#˚‧⁺ ･ ˖ · a smile that lit up a room ... and the tears that drown. // musing.

[hollustu]

tag dump. feel free to keep scrolling.

˚‧⁺ ･ ˖ · out of fidelity. // ooc. ˚‧⁺ ･ ˖ · loyal to a few. // promos. ˚‧⁺ ･ ˖ · remember me fondly. // self promo. ˚‧⁺ ･ ˖ · passages in time. // prompts. ˚‧⁺ ･ ˖ · a sweet face is not all this flower is. // headcanons. ˚‧⁺ ･ ˖ · the goddess of fidelity herself. // sigyn. ˚‧⁺ ･ ˖ · her loyalty is not fickle ... but not free. // isms. ˚‧⁺ ･ ˖ · a smile that lit up a room ... and the tears that drown. // musing. ˚‧⁺ ･ ˖ · verse. 01. // the loyal wife to the god of mischief. ˚‧⁺ ･ ˖ · verse. 02. // the queen of asgard. ˚‧⁺ ･ ˖ · verse. 03. // she sold her soul so he could live. ˚‧⁺ ･ ˖ · verse. 04. // the world belongs to the dead.

[itzsana-kiddingmenow]

ᴛᴡ: soft tickles, minho being an absolute cutie pie, sungie pretending to ler but becoming very flustered

ᴀ/ɴ: LAST ONE WE'RE DONE!! ik ik i finished tickletober so late...ill post the thank you in a few but IM BACK BITCHES WHWEHHEIEMWEJO

𝒕𝒂𝒈𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒕: @someone-who-loves-kpop-saranghae @jeonginsdiary @leeknowstan33 @v--143 @wereallgonnadieonedaybutnottoday @inkytornpagess @lajanaa @a-wild-seungberry @channieissocute125 @soap143 @seungsluvv @skznccmlee @moony-9 @sunny-117 @minnielvrr

Jisung was just minding his own business being the babygirl of the group. Scrolling on his phone, being hugged and snuggled into every once in a while, and happy. 

Sitting in the 3RACHA studio and wrapped in a tight blanket, he was surprised when Channie walked in carrying a whiny, red-eared Minho bridal style. 

“Noooo!! Hyung don’ttt!” Minho cried from Chan’s arms. However, he was carried effortlessly across the room, and delivered straight into a blinking Jisung’s lap. 

“We’re all busy, and he’s in a lee mood.” Chan said simply, though it was nearly drowned over Minho’s very loud attempts to shut him up. 

Jisung gaped at Chan. “And what am I supposed to do about it?”

Chan stared right back with an exasperated look. “Tickle him! The little devil’s been bothering me for a while.” He shrugged and walked out, shutting the door behind him. 

Minho, face pink and ears slightly reddened, slowly looked at Jisung, who mused over how cute he looked. 

Right. So, tickling time. 

…How do I tickle my hyung?

Minho waited for Sungie to say something, staring at him with an embarrassment that radiated through the room. 

“Um—well, so. Uh, can you keep your h-hands up?” Jisung asked, his mind blanking as he thought of how Minho tickled him. So…reverse it? 

Jisung nearly shivered at the thought of going as rough on Minho as the older was on him. 

So, reverse…but softly. 

He watches Minho inch his hands up, face face more and more pink by the second. Minho finally clasps them above his head, and Jisung thought of a spot to attack first. 

“Is the belly fine? Do we wanna like, t-tickle somewhere else or—”

“Sungie…kindly, shut the fuck up and please just tickle somewhere.” Minho whined, his eyes nearly watering at this point. It was clear the anticipation was killing him more than anything else. 

“Oh���uh, okay!” Sungie replied awkwardly, his hands flitting to Minho’s sides, where he pinched experimentally before his ler instincts finally kicked in and he began to scribble and squeeze. 

Minho’s eyes lit up nearly instantly as he giggled, biting his lip and burying his face into his bicep, the sound soft and sweet and melodic. 

Jisung sighed. Oh, he was just too cute. Sungie was normally okay with tickling anyone else, but with Minho he always had a certain care, a certain gentleness. 

“Suhuhuhungie…” Minho guided Jisung’s wrists to his stomach, giving him a watery, slightly pleading look that had Sung melting instantly. Anything for his hyung. 

His hands kneaded and squished into the skin, making Minho jolt and laugh, his eyes tearing up and his cheeks blossoming into a beautiful pink blush, much like a flower. 

“Ihihihihit tihihihickles so bahahahhahad!!” Minho laughed, his voice muffled into his arm, but Jisung could hear it either way. 

“Does it now? Does it really tickle? Should I…blow a raspberry~? Will that tickle more~?”

“Yehehehehehesss!!” Minho nearly screamed, his eyes falling into cute crescents as Sungie kissed his sides before his gentle raspberries littered Minho’s exposed skin, tiny, rapid fire blows that had Minho squealing with each one. 

Minho felt giddy by the second, and his giggles made Sungie feel increasingly flustered. “Oh, hyung…” He sighed. 

“Ahahaahahahaha!!” Minho squirmed in Jisung’s lap, smile wide and giggly and Sungie wondered if this was what he looked like whenever he was being wrecked. 

He slowly traced up and down Minho’s sides, the soft skin twitching as Minho jerked side to side, unbearably ticklish sensations shooting through his body as he let out tiny shrieks of laughter. 

Sung watched Minho wriggle, knowing the older was probably struggling to keep his arms up, but he relished in Minho’s tiny grunts and his whines as the older boy laughed and laughed. 

“JISUHUHUHUNG!!” 

jisung stopped his fingers right above Minho’s armpits, the boy panting and looking at the fingers, biting his lip and shaking his head, whimpering with residual giggles as the younger grinned wickedly, lowering his fingers in the slowest way.  

Minho gasped as he watched in anticipation, shaking his head and squeezing his eyes shut. 

The second Jisung’s hands made contact, Minho’s arms shot down, his laugh turning borderline hysterical as Jisung kept his hands up in there, laughing along with Minho as the older squealed hysterically. 

“STOHOHOHOP STOHOHOHOP!! IHIHIHIT TIHIHIHICKLES THEHEHEHERE TOOHOHO MUHUHUHUCH!!” 

“Oh, I’m not gonna stop, don’t worry, baby~”

Jisung wondered when he should give him a break, but he didn’t wanna stop, and he was pretty sure Minho didn’t want to either. 

[distantdarlings]

WHAT FEELS LIKE FOREVER // t. nott (Multi-Part) PT. 3

RATING: R / 2.1K WORDS

Theodore Nott x Reader Insert (No gender-specific details)

+ SUMMARY - The band is invited to a welcome party, hosted by the venue of your first performance. Before the party, you and Theo stumble through attempted confessions, but never fully get anything out. At the party that evening, Theo has a bit too much to drink.

+ WARNINGS - Language, depictions of a fight, tension, eventual smut

+ MUSIC (listened to while writing) -

Miles To Go - Gregory Alan Isakov

---

The entire morning was wasted wondering if Theo had heard your silent confession. You had spoken it to the hotel sheets and captured it between the folds and dips waiting for a response. There had been no response from a sleeping giant wrapped in those sheets, though.

Your fingers trembled beneath the weight of your cigarette and the sorrow emitted from the rise of the dawn on the horizon. There was no breeze this morning and the waves were much gentler. It felt lonely without Theo by your side, but you knew the man was still sleeping in your bed. He was wrapped up in the sheets you had whispered your love to. You did not want to disturb him—he was so exhausted.

You sat down on the shore, feeling the soft sand against your skin. It was colder this morning and the throw wrapped tightly around you almost didn't cover it. 

"Good morning," a raspy voice spoke. It was not a honey and oatmeal voice. It was more of a nostalgic voice you'd hear on your brother's records. You turned and saw the owner of the record voice and, beside you, was the boy with the lullaby breath.

"What are you two doing here?" You asked, turning back to face the waves.

"We came out to have a smoke, that alright?" Mattheo mused. 

"Of course," you replied. The two men sat on either side of you, running their feet through the sand.

The both of them lit up, Mattheo reaching over to light Enzo’s with a gentle hand. You watched the ringed pinky of his friend touch the cheek of the other, trying to balance the lighter. You wondered if they ever felt something towards each other. This was a fucking screwed-up band, if they did.

You chuckled at your thought, staring back at the waves. Enzo cast an odd look at you as he took a drag from his cigarette.

"What is it?" he asked, the smoke seeping from between his lips as he spoke.

"Nothing, just a thought I had," you smiled a bit. Enzo returned the gesture then dropped the subject.

"This is quite nice," Mattheo spoke, feeling the ocean waves cast over his eyes.

"Yeah, it is."

× × ×

The room entrance seemed much more menacing than a hotel door should. Your hand lingered over the handle, trying to force yourself to open it. You were worried about what was on the other side. You didn't know what you might find other than Theo having gone back to his room, but your pulse still quickened.

You found the courage to open the door and step in. Theo lay awake, still tangled in your sheets, staring at the ceiling. Once you had stepped in, the older's eyes found you.

"Where’d you go?" Theo asked, his voice cracking with the morning.

"Just out to have a smoke," you whispered. "Have you just woken up? It’s really late."

"Yeah, I thought—" he cut himself off, never blinking.

"Thought what?" you asked, rubbing your fingertips along your jawline. The silence that ensued was enough to hear the waves down at the beach, ever-flowing. Theo finally blinked but his throat shuddered as if holding back tears. You wanted to say something—anything—but you couldn't. The words caught and wrapped around your throat like a cord, threatening to drown you in the deep endearment you felt for the man before you. 

He pulled himself from your sheets and walked over to the oldest. You could feel his heat from where you stood, could feel the way his heartstrings thrummed with desire. 

Theo’s nose was level with your and only far enough away that you didn't have to cross your eyes to focus. His breath mingled with your own and his eyes stared sharp like knives. The seasalt that had planted themselves in the your heart flickered down to your lips, your throat, your chest. He seemed just as nervous as you did.

"Hey…," he began. Your shoulderblades touched the wall and your breaths steadily rose in speed. You kept them quiet enough that Theo couldn't hear, but your heartbeat was so loud in your ears, you could've sworn that anybody could hear. His eyes found your lips again.

"We need to grab something to eat," you said quickly, shutting your eyes. You recognized what you’d done and how you’d completely destroyed what could've been a transforming moment. Still—you didn't shut up.

"You’re probably hungry—you didn't eat anything last night," you said.

"I’m starved, love," he said, plastering on an obviously fake smile. You sighed as he pulled away and walked out the door.

The man in question's pillow still lay on your bed, tangled in the sheets you’d whispered secrets to. You wanted to take it and give it to him. Make him stop and come back. Tell him how you felt. Feel his lips against your own. You shut your eyes again.

You tossed those thoughts from your mind and glanced at the clock in the corner. Five o'clock. It was nearly time for that stupid party you all were being dragged to. A kind of "Welcome to America" thing the venue had put together. You didn't want to go and, judging from the bruises beneath Theo’s tired eyes, he didn't want to go either. He’d slept all day and still looked as if he'd been awake for weeks.

There was most likely going to be alcohol at this party and this was all Theo needed for convincing. You knew that he was either really fun or really not when he was drunk. And you knew he'd get drunk. So you hoped it was going to be a good night.

"Hey," a voice and a knock came at the door.

"Yeah?" 

"May I come in?" It was Enzo. He had most likely come to ask you if you were ready for the party. Or maybe he just wanted to check on you.

"Sure."

When Enzo walked in and saw the messy sheets, his eyes flickered to yours. A knowing glint shown in his eyes.

"Nothing happened, if that's what you're wondering," you scoffed, crossing your arms over your chest.

"I didn't say anything.” He hid a smirk, his eyes falling to his shoes. You struggled to hide one as well as the red that had begun to paint your cheeks and the tips of your ears.

"Everything alright, then?" 

"Car’s pulling around front—Mattheo’s already waiting," Enzo shrugged.

"Oh, fuck!" You pushed the tall man out of the way, shoving a toothbrush in your mouth and haphazardly running a comb through your hair.

"Why did no one warn me?" You shouted, mumbling around the toothbrush. Drops of sudsy saliva hit the mirror and just barely missed Enzo’s newly-shined shoes.

"This is it—I’m the warning," he deadpanned, stepping out of your rushing way.

You yanked your suit out of the closet and ripped your jumper off, tossing it on the bed. 

"Undo the tie," you mumbled, handing it to him. The younger rolled his eyes and complied, quickly getting to work. 

You pulled the jacket and shirt off the hanger and quickly shoved your arms in each hole. You yanked the pants up your legs, tightening them around the waist, feeling the leather belt chafe against your hipbones.

"Here," he said. He buttoned the top button on the shirt and thread the tie around your collar. 

"Guys!" A breathless Mattheo appeared at the still-open door. "Are you coming or what?"

"Yes, give us a minute—Christ!" You hissed, slipping your jacket on while Enzo finished off your tie, tightening it up to your throat. You gripped the toothbrush and spit the residue into the sink, dropping the wet object on the towel you’d set out on the counter.

You grabbed your key and pushed the two men out the door. You muttered a quiet thanks to the both of them as they hurried down the stairs at the end of the hallway. 

Just as they reached the bottom of the stairs, the car pulled round with a very upset Theo waiting impatiently. His foot was tapping rather quickly and he was checking his watch.

You gulped at his current mood. Bad moods led to bad highs and Theo was exhausted and ready to relax—whether or not he wanted to admit it.

"'Bout time, yeah?" He said, rolling his eyes and turning towards the car.

"Sorry, mate, lost track of the time," you said to him, sliding in right after he did.

"It's…fine," he sighed, avoiding eye contact with you. You knew who he was pissed off at and you didn't rather enjoy thinking about it. Enzo gave you a look and mouthed a subtle 'okay?' You nodded and nervously gripped your knees. You saw the flesh run white, echoing the pressure with which you were bearing your fingers down.

Theo stared out the window, watching the streetlights glare against the glass. He looked anywhere but at you, who could practically feel the seasalt in his heart fading a bit. The sudden cold shoulder made your chest ache though you were anything but foreign to this feeling. You clenched your eyes at your own stupidity, knowing this was because of your ridiculous reaction back in the hotel room. 

You wanted to apologize to Theo for your odd behavior earlier but you didn't know what to say. You also didn't want to say it with an audience, you wanted to tell Theo alone where you could be sincere. 

Theo finally made eye contact with you and your heart skipped a beat or two. It seemed as if the older was going to say something to you but he turned to the other two men in the car and asked some stupid question. Fucking lovely.

× × ×

The party venue was dull and annoyed you to no end. You felt like falling asleep in the corner but the small buzz in your veins was what was keeping you awake. 

From what you’d heard about this party, you’d expected a nice event filled to the brim with pearl-choked deep pockets that were faker than the diamonds they wore. What you were met with, however, was a smoky dimly-lit room with buzzed young people. It looked as if the venue had let in just about anyone who'd shown up, no matter their appearance or social ranking. 

"Love…," a blurred voice spoke. You turned to find Theo—already completely shit-faced—losing his balance. The intoxicated man stumbled against the floor and fell against your chest, his face falling in between the crook of your neck. You gasped at the sudden contact and the slurred humming that was coming from your friend. 

"Theo, the hell are you doing?"

The older giggled in your ear, his breath fanning against your skin. Chills ran down your arms at the proximity between the two of you.

"What are you doing?" Theo asked, playfully poking your cheek with a single finger.

"Hey, Nott!" A rather loud voice shouted. Beneath the dim lighting, you struggled to see who had called out your friend's name. You squinted at the approaching figure while Theo attempted to turn around and gain steady footing. His extremely inebriated brain was making that hard for him.

"What the fuck do you want?" he mumbled, waving his hand around in an attempt to be threatening. 

"Been messin' with my girl, have ya?" the large man gave a small shove to Theo’s shoulder. You stepped forward at this, placing your hand between the two of them.

"No, your girl's fucking ugly," he responded with a giggle. You winced at those words, seeing the way the man's face contorted at Theo’s comment. 

You were almost sure the bottle of liquor in Theo’s hand had fallen before the man's strike had hit its mark, but you couldn't be sure. The man's fist hit Theo’s face and the bottle shattered and that was it. A few screams and mumbles filled the room as the fight broke out. Theo had fired back almost instantly, his drunken fist swinging around like a weather vane in a hurricane. 

"Theo, stop!" You reached for the enraged man.

"Back off!" he shouted, shoving you away as hard as he could. You fell to the ground just as his bottle had at the force of his push. Your tail bone cracked against the single stair that led to the next room over where people had started to gather to see what all the commotion was about. You winced at the burst of pain.

The man hit Theo again—hard. You flinched as his neck jerked to the side from the power packed into the punch.

"What the fuck—is that Theo?" a voice said behind you. Mattheo and Enzo ran from behind you and swiftly pulled Theo back by either arm. The stranger tried to launch himself back at Theo but some other people had pulled him back as well.

"Christ, Theo," Enzo sighed, holding the older man up.

[edupunkn00b]

Meus ex Machina, Chapter 13: Taking Turns

Edited public domain image of two hands reaching for each other, lit in deep blue and neon green.

Prev - Taking Turns - Next - Masterpost - [ AO3 ]

Late at night, long after the others have gone to bed, Logan returns to the basement to see Remus. But first, Janus teaches teenaged Virgil how to play chess.

“Are you sure this is a real game, Jan?” Virge had protested with a laugh, smirking down at the pieces Janus laid out. “The horse can’t even move in a straight line!” 

Janus merely shrugged and advanced a pawn. “Quite. And that ‘horse’ is called a knight.” He hid his smile better than Virge hid his eye roll. “My grandmother first taught me how to play when I was half your age. This had been her set.” With Luc and the twins out on a training excursion in the drowned coast, the house had been quiet. After helping Patton bake for as long as his attention span would allow, Virge had meandered into the common room and pulled down the old set.

Despite his protests, he’d taken to the game faster than Janus had. And certainly faster than Janus had expected him to.

Chin pillowed on the backs of his hands, Virge now sat slouched in front of the chess board, scowling lightly. Janus’ black knight made no sound as it captured Virgil’s queen. He hummed and sat back, waiting as Virge assessed the changed board. The boy had been over-reliant on the overpowered piece and neglected his knights, thinking them useless. 

Now, purple-ringed eyes peered closely at each piece.

Janus couldn’t help his little nod when Virge sat up straight, staring at the rook he’d left vulnerable. He was even more pleased when Virge didn’t take the bait and instead moved a bishop to C6 to take advantage of the opening.

“Very nice,” he murmured, pointedly ignoring the proud blush on the teenager’s cheeks. Well, technically still a teenager. Back in his parent’s time, Virge would now be old enough to vote. “With practice, soon you’ll be beating me.” He stepped another pawn forward and folded his hands. “I think you’ve got an even chance of beating Papa Bear if you try.”

“Are my ears burning? Or are you just singing my praises?” Patton laughed, plopping down onto the couch next to Virge. A plume of cinnamon and vanilla-scented flour accompanied his laughter. 

“Jan was just suggesting I challenge you to a game of chess.” He brandished a captured bishop and grinned.

Smile twisting into a wince, Patton rubbed the back of his neck. “Oh, I don’t know, Kiddo. I’m not much for chess…” His voice trailed away when Virge put on big puppy dog eyes. 

“Please, Pops?”

“Yes, please, Pops?” Janus added, chuckling when Patton rolled his eyes.

“Oh, alright,” he caved, eyeing the board. “Lemme take the bread out of the oven and I’ll watch you finish this game to warm up, okay?” He squeezed Virge’s shoulder, smiling down with that same indulgent grin he still gave Luc sometimes.

“Deal!” Virge vibrated in his seat, the prospect of actually winning a match giving him fresh energy.

Janus didn’t leave him to bask for long, though. “First you’ll need to get out of check.”

“Wha—?” Eyes wide, he scanned the board, sighing when he finally noticed the rook in striking distance of his king. “How the f—”

Luc’s distress signal censored him, the flashing orange lights giving their movements a stuttered effect as he and Virge leapt to their feet. Virge’s captured bishop rolled under the table.

Worry pinched Patton’s face as he rushed back from the kitchen, tearing off his oven mitts. Their shared fear reflected back at them, Patton's voice nothing but a whisper. "Lukie?"

~

After his first visit was cut short by Hesper’s alarm, Logan returned to The Muse’s room each of the following three nights. Though V never mentioned how he’d found him in the basement that night, the lack of censure didn’t feel like approval.

So he would wait until long after the sun had set, until HQ grew quiet and his own eyes would grow heavy and he didn’t need to feign his yawns before retreating to his room with quiet ‘good night’s.

With his door cracked open and ears tuned to the creaks and shuffles of the halls, he sat in the window seat, tablet balanced on his lap as he tapped between the camera arrays in a slow loop. First the hallways to the other Mad Lads’ rooms, then the common room, the med bay, and finally, the cameras just outside The Muse’s room. 

Fighting his own drooping eyelids, he’d wait for the hallways to dim and then he’d count down another thirty minutes before wrangling his chair and heading downstairs.

And for each of those three nights, by the time he’d reached it, The Muse’s room had been dark and still. No moving shadows visible through the tiny window, no sounds beyond a faint snore from the little vent Logan had discovered on the second night.

He stayed for as long as he dared, the memory of V’s tight expression in the elevator growing clearer even as drowsiness fuzzed the rest of his thoughts.

The Muse’s breathing quieted, shifting into a peaceful, regular rhythm. Logan listened, head resting against the cushioned side of his chair. The Muse’s room wasn’t completely dark and as his eyes adjusted to the dim light, he made out the shape of a small table, books stacked on top. Real, bound, paper books.

Rolls and rolls of drawings were scattered around the room, some piled beneath the table. A cup sat overturned on the counter, next to a half-filled pitcher of pink-colored liquid.

Logan suddenly jerked in his seat,  and he grunted, the sudden movement sending fire over his shoulder. He rubbed the sore muscle and blinked, belatedly realizing he must have dozed off. The Muse’s room was still dim, his sleep sounds louder now to Logan’s barely awake ears.

He reached out and traced his fingers over the window, the plexisteel cool to the touch. “I’ll try again tomorrow night, Muse,” he promised, then rolled back to the elevator and to his room for his own much-needed sleep.

~

Four nights. Four whole nights. It had been four whole nights since he’d last seen Machina. Seven nights—an entire fucking week!—since that first glorious visit when he’d peeked outside and stared back at eyes the color of the sky in books.

He’d begun to fear Machina wouldn’t ever return. After that first visit was cut short, The Muse had feared Machina had been scared off Or blocked. But Jannie wouldn’t do that, would he? He wouldn’t actually keep Machina imprisoned upstairs. Virge wouldn’t, either.

Virge could. The Muse grinned and traced another shape onto the papered floor. Back when he and Virge had started testing the cameras and the locks, back before… The charcoal snapped in his hand, ash exploding against the paper. He smeared his fingers through the dusty shrapnel and nodded. Before that, he and Virge had practiced locking each other out from different rooms, testing the boundaries of how quickly they could switch on and off the permissions.

Ro had hated when he’d locked him out of their room, pounding on the door until his fists grew sore. And until Lucas came and made them reset the locks.

“Ha,” he muttered. “Guess that wasn’t the best idea I’d ever had, huh, Ro Bro? Didn’t know I’d be the one locked out of the controls.”

Still no Machina.

He went to bed each night curled on his side, one eye peeking out from the covers to watch the door. He stared at the elevator panel light spilled over the hallway’s floor, waiting, waiting, waiting, waiting, waiting and wishing for that wobble that might mean Machina was on his way downstairs. He could picture the lights brighten and dance, the little flicker as the floor numbers changed with the elevator’s movements. He could almost feel the rumble of the elevator touching down, that little click-buzz that even Jannie said he couldn’t feel.

He could almost see those bright blue eyes beaming back at him, light not just reflecting, but shining out of them, undimmed by fear or revulsion. Or guilt. A soft glow no-one else had anymore when they came to see him.

Each night, he fell asleep seeing those eyes. Pretending he could see them, at least. That was nearly as good.

But three nights ago, he’d woken—been woken?—by something. It wasn’t the elevator and there was no movement outside the door. But something had pulled him from his sleep, pulled him from his nest and he’d crawled to the window and peeked out.

Machina!

Face pressed to the window, The Muse watched the slow rise and fall of Machina’s chest as he slept in his chair. His head was tilted at an bad angle—fuck that was gonna hurt when he woke up—but his face was smooth and peaceful in sleep. Machina’s stitches had healed nicely, four thin red lines along either side of his face. The Muse brushed his fingers down his own face, his own scars flat and smooth as Machina’s looked. He nodded. Jannie was now nearly as good at sewing up his damage as Papa Bear was.

The wounds from his thumbs hadn’t gone as deep and Machina hadn’t even needed stitches for his, the shorter, shallow cuts highlighting the curve of his neck and underside of his jaw. He could’ve even gotten those shaving.

Machina sighed in his sleep, turning his head the other way. Good. He’d stretch the muscles in the other direction now and hopefully wake up with less of a crick in his neck.

Shivering, The Muse raced back to his bed and pulled two of the blankets out from their heap and brought them back to the door. Machina had already dressed for sleep, a heavy hoodie—was that one of Virge’s?—layered over a thermal just like his. The left sleeve was folded and pinned up, just like his thick knit sleep pants. No more cold feet, cold cold cold cold feet, no more cold feet… danced through The Muse’s head, but he knew the truth. He’d heard it when the shield fell. 

Machina’s feet were always cold. Cold and aching and screaming for a soft warmth he didn’t know how to give them.

The Muse bunched up his larger blanket on the floor and hunkered down under the other, drawing it up over his head. Machina should be wearing his hood up to trap his body heat better, but maybe it was comfy like it was, gathered up just under his jaw like a tiny pillow.

The Muse copied him, tucking a bit of his blanket between his shoulder and his head and he leaned against the door. If he tilted his head just right he could still watch the little flutter of Machina’s bangs as he breathed.

It was the last thing he saw before sleep finally took him again.

~

A few nights later, Logan spotted the shadow hopping across the floor as soon as he emerged from the elevator. He rolled out into the hall and smiled back at the face pressed against the window.

“You’re back, you’re back, you’re back! You really came back!” The Muse cried. His voice cracked, hoarse and thick. Tears glistened in the corners of his eyes, his chapped lips stretched painfully over a wide grin.

“Yes,” Logan nodded, steering his chair as close as he could manage to both the window and the vent. “Can you hear me this time?” he asked, watching The Muse’s face as it twisted between a sob and laughter. Without thinking, he reached toward him, hand stopped by the unforgiving window.

“I can hear you,” The Muse nodded. “Well…” He wobbled his head, light glinting against the wetness in his eyes. “Not hear you, but…” As though distracted by his mangled hand, The Muse stared down at it, eyebrows and lips scrunched down, scowling. 

Logan was about to pull his hand away, to keep it out of sight in his lap. Then he heard The Muse’s quiet whisper. 

“Always, always between. Always between,” he muttered and traced the shape of Logan’s hand before pressing his own, fingers splayed, against it. 

The plastic warmed between their palms.

“Do you…” He looked up and met Logan’s eyes. The Muse’s eyes were a clear, bright green, a greener green than his brother’s, undarkened by sunlight the way young children’s eyes looked before they dimmed with age.

He shuddered at the implication.

“Do you still want to come inside?” The Muse asked, voice warbly. Watery eyes stared back at him and The Muse swallowed, visibly bracing himself for a rejection.

Smiling, Logan stretched and pressed his palm against the controls. The door slid open with a woosh, exhaling the scent of sweat and charcoal, paper and tea. The Muse scrambled back, leaving space for him to enter. “I need to leave my chair…” his voice trailed off, unsure if he was asking or telling.

“Yeah,” The Muse nodded, gnawing on the inside of his cheek. “You… You can stay out there if…”

Logan shook his head. “I'm coming in,” he said and launched himself out of his chair and into The Muse’s room.

[silvurs]

i have finally managed to log back in here, and just in time for my edmund muse to go through the roof. so this is a rather specific au that's been rattling about my head , which i may or may not attempt to write a multi-chapter fic for if people like the concept.

introducing a slice of life , casmund one shot ( only 1.3k words ) , set in my edmund pevensie spiderverse , snow!spider au . a03 link above if you'd rather read it on there.

A soft, breathless “hey” brushing against his ear, is a nice way to wake up, even when his eyes are too heavy, pressing down like concrete. And he might be worried, might have felt the sharp spark of panic wilting his way through his lungs at the thought, an echo of dust, and cracks, and the weight of half a building crushing against his bones. Might, if not for the thumb brushing over the edge of his jaw, smoothing along his cheek to rub the edge of his eyebrow. 

The rich depth of warmth, like stars sinking into the dark, fizzles along his skin just enough to bring him to the surface. Not the sharp, jagged edges, clawing for the surface, (ice ice ice) tearing at the water hoping for air, no. It’s the soft, dazzling surface of heat pressing against his back, and the faint scent of honey lingering in the peck against the corner of his mouth. 

“Hey,” he murmurs, mouth dry, throat scratchy, eyes fluttering into the blissfully low-lit room, deep embers of the lamplight shaded and soothing. “What time is it?”

“Just gone midnight,” Caspian’s voice is tender, apologetic as a noise reverberates from his throat - not a whine, but discomfort creasing along the lines of his forehead, eyebrows knitting together hazily. “I know, but you should take another dose.”

“I’ll live without it.” He breathes, as much as he can between the cotton stuffed in his head, which grows more apparent the longer he’s awake, fighting for his focus with the faint buzzing in his head. 

“You would, miserably.” Caspian sighs softly, air slipping over his neck, “Take it, for me?” 

His chest swells, like hot butter seeping into his skin, traces of cinnamon where his ribs should be, held up by a sponge rising in his chest. Sponge indeed, as a deep cough lurches up his throat, like moss clinging to his lungs, spelling out in a harsh, wet jag. A warm hand rubs over his back soothingly as his muscles tremble, and he sags backwards into the propped-up pillows with a reluctant groan. 

“Mmmh.”

“Thank you.” 

There’s a teasing edge to Caspian’s voice that he wants to rebuke, but his chest aches, and he settles for pressing his palm into his breastbone. The thumb returns, lightly stroking the side of his face, as a shiver fumbles through his spine. 

“Open your eyes, love.”

When had he closed them? 

Edmund drags his gaze up from the soft grey covers of the duvet bunched over his stomach, to Caspian, in matching loose sweatpants, propped up on one elbow with that gentle, all-knowing smile, an ember where the earth joins the roots of the tree’s, basking in a golden dawn.  

“Hey.” He repeats, half a smile, and Caspian rolls his eyes fondly. 

Sometimes it was like everything he did was fond. Not like Peter, who watched him like the ground would fall away, and he was too far away to reach, those bright blazing blues drowning in themselves. But more like, even when they were fighting, Caspian’s face marred with deep, weary lines, knitted in frustration and lips pressed tightly together, even then, he’d push a sweater towards him because somehow he always knows when Edmund has forgotten one. 

“Take them.” 

It’s firm, dipped in amusement, and Edmund searches for the glass of water on the bedside table, as Caspian leaves the little pastel red capsules on his lap and climbs up off the bed. He swallows with difficulty he doesn’t want to admit, ( and a silent prayer of thanks to Aslan , because lord knows , his metabolism burnt anything mundane up like it was a melting spec of snow ) a choking cough into his wrist, a steady thumping rattling around his head and a frown that was definitely not a pout. 

“Here,” Caspian returns, padding into the room in bright red socks that Edmund knows are pulled high up on his shins underneath his joggers, holding two mugs. “Tea for you, sire.”

Edmund snorts, and groans, taking the mug between his hands with a grateful glance, a shiver rippling along his shoulders as the hot edges pulse through his skin, and Caspian finally climbs in properly, shifting under the sheets until their shoulders are pressed together. 

“How was work?” He sniffs, steam rolling up off the tea, watering his eyes, and he sniffs again, as it aggravates the buzzing in the back of his head. 

“Not horrible,” Caspian hums, “I would have been back sooner - bless you - but Jill almost blew up a lab.”

Dark eyes that seem to swallow him whole, down to the jewels of his soul, as he jerks forward with a second sneeze, smothered into the crook of his elbow, just managing not to spill his tea. 

“Blew up a lab?” Edmund blinks, rubbing a hand down his face. “Which lab?”

“Almost,” Caspian corrects, passing him a tissue, palm smoothing over his thigh for a moment with a gentle squeeze. “She was trying to replicate your webbing in the intern lab.”

He thinks that should probably be a bigger cause for concern, but it’s Jill Pole, and his head was thumping too loudly to make room for any fleeting panic.  

“Rather Jill than-” He swallows hard, name pressing like shards into his throat and he breaks off with a shudder, coughing thickly into his elbow. 

“Drink your tea.” Caspian says quietly, lips grazing the side of his head once more, hand coming up, pressing into his curls, and his skin tingles at the contact. For once, he does as asked, pressing the faded blue mug to his lips and barely holding back a moan of pleasure as honey soothes, caught in the tang of lemon that beats away any notion of it being too sickly. A soft chuckle muffled into his hair, and he suspects he hadn’t held that back as well as he thought. 

It was easier than he thought it would be, draining the cup until his eyes flutter hazily with tiredness, and his throat isn’t as nearly as dry as before. But it’s not until his cheek is pressing into sturdy warmth and soft fingers brush against his hair that he realises he’s drifting off, head resting on Caspian’s shoulder. 

Edmund shifts, guilt stirring in his stomach as a soft murmur rolls over his head, chatter he had not heard, like a listless bird in the wind, just as cold as winter roams outside. 

The irony, a bitter aftertaste swirling through his stomach, that he should be in his element and yet, one night too many between falling snow drenching his suit and harsh cold winds, or rain dowsing his hair in early morning starts towards the History block if he ever wanted to become a Professor, somehow it was snow that had taken him down. 

Perpetually damp, that’s how it felt, no matter how warm the suit was, and desperately cold. It was too reminiscent, too close, like painful shards of memories tugging at his hair until it stings his scalp and blurs into his head. He never wanted to be that cold again. 

“Ed,” a flush of warmth as Caspian’s chin rests on the crown of his head. “I can hear you thinking.”

“Sorry.” He mumbles, closing his eyes, pressing closer until he was in the warmth of Caspian’s neck, and that musky cologne, faint glimmers of nutmeg and the rose petals of his hair. An arm wraps around his side, solid, stable, a faded kiss.

“Go to sleep, love.” A shiver of a different kind, chest warming, fingers curling into Caspian’s shirt. “I’ve got you.”

He sniffs, pressing his feet against Caspian’s sock, clad ankles, and tries to push the chill from his skin. 

( “Did she manage to-“

“Ed.”

“Sorry.” )

fin . 

[littlefreya]

Henry's reaction to finding out GF's house is haunted.

Summary: Henry’s friend invites him over to watch a horror film on Halloween, problem is he is madly in love with her.

Pairings: Henry Cavill x Unamed OFC (3rd person, no description)

Warnings: RPF, fluff, romantic goo, friends to lovers or rather idiots to lovers, brief mentions of alcohol and Henry’s green hoodie p0rn.  

Words: 1.6K

A/N: So I had to take it to the “friends to lovers” lane, also I will need all the fluff after what I am about to post tomorrow :|! Divider by @firefly-graphics. Beta’d by my beautiful @agniavateira​ . Also FYI my house is totally haunted.

Please comment and reblog if you enjoyed. 

Haunted Houses

All Hallow's Eve was Henry’s favourite time of the year. The spicy autumn air was thickly shrouded by magic. Spooky tales and plastic spiders inhabited drapes of thin cotton tendrils and fat pumpkins carved with scary faces would sit on his doorstep to welcome him home or bid him farewell on his way out. 

Per tradition, he would rally close friends at midnight for a horror flick and pineapple-anchovy pizza; often a bottle of rum would be added to the party. However, this Halloween fell on a bittersweet period, as his friends grew too old for said spooky gatherings. Starting new families of their own, they had no time to indulge him.

All save for her, who just like him was still somehow single. 

How bad would it be to spend the evening just the two of them... alone? Ignoring the fact that it was enough to see her name flicker on the screen of his phone for pure warmth to enkindle in his chest. He thought about her often before he fell asleep and when he woke up; and by often, he meant every single day since he met her.

Though she didn’t think much of him as anything other than a friend she loved to banter with - he presumed. And of course she loved Kal, possibly more than she cared for him. Yet, Henry did what he did best: bury his emotions into a little pit he dug in the graveyard of his mind. 

"Heh!” Henry croaked as the door opened. His sapphires ensnared the veils of black that cloaked her, preserving the sight of silk laces tied tightly at her torso in what seemed like a gothic medieval gown. 

“I see you took off your costume for the evening." 

She narrowed her eyes but only to observe his attire carefully: that same green hoodie and a pair of worn jeans that complimented his… asset. 

She wanted to etch her fingers around the thick fabric and have a whiff of this hoodie, or perhaps just steal it and wear it forever and a day.

"First of all, it is called The Witching Hour so I must dress properly. Secondly - where is your costume, Cavill?" she crossed her arms together, looking rather displeased. 

“I’m dressed as a homicidal maniac, we look like everybody else does.” 

Snorting, she tilted her head, unimpressed. “You totally just stole this joke from Wednesday Addams.” 

Henry shrugged and pressed his lips to a thin line. One of his foolish expressive gestures. It made her feel less nervous to which she was thankful. When she suggested they’d hang out despite them being the only two, she didn’t think much of the consequences of being all alone with the man who inhabited her mind and never paid rent. Everything about Henry made her feverish, but it was always easy when others accompanied them. The awkward anxiety of having to entertain him wasn’t her job, not up till now… 

Oh, god! What if they had nothing to talk about? What if their playful chemistry was always influenced by the presence of other people?

Beads of sweat began to form below her breasts when Henry shoved a bottle of rum into her hand and then leaned in to steal a casual kiss from her cheek. She smiled with a friendly huff in return, stifling the shiver that coursed through her muscles while he welcomed himself into her home. 

Striding forward, he peered at the Halloween decorations she hung across the walls and inhaled deeply - the scent of maple and buttery chestnuts filled the cosy little house, a scent that he could easily get intoxicated with. 

It was what she smelled like and here he was, drowning in its excess.

After a quick observation, he turned to look at her, holding his hands clasped behind his back. She smiled awkwardly in return and then averted her gaze, becoming fascinated by the bottle he brought.

‘There it is,’ Henry mused, ‘that embarrassing silence, there is so much to tell her, but she probably… no! She definitely finds me boring.’

This Halloween celebration would probably be the last and it was all sorts of disastrous. 

Trying to overcome the silence, he cleared his throat and reached a hand to scratch his curly mane. “So what movie are we watching?”

“Movie?” she asked confused and then quickly corrected, “Oh yes, umm... The Exorcist.” 

“Good, love me some green vomit.” his eyes followed carefully as she waltzed into the small open kitchen, placing the rum on the counter and then returning with a large bowl that made his nostrils flare.

“Green vomit goes extremely well with caramelised popcorn,” she suggested and popped a golden flake of popcorn into her mouth. 

“Sweet-salty popcorn? I love you!” Henry groaned and snatched the bowl right away. It was only when his mouth was stuffed that he realised what words he just used. 

But she didn’t seem to react, thankfully. Instead, she brushed a hand over her many skirts and pointed toward the living room.

Hugging the bowl, Henry strode behind her, entering the dimly lit living room. The traditional pizza was already laid on the wooden coffee table, along with a few bottles of Guinness. 

Her couch was small, only fit for a couple. And Henry, being a hulking man, took most of the space. Their thighs immediately ground into one another’s, yet they both pretended as if they hadn't noticed the hot tingle running beneath the layers of clothing. 

“I have to warn you about something,” she uttered, hoping that the tremor she suddenly felt in her body was not visible to him. 

Henry crooked his eyebrow, looking at the ominous glare she offered.

“My house is totally haunted.”  

Not waiting for his answer, she grabbed the remote and pressed play. Henry chuckled at her silly joke, waiting for her to break character but she only peered at the screen.

“Nice try, I am not scared of that stuff.” He shifted in his seat slightly, lifting his lengthy arm and spreading it on the headrest right behind her. Immediately, he regretted this semi-possessive masculine gesture, but it was too late to pull it away. 

Her instincts screamed to snuggle into him yet she held back. “Don’t believe me, but I am not making this up,” she insisted, “Every night around 3 am, I hear scratching from within the walls and these thuds from the ceiling, and then one night… I woke up the door creaking.”

Henry glanced at her quietly for a long moment, watching the reflection from the screen gyrating over her glossy irises and then snorted. He leaned toward the coffee table and grabbed two beers, uncorking them with the help of his pinky ring and then offering her one of the bottles. 

“I think you have rats.”

“Rats who make heavy thuds and open bedroom doors?”

“Yup, a big fat randy rat.” he teased. “We’ll take a look at your bedroom later, but I promise you, there are no such things as ghosts.”

‘We’ll take a look in your bedroom? Great…’ He berated himself. At this point, he just wanted to sigh and shake his head. 

She peered at him oddly, her throat clenching a tad before she turned her head back to the movie with a mumble, “It’s not a ghost, it’s a demon.” 

Within a few minutes they grew quiet, deciding to focus on the movie with the occasional dry jokes and bad puns from Henry as an attempt to overcome his anxiety. Outside the window, thunder rumbled in the distance and shy raindrops lightly kissed the glass, tinted with the many vague shades of lights coming from the street. 

Now and then, Henry shifted in his seat, his meaty thigh further grinding into her leg which stirred her blood to the point of electric spasms. She lightly pushed against him, pretending it’s by accident when truthfully, she wanted to exploit every second of being in his proximity. Had she any guts, she would turn to kiss him, but the thought alone made her heart clench in fear.

She threw him a glance, and their eyes met. Henry offered a kind grin, avoiding staring at her lips. She smiled back coyly, her heartbeat accelerating with anticipation when the possessed girl in the movie made a horrifying groan that ruined the moment. 

And then the room suddenly was swallowed in darkness, followed by a strong clap of thunder that tore open the sky.  

In the scant moment of chaos, he heard a scream and then the light came back as if nothing happened, aside from the fact that she was now in his arms, with her legs straddling his waist, and her fingers clutching the collar of his hoodie. 

Henry was unsure how and when his hand found itself latched to the small of her back, only that he didn’t want to let go. They exchanged bemused glances and swallowed the dryness parching their throats.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered hoarsely, “I got scared…”

Embarrassed to the point of tears, she attempted to climb off, wanting nothing more than to run to the bathroom and cry in hiding, when Henry sent a hand to stroke her temple and gently brushed his fingers behind her ear.

“Stay,” he insisted, squeezing into her lower back as if to prevent her from escaping. 

Her lips parted slowly, the same golden hue that suffused the living room split into her eyes, beaming even brighter as he continued to caress her face before bringing her closer to graze her lips with his.

Halloween was, without a doubt, his favourite. 

Tagging: @the-soot-sprite​ @henrythickcavill​ because they asked to be tagged in these. <3 

[hurting-fictional-people]

Whumpee 13?

Whumpee 13: “Please don't hurt them.”

“Please don’t hurt them.”

Every eye in the room turns to them, and Whumpee does their best not to hunch over and hide away. It is their first instinct, and it almost hurts to step up, but this time, this one time, they straighten their spine and look straight into Whumper's eyes, refusing to see the horror slowly seeping into Caretaker’s expression, the no forming on their lips.

“I, I know they hurt someone you loved. That’s why you're here, isn’t it?” Whumper tips their head to the side and looks Whumpee up and down, but they don’t deny it, so Whumpee goes on. “If you want– if, if you want Caretaker to hurt the same way you did, then hurt me. Not them.”

Caretaker doesn’t move. Doesn’t say anything. Whumpee doesn’t have to look to know they are frowning and blinking fake-confused eyes in Whumpee’s direction, or to know there's a glint of terror in there, as hidden as they can make it.

“And who are you, if I may ask?” Whumper says, silky voice like a rope around Whumpee’s throat, stealing their air as they stare at the long fingers playing with Caretaker’s hair, kneeling at Whumper’s feet with their hands behind their back.

Whumpee draws in a deep breath and meets Caretaker’s gaze. “I’m their partner.”

“Oh. Is that true, darling?” Whumper pulls their hair and their head along with it until Caretaker looks up, right into their captor’s eyes. “Is that fragile thing yours?”

“I barely know them,” Caretaker utters through gritted teeth, “that’s my neighbor, they were just here to talk about the broken fence. I don’t know why they are trying to help me.”

“What is your name, neighbor?”

“Whumpee.”

“Why would you lie for someone you barely know, Whumpee?”

“I wouldn’t,” they whisper, trying not to shudder under Whumper's piercing gaze. “They are not telling you the truth.”

“And why is that?”

“Because they want to protect me.”

A tear slips from the corner of Whumpee’s eyes when Caretaker closes theirs, and when they look up at Whumper, it's to find them smiling and nodding at the henchman holding Whumpee’s arms behind their back.

One second they are standing, trying to breathe through the fear. The next, Whumpee is pushed down on their knees, right in front of Caretaker, almost close enough to touch them.

“Well, there is only one way to find out who’s lying,” Whumper croons, and another one of their men appears beside Whumpee to shove them forward and guide their hands to the floor for a heavy boot to step on.

Whumpee gasps and widens their eyes at their trapped hands, but they don’t try to pull away. As long as it isn’t Caretaker the one being hurt, they can take it.

“Eyes on them, dear,” Whumper says, grabbing Caretaker’s cheeks and turning them to Whumpee, forcing their eyes to meet. “One of you is lying. This only ends when you admit who it is.”

There is as much concealed horror on Caretaker’s face as there is bared courage on Whumpee’s. This isn’t a game Caretaker can win, not this time, and that is enough for Whumpee to swallow down the fear and give their partner the tiniest of smiles.

I’ll be okay as long as you are.

Whumpee is still staring at them when noise sounds behind their back. They don’t look away until something collides with their skin, drawing a line of fire across their back and tearing a choked scream out of their mouth.

A whip.

They clench their jaw in preparation for the next strike, but it’s in Caretaker’s wide eyes that they find the strength to sit back on their heels and make no sound at all when the whip falls for the second time.

The third one tears their shirt open.

When the fourth lands right over already sore skin, Whumpee can’t hold back a wail. They lean forward with the force of the blow, but push themself back to their hunched position and look up at Whumper with pure, unrestrained hatred.

Whumper smirks at Whumpee, but when the whip cracks again, their eyes are on Caretaker.

When the sixth lash cuts through their skin and sends blood oozing down their back, a breathless sob leaves Whumpee’s lips.

Seven, and they fall forward, head hitting the boot that keeps their hands on the floor. They don’t push back up.

Eight, nine, and there’s no more fabric left between leather and skin.

Ten, and a ragged cry is ripped out of Whumpee’s throat.

The lash comes again and again and again, breaking skin until Whumpee’s voice is hoarse and there’s so much pain they barely hear it when Caretaker screams too.

“Please stop,” they plead, pushing against Whumper’s hand still in their hair, fighting against a henchman that didn't have to hold them until the whipping started. “Stop it, hurt me, I’m the one who killed your friend, Whumpee did nothing wrong!”

“Is that an admission, dear?”

Through burning pain and soft whimpers, Whumpee looks up from the ground and finds Caretaker’s desperate eyes locked on theirs, guilt and love and sorrow flowing along with their tears.

“N-no! No. I just– please, none of this is their fault, let me take their place, let me take the pain, I am the one you want to hurt.”

“See, this is where we disagree,” Whumper muses. “I think I'm already hurting you plenty.”

When the whip cracks again, Caretaker screams as loud as Whumpee does. Without thinking, propelled only by their partner’s shout, Whumpee tries to reach for them. All they get is more pain when the henchman’s boot presses harder against their hands.

Blood and tears and pain and panic – it all swirls in one giant wave that drowns Whumpee over and over, each time the whip falls and their back is lit on fire.

At some point, they pass out. One moment they are sobbing in pain, the next there is only quiet darkness.

When they wake up, a hand in their hair pushes their exhausted body to sit up and yanks their head back.

“Back with us, Whumpee?” Whumper says, something new in that cruel gaze. Something interested. “So, Caretaker’s partner, huh?”

They can’t help a startled look in Caretaker’s direction. They are still kneeling in front of Whumpee, a henchman keeping them still. But this time, there’s only aching defeat on their face.

“I’m sorry love,” they sob. “I’m so, so sorry. I thought I could protect you. I thought, I thought I could keep you s-safe. I’m so sorry.”

Whumpee shakes their head no, and despite opening their mouth and willing the words to be voiced, only a raspy “’s okay,” comes out.

“Aw, you two are so cute,” Whumper chuckles, but Whumpee doesn’t take their eyes away from Caretaker’s. “We’ll have so much fun together, the three of us.”

“No,” Caretaker breathes.

Whumpee doesn’t have the energy to do anything but cry out when they are pulled to their feet and their hands are tied in front of them. Pain radiates from their back to their whole body, and all they can do is try not to fall when two henchmen grab their arms and lead them out of the house, Caretaker’s screams growing more and more distant with each step they are forced to take.

And then the trunk of a car is opened, and Whumpee is pushed inside to lay on their back, and there are only their own broken cries piercing through their ears.

-

Prompt from this list. Still taking them if you want to send me more ;)

[get-shiggy-with-it]

Just My Type Pt. 2

Pairing: Tomura Shigaraki x Reader

Word Count: 4.5k

Warnings: dom/sub undertones, dom reader, subby shig, light mommy kink, anal fingering, blow jobs, smut ahead so ya know be prepared, shigs is kinda an incel but we love him anyway, 18+ MINORS DNI

Summary: Shigaraki is a full course meal that showed up on your doorstep and you are more than a little inclined to devour him whole.  

Part 1

AO3 Mirror

You liked to think you understood Tomura Shigaraki. 

Probably a bit better than he understood himself if you were being honest. 

It wasn’t that you were particularly adept at reading people, but you paid attention and he was generally a lot more obvious that he realized. You started to get the feeling your client-turned-sometimes-boss had a bit of a thing for you not too long after you started working for him. 

Mainly because he stared. 

All the time.

You weren’t certain if he was completely conscious of it, and at first you sort of assumed it was just a weird, somewhat unnerving habit. It took you all of a week to figure out, though, that his one visible eye did not seem to focus on anything other than you. 

Initially, you had been wary of him. This was a slightly more dangerous clientele than you were used to, but the rest of the League warmed up to you quickly enough. The true realization came with the little, silent fits of jealousy—nails raking down his neck and scowls so harsh they were nearly audible—whenever anyone else, usually Dabi, showed the same interest.   

And being the type of person you were, it was hard to resist pushing those newly revealed buttons just once. 

Well. 

More than a once. 

But! 

All that pressing and goading had finally culminated to this. 

Needless to say, you felt more than a little thrill when Tomura had finally taken the bait and let you drag him all the way back to shore like a fish on a hook. 

And now here he was, beached and floundering, as chilled air like ocean waves rocked against your ankles. 

So yes, you understood Tomura Shigaraki. 

He wanted you, as much as loathed to admit it. 

And you wanted him too, but not so much that you were willing to go down without a bit of a fight. 

“Are you just gonna stand there?” you asked. 

You could see the shiver your voice sent through him, like lungfuls of sweet spring air after a lifetime underground. 

“What?” he mumbled, one hand holding the clasp on his pants closed and the other reaching up to tear at his neck. 

Always so predictable. 

You hummed at the gesture and leaned back to pull the door open a bit more. “Come on, you’re letting all my heat out.” 

His eyes narrowed significantly, not so subtly flicking down to your chest before meeting your eyes—suspicion clear as the tent in his pants, but a good amount of cautiously pleasant surprise as well. 

You dipped your head down, trying to get a better look under the mop of his hair and dark hood to see the dusty rose blush creeping up his neck. His scarred and cracking skin grew pinker with every passing second. The smile on your face was impossible to hide.  

“I caught you in the window of one of the shops like six blocks in,” you said by way of explanation and waved him forward once again. “You can stand out there and freeze if you want, but something tells me you might be a little more comfortable if you came in.” 

This was a calculated game, but no one ever got anywhere without taking a few risks.  

Your stress on the last two words and the way your tongue peaked out from behind your teeth was thankfully not lost on him. 

“Fine,” Tomura swallowed once as if this really was the last thing he wanted to be doing, and you watched his throat bob as he finally shuffled over the threshold.  

You liked the way he looked here, harsh but not out of place in the domestic setting. Surrounded by the scent of crisp air and clean laundry, you breathed deeply to catch the faint hint of cheap hand soap and dust and that strange, sweet smell that always tickled your nose when he got close. Tomura took a long breath of his own when you pressed closer, the top of your leg brushing just enough at the front of his jeans to feel his dick twitch. 

Yeah, he probably thought you hadn’t noticed him lifting your coat to his face when you left for the bathroom. That you hadn’t overheard Kurogiri chewing him out for all the different bottles of detergent littering the backroom like he wasn’t scouring convenience stores to find the exact one you used. Didn’t know you knew where all those ‘lost’ gloves or elastic ties or even your socks once when you’d taken them off to dry after a storm had ended up. 

It was hard to tell with him whether those strange behaviors meant he liked you or really wanted you dead. But you’d dared to assume the former and god it felt good to be right. 

“You like to watch, don’t you?” you asked, letting the words cascade from your lips. 

“Maybe. You like to be watched, don’t you?” he rasped, clearly trying to maintain some semblance of control but your chest was brushing against him and you could hear his mouth going dry. 

You raised your brow and leaned just a fraction closer, ready to let the last of the chips fall.

“Maybe,” you mused, your lips just barely grazing his. “I don’t mind if it’s you.” 

And finally, finally you saw the little glimmer you’d been waiting for. 

Tomura Shigaraki was beginning to understand. 

You could see it in his eyes, the dawning realization. Reluctant still and forever mistrustful, but coming around. All those nights he spent observing you when he thought you weren’t looking—shrouded in smoke and keeping a safe distance—you’d never been aiming to get away. You’d never been hiding or ready to run. 

You were always trying to get closer to him. 

The way you left so soon when he sequestered himself away in his room or how you let Dabi’s hand creep just far enough up your thigh before making your escape—all of it, was just to catch his eye. 

Just playing your cards—working with the hand you were dealt.  

Tomura might have been watching you, but you had always been watching right back. Really, it was a wonder how he ever missed the way your gaze was trained on him nearly every second from the time you set foot in the bar to the ever unfortunate moment you slipped back out into the cold, lonely street. 

How many nights had you been waiting for this? 

Laying awake, thinking of the way his scarlet gaze warmed your skin like the cinnamon in Kurogiri’s nightly cocktails. You’d seen what those hands could do, watched them turn glasses and tables to ash, but that only raised the stakes. And wasn’t it so much more fun that way?

“Well,” you leaned in, tilting your head so that your mouths were centimeters away from touching, “do you want to see more?”

You were watching the levee break. Cracks forming up that skeptical and distant outer shell and letting desire leak out from every line and scar. The air was silent and heavy in the way it often is before a storm. You wondered if you’d be struck down by errant lighting before you got a chance to suck his tongue like you’d been dreaming of. 

His fist closed around your wrist, pinky poised threateningly over the skin. You let him hold you, not struggling in the slightest under his grip. Tomura could have you like that if he wanted. Could believe this was forceful, that he wasn’t giving himself away. You would gladly let him, but you had something else in mind. 

Something you were almost certain he’d enjoy more. 

All the deliciousness of the torture you planned to drown him in was completely dependent on him offering you the reigns. If he wouldn’t, well, you’d take what you could get. Encouragingly, he didn’t move further than his grip on your arm. 

Instead, he stared blankly and tugged you closer grunting under his breath, though never fully closing the distance. It took a second before your brain processed the slight pout of his bottom lip, the catch in his breath the way he subconsciously ground against your thigh. 

Oh. 

Oh. 

You’d said it before and you’d say it again: god, it felt good to be right. 

Coming to your door was his first move tonight, and now it was your turn to up the stakes. 

Grinning, you closed the small gap between your bodies and let your mouths slip against each other, filling in the cracks of his lips with your tongue. Tomura groaned when the weight of it slipped across his teeth just once before you pulled away from him altogether. 

There was barely an inch between you, but that would always be too much now. 

“You never answered me, Tomura.” Saying his name made you shiver. You wondered what it would feel like when you screamed it too. “Do you want to see more?”

“Yes,” he nodded and surged forward, knocking your teeth together and nipping sharply at your lower lip. “More, now.” 

Your grips switched, his fingers going limp around your wrist while you took hold of his and led him towards the door at the end of your hall. The soft bedroom light leaked out and illuminated the halo of baby hairs at the crown of his head. You longed to run your hands through it. By the time you got him safely inside—sat cornered on the edge of your mattress—you realized there was nothing stopping you from doing just that. 

So you did. 

Tugged his hood down and ran your fingers across his scalp, grabbing a handful and pulling firmly. The noise it earned you had goosebumps erupting down your arms. 

With his pretty face revealed, you took a moment to drink him in. The small lamp lit him from the left, leaving one side in shadow and those red eyes were so dark you could have drunk them down like expensive wine. Slowly, you lowered your lips to his scarred forehead and pressed them softly against the rough skin. 

“What would the others say, hm?” you hummed, stroking his cheek as you leaned back to look into his eyes again. “If they knew their boss was tailing around the new hire just to get a glimpse of some ass.” 

Tomura stayed resolutely silent, grumbling under his breath as he lunged forward to slip his tongue back into your mouth. Your hand in his hair tightened though and his thighs tensed below you. 

“Seems a bit desperate, huh?” 

He growled again but moved a hand to the open front of his pants, palming slowly against the growing bulge there. The swathe of light grey fabric covering his cock was already sporting a sizable stain that you were dying to taste. 

Feeling merciful, you dragged your tongue along his sharp jaw and nipped at his earlobe, “Do you really want me that bad?”

You weren’t sure what exactly was the nail in the coffin. It might have been the words themselves, or the soft, honest tone with which you whispered them, or even just the way your chest brushed against him, but that was the moment his resolve finally shattered. 

“It’s your fault,” he whimpered, hips bucking up into his own hand, “you’re the one that did this, so fix it.” 

You could only guess he was referring to the absolute rager he was sporting and the drool threatening to spill from his ragged lips. 

“Oh, you want me to make it all better?” you were having a hard time keeping it together yourself with Tomura talking like that. 

He nodded furiously and you took the opening to lick back into his mouth, tracing his teeth and biting softly on his rough bottom lip. When you pulled back, a silvery string of saliva glinted between your mouths, only breaking when you moved to roll your desk chair over and plop down on the cushions. 

Tomura’s eyes immediately drifted between your legs as you peeled off your thin shorts and spread them, propped on either arm, fingers digging absently into the meat of your thighs. 

“You didn’t get to see much before did you?” he didn’t answer but you hadn’t expected him to. “How about we start where we left off, but I want to see that pretty cock this time while you stroke it for me.” 

“Oh fuck ,” he gasped and tugged his jeans down so they pooled at his ankles. 

You smiled as he cursed. One hand still gripped his length, but you could see how thick it was from between his fingers. Long and hard and leaking so much onto his stomach where it rested. The other fisted in his hoodie, pulling it up to give you a glimpse at the lovely musculature of his torso. 

So many delicious surprises, all in one night. 

Your gaze drifted between his face and the hand slowly pumping his length. Every now and again, he’d stop to run his thumb over the tip or squeeze harshly at the base. Your hand moved too, sliding your underwear to the side and giving him a full view of just how soaked he made you. 

“Is that how you usually touch yourself?” you asked quietly, slipping two fingers down your slit and coating them in slick. 

“Yeah,” his voice was already so wrecked that you shivered at the single word. 

Your fingers found your clit, drawing languid circles over the bundle of nerves and groaning in relief. “Tell me what you think about.”

“You,” he responded simply, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. 

To his credit, it probably was but you wanted to hear him say it. 

“What about me?”

Your slow rhythm sped up to match Tomura’s hand now steadily jerking his dick, wet slaps and various groans emanating from both of you. 

“Your...mouth,” he mumbled, vision locked on the movement of your wrist as your fingers began to dip inside only to travel back to your clit and repeat the motion. “How it would feel on me, how wet and warm and tight your throat would be.” 

You let out a long moan of encouragement and nodded for him to continue, grinding down on your own wrist as he spoke. 

“I think about how you parade around like a whore every time you come over— shit —and how you’d look bent over the bar top,” he spat as he ran his palm over the head of his cock. 

Normally you’d have clapped back at the insult but you were distracted by the way the muscles in his stomach were twitching violently with every stroke of his hand. 

“That’s not all is it?” you asked between breaths. 

Your skin was buzzing, warmth rising to your cheeks as sweat broke out on your forehead despite the chill of the room. Tomura keyed you up in a way no one else ever had.

“No,” his eyes were redder than usual, glazed over and pricked in the corner with frustrated tears. He wanted to cum so badly, you could see it in the set of his feet on the floor, forcing his hips up but not getting quite what he craved. 

“Come on, Tomura,” you brought your other hand down to rub quickly at your clit, “tell me what you need.” 

“Touch me,” he hissed, head thrown back, exposing the graceful column of his scarred throat. “I want to feel you.” 

He was panting, head thrown back and mouth open with just his eyes cast down at you. You wanted a painting of this scene—Tomura, ruined and starving for you. Wanted it framed and hung in your foyer so it was the first thing you saw coming home. 

How could you deny such a pretty boy?

“Alright, I suppose you’ve earned it,” you sighed in mock annoyance and stood, honestly surprised he’d restrained himself from jumping you this long. Discarding your shirt elicited a series of wines as you stood completely bare for him. 

You thought for a moment about what you should do first, before settling on your knees between his legs and batting his slowly stroking hand away. Tomura stared, wide eyed and slack jawed down as you took his cock in your hands and admired him for a moment. 

He felt good in your palm, heavy with impressive girth and length. Leagues better than you had hoped for. Pretty veins ran up the sides and the gentle ridge of his tip was silky smooth as you leaned forward to run your tongue up the slit. 

The sound that left him was bone shattering—deep and low in a way that reverberated in your bones. 

You vowed to make him cry. 

Looking up through your lashes, you let your lips fall open to take Tomura into the warmth of your mouth.  

And if you thought his first moan was delicious. 

What fell from him next was a goddamn feast. 

Four fingers were fisted into your sheets, the balls of his feet tensing so his hips bucked up and forced his length deeper down your throat. You hummed around his length, drinking down the salty taste of him, and bringing your hands up to rub sweet circles into the skin of his thighs. Listening hungrily, you devoured all the little whimpers and moans and curses that spilled from Tomura. 

Objectively, you ought to have been offended by all this. That he was so desperate for you, blamed you for somehow leading him on (which you had to an extent but only because he refused to set foot into your traps). You should have felt a bit disgusted by the behavior he’d displayed, but instead you were invigorated. Spurred on by the knowledge that the man before you wanted you so deeply and obsessively, that just the sight of you drove him off the edge. 

Flicking your tongue over the sensitive tip, you doubled down your efforts. Hollowing your cheeks, you sucked hard and took his pulsing dick deeper, swallowing around it. 

“Oh god, yesyesyes—” Tomura cried out, hips twitching. 

It was on that particular backstroke you noticed the way he was grinding back into the sheets, rocking his ass just so and you really couldn’t help yourself from indulging a bit in the curiosity. 

Shifting a hand, you collected some of the spit and precum that had leaked from your mouth and coated the base of his dick, slicking your fingers. Slowly, you moved to give his balls a firm squeeze that had him whining before letting two fingers dip lower, between his cheeks to nudge the cute pink skin around his hole. 

“Fuck—” he gasped, staring down at you and letting himself fall immediately to the mattress, giving you full access to his pretty ass. “Hm, there please…” 

He trailed off, brain rotted with pleasure and unconcerned now with how desperate or needy he seemed. You thought it was a good look for him, and you gladly obliged his pleas. 

Just the slow circles you were tracing around the sensitive flesh seemed to drive him closer to the edge. You would have been shocked by how long he was lasting considering the unlikely possibility he’d had many partners in the past, but you were sure he’d had plenty of ‘practice’ on his own to get his stamina up to this level. 

Surprisingly, you were able to actually slip a finger past the tight ring of muscle down to the first knuckle. He was so tight your mind was flooded immediately with how good he’d look bent over—ass in the air and impaled on your strap. He made this delectable choked sound when you turned your wrist and slid a fraction of an inch deeper. But as you curled inside him and gave one particularly deft swallow around his aching cock, something even more unexpected tumbled past Tomura’s lust-loose lips. 

“Oh fuck, mommy —” 

As soon as the words left his mouth it snapped shut so hard you heard his teeth clacking. 

Well. 

You certainly hadn’t anticipated that, but thankfully, transporting required you to think on your feet often.

Tomura was beet red now, looking almost as surprised as you felt by what had slipped from him in the haze of lust and sweat that filled the room. You withdrew from him completely, pulling off his cock and planting both your hands on his slim waist. 

“What did you just call me?” you asked, tone dark, praying to hear it again. 

And of course you did, because Tomura was such a good boy . 

“M-mommy,” the tremor in his voice may have been due to residual shame or the fact that you’d nearly sucked his soul right out of his dick, “mommy, please.” 

And that, that lit something in you. All bets were off, any plans of a long, drawn out night of playing with your pretty boss until he begged for you was slipping quickly down the drain as you clambered off your knees and onto the bed. 

“Does my little boy need something?” you mused, slipping into the role easily and planting your knees on either side of his thin body while you brushed your nose against his cheek. 

He hadn’t touched you since you’d gotten him in your bed and while you thought it may have had something to do with the potentially deadly side effects, you really couldn’t have that. Reaching down, you guided his hand gently to your mouth and pressed a gentle kiss against the calloused knuckles. 

“Do you want mommy’s pussy?” 

That last question might have been boarding a bit on the evil end of teasing, but Tomura responded in equally bratty fashion by burying his face into your chest and reaching down to guide the tip of his dick into your dripping entrance. For once that night, you were the one gasping at the sudden stretch and quite frankly the fucking balls your boss displayed in surprise spearing you on his cock. 

Not that you minded, but damn. 

“I’ll take that as a yes,” you groaned as you dropped your hips to sink the rest of the way down his length. It took a bit, even as slick as you were, before he was bottoming out and letting out little poorly hidden sobs against you. 

Tomura’s feet still hung off the bed and couldn’t provide him the leverage to thrust up into you as he so clearly wanted to, but you could work well with this. Pulling back you got him to sit up, head still buried in the crook of your neck and braced your hands to start bouncing in his lap. 

His hands flew to your hips, any trepidation apparently lost in favor of marking you with crescent shaped bruises. You let your hands trail up his chest, thumbing over his flushed nipples before threading into the hair at the base of his head. Tilting his head back, you came up and dropped back down hard on his length, letting him strike that lovely spot inside you and making his face twist in pleasure. 

“Oh, good boy, “ you moaned, long and low. “Such a good boy for me, Tomura.” 

He whimpered loudly and you bounced faster, praise tumbling easily as the pressure in your gut began to build, “You look so perfect like this, pretty cock feels so good inside.”

On a whim, you gripped his hair tightly and pressed his face into your chest, leading his lips to the stiff peak of your nipple. He latched on immediately, moans muffled against you and lovely eyes rolling back in his head. 

You took it back— this was the picture you wanted immortalized from tonight. Tomura’s mouth was full of you, slick tongue curling over the bud and suckling softly only interrupted by the occasional graze of his teeth, his dick buried in you and pulsing as you rode him to your own high.  

A high that was coming sooner rather than later. 

You let your free hand slip from his shoulder to rub frantically at your clit, feeling yourself clenching tighter and tighter on his cock, strokes shifting into a more desperate grinding. The white hot pleasure grew stronger—spurred on by the image of Tomura’s pretty hair plastered with sweat to his forehead and his coarse lips grazing your skin—cresting and sending you hurtling over the edge, cumming hard on Tomura’s thick cock.  

“Oh, baby boy, yes, make mommy cum,” you shook and clenched around him, pussy in a vice grip around his length. 

He didn’t hold out long after that, biting down roughly on your chest he groaned and you felt the hot ropes of his release painting your walls. 

It was a bit of a blur after that. You recall lifting his mouth from you, revealing a deep bruise and the indents of teeth just around your nipple—a reminder that would stick with you of this quite eventful night. Residual clothing was abandoned and you’d agreed to forgo a shower in favor of pressing every available inch of skin against his under a light sheet. 

Tomura’s breathing had evened out a while ago, heart beat relaxing to an even tattoo from it’s initial pounding. His head was tucked securely under your chin, arms flung across your middle and legs tangled in a knot. 

You’d thought he was asleep until you felt his lips moving against your shoulder and heard the soft, whispered words, “Are you going to ask me to go?”

It had been so long since you’d had a ‘normal’ conversation with him that it took you awhile to recognize his casual tone from the wrecked and begging voice you’d been hearing from him all night. Something about that knowledge made your chest ache. 

“I’m not going to make you stay,” you responded simply. 

Which was all you could really think of to say, noncommittal but open. 

“But do you want me to?” 

His tone was harsh, but not in a purposeful way. The quiet rasp was a permanent feature of his voice you’d discovered and made it him sound far more severe than he usually meant to be. The question both surprised you and didn’t. You’d asked Tomura to give up control to you before, let you take the lead and see him vulnerable. Now he was asking for it back. Asking for a level playing field. 

“I would like it if you did, yes.” 

He nodded and you felt the brush of his lashes as he closed his eyes again, settling into you more than the mattress itself. You followed suit, at least for a bit, and rested your eyes to enjoy the feeling of finally not sleeping alone. Half dozing, you breathed in the scent of well earned pleasure and sweat and laundry detergent. 

Neither of you asked any more questions—you didn’t need to.  

Because you understood Tomura Shigaraki and he understood you. 

[urimaginespimp]

Ivy

Alfie Solomons x Shelby Sister Reader where she’s betrothed by Thomas for a truce, now her and Alfie’s secret love affair is in thin line.

A/N: Here I go again, associating an Evermore track to Alfie. Sorry not sorry!

--------

The air was cold at dawn. You’ve been sitting alone in a cemetery since last night, dreading the moment the day was slowly breaking, and how it reminded you of how time of his arrival was getting nearer.

No, you weren’t there to visit a deceased loved one, but might as well have started grieving for yourself. This was the haven where you would often meet Alfie to either stay and talk in each other’s arms, or where he’d fetch you and bring you somewhere you could freely be with each other for a night.

A full year of secret meetups undetected led you both from solely enjoying each other’s company and wits, to being inseparable. Your special spot was a few feet away from the actual gravestones. It was under a huge tree nearby.

You knew from the start that your fondness with each other would never be accepted by your family. And the odds of them actually even coming close to being open on the idea of you both became slimmer every time Alfie would get power in his head and betray your family despite your friendship.

Months would pass of you ignoring his apologies and notes pleading to meet; To be only forgiven when he’s in Thomas’ good graces again. But it became increasingly difficult to be warry of him when you started feeling funny whenever he’d laugh at your jokes, or when he’d offer his coat for both of you to stay under when it starts drizzling and you both forgot to bring an umbrella.

He’s started a goddamn blaze in you.

Now how were you to tell the lone man you’ve ever loved that your brother was planning on marrying you off for a truce?

You only found out last night, leading to you throwing a fit for the very first time towards your brother who tried to calm you down and make you understand the benefit it would bring to the family – much like what he did to John. The way he told you sounded like it was a mere suggestion. But you knew better that he’s already fixed it.

In a fit of tears and frustration from not being able to give him the truth to why you refuse to concede, Polly barging in the study to intervene and ask what was going on was your take to leave and go to your room, shouting loudly that he better leaves you alone that night.

It took you the night trying to write everything down for Alfie. How you were to be married, and begging him not to intervene. Because as much as you love him, you couldn’t risk him and your family being in another war with the still unknown family you were to be part of.

Sneaking out later on, that’s how you found yourself in your favorite spot in the cemetery crying your heart out, and reminiscing all the memories you hold so dear with Alfie.

Taking a deep breath, your hand took the folded page of paper from your coat pocket. You almost crumpled it and wait for Alfie to tell him yourself. But you were a coward and just couldn’t bring yourself to tell him. Not when you know you wouldn’t be able to open your mouth without breaking down.

Taking a rock big enough to hold it in place, you placed your open letter under the tree and willed yourself to walk away from both your favorite place and your happiness that morning.

It’s been days and you have not uttered a word to your family. Still crying yourself to sleep every night, it became increasingly harder not to call Alfie and beg for forgiveness and ask him to take you away.

Alfie himself was sending your office missives after missives, asking you to see him at least. But all of it were left unanswered and kept in one of your desk’s drawers.

Tonight, was the celebration of your engagement and the first time you were to meet the man you were to be married to. You’ve learned from Polly that he was from a wealthy Italian family, about your age, and that he’s already seen you before and was actually the one to ask Thomas for your hand in marriage.

What a puss. You thought, He couldn’t even ask you and get rejected personally.

Well at least the dress he sent was decent. But hell were to freeze over before you would even consider wearing it.

Opening your closet, your hands skimmed through your numerous formal dresses, and finally landed on one that meant so much to you. It was beautiful, fit you perfectly, and it was a gift from Alfie.

They don’t know it’s from him, but you had to admit that wearing it in front of your family and future husband would be a satisfying last act of proclaiming your love for the King of Camden town.

The night began rather peacefully. It seemed that you were the only one miserable in the occasion thrown for you.

The man you were to marry was alright. He was polite, charming even. But he was a shy pup compared to a beast like Alfie. Sooner or later, you had to stop thinking about him.  

“What’s the Jew doing here, Tommy?” you heard your aunt ask Tommy discretely.

“I invited him, Poll. All bad blood in the past, he’s a good business partner.” He explained to your aunt.

But the rest of the conversation drowned out for you. He’s here.

For the first time in the entire night of the party, you moved from the corner you were sulking on, looking for the pair of opal eyes you were wishing to see. To hell with the Italian boy.

You were turning on every corner looking for him. If he really were in here, you figured he’d be in a corner somewhere like usual.

“I knew you’d look absolutely beautiful in that dress.” A voice called out just loud enough for you to catch. Snapping to the direction it came from, your eyes met Alfie’s.

He was dressed formally as asked, his beard was trimmed, and he had his hat on.

“Alfie I-“

“I’ll take a dance, yes.” He cut you off, not wanting to make you cry in front of the guests. Taking your hands in his freezing ones, he led you to the dance floor.

“I though you hated dancing in public?” you mused at him, placing your hands by his shoulders, ignoring the lump in your throat.  

“If this were to be our last one, everyone else be damned, yeah?” He answered, looking at you lovingly. You smiled. How could he still look at you so endearingly even after your cowardness?

“The wine’s shite by the way.” He commented, trying to make you laugh. He couldn’t stand looking so defeated anymore. You couldn’t resist breaking into a laugh, and bit your tongue from telling him the drinks are courtesy of your future husband.

Polly and Arthur were stood near each other, looking at the both of you dancing, when your aunt finally spoke up.

“She hasn’t cracked a smile ever since the night Thomas told her.” She told the oldest Shelby brother. “And all it took was for Solomons to dance with her.”

“Yeah, looking at ‘em makes me almost forget the bastard tried to kill me. It’s almost as if they’re…” Arthur didn’t get to finish what he was to say from the sudden realization. He knew that look. Yes, he’d never seen you look at anyone like that, but it didn’t take a genius to figure out what it was - the color coming back to your face, almost as if it actually lit up at the presence of Camden town’s king.

Turning to Poll, she was already smirking at him. “She couldn’t tell Thomas the real reason she doesn’t to be married off for business. But you’re the eldest, Arthur, and when it’s on matters of your siblings’ personal happiness, you have to put your foot down.” Patting the back of his shoulder, she took her drink to go who knows.

“Is there somewhere we can talk, luv?” Alfie asked you quietly, sliding his hand on your shoulder, to your hand where he held it.

Looking around you, relief washed over when you saw that the guests were immersed in their own conversations and dance partners.

“Meet me in my room in a few minutes. It’s the third door at the right hall, and I’ll keep it slightly open.” You nervously told him, trying to keep your voice low.

Letting go of him, you acted natural, smiling at guests your way.

--------

In your room, you stood fidgeting with your fingers. The light from the crescent moon that peeked through your window was the only source of light.

What if he got lost and mistakenly entered Tommy’s office? Or that he decided to confront that fiancé of yours?

You were saved from the panic attack rising when your door finally creaked open bigger, and the silhouette of the man you love came in.

But before you could talk, his lips met yours desperately. Alfie hoped that his kiss would be able to tell you how much he’s missed you, how the past days felt like absolute hell, and how it led him to be willing in being a mister for you. A mister.

“Are you sure that brother of yours won’t be looking for ya? What if he found us out, pet?” He asked in between kisses to your neck.

“He’s gonna burn this house to the ground” you answered, gasping when he squeezed you in closer to him. You almost hated having to stop him. “Alfie, we came here to talk.” You weakly pushed him off you.

His eyes under the moonlight was glistening. It was only now that you realized he was crying. Taking his face in your hands, you held it gently, wiping his damp cheek.

“Alfie, I love you, okay? Everything that we had – no matter how it was only stolen moments, I’d live and die just to experience them again. But I can’t risk losing you and or anyone from my family for my personal reasons.” You tried to sound brave in front of him, knowing that the second you’d break, he’d take you with him.

He shook his head. “Now that’s just selfish of that brother of yours, pet. You know I could help settle any problem he has with ‘em Italians. He didn’t have to drag you into this.”

“And what, have him figure out why you’d go through great lengths for his sister whom you never seemed to care about?” Whenever Thomas was in the same room as you, the both of you would only resort to a formal greeting and not even try to converse. That was how you were able to keep it up so long. “It’s either I run or we dare come clean to him and see what we’ll become. He’ll find me either way, or he’ll shoot you dead.”

Alfie moved away from you, and walking by the window to take a breath and calm his nerves.

Suddenly the door to your bedroom was kicked completely open, revealing Arthur and Tommy who looked like they were ready to murder.

You didn’t know what came over you, but you immediately stood straight as if ready to block them before they could get to Alfie. But to your surprise, Arthur stayed standing by the doorway, and it was only Thomas who took a step closer.

“Alfie, you have one chance to tell me that what Arthur's saying isn’t true.” Tommy was seething, ordering him. “You of all people know my sisters are off limits.”

“It’s true, Tom.” You answered before Alfie could even open his mouth. If he were to push through marrying you off, at least leave him with the guilt for snatching your life away. “I love him.” Relief from finally being able to say it in front of your brothers washed over you.

“I am not gonna let you use my sister for whatever scheme it is that you fu-

“I was gonna ask her to marry me, you fucker!” Alfie growled from behind you, before finally reaching your side. You stood there gaping at him, having been clueless as well of his intentions.

“I went to meet her in our spot with a fucking ring in my hand, right. And what do I find? A letter from her telling me that some scum wants what’s only mine, and her cunt of a brother is allowing it!”

Arthur having been satisfied from what Alfie said, was smiling at you across the room. “And as the eldest of the family, I give you my blessing, so long as you promise to protect her.” He spoke, nodding at him. You wanted to run into your brother’s arms in gratitude, but Thomas spoke up again.

“Don’t celebrate yet, Alfie." He both looked at you with a stern expression. "There are Italians out there still thinking that there’s a marriage happening in a fortnight.”

Alfie scoffed at your brother’s statement. As if he hasn’t dealt with them before.

Taking your hand in his, he turned to your brother once more. “And what is expected to happen when I call off the marriage?” He asked him.

“I’m gonna start a war” you answered nervously.

Squeezing your hand, he turned to you. “Then it's gonna be the goddamn fight of my life, pet.”

[anyoneseenadam]

That fenrys fic was divine 😭🔥 can I request something for him having a nightmare for the first time since he found his mate and she comforts him and reassure him ?a tiny bit of angst maybe 💔🤧

pairing: Fenrys x reader (throne of glass)

warnings: blood, violence, nightmares, character death (kinda), mainly fluff with a lil bit of angst

a/n: I completely stole the first half of this from a short story I wrote about Achilles lmao, also THANK YOU FENRYS IS AN ICON AND DESERVES ALL THE LOVE WHICH I AM HAPPY TO GIVE, hope u enjoy <3

(I did not proof read this because I am tired :))

——————————————————————————

Fenrys hands shook as they refrained from touching her, from pulling her in and wrapping himself around her, drowning in her hair, her skin, her clothes, her laugh, eyes, smile. She turned with a smirk and a cheeky eyebrow raise, beckoning him in. He lunged, grabbing her, ready to make true on his wish, staring in wonder as her solid form turned to mist in his hands as she moved further away. Her laugh drawing him in. And of course, he followed like the lost puppy he was, begging, and whining to return to comfort, home, safety. She was his home, and he would follow her to the ends of the world if it meant she stayed that way.

 She had moved again, this time into a series of winding corridors, the maze he called his heart, a maze she owned. He chased after her, but she was quick, twisting and turning through corridors and secret doors, the map laid bare for her to see as he stumbled blinding, led only be the light she left in her path and her infectious laughter. Finally, she reached a dead end, casually bracing herself against the cold walls, releasing an exhale of laughter through her nose. He slowed his pace to a walk as she smiled up at him through curling lashes, nothing but the faint smudge of rouge high on her cheeks concealing her natural face to him, which he proceeded to wipe with his thumb when he reached her, his build towering over hers.

 “Finished running, are you?” he mused quietly,

 “I knew you wouldn’t let me get too far,” she whispered back, lips tracing his jaw.

 “That’s because you hold my leash,” he allowed himself to concede, “always have, always will my darling.”

 She let out a sigh of agreement, before leaning to his ear, their bodies pressed so tightly together he could feel her heart beating in his own chest, as if they had swapped hearts giving the other all they were, all they could be.

 “There is no me without you.” She uttered the vows they had made that beautiful day, where she dressed as the angel he was sure she was. He leaned down to express his love, but she did not allow him to rest in her arms for long, pulling away with a giggle.

 “What?” he asked with a smirk, but she was already gone giggling behind him, the chase beginning again.

 But as he turned, blessed by the smile she gave him, all pearly white teeth and rosy cheeks, the warning shout he cried was not quick enough as a wash of deep red replaced the once pure and untainted white of her smile. Her mouth filling with blood, the sword protruding from her stomach like a handle. She stared at him questions not asked soon enough as she splutters up blood onto her previously fresh clothes, eyes full of fear, splitting his heart in half, the ground crumbling beneath his feet.

 He tried to run to her, hands grasping at air as he fell through the cracks in his own heart, a scream tearing from his throat as she was pulled from him, skin draining of colour and eyes turning black, full of hatred and contempt as she stared him down.

 His own scream woke him up, sweat and tears blending on his face like paint on a pallet, as he gripped her pillow and sobbed on their bed. He herded himself into the far corner of the bed, afraid when he realised she was not lying next to him, comforting words, and gentle hands ready to lull him back to sleep. Fear and sadness battled in his heart, the heart he had given her during the war, the heart she had held safely as she cut her way through armies to reach him again. The heart she had put back together with soft kisses and words of undying love. The heart she had tied to her own the day they wed and had kept pressed safely in her chest since.

 He looked now, tears blurring the image he was presented with, bookshelves filled with stories you promised you would read eventually, tubes of lipstick on the floor next to the frame of their mirror, tea left to go cold in mugs dotted around the room, sketches left to be forgotten on desks and ribbons tied haphazardly around bed posts.

 He saw all these signs of you, the clues you left him as he navigated your shared life. His eyes darted around the room, breath picking up when he couldn’t see you, pressing a hand to your side of the bed and finding it warm, his breathing only slowing a little.

 He stood, pulling on a pair of boxers, and grabbing two daggers he kept next to the bed as his mind filled with the worst possible scenarios. He slowly padded out the room, moving silently through the house and thinking of a million different ways to torture whoever had dared to touch you. The tears on his face had dried uncomfortably but it was the least of his worries as he stalked through his own home, fear clouding his judgement that argued you were probably safe.

 He heard movement in the kitchen and walked that way, footsteps light as he rounded to corner to a beautiful sight. His arms dropped as he took in the sight of you in nothing but his shirt, sipping from a glass of water, illuminated by the moons glow. You turned when he walked in, smiling at his but furrowing your eyebrows when you saw his facial expression and the knives in his hands.

 “Fenrys, what happened?” you asked, moving over to him as he threw his daggers down, arms encircling your waist as he breathed in your scent. “Fenrys please, you’re scaring me.”

 He pulled away from you and you reached up, stroking a hand down his face and looking up at him with nothing but concern in your eyes, eyes that were searching his for any clues of why he was acting this way.

“I though you were- I thought someone had,” he struggled to get the words out, pulling you even closer, one hand tangling itself in your hair as you furrowed your eyebrows at him, kissing his sharp jaw.

 “Slow down love, tell me what happened,” your soothing voice calmed him, his breath coming easier as you moved a hand to his shoulder, your loving grip grounding him.

 “I had a dream, then I woke up and you weren’t hear and I- I thought someone had taken you,” he whispered, eyes filling with tears as he pictured your lifeless eyes and limp body.

 “Oh my love, I’m sorry,” you pulled away from him, clasping his large hand in your smaller one and pulling him to your shared bedroom, “But you know I’m not easy to kidnap, I make too much noise.”  You joked, holding his hand to your mouth, and kissing it lightly as you walked over to your bed.

 He sat down first, and you stood between his legs, his arms wrapping tightly around you again. “Don’t joke about that,” he muttered into your stomach, but he couldn’t resist the smile forming.

 You pushed his head back and climbed into his lap, arms resting on his shoulders. “I mean honestly, if I ever got taken hostage I’m pretty sure I’d annoy them into letting me go, I’d just start explaining my top three reasons why every Jane Austen novel contains gay subtext.”

 “Or you could explain to them the tier list you and Aelin made of all the men you know.” Fenrys laughed as your eyes lit up.

 “I forgot about that!” you exclaimed and Fenrys laughed, lying down, and pulling you with him as he tickled your sides, revelling in your squeals as you batted your hands at him.

 When you calmed down, breathing quickly you rolled off Fenrys as he nestled himself between your breasts, holding you close.

 “Please never leave me,” he whispered into your chest as he listened to the steady beat of your heart as it created a song just for him. The vulnerability in his voice broke you and you moved a hand to his head, stroking lightly.

“Never.” You spoke with such surety that Fenrys let out the exhale he had been holding in. “I am never going to leave you, I’m always going to be by your side.”

“I love you so much, so much when I thought you were gone, I felt sick. I can’t do this without you.” He whispered into your skin. “Sometimes I’m scared that one day I’ll wake up and all this will have been a dream. And I’ll have to lie with Maeve again and kill for her and watch her hurt Conall and it will be so much worse, because I’ll remember this softness, I’ll remember you and maybe one day I’d find you and you wouldn’t recognise me, and for the rest of my life I’d think of you, of the woman I never got to love.”

“This is real.” You whispered, kissing his head, and ignoring the tears welling in your eyes, “I’m real, you’re real. We’re real Fenrys.”

He didn’t reply, just buried his face deeper into your chest, addicted to the feel of your heartbeat. The constant reminder that you were here, you were alive. After he lost his brother you noticed Fenrys had become clingier, you initially presumed it was just because he was in mourning and needed comfort but one night he had drunkenly confessed his biggest fear to you. The nightmares he would have where you left him, told him you hated him, and the worst of all, the nightmares in which he watched your life be cruelly ripped from you. He could live with you hating him and leaving him, knowing that somewhere in the world you were safe and breathing, but everyday he feared your death.

The mornings he would wake up and find you wincing, a hot water bottle pressed into your lower stomach, the thought of you in any form of pain ripping into him, making his heartbeat faster and his palms sweat. The powerful warrior brought to his knees for you, but you were always quick to reassure him with kisses and promises of staying in bed all day.

As he breathed in your scent now and listened to your heartbeat, happily surrounded by you and only you, he allowed himself to relax under you soft touch, his own heart slowing to beat with yours as the fear slowly melted from him.

He needn’t fear your death, as he knew that he would never let you die. No, instead he would always fall before you, sacrifice his own life, any life if it meant you survived. You were a Goddess sent to bless him and he would fall to worship before you, always.

[uniquevocashark]

A Good Servant Part 4

Content warnings:

Graphic depictions of gore, blood, smoking, lady dimitrescu washes the readers mouth out with soap and a horse brush so watch out for that, mentions of taxidermy, mentions of meat preparation (skinning), mentions of murder, aftermath of murder

“How dare I?” Lady Dimitrescu said, then her face split open in a wide smile and she threw her head back and laughed. It was light and hysterical, and she covered her mouth softly with one hand. Her bedroom was lit only with candlelight, her pet cowering on the other side of the room by her bed.

You glared at her and she met your eyes gleefully, striding over and grabbing your face in one hand. She squeezed your jaw and forced your mouth open, then rubbed your teeth through your cheeks. You grabbed her wrist and dug your nails in, but she didn’t so much as flinch, smiling at you with all the grace of a lion with an antelope in its mouth.

“Pet,” She called, and you glared, “Go fetch some soap and water, separate bucket for each.”

You glimpsed at her, at her smirk and her pose, the way it accentuated her perfect posture and the perfect way her hair fell and curled. The sleek stitch work of her hat, her cream dress, the strokes of her makeup brush that painted her white. Perfect, down to the last cell.

Lady Dimitrescu walked with you struggling against her, dragging your feet over the well-polished floor and well-appointed carpet to her bed. She sat down and pulled you forward with a quick yank, forcing your stomach against her knee. She reached over you to her bedside table, where she kept a specially designed toothbrush for her horse, Matthias.

“This is such a lovely little knick-knack,” She said pleasantly, twisting the dark wooden brush to catch the light, “It’s a shame I barely use it, don’t you agree?”

You grabbed her wrist in both hands and clawed and, though she swayed slightly, she manhandled you right back where she wanted you with ease. You grunted and she tapped your lips with the brush.

“Now, now, Wesker, no need to act an animal,” Her pet came back with a bucket of soap and a bucket of water, “Excellent choice, pet.”

Last year Lady Dimitrescu had taken to the scent of vanilla, and the smell was thick and syrupy the moment it was set down near you. She used a soft soap that gouged, somewhere between sloid and liquid, and pungent enough to drown your nose already. She scooped some onto her fingers, smiling, then looked at you with a grin crawling up her cheeks. “Try not to swallow.”

You took a quick breath, and she shoved her fingers into your mouth. The soap taste was unbearable, and she took obvious pleasure while she rubbed the soap onto your tongue. The taste filled your mouth, your nose, and no matter how hard you bit her hand she never wavered. She hummed a pleasant tune, tapping her feet beneath you while you struggled against her. When Lady Dimitrescu pulled away to grab the brush, you pulled in a breath and gagged.

She looked down at you, trapped against her and gasping between your violent gags, and smiled.

She tapped your cheek with the brush, and you flinched away from it.

“What a shame,” Lady Dimitrescu mused and tilted your chin up to watch the soap foam drip down your chin. She smiled slowly, her eyes widened softly, and she pushed the brush into your mouth. She scrubbed your teeth harshly, then your gums, your tongue and as far down your throat as she could push you before you were clawing desperately at her hand. She scrapped the brush against the inside of your mouth until you bled, until you had clawed holes in the skirt of her dress, until tears rolled down your face flatly and all you could smell, or taste was iron and rosemary.

By the time she had deemed your mouth clean, suds and spit covered your chin and her skirt. She released your jaw and let you sink to the floor and pushed the bucket of water over to you with her foot.

“All this, because you can’t listen,” She mused, taking her quellazaire from her pet. She turned to the tongueless woman and said, “Inside the bathroom, pet.”

You spat out a mouthful of blood and bristles, your hand shaking, running your tongue over your teeth and finding a few loose. Lady Dimitrescu was never gentle with her punishments to her staff, only her daughters were ever treated gently. She had told you not to cuss once before, in passing.

You wiped the spit off your chin and threw it into the bucket, your hands shaking, and your breath laboured. Rosemary tinted your every breath in when you heard the bathroom door shut.

“I would do that to Mother Miranda,” She said wistfully, relighting her cigarette, “if I could get away with it.”

“She’d kill you,” You choked out, coughing up a chunk of soap, “Speaking to her might help.”

“Mother Miranda doesn’t listen to me,” Lady Dimitrescu took a drag from her cigarette, “not anymore, at least.” She smiled at you, small and bitter, then turned her attention to the bathroom door and frowned.

You stared at her, and the bloody bristles covering your palm. “I know she doesn’t.”

“She speaks to you, a human—”

“Not a human.”

“A mortal,” She corrected absently, moving your chin towards her with the tip of her shoe, “is told over me. Does that seem… fair to you?”

You didn’t answer and she tilted her head as she took another drag from her quellazaire. Then she laughed, soft hiccup like chuckles more bitter than the taste in your mouth, smoke leaking from her ruby red lips.

“I’m obsolete.” She said, turning her eyes to the ceiling and then she laughed again.

“You are not,” You said, the words spilling blood from your mouth onto her shoe, “You have some uses.”

“Oh, thank you for the assessment,” Alcina crooned sarcastically, “It is ever so helpful.”

“I’m not good at this. And you scrubbed my mouth out with a horse brush.”

She pushed the tip of her shoe into your neck, just above the skin that hid your oesophagus. Her golden eyes glowed, “And you were just commenting on my daring, were you not?”

You glowered, then lowered your eyes to your murky reflection. “Yes, Madame.”

“By all means,” Lady Dimitrescu said, flicking ash onto the floor, “Speak.”

You picked up the still glowing end of her cigarette with a handkerchief and spat a glob of blood to smother it with. It was too late, predictably. The carpet was already ruined, “You are a hypocrite.”

“Hm? Did I not scrub hard enough?”

You pulled another bristle out from between your teeth.

“You never told me you had children.”

You dabbed the inside of your cheek with another handkerchief, pulling out a loose tooth as you did so. “I only had one.”

“You lied to me.”

You looked at her and shrugged, “I lie about a lot more than that.”

“Yes,” Her fingers tightened around her quellazaire, “I am aware of that.”

You looked away, into the bucket, then at the door. “It isn’t any of your business.”

"The lives of all my staff are my business."

“But I am not just yours.”

She leaned back a little, cocking her head to the side and smiling, “Yet.”

You glimpsed at her, at her smirk and her pose, the way it accentuated her perfect posture and the perfect way her hair fell and curled. The sleek stitchwork of her hat, her cream dress, the strokes of her makeup brush that painted her white. Perfect, down to the last cell.

“I know plenty about you,” She said, “A Frenchmen, a biologist, a test subject.”

“Easy things to learn from a file.”

“You hate the smell of brandy,” She continued in a dreamy sort of tone, “and acorns, whatever those are. You hate kidney beans and men who smoke. But you like cooking and you like me.”

You wobbled to your feet and took a few shaky steps away from her. She watched you and the blood that dripped down your chin with razor focus.

“I will likely be leaving.” You said, though it was much quieter than you would have preferred.

Lady Dimitrescu saw through your basic attempt and hummed, the sound reverberating through your bones. Then, mockingly, “Oh, are you afraid of dying?”

You looked at the draping on her bed, “You aren’t?”

“I am immortal,” She said, taking a drag from her cigarette then cocked her head, “Get out.”

…

You didn’t sleep that night.

So, after a few hours of soothing the pain in your mouth, you redressed and went into the kitchen. Alex was there, skinning whatever the Lady had deemed to her palate, so you moved to help with the vegetables. You didn’t speak for three hours, not until the prep work was done and the silverware was shining bright enough to blind.

You nodded as the other kitchen staff entered, “Ensure everything is perfect.”

And then you went to start your day.

You put your room to rights, cleaned the table, fixed the bedding and refolded any loose clothing. Then you moved into the dorm rooms for the other maids and roused them up fifteen minutes before six. You cleaned away the last remains of the five that had been eaten last night and dictated tasks down to the rest. Once the dorms had been cleaned to standard, and new bedding was placed on the once used beds, you moved to meet Mihaela at twenty past six and handed off the schedule for Lady Dimitrescu’s morning before Vanessa arrived.

Afterwards you sought out the three Dimitrescu daughters, who slept until half past seven before they deigned to rise. They kept their rooms warm as melted butter, with enough blankets to burn the scales off a rattlesnake, and you took a breath before entering. They were, as ever, aggressive but for Daniela who practically jumped into your arms. She smiled her wide smile and, after a little prompting, began talking excitedly about the necklaces she had made using your teeth.

You brushed their hair, first Daniela, then a yawning Bela and finally Cassandra who flopped half off the bed and snored while you fixed her hair. Once they were dressed, and their necklaces comfortably on their necks, you opened the doors and had breakfast brought in. The ate the dog meat with friendly chatter and warm tea. They weren’t as picky as their mother, nor as reliant on human flesh, and enjoyed tasting different meats when the opportunity presented itself.

But always you knew that they would bounce back onto human flesh. Such was their nature.

You took extra time to clean up their room as quickly and quietly as possible while they talked amongst themselves. Cassandra had disappeared immediately after breakfast, as she always did before you were finished cleaning and never returning until well after dinner. She was, as the other maids had told you, doing something in the opera hall and had barred all entrance into it while she was working.

Lady Dimitrescu always came to say good morning to her children, just after she had finished balancing her accounts and fielding any emergency phone calls. They calmed her considerably, and they talked while you cleaned around them in a flurry of movement. You did catch her eye one time, just as she was leaving, and she smiled at you with more mania than you had seen from her in a while.

At twenty-three past eleven, you went to clean the lower bedroom that Lady Dimitrescu worked in and found her pet hanging on the hooks with her chest broken open. Her ribs had been removed and you could clearly see her lungs inflating and deflating while she noisily took in breath. She would not live another minute, not with the glaze in her eyes as she reacted to your footsteps, especially not with the flies that buzzed out of your skirts and onto her neck. You watched her breath once and then turned your attention to the mess that was Lady Dimitrescu’s desk.

She had small roses made of glass, stuffed rodents that Daniela had made for her, flowers that Cassandra picked for her each morning from her private garden and small statues made of clay that Bela had made for her. And all of it was covered in blood which you would need to scrub and bleach from it all.

“At least you don’t have to deal with this.” You said to the hanging corpse and got to work.

When Vanessa did finally arrive, at one in the afternoon, you had been so thoroughly distracted by your work that you had run your fingers until they were bright red and throbbing. Lady Dimitrescu had watched you from her couch, tilting her head this way and that with feline laziness to track your every move.

Vanessa took tea with Lady Dimitrescu when she arrived, drinking the blood infused blend with a brave face and healthy smile. She always did have a stunning smile, matching to the Lady’s that you now worked under. The business they discussed, and discuss they did, loudly and bordering on obnoxious, was you. And Lady Dimitrescu twisted it into your past with almost reverent ease.

She was always too good at getting information from people.

“Cryogenically frozen?” Lady Dimitrescu asked, her smile stretching a tad too wide, “My, my. I had no idea.”

Vanessa smiled, and you could see the ticking of her brain as she tried to worm her way out of the current conversation, “Yes, it’s a fascinating process.”

“That sounds like quite the ordeal.” Lady Dimitrescu leaned forward, resting her head on her chin and you dug your nails into the platter you were holding.

“It was,” Vanessa said, “There are so many components that can go wrong.”

“Do tell.”

And so, it went on and on and on for two hours. By three in the afternoon, Lady Dimitrescu had weaseled herself into your personal life with as much finesse and subtlety as a charging rhinoceros, not that either you or Vanessa could divert her interest away from the topic. So when she left for work, brushing her hand under your chin as she went.

You watched her go for a moment too long, before Vanessa threw her arm around your shoulders and kissed your cheek.

“That is quite enough.” You said and shook her off.

Vanessa laughed and you went over to the dirty table and began stacking the dishes away. “Oh, come now, I haven’t seen you in twenty years!”

“That was on purpose.”

She sat back down while you cleaned, tossing her dark hair so that it caught the light brilliantly. She didn’t wear perfume, which made the room seem empty now that Lady Dimitrescu had left, and she seemed cold compared to the Lady. “Are you still mad at me?”

“I hope you’re quite finished.”

“You talk like that giant bioweapon.”

“She is,” You said severely, picking up the full tray and wiping down the table, “by definition, not a bioweapon.”

“You know what I mean.”

“Be more precise with your language.”

“Now you’re nit-picking.”

“Please, stop talking.” She smiled gently and you relented. “Fine. I missed you.”

Vanessa threw her arm around your shoulders again and gave you another kiss on the cheek. Daniela appeared before you and placed her sickle against Vanessa’s temple.

She scrunched her nose and her tone was soft and confused, “Why are you touching our things?”

[nepenthendline]

SAFETY - SAWAMURA DAICHI

gn!reader, sensory overload/nonverbal episode

AN: I haven’t written in a while but I’ve been feeling pretty shit recently and wanted to express it in a daichi fic, my nonverbal episodes and sensory overload have been almost constant for the past few days and I can’t seem to shake it, so here’s the daichi loving I’m craving

It had been a few hours since you heard Daichi walk through the door, returning from work for the day. Usually if you were home you’d have met him by the door with a kiss and a smile but there was a pressure crushing you, keeping you curled up in the safe haven of your bed.

Nothing in particular happened, just the lights, and the breeze from the window, and the smell of the food that Daichi had prepared for his lunch, and the ticking of the clock, and the buzz of the electricity, and the weight of your clothes and - just everything.  It was overwhelming. Every single sense submerged your mind in what felt like a sea of water, drowning you.

You hadn’t spoken to Daichi much during the day while he was at work, except for one text that signalled your distress. You didn’t have to say much for him to know what was happening, and he knew to let you be for a while as you tried to untangle your torment. You had heard some shuffling in the kitchen since he arrived, but that was the only evidence of his presence in the house. The bedroom door didn’t move once, and you were thankful for it.

That being said, your arms were twitching at the thought of him and began a war in your brain. You missed him; his warmth engulfed you whenever he wrapped his strong arms around your body, his woody scent intoxicated you completely, and his soothing voice relaxed every single tense muscle. He drowned out the white noise and the various textures in your home, to be replaced with only his care. He was safe, but also here was safe.

You stared at the wall for a few moments, or at least what you assumed was the wall in the pitch black room, before unravelling the duvet. You took a few moments, adjusting to the cool air as it began to steal your heat, then lifted yourself to sit on the edge. Half of your mind was telling you to get back into bed, stay where it was secure, but you needed him. Slowly, you made your way to the door, your hand shaking a little and you turned the handle that would open up to a circus of sensations. Although, after a deep breath and pushing the door open, it was calmer than you expected. There was a lamp or two on for sure, and the quiet hums of voices from the TV, but you could manage.

Your eyes locked onto the ground as you took a couple weary steps forward, coming closer and closer to the living room where you knew your husband would be; one step less every time until you could be back in protection. As you entered the room, you lifted your head a little to see him sitting comfortably on the sofa, a mug in hand and his eyes on you. His body was relaxed, soft looking, and there was a shy smile that took over his lips. You both gazed at each other for a few moments; him waiting to see if you would come closer, and you trying to calibrate your mind to the new surroundings. One hand left his thigh and gently patted the seat next to him, as the other put his mug down on the coffee table and picked up the remote to lower the TV’s volume.

Even though your body felt dazed you rushed to his side in an instant, curling yourself up beside him, gripping onto as much of him as you could as if to show a warning sign to anything around you that you couldn’t be harmed now. He lifted an arm to settle around your shoulders, testing your tolerance, before hooking the other under your legs to lift you into his lap when you didn’t move away. Your head found its way into the heat of his neck, closing your eyes and inhaling until your lungs burned for release. He held you close to his chest as his fingers ran over your arm or drew shapes on your hip; something that sent a shiver down your spine and yet worked to displace the anxiety.

You two sat like that for a while. With every second that passed you felt your head begin to swim it’s way out of its depths. You felt like you could breathe once again. A warm kiss settled on top of your head, one that tugged slightly at the corners of your own lips into something that could resemble a smile. You pulled back a little, enough to lift your head and see his face; it wasn’t too bright in the room but you could still see every detail of his skin and his dark eyes as they traced over your face.

“Hey love,” he said in a whisper, his head tilted slightly to rest on the back of the sofa. You offered him a short nod in reply as your own head settled besides his. “I made some dinner for you if you want to eat soon,” he added, eyes darting to the kitchen as if to guide you. You pondered for a moment, lips pressed in a firm line, before reaching a hand out and making a grabbing action - he knew what that meant; he always took the time to learn your little signals and what their importance was, especially in times like these. He reached to the coffee table and picked up his phone before unlocking it and tapping on to the notes app. Placing it in your open hands, you swiftly typed away your message to him.

What did you make? Thank you

The brightness of the screen lit up his eyes as he read and answered, “just some stir-fried vegetables and chicken. I’m not as good of a cook as you are though,” he mused, still using a gentle voice. You rolled your eyes at his comment as a smile found its way to your face. You pulled the phone back, deleting your previous message and typed again.

Maybe later, how was your day at work?

You turned the phone back to him and he let out a hum, “it wasn’t too bad, things haven’t been as busy this week which is good. It was mostly just paperwork today.” You lazily nodded along as he spoke, letting his voice soothe you further. “How was your day?” He asked in return, although you just shrugged, a grimace twisting your features that told him everything. His lips curled into a smile yet remained tight together; a smile that didn’t reach his eyes or his cheeks but told you he understood. Your eyes drifted downward, taking interest in the wrinkles of his shirt as you let out a deep breath. You sat still for a few moments while a feeling of guilt started to gnaw at you, although Daichi’s warm fingers on your skin seemed to fight it off slightly. Taking the phone back into your hands, you typed a new message.

I’m sorry

He peered down at the screen as you passed it back, then took it in his hands and deleted the message you wrote. Dropping the device in his lap, his hand came to rest on your cheek and brushed his fingertips over your skin.

“You don’t ever need to apologise for this. There’s nothing to be sorry for and you don’t need to worry. I’m going to be here through it all, and I chose that. I want to take care of you and I want you to be yourself, even if that means we have nights together like this, ok?” His words were firm, but still so soft on your ears. Your throat burned as you blinked away the tears that threatened to spill, and you nodded. Leaning forward, your head settled back into the crook of his neck with his chin resting on top of your head. His arms wrapped tighter around you pulling you as close as possible until you could feel his heartbeat pump against your own chest. This is what home truly felt like; a place full of love where you didn’t need to hide or worry, where you could be honest and fearless, and it was all right there in his arms.

[lune-hime]

Mosquito Huntress (Chocobros x f!Reader

I hate mosquitos, you hate mosquitos, we all hate mosquitos. This drabble is dedicated to the hundreds of mosquitos that died on my Korean dorm room wall at the hand of my  left Adidas sandal :3. 

Noct’s was inspired by true events. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

↞Noctis↠

It was the most horrendous sound. A sickeningly high pitched buzzing that vibrated among your ears at a rapid frequency. It pierced the veil of your dream and forcefully drop kicked you back into the waking world with a start. Just as you regained consciousness an electric clap in the darkness caused you to jolt, almost kicking the sleeping bag off your form. A shadow blocked out the dim moonlight that filtered through the ceiling of the tent.

Noctis’ eyes glowed like sapphires and shown with such an iridescence that meant he had just conjured up magic. Indeed, the clasped hands that were held a few inches above your head emitted a faint blue hue.

“Noct, what are you doing?” You drawled, the close proximity of the light within his palms to your face caused your eyes to squint in irritation.

“I got it.” He whispered victoriously, blinking a couple times in anticipation of your reaction.

“Got what?” You asked just as a large yawn engulfed you.

“The mosquito.” He grinned, shuffling to the door to the tent. He unzipped the zipper just enough for him to wiggle his hand outside, discarding the evil bug. Before you could speak up, Gladiolus’ violent snore ripped through the silence of the night from the far side of the tent. Prompto sleep-kicked the man in the stomach, offering a brief moment of tranquility before the disturbance would inevitably make a comeback.

“Did it die a painful death?” Your voice was devoid of sympathy and the seriousness on your face made Noctis chuckle as he sat cross legged next to you.

“I zapped it before it could land on your face. It died a quick death, sadly.” He stated in a hushed tone, gently brushing flyaway hairs from your forehead.

“What a shame. Still, well done.” You praised, reaching up to give his cheek a few lazy pats. He leaned into your touch, so much so that your drowsy limb flopped down onto the ground.

“What were you dreaming about?” He inquired softly. He was uncharacteristically chatty at this time of night for a boy who needed at least two naps daily.

“I was being serenaded by a beautiful man.” You grumbled. You were still peeved you were abruptly whisked away from the gentle, moonlit guitar strums and the man’s ethereal voice.

“As beautiful as in real life?” Noctis mused his lips curling into a smug smile. Your eyebrows knit in confusion.

“The man from my dream is real?” Your fatigued features contorted as your half asleep brain actually contemplated being able to manifest dreams into reality.

Noctis scooted so close to you that his leg was bushing against your side. He leaned down and stopped when his face was centimeters from your own, whips of his hair feathering your cheeks.

“He’s right here.” Noct stated lowly, his tone as smooth as the sea that resided within his eyes. Their serene waves were beginning to lull you to sleep.  

“No he's not. Ignis is on the other side of the tent.” You replied cheekily, now unable to keep your eyelids from falling. Before Noctis could respond you tugged on the fabric of his tee shirt and dragged him back down into the sleeping bag. You may have been exhausted but you always had enough energy to tease your prince.

↞Prompto↠

It was hot. Painfully hot. The kind of hot that once the humid air left a wet kiss on your exposed skin it clung to your form and every surface in the sun-exposed living room. The heat was slowly sizzling you alive and you were beginning to feel like a shrimp in a hot pot. A blonde shrimp was nestled atop of you, pressing your clammy body further into the plush sofa. His gentle puffs of steamy breath seared your neck and his limbs encircled you, involuntarily incubating you. The electric chattering of the fan and the low hum of the unattended television masked the otherwise curdled silence of the room.

Slowly rising from your slumber just as the sun was rising in the morning sky, you became fully aware of just how sweltering you were. And no matter how much you loved cuddling with your sunshine, he needed to get off of you otherwise you would dissolve into a pool of sweat. Wiggling around under him, you groaned when he clasped onto you tighter, burying his face further into the crook of your neck. You gave an exasperated sigh and now felt even stickier than before. You began to push him off once more, this time a bit more forcefully, when you saw it. The unwanted visitor stood out against the pale skin of his back like Gladiolus at your high school dances.

So you did the only thing you could do to ensure it wouldn’t escape. You smacked his back. Hard . The clap of skin on skin resounded through the apartment and caused a few pigeons to anxiously fly off their perch outside of the windowsill. The rapid flapping of wings was immediately followed by Prompto’s squirrel like squeak.

“WHAT’S WRONG?” His voice ascended to octaves that seemed impossible to reach. He was now very awake, disoriented, and in pain. He shot up to straddle you, sinking back onto your hips and reaching up to clutch the point of impact. There was a deep red mark already blossoming on his shoulder blade. Your eyes held pity until you saw the tiny daemon dust the skin of his upper arm.

“PROMPTO ITS ON YOUR ARM!” Your manic tone only skyrocketed Prompto’s anxiety. He recoiled when you leaned over to deliver another powerful hit. The poor boy was trying to grasp if he was still asleep and experiencing a nightmare.

“WHAT ARE WE AFRAID OF AND WHY DO YOU KEEP TRYING TO HIT ME?” He exclaimed on the verge of tears.

“MOSQUITO!” You rapidly pointed to just below the sleeve of his tank top, the dark spot illuminated by the warm bands of sunlight. Prompto let out a sound resembling a duck being squeezed.

“WHY DIDN’T YOU WARN ME SOONER?” His limbs were in a jelly-like frenzy as they slapped every exposed surface on his body. In the fray, it had strategically darted away from the hurricane of body parts but made its appearance once again when the storm had calmed.

“IT’S ON YOU NOW!” Prompto wailed, causing your eyes to grow wide.

“WELL THEN GET IT OFF ITS GOING TO SUCK MY BLOOD!”

“I DON'T WANT TO HIT YOU.” He whined, shifting apprehensively in his seat. He brought his hand inches from where the mosquito rested on your clavicle but hesitated before the glistening skin.

“I HIT YOU BEFORE ITS OKAY, IT EVENS OUT!” You encouraged, scooching closer to him so your knees touched. You craned your neck to give him a larger area to work with.

Reluctantly, Prompto’s palm came into contact with your collarbone a little too gently. You shot him an amused smirk.

“That was weak.” You said. He rolled his eye and when he removed his hand, the mosquito had been vanquished. You both exhaled a steamy sigh of relief.

Suddenly there was a brisk knocking at your door. After exchanging wide eyes, Prompto padded to the entryway. Before opening it, he discarded the carcass into the trash bin and gave his hands a few thorough wipes against his sweatpants.

A very tiny, unamused woman was standing in the hall. A lit cigarette hung lax from her right hand while the other rested on her hip. He blinked a couple times, unsure of what to say.

“Do I need to call the police or is yelling ‘It’s okay, hit me’ a kink of yall’s?” She said as more of a statement than a question, her voice gravelly. When she exhaled, a large puff of smoke blew into Prompto’s now reddened face. He tried to dodge it unsuccessfully and coughed before explaining.

“Uh, no, to both. We’re fine. We were just-” Prompto started, struggling to battle the creeping mortification brought on by the woman’s assumption. She abruptly held up her hand, cigarette dangerously close to Prompto’s mussed bangs, and turned to walk back to her apartment.

“I don’t need a detailed description of what you like to do in bed. Just keep it down.” She imparted, her voice cracking like and unpaved road, leaving Prompto a sputtering mess.  

A week later, the whole floor of the apartment complex was convinced you and Prompto had an affinity for bug and bug killer role play. It would take you several months to live this down.

↞Ignis↠

“Darling come to bed.” Ignis’ command was more of a sweet invite than an instruction as he was far too drained for anything else. It had been a longer day than usual at the Citadel and all poor Ignis wanted to do was feel the sweet embrace of sleep.

“No.” You retorted stubbornly, not wavering from your defensive post next to the bookshelf. There was no way you would be able to go to bed with that thing watching you, waiting until the vulnerability of sleep overtook you so it could feast upon your blood.

“Please.” He pleaded, his level tone turning into a slight whine by the end. This was the seventeenth time he had asked you. Yes, Ignis was keeping count.

“No, not until it tastes my blade.” You spat, eyes narrowing as you tried to focus in on the tiny intruder’s location.

“You are unarmed my dear.” Ignis’ lips curled into a smile. He discarded his book on his lap and resigned to watching your antics. If he couldn’t stop you, he might as well enjoy the scene before him.

“My hands are my blade.” Your statement was quickly drowned out by a yelp as the mosquito fluttered off the wall. Your body contorted in ways Ignis never knew it could to avoid any possible contact with the creature as it floated a little too close for your liking.

Ignis snorted at your response, lightly biting his bottom lip to swallow a chuckle. You looked more focused on killing this spec of dust than you did hunting a coeurl. No matter how silly the situation was, the glint of determination in your eye and over exaggerated reactions had Ignis regarding you with adoration. He adjusted his position against the headboard, satin sheets pooling softly downward to reveal his bare chest. His hair was still damp and mussed from his shower and thin frames laid low on the bridge of his nose. If you weren’t so preoccupied by the mosquito you surely would have been more than distracted by his appearance.

You circled the room and randomly hit any surface that harbored any substance that vaguely resembled a mosquito. When you accidentally slapped your thigh instead of the side of the wardrobe Ingis’ melodic laugh broke the tense air. You shot him a glare that could melt ice and stuck out your tongue.

Just as he was going to coerce with you once again, the small creature buzzed just under the rim of his glasses. He silently followed the bug with his eyes until it landed on the nightstand next to the bed.

“It’s over here.” Ignis gave you the tip, gesturing to the tiny dot resting on the mahogany.

“Smack it!” You screeched, excitement flooding your veins at the proposition of a peaceful night’s sleep.

“No.” Ignis said smoothly. He was always one to push your buttons. Even though he could end this ridiculous hunt with a single swipe of his palm, he felt teasing was a much more entertaining option. You gasped at his betrayal.

“You’re the one who wants it dead, not me.” Ignis responded innocently, a playful smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

“Come on, the minute its dead I’ll come to bed.” You pouted, attempting to bribe him with cuteness. Ignis shook his head and pursed his lips. It took everything in him not to start laughing again.

“But I’m so comfortable.” He dragged out each syllable, flopping down and spreading out so he took up the entire surface of the bed. His eyes resembled the greenery of rolling hills against the horizon as they regarded you from under his eyelashes. They almost made you forget about the task at hand. Letting out an annoyed whine, you turned your attention once again to your prey.

You thanked your crownsguard training for the lightness of your feet as they padded silently against the wood floorboards until you were within smacking distance. The moment your hand met the nightstand with a satisfying crack, a triumphant smile spread across your face. There was no way it could have survived that hit.

“I take that as a fresh kill?” Ignis questioned and propped himself up on his elbow.

“Yes, add another to my kill count.” You turned towards him, still beaming, and held up your palm to show him the bounty of your hunt. You playfully shoved your hand near his face, giggling when he struggled to push you away. He laughed, grimacing when it got a little too close to his cheek.

“Lovely, darling. Now go wash your hand and let's go to bed.”

↞Gladiolus↠

The air conditioning revved to life with three crisp clicks once your sweaty fingers tiredly turned the dial to the max setting. Your corner of the vast training room was now gradually flooding with a frosty breeze that prickled your clammy skin with delightful icicles. A satisfied sigh left your parted lips, thankful to be relieved from the stickiness of hand to hand combat. Your butt was practically glued to the bench as you let the polar vortex cool you down. The grunts of other training Crownsguard members and the slams of bodies hitting the padded mats were muffled by the pulsing in your ears as you gingerly patted the sweat from your neck and face with a towel. A few paces from you Prompto laid sprawled out on the floor, his chest heaving with heavy breaths.

“Don’t get moody, Prompto. She manages to overpower me half the time too.” Gladiolus nudged the deflated blonde with the toe of his boot and flashed you a cheeky grin.

“I know, I know. But the only one I’m ever able to take down besides the new trainees is Noct.” Prompto sighed dramatically.

“Well, that’s not a challenge at all.” Gladiolus snorted and passed you a water bottle, the condensation feeling lovely against your clammy palms.

“He might be easy, but he cheats by warping.” You added, rising from your seat to stand directly in front of the air con. The rush of cool wind felt heavenly on your back.

“Exactly.” There was no emotion in Prompto’s voice. He turned his head agonizingly slowly to look at you, gaze empty. You choked on your mouthful of water at his melodrama.

After taking a few generous swigs from his own water bottle, Gladiolus sauntered over towards you. Rather than standing next to you, like you expected, he grabbed your arms and moved to stand behind you. The action stole the euphoria of the synthetic wind and you whined in protest. He stretched his arms out on your shoulders and rested his chin atop your head.

“Well lately the only one who’s been kicking my ass is Iris. Besides the Marshall, of course.” You coughed as you wiped the droplets of water from your chin with the back of your hand. A giggle bubbled from your chest when you felt Gladiolus tense.

“Oh yeah, she’s getting good. It took her even less time to take the big guy down last week.” Prompto chuckled, vitality slowly flooding back into his system. Gladiolus visibly shuddered and released you from his hold to walk back over to the mat.

“She’s getting too good.” He mumbled as he rolled his shoulders.

“You wanna fight her next time instead of me, Prom?” You suggested jokingly. Gladiolus snickered, making Prompto faintly kick in Gladio’s general direction.

“No thank you. I’ll stick to the 15 year olds and Noctis.” He huffed as he pulled himself off the ground. His movements were like a piece of tape being tugged off of the floor painstakingly slowly. Once Prompto had vacated the training space, Gladiolus threw you a playful grin. He got into a fighting stance, his knees bent and arms angled for combat.

“Ready for our spar, baby?”

"Wait." You stated, attention on the corner of the air conditioner. Gladiolus squinted in the direction of your gaze.

"I will NOT train with this uninvited guest watching me." You declared, slowly rounding the corner of the machine. Prompto let out a quiet huh while Gladiolus shook his head.

“She really hates mosquitoes, doesn’t she?” Prompto asked rhetorically, fanning the sweat from his face with his hands. Gladiolus smiled fondly when you untied your shoe and attempted to use it as a killing device.

"Mhm. Honestly, I think her determination is pretty adorable." Gladiolus responded, not taking his eyes off you.

"Gladdy-" You whined when your target flew too high for your hands to reach. “I need your help.”

You beckoned him over with haste and he padded over with an amused glint in his eyes.

"Give me a boost, it's too high for me to reach." You tapped his shoulders and gestured for him to get down.

“What do I get in return?” He asked rather innocently. Your eyebrows shot up, expecting something more suggestive.

“I’ll treat you and Prompto to ramen when we’re done here.” You proposed, holding the shoe at eye level.

“Hell yeah!” Prompto cheered from the towel rack.

“Done.” Gladio hummed in excitement and knelt down so you could climb onto his shoulders. Gladio maneuvered you as close to the metal box as he could without ramming your knees into the side. You smacked the top hard with the sole of your shoe and turned it over for inspection.

“Hah! Die, bitch.” You roared happily, pressing a triumphant kiss to the top of his head. He squeezed your thighs in return and lowered you to the ground.

“My little mosquito hunter.” He cooed, smushing your cheeks together. “Now come on, let’s get this spar over with so I can get some free ramen.”

"Fine, but if I win Prompto has to fight Iris next week." You smirked.

“Sounds like a deal.” He agreed, winking at you as he got into position.

“This isn’t consensual!” Prompto’s protests were quickly forgotten in the throws of combat.

[moonculus]

terrible things ~ wilbur x reader

angst

warnings: death, weapons, kissing (all non-descriptive)

pronouns: implied she/her

notes: inspired by the song, terrible things by mayday parade. i apologize in advance <3

☾　‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾　‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾　‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾　　☽༓･*˚⁺‧͙　☽༓･*˚⁺‧͙　☽༓･*˚⁺‧͙　☽

that’s when i met your father, the boy of my dreams. the most beautiful man that i’d ever seen.

“mommy?”

you looked away from your coffee cup to meet your child’s bright eyes staring back at you.

“yes, honey?” you asked, smiling softly.

“what happened to my father?”

immediately, you felt your heart tighten. you had put off talking about your husband for as long as you possibly could. phil, techno, even tommy. everyone who cared for you worried about you. you had thrown yourself into caring for your child, barely even giving yourself time to feel.

“when you’re older, baby,” you tilted your head sympathetically.

the daughter clung to your leg, pouting up at you with puppy eyes. the same her father would make whenever he wanted a hug or kiss from you. you were never the disciplinarian. to be honest, neither of you were. you hoisted your daughter onto your lap, preparing yourself emotionally.

“well, since i was your age, i was convinced i would be a leader. no one could ever tell me i needed a husband, i thought boys were frivolous. while my friends would talk about crushes and cooties, i would talk about sword skills and the inner workings of our country. i never thought i’d need anyone. until i met your father…”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

you swung your wooden makeshift sword at a tree, grunting as it was stuck in the bark. you pulled at the handle, kicked at the stump, and eventually plopped down in the grass beside it, frustratedly.

“need some help?” a soft voice asked you.

a small boy your age crooked glasses and a yellow sweater he seemed to be quickly outgrowing.

“no. i can do it myself,” you huffed, brushing yourself off and attempting to pull the sword out again.

“my dad says it’s always best to accept help, even if you think you don’t deserve it.”

“my dad used to say if you can’t do things on your own, you shouldn’t do them at all.”

“your dad’s wrong,” the boy shrugged, leaning against the tree.

“do you mind?”

“i’m wilbur,” he grinned, sticking his hand out for you.

“i’m tired of this,” you folded your arms against your chest.

“well, tired of this. do you want to be friends?”

“my dad said friends make you weak,” you muttered, shifting from foot to foot.

“your dad’s wrong,” he repeated, smiling. “anyways. sometimes, everyone needs a knight in shining armor.”

with a swift hit to the handle in exactly the right place, the sword fell to the grass. your chest rose and fell as you glared at the weapon.

“thank you,” you mumbled.

“i’ll take a friendship as an apology.”

you rolled your eyes at him, a smile threatening to cross your face.

“fine.”

wilbur’s face lit up with a toothy smile.

“but,” you began, pointing a finger at him. “only because i owe you.”

“oh, of course,” he nodded, stifling a grin.

“y/n. my name. i’m y/n.”

“y/n,” he repeated. “i like it. i’ll see you around, y/n.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“and then what happened?”

your curious daughter that had been squirming in your lap, now settled, relaxing in your arms.

“well, a few years passed, and we became practically attached at the hip. inseparable…”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

i can tell by your eyes that you’re in love with me

“stay together- be safe!” phil called after the two of you, as if you would’ve gladly left the other alone.

“we will!” you chorused, already bolting away.

the once short and underdeveloped boy had grown into a lanky, somewhat scrawny teenager. stretch marks dotted his knees from an unexpected growth spurt at twelve. he had long since ditched his glasses, claiming that he was too mature for his crooked lenses. suspiciously, he had adopted the spectacles back once he had overheard a conversation between niki and yourself in which you told her you thought boys with glasses were cute.

the two of you flopped onto your backs at the same willow tree you had first met. it had become a memorial of the start of your friendship, a place you visited often.

clouds drifted through the sky, the both of you pointing out ones that looked like ducks and cats.

“d’ya ever think about your future?” wilbur asked you out of the blue.

“yeah. i’m gonna be a ruler. you can be one of my royal consorts,” you shrugged.

“what’s a consort?”

“i dunno, i heard my mom use it once. i suppose it’s like an advisor of some kind. you’re my second in command!”

“well, i’m fine being your second. as long as you don’t let it go to your head,” he nudged you, smiling.

you rolled your head to the side, meeting gazes with wil. his eyes searched your face, and for a second you were confused. you had barely even acknowledged the thought of crushes- you didn’t know what they felt like. later on, you could assume it felt a little like this.

the two of you leaned in, connecting your lips gently. neither of you had any clue what you were doing, it was both of your first kisses. as soon as it began, you pulled away. you didn’t miss the blush creeping into wilbur’s cheeks, just as he didn’t miss the smile you tried to hide behind your hand.

“i- crap. i li-“ wil stammered.

“i know.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“ew, cooties!”

“you’re right, cooties. that’s why you never kiss boys,” you pointed at your daughter.

“anyways, we loved each other. we had since the day we met, just were too young to know it…”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

im asking you, please. you know that i love you, will you marry me?

“gods, you look beautiful, honey,” niki cooed as she placed flowers behind your ears.

“you think so?”

“i know so! wil is going to be speechless.”

“we haven’t been out for weeks, with all of the battle preparations,” you sighed, placing your face in your hand.

“don’t remind me. there you are, perfect!” niki smiled, squeezing your shoulders gently.

“thank you so much, i owe you.”

“oh, hush. you owe me nothing,” she dismissed. “now, hurry! he’s waiting.”

there was a calm breeze as you walked to your willow tree. the air smelled floral and familiar, like it was curated just for you. you heard the soft strum of a guitar, and your steps quickened.

a grin plastered itself across your face as you saw your love, surrounded by blue petals and lanterns, plucking the strings of his instrument. it was a scene out of a movie as you took a seat in front of him. he smiled at you softly, not speaking until the melody finished.

“i love you,” he began, clasping his hands around your own. “i have loved you since i’ve known you. you are my muse, my meaning. without you, i’d perish beyond means. i promise i’ll care for you when you’re sick, when you take up half of the bed, when you insist on midnight walks- i’ll take it all.”

by now, tears of happiness were falling down your face, you practically already nodding.

“y/n y/l/n,” he started, pulling out a dark ring.

you interrupted him, throwing your arms around his neck and all but tackling him to the ground.

“will- you- marry- me-“ he laughed in between kisses. “i’ll take that as a yes.”

“yes, yes. of course it’s a yes, you idiot. i love you,” you smiled.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“but if you lived happily ever after, where’s dad?”

again, your heart felt pained. your eyes filled with tears as you squeezed your daughter’s hand.

“sometimes, it was just never meant to be…”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

please don’t be sad now, i really believe, you were the greatest thing that ever happened to me.

you were married as soon as possible, only your close friends and family invited to the wedding at the willow tree. a few months later, you were expecting. once you told wilbur, he was ecstatic. your family was growing. alas, the past few weeks had been strained. wil had grown further apart from you, feeling as if he were worlds away while he laid next to you. it all became clear, all the pieces clicking once the three of you stood in the final control room.

“wil, please. you’re going to have a child- you have me! you can’t do this, think of everyone,” you pleaded as phil held your arm.

“i’m sorry, my love. truly. i wish there were another way. i will never stop loving you. never,” he smiled sadly, his fingers dancing across the button that would annihilate your entire nation.

“it was never meant to be.”

phil held you close as you sobbed, his shouts at his son drowned out by the sounds of explosions. once the dust settled, you saw your boy, the same one who had always had the brightest eyes, dull and lifeless as he stared at you.

“i love you,” he mouthed as he nodded at phil.

you didn’t quite understand what was happening, not until it happened. your hand flew to your mouth to muffle your screams as the man’s blade plunged itself into it’s target. you scrambled to your lover, his soul already left his body. you cradled him in your arms as long as you could before his father had to carry you away from him.

from that day forward, you pledged to throw everything you could into daughter- the legacy of your late husband. you swore you’d never leave her.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

don’t let it get you, i can’t bare to see the same happen to you.

“he’s gone?” she breathed out, tears falling down her little face.

“yes,” you sniffled, failing to hold back your own tears. “yes, he’s gone. but he loved us very much, even if he never got to meet you.”

your daughter clung to your shirt, not fully understanding everything. you would explain to her later more in depth, when she was old enough to understand.

“you were his unfinished symphony. his little melody,” you smiled down at her.

melody would learn to understand her father through stories from you, her uncles, and her grandfather. the two of you continued to visit his final resting place- the willow tree you had buried him at. for a while, it had only reminded you of misery, memories you’d never get to relive. but, ever since melody had been born, the tree was rejuvenated. it even seemed to sway as if it were listening when you spoke.

your wilbur, his love, and your baby, melody.

your symphony.

☾　‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾　‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾　‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾　　☽༓･*˚⁺‧͙　☽༓･*˚⁺‧͙　☽༓･*˚⁺‧͙　☽

[littlemspeachy]

My Hair

Warnings: Hair related trauma, mentions of alcoholism and disassociation, cutting hair

Word Count: 468

Authors Note: Hermione is black and has hair related trauma and if that is something that hits close to home then this might be the best read. But it does have a good ending.

Hermione cut her hair off shortly after the war. She held her braids up high and cut them off at the root.

Promptly after, she punched the mirror and broke her hand. She sobbed while sliding down the wall of the orange-lit bathroom, her hair around her. She screamed when the tears blurred her eyes and made the fallen hair look like snakes. She hid underneath her blanket when Harry and Ron tried to ask her what had happened. She didn't leave the room for two days.

This wasn't the first time she did this. She did it the first time in 5th year when Umbridge didn't let her in the classroom and then gave her detention for "skipping."

"My hair shall always be straight and professional."

That was when she learned to disassociate.

She ran to her dorm and cut it all in a fit of rage and anger. Her anger almost made the dorm explode if it wasn't for Ginny snapping her out of it.

The younger girl would never get it. They both knew that. But they knew that they could trust each other, so Hermione let her and Angelina even it out and give her scarves to cover up the results of her sadness and anger.

You see, they could never know her anger. No one could ever know. That would give them power and strength over

her. That would let them win, and they couldn't win. They couldn't see that they were killing her and breaking her down to her bare spirit.

So she hid it. She hid it under wigs and pretty scarfs with patterns of her ancestors and house colors. She was

there and had made it that far for a reason, and she wasn't going to give up now.

---

During the war, she kept it and tried to stay away from scissors, even though she failed and always ended up cutting an inch off.

'everyone has their destructive habits.' she mused as she watched Ron drown in a bottle of whiskey that he grabbed, and Harry's eyes glazed over as he sunk into his head not to leave for days.

She still notices that they have those habits and that they're getting over them slowly but surely. Ron slowly got himself off of drinking every time he got stressed, Harry slips away sometimes, but he only stays for a while, and for Hermione. Well, she can cut the ends of her braids to boil them and get them ready for curling. She can cut the lace of her friends' wigs and wears scarves to bring more attention to her growing 'fro.

Now she sits in the living room with her daughter between her legs with children shows playing on the telly and

her family laughing over Sunday dinner. She sits and smiles, putting braids into her daughter's hair, just like her mom did for her.

[envyathan]

[04:06] - i missed you in my dreams

@marissa-rosemary sent :: I loved the Mammon with a nightmare thing you did! Could we maybe get one where it's the MC who has a nightmare and goes to his room? Please and thank you! ♡

author notes :: sequel to mammon has a nightmare (here) aka the fluff ver.

tw :: some nightmarish description !! not TMI though.

You didn’t want to be here anymore- not in the plane of demons, definitely not any much longer away from the comfort of your room. Your real room and not with some strangers.

Of course- they’re more than that, they are friends- some are family, and well, one is... Something else entirely.

No matter- you came into the Devildom unannounced, thrown into the world of superstitions after leaving everything that made sense to you. Yet, for some reason, the ghosts of your bad dreams and all your terrible memories revive themselves from the dark. One by one, as you inch closer into the depths of dreams, a reoccurring thought appears once more before you doze off...

“Would anyone care if I was gone..?”

And then, you sleep- or at least, you try to. 

You slip into a nightmare, from one into the next. You can’t remember the last four, but you get a feeling that it’s better that way.

You’re in the dark, now, trying to wake yourself up; you can feel your arms by your sides, almost like being held down.

A ghost is breathing on your neck but as soon as you break free from this grasp and turn around, he isn’t there. Within seconds, they’re gone in a shadow of smoke. Perhaps that isn’t the frightening part- but you know you’re alone in this sleepless abyss- abandoned and forgotten by the world above.

Earth begins to turn into sinking sand beneath your feat and the feeling is terrible- as though your heart is being pulled from your mouth as you try to breathe, drowning in a sea of dirt.

A fear of being buried alive...

As if drowning and seeing the light at the end of the tunnel, you see him. The ghost right in front of you, calling for you in broken whispers.

Mammon.

He's crying- and you whip your head towards his familiar sobbing, a sound you hated to hear even in the void. Your eyes widen- heart racing but when you try to move it’s impossible; you’re frozen in place.

He’s holding... Someone who doesn’t seem to be moving and that alone scares you, because that hairstyle looks like the one Asmo picked out for you- so do those tennis shoes... And that’s when you awake with a scream- seeing yourself dead in your best friends arms.

“HELP!” You yelp, sitting upright with the sheets falling off and shirt still clinging to your skin. You can’t help it as you feel a wave of relief before the tears start pouring. You’re shaking- you can’t possibly be shaking when you’ve just got done leaking sweat.

Regardless, you’re a wreck- you almost don’t hear the door click shut, but you do, and that makes you cower into your arms more.

“Mammon..?” You whimper through a hoarse voice, and immediately-

“I came running as soon as I heard ya scream...” Mammon’s voice hushes as he sees you, but your tears are so blurry, its hard to navigate through the dim room only lit up by the hall lights. All you can think of is: Mammon, Mammon, Mammon...

You stretch your arms out and he grabs onto you before you can ask him to give you a hug.

“What’s wrong?..” His voice is oddly soft now as he pats your head albeit awkwardly. His heart is in the right place and that alone makes you smile. Still, he’s trying- and that settles it for you, that he isn’t just a moron as everyone says- perhaps a fool, yes, but a fool with a heart of gold.

“...Had a nightmare... Can I sleep with you tonight?...” You say this so gently he has to turn his head slightly and ask- “What? Say that again?”

You almost want to hit him, but you laugh at his ignorance, because ignorance is bliss and maybe it’s better he doesn’t know how much your heart ached. Not for your own self- not for the life you never got to live out, but you were sad for him above all else. Perhaps that’s what it means to care for someone, you muse as he rubs soothing circles into your back, and you think... Maybe he likes you, or at least thinks something of you- and that makes you want to smile selfishly.

You’re still hiccupping.

“I just had a nightmare, that’s all... was wondering if...”

A hesitant exhale as you steady your breathing, collecting your thoughts.

“If maybe tonight, I can chill in your room?.. I don’t want to be left alone...”

Pause and still no response and that alone filled you with anxiety.

“Please?”

Before you could even realize it, Mammon was carrying you bridal style to his room, eyes glowing as he grinned despite the way his heart ached.

You felt deeply embarrassed but were definitely too scared to move as the 6-something giant laid you on the bed, tucking you in like a baby without another thought.

“Don’t worry, you won’t be alone so long as I’m here, [MC]!” He states that as though it was a fact and not some false promise he'll keep till he gets bored enough...

Dawn til the late afternoon- just the two of you talking about everything and anything.

"It’s always been like that between you two... It’s a little sweet.” The soft voice in the darkest parts of your mind sing a lullaby, so you think. 

...That’s when you finally fall asleep.

You wake up occasionally, making sure he’s still on his couch scrolling through Devilgram and not off spending money... Not that it mattered to you- rather, like you told him yourself: you just didn’t want to be alone.

He keeps his word, however- and when you actually wake up, you see him laying on the couch, head tilted towards you- and a post notification from Devilgram. Sleepily, still perplexed by your terrible nightmares that you don’t realize who Mammon’s new girlfriend is. All you see is him smiling at the foot of her bed, with her blankets and a grin on his face.

Your heart breaks- shatters in a span of seconds, but immediately it’s put back together.

That hair color: yours, and that blanket was his... The morning face you had was the one currently staring back in the reflection of your D.D.D.

Your heart flutters and you have to think about something else before it eventually slows down. You shouldn’t be so happy- but you are- and it almost feels like a whole lifetime ago since you last missed home, even if it was less than a day ago.

...Home is where the heart is... And you’re beginning to realize your home is with him- with Mammon, wherever he goes, your heart follows, even if things are a little scary and Definitely confusing.

And although you’ll never have the guts to say it, at least not anytime soon, you love him, he’s a idiot- but he’s your idiot.