language is

[tottentz]

KISS ME FROM THE RUSH .ᐟ ── honkai star rail ?! ❛ i can't get enough ❜ 🗝 ﹢を ˒ㅤ ft. aventurine, blade, dr. ratio, argenti, sunday, jing yuan.

ֶָ֢⊹𐙚 WARNINGS ! mdni. reader has no pronouns but has afab anatomy, soft dom ! character & inexperienced ! reader, dry humping / aventurine, praising, pet names, fingering / boothill + jing yuan, oral ( receiving ) / blade, blowjob + cum swallowing / dr. ratio, implied multiple orgasm + overstimulation, dacriphilia, lil of corruption kink ( if you squint ). ♡ˎˊ˗

mature content ahead ! + please take care of yourself before proceeding.

aventurine .ᐟ

slender fingertips dig into the excess squish of your hips, prompting you to wriggle your waist and forcibly slot your pelvis where aventurine ushers you atop his lap, bunching your skirt in his fidgety palms as you delectably initiate a merciless roll of your hips that had his cock straining against the crotch of his jeans and his own hips eagerly bucking upwards.

he devours you in his embrace, and presses a brief kiss to the corner of your mouth before swallowing every mewl-like cry that parts your lips.

the lengthening drag led your clit to the silver buckle of his belt; pulpous bud sinking against the metal and flattening whenever aventurine thrusted his hips and temporarily pinned the bundle, catching the sensory mound before it dislodged and continued its previous rut.

you hissed through your teeth, breaking away from his lips to speckle rosy contortions into his skin. aventurine impatiently rocks his hips as if a mutt graveling in his heat, stiffening cock occasionally bumping your clit before the imprint would card through your soiled unde, gliding trough the dampened fabric with a friction that could kindle fire.

"that's it, baby," he coos, "almost there..."

he sounds breathless as he speaks, body shuddering when you placed a hot palm to his nape, grounding yourself and forcing coarse friction where you straddled him, desperate to clash against his pants as if you'd soon wear the denim to nothing and leave him bare.

"see...now isn't that nice?" he breathlessly laughs, "you're doing so well..., does it feel good?"

his hips erratically jerk, and the breathless pants from his mouth divulged his own craving, lips blowing against your collar before biting his presence into your skin. he's just as far off as you. ruby red and temple coated with sweat, aventurine is flushed and trembling under your hold. 

all he gets as a response is a pathetic whine, making him grin, "of course it does, sweetheart..." he so desperately wants to ravish what sensible though remained of your dizzying head; fuck you until you couldn't discern the hour of the day, but he refrained. not yet.

"that's it, sweetheart, that's it, cum for me. c'mon give it to me, show me how you pretty you are, yeah?." 

and you do, you gasp and squeal when the high finally crashes over you. he slows his thrusts, barely letting you go before carefully pressing back in, working you diligently through the high s you tremble and cream all over his pants like the sweet thing you are. 

blade .ᐟ

to his surprise, you don't yelp or squeak or become flustered when he occupied himself between your legs, only biting your lip as wild pulsations rendered your brain to mush and melted your forefront conscious into a haze of silver lining.

 matching the complex twist of the interstate, your abdomen began to tie its knot of arousal and nervousness, your posture tensing into a deep arch that forced your head against the leather seat and a whimper to fall from your glossed lips, and before you could cover your face with your hands, blade quickly hold your wrists down again.

"don't." his voice is mereley above a whisper as erratic shivers shook your withering figure against the bed.

 "you okay?" you choke intead a series of strangled moans following his order.

"i'm okay." he muses on that notion for a time, flicking his thumbs over your throbbing clit, the strokes stimulating the hardened bud that felt as if would burst in due time. nimbly dragging the anxious tips of your fingers between your legs. "it feels good?." 

you sniffle and nod, "really good..."

he hums and leans down, kissing your clit for one fleeting second before his hands are on your knees, keeping them pinned to your chest while he sat between your thighs as he licks at you, tentatively until he hears you quietly moan. then he's lapping, eager, pressing his face firmer against your cunt. 

the pressure was unfamiliar but it wasn't bad. in fact it felt really good, all the while your taste fills his mouth, floods his tongue, and he knows without a doubt that he would try this over again.

"blade-!" you gasp, reaching down to tangle your hands in his hair, effectively messing it up.

his cock is painfully hard in his pants but he can't bring himself to care -- not when he's got your spread like this, working your towards your high with every touch he gives you.

and when you finally cum, it's with a harsh tug of his hair. drawing his name from your lips, you arched further into the sheets as the last of your orgasm shook your weak limbs. his name carried significance. the tenor more than just a lovely echo of your rapture. 

he hums, opening his pretty eyes to look at you. when he pulls away, theres a string a spit connected to his lips before he smiles, letting you close your thighs and curl up. the sight of you breathless and teary eyed from the intense orgasm makes him want to go for seconds.

dr. ratio .ᐟ

"what do you want?" veritas asks. he shifts a bit, the mattress creaking again. a hand lands in your hair. it doesn't pull or tangle. gentle. too gentle. he never pulls when asked; for now, you slowly relaxe into this.

"it would be good if you hurry up, too,"you remained at attention. readily awaiting as if a devoted minion who had yet to receive orders.

"impatient."veritas hums, his touch unhurried. he takes his time more than he takes. you have never known what to do with it. you still don't, now, with goosebumps on your skin.

"and you're awfully slow," you say. "i just wanna make you feel good, you know."

there's a low, thoughtful hum. veritas is always thinking. you never know what he's thinking about, but veritas Ratio is a beautiful frowner, anyways.

"very well" a sigh. tiredness, fondness. you are too dizzy on pleassure to tell "open," veritas directs, lightly touching beneath your chin. his hands are warm. he touches with purpose. efficiency, but no lack of gentleness. he touches you like a craftsman touches his work. you open your mouth.

you impishly swiped your tongue past your lips before bringing your parted mounds to the base of his dick. puckishly dragging your tongue against his pulsating sex, you followed the protruding vessels of blue, soon hallowing your cheeks as to sink your head towards his pelvis. 

it earns him a soft hiss. veritas is never loud, but he's always honest. you rub your tongue along the underside, tracing the crown, flicking the slit. 

a whispered curse word. veritas' hips press up a little, his hand settles on your head, there is too much saliva in your mouth, you don't know how to do it, and so you let it make a mess instead. 

veritas curses again, his hand stays in place, though he's not trying to hold you in place. he makes a few shallow thrusts, cock sliding deeper, rubbing the back of your throat until you gag on your own spit, and then veritas eases you off to come up for air.

"good," veritas tells you, low and rough at your water-welled tear ducts glossed your eyes in crystalline solution. veritas is gentle even in this.

he warns you that he's close, and you moan like encouragement. his pace gentles. you are allowed to control the pace again, to pull off if you want to, but you stay.

veritas' thighs tense on either side of you, his breathings hallow and unsteady. he's always been beautiful in pleasure. all of him. veritas comes in waves on your tongue a moment later.  

"pretty." veritas says contemplatively, careful not to waste a drop, so when his hand falls from your hair to your spit-slick chin, examining you, he can whip the mess from your chin with his knuckles. ever kind, ever considerate. 

boothill .ᐟ

"stop staring" a moan rises in the back of your throat, and he thinks you look beatiful, how you shie away, hiding your mouth behind the palm of your hand when your moans begin to get loud, closing your eyes in ecstasy, letting the unintelligible noises melt away as boothill's hand slips inside your underwear.

"'m'enjoying the view." he runs the other hand down from your face to your chest, it dances on your body, caresses the curve of your neck, the valley of your breasts, rolling the sensitive bud beneath his fingertips, mindful to place bruising kisses along your neck where deep shapes of his ministrations would be left for you to cover.

his lips latche onto the skin of your shoulder, and he worked his away along the base until kissing the incision of flesh that dimpled behind your ear. 

“look at ya,” perceptible to his observant gaze, your shoulders trembled enthusiastically, accompanying the quiver of your knees that were soon to clamp around his hand. “fudge, you're gon' be the death 'o me, darl.” he cooes against your heated skin, noting the way your hold on him tightened.

his fingers press inside, and the both of you groan together. his digits are slender, dangerous maybe, and he eases them in so slowly it makes you whine. your hips buck up against his hand, back arching, and he chuckles, a cold hand pressing down on your navel to keep your steady.

"there ya go. not so desperate after all, hm?" the sensation so riveting that you are tender into his arms as he fucks you, somehow both gentle and rough. 

his fingers are sharp but slow, calculated to hit against your sweet spot with every thrust. he's filling the silence with gentle hums, encouraging you as you wither away, gasping and panting and begging.

"too good f'me," he whispers, crowding himself against your chest so you feel the cold metal of his own pressed up againts your skin, all over you. "aren'tcha?" there's a retort on the tip of your tongue, but the moment you open your mouth to speak, his hand  squeeze your cheeks together "aren'tcha?"

you're nodding before you know it.

"i am," you whimper, hands bracing yourself up. your arms are quivering from the endless sensation of his big hand on you, slicking up and down and up and down slowly. he is bringing you to your climax with every soft kiss he press into your shoulder. "i'm good for you."

and you can't help the words that spill out of your mouth as you cum hard around his fingers, that twinge into the air between you. you shuddered and almost screamed through your last orgasm, a slow rolling thing after the two ecstasies preceded it. 

unfamiliar with actions that caused your pretty little lips to squeal, boothill was sure to conduct each one, refusing to yield his practice until you had been blinded by sheer white, breathless and convulsing in his arms.

argenti .ᐟ

you hook your arms around argenti's neck before bringing him down for another kiss—one with more fervor, more intensity than you would otherwise offer. he doesn't reciprocate for a moment, seemingly astonished with your sudden vigor. but in time, he melts against your lips until one after the other.

such as now, his heavy body draped over yours, hips flush against you with his thick cock buried inside you.

"shh," he coos, fingers laced between yours as you sob and wail into the bed, feet mindlessly kicking as you cum around his stationary cock. he presses his lips against your shoulder, "how do you feel?" he teases you as you sniffle and tearfully look at him over your shoulder.

"s'good," you whisper and he smiles so sweetly at you that it makes your heart flutter.

he chuckles again, soft and reassuring as he lifts your thighs with strong hands, bracketing them again across his hips. 

"i know it does," he responds, carefully rutting his hips against you, stirring his cock within your walls, "you came so quickly."

"'again-!" you cut off to moan when he suddenly pulls back, "wanna  cum again"

"again" he considers, and you jolt when he pins your hips in place with one hand while seizing your wrist with the other. his look immediately morphs into something more captivatin, chuckling, "i'll make you cum again,"

but contrary to your expectations, argenti doesn't start fucking you into the mattress like a wild animal. instead, he hoists your hips even higher, holding your body at an odd angle. you're about to ask what he's trying to do, but when he plunges his cock back into your weeping hole, the words evaporate on your tongue.

"you are so beutiful," he assures. his sudden, unrelenting pace continues from then on out. argenti grips your thighs hard, but not enough to leave bruises. 

his discretion makes your heart flutter, but you can't quite bask in the sentiment given that his cock is hitting all the spots that make stars dance in the seams of your vision.

deep. he's so impossibly deep that you fear it'll take you days to sweat him out. a trail of saliva dribbles on your chin as argenti slowly guides you to the apex of an orgasm.his name sounds like an incantation on your lips, and you wonder if the aeons would let you have this man forever.

"argenti!" you squealed, gasping as you reached down to grab his wrist, "oh! wait, 'm gonna-!"

"it's alright," he assures, voice just as soft and even as ever, "just let it happen. want you to feel good for me."

your eyes roll back in your head and you gasp, al the while he whispered praises as you trembling and gushed, soaking his hand and cock. but he didn't mind, he just enjoyed the sight of you feeling good all because of him.

sunday .ᐟ

mass against his own. his chest is keenly pressed into your breasts, pinning you to the mattress with an intimidating vigor and a punishing snap of his hips. 

your ankles knock together behind his nape, and your knees crudely tense by your ears. a palm is cleaved at your waist, nails shoveling into the fat of your hips as the other hooks the bend of your knee into a firm mating press.

 your fingertips fiercely claw at his shoulders, scrambling for a pillar to keep your conscious ground and aware, but you can count the stars behind your glossy lids, another flitter of light flickering into the dark as the male slotted between your legs commences another tunneling of your tiny cunnie.

"'s too much—" tears descend the swell of your heated cheeks, droplets streaking your skin and smearing the mascara you previously applied to your fluttering lashes, brows tense and crinkled as your eyes lulled towards the back of your head and exposed the reddened white of your dazed optics.

"is that so?" a hum colored his tone, mocking and high, "i just want to be selfish and feel you cum around me. that's okay, isn't it?"

he lets your head fall to the bed again as he pauses the pounding of his hips to reach for your face, grabbing the fat of your flushed cheeks before he presss his thumb on your bottom lip.

you're embarrassingly compliant, parting your lips at the same time—tongue swirling around his skin as you cover them in a sheen of saliva. sunday doesn't say a word, but there's an uncharacteristic glint in his eyes that you never would've associated with him earlier.

"but do look pretty like this." his strong hand lets go of your face, instead moving to gently move your hair from your face where it's stuck to the mix of saliva and tears- the juxtaposition reminds you again of how much he actually cared."you know i always want to make you feel good."

a tap to your temple brings you out of your stupor- you're mindless, you're a mess, it's humiliating, but he smiles down at you. "you can give me one more, hm?"

you whimper; mewl as if language were unknown to you. all you can do is cry, sob, as his splits your little pussy in half. your name echoes from his kiss swollen lips as his fucks you harder into the mattress. his brain is in shambles; cluttered and screwed as if he had lost reasoning, but he was aware of himself; aware of his present endeavor-

he won't stop until you are sobbing his name, eagerly arching your tremoring pelvis into his own because he had begun to relentlessly hammer a delicate plot that induced your vision to flicker and blurrily haze with spangled glimmers of hot electricity.

jing yuan .ᐟ

there's just something so sweet about your voice when you are desperate. when you are laying in front of you, legs trashing as jing yuan watches, a small smile on his face as you try, try so hard to angle his fingers just right.

"can't," you whimper, free hand reaching out for him. but he leans back, smiling in faux sympathy. 

the nimble pads of his fingertips pried apart your slicken folds to clamp at the inflated bud between your legs, amber optics indifferent to your puppy-dog pout and repetitive mantra of plea as he forcibly held your thigh apart, eyes flittering the expanse of your skin when you pitifully cried and spoke incoherent requests he blatantly neglected to acknowledge.   

he hums softly, shifting closer to you and hoisting you up by your armpits, he settles you in his lap. "better?" he murmurs against your skin, taking the vibrator in your hands and pressing it up against her drooling cunt, buzzing along her clit. she chokes out a small, yes, before burying her face in your shoulder.

"feels good, doesn't it?," he whispers. "tell me."

he can feel you tensing every time he pushes his calloused fingers just a little deeper, the way your toes curl and your ankles dig into his back. he knows you feel good. he just wanna hear it. "'s good," you whimper. "good!— feels really good."

"gonna cum?" he cradles your face with his free hand, dipping his head down to press a small kiss to your lips, swallowing your breaths. "gonna cum for me, yeah?"

you nod. your brain's melted into pretty pink goo, oozing out of your ears with every second his fingers keep fucking into you. he pushes you, keeps pushing you into ecstasy, until your unravelling on his fingers. "oh," he coos. "so pretty, look at you."

you don't know when you start cumming. you don't know when you stop. he doesn't stop though, never stops. he keeps fucking into you, the sensation so riveting you don't even feel your third orgasm until it materialises in your trembling legs.

jing yuan hushes you. "just let me, dear," he makes quick work of your clit, having you gasping his name "so good f'me, yeah? cum, come on. i know you got it in you."

you stifle your cries into his shoulder, and he smiles softly. it's times like these where he looks at you with hearts in his eyes, when he brushes the soft hair and tuck it behind your ear in a move of adoration. it's times like these when he thinks that you are so good, so sweet, you'd do anything he say, right?

. ࣪✦ ៸៸ tottentz ▐ © 2024 ､ ? 𓄹 ܵ ۪

[betweenstorms]

Late night talks with Simon Riley

The balcony of your flat was surrounded by stillness, save for the faint rustle of leaves in the gentle autumn breeze, the distant hum of vehicles and the occasional hiss of your cigarette as you took a drag.

The city stretched out below you, its noise muffled by distance, streetlights glowing like indifferent stars. The cool air brushed against your skin like the lingering touch of a departing lover. Somewhere in the distance, a dog barked once and then fell quiet.

Simon Riley stood beside you, a looming silhouette etched against the night, the soft glow of a distant streetlamp tracing the edges of his massive frame. He leaned against the railing, arms crossed over his broad chest, his mask still in place even though you were alone.

He didn’t seem out of place, even in your silent little apartment, though his size and demeanour should have made him feel alien against the backdrop of your soft furnishings, pastel colours and faintly floral candle scent. Somehow, he belonged here in a way you didn’t entirely understand, just as he belonged anywhere he decided to stand.

And in that moment, you wondered if perhaps the truth was simpler—perhaps it wasn’t the space itself that had been shaped to make room for him, but you. You, drawn to his gravity, reshaping yourself to fit into his orbit without even knowing it. He belonged here, beside you, in the way that storms belong to the sea, in the way that shadows belong to the light. 

You tilted your head back, blowing a stream of smoke into the evening air, the grey tendrils dissolving into the sky that was kissed by ink. “Y’know,” you began, your voice quiet but steady, “I’ve always wanted to be someone’s muse.”

Simon didn’t move, yet you felt it—his attention turning toward you, like the faint pull of the moon on restless tides. He tilted his head slightly, a silent invitation, or perhaps a challenge.

You smiled at him coyly as you tapped the ash from your cigarette, scattering it into the night like fragile, burnt-out stars, lost to the endless abyss below. “I mean, like in art, poetry, music. I want to be the reason someone picks up a brush or a guitar, someone to feel something so deeply for me that they have to create.”

Simon exhaled sharply through his nose.

You hesitated, searching for the right words. It wasn’t vanity that spoke, but a quiet yearning to matter, to etch your existence into the soul of another as deeply as the stars carve their light into the sky.

“I want a love that hurts. The kind that rips you open. I want to feel it so deeply that it bleeds into everything I do. I want the kind of love that’d make me die for someone, kill for someone, and know they’d do the same for me.”

Simon grunted, the low, rough sound cutting through the fragile stillness like a stone dropped into water. It wasn’t anger, not exactly, more like the weight of disbelief, a scepticism carved from years of lived truths. His gaze shifted, leaving yours to trace the city below, where the streetlights bled golden, silver and ruby trails across the darkness. “You describe pain like it’s somethin’ noble,” he said after a beat, his voice low and clipped. “It’s not.”

You frowned, your brows pulling together as you turned to face him fully. “It’s not about the pain, Simon,” you argued, though your tone was softer than you’d intended. “It’s about what the pain means. It’s about knowing you feel something so deeply it’s worth hurting for.”

“Pain doesn’t mean love,” his voice was grounded in a pragmatism that felt carved from stone. “Pain just means pain. Doesn’t make it grand. Doesn’t make it art.”

You scowled, though there was no real heat behind it. “You’re no fun, y’know that?”

That earned a quiet snort from Simon, the closest thing to a laugh you’d ever heard from him. He took a slow drag from his cigarette, the ember glowing briefly as he inhaled.

“Better borin’ than daft,” he said, his tone almost teasing but still blunt.

“You just don’t get it.”

“Don’t want to,” he countered, his voice calm, unbothered, as if the subject held no weight at all for him. 

You didn’t answer straight away, letting the silence breathe between you. The smoke burned its way down your throat, sharp and biting, but there was a strange comfort in the pain, like holding a burning match too close to your skin just to prove you could, watching the flames die before they could hurt you. “You’ve never felt it, then,” you said at last, your voice quiet, softened by the weight of something unsaid. “That kind of love.”

There was no edge to your tone, no venom, just understanding, a threadbare truth spoken not to accuse but to surrender. It was a question in form but not in spirit, the answer was already etched into the spaces Simon left unfilled.

He didn’t answer, but his silence was a language all its own, louder and clearer than any words he might have spoken. You turned your head slightly, glancing at him from the corner of your eye, searching his face for something, anything that might betray the man behind the mask. The faint light from the street below brushed his face, catching the edge of his jawline and the downward curve of his lips, but the rest of him was consumed by the dark.

“I think you’re afraid of it,” you said, your voice barely audible, a whisper carried on the faint wind. “Afraid of what it might mean. What it might take from you.”

Simon stiffened, the motion a whisper of tension that rippled through his massive frame, so fleeting it could have been imagined. But you saw it—the tension in his shoulders, the barely perceptible tilt of his head as though your words had struck a chord too deep to ignore.

His gaze flicked back to the city, his jaw tightening.

“Maybe,” he muttered at last, the word low and reluctant, spoken like a confession he didn’t want to make, scraped from some buried place within him.

The silence that followed was vast, an ocean of unsaid things swelling and breaking over the edge of the balcony. And yet, in the spaces between your longing and his restraint, there was something unspoken, a fragile truth suspended like the smoke curling from his cigarette.

Perhaps he didn’t share your desires, your romantic ache for love and creation, but maybe he recognized it. Maybe he knew the weight of it, the way it pressed into your ribs and made the world feel both painfully beautiful and unbearably empty.

But he wouldn’t name it.

Simon Riley wouldn’t meet you in the light of your confession, wouldn’t extend a hand into the soft vulnerability you offered. The stars above blinked just as faintly as him, indifferent to the weight of your conversation, and somewhere in the distance, the faint sound of laughter drifted on the breeze.

But here, on this small balcony overlooking a world too big to contain you, the silence between you was everything.

betweenstorms (next) (masterlist)

[wu-sisyphus-gang]

Ruby: What's heavier? A black hole or my desire to get railed in a sun dress?

Jaune: Cool.

Ruby: Do you have any idea how hard it is to be a slut for you when you're constantly cock blocking yourself?

Jaune: Is that heavier than the sun dress thing?

Ruby: *heavy sigh* Yes.

[felibrary]

╭──╯GOOD DAYS | even as the snow falls atop his hair and the colorful fireworks launch in the distance, sylus can't help but keep his eyes off of you.

pairing: sylus x reader (gender neutral) | content & warnings: just some toothrotting fluff, bit of banter and bicker, reader is implied to be shorter than sylus, possibly ooc sylus | wordcount: 1.1k ; ficlet

author's note: this is based off his nightplume card with my own little add-ons lolll (also i don't even play lad anymore..so if you see any mischaracterizations here..yeah..)

A/N: Loll finally posted again and it's lad haha, enjoy!!

"sylus, i'm cold."

your boyfriend raises his brow and sighs, having the audacity to act disappointed. "i've warned you about the cold weather. should've listened to me about wearing a scarf," he smirks while you on the other hand only huff, frown deepening.

"well, i didn't know it'd be this cold," you shudder as the snowflakes meet your nape and slowly dissolve.

you're pretty sure you look absolutely ridiculous right now — with a runny nose and a hoarse voice complaining about something you're at fault for, to sylus who simply enjoys watching your dilemma and chuckles in amusement.

there aren’t often moments when sylus feels at ease, always on the lookout if something happens to you when he isn’t around. but he knows that if he stays by your side there won’t ever be something bad happening to you — he makes sure of that and instead decides to enjoy these simple but meaningful moments with you.

so maybe these little moments make him pay less attention to his surroundings than usual, oblivious to the snow that gets stuck in his hair and you can’t help but cackle a bit. “what?” he asks curiously. “there’s snow in your hair,” you point out. sylus��� gaze drifts up for a split-second before smiling and lowering his head. “help me,” his voice is soft as he requests you to help him.

even through hands covered in mittens, you can feel how soft sylus’ hair is, you play with his hair for a bit, rubbing your hand over his head before finally brushing the remaining snow out. “be careful, even a crow can turn into a dove in this weather,” you smile. “a crow? what a funny thing of you to say,” sylus returns your smile before turning his head away from you to look at the fireworks and so do you.

the fireworks are pretty, magnificent even. they vary in size, motive, and color but despite all of that each of them is unique and beautiful in its own way, making it unable to rip your eyes off them..besides maybe one exception.

not even a moment later, the exception in question turns to you, expectant ruby eyes staring down at you before swaying his gaze down to the snow-covered railing, smiling. "want me to draw you?" the turned-up collar of his stuffed leather jacket rises and falls along his neck as he exhales.

you follow his gaze and scoff. "sylus, what are you up to," you mutter under your breath. he doesn't respond, instead his gloved hand meets the metal railing before slowly tracing circles in the snow, and soon after you're able to recognize what he drew — a cat.

“seriously? a cat? i thought i’d at least be something more intimidating like a tiger,” you complain in faux offense. sylus only hums “do you know what you look like right now?” he doesn’t wait for you to respond before tracing lines onto the cat’s forehead.

"like a tiger that meows when it opens its mouth," he says, voice laced with sarcasm. upon seeing it, you can't help but crack a smile. "you're so stupid," you express with a shake of your head. "says the stubborn one who refused to dress warmly," he huffs before turning away from you again.

those ruby eyes full of danger and a lust for adventure soften upon seeing the shower of fireworks being cast in the sky. a mixture of bright red and blue colors paints the sky and casts a light shadow over sylus’ figure. 

you playfully roll your eyes at him, grinning as you scoop some of the snow off the railing. “sylus, you still have snow in your hair, want me to get it out for you?” you offer, a sweet smile gracing your lips. “what, you want to deepen our relationship? but if you insist,” he smirks before lowering his head.

you reach forward and unlike sylus’ expectation your hand lands on his cheek, making his eyes widen in surprise while you bite your bottom lip, suppressing the giggle you’ve been meaning to let out ever since you got the idea. sylus shoots you a boyish smile before flicking his fingers against your forehead which catches you off guard. “unprompted benevolence wasn't out of the kindness of your heart,”

before you’re able to process what’s happening, sylus pulls you into a tight embrace, strong arms snaking around your waist and holding you closely to his chest. "sylus let me go, i can't see the fireworks" you muffle into his jacket. "mhm, but weren't you the one who was complaining about the cold just now?” he says absentmindedly and you gaze up at him as he turns his head to the fireworks. 

his eyes find yours again, ruby eyes locking with yours as he gives you a mirthful smile. i'd rather not let you be exposed to the cold again" you glare at him which seems to amuse him even more because his next move is to pull you closer than before. (which you didn’t even know was possible from how close the two of you were already.)

luckily he lets you go soon after and you breathe in relief and observe him curiously as he pulls something out of the pocket of his jacket — a scarf. you gasp in surprise. “you had a scarf with you all along?” you ask him dumbfoundedly, not sure whether to be grateful for having something to warm your neck which isn’t sylus’ biceps, or if you should feel betrayed that he hid it from you.

“i’ve had a hunch that you’d forget yours in the rush, always so forgetful.” he smiles softly before wrapping the scarf around your neck, twice around your neck, and once around your.. eyes? “sylus, i swear to god.” even with your eyes covered beneath the wool scarf you can practically see sylus smirking to himself. “fine, fine,” he mutters, smiling before removing the scarf from your eyes.

the scarf sits nicely around your neck and not to mention it’s very comfortable and keeps you warm. you exchange glances with sylus before turning your attention to the fireworks again. 

from beneath you, on the riverbank, a bunch of people are lighting up their fireworks before watching after them as they fly into the distance. your eyes follow the fireworks as they light up the night sky and their reflections shimmer on the surface of the river. “the fireworks are so pretty, aren’t they?” you turn to sylus, expecting him to watch the fireworks too, instead you find his ruby eyes fixated on yours. 

“yeah, they really are.”

TAGS: @azullumi we're just gonna ignore the fact that this is dedicated to you and your birthday you oldie gramps of a geezer which was one week ago.....but anyway although i don't want to repeat what i said in my birthday letter (which you haven't read yet LOL) i want to tell you that in such a short period of time you've grown to a person I've learned to love so easily as if it were naturally - which it is. you're so loveable that it makes me wonder how anyone could ever hold a grudge towards you? you're the sweetest soul on earth and i wish i would've been there for your birthday to congratulate you in person but well beggars can't be choosers. azul, you're my soulmate and i appreciate everything about you and everything that you've done for me. i love how clear and easy our communication is, i love our little playful banters that other people find questionable and i love that people associate the two of us together, even when it means mistaking us for one another, which just proves how close we even appear to other people. you're the embodiment of lovely and loveable to me. i love you to death azul and once again happy birthday! <3

© FELIBRARY 2024. stealing, copying, translating, reposting my works on other platforms or feeding them to ai is not permitted.

[lifeisabiscuit]

My personal ranking of Acotar males from favorite to least favorite

1. Lucien (The goat. I would die for him. He deserves better, even from my #2)

2. Tamlin (My sweet traumatized baby. They just don't understand you. Free him from the narrative)

3. Tarquin (The best high lord. I wish he would have stayed petty and not taken back the blood rubies)

4. Kallias (I wish he would have stood on business and not let Rhysand lie about the winter children but I love the way he loves Vivianne)

5. Eris (He intrigues me and I'm choosing to believe he wasn't involved in any real harm to my baby Lu)

6. Thesan (Neutral like him. Wish he would have controlled the meeting in his court better but he's not a bad dude. Love that he showed up holding his lovers hand. Show him off my dude)

7. Jurian (He has his moments. I don't dislike him. Glad Lucien has a friend.)

8. Helion (Refusing to help Tamlin (I don't think he even tried) and being friends with Rhysand all along, earns him this spot.)

9. Azriel (Ranked higher than the other bat boys because he is sometimes a good friend to Nesta and stands up to the dictator- I mean Rhysand- sometimes.)

10. Varian (Traitor.)

11. Rhysand (Never trust a manipulative abuser, who threatens everyone he doesn't like, just because he cries but never apologizes. But he does at least love his mate unlike SOMEone)

12. Cassian (Rhysands little bitch boy. Questioning why Nestas sisters still love her, laughing when she fell down the stairs, telling a depressed female that everyone hates her because she said Rhysand was an asshole (he is), the ick that is forcing his tongue in the mouth of a girl who was just assaulted by the kelpie, his weird relationship with Mor, the sexualizing of Nesta (shes gaunt and rail thin but look at those tiddies🙄🤢), the punishment hike, never saying he loved Nesta and never standing up for his mate would earn him the bottom spot if the last 2 weren't really bad. Convinced he doesnt even like Nesta, he just wanted a mate.)

13. Keir (For what he did to Mor and what he does and let's happen in Hewn city. Evil man)

14. Beron (Abuses his wife and children. He did bring up good points at the HL meeting but that does not forgive the abuse to LOA and sons and killing Jessminda)

Shout out to Andras for being the best boy

(If you love any of the characters I do not, I love that for you and respect your differing opinions. Different strokes for different folks and all that. I also didn't include every man/male in the books because alot of them are unnamed or I just don't care about them enough lol)

[xxchaosjojoxx]

Found you ( Law x reader / Soulmate AU)

A/N: Hello and welcome to my first Soulmate AU. Where your dreams are full of memories of your soulmate.

The view before you was beautiful. The lighthouse near your little cabin looked beautiful while the sun was about to go down. You took a few steps, looking at your shoes. The hem of your dress was floating while the light breeze calmed your heart down. Before you could explore more, everything turned black while a knock was heard. “Captain, are you there?” It was clearly Bepo’s voice Law heard. Law opened his eyes, groaning in annoyance as he opened the door with a frown. “What is it, Bepo?” He didn’t mean to sound annoyed but he was. Once more Law dreamed of you, his soulmate. He always told himself that it doesn’t matter who it is, he doesn’t care at all. But the more memories he saw, the more he fell in love with you. Knowing what you like and dislike. He was a pirate and finding you was never an option. Law sighed deeply.  Bepo felt bad for interrupting his captain's rest. “I just wanna inform you that we don’t need to dock on the next island. Our storage room is pretty full right now.” Law nodded, forcing a rare smile on his face. “Thank you, Bepo.” Law moved past Bepo as the mink spoke once more. “Did you dream of Y/N once more?” He asked and Law froze in place. He told Bepo, Shachi and Penguin about you. About your memories he received while he falls asleep. And even so his friends encouraged him to look out for you or your island, Law denied it. Lying to them by telling them he had no idea on which island you were. Well this wasn’t technically a lie. He didn’t know the name of the island nor where it was. He just knew what it looked like.

Law nodded while turning his head towards Bepo. “Yeah but it doesn’t matter.”

Law was heading towards the deck as he heard Penguin’s voice. “This lighthouse looks pretty old.” The captain stood still, turning his head towards his crewmates. “Yeah, this little cabin as well.” Shachi said and Penguin hummed. “I guess you’re right but the paint of the roof must be pretty new. This red reminds me of a shining ruby.” Without hesitation Law took a few steps back, storming into the room, startling Penguin and Shachi with a loud “eep”.

“Did you say, there’s a cabin with a red roof near a giant lighthouse?” They quietly nodded and Law ran outside, out on the deck, viewing the scenario before him. His eyes widened in surprise. “This is….” He gritted his teeth. A few of his crew members joined him. They were giving him space and were still confused about this sudden reaction of their captain. “C-Captain…?” Bepo asked shyly and shrieked as Law climbed on the railing. “Captain?!” Penguin, Shachi and Clione shouted. “Dock on this island as fast as possible.” He was near enough to use his devil fruit power and before anyone could realize what was happening, Law already shambled himself on the outer space of this island before their eyes.

It was rare for him to lose his temper like this. But he couldn’t help himself. As he was running he knew that he had to jump over this fallen tree to avoid the pond behind it. He knew the shortcut all too well. He could smell the sweet scent of the flowers. Feeling the chilly air. As he exited the forest there it was. The small little cabin with the red roof and the giant lighthouse near it. He tried to normalize his breath and closed the distance towards the door. As he panted his mind was blank. As he was in front of the door he gulped and knocked on the door.

As soon as the door opened, Law catched the flowerpot you had in your hands a few moments ago before it could fall onto the ground. With a light smile he looked into your eyes. “I finally found you….y/n.”

[lvmimis]

“And what do you suppose I do now?”

Despite being a well-known warlord, Bakugou - Katsuki, rather - keeps his footsteps light but audible, lacking the brashness of one whose goal is dominion and domination, but not subtle enough that he could take you by surprise in any way. He wants you to know he’s approaching.

And approach he does, without saying a word of greeting, continuing an ongoing conversation that you would like to tell yourself he’s having only with himself, but the subject matter of which is known to the very mettle of your soul.

What is next?

Katsuki stands a few paces behind you, the cape behind him flowing slightly with the draft that has begun to chill you to the bone, despite your insistence on remaining outside of the castle for as long as you can.

Your turn to meet him, your eyes widening in the moonlight as he watches you approach. He looks far more distressed than you’ve seen him, rather than truly angry, despite the edge in his voice. Hapless, even.

“About what, my Lord?” you ask politely, pulling your furs closer around your neck and shoulders.

He grits his teeth, forbidding himself to reach over and adjust them for you.

“About this,” he practically hisses, and you watch him carefully, your posture stiff in the evening cold.

“And this is…?” you ask, your voice barely audible. Before he can answer, you turn, letting your elbows lean on the balcony railing, keeping your gaze out on the citadel that he should not have so easily been able to invade, perhaps a metaphor for your own too-soft heart.

He is too close now, the natural warmth from his body pleasant to your natural instincts but abhorrent to the part of your soul that tells you to run from this man with every fiber of your being. Standing next to you, the sides of your arms brush together, his bare scarred skin against your fine woolen sleeve.

Months ago you would have tensed up, perhaps even staggered away. But today, you are still, and you’re so attuned to him that his very inhale seems to be borrowed from your own windpipe. 

More gentle this time, he speaks.

“About me, about us, about dreadful you, about this ache in my chest that never seems to fade ever since I laid eyes on you, about the fact that I have fallen in love with you.”

He says it.

He really says it.

The warlord has fallen in love.

And yet -

“I have told you why you cannot love me,” you reply quickly, before the words can choke you.

The warlord Katsuki, who is enamored with you and admits so freely, turns in your direction, eyes like rubies as they shine in a mixture of hope and dismay.

“And yet, I have.” 

[deepspace-raconteur]

The porn bug bit me again. This time it’s Sylus lmao

Kink discussion, Sylus’ trauma gets mildly triggered which leads to said discussion, choking, MC’s ankle almost breaking leads to trauma discussion, we love healthy conversations here, even if it is a little like pulling teeth with Sylus, evasive bastard, AFAB MC,

Sylux x MC, established relationship.

🍷🐦‍⬛

It really was an accident.

You and Sylus had been making out feverishly against the wall of his bedroom. There hadn’t been any particular lead up this time. You had just gotten back from some random gala or another. Sylus had insisted, as he always does, that you be dripping in jewels for the event.

“I’d like to show off my most prized treasure, covered in the favorites of my collection. Is that so wrong, sweetie?” He had said, fingers warm as he had draped a delicate collar of rubies around your throat earlier that evening.

He had been in the process of removing said necklace when you looked up at him with those eyes. The ones that would be is undoing in an instant if you so willed it.

Actually, that might’ve been the lead up.

Either way, you’re cupping his face with both your hands as he pins you against the wall. One arm brackets your head, the other is on a not-so-stealthy mission to hike your gown as far up your thigh as it will possibly go.

Which is pretty far, actually. His warm palm is searing against your upper thigh, his strong fingers digging into the plush flesh there. You can practically see him planning his next moves- hike your leg up on his hip, then command you to jump so that your other leg joins it around his hips. Keep the dress on, so he can continue to fulfill his fantasies of fucking you in every outfit he buys you, and go till sunrise.

Simple, really.

So of course it’s doomed from the start to go completely off the rails.

It’s when he suddenly grabs your leg to hike it up around his waist that the trouble rears its head. Trouble that he’d dearly hoped wouldn’t come up ever, and desperately hates speaking about.

He, and his grip, are stable as always. He smirks against your lips, and his grip is tight around your lifted thigh.

Your other heeled foot wobbles dangerously. A sprained, if not broken, ankle is imminent. You gasp into the kiss, eyes opening wide, and you try to catch yourself on instinct.

Your hands that had previously been cupping his face so passionately fly away suddenly. The intention is to grab his shoulders, and one does, solidly gripping his trapezius.

The other, however, doesn’t quite hit the mark.

Your hand lands more on his lower throat than truly his shoulder, and your thumb digs in just below his adams apple as you try to catch your balance.

You feel his entire body jerk and freeze. He inhales deep and sudden through his nose, and pins you harder against the wall. It feels different. His grip is tighter, and he jerks his upper body away. The hand of the arm that was previously bracketing your head is now gripping your bicep hard, and the other hand had slide up to your hip to pin it to the wall.

He suddenly feels farther away from you than he ever had, all while still in arm’s reach.

“I-I’m sorry!” Comes out of our lips as more of a jerk reaction than anything. “Did I scratch you? Are you okay?” Concern floods your tone.

You don’t know what just happened. The sensations and memories that you had just accidentally inflicted on Sylus. Years of brutal gladiatorial combat that you, his partner in the ring, didn’t even remember.

Years of being thrown around and controlled by hands around his neck. Forced to do things, forced to kill, choked within an inch of his life at the will and whimsy of others. It’s a… sensitive area, for him.

The faraway look in his eyes is clearing as you carefully extract yourself completely from him, now back on stable footing. The heels come off immediately as you watch Sylus concernedly.

He doesn’t say anything, which is the strangest part. Usually he’s always ready with a quip or comment, but now… he doesn’t seem to know what to say.

“My love? Are you okay?” You try again, walking back up to Sylus. Carefully, ever so carefully, you place your hands lightly on his chest and look up at him. He shudders, and you start to retract your touch, but he quickly winds his arms around your waist and pulls you close.

“Sorry, sweetie. I’m not a fan of choking.” He chuckles almost awkwardly, and your eyebrows raise. This was the first you were hearing of it, but you can read the pain between his lines. No touching his throat- got it.

“Oh no… so when I used you to catch my fall… oh, I’m sorry, my love. I’ll never do it again.” Your eyebrows furrow, and you lean up to press a quick, chase kiss to his lips in apology. He leans down into it, swiftly deepening it with that underlying passion in him that never seemed to fully recede.

“It’s alright sweetie, I know it wasn’t on purpose. I just… had a hard factory reset there for a moment. That’s all.” His humorous way of putting it brings a smile back to your lips, but it’s still cautious.

“While we’re on the topic, actually, I’m not a fan of having my senses cut off in bed either.” Sylus continues on tangentially, earning a quizzical look. He still had plans for you this evening, after all, and what better foreplay is there than talking about what gets you hot and bothered?

He continues to speak, while his sneaky hands reach around to the zipper at the back of your dress. Warm hands ease it down slowly while he talks about what he likes in bed in that low, smooth voice of his. In a tone that he knew you were practically pavlovian trained to respond to at this point.

“Blindfolds, earplugs, etcetera. Handcuffs are fine, actually, as I find them rather easy to break out of.” He smirks cockily, and you’re sure he’s referring to the event where Kieran and Luke had given you a “tranquilizer gun” and “evol sealing handcuffs”.

You still needed to get the bastards back for that, actually.

“Plus, it’s fun seeing how you abuse that perceived power. You remind me of Mephisto with his feathers puffed up when you think you have the upper hand.” That little comment earns him a full pout, even as the silk dress slides off your body like water to pool on the floor at your feet. You’re just in your lingerie now, and Sylus’ eyes take their time sweeping across your form. He’d bought this set for you, and damn did he have a good eye for finery.

“Now, sweetie,” Sylus purrs, one hand undoing his belt and pulling it from its loops, just to let it fall to the floor. The other pops the buttons of his shirt one by one, your eyes following each bit of revealed skin like you’re hypnotized.

“I just spilled my heart out to you,” he continues. Familiar red and black energy suddenly grabs you up and throws you back onto the bed. You squeak and bounce, and he kneels up on the bed to crawl over you.

“I think a bit of… reciprocation is in order. Won’t you tell me what makes you weak in the knees, darling?” He growls into your ear. He situates himself happily between your legs, looking at you expectantly while your face rapidly heats. Hands meander and tease up and down your body, massaging the ankle that had wobbled dangerously then going back up to press a kiss to your hipbone, then your collarbone.

“Are you going to make me have to torture it out of you?” He snickers, eyes flickering up to meet yours.

“No! No, I’m- I’m just… thinking.” You stutter abashedly. You hadn’t really discussed it with a partner before- Sylus by far was both the kinkiest, and the one you were most comfortable with. You didn’t actually have all that much experience, and therefore not many known preferences… or icks.

But you know you did have one. One that, in the new context of things…. you were unsure of how it would go over. But honesty was the policy here, right?

…Right?

“I… I like being handled.” Your words are quiet and shaky, which could be partially blamed on the fact that Sylus was lining kisses along the edge of your underwear. He hums in acknowledgment- he’d sort of assumed that one, from how much he’d already ‘handled’ you before, and how badly you’d been into it.

The time that you’d ridden him until your thighs gave out after he’d yanked you out of a wanderer’s path then carried you home still ranked in his top 10 sex-wise.

“… being choked is also included in being handled.” Is whispered, and comes out like a most grievous confession. You look halfway between crying and pleading for forgiveness when he looks up at you from where he’d begun mouthing over the wetness of your panties.

“Is that right, sweetie?” He smirks, sitting up to instead hover over you. Like this, it’s emphasized just how big of a man he is. You nod, seeming for everything like a pathetic wet cat. Yet another ‘I’m sorry’ begs to drip off your tongue, and you regret ever saying it out loud. For shit’s sake, the man just finished divulging his trauma over that exact thing. Seriously?!

His hand glides smoothly up your side, and over your still-lingerie-clad breast, pausing to squeeze just to make you shiver. It then continues its path up, up, up… before curling loosely around your neck. Your heartbeat speeds to a rabbit’s pace, and you look up at him doe-eyed. He’s still smirking, eyes lingering over his hand while his thumb rubs circles into the soft skin of your throat.

He leans down to kiss you chastely on the lips, then another to your cheek, and another and another until his lips reach your ear.

“Luckily for you sweetie, I like how my rings look against your throat.”

His fingers tighten.

[https-bakugo]

Chapter 09.

♡ twenty three

♡ rivals to lovers / fake dating

♡ cw / tw : sex talk, smoking

The smell of smoke was engulfing as it filled your nostrils, it made your head spin, and your body weak. The combined scent of cinnamon and caramel was now mixed with the smoke and fuck was it making you light-headed.

In a good way.

Like you couldn’t get enough of Katsuki’s smell. 

Couldn’t get enough of him. 

Your hands tightened against the cool metal railing of the rooftop. Your breath came out as your own thin wisps of smoke. “This is a god awful first official date.” You whispered to Katsuki, eyes looking out longingly at the horizon. Something, anything to break this god awful silence. 

You focused on the people in their apartments, the couples cuddling and watching a movie, the group of girlfriends sitting at the outside tables for an italian restaurant laughing loudly. 

Humans living their lives. 

Spending their lives. 

Together. 

Alone. 

Enjoying. 

Suffering. 

Crying. 

Laughing. 

Katsuki snorted - the sound jolting you back to the rooftop and your current predicament. 

This date.

He shook his head, running a hand through his blond hair, dropping the cigarette on the floor and crushing it under the heel of his shoe. “Can’t a man enjoy a good smoke and watch the night sky with someone? Is that a crime now?” Ruby eyes met your face as he raised an eyebrow in your direction. 

A grin spread across your lips as you stepped behind him, grabbing his hands and pressing them against his lower back, successfully ‘apprehending’ the man. “It is. And as a hero I hereby arrest you on one count of uhm…” You pause, looking down at your shoes, trying to come up with a false count off the top of your head to arrest your date with. 

‘There’s nothing more romantic than arresting your future boyfriend [Name].’

“One count of..?” You could hear his smug voice coo out to you, egging him on.

“Shut up, I'm trying to think.”

“Think faster pro hero. I might end up running away from your poor apprehending skills. And if you can’t manage to capture me, what makes you think you’d be able to wrangle the number one spot from my hand little hero?”

A scoff leaves your lips and you roll your eyes, a reluctant smile creeping onto your lips.

“I’m hereby arresting you, Katsuki Bakugo, on one count of being a dickbag and two counts of being a professional asshole and fifteen counts of being… annoying!” You grin when you hear him splutter, a strained ‘Fifteen?!’ escaping his chapped lips, making you giggle before you clear your throat, making your voice firm and authoritative. “And I’m hereby sentencing you to life in jail.”

A smooth chuckle escapes your date’s lips as he looks over his shoulder, his eyes meeting yours. “Oh pro hero. I don’t think I could ever handle life in prison. Isn’t there any way… I could… possibly sweeten the deal?” Katsuki’s voice dropped an octave and a smirk tugged on his lips.

You tapped the bottom of your chin, pretending to be lost in thought, weighing your options. “Hmmm… What do you have in mind?”

Katsuki hummed, pulling his hands free from your grasp and he stepped closer towards you, the smell of him clouding all your senses. “How about I strip you of all these…” 

He reached over, rubbing the fabric of your jacket between his fingers, “Silly little outfits that you clearly spend much too much time fussing over…” 

His voice dropped to a whisper as he stared at the exposed sliver of skin, seemingly deep in thought. “And I’ll make you scream my name…” 

He leaned in, “Over…” 

His lips brushed the shell of your ear, “And over…” 

A shiver ran down your spine, “Until all you can think about is me…” 

Your breath hitched, “And how good I’m going to be fucking you.”

Katsuki’s hand pressed against your lower stomach, “Feel that spot? Right here? Yeah... Right there. You’re gonna feel the tip of my dick pressing against this spot right here.”

He purred, a wicked grin on his lips as his eyes flickered back to your face.

Your whole body was flushed in a deep blush.

You pulled away quickly and pressed your hands to your face, an involuntary squeak leaving your throat.

“What the fuck was that Bakugo!” You stammered out.

His arm dropped to his side and he frowned. “Too far?”

You paused. No? Yes? It was okay, since it was him. But only him.

Only him.

“Uh. No? No, I think… It's fine. I mean I didn’t hate it -” That was seriously hot what the fuck. “- I think I’m okay with it cause it’s you.” You blurted before slapping a hand over your mouth. 

Bakugo froze.

A furious blush crept up his neck and reached the tips of his ears and he coughed into his fist averting his gaze. “Don’t just… say shit like that.” He grumbled, making you roll your eyes and scoff. 

“Like you weren’t just eye fucking with me two moments ago. Uh huh.” Your arms make their way over your chest and your eyes narrow in a glare.

“Shuddap. ‘S different.” 

“LIterally how is it different?”

‘Because I’m definitely in love with you.’

“Because- it just is okay?” He sighed, exasperated.

“No really Bakugo explain-”

“Could you stop calling me that!” 

You froze. 

Katsuki stood over you, his eyes wide as he stepped back. “Shit I didn’t… I didn’t mean to yell.”

“You? Don’t like it when I call you Bakugo? But that’s your name.”

Katsuki sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “I don’t like it when you call me Bakugo because it’s just weird. You don’t invite someone over and watch a movie with them to have them call you your last name. You don’t lend someone their clothes or invite them to train with you or heck even-” He dropped his arms to his side. “You don’t call someone at two in the morning… and then ask said person out on a date to have them call you by your last name.”

A frown tugged at your lips.

Katsuki stepped closer.

“Bakugo -”

“Katsuki.”

“...Katsuki. What are you doing?” Your voice came out slightly shaky as his hands reached out and grabbed your shoulders.

Strong hands.

Calloused palms.

His face, too close to yours.

“Stop me if you don’t want this.” He whispered, lips brushing against your own as an involuntary whimper escaped your throat.

Katsuki Bakugo pressed his lips against your own.

‘Shit.’

-> Masterlist

taglist [OPEN] :@luvseraphh - @tlissablr - @havemyheartt - @smelliottle - @sakurayashiro - @peachesvault - @qyuin- @kaidostwin- @wonubby - @moochiwoochi - @coldnightshark - @kalulakunundrum - @sexylexy12 - @rednicotine - @samm1e13 - @kawoala - @neptuneevee - @kodditty - @hecate-frenchfries - @eyesforbkg - @takoyakitakii- @m0nnypie - @katsucookies - @nottherealslimshady - @gethexxed - @bakugouswh0r3 - @katswifey - @ita606 - @jazoewazoe - @cherrii-11 - @risagichi - @mynicknameisgasoline- @themultifandomgirl- @nina-from-317- @sunootzrose

© HTTPS-BAKUGO. Do not steal, copy or use any of my work for AI. Legal action will take place if caught.

[killmeleatherface]

I’m Here

Jack Abbot x F!attending (OC)

Summary: Jack Abbot and you have a complicated relationship to say the least. It goes beyond attending resident and more into…who knows. When he offers you an attending position you don’t realize that both of your life’s are about to be thrown upside down and neither of you will know what to do.

TW: medical setting, cursing, age gap relationship. Let me know of any more!

—

“Where do you think you’re going to go, actually? No bullshit.” Jack Abbot asks you.

You’re on the roof of the Pittsburgh Medical Trauma Center leaning against the metal railing. You’re trying to look at the stars, but you can’t ignore Jack’s eyes on you for any longer.

“I don’t know. I guess it’s really between here and Minnesota.” You’d been offered an attending position at Mayo, as well as the emergency department at the hospital you were currently standing on.

“Here and Mayo? That makes sense. Did they offer you more money? A moving stipend?” He inquires.

They hadn’t. In fact, the offer from the Pitt, or more specifically Jack himself, was better. But you weren’t going to mention that.

“Yeah, they did actually. Also offered an allowance for a four wheel drive truck.” You’d say with a smile, trying to incite a laugh. You fail. He stays silent, not breaking eye contact with the skyline in front of you.

He’s always so quiet, never saying more than he needs to, or saying less than he wants to. The attending you’d worked under the past 4 years was a very pensive man, all about healing and medicine and honesty and integrity.

He turns around, crosses his arms and stands in front of you and faces you. “When do they need to know by?” He asks.

“The day before the wedding.” You say, refusing to make eye contact.

“Oh that’s fast.” Is all he says. In reality it’s two days away.

“Maybe there’s something I can get Robby to talk to Gloria about, sweeten the deal ya know. Keep my best resident here.” He’s thinking out loud.

“No, no, Jack. Don’t do that. There’s nothing left to do. I just haven’t made a decision yet, honestly.”

He won’t stop looking at you. Like he’s trying to get his eyes to say something that his mouth can’t. Or more like his mouth won’t let him because his brain is winning in the fight against his heart.

You finally pull away and crawl back through the railing, suddenly needing more air that an open rooftop can give you. You close your eyes and take your turn to look at the sky. You hear the crunch of rocks and dirt behind you, but you don’t dare open your eyes and look behind you, suddenly feeling as if you’ll turn to stone if you dare make eye contact with the dangerous man behind you.

“Daphne.” He says. You just shake your head, moving your long ruby curls.

“Daphne, please. What do you want me to do? The weddings two days away. I’m stuck.” Jack says.

With that, you finally open your eyes and turn around, fury in your unmet eyes.

“You’re stuck? You’re stuck?” You ask as if he’s a kindergartener and not a man in his late forties.

“Jack, don’t even try it. It’s way too late for that. Don’t do it now.” You say, with tears stuck in your eyes.

“Daphne, please. I-I- don’t know what I’m supposed to do. Do you want me to beg you to stay here? Do you want me to beg you to take the attending position so I can continue to spend every day with you? Fine. Yes. Yes, I do. I want to call Mayo and say lies about you so they’ll rescind the offer. I want you to stay here so bad with me that it hurts. It’s killing me how fucked up this all is. That’s how bad I want you here. There. Damn. Are you happy now?” Jack says, getting louder the more he goes on.

“Jack, you can’t say that. Stop, it’s-it can’t happen.”

He steps towards you and you freeze. What’s happening? You should step back. You should turn around and go back down those stairs that you came up, and back to the emergency department. But you don’t want to. You want what’s right in front of you.

When he gets to touch toe to toe with you, he reaches for your hand, playing with the friendship bracelet a twelve year old patient had given you three years before. Jack had a matching one. He skins his hands down your palms and to your fingertips. “Stop me.” He says, looping his hand through yours. “Please, stop me, if you don’t want this, stop me.”

But you want this. Of course you want this. You want nothing more than this man in front of you. The man you fell in love with six months after meeting. The one you shared your highs, lows, and everything else in between with. The man you’d spent hours after both of your shifts in the same spot just discussing life with. Jack told you a little bit here and there at first. He was testing the waters. He was testing you, seeing if he could truly trust someone with sensitive information. After, in his mind, you proved you could, he told you everything. He told you about being a medic in combat, he told you about going to school, where he did his residency, how he started at the Pitt and met Robby. There was just one story he’d never told you, and it was about the metal attachment he had beneath his pant leg that not many people knew about.

“Jack, I do-“ he interrupts you with his lips crashing on to yours. At first you’re surprised, but you almost immediately reach your hands up to cup his jaw. You let yourself savor the moment. He wraps his hands around your waist, pulling himself into you. This man, he made you almost lose control. Almost.

You’re the first one to come to your senses, pulling away as Jack chases you with his lips and you push against his chest with your right hand.

“We, we can’t do this.” You say through gasping breaths and red swollen lips.

Jacks surprised, he’s hurt. But what did he expect? He looks at you somberly, he wants to say something, but shakes his head and turns to look at the right of him instead.

“You can’t be mad. You’re getting married in a few days, Jack! You have a fiance! And you’re kissing the girl you’ve repeatedly told her not to worry about. That’s fucked up!” You scream.

“I don’t love her. Not like that. Not like you.” He says, looking back at you.

That takes you off guard. That’s a really low blow, especially coming from him. You can’t stop the tears now.

“Bullshit!” You croak out, crossing your arms over yourself, instinctively trying to protect yourself in any way you can.

He tries stepping towards you and you step back, rocks crinkling beneath sneakered feet. He’s the first to stop.

“Daphne, come on. You know it’s true. I wouldn’t lie to you.” He offers.

“Stop. Stop. I don’t want to hear any more. This is wrong. So wrong.” You throw your hands up and turn around. You’ve almost made it to the door when Jack side swipes you and jumps in front of you, pushing the door to the stairway exit closed.

“Daphne, Daphne, please, stop. Listen to me.”

“Jack, get out of the way.” You say sternly. “Let me go down the stairs.”

You try reaching for the door and he stops you.

“Stop this already. Get out of my way and go back to your future wife, I bet she’s worried about you.”

“I’ll leave. Right now. I’ll go tell her I’m in love with you and can’t marry her. I will.” He’s pleading.

“Oh, stop. You will not. Rachel is a really good girl and she doesn’t deserve that. You know that. You can’t do that to her.” You try.

“I don’t care. Just please don’t leave. I promise you I’ll go downstairs right now and tell her it’s over. I can’t lose you.”

“Ya know that’s a really fucked up thing to say right now. You could’ve said this years ago Jack. It’s too late now.”

“No, no, no. It’s not too late. I’m sorry it’s taken so long for me to come to my senses, but I’m here now. For you. Me and you. Just say the words.”

You look at Jack Abbot, crumbling in front of you, trying to hold it together. He’s practically on his knees begging you to stay here. But you’re not the right girl. You’re not the one with an Abbot family ring around your finger. You can’t be.

You’re silent.

He waits for a response, but one doesn’t come and after he’s deemed it enough time, he relents. Looking at you, and then away, one last time, turning around and palming the door open. He signals for you to go through.

You listen to him, for once tonight and walk through. Before he closes the door, you turn around and say, “Bye, Jack.”

He purses his lips together and pushes the door closed in response, letting the door close behind him.

Here’s the next part!

[hokusu]

#dabihawks 🍑🥞

Peach or pancake, Hawks fat ass or Hawks flat ass? The internet splits in outcry.

His fans faction off—between the bubble butt truthers and the firm pancake believers.

Is it photoshop or a trick of light? Is it an illusion, a trick of an eye? Something of a phenomenon between the internet breaking over the gold or blue of a dress?

The answer is unclear. Inexplicable. Debated, between the ages of kids on the streets comparing the bounce of their handballs to the shape of Hawks' bubble, to the grandma and grandpas across the streets, adjusting their glasses to squint and ask 'what ass?'

The forums explode. Hawks' rankings and public approval skyrockets. Is it Hawks' FLAT ass or Hawks' FAT ass?

Hawks laughs with talk show hosts, gossips with magazine columns. Cheeky grin and another line about he's certainly eaten enough pancakes to become one, that leaves the world wondering—is he serious, or is it another joke?

And Hawks will be seen flying across the city from one pancake house to another, enjoying another delectable stack.

Hawks winks in front of cameras too, a juicy ripe peach bitten through in one hand, to announce to the world that he's doing just "peachy" and the cameras will follow him as his unfold to uncover the round shape of his very own peach, as he takes off for another flight.

There are photoshoots of Hawks from all his modeling gigs paired side by side like perfectly realistic detective boards across the web. Snaps of perfectly round globes of flesh shot from high quality camera lens of those who caught a fluttering Hawks across their skies, body hunched over as he lazily passes by. And then there are modeling shoots released on myherogram, some new pair of jeans for Best Jeanist' line and he's so painfully flat from every shot of an angle, every swipe of the post—an arguably perfect flat pancake.

It's the baggy give of his hero costume, it's not Hawks' actual ass.

It's the reality of Hawks' actual ass, the costume just hurries that fact along.

'Hawks got ass. Seen it in person,' HawksPlumpAss writes. 1451 ButtLikes. 578 Rebutts.

'Hawks got no ass. Accidentally brushed past me once and didn't feel a thing. That man is flat as a board,' User AForHawksStandsForAssless writes back. 1454 ButtLikes. 524 Rebutts.

'Pics or it didn't happen,' User HawksOneTrueAss demands. 3769 ButtLikes. 1769 Rebutts.

'Top-hero. Plush ass. You'd best believe,' User HawksUnsuspectingAss writes.

'mfs out here thinking pro-hero hawks has got nothing when he's constantly flying and saving lives...YOU KNOW BIRD BOIS GOT ASS' User HawksBirdAss screams into the void. 2170 ButtLikes. 727 Rebutts.

'Who you calling bird boi like he's yours or smthg???' User HawksOneTrueAss comments. 4069 ButtLikes. 2569 Rebutts.

'listen, realistically bro has a plush ass he works out hes a top hero u kno he has the muscle. logically.' User Dove explains, politely. Beautifully, flawless. Even User HawksOneTrueAss likes the post, rebutts it for the world to see.

And then there are those who swear, upon the fan sight meetings of Hawks on the streets that they know ass when they see it. The debate takes the heroic world by a storm, and Hawks never confirms or denies the rumors, never justifies or settles the matter.

On an unsuspecting afternoon after months and months of Hawks peach vs pancake, villain Dabi dubbed user HawksOneTrueAss across the socials, snaps a shot, uploads it. Puts the discussion to rest.

The photo shows what is undeniably pro-hero Hawks' familiar golden locks, framed against the bare of his muscled back and a pair of ruby red wings. A pair of pants are slipped half way up to his thighs, undeniably plush ass hanging out and scandalously--a purple scarred hand grabs a fist full of the delectable globe, middle finger stuck out.

"Hawks true FAT Ass," User HawksOneTrueAss comments. 6969 ButtLikes. 6969 Rebutts.

The internet goes off its rails.

//

Shout-out to my friend Dove (draculpyre) on twt/bksy for the actual line in the dumbest crack I wrote and @hawks-flat-ass for the name that started this to begin with 😂💛

[how-serene]

In Your Eyes

Pairing - Dwayne (Lost Boys) x Neutral!Reader

Summary - A night on the boardwalk with Dwayne.

Word Count - 775

Warnings - fluff, mentions of smoking, no use of y/n, pet names

A/N - Billy Wirth, you absolute beauty.

Santa Carla’s cool breeze washed over your face. Behind you, the shrieks and laughter of friends broke through the crashing of the waves. They danced wildly around a bonfire, Mötley Crüe booming through a radio speaker. Despite the night bringing a cold chill, hoards of people still strolled along the boardwalk. Even from your place on the pier, you could feel the public’s infectious excitement. 

You leaned against the rickety railing, a cigarette held loosely between your fingers. Summer’s full moon hung high, reflecting off of the rippling waves of the water. Stars blinked down at you, against the sky’s black canvas. The pungent smell of the ocean invaded your airways, mixing with the bitter smoke. 

A pair of leather cladded arms snaked around your waist, startling you. 

“Hey, baby,” Dwayne purred, breath fanning against your ear. His hands traveled down to rest on your hips, squeezing at the flesh. 

“You’re late,” you pointed out, fighting back a grin. 

He merely hummed at your words, instead choosing to leave faint kisses on your shoulder. Even through the thick fabric of your shirt, his lips still managed to leave your skin buzzing.

Dwayne trailed his lips up, til he met the shell of your ear again. His rough hands turned you to properly face him, the railing pressed into your back. 

“Got caught up with something,” he explained, dark eyes shining down at you. 

From the faint ruby stain in the corner of his lip, you understood very quickly what that something was. You brought your thumb up, to swipe at the red smudge. The corner of his lip quirked up, carefully watching your movement. 

“You’re cold,” he noticed, leaning into your touch. 

“”The pier isn’t exactly the warmest place on earth.” 

“How long have you been waiting?” 

“Thirty minutes, give or take.” You shrugged, letting your hand fall back down to your side. 

Dwayne sighed, dark brown eyes drifting past you to stare out at the ocean waves. The wind had picked up, now faintly brushing against his thick black hair. He seemed lost, caught in a whirlwind of thoughts you couldn’t begin to decipher. 

You tucked a loose strand of hair behind his ear, effectively getting his attention. His eyes softened, sweeping over you. 

“Wanna know what’s been on my mind all night?” You asked, brushing the tip of your nose against his. Dwayne’s sweet mouth was only centimeters away from yours. His hands slipped up the back of your shirt, the cool silver rings he wore ghosting over the skin.

“What is it, doll?” he muttered, lips grazing the corner of your mouth. Patiently waiting for you to speak. His unshaven stubble scraped against your chin.

You planted a firm kiss on his cheek, before pulling back. 

“Winning that giant stuffed panda I saw near the balloon darts.” 

The pier was alive, as bright neon lights illuminated the boardwalk. The flood of patrons rushed past you, of kids dragging their parents by the cuff of their sleeves, or friends huddled together like packs of wolves. All vying for that last ride on the Ferris wheel, or an overpriced corndog before the park closed for the night. 

You walked, with Dwayne’s arm slung over your shoulders, and a stuffed Panda lovingly held in your hands. 

“Since when were you so good at darts, mister?”

Dwayne sheepishly smiled, glancing down at you, “Just one of my many talents.” 

You snorted, bumping your hip with his. It was odd, at times you realized. Dwayne smelled of cigarettes, and cheap booze most likely snagged from the victims of bonfire parties. His mouth tasted of mint, and nicotine when he would kiss you. There was always something beyond it though, a metallic taste your mind would block out before you could process it. 

Even though you knew. 

He appeared so human at times, it knocked you back. It was almost easy to brush off the strange coolness of his skin, or the carnivorous look in his features when a hoard of people would pass by you two. 

Then there were moments when the human-like quality of Dwayne overshadowed everything else. Moment’s like now, when he pressed you into his side, grinning as he peppered kisses over your hairline. You giggled, leaning back away from him, your heart thudding in your chest. Up ahead, his pack was gathered around a picnic-table, lazily leaning against it. Their ravenous gaze met yours, locked on your approaching form. Marko, with an infectious toothy smile and unkempt golden hair, waved at you. Dwayne grumbled, muttering something under his breath.

You were reminded that monsters lurked on every corner. 

In Santa Carla, at least. 

[whiteknight-week]

Hello & welcome to White Knight Week 2025! Due to this being the first “White Knight Week” proper in quite some time, we’ve kept the prompts to a simple overall theme:

“Missing Moments”

With this theme, we will explore the moments between moments. The actions that could’ve been done, the fights that may have sparked, and the words that went unspoken. Starting from the early days of Beacon and ending in the dunes of Vacuo, we will seek to fill the void or inspire a new reality altogether.

Let your passions burn and inspiration flow. Be it in written form, art, discussions, or memes! Do as much or as little as you please, but feel free to share on r/WaveOfWhiteKnights on Reddit or the Tumblr page!

White Knight Week will start on: Monday, May 12th, 2025 and go till Sunday, May 18th, 2025, and does cover two very important days in regards to our Knight and Queen: Weiss' birthday and the Canonization day of Jeanne d'Arc.

We are still in the early planning stages for the event and plan to have daily discussions and posts. Please see below for the prompts if you wish to participate! As a note, Fics and art may be featured on White Knight Wednesday!

[ Day 1 ] - “Beacon Bits” ( May 12th )

Have you ever wondered how Jaune got Weiss’ scroll number? Or maybe if they ever talked about the events of the dance? Have you ever thought about a world where Weiss Schnee & Jaune Arc end up as partners? Or maybe a time they team up to help some folks out in Vale during the break between V1 & V2? Explore all these possibilities & more on our first day of White Knight week “Beacon Bits”!

[ Day 2 ] - “Nightmare Nights” ( May 13th )

Day 2 of White Knight week checks into the ‘what if’ world of Ice Queendom. “Nightmare Nights!”. What happens after the Nightmare? Does Weiss simply recover, or do the events haunt her? Maybe a Kind Knight gives her someone to talk to. Or, maybe Jaune has questions of his own to give to her. Why did he have a sword that could kill the nightmares? Why did she give him such a big sword and heavy cape? Maybe while in the Nightmare, Nega Weiss has … problems fighting Jaune. Does Jaune still think about his Nightmare? Does she?

[ Day 3 ] - “Haven House” ( May 14th )

Day 3 of White Knight Week brings us to the Kingdom of Mistral and the wild events that come with it. What did Weiss & Jaune do at the forever house? Did they talk about the fall? Did they miss each other? Were there things left unsaid from Beacon they wanted to get off their chest? What about the time after Weiss’ near-death experience? Maybe there’s a chance they took a tour of the kingdom and ran into some bad guys? While volume 4&5 often get a lot of flack for the “Forever house” maybe we can make it better with some White Knight pizzaz!

[ Day 4 ] - “Argus Adventures” ( May 15th )

Happy Birthday Weiss! Welcome to day 4 of White Knight Week! Today's prompt will be ‘Argus Adventures’. While the group only spent a few days at the seaside city, the setting is ripe with opportunities for our goober duo. What interactions could you see them having? Why did Weiss gravitate towards Jaune when they reunited? Did they have a wild and crazy grocery adventure while Ruby had her chat with Maria? Or did something 100% off the rails happen in a fun little AU side story?

[ Day 5 ] - “Atlas Ambling” ( May 16th )

What happened at the movies!? A common question by many, but - there were so many other things our heroes could have done. Weiss could have brought everyone around to explore Atlas proper. Did Jaune find a place he’d want to bring Weiss to? Or maybe Weiss thought of a place to bring Jaune to? If Volume 7 gave us anything, it gave us the endless possibilities of our heroes hanging out as they would have back in Beacon. Maybe Jaune and Weiss will find themselves alone at the school and decide to watch movies together. Perhaps they train in the Hardlight Training room until banter starts turning into flirting. With the nearly endless possibilities of Atlas & Mantle ( As well as the other villages nearby), what can you see the two of them doing?

[ Day 6 ] - “Everafter Evenings” ( May 17th )

With RWBY reuniting with Jaune in the Everafter, there was so little time to talk. But what if Weiss and Jaune did get to talking in the EA? They could spend some time together in the Paper Village. Or, maybe they will go out to look for Ruby as a duo? Perhaps you should explore an AU where the two fall together and how they come to deal with everything they’ve been through. Do they go back in time? Or do they find a way to find the others? In “Everafter Evenings” please feel free to dive into the ‘what if’s’ of the Ever After and White Knight!

[ Day 7 ] - “Vivid Vacuo” ( May 18th )

They did it; they’ve finally made it to Vacuo! Yet, things feel so … off? With Jaune still dealing with the experience of the Everafter, trying to acclimate himself to Remnant, & Weiss now dealing with the fall of Atlas, her home, and the people of Vacuo who are less-than-kind towards her in particular, the White Knight Duo has quite a hefty load on their plate. Will Weiss be the one to step up and support Jaune? Will Jaune be the one to protect Weiss from the people? Do they simply find time to have somber chats at night and, maybe, grow closer? On this 7th and final day of White Knight Week we look to the future for our Knight & Queen. What do you see happening for them in Vacuo?

[cuubism]

more equestrian dreamling for you

-

Hob should have expected that Roderick would insist on getting Ruby out to competitions far sooner than was advisable. Dream had made progress with the horse, gotten it to relax a little bit, but that didn’t mean it was a good idea to throw Ruby into a new, chaotic environment. Roderick wanted what he wanted, though, and as he was the horse’s owner Dream was still somewhat beholden to that. At least, if he wanted to be the one training it.

So here they were at a competition.

It couldn’t possibly have been worse conditions. The yard was busy, the competition arena surrounded by people, the loudspeaker was shrieking intermittently and the wind was whipping every flag, blanket, and banner into a fury. Nevertheless Dream was in the warmup ring, trotting Ruby around.

Everything was… okay so far, Hob thought. Ruby was trotting around with relative calm, Dream weaving him around the other horses warming up. Other horses being there probably helped matters. Back home Dream had already noticed that Ruby seemed calmer when other horses were around, and had taken to having Hob hack Ellie in the ring while he was riding Ruby so the horse wouldn’t be alone in the arena.

Roderick was on the other side of the warmup ring from Hob, yelling at Dream over the wind, but Dream seemed to be ignoring him.

Alex came up beside Hob, watching nervously. “Will it go well?” he asked.

“Dunno,” Hob said. Dream’s skill was considerable, but horses were always inherently unpredictable. And Ruby even more so than normal.

“But, I thought he was—”

“What your father doesn’t get,” Hob told him, “is that horse training isn’t a linear input-output situation. You can’t just make what you want happen. No matter how much money you throw at it. And especially if you rush.”

“My father always gets what he wants,” Alex said quietly. Hob felt kind of bad for the kid. Must have been rough to have a father like Roderick Burgess.

“We’ll see,” Hob said.

When Dream’s ride came up in the queue, he stopped beside Hob at the ring entrance. Hob handed him a bottle of water, and Dream drank.

“Can’t convince you to postpone?” Hob said, already knowing the answer. At least Ruby had behaved during the warmup, that was something.

Dream handed the water back, shaking his head. “I would rather fight other battles than argue over one competition. Besides, if he performs poorly, perhaps Roderick will finally acknowledge the folly of his expectations.”

Hob doubted that. “Just keep on your toes.”

“Don’t worry, I am aware he is going to look sideways at the crowds, and the flags, and the judge’s booth, and so on.” He sighed. “I miss Jessamy.”

“You’ll get Ruby there too, eventually.”

“Perhaps if Roderick gets out of the way.” The ring steward was summoning him, so with that he walked Ruby off to the competition ring. Hob followed at a distance, taking up his spot by the ring to watch.

The first half of Dream’s test went… relatively well, all things considered. Ruby was spooky, trying to move away from anything that moved outside the ring, and Hob could see Dream fighting to keep him on the rail. The horse seemed more tense, too, without any other horses around, but with the exception of a little jigging and sidestepping at certain corners, Dream managed to mostly keep him focused.

Hob started to think maybe his worries had been overblown. They weren’t going to earn the highest score by any means, Ruby was still far too inconsistent and tense for that, but it would be fine as a starting point. Honestly, Hob didn’t much care about the horse’s success in competition. All he really cared about was Dream’s safety.

He finally relaxed a bit once they were past the halfway point of the test and nothing had gone terribly wrong. Meanwhile, by the arena entrance, Roderick stood with arms crossed, eyes like ice. Clearly having the exact opposite experience as Hob, growing more tense with each mistake Dream and Ruby made.

Hob was really growing to hate that man. If there was one thing that terrible fall had instilled in Hob, it was the belief that none of this competition stuff was really that serious. Of course they wanted to do well. Of course he wanted Dream to do well. But he would rather see Dream perform so badly that he quit upper level competition forever than see Dream hurt. After falling with Ellie, Hob hadn’t cared about any title they’d ever won together. He’d only cared that they were both alive.

He never wanted to try to make Dream do anything, though. And Dream was a very good rider. Hob took comfort in that.

He kept watching the test, keeping half an eye on Roderick on the other end of the ring. 

Dream cantered in a big circle across the middle of the ring, then up the long side of the arena towards Hob. The wind gusted, blowing papers about, ruffling Ruby’s tail. And just as Dream and Ruby were passing one of the flags, the wind cracked through it. Like the sound of a whip.

Ruby spooked sideways, head thrown up, eyes rolling. Dream kept his seat, but before he could get him settled, another huge gust of wind blew loose papers across the ring, and one caught Ruby right in the face.

The horse reared, head tossed, stumbling backwards, throwing itself off balance in its panic. Dream leaned forward to counterbalance but it was too late, Ruby had stepped too far under himself.

Hob was already running by the time he toppled over sideways.

He lost sight of Dream in the resulting scramble of limbs as Ruby thrashed in panic and clambered back to his feet. At least he didn’t fully flip over backwards on him, Hob thought, panic rising in his throat, at least—

Hob had seen Dream come off a horse only once before, when Jessamy had tripped on a hack out in the woods and unseated him. She’d just stood there afterwards, looking down at him on the ground as if wondering what on earth he was doing, as Dream brushed pine needles and dirt off his clothes.

Ruby, meanwhile, bolted out of the arena and was out of Hob’s sight in seconds.

Hob missed Jessamy, too.

He didn’t chase the horse, though. He kept running for Dream. Dream who he could see now, still on the ground. Who hadn’t popped back up, brushing dirt off his jacket, like he had that time with Jessamy.

Alex tried to follow Hob, stumbling uncertainly, but Hob pointed him in the other direction. “No! Go help catch the horse!”

Alex ran off after Ruby, looking shaken, and Hob skidded to a stop in the sand beside Dream. He knelt down by Dream’s collapsed form.

Dream wasn’t obviously mangled by hoof prints, though his eyes were closed. But when Hob called his name, his face scrunched up in pain. Dazed, then, not unconscious. That was good. Thank God.

“Dream,” he called again. He touched Dream’s cheek with a light hand, but didn’t dare move him. “Dream?”

Finally, Dream’s eyes opened, slowly focusing on Hob’s face. “…Hob.”

“Yeah, darling,” Hob said, with a relieved smile.

Dream started to try to sit up, but Hob pressed him back down. “No, don’t move. Stay there. He fucking trampled you.”

“Barely,” Dream muttered, but settled back down. “What spooked him? I did not see it.”

“Flags. Papers flying around.”

Dream sighed, closing his eyes again. “Typical. I warned Roderick.”

“Roderick’s incapable of listening to anyone but himself.” He took Dream’s hands in his own. “Squeeze my hands?”

Dream obligingly squeezed Hob’s fingers, then let go.

“Good. Move your toes?” In the distance, he could see the actual show medics running towards them. Hob had first aid training too though, at least. Another thing he’d picked up after getting crushed into the ground.

Dream moved his legs, but grimaced.

“Alright, where did he get you?” Hob said. “I know you’re hurt somewhere or you’d have fought me more about getting up.”

“I expect you will find a hoof print here,” Dream said, touching his thigh, and Hob winced. “I. Hit my head on the ground. My… chest hurts.”

Anxiety swooped through Hob’s belly, but he tried to stay calm, for Dream’s sake. He had been wearing a helmet, at least. And he was lucid. That was good.

Finally the show medics were crouched next to them. Hob could tell they would have preferred if he got out of the way, but he didn’t leave, though he tried to make some room for them. And he kept Dream’s attention as one of them eased his helmet off so he could lie flat.

The helmet had a sizable dent in it. Hob winced.

“Did they catch Ruby?” Dream asked.

“No clue.”

Dream chuckled. “You don’t care at all, do you?”

“I’d rather he not get hit by a car or something, but no, I care more about you right now.” They were in the middle of a huge equestrian park, anyway. Probably Ruby would get bored and start grazing somewhere and someone would catch up to him eventually. “He looked fine when he got up, anyway.”

“It’s not his fault, Hob,” Dream said.

“I know.” Hob looked around, but Roderick was nowhere in sight. Typical. “It’s someone’s fault, though.”

“We can handle Roderick later.”

One of the medics asked Dream a few questions, then wrapped a c-collar around his neck. He was surprisingly docile about it, which Hob found worrying. Dream was never docile.  

Hob was forced to move back a few feet as the medics got Dream on a stretcher. They hadn’t even considered just getting him on his feet. Fuck. Fuck.

Dream cried out as they moved him, a short, sharp cry of pain, quickly cut off. Hob rushed back over to him, taking his hand.

“I’m fine,” Dream said, finally breathing out again. “Go. Make sure the horse is okay? I am fine.”

“Fuck that,” Hob said. “I’m going with you. I’ll text Alex, make sure they get Ruby sorted.”

Dream smiled faintly, and Hob knew that, no matter what Dream might have said, it was the right call.

He rode with Dream to the hospital. He kept going back and forth on whether he should be worried or not. It could all just be some nasty bruises. That was probably the case with Dream’s thigh, considering he’d apparently been stepped on but wasn’t complaining much about the pain. Hob was worried about his head, but thankfully he didn’t seem too concussed, and hadn’t been knocked out. He hadn’t gotten a good look at Dream’s chest yet, since his shirt and show coat were still on. He hoped it wasn’t too bad. God.

He still held onto Dream’s hand the whole ride, watching him wince whenever the ambulance hit a bump in the road.

“Did you know,” Dream said when they’d almost arrived, “I have never been taken to A&E in an ambulance before?”

“Never?”

“No. It’s been… a long time since I’ve been hurt falling off. I broke my wrist once as a child. But my riding instructor drove me to hospital.”

His riding instructor. Not even one of his parents.

“Well, new experiences all around,” Hob said, trying to be cheery and not think too much about Dream’s childhood, which always made him feel terribly sad.

“I’m not enjoying it,” Dream said, closing his eyes again where he lay on the stretcher, and Hob laughed, leaning down to kiss his forehead.

When they arrived, and were waiting to be seen, Hob occupied himself getting Dream’s riding boots off. They were custom fit, and Dream would be peeved if the hospital staff tried to cut them off. Dream watched him with an amused quirk of the brow. “Will you do my show coat as well?”

“No,” Hob said. He wasn’t mucking around with Dream’s chest.

“Breeches?”

“They will definitely get the wrong idea if I do that.”

Dream laughed. “Perhaps I want them to get the wrong idea.”

“Dream.”

Dream only laughed again. Hob swatted his hand when he came to sit beside him again. “You mustn’t be feeling too badly if you’re trying to make jokes.”

“Maybe I’m just coping.”

“Poor darling.” He leaned over to give Dream a light kiss. “You’ll be alright.”

Dream gave him a weak smile.

Fortunately it turned out that Dream’s neck was fine, and he was able to take the c-collar off. They also let him take off his own clothes—with some help from Hob—before any further testing, so his beloved, tailored show coat wasn’t lost to scissor butchery. Hob also updated him, long-sufferingly, on Ruby, after Alex texted him to let him know that the horse had eventually been found—as Hob had predicted—grazing in a far corner of the property.

“We will have to work with some flags at home,” Dream said, and Hob wanted to bang his head into a wall. But then both of them would be concussed, and someone had to drive the rig home, and if Hob let Alex drive they would all die in a ditch. So he refrained from giving himself a head injury out of exasperation.

“Maybe on the ground, first,” he said instead.

“Well, of course,” said Dream.

His leg wasn’t broken, just bore a hoof print shaped bruise, and his concussion was mild—thank God for helmets and soft arena footing. He’d fractured two ribs—“Mildly!” Dream said, when Hob expressed concern about it, and Hob once again contemplated cracking his own head open on the wall—and they wanted to keep him for a night just in case.

If Hob’s madman of a husband was going to insist on continuing to ride this horse, Hob was going to make him start wearing a body protector. At least Hob had learned something from his own fall.

Eventually, all the tests were done, and they were left alone for some time. They’d originally been supposed to go home tonight, but Hob had managed to arrange another night’s stall for Ruby, and called Matthew to make sure their horses back home were taken care of. Horses made everything so complicated. But there was no way he was leaving Dream.

“You should get a hotel for the night,” Dream said, looking at Hob with tired eyes from where he was now lying in a proper hospital bed.

“And spare myself the entertainment of you on pain meds?”

“The meds are frankly unnecessary,” Dream complained.

Hob thought the way he’d been wincing every time he breathed suggested otherwise, but what did he know.

“Hey, if someone offers you a good time, take it,” he said, and Dream quirked a smile.

Hob took his hand, twined their fingers together, kissed his knuckles. “Hey,” he said. “It’s gonna be okay. Yeah?”

Dream’s smile wavered. “When he flipped on me. I did see my life flash before my eyes.”

Hob saw his life flash before his eyes, too. Which was to say, he saw Dream’s death flash before his eyes.

“It’s scary,” he said. “There’s nothing you can do.”

At least Ellie had, as far as Hob had seen on video, done her best not to trample him when she got up. Ruby, it seemed, had had no such presence of mind.

“I am glad you were there,” Dream said. “Not that I wish for you to have had to watch. But. When I… found myself on the ground. I.” He closed his eyes, shying away from the feeling.

Hob squeezed his hand. “Hey. Dream.”

“I. It hurt. Well, at first it didn’t hurt, because I had the wind knocked out of me, but it hurt after and— it’s silly.” He finally opened his eyes again, looking a bit embarrassed. “But I just wanted my husband.”

“It’s not silly.” Hob clutched Dream’s hand close. “It’s okay. Didn’t you know I just wanted to get to you, too?”

Dream gave him a fragile smile. Hob didn’t want him to move too much, so he leaned in and pressed his forehead to Dream’s, resting beside him on the pillow.

“So,” Dream said. “I am guessing we did not win.”

Hob snorted. “Pretty sure you got a zero. Levade wasn’t in the test, Dream. Overachiever.”

Dream laughed, clutching at his chest in pain, but laughed nevertheless.

“Next time you can try trick riding where they actually want you to throw yourself on the floor. You can do one of those pony races where you have to jump off and grab an egg and get back on.”

“I did those as a child,” Dream said. “It was more fun than this.”

“I bet.”

Dream closed his eyes, leaning his forehead against Hob’s. “I am only riding Jessamy for a while.”

“You’re not riding at all for a while.”

Dream grumbled. “Now you are a rule follower?”

“Yup. But trust me, by tomorrow, you won’t be thinking about horses at all.”

Dream groaned. “You will tend me in my infirmity?”

“Of course.”

Then Dream smiled. The pain meds were definitely starting to make him a little loopy, Hob thought. “Good husband,” he said, and awkwardly pet Hob’s hair.

“Go to sleep, you.”

Eventually he did get Dream to sleep, God bless pain meds. But sleep didn’t find Hob for some time. He sat up, watching Dream. The rise and fall of his chest. The beep of the heart monitor on his finger.

All told, the damage wasn’t too bad. Definitely not as bad as it could have been. As he’d feared it would be. But Hob kept seeing the fall in the back of his mind. The flashing moment when Ruby toppled and Dream disappeared from his sight. Over and over and over.

He leaned on the bed, head in his hands. Thought about it for a long, long time. How much it hurt to be the one watching it happen. Worrying. Always worrying.

Eventually, he fell asleep, hunched in his awkward position on the bed that would definitely make his shoulder ache come morning. But he wasn’t about to move a single muscle.

[cloudcountry]

Hiya! I saw your demon!Vil x angel!reader post and I had immediately to scurry in to ask if you'd be willing to do something similar for Jamil.

Ty in advance!

-@viperwhispered

SUMMARY: temptation comes for the best of us. for you, it came in the form of jamil viper, a powerful demon of pride.

WARNINGS: jamil physically hurts reader in the beginning (he burns a hole in their wing.)

COMMENTS: I LOVE DEMON ANGEL SHIT I LOVE DEMON ANGEL SHIT JHSDGAJSHDAJHSDGHASJHDGAJSHGDJ

Jamil Viper is a beautiful creature, his wings a stunning gradient of black to ruby red. He commands power, always craving more and more and more, more reverence, more respect, more of supernatural kind prostrating themselves at his feet. You’ve seen it yourself—werewolves bow their heads, vampires fall back into the shadows, even dragons let him pass without touching him. Jamil Viper commands respect, and with it, fear.

You’ve never bowed your head even once, though. It used to enrage him, so much so that he burnt a hole in your wings once. The wound was red and angry and ugly, it took weeks to heal and for your wings to look close to normal again.

Even now, the feathers grow shorter in that area. There’s nothing to be done for it.

It was disconcerting, the way his switch slips from the polite, cordial demon to a tornado of fiery rage. He has tunnel vision, intent on showing off his skills and going completely off the rails when he can’t.

He’s better than everyone. He’s better than all of them and you. He’s more powerful, he has more potential, he’s more clever. He’s just never had the chance to show it.

So won’t you trust him and follow his lead?

You’re not sure how you’ve done it (you figured he would be far more willing to fixate on someone who follows his whims, knowing his insatiable appetite for obedience, the one thing you don’t give him) but he seems hell bent on protecting you, looping an arm around your waist and giving you no room to squirm away as you stroll through your realm.

You pretend not to notice when he steals glances at the patch of injured tissue on your wings, despite the twinge of irritation you feel when he smirks at the sight of it.

In his sick mind, he probably sees the scar as a mark.

In your mind, you can’t help but agree.

The spot still smells of brimstone and smoke, even after you attempted to scrub it clean time and time again.

You try to ignore how the feathers develop black tips that sparkle with red highlights in the light.

You try to ignore how you grow more comfortable in his hold, so much so that when his arm touches your waist, you lean into the touch instead of away.

You try to ignore how you feel your fellow angels turn away from you, and how Jamil whispers reassurances into your ears as he strokes your wings, touching so much more than the scar he left.

Jamil wants it all. You knew this from the beginning—he always believed himself deserving, since he’s so much better than everyone else, so much more capable—and yet you allow him to protect you against the scorn of your peers now.

He takes pleasure in it, seeing you bow your head in thanks. Maybe this is what he wanted all along. Maybe he wanted the chase of making you submit. It doesn’t matter now.

It doesn’t matter because he has you now.

TAGLIST -> jamil's jewels . . . @vivigoesinsane @identity-theft-101 @dove-da-birb