#[[this tag could be used on... everything he does??]]

[thefreakandthehair]

snowfall.

written for @steddieholidaydrabbles & @steddiemas | prompts: snowfall and cold | wc: 989 | rating: teen & up | tags: mutual requited pining, post-canon, eddie pov, getting together, love confessions, first kiss, winter fluff, smoking weed

Eddie used to love the cold. 

He could layer up tee shirts and jackets with his vest comfortably; could disguise the smoke in his mouth as just his breath in the icy air. But then he nearly died shivering on the frigid, unforgiving ground of the Upside Down and the cold lost its luster. 

Now, as he stands outside of his trailer smoking a tightly rolled joint— he’s a professional, thank you very much— he shivers again. Normally, Eddie would just smoke in the trailer, all the way in the back and blow smoke out of the window, but the kids are over and even Eddie understands that that’s probably not the best idea. Dustin is a blabbermouth and if Claudia or Hopper found out… well, now he shivers for a different reason. 

Smoke coils its way down his chest and he looks up at the sky, staring at the flickering stars and crescent moon. The Upside Down had been an empty, angry place devoid of light, but the real world— his world— is peppered with blinking points of light that only disappear temporarily when they’re obscured by fluffy clouds. For a moment, he closes his eyes and lets his shoulders sag, head dropping with his chin to his chest and the joint still smoking between his fingers. 

It’s fine, he reminds himself. It’s not the same. It’s just December in Indiana. 

“Hey,” a familiar voice interrupts the silence, footsteps crunching over frosty grass and dried leaves. “I was wondering where you went.” 

Eddie clears his throat and slaps on a smile before he turns around. 

“Didn’t wanna hear it from Hopper if I exposed the innocents to Satan’s lettuce, y’know?” He wiggles the joint between his fingers and offers it to Steve. “Wanna share?”

Steve rolls his eyes— a fond gesture, Eddie’s come to learn— and accepts, taking a hit and passing it back. 

“Thanks,” Steve says, a mixture of smoke and breath puffing out like the clouds passing above them. 

“Just got a little…” Eddie trails off and waves his hand, gesturing at nothing and everything all at once, dropping the joint to the ground. It was almost done anyways, he sighs to himself as he stomps it out. 

Steve huffs a laugh through his nose and nods knowingly. It’s far from the first time that Steve’s found Eddie hiding somewhere, collecting himself. Steve’s admitted to the same, that he loves when everyone gets together but it can be a lot all the same. 

“Yeah, I get it,” Steve agrees, stepping closer and leaning up against the tree, just arms’ distance from Eddie. 

Something symbolic there, Eddie thinks to himself. As close as they’ve gotten, as catastrophically in love with Steve as Eddie’s fallen, he always feels like this: just out of reach. 

Under the translucent glow of the night sky, Eddie tries not to stare at the pink flush of Steve’s cheeks, his nose rosy from the cold. It’s hard not to reach out and close the distance. It’d be so easy— just stretch out a hand and rest his equally chilly palm against Steve’s cheek— but he shoves them into his pockets instead and digs his fingernails into his palms as he curls them into a fist. 

Something cold hits Eddie’s nose, and then another, and another. He looks up to find big, fat snowflakes falling from those puffy clouds, a shower of white, frozen flakes. 

“Oh shit, it’s sno—” Eddie starts, but his words die on his tongue when he looks over at Steve. 

The falling snow loves Steve almost as much as Eddie does, sticking to his eyelashes and the tips of his hair, melting against his cheeks and clinging to his bomber jacket, to his lips as he tilts his head up towards the stars. They part just slightly, just enough for Eddie to lose himself in what it might feel like to kiss him, to press his own lips against Steve’s— perfectly pink, welcoming. 

Steve’s never looked so beautiful and Eddie has never been more in love, never been so worried that his heart might crack a rib. He’d done enough physical therapy for one lifetime, but if this is how he breaks another bone, then so be it. 

“You alright?” Steve asks. 

And maybe it’s the weed, or the magic of the moment, or the precarious levee rupturing that was never going to hold anyways, but Eddie doesn't hesitate, doesn’t even blink.

“You’re so fucking beautiful, and I’m so in love with you.”

His lips part and his eyes widen, Eddie freezing in place. Despite the snow, his skin burns with the acknowledgment of what he’s just done.

“Shit, just— y’know what, just ignore me, man. Super strong weed, that’s all. I didn’t, uh—”

Steve steps forward, closing the distance and leaving mere inches between them, just enough for the snow to fall between their jackets. 

“You think I’m pretty?” 

“Yeah, I do. That’s— that’s what you got out of that?” Eddie sputters. 

“Just making sure I heard that right. And the part about being in love with me? You meant that, too?” 

“More than you know.” Eddie swallows and shrugs, digging his hands deeper into his pockets as he chews on his bottom lip. 

Steve closes the distance, eyes bright and a smile blooming from one corner of his mouth. He smooths over Eddie’s lip with his thumb and traces his jaw up to his ear, cupping his face like Eddie’s dreamed of for as long as Steve’s existed in his orbit. 

“Well, that’s a relief. Now I finally get to do this,” Steve breathes. 

The snow falls faster over their heads as Steve closes the gap and presses their lips together, soft and warm despite the bone-chilling cold. Steve’s lips slot against Eddie’s, and it doesn’t feel new. It doesn’t feel novel, or unfamiliar. 

With snow beginning to pile up at their feet, Eddie feels like he’s come home. 

[frickingnerd]

a secret that changes everything

pairing: percy jackson x gn!reader

summary: percy finds out that the thoughtful birthday gift he got from his girlfriend, annabeth, has actually been from you, when he overhears a conversation between you & leo

tags: reader tries to salvage percabeth's relationship (while also crushing on percy), percabeth isn't doing so well, annabeth forgetting percy's birthday, worried friend!leo valdez (to reader), overhearing a confession (percy from reader), open ending

a/n: this is no percabeth hate! nor do i condone any annabeth hate in the comments/reblogs!

things with annabeth haven't been going well recently.

annabeth barely made time for percy and as the two drifted further and further away from each other, it seemed like their relationship would soon come to an end. annabeth hadn't even made time for percy's birthday and their anniversary, only leaving him a present at his cabin. at least percy thought it was from her. until now…

“you're an idiot! tell him–!!”

percy could hear voices outside of his cabin. the loud one was leo, while the other one was…

“sshh, lower your voice! i don't want percy to hear us…”

hearing his name from you, as well as knowing that he wasn't supposed to hear what came next only made percy curious. he made his way to the window, opening it a bit and continued to listen to the conversation outside.

“he should hear us! you can't lie to him like this! if he knew, then–”

“if he knew, then it would break his heart!”

you raised your voice, despite just scolding leo for being so noisey. meanwhile, percy's heart seemed to stop for a moment. break his heart? what sort of secrets were the two of you keeping from him…?

“annabeth is going to break his heart eventually! but you're only making it worse, by lying to him and giving him hope!”

leo now raised his voice as well. percy would've likely heard every word of it, even if he hadn't opened his window.

“you weren't there, leo! you should've seen his face! it was his birthday and annabeth had forgotten about it. not just that, but may i remind you, that it was also the day the two of them first got together? when he saw the present, he just… he assumed it was from annabeth! i didn't have the heart to tell him that it was from me…”

percy's heart sunk. he knew exactly what present you were talking about. a handmade gift, so much love and effort put into it. he thought it was from annabeth, but now he knew that he was wrong. the one it was actually from was you…

outside it had gotten quiet. leo didn't have anything to say. perhaps he had realized that you were just trying to be considerate of percy's feelings. you didn't want percy to hurt even more. that's what this was all about.

“listen…”

your voice was so quiet, that percy would barely hear it anymore. he closed his eyes, concentrating on it as much as he could.

“i love percy… he's my best friend! but he loves annabeth. she makes him happy, so i have to be a good friend to him and do whatever i can to keep them together…”

percy wanted nothing more than to open the window and yell at you.

‘you make me happy!’

but he couldn't do it. he was frozen in place, overwhelmed by his own emotions. he loved annabeth, but knowing what he does now, how could he still feel the same way about her? and how could he still feel the same way about you, after learning that you were willing to put his happiness before your own? how could he see you as just a friend after what was just revealed to him…?

[crystallizsch]

jhgnngggn i’m back to thinking about post-nrc yuusha and jamil--- extremely long ramble below prepare for uh angst??? i guess???

i buried some of these lore in the tags somewhere but anyways-

yuusha and jamil exchanged hair ties when they separated and went off on their own post-nrc as a way to "remember each other by".

they both have different plans for their own futures despite wanting to be "together"— whatever that means. yuusha stayed at nrc working as staff and jamil is out travelling.

at this point though they STILL never officially “dated” but oh they were so so close SO many times to putting a label on it.

“what happened then” <- idk man they’re incredibly stupid. yuusha is still horribly noncommittal and jamil is- jamil. (“…the hell does that mean” <- SHHHH i will not elaborate)

they ended as just "really good friends" (something something on they’re on the spectrum of queerplatonic but they didn’t understand that that was the case) .

━━━━━━✦

at first they did well keeping in touch from a long distance—

yuusha never forgets to check in on jamil, texting/calling whenever possible, she was always the first to initiate.

and jamil still would’ve made the same effort of course, but yuusha always beats him to it. he sort of just expected her check-ins every day.

and he looks forward to that 1-15 notifications that he gets as soon as he wakes up. it does get him going knowing that she was specifically thinking of him at the start of the day.

that wouldn't last though. eventually, the more yuusha met more people and cultivated new relationships, the more she felt herself grow further and further apart from jamil.

yuusha thrives on physical relationships and the majority of the time the only communication and contact between her and jamil is through the phone.

and so the messages from her became less and less frequent as yuusha got more absorbed and interested in her work and other relationships.

don't get it wrong, she still cared about jamil. loved him even, in her own way.

he just became less of a priority.

━━━━━━✦

it was bittersweet to think that jamil finally had the chance to initiate the conversation.

because that meant yuusha had been thinking of him less and he had to remind her himself that— hey he's still there, remember him?— although that's not exactly what he would say. that's a bit too antagonistic and petty. surely, she's just busy. right?

yuusha would respond as if everything was normal. but the usual fondness, the usual warmth, they weren't there. her words through the screen felt dry. forced.

she can use the unnecessary punctuations and emojis she wants but she is not getting past him.

they called. it was nice to hear her voice. but. there's the same feeling of detachment. why are they talking as if this was one of their first times?

yuu, what happened?— is what jamil wanted to ask. but he would also respond nonchalantly. as if everything was normal.

jamil still tried to reach out to her. similar to how she did with him.

but it was to no avail.

their interactions felt too far gone from what they had.

eventually jamil also realized that there was No Point.

if she wasn’t going to make the effort anymore, why should he?

━━━━━━✦

professor yuusha tala walks in to her class which her signature braid and feathered hair tie.

it's lovely having gotten used to working at nrc. her students are surprisingly behaved and she enjoys teasing chatting with her coworkers. surely she isn't missing anything, is she?

and the traveler, jamil viper. he's seen most of the sights, experienced a lot of things. it's like he is slowly fulfilling his childhood dreams.

he ties his hair with the same one he's been using for years. it's a surprise it hasn't snapped yet from how worn out it looks. this really belonged to someone so cheap, huh.

he wonders why he's still using it. he had come across fitting souvenirs that could replace it.

waste of money— jamil convinces himself. besides, this hair tie is fit for every occasion and it's still holding up anyway.

he'll just get a new one when this one finally bites the dust.

if it ever does.

it's really stubborn for a hair tie.

[dominicfikeenthusiast]

UNSENT LETTERS (PART 6) / MATT STURNIOLO

“old shoe box underneath his bed, filled with love letters”

part 1 part 2 part 3 part 4 part 5

it had been weeks since you & matt have even spoken since that lacrosse game. no one even knows what happend. you’d seen him almost everyday, but did everything you could to avoid him. sitting as far away from him in class, hanging out nick anywhere but their house and not even carpooling to school with them anymore.

you’d felt terrible but everytime you saw each-other it was like a shared awkward state. you didn’t know what to say or what to do. it’s like your mind froze everytime you saw him. it didn’t help that nick and chris were persistent on knowing whatever the fuck happened.

you’d told brayden you just wanted to be friends. was that completely true? you weren’t even sure, but things were too complicated with matt to worry about another boy.

matt’s mood had been down for those weeks. his brothers were constantly worried about him. he barely was paying attention in classes or lacrosse practices. he hated not being able to speak with you, he hated the fact you were just ignoring him. “does she just hate me now?”rings through his mind every time he sees you. his journal was seeing even more of him now. constantly scribbling things about you, things he wanted to say.

“please talk to me, look at me, something”

“never needed you like i do right now”

“if i knew the consequence of my words meant losing you as a person & a friend, i would have never told you”

“nick & chris are constantly asking about what’s going on with us, but how am i supposed to tell them when i don’t even know?”

“i miss you”

“i notice how you fiddle with your necklace around me now, why do i make you nervous?”

“this wasn’t supposed to happen”

matt looks at his all of his notes. just from tonight. “this so fucking stupid and pathetic” he mumbled to himself. he got up from his bed, grabbing his car keys from the side table. it was the middle of the night, but he didn’t care.

matt was now parked in your driveway, he shot you a quick text. “you awake? i’m outside your house”

you yawned in your tired state, you were studying but were barely awake. your eyes flicked every word you read. you heard your phone ding, a text. matt? you ran out to look through your window, his car was infact parked right outside your house.

you didn’t even think to reply to the text, you just ran down the stairs not a care to the fact your parents might hear. you felt the cold breeze hit you. maybe it was bad idea to come outside at midnight in shorts & a tank top. you knocked on the car window, your body shivering somewhat from the chill, but mostly from nervousness.

matt impatiently waited for you, his leg shaking uncontrollably as he did. them he saw you read his text. most of him thought you would just ignore him, but a little part kept hope. as soon as he heard that little knock, a sigh of relief hit him. matt quickly opened the car door, his eyes glued on you.

“hey” you say, your voice soft but shaky.

·:*¨༺ ♱ ੈ‧₊˚ ✮ ੈ‧₊˚ ♱ ༻¨*:·

𝜗𝜚 - ps. this wasn’t supposed to be a cliff hanger, i just wrote too much on accident and had to stop 😭😭 also bye-bye brayden, sorry dude, you were just lowk just a chill guy 😕

𝜗𝜚 - tags : @ariana2saucyy @matttsangel @valxrieq @slxtarchive @2prcntmilkluvr @bells-sturn @sturnxies @iheartmattsbeard @chrislilcumslvt @mattsmiddlepartt @chrissv4mp @flouvela @chrisfavoritewhore @luckystarlogs @snowysosturn @x0x0bunny @anastasia-ac3rr3 @submattenthusiast @s7attr @jassturn @liasturniolo @mattslolita @ifwdominicfike @ilovedyoumiss @kirby0strombolli @milaatyourworst @ginswife @skibidijewishgirl @adoreechxmpion @lovesturni0l0s @bandanamatt @clairomatt @rorylovesmatt @pasteldreams @chris-hallelujah @y3sterdaysproblem @xoxo4chrisss @mattsd0ll @mattslverr @jetaimevous @clairomatt @maggot3647 @izzylovesmatt @kennastromboli @allineedismatt @delilahsturniolo @mattserenity @allisonclairee @sturdyyolo @heartz4matt

[di-42]

Unfortunately once again I've only had time and mental energy for very short fictions that could fit in a commute or two this month. But, as it's always the case, there are a few wonderful gems among these! 

Please don't be fooled by the number of Kudos! Ao3 is not Amazon! 

As always I'll tag the writers whose tumblr usernames I know. If you're a writer and you want your story removed from this list please let me know.

And now, without further ado, let me tell you about the wonderful stories I've read this month, and the things I loved about them! ♥️

November’s Notable Fictions

WIPs:

Wavelengths & Frequencies, by @shadesofecclescakes and imposterssyndrome @maaikeatthefullmoon Rated E, chapters 15/?

This story is such a warm, cozy, comfort blanket. Enemies-to-lovers human AU where Aziraphale and Crowley work as DJ for the same media corporation. They have a history, but we don't know what it is at the beginning. Great story, great humour, great characterisation, great fuzzies, absolutely great banter! I look forward to every update and do a little joyful dance every time I get an update notification. This fiction is becoming one of my all time favourites.

You're The Bad Guys, by Nebz_AlphaCentauri @alphacentaurinebula Rated E, chapters 20/?

Cold war human AU in which Aziraphale is an MI6 agent and Crowley is a KGB agent. Each of them is assigned to a mission in Berlin, from opposite sides of course. Great characterisation, suspense and references to canon.

My own WIP, And I Did, rated E, chapters 14/15 (nearly there!)

In my not-a-summary I say that this is a story about faith, about love, and about choices. Which is true. But I have come to think of it also as my apology dance to Crowley. My headcanon about Aziraphale has always been clear, but at first I wasn't sure about what Crowley would do after the final 15. I didn't see Crowley drinking himself oblivious or taking a road of self destruction. But I didn't know what he would do. Then it hit me, and that was when I started writing And I Did. I knew what Crowley would do. Crowley would do what Crowley does. And what does Crowley do best? This is a story about faith, about love, and about choices. Aziraphale is Supreme Archangel, Crowley is Grand Duke Of Hell, and they have to bring about the Second Coming. And of course they're not talking.

Complete stories:

The Small Ad by ladydragona and SylWritesStuff, rated E, 32k.

To overcome boredom, Crowley offers his services as a hired partner. Aziraphale is need of someone to pretend to be his partner. The rest is history. This is a lovely, hot, and sweet fake relationship fiction. Very interestingly, the POV changes at every paragraph, and because the story has two authors it left me wondering whether one wrote Crowley and one wrote Aziraphale, but kind of in real time.

The Angel’s Gambit, by Augenblickglotte, @dragonfire42 , rated T, 9k.

Aziraphale has been playing chess with the angel of Death for over 1500 years. You'll have to read it to find out why. I loved the banter between Aziraphale and Azrael. 

Percy, by Jackie Thomas (Jakie_Thomas), not rated, 10k.

This is the story that touched me the most this month. It's set 100 years in the future. Aziraphale leads a quiet existence in a cottage. When Adam Young dies of very old age, Crowley picks up Aziraphale to go to his funeral. He doesn't stay after that, and you'll have to read it to find out why. The story does have a (kind of) happy ending. Or a hopeful one, at least. But it digs deep in some of my very real, very human fears. Fear for the planet, fear of growing old, fear of growing apart, fear of everything ending without us ever getting a second chance of fixing things. I really loved this story and will go back to it again. It also gets extra points for reversing the roles of how the fandom usually see Aziraphale and Crowley! Top marks! 

Caramel Delight, by AJ_Constantine, rated E, 16k.

Lovely neighbours to lovers human AU. Crowley is instantly attracted to the new neighbour and his -oh, lord- forearms (and, I mean, who wouldn't?). But he's determined not to make things awkward, they are just friendly neighbours. That's why Aziraphale keeps knocking on his door for more of that caramel sauce Crowley makes so well. One of the tags in this fiction is: Aziraphale is bad at flirting. I very much beg to differ.

One shots and short stories: 

Can I Have Your Number? by AppleSeeds, rated G, 1.8k.

Aaawww. Aziraphale goes to order drinks for him and Tracy, and writes down his number for bartender Crowley. Crowley asked for it, right? RIGHT?? All well that ends well, this story is brief and sweet. 

Angels Don't Blow Their Own Trumpets, by shaggydogstail, rated E, 8k.

This story had me cackle! Crowley poisons himself by accident (well, by trying to be cool, point is he didn't mean to) and there's only an antidote that can save him. Please DO READ the tags for this one. 

Anthony J. Crowley, Retired Demon And Airbnb Superhost, by TheOldAquarian, rated G, 3k.

A selection of reviews by guests who rented Crowley's flat on Airbnb. Very funny! 

Proving One’s Loyalty, by @indigovigilance , rated E, 4k.

Set towards the end of season 1, Aziraphale goes to heaven to speak with a higher authority only to find that Gabriel has taken Crowley prisoner. Aziraphale has to torture him in order to prove himself to heaven. Smut ensues. 

You Can't Un-See A Dog, by Dannye Chase (HolyCatsAndRabbits), HolyCatsAndRabbits @holycatsandrabbits rated T, 4k

This was one of the highlights of my month, fiction-wise! Crowley is summoned by two humans to be offered in sacrifice. Aziraphale knocks on their door within, like, 3 minutes. I just loved this story: The light banter and the interactions between Crowley and Aziraphale are chef's kiss; the adorable domesticity of their relationship shines through in a situation that really is not domestic at all; Aziraphale is being his incredibly brilliant self; AND there's a little mystery-solving thrown in for good measure! Top marks! 

Hold The Phone, by theRavenMuse, rated E, 1k.

Crowley listens in on Aziraphale having intimate moments by himself. But phones work two ways. Lovely and hot! 

Plausible Deniability, by GayDemonDisaster (scrapheapchallenge), rated E, 5k. 

This story was so, so lovely! Set before and after the first failed Armageddon and not season 2 complaint, but to me it really feels like it goes very well with my personal headcanon regarding season 2 in general and the final fifteen in particular: they do communicate and they don't need words. The story itself is about Aziraphale denying to himself that things are happening by pretending it's all a dream. The writer illustrates their deep connection and mutual understanding beautifully. 

The Co-Pilot, by beardo @e-rated-beardo rated E, 4k.

Incredibly hot human AU. Eh, I say human AU… incredibly hot AU. Tony is attracted to Az, but is afraid of acting on it because of what the author describes as an ‘overfamiliar demon’ who sometimes took the wheel for a minute. So he's content to just chat to Az at the pub. Yeah, like Az is ever going to shy away from an encounter with Crowley's inner demon.

Presque Vu, by NaroMoreau, rated E, 9k

Human AU. College student Aziraphale sees his ex Gabriel at a party he didn't want to go to to begin with, so of course he hides in the kitchen. Until his (and everybody's) impossible crush offers to pose as his boyfriend. This story is incredibly lovely and heartwarming!

Masturbation (Doesn't Count As Sex, Surely?), by Hellsgardener @hellsgardener01 (I think it's you?) rated E, 1.3k.

Very few fictions manage to convey such intense feelings of sweetness and hotness alike in such a short tale as this one! Aziraphale asks Crowley if he's ever had sex and reminisces about his own solo experiences.

To Bind Them, by LCwrites, rated E, 5k

Human AU with a lovely enchanted/supernatural/faerie element. Aziraphale is tipsy at Anathema’s Halloween party and when he overhears Crowley talking on the phone he wants to find out what he's up to. But that's not even the half of it.

Our Homeward Steps Were Just As Light, by On1OccasionFork, rated T, 7k.

I've seen this little gem recommended a lot recently, and with very good reason! Human AU where Pepper works in a nursing home. Anthony is a beloved guest prone to causing trouble, Aziraphale is a new guest. It's tender, deep, funny and original. Stirs things in you, a fiction like that. I loved it. Extra points for being in Pepper’s POV.

Hot Blood, Hot Thoughts, Hot Deeds, by Supergeek21, rated E, 3k.

This story was really up my street! Crowley is a vampire in search of a bride. Aziraphale should be scared, but he's too busy being aroused instead. Sweet, funny, and sexy.

A Newsworthy Affair, by @waitingtobebroken rated T, 1k.

A funny, adorable, fluffy fiction told through newspaper ads that the editors of the newspaper never authorised publishing. If you're in need of something to put a big smile on your face, this is it!

Merry Christmas, Hellspawn, by Libbyfay, rated G, 4k.

Beautiful Warlock’s POV fiction. It's the first Christmas since nanny and brother Francis left without a word, and Warlock feels lonely. He goes to what used to be brother Francis’ shed, goes through the box of Christmas decorations and reminisces about the past, until someone knocks on the door. I am quite partial to the few, precious Warlock’s POV stories, and the author does an excellent job at depicting the pain of an 11 year old and that casual, matter of fact way 11 year olds deal with great pain. This story is delicate, and beautiful and deeper than it might seem.

Series:

Wrong Number AU, by GaryOldman, rated T.

This was the loveliest, sweetest, fluffiest series. Best to read  the stories in order to fully enjoy it. In Text From An Unknown Number (12k) Aziraphale text Crowley’s number by mistake. They hit it off straight away, but of course things are never that simple. Most of the story is told via the texts they exchange (between themselves and with others) and it’s amazing how the author manages to convey excitement, feelings and a little angst in that way. I loved this fic, but I feel I have to give a little warning that the Harry Potter series is heavily used and referred to in this story. Sorry, Right Number (2.5k) is the super fluffy Christmassy continuation of TFAUN. Aaaaww, lovely! He's My Wrong Number, (1.6k) is possibly the fluffiest of the three and it's a real treat to read! A very happy ending to the series!

Poems:

DEATH Grinned-HE Didn't Have Much Choice, by @isiaiowin rated T.

Very evocative and powerful poem about Death.

Thinking Of Nanny, by @the-ineffable-dance

Another incredibly beautiful Warlock's POV fanwork to end this list. Warlock is all grown up and goes for a walk in St. James’s Park, where he sees someone familiar. The only complaint I have about this poem is that it was so difficult to read through the tears, really.

[stormz369]

☕💖 Can I Get Your Number? ☕💖 Ch 31

Jason Todd x (f)Chubby!Reader

written with a female reader in mind, first person pov, no use of Y/N, NSFW, MDNI, let me know if there's anything else I should tag this with!

warnings/labels: everyone needs therapy. Are they getting therapy? Not exactly ... but they're having conversations, and I guess that's a start.

wc: 2.3k

Chapter Selection

We were packing up to head home when Tim knocked on the door. “Umm … Bruce wants to talk to you?”

I sighed softly, nodding, and kissed Jason's cheek. “Be right back.”

Jason frowned. “Want me to come with?”

“Nah, I'm sure it's fine. I'll be back in a few minutes!” I smiled softly, going down to Bruce's office. The door was open, so I knocked gently on the door frame, smiling a little.

“Hey Bruce, you wanted to talk to me?”

He stood by a wall of bookshelves, turning to face me. “Yes, thank you. … Close the door?”

I nodded, stepping inside. The door shut with a soft click as I raised my eyebrow. “Everything ok?”

He nodded, gesturing for me to sit in an armchair. I did, and he sat across from me. “... I … I wanted to apologise. … For the last time you were at training.”

“Ah…” I nodded, fiddling with my fingers. “Right, that was a bit fucked up… thank you.”

He clenched his jaw but smiled weakly. “... Yes, it was. … I … don't respond well when the people in my life are in danger, but I shouldn't have yelled at you…”

I blinked and chuckled softly. “... That's one way to put it. … And I think it should be obvious after our conversation last night, if I was trying to steal your family, I would have by now.”

He chuckled weakly. “... Yes … I’m sorry for that as well. That accusation was uncalled for. … You make my children happy. All of them; your remarkable empathy seems to be exactly what they need in their lives.”

“You could probably use it too.”

“... Perhaps. … I'd like things to be … less tense, between us.”

I nodded, sighing softly. “I'd like that too, for their sake. … But I still can't get past it, Bruce. … I wasn't kidding, or speaking hyperbolically when I said I will never be able to forgive you. No matter how much I might like to, how much easier things would be, I can't. … Jason clings to me in his sleep. It's like he's trying to remind himself that he's there, in my bed, and not in that warehouse his dreams take him back to.”

Bruce frowned, confused; “he … tells you about his nightmares?”

I shook my head; “He mutters in his sleep sometimes. … He is tormented nightly by his trauma, and it's your fault. … And Damian … I am so afraid for him, Bruce. … I don't know how you stand it. Aren't you afraid too?”

He sighed; “Of course I am, … but they are strong, and brave, and we do not patrol alone. We always have backup. … My fear does them no good. They need to know that I believe in them; that I know they can handle themselves out there.”

I sighed, resting my head in my hands. He wasn't wrong; doubting themselves in the field would get them killed. If they believed he was confident in their abilities, they would be more confident in themselves. But they should never have been put in the field in the first place.

“... What's done is done. All we can do is live with it. … So how do we do that? How do we move forward?” I looked up at him slowly.

“... I don't know.” Bruce frowned. “... I've never been very good at moving forward.”

I nodded. That was the understatement of the century. “... Maybe it would be best if we didn't discuss Bat things, at least for now. … I liked Bruce Wayne well enough, before I knew; it was obvious that he had his issues, but he clearly cared about his kids, and I could respect that. I thought he was honorable, and had a good heart. … Batman is … something else entirely.”

He blinked a few times; “... Are you suggesting you could … compartmentalize? … Treat Bruce as one person, and Batman as another?”

“I'm saying I don't want the tension between me and Batman to make things harder for the boys. So, for their happiness, I can … try not to think about it. … Unless they ask me to do otherwise, or you give me a reason to think too hard about it.”

Bruce nodded slowly, offering me his hand. I sighed, shaking it, and he smiled a little. “... We'll see you for Christmas?”

I nodded; “yeah, I'd imagine so. … Dick told me you aren't a big fan of the holiday season.”

“... It's a hard time for me.”

I nodded. “I'm sorry. … Holidays are often complicated for people with … unconventional family dynamics. But you do have a family, Bruce.”

He nodded contemplatively. “... Thank you. … Safe travels.”

He walked me to the door and I started down the hallway. Halfway back to Jason's room, I heard a soft “pst!” from behind me. I turned to look, chuckling softly as Dick gestured for me to approach.

“Hey, Dick.”

“Hey, what was that?” He stood in his doorway, Tim peering out from behind him.

“Nothing really? He just wanted to talk to me for a minute.”

“He didn't yell at you again, right? He really doesn't mean it, he's just not great at emotional regulation, but he's trying, I pr-”

I held a hand up to stop Dick's anxious rambling. “He didn't yell. He actually apologized for that.”

Tim blinked a few times. “... B apologized?”

“Yeah…. You two need a second to process that?”

“... No, that's … that's good.” Dick nodded, smiling a bit. “That's all it was?”

“That's all.”

“Huh … ok.” Tim frowned.

I giggled; “were you worried about me, Timmy?”

“... I mean, yeah, a little! B can be … rough. And you're very … gentle.”

I nodded. “That's entirely intentional.”

Dick smiled a bit. “Still, we don't want you being pushed away by Bruce's …”

“Prickly demeanor?” I supplied. Tim nodded. “No chance of that.”

“Good.” Tim nodded, checking his phone. “Alright, I'm outta here then. See you both next time!”

I moved so he could step out, and we bid Tim our goodbyes. Dick moved to close his door, but paused when he saw I wasn't leaving. “... Was there something else?”

“I wanted to thank you for my ornament.”

“Oh, that was a family decision!”

“I know, but the whole tree decorating activity had to start with someone. And something tells me it wasn't Bruce's idea.”

He smiled a bit sheepishly; “heh … yeah, you'd be right there.”

“How'd it get started?” I leaned against the wall, smiling softly.

“Ah … it started with Jaybird's first Christmas at the manor. … Living here, especially back then, after being in … very different circumstances, was a trip for both of us, but especially him. I mean, he had been on the streets for a while before B took him in, he was hungry and cold a lot of the time. So suddenly being in a house like this … there was a lot of pressure.”

I nodded, frowning. “I’d imagine…”

“And at Christmastime it got even worse. There were so many public appearances in December back in the day. There's still a lot, but it's definitely pared down quite a bit.”

“Plus there's more of you to divide them up.”

He nodded; “there is that. So, Jay was kinda starting to crack under the pressure a bit. … He ran away.”

“What??” I frowned.

Dick nodded. “I found him at midnight in a cardboard box fort in Crime Alley. God, he was so cold, I thought he was gonna die … when we finally got him warmed up I chatted with him a bit, and it came out … everything was too perfect,”

“He felt inadequate.” I frowned.

“Exactly. He worried it was all gonna be taken away from him, so he might as well walk away first, so it'd be his choice to go. … So Alfred and I talked, and we found a family room we could set up for the ugly, imperfect, human stuff.”

“And so the ugly Christmas tree was born.” I smiled softly. “That's brilliant.”

He smiled softly. “Heh, thanks… it’s probably the one thing I did right for him…”

“What do you mean?”

He sighed. “I was nineteen, just starting out as Nightwing, and … I had been an only child my whole life. I wasn't a great big brother for him … he was twelve, and he wanted to do everything I did, and …”

“It was annoying. I get it. You didn't have the life experience to tell you how to handle a kid hanging around and watching everything you did. Plus that age gap; no nineteen year old wants to hang out with a twelve year old.” I nodded. “You also didn't adopt him, Bruce did; you shouldn't have been made to take care of him in that way. It was wonderful of you to do what you did for him, but it shouldn't have been your job.”

He blinked a bit, frowning slightly. “... I failed him, … so badly … when we lost Jay, and Tim joined the family, I knew I had to do better for him…”

“You were nineteen, Dick. Legally an adult, mentally a child. … You've taken on responsibilities well beyond your years for a long time, and none of it should have fallen on you. You did the best you could, at great personal risk. You shouldn't beat yourself up for things that didn't go well. You weren't equipped to take care of it, and you tried anyway. That is incredibly selfless, and kind.”

He clenched his jaw, staring at his feet. “... You call out Jay and Damian this much?”

I chuckled. “I prefer to think of it as making space for you to be human. Everyone needs someone who doesn't expect them to be perfect, after all.”

He chuckled weakly. “... yeah, … I guess so. Thanks …”

He smiled a bit, offering me a hug. I pulled him in close, and he slowly collapsed against me. I let him hug me for as long as he wanted; the Wayne boys were all incredibly touch starved, but where Damian had closed himself off from touch, Dick very obviously craved it like oxygen.

Eventually he pulled back, smiling softly. “... See you soon?”

I nodded. “You know where I live. Text me sometime, we'll hang out.”

He grinned and nodded. “Cool! … Jay won't mind?”

“Jason doesn't own me, and he doesn't think he does; I can hang out with whoever I like. If he doesn't want to participate we can schedule it for a time he won't be home.”

Dick chuckled and nodded again. “Ok. I'll text you then.”

I nodded and squeezed his shoulder before finally making my way back to Jason. Damian was sitting on his bed, watching him zip my bag.

“There you are. Todd was starting to worry.”

“I was not!” Jason rolled his eyes at Damian, throwing my bag over his shoulder.

“Sorry, I stopped to chat with Dick and Tim for a minute too.” I kissed Jason's cheek, trying to take my bag from him.

He pulled it back, leaning into the kiss. “I got this, baby girl~”

I smiled softly. “If you're sure.”

Damian hopped off the bed, gently squeezing my hand for a second. “I will walk you to the car.”

I squeezed back, nodding. “Sounds good. Will you be coming over soon?”

He nodded, following us downstairs. “Father wants to talk to me today, but I will come over next weekend if I may?”

I nodded, grinning. “I'd love that! Think about what you'd like for dinner, ok?”

He nodded. “... You heard me and Father last night, didn't you?”

“I did. He went to your room?”

“... He did … thank you.”

I smiled softly; “I'm glad you got what you wanted.”

Jason looked over his shoulder at us, and I waved him off. Damian smiled a little. “It was nice … but not as nice as when you did it.”

I blushed a bit and smiled softly. “I’m glad you enjoyed it, baby brother.”

“... I missed you, while Mother was visiting.”

“I missed you too. … I know your dad wants you home tonight, but if you want, you can call me before bed. We can talk a bit?”

He nodded quickly. “I will then.”

Jason led us into the garage and loaded our bags into the car. Damian shifted between his feet, frowning a bit. “... See you next weekend.”

“See you next weekend, baby.” I offered him my hand again, and he considered it, leaning against me. I ran my fingers through his hair a bit, hugging him gently. “Call me any time, ok?”

“Any time?”

“Any time. Five in the morning if you want. I might be a bit out of it, but I'll pick up.”

His eyes shifted a bit, a subtly pleased expression crossing his face. Jason smirked a bit, opening my door. “We ready to go?”

Damian pulled back and I smiled softly; “I suppose…”

I packed Jason another patrol lunch that night, this one filled with some of the leftovers Alfred had sent us home with. I kissed him at the door, gently stroking his hair. “Be safe. If you can’t be safe, be smart.”

He chuckled, stroking my hair a bit; “yes ma'am~”

I locked the door behind him and I got comfy on the couch to watch a movie, but before I could even grab the remote, my phone vibrated.

I grinned, seeing Damian’s name; “Hey kiddo~”

“Hello sister. … You said I could call before bed.”

“Absolutely. Jason just went on patrol too, so perfect timing. Did your dad sing for you again tonight?”

“No, I … I didn't ask him tonight.”

I pulled my knees up against my chest. “You didn't like it?”

“That's not it … I just … it's not what our relationship is. … I prefer when you do it.”

“Would you like me to?”

“... please.”

“Of course, darling.” I smiled softly, singing gentle lullabies until I heard him snoring softly.

Don't forget to vote in the Christmas Poll!

Divider by: @saradika-graphics

Taglist (open):

@jawdropforkpop @krys0210 @snowy-violet @superthoughts @wordsfromshona @mystic60 @iwannabealocalcryptid @morstuavitamea-a @frosty--giants @arisa191 @prized-jules @phoenix666stuff @dinonuggysandhuggus @anuttellaa @whore-of-many-hot-men @cottage-worm @v1ckycheesue @roastyyytoastyyy @sarakmec @thestarcatcher7297 @stupidlyunhinged @mishkapi @mermaidgirl-11 @bunniboo0015 @bibibusinessman

[americanwh0rerstory]

THE X-MEN: christmas

rogue, remy, charles, erik, and logan x gn!reader

SUMMARY: headcanons on how the x-men would be at christmas with you as their S/O

WARNINGS: a minor suggestive joke (gambit), the briefest mention of cherik

A/N: AAAAH I LOVE CHRISTMAS. The divider was made by me so pls credit if you’d like to use it yourself

ROGUE

absolutely spoils you with gifts. if she can’t touch you, she’s gonna splurge on gifts

would cook for you, except remy refuses to let anyone else cook in ‘his kitchen’ on christmas day

she does, however, make you some hot chocolate and watch a movie with you

puts a blanket over you whilst you watch the movie, she’ll cuddle you and use the blanket to stop the skin contact

REMY LEBEAU

food. a lot of it

breakfast in bed, perfect christmas dinner

he’d let you sit on the countertop whilst he cooks

you get to taste test everything. if it’s the slightest bit imperfect he’ll fix it for you

throws slightly charged cards at anyone who tries to enter his kitchen other than you and rogue

“ALLER ALLER. GAMBIT CANT COOK WHEN HIS KITCHENS CROWDED”

after christmas dinner he gives you his other ‘gift’

translation: aller = go

CHARLES XAVIER

has been intentionally listening to your thoughts for gift ideas

makes sure you get that gift

of course it’s not as good as what erik gets.

you’re 2nd to erik. always.

he does love you though

makes sure you’re well fed, ensures you have everything that you need to enjoy the day

he’d make a snow angel with you if he could walk

ERIK LEHNSHERR

gives you something small but sweet

keeps an arm around your waist whilst listening to charles yap

keeps his flirting with charles to a minimum for you

he does spend the day with you more than charles though

if it snowed then he’d definitely throw a snowball at you just to make you smile

LOGAN HOWLETT

remembers things you’ve mentioned months ago

has spent his whole year making sure he gets said things

wakes you up with a cigar (if you smoke) and some coffee (if you drink coffee)

if not then it’s just whatever drink you’d prefer

he hates christmas and all of the cheer but he tries to enjoy it for you

will drink the whole time though. there’s not a second where he doesn’t have a beer in his hand

of course that other hand is draped around your waist or - very rarely - entwined with your own

A/N: cherik. cherik is there even at christmas…

TAGS: @j1mmys-darl1ng @authorsofghosts @stardrizzles-blog @urmomsg1rlfreind @worshipping-cheesus-christ @marchsfreakshow @vrtualvr @jamesthetrans [i tagged everyone who selected 1 or more of these characters in my taglist]

[ivysprophecy]

please please please

word count; 1644

summary; turning off your phone and shutting out the world isnt the best way to handle your problems but its what you do. and jjs had enough of it.

warnings; i dont think there is any? mentions of anxiety attacks? tagging @murdockcastleslut @kimoralov3 @arkofblake

divider by @bernardsbendystraws

"well hey there stranger"

i turn from my book to look behind me, seeing the boy id been actively avoiding for the past two days. carrying his surf board.

i shouldve remembered he'd come here to surf. i just wouldn't have guessed this early in the morning.

"hey jayj."

"oh thats all i get? 'hey'? no 'i miss you so much'?" he sets his board in the sand taking a seat next to me on my blanket.

guess im not finishing my book today. "oh my god jj! youre here! ive been dyingggg to talk to you! i cant believe youre really in here in the flesh! there. better?"

"oh dont be like that- cmon mama whatd i do?" i feel bad with the genuine concern on his face.

okay was ghosting him out of nowhere awful of me? probably. i just didnt know what else to do.

after that night at the bonfire i realized that with my feelings for him growing it wasnt a good idea for us to continue our casual... something. it played with both our emotions. it isnt fair to either of us.

especially after his 'i love you'. that really did it in for me.

"you didnt do anything jj. trust. i just... ive been in a funk. needed some me time thats all."

"well... do you still need your 'me time'?" he looked so hopeful. how could i say yes? where jj maybank is concerned ill easily fold every time. "cause you havent answered my texts so i couldn't ask you to surf with me this morning."

"... i dont have my board. but i suppose i can hang out with you for a little while."

"im honored," he smiles laying back on his elbows, "but really. are you good? i like to think i know you pretty well and this whole MIA thing was not normal."

turning to face him more, i sigh, what the fuck am i supposed to say? 'yea im just so in love with you i cant be around you' yea that would go over really well.

"i dont know. just gotta lot of stuff goin on. you dont have to worry though. im good."

"well do ya wanna talk about it?"

"trust me jay you dont wanna hear about my problems. theyre trivial at best."

"what are friends for if not for listening?" he nudges me with his shoulder urging me to talk. i really dont think i can do this. i was not prepared.

"youre not a very good listener," i point out, to which he immediately takes faux offense. jaw dropped and everything.

"oh thats just not true! i can listen!"

i run a hand through my tangled hair in frustration. this cannot be how i tell him. it just cant. i came here to get away from thinking about this and now hes right here in front of me acting so unserious while im spiraling.

"jj i really appreciate how eager you are to help me but its really not necessary. i didnt really prepare myself and its just too much-"

"prepare yourself? mama what the fuck are you talking about? does this have to do with that night after the bonfire? i mean obviously it does who am i kidding you havent talked to me since then. did i do something wrong? was- was it bad?" he leans in closer, lowering his voice thats laced with worry and guilt.

oh my god that is the absolute last thing i expected him to say. shit i really fucked this up. and honestly just not true.

"what? no! no jj you didnt do anything wrong and it was perfect. promise," i try to reassure him but i know deep down hes gonna over think this whole thing if i dont tell him straight up

i may love him but i never said he was the brightest in the bunch.

"okay so whats the problem?"

"the problem is that it was perfect," i cant help but let out a sigh before hiding my face in my hands as the words leave my mouth.

god my heart is racing, im not ready for this conversation. maybe if i pass out i wont have to. yea if he has to call an ambulance then we can avoid this all together. but an ambulance is also like five grand so...

shit.

"... youre mad at me because you had a good time?" his face contorted in a weird fixture of confusion.

"no! no- god youre so dense sometimes!"

"mama i dont have a fucking clue what youre saying! how does that make me stupid??"

i hide my face in my hands again trying to compose myself because what the fuck kind of confession is this?

"jj im avoiding you because ive been developing feelings for you and i cannot in good conscience keep being so casual with you and sleeping with you knowing this and i know that you do not want anything serious so i figured id just make it easier for the both of us and just take myself out of the situation entirely so that nothing bad happens and i cannot stop fucking talking so please for the love of god say something or do something because i feel like my heart is about to beat out of my chest and-"

oh my god im getting my book moment. he just kissed me to make me stop talking!!! oh my god hes kissing me.

is this where i kiss him back?

of course i kiss him back!! what the fuck!!? and oh my lord does it feel nice, so so so nice.

the way his tongue presses against mine, the way he cups my jaw and pulls me close to him. it was slow and confident and loving and everything he knows i like. his hands find my hips like muscle memory, pulling our bodies together, eventually having me on his lap. where he takes my hands and places them on his chest so i can feel his chest rise and fall with deep breaths.

“… mama you need to learn to breathe.”

“that’s not funny right now jj. im actively having an anxiety attack, horrible thing to say really."

"what're you so anxious about? i think we're havin' a pretty calm conversation, dont you?"

"i mean yea- but thats not-" he interrupts me while shaking his head with a shrug.

"listen, i get why youre a little nervous to say that, all things considered. but i thought it was pretty obvious i was into you, i just didnt wanna push you because you made your boundaries clear so i just took what i could get."

my eyes bug out of my head in shock. am i the dense one? i mean yea hes a really good kisser and i can feel he cares deeply about me when we do stuff and makes me feel safe and supported but that doesnt mean-

yea im stupid. he all but outright said it. actually he has. thats what started this panic.

"... okay yea- maybe. but you agreed they were a good idea so i figured that meant you wanted them there too. and i dont know- it just kind of got overwhelming and i didnt wanna be one of those girls who expects something huge after sex so... you know what i mean? and truthfully youre not what i expected for me."

"what does that mean?" his face showed a little offense.

"i just mean- ya know. for one i didnt expect to love my best friend. and then on top of that i didnt think id love a guy who was a treasure hunting, or- adrenaline junkie i should say."

he leans back putting some space between us, "is that supposed to be a bad thing?

"no! no jay im not saying this right- i-... youre a fighter and youre adventurous- a lot of things im not. if that makes sense. all im sayin is a few years ago i wouldnt have expected to be here. but i like it here. love it here even," i smile at him teasingly trying to ease his worries. the last thing i need is to say the wrong thing right now.

"so what youre saying is that you love me?"

"youre such an idiot."

'but do ya? because i think you do mama."

i roll my eyes chuckling, "yea. yea i do maybank," i press a small kiss to his cheek leaning back into him.

"does this mean youll let me make you a maybank mama?" his eyebrow was quirked up as he teases his question.

"lets not get ahead of ourselves. how about we take this slow?"

he looks down at my button up shirt i was wearing over my bikini to shield me from the ocean breeze, and i could tell he was debating taking it off of me. giving me that same look he always does.

"slow? mama i dont think we're gonna be too good at that."

"all 'm sayin is we dont have to jump the gun, we both admitted it, doesnt mean we gotta change the way we act or announce it or nothing. we can just enjoy this ourselves ya know?"

"you embarrassed of me mama?"

"not at all baby, just want you all to myself. is that too much to ask for?"

he shakes his head leaning up against me, our faces inches apart, "nah i dont think so. i like the sound of that."

i meet him the rest of the way pressing his lips to mine, smiling into it. pulling him as close as humanly possible. i need him under mind skin, in my blood, you know?

"i do too, so we agree? we'll keep this between us for now?"

"whatever you want mama. yes maam."

[howlsofbloodhounds]

What would you call the seven sins of Undertale AU fans? (Sin as in general thing most of them do that rubs you wrong.)

Uh..i don’t know? All I have are just pet peeves related to my favs ig.

1. Forcing ships where they don’t need to be and where no one wants them. There’s nothing in the video, art, music choice, tags, comments, nothing that indicates that the content is supposed to be a ship yet people leave comments about the ship and tag it with that.

This is massively with Killermare and its shippers. No one can make, write, draw, or talk about killer and nightmare even standing beside eachother without someone coming in and sexualizing or romanticizing it and making it in to a ship.

2. Making everything about ships. It pisses me of when people make the conflict between Color, Nightmare, and Killer into a love triangle or a ship war.

Not only because this does a massive fucking disservice to Color’s character, but it also fundamentally mis-fucking-understands the situation between them.

Nightmare kidnapped Killer. He holds him captive. He’s trafficking, using, and abusing Killer. He’s manipulating him. He’s isolating him from people and resources that could help him. He’s taking advantage of a traumatized, mentally ill man for his own benefit because he’s skilled, intelligent, powerful, and easy to take advantage of.

Killer is not a person to Nightmare. Killer is a tool, Killer is property that belongs to Nightmare. And given the way the Multiverse works and the fact he has already canonically replaced Killer multiple times (meaning he’s either killed or allowed Killer to be killed/die multiple times so that this being with high amounts of Determination just gives up completely, not counting all the times he simply killed a Killer because they could Reset and it was convenient for him) Killer is a resource to be exploited.

Color is helping someone who needs help, who asked him for help, because he’s a decent person and because he—unlike Nightmare—cares about Killer genuinely as a person and his basic fucking right to live and be free. Not because he’s in love with Killer, or because he’s jealous of and hates and demonizes Nightmare.

He does hate Nightmare. But not because Nightmare’s a romantic rival. But because Nightmare’s a kidnapping abusive trafficking Multiversal terrorist who knows what he’s doing and shows no signs of stopping or changing and Color has every damn right to despise Nightmare.

The conflict between Color and Nightmare and Killer is a fight for Killer’s sanity, his health, his identity, his grasp on reality, his very basic freedom and rights, his very life and right to exist. Not his love.

3. Sexualizing and romanticizing abuse, sadistic torture, conditions and abuse that can arguably fall under MC and OA in RAMCOA, and trafficking just because it’s a gay popular ship and nightmare is supposedly “hot.”

No, TikTok killermare shipper #35, a video depicting Nightmare horribly beating and terrorizing Killer while he trembles and shakes in pain and fear is not, in fact, “definitely sex” or “kink.”

Real people go through the same shit Killer does. Some of them survive, some of them are still alive, most aren’t. All of them are deeply traumatized and nearly all are permanently disabled and struggle to support themselves because of what people chose to do to them. A lot of them were children—infants, babies, toddlers— when it happened, born and raised in it or sold or kidnapped off the streets.

It’s not fucking cute. It’s not “uwu toxic killermare!!11!!”

4. The complete erasure of Color Sans and his relationship with Killer.

only ever acknowledging him or bringing him up to demonize him for some fucking reason, replace him with someone else Killer either doesn’t even know or care about, pretend like Killer would ever choose Nightmare over him without consequences and that somehow ever being a good thing for Killer, trying to painting him as only caring for Killer because he’s in love with him (that’s not the reason he’s trying to save killer ffs.)

And also people completely ignoring that Killer literally asked Color to save him.

Killer. Wants. To. Be. Saved. From. Nightmare.

We can stop pretending that Color is forcing himself on Killer and not taking no and his “I don’t want to be saved” for an answer now in all the little fanfics.

Even if Color did think Nightmare was brainwashing Killer in these fics or not, regardless of if it’s true or not, he wouldn’t fucking force Killer to leave against his will. That would only push Killer back into Nightmare’s arms and Color knows that.

And also. Only bringing him up to kill him in a way that was clearly just done to push Killer into Nightmare’s or someone else’s arms and serves no purpose in developing killer’s character or the plot.

5. The lack of anything done with Killer and Something New Chara’s relationship as if that wouldn’t effect Killer for the rest of his life and effect the way he views, builds, and approaches relationships of any kind and people and the world now in his present.

As if that wouldn’t affect his views of and relationship with Nightmare, either, that are not just going to be fixed just because Nightmare “saved him” in some fanon interpretations.

Like. KC is still in his head, he believes they live in inside him.

6. The inability to ever let Killer be independent or even separate from Nightmare ever and that being the reason why some people refuse to explore Killer and Color’s relationship or even Chara and Killer’s. Hate the framing that Nightmare is somehow the most important person in Killer’s life.

7. The lack of exploration with Papyrus. There’s been more of it, but Something New Papyrus is alive in timelines where Killer is with Nightmare. He doesn’t remember Killer, but he remembers Sans. Interesting ideas. And just in general the lack of exploration of Something New characters as a whole like Flowey and Chara. Don’t really consider it a “sin” just something I want to see more of.

Also wanna see more of the fact that Killer is aware of Players. He may even be aware of Creators, but he just calls them Players..

[plasticfreckles]

OK so we've joked about Spite being a peeper when Rookanis have sex

But what about when Lucanis flies solo?

Does Spite do it, when he has control?

Does he do it different?

More often?

What are our nasty filthy thoughts on this?

[mine under cut]

Spite will do it if Lucanis is pent up enough

[I have not necessarily yet figured out when Lucanis does it himself]

Lucanis will fall asleep hard and Spite will just go to town like "I do not wish for a third leg my host is blue-balling us to death and I'm so NOT here for that"

but Spite will just take the edge off and not take time to figure out his preferences

(like there's no caressing their own chest, no pulling their own hair, no ball-massaging, just the old rut'n'tug, at most into a folded pillow)

I want to say Spite doesn't understand why Lucanis would sit in his lust like a teabag in water when he could just fuck Rook (like, outside of consent being key)

(Like, Spite isn't stupid, he knows they shouldn't just attack Rook unless they all want the attack to happen, but my Rook is [like me] v horny and Spite knows that, and Lucanis does too, so WHY IS NOONE DOING ANYTHING ABOUT IT THIS IS SO INFURIATING)

and Lucanis (before him and Rook get physical, at least) doesn't want to explain how they're not there yet

and Lucanis also doesn't want to think about what it means if he masturbates thinking about Rook (because he knows what it means, what they mean, and that terrifies him)

(also thinkthonk about his inexperience and insecurity and he just really wants to please Rook like omg he loves them so much it paralyzes him)

all this being said, I've not had sex in over a year and tbf I left so underwhelmed I might just be re-untouched

if someone more experienced in writing smut and also touching dicks is exploring that topic, please tag me 👀

[op gasps in epiphany]

what if Spite like, smells that Rook masturbated?* Like the sweat-salt and hormones and fluids on their fingers

Would he tell Lucanis?

* im still a little foggy on the information flow between those two. i don't know if Lucanis just knows everything Spite knows bc they're the same body. But if yes that just gives me more questions, like How does Lucanis feel about knowing they masturbated? Not in a conservative, shaming kind of way, but does he wonder if they thought of him? bc he thinks of them when he does it? How does he feel about the possibility of that? [I'm so single and disconnected from human connection it's starting to become a problem haha🫠]

[novaursa]

Between Pride and Fire (the fire)

- Summary: It was a challenge of the hunt that drew the lion to you, but it was your fire that made him yours.

- Paring: targ!reader/Jason Lannister

- Rating: Explicit 18+

- Previous part: 1

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @alyssa-dayne @oxymakestheworldgoround

The feast pavilion was alive with the clamor of celebration. Torches flickered, casting light over long tables laden with roasted meats, fresh bread, and sweet fruits. Goblets overflowed with wine, and the air buzzed with the mingled sounds of music, laughter, and the occasional bawdy toast in honor of the prince’s second nameday.

Jason Lannister sat with his family, the crimson and gold of their house blending seamlessly into the rich decor of the feast. Tyland lounged beside him, sipping his wine with the ease of someone entirely uninterested in the merriment around him. Jason, however, had only half an ear for his brother’s dry observations about the day’s events. His attention was elsewhere, subtly focused on you.

You were seated near the king, your silver hair catching the torchlight as you engaged in conversation with a small group of lords. One of them, a stout man with a booming voice—Lord Marbrand, Jason realized—was gesturing animatedly as he spoke. Even from this distance, Jason could see the flush of wine on Marbrand’s cheeks and the exaggerated enthusiasm in his expression.

"And I say, Your Grace," Marbrand declared loudly, raising his goblet to King Viserys, "the princess here has the eye of a hawk and the hand of a seasoned marksman. A single shot, straight to the stag’s eye—cleaner than any I’ve seen in my years of hunting!"

Viserys chuckled, his face glowing with wine and paternal pride as he looked at you. "Well, she has always been headstrong, my daughter. A credit to her Targaryen blood, no doubt."

Jason’s lips curved into a faint smile. It seemed the conversation was ripe for his particular talents. Rising from his seat, he brushed off Tyland’s quizzical glance and strolled toward the king’s table, goblet in hand.

As he approached, Marbrand’s booming voice continued. "I daresay, Your Grace, she has more skill than most men here. A rare combination—beauty and deadly precision."

Jason stopped just behind Marbrand, his tone light but cutting as he interjected. "Careful, Lord Alyn. Too much praise might go to the princess’s head, and then where would we be? A hunt where none of us dare loose an arrow for fear of comparison?"

The group turned toward him, some laughing, others watching curiously. You, however, met his gaze with a steady calm, a hint of amusement playing on your lips.

"Ah, Lord Lannister," Viserys greeted, gesturing for Jason to join them. "I trust you enjoyed the feast?"

Jason inclined his head respectfully. "Of course, Your Grace. Though I must admit, the conversation here seems far more entertaining than what my family has to offer."

Viserys laughed, gesturing for him to take a seat. "Join us, then. Lord Alyn was just regaling us with tales of my daughter’s exploits in the hunt."

Jason took the offered seat beside Alyn, setting his goblet down with deliberate ease. "I’ve seen enough to know I’m in the presence of a legend," he said, his gaze flicking to you. "Tell me, Princess, how does it feel to overshadow my hunting party with a single shot?"

You arched a brow, your voice smooth as silk as you replied, "I wouldn’t know, Lord Lannister. Overshadowing others isn’t my aim—it’s merely a byproduct of competence."

The table rippled with quiet laughter, and Jason’s smirk deepened. "Competence, yes. But I wonder, do you ever miss the thrill of a challenge? Or is it enough to simply excel at everything?"

Your eyes narrowed slightly, though the amusement never left your face. "A challenge, you say? I find they come often enough without me seeking them out, my lord. For instance, the challenge of enduring a conversation with someone who talks in circles."

Viserys chuckled, shaking his head as he looked between the two of you. "You two bicker like an old married couple. Tell me, Jason, are you here to compliment my daughter or provoke her?"

Jason leaned back slightly, his eyes glinting with mischief. "Your Grace, I find the princess far too skilled to require mere compliments. Provoking her, on the other hand, seems to bring out her best."

Alyn laughed heartily, clapping Jason on the shoulder. "Careful, Lannister. You’ll find yourself on the receiving end of one of her arrows if you’re not careful."

You inclined your head toward Alyn, your tone dry. "A tempting suggestion, my lord. But I fear he might consider it a compliment."

Jason laughed along with the group, clearly enjoying the sparring as much as the audience. "You wound me, Your Highness," he said, placing a hand over his heart with mock solemnity. "But I suppose that’s the price of engaging with the sharpest mind in the Kingswood."

Viserys watched the exchange with a mixture of amusement and puzzlement, shaking his head as he reached for his goblet. "You’re a bold man, Jason. Though I’m not sure I understand what game you’re playing."

Jason’s smirk widened as he lifted his own goblet. "Your Grace, sometimes the hunt isn’t about the kill—it’s about the pursuit. And I must say, this one has proven… particularly enjoyable."

The group laughed again, though Viserys’s brow furrowed slightly, as though trying to decipher Jason’s true intent. You, however, gave Jason one last pointed look before turning back to the king.

"Perhaps we should leave the pursuit to the hounds, my lord," you said, your tone smooth. "They, at least, know when to stop chasing their tails."

Jason’s laughter followed you as you turned your attention back to Alyn, though his gaze lingered on you longer than was entirely proper. For Jason, the conversation had been a hunt of its own—a game of words where the prize was not victory, but the thrill of matching wits with someone who could truly challenge him. And as the feast continued, he found himself eagerly anticipating the next round.

The revelry of the feast had finally begun to die down. The laughter that once echoed across the camp was now a distant murmur, punctuated only by the occasional drunken cheer or the soft strumming of a minstrel’s lute. Most of the lords and ladies had retired to their tents, the remnants of the celebration now left to flickering torchlight and the heady haze of too much wine.

Jason Lannister lingered by the long table, his goblet still in hand, watching as the servants began to clear the remains of the feast. His hair was slightly mussed, his doublet loosened at the collar, and his green eyes glinted with the remnants of wine-induced boldness. He was feeling light-headed but far from drunk. No, the confidence coursing through him came from something more potent than alcohol: you.

He had been watching you all evening, as he often did, though tonight was different. Tonight, there was no courtly restraint anymore, no audience to judge him. Tonight, you were just as untamed as he imagined you to be. The sharp remarks you had exchanged earlier in the evening still lingered in his mind, stoking a fire that refused to be extinguished.

Jason’s gaze swept across the camp until he spotted you. You stood near a dwindling fire, speaking with a servant who seemed to be delivering some minor report. Your silver hair glowed in the torchlight, and the soft breeze played with the loose tendrils that framed your face. You looked every bit the dragon you were, regal and untouchable, but Jason had never been one to shy away from danger.

He approached without hesitation, his steps steady despite the wine. “Princess,” he called, his voice smooth and carrying a hint of amusement.

You turned, your violet eyes narrowing slightly as you regarded him. “Lord Jason,” you replied coolly, though the faint flicker of annoyance in your tone was familiar—and enticing. “What do you want?”

He grinned, raising his goblet in mock salute. “To enjoy the pleasure of your company once more, of course.”

You crossed your arms, your lips curving into a sardonic smile. “The hour is late. Shouldn’t you be off to your tent, sleeping off the effects of your wine?”

Jason tilted his head, his grin widening. “And miss the chance to speak with the most captivating woman at this feast? I think not.”

You rolled your eyes, though the faintest hint of a smile betrayed you. “You’re drunk.”

“Not drunk,” he corrected, stepping closer. “Merely emboldened.”

Your gaze flickered to his, sharp and assessing. “And what has emboldened you, Lord Jason? The wine? Or your own arrogance?”

He chuckled, unbothered by your barb. “Neither,” he said, his voice dropping slightly. “It’s you, Princess. You make it impossible to stay away.”

The rest of night was a blur.

Words were whispered, curses exchanged, and challenges issued, but in the end, all that remained was the fire that burned between you.

The morning sun filtered through the flaps of the tent, its light casting a light over the disheveled interior. Jason Lannister stirred, groaning as the dull ache in his head made itself known. Wine. Too much wine. He lifted a hand to shield his eyes from the brightness, his movements slow as his mind clawed its way out of the haze of the previous night.

As he shifted, his body registered a weight pressed against him. The warmth was unmistakable. His hand brushed against bare skin—soft, smooth, undeniably feminine. His breath hitched, and his eyes flew open, darting to the figure nestled against his chest.

You.

Your silver hair was tangled from sleep, strands spilling over his chest and the pillows. Your breathing was even, your lashes resting against flushed cheeks, and your body was shamelessly pressed against his. The blanket barely covered the two of you, slipping low enough to reveal the curve of your back and the expanse of his own bare chest.

Jason's heart pounded as fragmented memories began to surface—your sharp tongue cutting through the revelry of the feast, the way you had effortlessly loosed an arrow that struck the stag through its eye, earning gasps and admiration. He had been irritated by the smug glance you threw his way, yet he couldn't deny the pride he felt in witnessing such skill.

Then there was a feast, the wine, the biting words exchanged between you, the heat of your anger. It was all a blur of barbed insults and laughter, until suddenly it wasn’t. The anger had shifted, transformed into something far more dangerous, far more consuming.

His eyes scanned the tent, taking in the chaos. His chair was overturned, the table askew, goblets spilled on the floor. A vase was shattered in the corner. The unmistakable marks of a passionate, frenzied night were everywhere. Jason swallowed hard, his gaze returning to you as realization dawned. He had bedded the younger Targaryen princess, his adversary in wit and arrogance.

"Seven hells," he muttered under his breath, though a smirk tugged at the corner of his lips despite his shock. The memories began to piece themselves together more clearly now—your defiance, the way you'd shoved him, his hand gripping your wrist to steady you, the sudden proximity that had set the air between you alight.

His smirk grew into a full grin. He couldn’t even recall what he had said to make you kiss him, but he remembered the way you had pulled him to you, the way your body had fit against his as if you had been made for him.

"What in the Seven did I do to deserve this?" he murmured, leaning his head back against the pillow with a chuckle.

You stirred then, a soft sound escaping your lips as you began to wake. Jason felt his body tense, unsure of what your reaction would be. He braced himself, watching as your lashes fluttered and your eyes opened. For a moment, you looked disoriented, your gaze darting around the room before landing on him.

And then, just as he'd expected, your face twisted into a scowl.

"What in the name of the gods—" you started, your voice groggy but laced with irritation as you yanked the blanket up to cover yourself.

Jason smirked, the amusement clear in his tone. "Good morning to you too, Princess. Sleep well?"

Your eyes narrowed as you sat up, clutching the blanket to your chest. "Sleep well? What in the Seven Hells happened here, Lannister?"

He gestured lazily to the tent around you. "Well, it seems we had quite the... spirited evening."

Your gaze flickered over the state of the tent, the flush on your cheeks deepening. "This—this is your fault!" you accused, pointing a finger at him.

Jason raised a brow, his grin widening. "My fault? You were the one who couldn't keep your hands off me."

You sputtered, your indignation only fueling his amusement. "You must have bewitched me, or—or poured more wine into my cup!"

Jason laughed, the sound rich and unrestrained. "Oh, is that what happened? I suppose it was also my doing when you dragged me to the floor over there, or when you climbed on top of me—"

"Enough!" you snapped, your cheeks burning as you glared at him.

For a moment, the two of you simply stared at each other. Your chest rose and fell with the force of your anger, but Jason couldn't tear his eyes away. You were radiant in your fury, every bit the dragon you were rumored to be.

And then, as if drawn by an invisible force, he reached for you.

"What are you—" you started, but your words were cut off as his lips captured yours.

The kiss was as heated and intense as the ones from the night before, your initial resistance melting away as your hands found their way to his hair. Jason pulled you into his lap, the blanket falling away as his hands roamed your back, pulling you flush against him.

When you finally pulled away, breathless and glaring, you muttered, "I still hate you, you know."

Jason smirked, his hands gripping your hips. "And yet here we are."

You rolled your eyes but didn't pull away, and as his lips found yours once more, the chaos of the previous night threatened to reignite all over again.

Jason’s hands roamed over your bare skin, reveling in the softness of it, in the way your body arched against him. The heat between you both was undeniable, an inferno that threatened to consume everything. Your hands dug into his shoulders as his mouth left a trail of kisses along your neck, biting gently at the tender spot that had you gasping.

“Still so fiery, even now,” he murmured against your skin, his breath hot. His lips curled into a grin as he nipped your earlobe. “You hate me, remember?”

“I do,” you shot back, your voice breathless but defiant, your nails scratching down his back in retaliation. “Don’t forget it.”

Jason chuckled darkly, his hands sliding down to grip your hips. “Hate me all you like, Princess,” he said, his tone rough. “But I’d wager you won’t forget this when I’m back at the Rock.”

Your body stiffen slightly beneath him, but he pressed a kiss to your shoulder, pulling you closer. “You’re thinking about it, aren’t you?” he teased. “Wondering what it’ll be like when I’m gone.” His hand traced lazy circles on your lower back. “You could visit me, you know. That dragon of yours could make the trip in half a day.”

You scoffed, though your breath hitched as he shifted, his hands firm on your hips. “You think I’d fly all the way to the Rock for you? You’re delusional, Lannister.”

Jason smirked, his voice dropping lower. “Oh, I think you would. Imagine it—just you and me, no court, no prying eyes. I’d keep you in my bed for days.” His fingers slid to the small of your back, applying just enough pressure to send shivers up your spine. “You’d come, Princess. Admit it.”

Your response was swift and sharp, a string of Valyrian curses that Jason didn’t understand but could guess the meaning of. He laughed, the sound rumbling deep in his chest, before his grip tightened.

Without warning, he flipped you onto your stomach, pinning you beneath him. A surprised yelp escaped your lips, quickly muffled as he moved against you, his weight keeping you in place. “You bastard,” you hissed, your voice muffled against the pillows.

Jason leaned down, his lips brushing your ear. “Language, Princess,” he said mockingly, his tone dripping with amusement. “You wouldn’t want anyone overhearing and thinking I’ve tamed the mighty dragon.”

You twisted your head to glare at him, your silver hair spilling over your shoulders. “You’ve tamed nothing,” you spat, though the heat in your voice betrayed you.

Jason grinned wickedly, his hand sliding up your spine. “No?” he drawled, drawing the word out. “Let’s see if you’re still saying that by the time I’m done.”

He moved again, slow and deliberate, drawing a sharp gasp from you. Your fingers clutched at the blankets beneath you as his pace quickened, though he made no effort to silence his own low groans of pleasure.

“You’re loud,” you bit out, your voice strained, though the accusation lacked any real venom.

Jason laughed, the sound dark and rich. “I’m loud?” he echoed, leaning down to press a kiss to the back of your neck. “That’s rich, coming from you.”

You muttered another curse, though your voice broke halfway through, and Jason’s grin widened. “You’re beautiful like this,” he murmured, his tone softer, though his pace never faltered. “Completely undone, and all because of me.”

Your response was a half-hearted insult, but Jason only chuckled, leaning down to press a kiss to your shoulder. “Don’t worry, Princess,” he said, his voice rough but tinged with affection. “We’ll keep this between us—for now. But if you ever decide to visit me, I’ll make sure to remind you of this.”

Jason’s breaths came fast and uneven as he pushed deeper into you, his hands gripping your hips to hold you firmly against him. His lips brushed your shoulder as he found his release, his body trembling with the intensity of it. As the heat of the moment ebbed, he held you close, his arms anchoring you to him as if afraid to let go.

You twisted your head to glance over your shoulder, your tone sharp despite your breathlessness. “What are you doing?”

Jason smirked, pressing a lingering kiss to the back of your neck. “Savoring this,” he murmured, his voice rough and unapologetic. His hands slid along your waist, his grip possessive. “I’m not going anywhere, Princess. Not yet.”

You opened your mouth to protest, but the words dissolved into a soft moan as he shifted slightly within you. Your body betrayed you, responding to his closeness despite your indignation. You hated him in that moment, hated how he could unnerve you with just a touch.

“You’re insufferable,” you muttered, though the bite in your tone was weakened by your uneven breathing.

Jason chuckled, the sound low and smug. “And yet, here we are. Tell me, Princess, do you always enjoy being rude, or is it just with me?”

You glared at him, your voice dripping with sarcasm. “I enjoy nothing about this, least of all you.”

He hummed, clearly unconvinced. “Oh, I don’t think that’s true. You wouldn’t be so adamant if you didn’t enjoy it. Perhaps you like the idea of carrying a golden-haired bastard?”

Your eyes widened, and you tried to turn fully to face him, but his hold on you was unrelenting. “What did you just say?” you demanded, your voice sharp.

Jason grinned, his tone teasing as he leaned closer to whisper in your ear. “I said, perhaps you like the idea. Otherwise, you wouldn’t be enjoying this so much.”

You shoved at him, your cheeks flushing with indignation. “I would rather die than bear your bastard, Lannister.”

He laughed, the sound rich and infuriating. “Oh, Princess, don’t lie to yourself. You’d make a fine mother, and I’d wager our child would be the talk of the realm.”

“You’re pretentious,” you snapped, finally managing to twist out of his grasp and grabbing the discarded blanket to cover yourself. “No wonder you’re still unmarried. Who would want to deal with you?”

Jason leaned back against the pillows, his grin unfaltering. “Perhaps I’m unmarried because I haven’t met anyone worth the trouble. Or perhaps I’m just waiting for a dragon to fall into my lap.”

You rolled your eyes, adjusting the blanket around you. “You’re old, Jason. You’d better hurry before there’s no one left who’ll take you.”

He raised a brow, his smirk only growing. “Old, am I? Was I old when you were clawing at my back last night? Or when you were moaning my name?”

Your cheeks burned, but you refused to give him the satisfaction of a reaction. “I was clearly in a moment of weakness.”

Jason chuckled, reaching out to brush a strand of your hair from your face. “If that’s what weakness looks like, I’ll gladly endure it again. But admit it, Princess. You enjoyed yourself.”

You slapped his hand away, glaring at him. “Enjoyed? Don’t flatter yourself, Lannister.”

He grinned, utterly unbothered. “Your body tells a different story, Y/N.” His tone was smooth, his green eyes glinting with mischief. “You can deny it all you like, but I know the truth.”

You stood, clutching the blanket around you as you began searching for your clothes amidst the chaos of the tent. “You’re unbearable. I hope this hunt ends soon so I never have to see your smug face again.”

Jason propped himself up on an elbow, watching you with an amused expression. “I’ll take that as a yes to visiting me at the Rock.”

You turned, fixing him with a withering glare. “You’ll be lucky if I don’t burn the Rock to ash the next time I’m near it.”

His laugh followed you as you stormed out of the tent, and despite your irritation, you couldn’t entirely suppress the warmth lingering in your chest. Jason Lannister might be infuriating, but the way he had looked at you—like you were the only thing that mattered—was a memory you couldn’t quite shake.

The royal hunt had come to an end, and the clearing bustled with the activity of houses and guests preparing for their departure. Tents were being dismantled, banners lowered, and wagons loaded. The crisp morning air was filled with the neighing of horses, the bark of hounds, and the murmur of voices as nobles exchanged farewells.

Jason Lannister stood near the edge of the clearing, his golden armor gleaming in the sunlight as he watched the royal family gather for their departure. You were there, dressed in a fine riding gown, standing beside King Viserys, your sister Rhaenyra, Queen Alicent holding little Prince Aegon, and a host of attendants. You looked regal, unapproachable, as you helped steady the restless two-year-old clinging to his mother’s skirts. Yet Jason’s smirk deepened, his mind still replaying the events of the previous night.

“Jason, don’t,” Tyland said in a low voice, standing beside his twin. “You’re playing with fire.”

Jason barely spared him a glance, already striding toward the royal family. “I never could resist the flame,” he murmured, leaving Tyland to mutter something under his breath as he followed at a distance.

You stiffened the moment you saw Jason approach, his confident stride and faint smirk instantly setting you on edge. Your father, King Viserys, noticed him first and brightened, extending a hand in welcome.

“Lord Jason!” Viserys called warmly. “What brings you here this morning? Surely the Lannisters don’t mean to delay their departure?”

Jason bowed deeply, his hand over his heart. “Your Grace, not at all. I came to pay my respects and to bid farewell to your lovely daughter.” His gaze flicked to you, the smirk returning as he caught the sharp glare you directed at him.

Viserys seemed pleased, a genuine smile spreading across his face. “A fine gesture, Lord Jason. It’s good to see the two of you getting along. I noticed there was quite a… spirited dynamic between you during the hunt.”

“Dynamic is one word for it,” Rhaenyra muttered, earning a sharp glance from Alicent, who remained silent but observant.

Jason stepped closer, his eyes never leaving you as he executed another perfect bow, this time directly in front of you. He extended a hand. “Princess,” he said smoothly, his voice low and pointed. “A proper farewell, if I may.”

Your jaw tightened, but there was no polite way to refuse without drawing attention. With a forced smile, you placed your hand in his. He brought it to his lips, his touch lingering a moment too long. “You’re insane,” you hissed under your breath, your voice so low that only he could hear.

His smirk widened, his lips brushing against your knuckles as he whispered, “You didn’t seem to mind last night.”

Your eyes flashed with fury, but you masked it with a serene expression, quickly withdrawing your hand. Jason straightened, his gaze flicking to Viserys, who seemed oblivious to the animosity crackling between you.

“It’s heartening to see you two share such a bond,” Viserys said warmly. “I must admit, it’s rare to see her converse with such ease, let alone tolerate such… persistence.”

“Persistence is often the key to success, Your Grace,” Jason said, his tone both respectful and laden with meaning.

Rhaenyra made a sound that was suspiciously like a scoff, and Alicent tilted her head slightly, her expression unreadable as her eyes flicked between you and Jason.

Jason turned back to you, leaning in slightly under the pretense of adjusting his cloak. “A goodbye kiss, Princess?” he murmured, his voice low enough to keep the conversation private.

You shot him a glare, your voice a sharp whisper. “How about I shove my dagger where the sun doesn’t shine instead?”

He chuckled softly, clearly unbothered, before straightening as Viserys stepped closer.

“Jason,” Viserys said, his tone more personal now, “it’s been a pleasure having you here. Perhaps we can continue fostering this camaraderie with a royal visit to Casterly Rock in the near future.”

Jason’s smile widened, his eyes gleaming as he inclined his head. “It would be an honor to host Your Grace and your family. Casterly Rock would welcome you warmly.”

You stared at Jason, your face carefully neutral despite the fire simmering in your chest. How dare he. Viserys, however, seemed genuinely pleased, clapping Jason on the shoulder. “Excellent. I’ll make the arrangements.”

Jason cast a quick glance your way, his expression one of triumph. “Until next time, Princess,” he said, his tone laced with amusement.

As he turned to leave, your fingers itched to throw something at him, but you maintained your composure, even as Rhaenyra whispered beside you, “What in the seven hells was that?”

“Nothing,” you muttered, your voice clipped.

Alicent, still silent, watched Jason’s retreating figure for a moment longer before shifting her gaze to you. Her expression remained unreadable, but there was something in her eyes—something knowing. You straightened your shoulders, determined to give nothing away, though the heat rising to your cheeks betrayed you.

Jason Lannister left the clearing with a swagger in his step, his smirk firmly in place. Whatever his game, he had played it well. And as much as you loathed to admit it, he had left you unsettled in a way no other lord ever had.

The royal procession had begun its journey back to King’s Landing. The rhythmic creak of the carriage and the steady clatter of hooves filled the air as the convoy wound its way through the forested road. Inside the carriage, the atmosphere was both stifling and anxious despite King Viserys’s jovial mood.

Viserys sat across from you, his smile broad and his demeanor unusually buoyant. Alicent sat beside him, cradling the restless baby Aegon in her arms, gently bouncing him as he fussed. “At last,” Viserys declared, his tone warm and triumphant. “One of my daughters has shown the good sense to allow herself to be courted by a proper lord. And not just any lord—a Lannister! Jason is a man of wealth and influence. A fine match.”

Your lips pressed into a thin line as you stared out the window, the scenery passing in a blur. You tried to ignore the flush of heat creeping up your neck, your father’s words only exacerbating the simmering frustration that Jason had so expertly stirred earlier.

“I wouldn’t be so hasty, Father,” Rhaenyra said, her tone sharp and suspicious. She sat beside you, her arms crossed and her gaze keenly fixed on you. “Y/N has hardly shown any interest in Jason before this. In fact, most of their interactions were more like arguments.”

Viserys waved a hand dismissively. “Arguments? Bah! That’s the nature of young hearts. Passion often starts with friction. Just look at the way they were at the hunt. They couldn’t seem to stop looking at one another.”

Rhaenyra’s eyes narrowed, her gaze flicking to you. “Yes, it was… peculiar, wasn’t it?”

You felt her scrutiny like a blade pressing into your side. Turning your head slightly, you met her gaze with feigned indifference. “I don’t know what you’re implying, sister,” you said coolly. “Jason Lannister is hardly subtle. If he wishes to prance about like a peacock, let him. That doesn’t mean I encourage it.”

“Oh, come now,” Viserys interjected, grinning. “You allowed him to take your hand today, didn’t you? I saw the way he looked at you—like a man utterly enchanted. And you didn’t pull away.”

You glared at your father, your patience thinning. “It would’ve been rude to refuse him in public, wouldn’t it?”

Rhaenyra tilted her head, a faint smirk tugging at her lips. “Yet you didn’t seem nearly as reluctant when he whispered to you just before leaving. Should we expect a Lannister proposal soon?”

Your face burned as you shot her a glare. “You’re imagining things, Rhaenyra. Jason Lannister is exactly what he appears to be: an arrogant man with too much coin and too little restraint.”

“Arrogant, perhaps,” Viserys said with a chuckle, “but he’s a capable lord and a valuable ally. If he’s taken an interest in you, my dear, I suggest you consider it seriously.”

“Consider it?” You straightened, your voice laced with defiance. “I don’t see why I should. My sister will eventually marry someone with plenty of influence as your heir. Do we truly need a Lannister alliance as well?”

Viserys sighed, his mood dimming slightly. “It’s not just about alliances. It’s about ensuring that you both find suitable matches. You’re a princess, and Jason would give you a stable and prosperous future.”

Alicent shifted slightly, bouncing Aegon as he reached for one of her braids. “Jason Lannister does seem… persistent,” she said carefully, her voice measured. “But persistence isn’t always a bad quality in a suitor.”

Rhaenyra scoffed softly, leaning back against the cushioned seat. “Stability, perhaps. But I doubt Jason Lannister is what anyone would call ‘suitable.’”

“You don’t like him,” Viserys said, raising an eyebrow at his eldest daughter. “That’s plain enough.”

“It’s not about liking him,” Rhaenyra replied, her gaze flicking to you again. “It’s about whether my sister actually wants this, or if Jason has somehow managed to charm her against her better judgment.”

Your fists clenched in your lap as you tried to suppress the heat rising in your chest. “I assure you, Rhaenyra, my judgment is intact. Whatever Jason Lannister believes or wants is entirely his concern, not mine.”

“Is it?” she asked softly, her eyes narrowing. “You’re unusually defensive.”

“Enough,” Viserys said firmly, glancing between his daughters. “This bickering does no one any good. If Jason Lannister wishes to pursue your hand, I will hear him out when the time comes. Until then, let us focus on returning home without tearing each other apart.”

The carriage fell into an uneasy silence, save for the sound of the wheels turning and the occasional crack of a whip outside. Aegon babbled softly, reaching for Alicent’s braid again as she gently redirected his tiny hand, a faint smile playing on her lips as her gaze flickered between you and Rhaenyra.

You kept your gaze fixed on the passing trees, ignoring the weight of Rhaenyra’s lingering stare. You knew she suspected something, but you had no intention of confirming it—not when the memory of Jason’s smirk, his whispered words, and the fire you had shared still lingered so vividly in your mind.

Viserys, oblivious to the strain between his daughters, sighed contentedly and gazed out the opposite window. “Perhaps a visit to Casterly Rock is in order after all,” he mused aloud, stroking his beard. “Yes, I think that would be a fine idea.”

You closed your eyes, biting back a curse as Rhaenyra’s smirk grew wider. Alicent glanced at Viserys, her expression thoughtful but unreadable. This journey to King’s Landing was going to feel interminable.

The Lannister procession rode at a steady pace along the Kingsroad, the gilded banners of the golden lion blinding under the late morning sun. Jason Lannister rode at the head of the column, his usual self-assured air now amplified by an unmistakable smugness. The weight of the morning’s events still lingered in his mind, bringing an almost wolfish grin to his face that seemed to grow wider with every mile.

Beside him rode his younger twin, Tyland Lannister, who had broken off from the main procession to ride alongside Jason before they would part ways. Tyland’s destination was King’s Landing, where his place on the Small Council awaited. Jason, on the other hand, would soon turn westward, bound for Casterly Rock. As the sound of their horses’ hooves echoed against the road, Tyland cast a sideways glance at his brother.

“You’re insufferably pleased with yourself,” Tyland said dryly, breaking the silence. “What have you done, Jason?”

Jason tilted his head toward his twin, his grin widening. “Done? Me? I’ve done nothing at all.”

Tyland rolled his eyes, his tone sharp. “Spare me your games. That expression of yours could rival the sun for how smug it is. So I’ll ask again—what did you do?”

Jason let out a low chuckle, shaking his head as if to feign innocence. “I simply enjoyed the royal hunt and bid the royal family farewell, as any proper lord would.”

“Proper lord?” Tyland echoed, his brow arching in disbelief. “That’s rich, coming from you. The last time you were this pleased with yourself, you’d somehow managed to charm Lady Cyresse into forgiving your ‘indiscretions.’ So out with it—what happened?”

Jason’s grin turned downright wicked, and he slowed his horse slightly, allowing the rest of the procession to ride ahead and give them some semblance of privacy. “If you must know,” he began, his tone laced with self-satisfaction, “I spent the most exquisite night with the younger princess.”

Tyland froze, his eyes widening in horror. “*What?” he hissed, his voice dropping to a sharp whisper. “Jason, please tell me you’re joking.”

“I never joke about such things,” Jason replied smoothly, clearly enjoying his brother’s reaction. “A passionate night,” he said, his voice lowering to a more conspiratorial tone, “and a morning that was even better.”

Tyland paled, his grip tightening on his horse’s reins as he leaned closer to Jason. “Are you mad?” he whispered harshly. “Do you have any idea what you’ve done? She’s the king’s daughter, for the gods’ sake!”

“Of course I know,” Jason said, his grin unrepentant. “It’s hardly something one forgets, Tyland. The things that woman can do…” He trailed off, shaking his head with a chuckle. “I’ll admit, I’ll miss her during those lonely nights at Casterly Rock. But,” he added, his tone turning smug once more, “King Viserys did mention that they might visit soon. A stroke of luck, wouldn’t you say?”

Tyland’s face flushed with a mix of panic and exasperation. “Keep your voice down,” he snapped, glancing around to ensure no one could hear. “If anyone overhears you—if she hears you—you’ll be lucky if her dragon doesn’t roast you alive.”

Jason laughed, completely unfazed. “Her dragon might, but I doubt she would. Trust me, Tyland, she enjoyed herself just as much as I did. Perhaps more.”

Tyland groaned, running a hand through his hair as he muttered under his breath. “You’re going to get yourself killed one day. Or worse—get me killed.”

Jason waved a hand dismissively. “Relax, brother. No harm done. If anything, I’ve done House Lannister a favor. A connection with the Targaryens is invaluable, wouldn’t you agree?”

Tyland stared at him, his expression a mixture of disbelief and dread. “A connection? You think seducing the king’s daughter is a connection? Jason, if Viserys ever finds out—”

“He won’t,” Jason interrupted, his tone breezy. “The king practically beamed at the idea of me courting her. If anything, I’ve paved the way for an alliance.”

Tyland shook his head, clearly unconvinced. “You’re a fool,” he said flatly. “A reckless, arrogant fool.”

Jason smirked, his gaze fixed on the road ahead. “Perhaps. But I’m a fool who had the princess in his bed. And you,” he added with a pointed glance at Tyland, “are just jealous.”

Tyland’s lips pressed into a thin line as he glared at his brother. “I’m not jealous, Jason. I’m trying to keep you from ruining everything.”

“Relax, Tyland,” Jason said, his tone light and dismissive. “It’s all in good fun. And besides,” he added with a sly grin, “she liked it. Whether she admits it or not.”

Tyland groaned again, muttering something unintelligible as he spurred his horse forward, clearly done with the conversation. Jason chuckled to himself, utterly unbothered as he watched his twin ride ahead.

“Until next time, dear brother,” Jason murmured under his breath, his grin as wide as ever as he turned his thoughts back to the night before.

[elvensorceress]

sunday sentences

@spotsandsocks @chaosandwolves @livinginsunnyhell @rainbow-nerdss @eddiebabygirldiaz @tizniz @bekkachaos @thelikesofus @hippolotamus @rainbow-nerdss @sofa-king-lame @ronordmann @sazanahashi @kejfeblintz @evaneds 💕 tagging anyone who wants to share something no pressure 💕

The last stop before Eddie goes to wait out his remaining hours in LA in his dark, empty house, is his tía’s. 

She meets him in the driveway and hugs him tightly. Too tightly. The way she used to when he was much younger. When everything was overwhelming, lonely, horrible, but he was devoutly holding it in, and Pepa would know he was breaking. She somehow always knew. She’d hug him like she wanted to lift the weight he was carrying and keep it from killing him.

She would cradle Eddie in her arms and tell him it was okay and that he wasn’t bad, he hadn’t failed, he has a good heart and he should have patience, kindness, forgiveness given to him. 

As long as he was in her arms, he wasn’t being crushed and wasn’t alone. And then he’d cry because she told him he could, that it was okay. Then it would feel a little better. 

Who would be able to listen to her reassurance and validation and not cry? Even now, it makes him want to crumble and burst into tears when they hug like this. The feeling is still there, the urge to just let go and break and sob until he’s empty and can’t any more. But he doesn’t.

He got too numb, too old, too jaded for even her words and affection to reach him. It was too hard to believe. They were just faded platitudes. His sins grew to be too great.

This isn’t the same. He’s not punishing himself. He needs to earn happiness. He needs to earn his son back in his life. This is Eddie’s choice. He doesn’t have to do this but he wants to do this so he is doing it. It won’t make everything better, but he’ll have Chris. 

He’s too hollow and numb right now to feel anything else. 

Pepa takes his chin in her hand. “Don’t let them tell you you are anything less than a good father. A wonderful, most selfless father. Don’t you tell yourself that either.” 

Eddie tries to smile genuinely for her. It’s sweet that she believes that and tells him as much. But he’s not sure can ever believe it. He changes the subject instead. “Can you do something for me?” 

“Anything, mijo. What is it?”

The word, the endearment makes his chest tight. He wishes, wishes his aunt could have been his mother. He wishes he could have had a mother who actually felt like a mother to him. Someone who at least attempts to not think the worst of him. “Will you—” He can’t say it. He can’t think it. But he has to. This is his choice. He’ll be happy. Eventually. He needs to be with Chris. He can’t miss out on Chris’ life. “Will you,” Eddie tries again. He just has to get the words out. They’re just words. 

But they make it real. Is that the problem? Is that why they’re so difficult?

He doesn’t even know why he’s asking. Why it feels like he needs to. Other than he knows Pepa and knows she’ll be able to look and reach and connect where other people can’t. Maybe because he knows she’ll be missing Eddie more than most people. Hopefully anyway? And she’ll know what it’s like. She’ll know what to say and how to comfort. She always does. 

Eddie hopes. That’s all he can really do. Hope. 

“Will you look out for Buck?” He finally says. Finally asks. “For me? He’s been. Baking. He likes baking and I’ve been assisting. And I don’t know— I don’t know what he’ll do. How he’ll do. Without. Assistance. He needs someone. He needs—”

He needs someone who loves him unconditionally. Everyone leaves him and Eddie has to leave him and he wasn’t supposed to leave him. They were supposed to be— God, he doesn’t know what they were supposed to be but it’s something. In each other’s lives forever? That at least? 

“I don’t know what he’ll do without me. Not— not me specifically. But without someone like me? Who looks out for him. And you always did that for me. Made me feel better. Loved me no matter what. And he— he needs that, too. I don’t know what he’ll do without that. I don’t know what I’ll…” 

I don’t know what I’ll do without him.

[bisexualbrainrots]

Okay so I didn't expect to be so inspired by this post (plus my tags), but hey, what a hiatus does to someone right? @unfuckablebogtroll thanks for the inspo!

So, here's a snippet of whatever this will be (haven't finished outlining the whole story yet) also I know nothing about how social workers work in the us, so i just did a lot of google searches to write this, let's suspend our disbelief lmao:

“I’m here to inform you that from now on your son, Scott Howards, is going to be legally put under your care and will be moved into your residency, we have made an extensive background check…”

Buck wasn’t really paying attention anymore, two words running through his mind.

Your son.

Your son. 

“What do you mean son?” he had just interrupted the social worker and yet, she didn’t seem so taken aback by his clear state of shock.

“We tried to contact you these past few days, didn’t you receive our calls and email?” 

That made him immediately go back and look for his phone, quickly checking everything as he went back to the front door.

Three missed calls and an email sent yesterday. They weren’t wrong, but why did it feel like they were?

“Okay… but I don’t know anything about a kid, wh-who is the mother and why am I supposed to keep him now?” 

Tara explained it all, as quickly as she could, while still keeping a soothing tone in her voice. She clearly had experience in working with situations like this one, or at least some similar, based on how calmly she explained that the mother, some woman named Jessica Howards, passed away a couple of weeks ago and that there was no immediate family that could take care of Scott. The grandparents had passed away two years ago and Jessica didn’t have any siblings that could take care of the kid, so the next (or first really) on the list had to be the biological father.

Evan Buckley was a mess. Nothing in his brain was really computing, not even when the social worker told him about the boy, a six and a half year old kid who despite being named Scott, everyone just called Scotty.

“I-I…” 

“I’m sorry but, how did you find Evan? And where exactly is the kid now?” Tommy had taken the lead, something he knew by now to do whenever Buck’s brain was being useless. He held his hand, rubbing his thumb against some of the knuckles in an effort of grounding Buck, which worked slowly.

“We found a letter in her belongings, it was apparently never sent but dated back to 2018, probably around the time Jessica found out she was pregnant. We also had to do some digging based on the information and found his social media which, well, led us to this moment” she sounded exhausted, it probably took them a lot of hours to even find who Evan was, it was something Tommy could respect, that level of dedication. “And Scotty… he’s actually here, I brought him in the car, you don’t have to worry about much since he had a nap today and we explained all of this to him as best as we could. He also has his own blanket and favorite toy with him, it’s been really helpful to calm him down”

Tara mentioned the documents she had in hand and that seemed to snap something in the couple’s heads. They’d been so shocked at the news they didn’t notice the bundle of papers she carried. Tara once again explained everything thoroughly, that those were all the legalities Buck had to sign in order to be granted guardianship of Scotty, and asked if they could get inside to sign papers and let the boy inside the house.

Tommy nodded and took the lead again, telling Buck to get inside with Tara while he would check on the kid. Tara agreed, stepping inside with Buck who guided her towards the dining table, while Tommy stepped into the social worker’s car.

[omniuravity]

Dating the Sins

Tags: @bloodypeachblog @fatgumsurpremacy-remastered @pinkhimecat @je-suis-eternel-jennie

Warning: Some of these headcanons are NSFW, Minors DNI. No major content warnings this time! Spoilers for Mastermind!

This has been in the works for a while, but with Mastermind coming out recently, I added the other 3 sins, so this includes everybody!

Asmodeus

SFW:

Ozzie is probably the most attentive partner a person could ask for.

He's always there to love and support you even if he is a bit of a hypocrite when it comes to love.

He loves showing you off even if he isn't always willing to show how much he loves you in public.

He spoils you a lot. He loves making you happy, and gifts are his way of showing it.

NSFW:

He is also an excellent partner in bed. He tends to care more about your pleasure than his own.

He's tried just about every kink in the book, so he definitely doesn't mind indulging in whatever you please.

Ozzie will pull out all the stops when it comes to having sex with you. Flowers, candles, a nice date with you, everything to remind you that he loves you.

A lot of those gifts Ozzie likes to give you are toys from his collection.

Beelzebub

SFW:

Bee isn't as attentive as Ozzie, but she still does love and support her partner.

She brings you to all her parties as her partner and arm candy. She loves showing you off for the world to see.

She does tend to flirt with other demons, but she makes sure you know that she loves you.

She also enjoys spoiling her partner with dates and food.

NSFW:

She's also a good partner in bed, but tends to care equally about her pleasure and yours.

Bee is very experienced in bed, not as experienced as Ozzie, but experienced.

When Bee isn't getting high, she's horny for you. Her sex drive is very high.

Bee is also into having sex in semi-public places. She'll drag you away from her party to go have sex with you in another room.

Mammon

SFW:

Mammon sometimes forgets he has a partner, however when he remembers he spoils the fuck out of you in his own way.

Mammon isn't big on displaying you for the world to see. You're his after all, only he deserves to see your cute face.

He isn't very caring in public, keeping up is tough image. However, he does care for you in private.

He will brag about you to the other sins. Every meeting he goes to, he'll always talk about you and how much he spoils you.

NSFW:

He is a bit selfish in bed, but he doesn't mind pleasing you.

Mammon likes to use his own line of toys to pleasure you. His aren't nearly as well made as Ozzie's, but they feel good nonetheless.

Mammon has very little experience, but he always tries his best for you.

When he's bored during a show he'll let you sit on his lap, then put his dick in you and have you cockwarm him as he watches the show.

Lucifer

SFW:

Lucifer is so awkward in your relationship. The last one he had was Lilith, so he's afraid of losing you.

He prefers to keep his dates with you at home. He doesn't mind showing you off, but prefers to spend one on one time with you.

Luci is the master of at home dates. Movie night, game night, home cooked meals, anything you want, he'll try his best to provide.

He loves cuddling with you, especially while he wraps his wings around you.

NSFW:

He is a switch and will either top or bottom, depending on your mood.

Lucifer's wings are an erogenous zone, and he loves it when you touch them.

Lucifer loves having gentle pillow talk after having sex. He just wants to let you know how much he cares.

He tries to keep his horniness at bay, especially when he's at the hotel. However, those little cute things you do. The way you smile to yourself when you do something that makes you happy, and when yiu giggle to yourself. That's what really turns him on.

Satan

SFW:

Satan tries to control his anger around you, especially. He doesn't want his partner to be afraid of him.

His assistant got him into crystals, chakras, and meditation, so he tries to help you out with anything bothering you in that way. Like, he gives you a black tourmaline bracelet to wear so it could help boost your self-confidence, or he lets you join him in meditation or yoga sessions.

He likes taking his partner to his private horse ranch and riding horses with them.

He values your opinion and will hear you out on whatever you talk about. Whether it’s about someone who cut you off in traffic that morning, or any topic you read on your phone that bugs the shit outta you, he’ll listen to your side and wait til you’re done before he shares his views.

NSFW:

Satan always tops. No question. He will let you ride after a long day, but he is always in charge.

During any court hearing, when it goes on too long, Satan tends to let his mind drift at times. Sometimes it drifts to daydreams of having you pinned underneath him or against the wall, or even bending you over his chair and ramming into your holes until you’re praising him and are fucked out of your mind. His assistant would have to bring him back to reality. Lucifer forbid he had a boner from those daydreams during a hearing.

He is REALLY proud of the size of his dick. He loves to hear you squealing and squirming in pleasure over how his cock stretches you out.

He is one romantic mofo when he wants to be. Rose petals, wine, poems, candles, etc. Oh, this man, he’ll fuck you gently.

Leviathan

SFW:

Both sides can have their disagreements, but both can agree on one thing: They love you so damn much.

Dates are a little difficult keeping both sides of her satisfied, but usually, they try to come to a compromise for your sake.

If you’re not comfortable with smoke, the left side of her tends to complain and go ‘deal with it’, but the right side makes an effort to try to step away and smoke.

The right side is more romantic than the left. The right side prefers to write poems and love letters while the left side buys you gifts and wants to take you on dates.

NSFW:

Usually, when they want to have sex with you, her right side wants to top while the left wants to bottom.

She is very kinky and likes it when her partner touches her tail.

The left side is much more kinky than the right.

Pool sex! Lots of pool sex.

Belphegor

SFW:

Most dates consist of cuddling and sleeping together, though she'll occasionally want to go out with you.

She loves having her partner play with and groom her wool since she sometimes neglects herself.

She tries her best to remind you to take your meds.

She is very cuddly with you.

NSFW:

She's a pillow princess, she will rarely if ever top.

She does try and stay awake during sex since she's usually tired, but sometimes it doesn't work. Though she does like having sex while she's asleep.

She is very quiet during sex. You first though it was because she wasn't enjoying it, but she's just tired.

She wants you to feel happy during sex, so she tries her best to let you know how she feels.

[always-just-red]

Hi! Hope you're having a good day!

Just found your blog yesterday and read Onychinus' Finest. I've been STARVED of Kieran and Luke fics, not enough people appreciate them, so I come with a request! (Most of what I'll say is totally optional. I believe in the author's creative vision overall so if something doesn't fit feel free to change and adapt whatever you'd like.)

Either hunter or assassin MC, where they're at a mission, and they're ambushed. One of the twins gets hurt protecting her, maybe even taken, and she just goes on a rampage to get him back. They've never quite seen her so protective and yet so vengeful. She might go by herself? When Sylus wants to plan ahead properly since his own miscalculations lead them to get attacked in the first place. The twins are loyal to him, the other brother won't go without his permission despise his brother being missing or hurt. I'm just picturing her finding a broken mask, half of it missing (she's never seen their faces before.)

Happy ending. 🥺 Just fluffy you know? I want the twins melting into her, one with gratitude for finding his brother and the other just with disbelief and affection that she's do all this for him.

Special mention to any heads on her lap like overgrown puppies, just holding her close. They're sweet boys I think, especially if their guard and masks are finally down.

You can take this as platonic or romantic, she could be with Sylus and still have grown to really care and look out for the twins, or she could love them. (I don't know which ones angstier)

Thank you for even considering this even if you decide it's not worth your time!

AAAAAAA HEY!! You had such a vision for this and it was so fun to work with-- I hope it's everything you imagined! You've always been so so so supportive and kind, so I low-key went all-out on this, that's half the reason it took so long. 😭😭 Think this is my longest fic so far oh my gosh? Love it though, all the action scenes took me RIGHT back to my Assassin's Creed fanfic writing days haha Anyway! This is set in the same canon as the last fic because I loved that dynamic ngl. Not a direct sequel though!

Beneath The Mask

Luke and Kieran x Reader 🎭

Summary: Sylus and Kieran are useless, as always, so you take matters into your own hands

Genre: angst + fluff + ACTION!! *karate chops*

Warnings/Additional tags: f!reader, nonMC!reader, platonic Sylus x reader, swearing, descriptions of violence, injury, broken bones, killing (don't @ reader, she wants her man back!!), but also some humour 😌

| Word count: 4.6k | Masterlist | Opt-in to my taglist here!

Disclaimer: Characters belong to Love and Deepspace. All work is my own, so please don't repost or plagiarise!

Sometimes, you think you’re the only member of Onychinus who isn’t completely out of their mind.

You’d think it was Sylus, your indomitable leader. Smiles-with-a-knife-at-his-throat Sylus. Has-the-situation-completely-in-hand Sylus. It used to inspire you: that crimson gaze of his, always alight with a fire that’s never, ever, quite out of control.

How does he do it? You’d wonder in awe, like a wide-eyed child enthralled by a magic trick.

How does he do it? You’re wiser, now. You know it’s a lie, now, but you still can’t see through it. It’s driving you mad.

You watch as the man works away at a large, glass monitor, his fingers gliding across the screen with their usual grace. You get glimpses: names, faces, contacts. He’s testing the cords of his network— an intricate web— and he’s hoping someone’s caught something he can sink his teeth into.

He’s been at this for two hours, ever since you dragged yourselves back here with your tails between your legs. There’s a gash on his forehead that hasn’t yet healed, and the blood is still drying, dark on his face. Has he thought to heal it? Or— there’s a smudge on his finger— does he like his guilt a little warmer to the touch?

“We need an order, boss,” you seethe, because you’re tired of standing beside him, unacknowledged.

“You have your order.” He types out a message. Dismisses another. “Wait.”

“I meant an order that isn’t complete bullshit.”

He shoots you a glance, his eyes embers of warning. “Careful, sweetie. You forget yourself.”

Your fists ball. “Oh, spare me.”

“What would you have me do?” he mutters, gaze returning to the screen. He isn’t rising to the challenge, or should you say— stooping to it. He’s so goddamn noble.

“They have Luke, Sylus.”

“I know.”

“So let’s fucking do something! Let’s go back, let’s get him. They caught us off-guard last time, that’s all. They got their hands on some Ever tech, so what? We know that, now. They don’t stand a chance if we just—”

“Charge in there, guns blazing?” Sylus finishes for you, lips curled in derision.

It sounds stupid out loud, and he wants you to hear it. You do; you don’t care. “We don’t need all of this,” you beseech, your hand waving over the monitor. “We have you, boss.”

“Me?” he chuckles, and it’s so, so bitter.

Is that the guilt you’ve been looking for? It isn’t enough. His eyes are still pools of calm— spilt blood, unreciprocated. How does he do it?

“We have to do something,” you say limply. “Please, I can’t… I can’t do this, Sylus. All this nothing. Tell me what to do. I’ll go back alone if I have to. Just say the word and I’ll—”

“Look at this,” he interrupts, stepping away from the screen so that you can take his place before it.

It’s an order, even if it isn’t the one you want. You roll your eyes as you obey, and you begin to scour the intel he’s gathered. Eyewitness accounts, rumours, surveillance footage— some courtesy of Mephisto— and it’s all centred around two things. One: the aspiring new gang you’d set out to dismantle earlier, and two: a link to Ever. A solid link to Ever. 

“They didn’t steal Ever’s tech,” you release on a sigh of understanding. “They’re working together.”

“Mmm.” Sylus’s hand clears the screen before you. “We should have known. I should have known.”

Your mind is so caught-up by the revelation that you almost miss the confession.

“This was my mistake,” he continues, watching you. “And you are all my responsibility. Believe me…” He taps the screen and live surveillance footage springs up: an outside view of the compound you’d raided earlier. “I want to burn that place to the ground as much as you do.”

But… “No collateral damage,” you murmur, eyeing the guards on patrol.

“No collateral damage,” Sylus nods. “Do you trust me?”

“I trust you, boss.”

And maybe he is burning with just as much anger. Maybe the fear is making his heart drum, and the guilt making his skin crawl. It’s the same, old trick, isn’t it? Done to death:

The mask without a mask— just where does he hide all that?

Maybe he doesn’t.

There’s only so much faith you can have in something you can’t see.

…

Clink.

You slot a bullet into the magazine of your pistol, then follow it up with another. Clink. Then another. Clink. You’ve never relished this quiet— not like Sylus does. To him it’s an art. To you: a chore. You glance about the armoury, and you’ve never resented your shelves of options quite like this before. Antiques. Prototypes. So many means of dealing death.

You’ve never seen the beauty in it, but a shot through the heart means something different to Sylus than it does to the rest of you. It can be intimate. Symbolic. He can die for something, someone, and he can do it over, and over, and over again. How poetic.

You holster your loaded weapon, then reach for another.

“What’re you doing?”

The voice makes you jump. “Gods, Kieran. You want a bullet through your head?”

“No.” He misses the meaning of your words. “Why— wanna shoot me?”

“Right now?” you ask cynically.  

He laughs like he hasn’t got a care in the world. Liar. You’ve finished loading the second gun so you slide it across the table to him wordlessly. The beak of his mask lowers as he regards it; he doesn’t pick it up.

“You’re being weird,” he says after a moment. “It’s cool. I like it.”

You roll your eyes, wandering over to a rack of weapon attachments. There are different sights. Silencers. (Is that how you want to play this? Quiet?) “I’m going back for Luke,” you state as you muse it over. “You want in, or not?”

The rest is implied: Sylus doesn’t know. He isn’t coming. All of that’s evident from the fact that you’re here, rifling through his precious collection, and not ensnared in the tendrils of his Evol somewhere. A toddler could connect the dots. Kieran will get there. Give him a minute.

It takes half a minute. “I’m sorry,” he mumbles. An ambiguous apology.

“It’s fine, Kieran.” He was never going to come with you. “I can do this alone. I can—”

A weight lands on you, tackling you into the weapons rack, and you land on the floor amongst the attachments you’d just been perusing so calmly. The weight stays on you, pinning you: hands are on your wrists, twisting you around. “Kieran!” you protest.

The man pulls away, leaving you slumped in your new, uncomfortable seat.

“Wha—” You try to stand up but you’re jolted back; your wrist is fixed to something. You turn your head, eyes widening as they fall on the pair of handcuffs you’ve been restrained with. They’re padded— lined with a soft, velvety material. “Where the hell did you get these?”

“Boss’s room. Luke and I had a bet,” Kieran shrugs, now towering over you.

“You win?”

“Heh. Yeah.”

You’re still trying to squeeze your hand out of the cuffs. You pry at them. Twist and wriggle your fingers— none of it’s any use. You glance up at Kieran, admitting defeat with a sigh. He brushes his hands together in a ‘job well done’ sort of gesture, his eyes fixed on you, well— you have to imagine they are.

Instead of windows to the soul you’re faced with red-glass imitations, impossible to read, and you’re tired of all the guessing.  

“How do you do it?” you ask with a quiet desperation. “How do you act like everything’s fine?”

“Boss will come up with a plan,” the twin says simply, like he hasn’t really thought about it.

“And what if it takes too long? What if we’re too late? I mean… think of all the shit he knows, Kieran. Everything about us, about boss— it’s priceless. Do you really think they’re holding back?”

Kieran huffs. “You worried he’ll snitch or something?”

“I’m worried they’re hurting him!” you snap. “What the hell is wrong with you!? He’s your brother! He could be dead and you’re acting like, like..”

Your voice trails off as you gaze up at him hopelessly. There’s nothing to see— no tension in his body, no harsher rise and fall to his chest, betraying a nervous, racing heart. All the usual signs are missing. He isn’t shifting on his feet like he does when he’s anxious. Is he that good at pretending, or…

Does he really not care?

You shake your head, looking down at the floor; you’re so sick of red eyes. He’s crazy. Sylus is crazy.

There’s nothing for it, then.

“You know what?” you chuckle dryly, under your breath. “Maybe you’re right. This isn’t all bad, I mean… when’s the last time you and I had any one-to-one time, huh?”

Kieran is silent. He lowers himself slowly until he’s crouched before you— forearms resting on his knees. His head tilts inquisitively: Go on.

“Maybe,” you lilt, “this is an opportunity.” You’re practically whispering, and the man leans in, not wanting to miss a word. Your free hand reaches for a horn of his hood and you use it to pull him closer; he doesn’t even resist. “How about we…” you speak into his ear, “go look through Luke’s stuff?”

Kieran draws back, those false eyes meeting yours with an intensity that makes you think, for a second, that you’ve gone too far.

“You’re the best,” he breathes out, suddenly fiddling with the handcuffs, slotting the key into the lock. “Just… the absolute best.”  

Got him.

The cuff springs open and you’re on top of him, tackling him to the ground and pinning his arms by the side of his head before he can think to stop you. “Oh,” he grumbles, going still beneath you, and it sounds like his eyes are narrowing, “you’re not the best. You’re sneaky.”

His compliance lasts all of a second, and then he’s fighting back— using his strength to throw you off balance and wrench his wrists free. He rolls on top of you, trapping you just as effectively as you’d done him, and he laughs like a child, having ever so much fun.

With a grunt of effort, you manage to push him aside. You turn onto your stomach, scrabbling away as you look for space, opportunity, and— if you’re being honest— something you can throw at him. A hand connects with your shoulder and you thrust your elbow backwards on instinct. It hits something hard.

“Ah, shit! Wait, wait, wait… time out.”

You freeze instantly.

Kieran’s voice is different; it’s acquired a clarity that tells you his mask his away from his face. Don’t move. You stare down at the floor with a patience that’s almost sacred. He’s taking a while, though…

“You ok?” you ask.

“Yeah.” His voice is different again, like he’s holding his nose. “Nosebleed.”

“Oh. Sorry.”

“It’s cool.”

You sit up with your legs crossed while you wait, but your eyes are still trained downwards. You can hear Kieran’s breath, a little ways behind you— so much clearer without the mask— and the intimacy is always sobering. Realising he’s vulnerable, knowable, and all you have to do is turn around. 

He doesn’t rush, though: doesn’t scramble to pull the mask back down, or insist you keep looking away. The silence, the stillness— all of it is trust.

There’s movement in the corner of your eye; he’s set the mask down on the ground while he bleeds.

“I’m worried too,” he admits softly, and you’re not sure what’s more foreign: his voice, unhindered, or the honesty it carries. You don’t want to scare either away, so you do nothing. There’s more: “I can’t leave boss, though. Who else has he got?”

“The hunter?”

“Nah,” he dismisses. “She’s hot stuff, y’know? A lot of players in that game.” He taps at his mask idly. “Heard one of them’s a doctor.”

You’re quiet again. Thinking.

“Boss always has our back,” Kieran asserts. “We have to look out for him too… That’s the job, right?”

He’s not really asking you; you came to this late, after all. It was their job long before it was yours.

You’ve nothing to do but look at your hands and listen, biding your time. The passing seconds are still restless, useless, but the sensation slips when you feel hands on your waist, pulling you back. Kieran’s arms wrap around you. His chin settles on your shoulder, and you close your eyes.

“Stay,” he says. “Please?”

His pain is harder to sit with than your own. Minutes ago, this was something you wanted. Now it’s just another wound you don’t know how to stitch up; too deep, too late.

You let your head rest against his, but you don’t say a word.

…

This was easier when you were relying on Mephisto’s guidance and not hazy, disjointed memories. The last time you were here you were running, Kieran at your side and Sylus not far ahead. You weren’t thinking about what corners you turned or what directions you travelled; you were thinking about everything behind you. Shouts. Gunshots. The subtler rush of your leader’s Evol, still crackling, still faltering, courtesy of whatever technology your attackers had managed to appropriate.

It all happened so quickly.

Every corridor feels longer, now. Each moment— slow. Your body is aching. You’ve lost count of how many encounters you’ve had, but there’s a new bruise or scrape for every body in your wake. None of it has been easy. You ran out of bullets just getting inside this damn place, and the rest has been messier: up-close and personal.

You’re catching your breath, so you toe the rifle of your last adversary, lying a short way from their limp, open hand. They never got a chance to use it, and you were lucky; it would have been loud. Every guard in this run-down labyrinth is looking for you. The last thing you need is to send out a homing beacon.

Glance around. Try to work out your bearings.

This was once a police station. Old-world. Eroded beyond recognition, almost. These places were the first to fall victim to the backwards evolution of the N109 Zone. The bones are the same, but the skin is different. Every wall is scrawled with anti-Association sentiments.

It makes you smile, despite everything.

Your footsteps are deliberately quiet as you carry on down the corridor, turning into the next room— you’ve been tackling them one-by-one. There’s a narrower corridor before the room opens out, and then…

Cells.

A short line of them— five in total. Your heart wants to beat faster with hope, but your mind is holding it back: insisting this is wrong. It seems abandoned. Forgotten. You walk by the first cell, and then the second. Nothing. The third. Nothing.

There’s a sound behind you, and you almost don’t hear it. You spin, only to find a hand wrapped around your throat, tight and unforgiving. A guard thrusts you up against the red-brick column that divides two cells, and you’d cry out in pain, but there’s no breath to carry it. Your eyes water. You try to prise the hand away, and it’s desperation that possesses you— not skill or experience.

You kick out and hit nothing, but the second time, you catch the man’s shin. He shouts, his grip failing just enough for you to slip your fingers beneath his. A few seconds of advantage. You grasp his wrist, using your other hand to wrench his forefinger backwards— crack. He staggers with a cry and then you’re dodging his frenzied attempts to recapture you: weaving behind him, seizing the back of his neck. Your foot trips his. He’s teetering, off-balance, and you use the momentum to crash his head against a bar of the cell.

Metal rings out. Flesh splits.

The guard crumples at your feet and you almost go down with him. Your lungs are pulling for so much air that it makes your throat sting. Adrenaline laps your limbs, celebrating in sheer, ecstatic disbelief; you’re alive.

Someone wolf-whistles and you swear you feel everything stop.

Your gaze shoots up, lit by hope, but it’s quickly snuffed out. A young man is watching you from the fourth cell, his arms threaded through the bars. There’s a shameless grin as his eyes flit over you. All of you.

“Fuck off,” you sneer as you step over the guard. You turn to leave.

“Rude.”

Your eyes go wide. You spin back. “Luke?”

The man cocks his head like you’ve asked a trick question. “... Yeah?” It takes a drawn-out moment of you staring at him, motionless, for him to recognise your confusion. “Oh, right. Here—” he draws up his hood and the horns are missing, so he emulates them with pointed fingers— “this help?”

You lunge forwards, trapping him in a hug through the bars of his cell; you barely notice the separation. He chuckles as he hugs you back: “Miss me?”

“Yeah,” you exhale in relief, even though he was definitely setting you up for a joke. You break away from him, forcing yourself to look at anything but his face. Gods, his face. Pretend you don’t already want to look again. “Are you hurt?” you ask. “Did they—”

“Nope!” he interrupts with what sounds like a smile. “I told them everything.”

You glance up; you can’t help it.

He winks at you. “I lied. Glad you got here before they figured that out, though. Sheesh, that would not have been fun.” His hands wrap around the bars. “Can you get me out of here?” He tugs at them. “Pleeease?”

Right. “Yeah.” You glance around. You just need to find the—

“Key’s with the dead guy,” Luke says. “What a jerk, huh?”

It still feels like there are hands on your throat. “Totally.” You wander over to the body, bending down to rummage through the man’s pockets. After a brief search, you produce the key.

Luke slow claps. “My hero.”

You laugh softly as you return to the cell, unlocking the door and pushing it open. The twin strides through, giving a little bow as he passes, then stretches his arms like he’s just been set free from a much smaller cage.

“So…” He speaks in a sing-song sort of voice, sniffing the air like it’s sweeter. “Where’re boss and Kieran?”

“Um. Home?”

Luke narrows his eyes at you— vaguely resembling the slits of his missing mask. “You went rogue?”

You wince. “I did go rogue.”

You’re still being studied warily. Luke has raised an eyebrow and it’s so starkly expressive; is this a look he gives you often? You have a feeling it is. Then he shrugs and it’s gone. “That’s hot,” he quips. He crouches down beside the dead guard, lifting the body and puppeteering one of the arms to wave at you. “Look— this is gonna be you when boss finds out.”

You cross your arms. Luke laughs, dropping the man back down with a thud. “Just you and me then?” he clarifies, holding a hand out to you.

Are you supposed to know what to do with it? “You and me,” you confirm. Your hand goes out too.  

Luke slaps it gently one way, then another. He entangles your fingers. Pulls back. Does a few more slaps in sporadic directions, and— is this a secret handshake? You don’t have a secret handshake.

“Nice,” he beams once the ritual is complete. “Let’s go, let's go!”

…

Luke is hanging close to the wall across from you, waiting— listening— as you both brace yourselves behind the turn of yet another corridor of the rival base. He sneaks glances around the corner.

“Anyone there?” you whisper.

He shakes his head, but he doesn’t look at you. He doesn’t press on, either, because it’s odd; you’d both thought you’d heard something. This isn’t your usual strategy— playing it safe. You don’t think you’ve ever seen Luke err on the side of caution, but he’s concentrating, even closing his eyes so he can listen harder.

You take advantage of the moment in a way you shouldn’t: letting your gaze linger on his face. Even with his hood up— shadows lowered like a veil— he’s still a stranger to you. You want to know him; you know him already. He’s been smiling at your jokes forever, but tell him one now, and it’ll be the first time.

His eyes open, meeting yours. Could he sense you watching? He grins, poking his tongue out at you.

“Stop it.”

“You stop it,” he retorts. The coast must be clear, for he comes away from the wall and rounds the corner with a spring in his gait.

You sigh as you stand to follow him. One less-enthusiastic step forward, and something snakes around your ankle. Your gaze drops like a stone, but it isn’t fast enough. You’re hauled into the air, voice failing, vision swimming as the world flips upside-down and you’re strung up from the ceiling. “Luke!” you manage in warning.

Are those his footsteps, coming back? You’re facing the wrong way and you try to lift the lower half of your body so you can reach for your ankle, but you’re already exhausted. Your muscles burn. After a few, futile inches, you give up, going limp.

There are footsteps behind you. “Oh, hey boss!” Luke exclaims.

Shit. Shit, shit, shit.

An unwitting pendulum: you can’t keep your body from turning, ever so slowly, until you’re staring the right way down the corridor. You can’t see much of it, though.

Sylus is in front of you, so close that you can almost feel the heat of his eyes.

“Hey, boss,” you echo reluctantly.

He says nothing, and behind him, Luke slides a gloating finger across his own throat: you’re dead! And you’re turning, still. Sylus lifts a hand to the top of your head and swivels you back to him. “What happened to that trust of yours, sweetie? Hmm?”

You half-laugh, nervous. He doesn’t seem quite as amused.

Releasing your head, he steps back with a huff of disappointment as you start a slow rotation once more. He taps a finger to his chin pensively, like you’re a masterpiece he’s convinced might be a forgery, now that he’s looking more closely. “Reckless little thing, aren’t you?” he tuts.

There’s maybe a smile, but it’s short-lived; the dark rope around your ankle whips you into the air. You shriek with shock as you lose all bearings, all vision, all sense of reality. You’re falling.

Someone catches you.

“My reckless little thing,” Luke grins, jostling you into a more secure position in his arms. “Mine.”

You want to protest, but your breath is gone.

“You can’t afford her,” Sylus speaks over his shoulder; he’s already taken the lead in guiding you out of here. Mephisto squawks somewhere up ahead, appearing in a cloud of smoke and feathers.

Luke gives a defensive hmph as he holds you a tighter. Then he smiles down at you, and though it’s new, you know it’s far from the first time, and even further from the last.

…

“Are we really doing this?” you ask Sylus sceptically.

“Lighten up, sweetie.” He clicks his fingers.

Not far from you, currently oblivious to your presence, Kieran stands at the door of your leader’s study, still waiting for an order. The air above him changes: it swirls with a dark, scarlet mist. Luke drops out of it, landing straight on his twin’s back.

“What the—” Kieran splutters, but his brother’s arms are over his shoulders, around his neck. “Get off!” he squeaks out.

“No way. I was a prisoner,” Luke chortles. “You have to be super nice to me. Carry me everywhere. Boss said so.”

“He did not!”

And with those words, Kieran flips his other half the rest of the way over his shoulder; Luke lands on the ground with an unceremonious splat. All four limbs are sprawled. “Ow!” he whines.

Sylus has already strode the rest of the way into the room. “Play nice,” he scolds as he steps over Luke, then passes by Kieran.

“Yes, boss!” they chime, stilling obediently as the older man disappears into his study. The moment the doors close behind him, Kieran throws himself down. He wrestles with Luke, both of them laughing and rolling around as they try to hurt each-other.

It makes you think of those old, vintage cartoons you used to see on TV. You can just picture the cloud of dust, the colourful stars and shapes flying with every traded punch. Idiots.

You leave them to it, slinging yourself down on a couch and closing your eyes. Gods, you want to sleep. There’s blood dried to your hands and face, but you’ll shower later. There are grazes and cuts still bleeding, but you’ll tend to them later. Everything can wait.

The room has gone quiet. Too quiet; you open your eyes.

Luke and Kieran stand in front of you ominously, their figures symmetrical. The illusion of reflection is broken by Luke’s absent mask, but his eyes are just as unreadable.

“What?” you cave.

“You went rogue,” Kieran states, and his brother is nodding gravely, like this is a very serious infraction.

You smile. “I did go rogue.” More shameless than last time. “I got a free pass, though. Luke said it was hot.”

Kieran’s mask turns to face his twin, slow and resentful. Luke shrugs. “What? It was.”

There’s an impasse: long enough to make you think they’re having some kind of secret discussion. Both twins look at you. You smile sheepishly. You don’t think you’ll ever really know the entirety of what goes on in those heads, but it’s for the best. You value your sanity.

“You went rogue,” Kieran carries on, as if his speech had never been interrupted, and his authority not just completely undercut. He moves closer, slinking down beside you, and Luke plays the part of his mirror image. “There will have to be a… punishment.”

The word is elongated for effect, and it’s remarkably similar to Kieran’s ‘ghost voice’— which you know, thanks to the time he roped you into that ‘the base is haunted!’ prank. (Sylus did not, in fact, fall for it.)

“Bring it,” you murmur, closing your eyes again. “I just stormed a whole enemy base single-handed. I think I can handle the two of—”

Your voice meanders to a stop as Kieran nuzzles against you. His mask is off; you feel the soft of his face and the bridge of his nose. His breath is light on your neck. You smile, slipping deeper into your seat and then his embrace as his arms go around you. He’s warm. Really warm.

There’s a weight— Luke’s head on your lap— and he hugs you too, arms lower around your waist. His breath tickles your stomach. You hum in contentment, running your hands through his hair. 

He's safe. You're all safe.

They were never going to say thank you; it’s not in their nature. Their language isn't superficial. It isn’t words spoken aloud or feelings worn on the face— it can’t be. A smile is too easily read by the rest of the world, but a smile behind a mask? It’s private. Reserved only for those who’ve learnt to hear it in your voice, or see it in the way your body relaxes when you hold someone you care for.

A language of tiny, intimate details.

Kieran has never nestled his face quite so closely against you. You don’t think you’ve ever known Luke go so long without talking.

[satancopilotsmytardis]

Drabble-A-Thon 2 Prompt #1

Pairing: Shigadabi

Rating: Mature

Prompt: 24/7 TPE Dynamic

Contents: Mentions of sexual content, TPE, Dom/Sub, LOV Wins, collaring. 

Dabi is, for all intents and purposes, just Tomura's sub at this point. He is not a government official in the world that they've built after winning the war. He is not Endeavor's son who turned villain and killed the bastard false hero. He isn't even just 'Dabi, the Blue Flame arsonist' anymore. He is King Tomura Shigaraki's sub and the whole world knows it. He sometimes thinks that he has more power as his lover's sub than anyone else in the entire country can claim to have. Because he gets Tomura's attention at all times. 

No matter what else has to be done, every morning, Tomura wakes him up at dawn with a kiss to his temple and a murmured, "Time to get up, firefly." He gives him a kiss and unhooks his leash from the bedframe that is supposed to keep him there even if his lover has to leave early for work for one thing or another. He doesn't need the leash, he never disobeys. Not when following the orders means that his life is easy for the first time since he was a child. Not when Tomura would probably let the entire country crumble apart for the second time to make sure that Dabi is getting everything that he needs out of their dynamic. He thought for so long that his lover couldn't possibly be getting anything out of this, but he had assured him time and time again that he loves to take care of him. That knowing Dabi will do anything for him so long as he ensures that his needs are met soothes the thing inside of him that Dabi feels be put at ease just from knowing that there is someone who will never stop giving him the attention he always needs so badly. 

He is let out of the bed and taken to the bathroom and the tub is already filled for him. His clothes will be laid out for him by the time he's finished getting ready for the day. Dabi makes sure to do his mourning routine the way that his dom has outlined for him. He brushes his teeth with the toothpaste he was told to use, washes his hair and body with the soap that was picked out for him. There is a clock in their bathroom so he can be certain that he follows along with the schedule that was set up for him. When he's finished, he puts on the soft robe his lover leaves for him and goes back out into their bedroom where Tomura is waiting to change out his collars for the one he wears all day. The thick leather, pretty chains, spikes, and tag that let everyone they interact with know exactly how owned he is, and how happy he is to be owned. 

When they're finished dressing and preparing for the day, Tomura checks his own schedule. He has a lot to do. Dabi used to want to break his back taking on as much of the work as he could for his lover, but that didn't make him happy. He was happier when he could dictate what things Dabi could involve himself in, and for how long. He smiles so much more, kisses him so much sweeter now that he knows that Dabi won't work himself into insomnia, that he doesn't forget to eat anymore, and he isn't about to burn himself out just to try and prove that he can be useful. He can just be his and let Tomura make those decisions. That's enough. He's enough as long as he belongs to the other man. 

Tomura schedules out their days, and Dabi does still work. His dom trusts him to do that, but everyone knows that he's only allowed to for certain amounts of time a day, and by three each afternoon, Dabi is finished. He gets to spend the final hours that Tomura has to work curled up on the couch in his office reading if he's having meetings with other people. Or he gets to sit in his lap as he keeps his attention on his own tasks. Sometimes he gets to show his dom how happy he is to not have to make any of these decisions anymore when Tomura will call him over and stroke his thumb over his lips before he gently eases him down to the floor beneath his desk. He'll guide Dabi's mouth open, slip his cock inside, and let Dabi serve him. It makes his skin hum whenever he's allowed this and he always does his best to show how grateful he is as he sucks him off. 

After Tomura has finished his work for the day, they usually have dinner alone, but sometimes they see the others. Tonight they spend it alone however and, no offense to their friends, Dabi still likes their nights alone better. Nights alone means that the Tomura picks out whatever they're going to be eating. Dabi isn't allowed to indulge in substances like he used to before he killed his father, but Tomura will let him have a drink on the nights when he's been particularly well-behaved all day. Sometimes they share a plate so that Tomura can dote on him even more by feeding him bites of whatever they're having. Dabi eats whatever he's given happily, even on the rare occasion Tomura makes him have fish. His dom wouldn't make him do something he didn't like if it weren't important, and he trusts Tomura so much to not do anything to hurt him. He doesn't put up a fuss. 

He's rewarded for how well he behaves every night when they go back to their room. Sometimes it's just with closeness, Tomura holding him and kissing his temples and telling him how much he loves him. Sometimes his lover wants to appreciate how well he's taught him how to behave in bed too, having Dabi kneel, or spread himself out on the bed, body twisted into whatever arrangement that he deems appropriate so that he can use him to his heart's content before he gives Dabi permission to cum. Sometimes his lover spoils him rotten instead, giving his body pleasure after pleasure until he doesn't think that he can take it anymore. But he can. His dom knows everything that he can take. He's trained Dabi to be perfect for him, and he won't ever let him fail. 

Dabi didn't think that he would ever want to give up so much control over himself when he had so little of it at the start of his life, but he is so glad that he agreed when Tomura asked if they could try. He doesn't think that he could have ended up this happy if he hadn't. 

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