#(LISTEN i just think that when she was little she lacked the vocabulary to express her feelings on the Amity situation-

[allegra-writes]

“Nibbles”

Armand x Daniel Molloy

General Audiences

Warnings: None. This is pure fluff.

Disclaimer: I don't own the vampire Armand or Daniel Molloy, nor will I be accepting tips for this story or any story set in Anne Rice's Immortal Universe. Jackie and Boss the cat however, are all mine.

MY MASTERLIST

"No, Armand is not some barely legal gold-digging twink. First of all he has way more money than me, trust me. Second, he is older than he looks. And third, he is… very mature for his age. I'm honestly appalled your sister used that kind of language to refer to him" Yeah, Daniel Molloy was perfectly aware he was the pot calling the kettle back. But this wasn't him, this was his daughter, she was supposed to be better. Then again, before last Saturday when she had showed up unannounced following the news he had a terminal disease, Ashley and he hadn't spoken in, well, years, so maybe he was not familiar with her vocabulary anymore.

"Don't take it to heart, you know how she gets" through the speaker, his younger daughter's voice sounded almost apologetic, "she just worries, it's not her fault she lacks the emotional tools to express it in any other way than being a bitch about it"

Daniel snorted, almost dropping the cell phone he was precariously holding between his shoulder and ear, as he tried to hold all his groceries with one hand while feeling around in his pockets for his key, frowning a little.

That was weird. Normally, Armand would open the door for him before he even arrived, with all the excitement and impatience of a kid that just couldn't wait anymore. Maybe he had gone out to hunt for a bit? But no, he could hear the blender going off inside. Oh, no, what was his little monster doing now? It certainly couldn't be anything good if he were so concentrated as not to notice Daniel's arrival.

"Jackie? Let me just put you on hold for a bit" He fumbled a little but managed to fit the key into the lock without letting anything fall.

"Dad, I think you just put me on speaker, I can hear-"

But Daniel was not listening to his daughter anymore. No, he was too busy gawking at the image of his five-hundred-year-old demonic lover standing in the middle of his messy kitchen, face the perfect huge-eyed, mask of innocence, holding a glass with some green concoction in one hand and on the other…

"Armand… what the hell is that??"

“Your kale smoothie” he deadpanned. To Daniel's surprise, at the other side of the line, Jackie snorted loudly.

“Oh my god! Dad, does he have an ostrich? Tell me he doesn't have an ostrich!”

“What? No! Why would he have an- You know what, let me just call you back”

Daniel didn't wait for a reply but judging by the way Jackie was still laughing as he ended the call, he didn't think she minded it too much.

“She didn't. She actually finds the situation quite funny.” Armand replied out loud to the thoughts in his head in that insufferably yet endearing way of his. Daniel hated to admit he had missed it. “Apparently, I inadvertently emulated a famous internet meme”

Nice try at changing the subject.

“Armand, why are you holding a kitten?" His eyes flickered briefly to the microwave, the idea discarded almost as soon as it took form. Armand had gotten over microwave ovens in the 80s.

Armand scoffed,

"Of course I'm not going to microwave this cat. Cats are not vermin, cats are intelligent creatures with inner lives more complex than some humans. And this one is mine now"

"Yours" Daniel's tone and mind were blank, in shock.

"Well, ours" Armand corrected himself. And that small four-letter word should not have had that effect on him, making his old, weary heart skip a beat. He wasn't a lovestruck teenager for fucks sake, and Armand and him had owned things together before -a whole fucking island came to mind- but this felt different, so normal, so fucking domestic , Daniel had no idea what to do with it.

Especially when Armands carefully blank expression betrayed how important this was to him. Anyone else wouldn't have been able to tell, but Daniel was an expert on all things Armand, and knew the tighter the lid the vampire kept on his expressions, the more significant the issue was to him.

And hell only knew why, but the scruffy little thing on Armands hand was important .

Daniel bit back a sigh. He almost wished he hadn't hung up on his daughter, Jackie used to pull that kind of shit a lot when she was a child, always bringing home strays to foster with the hope that maybe one day, she would be allowed to keep one. Maybe if he got her and Armand to bond, the broken pieces that remained of what had once been his family would get out of his case over dating someone -apparently- over forty years his junior. At the very least, he would get another person in his corner. Two against two was a lot fairer than three against one.

“Where did you even get the thing?” he asked, his mind already going over the familiar steps of the dance he never thought he would be doing again, of vets appointments and vaccination and kittens formula and round-the-clock bottle feedings.

“In an alley downtown, he was cold and alone. He is old enough to eat meat, just too young to hunt on his own”

Was that what Armand had been doing in that alley? Hunting? Daniel quickly decided he didn't actually want to know. Choosing to focus on the kitten instead, he gestured for Armand to hand it over.

Christ . The poor thing felt practically weightless, all skin and bones, so fragile even in his old, unsteady hands. Exactly how long had he been out there, cold and alone as Armand had put it, searching in vain for food, for shelter, for warmth? And what strange whim had impulsed Armand to bring him home with him instead of simply breaking his tiny neck, put him out of his misery right then and there?

But it was right there, wasn't it? Right on his dirty little face, striking against the creature's black fur. The cat's eyes were the bluest of blues. Almost violet .

Daniel's own stunned eyes met Armands normally stoic, inscrutable ones. What was what had flickered in them just now? That quick flash of emotion there and gone in less than a second. Affection? Guilt? Had he really spared that pitiful kitten just because it had Daniel's eyes?

Armand’s throat bobbed, an all too unnecessary thing for a vampire’s throat to do. Particularly one’s as uninterested in performing humanity as Armand’s.

“I didn't want him to die” He conceded, as if it pained him to do so. Daniel stifled the smile threatening to form at the half a century serial killer’s petulant tone.

“Alright then” for once, he would refrain to pry further and leave it alone, “Have you named him yet?”

Armand’s whole stance seemed to relax, all the defensiveness there leaving at once.

“I was hoping you would want to do the honors” It wasn’t a question but it came out as one. Daniel didn’t fight the impulse to smile, or to place a kiss on that pouty mouth then. He didn’t want to. Armand, the little shit, bit into his lower lip, not hard enough to hurt but hard enough to sting just the way Daniel secretly enjoyed.

A different, sharper sting on his thumb informed him their new roommate didn’t appreciate being crushed between their bodies, his little huff sounding a lot like Armand’s annoyed sigh at the loss of Daniel’s lip.

“Ow! You are just as much of a tyrant as your owner, aren’t you?” A tiny but very sharp set of fangs sunk into his finger as reply “And just as bitey. I have the perfect name for you…”

Armand rolled his eyes, no doubt having plucked the admittedly silly name from Daniel's mind, but the way the corner of his lips curved up told him he approved it. Or maybe, he was filled by the same giddiness as him. And maybe it was unbecoming of a man his age, like his oldest had told him. And maybe there was nothing normal about them or their relationship, and maybe nobody, vampire or human, would ever understand it, but at that moment, Daniel Molloy realized this time, maybe they could do domestic. Maybe this time it could be different.

Maybe this time, they wouldn't crash and burn.

[multifandomcurse]

ASHLEON (ASHLEY GRAHAM / LEON S. KENNEDY) an idea.

Hi.

As you have realized, I enjoy sharing all my "scenarios", headcanons or AU, featuring my current OTP or ship, with all of you, here on Tumblr, as a way to let you my ideas and, if someone finds them interesting, they could write something.

My current OTP is Ashleon so... Here is what I have been thinking about them:

⚠️ WARNING ⚠️

I'm not a big fan of Resident Evil, so some of the facts or the way that the characters could act would be out of character/canon.

⚠️ Warning ⚠️

Sorry About my lack of vocabulary or bad grammar 🫠

So. Do you know that Leon's childhood was a mess due to the connection that his family had with criminal organizations?

Think about Ashley knowing, for the first time, that information.

I couldn't define how I would like Leon to tell her about his past but...

But definitely, Ashley will feel bad about him. She would be like "He is so kind and it's a bit difficult to think that he had suffered too much"

One time, Ashley remember when they were in Spain, sometimes Leon woke up abruptly that scared Ashley, he apologized and she answered with a gentle "Don't worry" and without asking, Leon started talking about his childhood (just the most decent parts, He started talking about him just a way to created a distraction. He was like "Is it better she thinks about bio-weapons or my terrible past?)

She remembers her thinking something like "I trust Leon but I think he was hiding some information about his childhood or teenage years"

So she decided to look up Leon's info by entering into her father's computers.

To add some action here I think something like:

Ashley is complete immerse in what she is doing, she didn't notice that her father and Leon are about to enter her father's office.

She barely closed the laptop, hoping that by doing that all the data about her father's agent would get closed. The President and Leon look a little surprised with Ashley there. "What's she doing here?" All because the President and his security group don't want Ashley close to the president's office or places where Ashley could activate a weapon or a protocol to start a war or something like that.

She acts weird and makes Leon suspect that something occurred at the office but she is not to say anything to him or her father.

By the fickle finger of fate, Leon gets to see all the research that people from the government have made about him, and he finds a search that came from the president. But he knows the president has been on a business trip and he doesn't have enough time to look up info about him, so he thinks it was Ashley, and his theory becomes a reality when he finds the date of the search and sees that it was the same as when she found Ashley at her dad office.

She didn't expect Leon to come to her place (but President Graham asked Leon to take care of his daughter while he is on a business trip) , but she does not complain about it if that means spending some time with Leon.

So, one day the two of them were just talking and eating dinner. Ashley always talks and Leon just sit and listen to her carefully. She can't forget about what she read at Leon's report, so she decided to stop what she was saying and continue with "Leon, I am always the one who talks, but I want to know more about you"

Leon's expression darkened, full of anger.

He just could laugh in a sarcastic way.

"What do you want to know about me if you already know everything, don't you?"

She gets nervous. Leon... - she smile gentle, trying to avoid Leon anger — what are you talking about?

Even though she thought that question could pace the tense atmosphere, it makes Leon being more angry that he already was.

"Don't try to mess with me, I already know that you have looking for my info. On your dad's computer. Why?! What's the urgent to know more about me when I don't want to talk about it, with nobody, especially you?"

Ashley barely says Leon's name, in a quiet whisper, but she can't continue talking. All the words, now a mix of yelled words, bad words just stay at the top of her tongue, not being listened by Leon.

She just stand up, and leave Leon's there. He swears he could listen her crying. Even he wants to stop her, the best thing would be take some distance to clarify all his feelings. (Of course here, you could add something like "Leon feeling guilty about he yelled at Ashley and what he said to her". It's not like he doesn't talk about his childhood with Ashley, he just wanted to avoid the topic, he is not ready to talk about himself and his life, also he is like "I know enough about Ashley to feel some affection for her, and I don't want to make her feel not good knowing my past" Also a feeling of "I don't want her to change with me just because I has not a common childhood"

Then, Ashley locks in her room, she cry a little but then she try to calm herself. "that's what I get just because I worried about him... Yeah, I'm stupid. The best thing is to keep my distance between me and Leon"

She falls sleep, and starting dreaming about Leon childhood.

Here you can imagine a situation (of course I need Leon crying and Ashley saving him) but then she wakes up and start crying because of what she dreamed. She leaves her room, trying to find leon. Immediately she goes to the guest room but he is not there. She starts to cry, because she thinks Leon already go, leaving her all alone.

She went to the balcony, where she finds him. She wants to talk but the words just don't come out and the only thing she can do is hug Leon. That hug has nothing to be with their fight, it's a hug to say "I'm here"

She feels guilty, not only because she look up Leon's info but also because, and she knows it's impossible, but she couldn't be there to help, save and support young Leon.

Leon will hug Ashley, just saying sorry...

I don't know how to end this but please took my idea and create a great one shot 😓👌🏻

[welcometogrouchland]

Based off that one scene in eclipse lake I've decided that willow's favourite human music would be the world's worst fucking ear-bleeding hyper pop.

Hunter sits down to listen to it with her and has to rip the headphones off 4 seconds in because he thinks he's gonna throw up and willows like "omg are you okay?? I'm sorry we can stop listening to it if you need to :((" all concerned and hunter's like "no no it's fine! I just...don't know why you listen to this. Or how" and willows like "it makes my brain itchy :)" and hunter says "THAT'S A GOOD THING??"

[jbreenr]

𝐅𝐨𝐫 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐓𝐡𝐫𝐢𝐥𝐥

Pairing: Ransom Drysdale × Reader

Summary: You wanted to meet Ransom's family, he wanted to make sure you'd never want it again.

Word count: 3k.

Warning: Poorly written smut (+18 only, please), public sex (prompt 11), fingering, unprotected sex (don't do that, kids. be responsible), a bit of dirty talk, the Thrombeys being the Thrombeys. And I think that's it.

A/N: So, after finding out one of my stories was stolen an translated in Wattpad, I did not know if I should post this just yet but, what the hell? Let's do it. Anyway, this is for @stargazingfangirl18 and @navybrat817 's Shameless Hoes for Chris Challenge so, happy belated birthday! Yaaay. 🥳 Hope you like this at least a little and that it's not as bad as my paranoid brain thinks it is. Also, I just love how the prompts fit perfectly together, don't you? As always, lack of vocabulary and grammatical mistakes abound. *apologizes in español*

Wheel results (just attaching evidence):

ᴹʸ ᵍⁱᶠ

Draining, tedious, exasperating. Those were some of the adjectives Ransom associated with Thrombey family reunions. He'd arrive late, have some sort of conversation with his grandfather and leave early to do whatever that took him away from that big house.

Today though, he had a reason to stay for more than half an hour.

If it was up to him, you two would have stayed at home, happy, relaxed, and most importantly, naked in his bed, having a more pleasant time than the one you were most likely about to have. 

He tried to persuade you. Of course he did! But your insistence and puppy eyes made it impossible for him to say no to your request. 

So, here you were, getting out of his car, cake in sweaty hands and an excited smile on your lips, an expression so different from Ransom's, who seemed to be ready to get back behind the wheel and drive straight to Canada.

He didn't knock; he simply opened the door and held it for you to enter. If the three floor house was imposing from the outside, you felt impressed by the inside. Extravagant sculptures, apparently expensive paintings and other kinds of pieces of art were scattered everywhere, telling you just how wealthy and eccentric Ransom's family were. 

“That's Harlan Thrombey! ” You exclaimed as you stood in front of the portrait of your forever favorite author holding a knife and a book.

“So?” Ransom asked, unconcerned.

You turned to him open-mouthed, the cake almost slipping off your palms as you went to playfully slap him in the arm.

“How come you are related to Harlan Thrombey and you didn't tell me?” Your question was more of a shock than an accusation.

The carefree gesture he did with his shoulders only accentuated his next words. “I did not think you would be interested in knowing.”

“I wouldn’t be interested?” Incredulity, flowing out of your lips. “He’s the best thriller author of all time! He’s like today’s Edgar Allan Poe!”

To say that you didn't believe him was an understatement. He knew for a fact that you liked Harlan Thrombey's books, just taking a look at the bookshelf in your apartment was proof enough of that.

“We call him grandpa here.” Said a femenine voice. A brunette walked in your direction, her pretty features hardening as she looked at your boyfriend. “Don't we, Hugh?”

He seemed to be ready to say something but decided not to. Instead he inhaled and placed his hand on your back.

“This is Y/N, the only reason I’m not telling you what you need to hear right now.”

Her eyes rolled in irritation and then turned to you. “I’m Meg. Let's introduce you to the rest of the family, shall we?.” And she dragged you to the room where more people were gathered together, discussing something, not before sending a deadly glare at Ransom.

Given the distance between you and him, you didn't listen to the heavy sigh he let out before waking behind.

“Everyone!” Meg called, making everyone leave whatever they were doing to look at her –and you, in consequence. “Meet Y/N, Hugh's new friend.” She then proceeded to introduce every single member of the family, including the housekeeper and the nurse, except for the grandfather, who apparently had a moment of inspiration and left them momentarily to put his ideas on paper.

None of them left their seat to go and shake your hand except for Meg's energetic mom, who hugged you and expressed how much she loved your coat even though it was soooo last season.

Sitting on a couch next to Ransom, you half expected someone to ask you about how you two met or how long had you been dating or what was it that you did for a living. Nothing. As fast as their attention was on you, it fell from you to their previous discussion.

You now understood why Ransom jokingly suggested deep cleaning the house instead of attending that reunion.

What you weren't aware of, Ransom thought, was that all of them were behaving wonderfully compared to previous times.

You didn't know if you felt more disappointed or uncomfortable. Ransom had left your side to go to the studio for a second and you had barely had any interaction with his family. All of them, dipped in their own matters to even notice your presence. 

Fran, the housekeeper, was kind enough to take the cake to the kitchen and offer you a glass of water, but after giving it to you, she disappeared along with Meg and the nurse. 

“So,” All at once, the room went quiet as Ransom's uncle spoke. “Have you read any of dad's books, Y/N?” Only until you heard your name was that your head snapped up.

“Oh, uhm… yeah. I'm a big fan.” Taken by surprise, you simply answered.

“Really? Which one have you read?”

And to that question, you felt suddenly included in the conversation since you had knowledge of the topic.

“I'm like fifty pages from finishing 'The Needle Game' and intrigue is eating me alive.” As you heard the excitement in your voice, you tried to compose yourself and said “Though 'Nick Of Time' is my favorite.” You smiled at him, hoping that your answer was a good one.

The woman that was introduced to you as Ransom's mother nodded as she licked her lips. The light of the fireplace, reflecting on her glasses as she moved her head up and down.

“Have you read 'Ultimatum' or 'Drop In The Pocket', dear?” Her tone was curious, but the look on her face said differently.

You responded anyway. “They're not bad. I feel like the ending of 'Drop In The Pocket' was a little vague and out of line but it can always be interpreted as an open ending so…” The change in their expressions told you that you had to add something else to that answer. Maybe it was not time for literature humor yet. “But I enjoyed both.”

She hummed and took her drink, detaching from the talk that continued with courtesy questions until it morphed into a heated discussion between Ransom's father and uncle, who would repeatedly ask for your opinion to back up his own.

The discomfort you felt, dispelled to be replaced by the disturbance of being bombarded with dozens of questions at a time, each louder than the other until they changed to a completely different topic to which you were occasionally included as a neutral point of view.

“She knows what she's talking about!” Said Richard at some point when you confirmed one of his arguments. “Thank you, dear.”

Ransom came back from his obligatory argument with his grandfather to find you nowhere to be seen. 

“She's using the bathroom.” Informed Jacob, who did not take his eyes off of his cellphone. 

Thinking that you went there to hide, he started his way to your potential direction until an overheard observation from his mother stopped him halfway through. 

“… Did you hear how she talked about dad's work? Oh, I assure you she won't make it to next week with Ransom.”

Her and Richard's backs were to him, both of them unaware that their son was listening to their share of opinions.

“And did you see her hands?” Joni joined the criticism contest. “She could use some moisturizer, I tell you.”

As usual, they ignored her attempt to fit in and kept going.

“I know it's contradictory to say this,” Richard paused, as to make his point clear. “But he could do better.”

Despite their whispering, Ransom heard every single word and was glad that you were not there to see what was about to happen… 

Ransom's words stuck on his throat when he saw you making your way out of the bathroom, fixing the skirt of your dress, with such niceness and warmth directed to him as you smiled, oblivious to the fact that the people you were trying to get to like you weren't going to. 

His parents were right. He could do better. He could determine to not see them ever again and it would be the best thing to happen to him… Besides you, obviously.

“What's wrong?” Your concern was evident, just as his annoyance was undeniable.

Cold hands caressed his cheeks and Ransom thought of going back to Joni and tell her to fuck off. Your touch was soft, comforting, and gave him the greatest idea he'd ever had.

“I want to show you something.” Was his answer. It was better if you were the one who decided to never step on that house for the rest of your lives. It didn't matter if it was out of embarrassment.

Taking your hand in his, he guided you up the stairs to the first landing. The creaking sound of the old structure, probably alerting everyone in the other room that you were going to the next floor.

“Are you okay?” The sweet giggle that you let out when he abruptly stopped, almost making him feel bad about what he was seconds away from doing. 

“Better than ever.” And he stamped his lips to yours. 

Taken aback, it took you a second to respond. Hands on each side of his face as his own explored your body. When his fingers lifted your dress to caress your ass cheeks was when you ended the kiss. 

“What are you doing?” You asked in a breathless whisper. “Not that I'm complaining.”

You were cornered against the wall with Ransom towering in front of your smaller frame.

Trying to escape from whatever he had in mind was useless, you knew that much. Though, you were not sure if you really wanted to escape.

“What I've been wanting to do ever since you got a shower without me this morning.” His lips found your jaw and descended to your neck where he sucked to create a bruise. Your eyes closed to the sensation.

“Wait. No, wait.” His fingertip that had started rubbing your still clothed bud paused it's motions as his eyes focused back on your face. “We can't do it. Not here.”

Ransom's finger went back to work, bringing a soft moan that you tried to suppress. “Why not? No one's gonna come here.” His other hand moved up your thigh to lift it. “Even if they did, they wouldn't notice.”

With an expert swing of his wrist, he moved your panties aside, letting the cold air that wandered inside the house hit you before his skilled middle finger entered you while still managing to rub your clit in circles with his thumb.

Adrenaline ran through your veins, fuel activating every nerve in your body and shaking away fear from your brain, replacing it with lust and boldness.

“I'm blaming you if we get caught.” Your hips jolted forward wanting to feel more of his hand, the contradiction between your words and actions, making him smirk.

He added a second finger. Knuckles deep and his cold ring slowly warming against the inside of your thigh, he said, “I'll take responsibility, sweetheart.” Pumping his fingers in and out, he felt your slick running down the back of his hand to his wrist, wetting his overly expensive watch and the cuff of his cozy sweater .“But I can't assure you we won't get caught.”

His words, instead of working as a bucket of cold water as one would expect, increased your need to be touched by him, the yearning for him to take you right there and then. 

“Damn it, Ransom.” One of your hands flew to his shoulder to hold onto him for dear life. “I'm close.”

“You're not cumming unless I'm inside you, pretty thing.” At what point did he unfasten his belt and unzipped his trousers, you had no idea. The friction of his digits was gone in a second but the feeling of his already leaking tip rubbing against your most sensitive parts was enough to make you forget about those trifles.

Your lips opened, ready to tell him to keep his voice down when he suddenly thrusted home, stretching you out so deliciously that you had to cover your mouth to muffle the moan that threatened to inform everyone of your current activities.

Ransom's breathing hitched. Being inside you was a dream come true, feeling your walls enveloping his cock so fucking good… it was like you were made for each other, and he was going to prove it, even if his family didn't really get to know.

His hips started moving. Back and forth, back and forth. Delicately at first, letting you adjust to his size but the second he felt you throbbing around him, he increased the pace. Little by little his pounds gained power and energy.

Your whimpers –stuck in your throat, leaving only soft snuffles that crashed against Ransom's cheek, soon became more rapid, erratic and as his fingers dug in the flesh of your thigh to keep you still while he accommodated to go even deeper you heard a creaking noise.

Your boyfriend's blue eyes met yours, his movements never faltering despite the alert given by the dark wooden floor under your feet.

There was a conflict in your head, and Ransom could tell. The way you tightened and the pleading look on your face told different stories, yet Ransom knew they had the same ending.

Shaking your head, your eyes asked him not to do it, but you knew Ransom well enough to be sure that not even begging could stop him. 

“You love it, don't you?” His smile grew bigger as his change of position allowed him to hit your sweet spot on and on, ripping high pitched whines from you and obligating you to close your eyes. “The thought of getting caught. The image of someone seeing how good I make you feel.” The placement of his foot, making the landing creak repeatedly each time he pushed up accompanying every word. “Fuck, you're talking me so well. Such a dirty girl, uh.”

His big hand yanked the strap of your dress down, exposing your left boob. Your already hard nipple was soon attacked by Ransom's fingertips. He'd pinch and twist it slightly, just enough to make your back arch in search of his touch.

Pleasure was overflowing your senses, you could feel your heart thudding in your ears and your legs losing strength. Your hand left your mouth to grip at the back of Ransom's neck to keep you from falling.

The sight of your lower lip trapped between your teeth didn't please Ransom. In other circumstances, he would've let you stay that way, as quiet as possible so no one would walk on you. This time though, it was his intention to rip the most delicious sounds from your lips so you thought of the possibility of his family listening.

And so, he lent to kiss you, passion and desire transmitted through his breath. His tongue asked for a permission that was not really required, but as you let it in, Ransom took the opportunity to bite down your lip.

With your lips forcefully parted and Ransom's restless hand traveling back to your bundle, you had no other option than to moan with each quick circle his digits drew.

A series of laughs and undistinguished words were heard from a distance. Both Ransom and you turned to see what they were about, stopping in your tracks with him still buried deep inside your needy cunt.

“Guess dinner's ready.” Unbothered about the information he just gave, he hid his face in the crook of your neck and resumed his movements.

A shaky oh, fuck fell from your lips as you felt the familiar knot in your stomach forming. Your head flew back, hitting the wall with a soft thud. 

“Careful. We don't want to be obvious, do we?” You knew you were about to explode, and by the way your walls were clenching and your trembling body tried to separate from him, Ransom knew as well. “Let go, sweetheart.” A roar erupted from him as he felt you tightening around his length. “Cum for me.”

With a last, powerful thrust of his hips, you let out a silent scream. The coil snapped, making you see a kaleidoscope of colors behind your eyelids and listen to a loud ring in your ears. 

Ransom followed right after, cursing as he finished inside of you, coating you with every last drop and making sure everything would stay there.

He slid out, leaving you with a feeling of emptiness as he zipped his trousers and took a step back to let you fix your appearance.

You managed to accommodate your dress just in time for Ransom's family to walk out of the room they were in to see you. Your agitated breathing and blushed cheeks, getting everyone's attention. 

“Are you okay, dear?” Ransom's dad asked.

“She's fine.” Your boyfriend answered for you. “She's feeling a little sick. I better take her home.” He took you by the hand and helped you down the stairs to the door, which you thanked. Had he not done it, you would have tripped taking the first step.

“But she hasn't met grandpa yet.” Meg noted, furrowing her brows.

“It'll be next time.” And with that, Ransom took you out of the house and in the passenger seat of his car without giving anyone the chance to say goodbye.

When you were at a considerable distance, you sighed, letting out the air you didn't know you were holding.

“Just so you know, there won't be a next time.” You informed him, against your want to meet his grandfather.

“Why not?” He asked with a chuckle, already knowing the answer. 

“Cause embarrassment won't let me come back in the near future.”

Behind an eye roll and a tap on your thigh, Ransom hid the triumphant grimace his perfectly carried out plan gave him.

[yoonpobs]

dilf (and love) | knj | m

pairing: kim namjoon x oc

genre: fluff, domestic fluff, smut, established relationship, marriage and kids lol

warnings: light dom/sub themes, pregnancy kink, penetrative sex, oral sex (f & m receiving), DILF JOON

words: 6, 702

summary: it's been too long since you and namjoon had time to yourselves

“God take that thing away from me!” You whine as you smother your face with your hands.

Jin pins you with a dry look as he catches a glimpse of ‘that thing’ who is looking up at you with big eyes and a toothless grin.

“That thing is your child …” Jin says blandly.

“That thing is ruining my sex life.” You narrow your eyes at Chanmi as she babbles some incoherent words with her ten-month-old vocabulary. You’d think as the daughter and apple of Kim Namjoon’s eye that she’d be able to read, write and speak sixteen languages at the age of one.

You still allow Chanmi to wrap her chubby fingers around your thinner ones and you can’t help but coo at your daughter. While she may have been the one thing that disrupted any intimate moment between you and Namjoon, you would fight anyone that would ever dare to mess with her. Your own husband included.

“Please, spare the details,” Jin mutters under his breath as he watches Chanmi fondly as she attempts to tug at your sleeve in hopes of getting your attention. You squeeze her cheeks before lifting her up in your arms and hold her close to your chest. You whine because she smells so … fresh. Just like a little bread baby that was all yours.

God, you loved her.

“My old sex life brought me this angel.” You grin up at your daughter who just smiles at you, unknowing of the context of your words.

“Can you stop using such vulgar words in front of your child?” Jin scolds you but doesn’t do anything much to take Chanmi out of your grasp.

You roll your eyes.

“She’s like 300 days old. She doesn’t even know how to shit at a decent hour let alone understand what sex is. Penis in vagina. Destroying pussy. A hole in one. Railing—”

Jin slaps his hand over your mouth to get you to stop talking as he glares at you.

“Why did my brother marry a heathen like you.” Jin seethes.

You shrug nonchalantly as you turn your head to see your dumbhead yet smart-ass husband that was attempting to glue back the shards of glass from the wine glass he broke earlier in hopes of you not realising.

“He needed to put his 148 IQ to good use and I’m the best investment his finance major ever got him.”

“The only good thing that came out of your marriage is this cutie.” Jin coos at his niece and you have half the mind to withdraw his Chanmi visiting card because whenever he was over all he did was berate you and your … unique ways of parenting.

But Jin would still say he cared for you as far as a brother-in-law would but with the added benefit of the fact that he was your best friend before he became your brother-in-law. You were an interesting character, to say the least, and the only reason you managed to befriend Jin was due to the fact that you didn’t know what boundaries meant and had invaded his personal space on the first day of lectures when you leaned over him to throw something at a know-it-all. Jin had been annoyed, but then an unlikely friendship bloomed out of the mutual distaste for ‘Howard from Accounting’.

He introduced you to Namjoon just because he thought that it was hilarious that you and his brother were polar opposites. Jin didn’t even expect the two of you to get along with each other let alone fall in love, but life had a funny way of saying ‘fuck you and your expectations’ to Jin when he least expected it.

The only thing that he regrets is the fact that now he had to listen to both you and his brother whine about your sex life, or lack thereof after the two of you became parents. Being a mother was hard because there was no manual to tell you what was right or wrong when it came to your baby but the experience itself. When you first fed Chanmi softened shrimp in her meals and caused an allergic reaction; you cried for hours straight because you felt like you should’ve just known.

Namjoon was a good partner and an even better father because he was understanding. The first few months postpartum he respected the fact that you weren’t ready to show your body to him because of the way it changed after giving birth to Chanmi, and he never told you that you were in your head for feeling that way. He validated all your feelings through all the rough edges that you gave him when you were going through your own things.

You finally felt comfortable to get naked around Namjoon at the five-month mark where your sex drive returned to that of when you were in your early twenties and just begun knowing how to truly enjoy sexual intimacies with a partner, but a five-month-old baby didn’t allow for much intimacy with your hot ass husband either.

It sucked because Namjoon had always been broad and very dad-like, and after he officially became a father to Chanmi you just felt like salivating over him every waking second you got because … God … Namjoon was a gift from the God’s themselves. Whenever you saw the way he handled Chanmi with absolute gentleness and care you felt like dropping to your knees and sucking the soul out of him. It didn’t help that he wore his glasses every night when he tucked her into bed and read her Shakespeare because it would ‘help with development’. You loved your husband but he was a little excessive.

“Oh God stop drooling over my brother!” Jin grimaces when he sees the bedroom eyes you were shooting Namjoon from where the two of you were with Chanmi.

You sigh dreamily and lean against your palm as you check out Namjoon’s ass.

“I can’t help that your brother and my husband has an ass like that.” You click your tongue.

Chanmi giggles again and it’s like a bell chiming at your favourite cafe when you cuddle her closer, feeling comfort in her scent. She smelt just like home and bubbles.

“How about I give you a sibling, huh?” You whisper to Chanmi who just opens her mouth to babble. Jin on the other hand facepalms himself and sighs.

“You’re insufferable.”

“I’m horny.” You shrug.

“Correction: you’re insufferable on a daily basis but absolutely horrifying to deal with when you’re horny.” He sneers.

“I just need to bed him and I’ll be fine.” You drawl, as your husband who spent the better half of your conversation fixing the wine glass grins to himself with his dimples when he finally placed the last piece of glass back into place. He was so meticulous and cute for the wrong reasons.

“Jesus, stop …” Jin groans.

“Jesus would definitely tell me to go get that dick because I deserve it.” You pat yourself on the back and wince slightly when you smell the telltale signs of Chanmi’s poop permeating the air.

“Say … would Yoongi mind having Chanmi over your place for the weekend?” Jin recognizes the devious expression you have on your face and knows that there’s no way out of it.

“I don’t have a choice do I?” Jin sighs.

You shake your head.

“Nope. Cause’ I texted Yoongi yesterday and said he totally wants to see his niece. The baby bag is all ready to go and it’s in the nursery.” You cock your thumb to the room down the hallway and Jin thinks to himself of all the reasons why he shouldn’t have introduced you to his brother at all seven years back.

“It’s weird without her …” Namjoon frowns as the two of you stand in the nursery as if you were mourning the loss of your child. It felt a lot like it, though.

The two of you never spent more than a few hours away from Chanmi ever since she was born and it felt weird to not smell her vomit from the kitchen or hear her giggles as you cooked dinner. You missed Namjoon and the spark you had in the first years of your relationship but you also felt a little empty without Chanmi’s presence with you.

“I miss her.” You whine into Namjoon’s chest and he clutches you tightly as if to say that he mirrored your sentiment.

“Should we call them?” You look up at him with wide eyes and he smoothes the frown lines on your forehead and chuckles, offering a gentle kiss to your temples.

“We called fifteen minutes ago, remember?” He chides you gently.

You huff, “I just … it’s so quiet. Where are my baby babbles?” You pout.

Namjoon sighs and rubs his thumb comfortingly on your arm when you look around at the purple nursery with reminders of your daughter that wasn’t currently with you.

“Let’s enjoy what we have, okay love?” Namjoon offers, “I miss Chanmi too but I miss this too.”

You smile at him the way he first fell in love with you years ago and leans down to place a peck onto your lips.

“I miss having you all to myself.” He whispers against your lips and you shiver at the way his broadness is clouding all your senses.

“You always have me Joon.” You tell him in a tone as soft as his.

His chest rumbles when he laughs and you feel so warm in the comfort of your husband's arms and you felt it too. Besides the physical aspect of having sex with him, you missed holding him like this without a care in the world. Most of your cuddle sessions were left to the nights you slept next to each other in bed because the two of you were either exhausted with work or trying to care for Chanmi. It’s been a long time since you could just feel Namjoon’s presence with you.

“Besides … we can finally, you know …” He mumbles shyly into your hair and the devil horns that you hide most of the time reappear.

“What, Joon?” You smirk up at him, hands trailing slowly down his chest.

Your husband was so big that every room he walked into he basically commanded the attention of every single person that would come across him. That’s what happens when you’re six foot and broad like him. But you loved the fact that you were the only one that got to see the much softer side to him that he didn’t just show anyone. The fact that he was the CEO of his own company made his persona ever more intimidating than he actually was but you knew he was a huge softie on the inside.

The two of you were very different in many senses. From your personalities to the way you approached conflict. Namjoon was very diplomatic but you were anything but. He was truly the most empathetic and understanding person you’ve met in your entire life and you’ve seen a total of ten therapists in your teenage years. Namjoon was the balance that levelled your temper and uninhibited tendencies to always be the loudest person in every room. With every time you snarked at someone who pushed your buttons came Namjoon that placed a gentle hand on your back with a soft whisper of comfort.

In fact, most people thought the two of you would have never lasted. You heard those mean girls in college that made petty bets on the fact that you’d probably end up leaving him because you were too much of a bitch to deal with someone as kind as Namjoon. You remembered most of your fights being about your insecurities and how you always thought that Namjoon deserved better and with him telling you that you were the one for him.

Looking back, you laugh because the two of you were theoretically horrible for each other but exactly what the other needed. Namjoon needed someone free-spirited enough to manage his meticulous tendencies and you needed someone willing to see you for more than your erratic behaviour.

“What’s that pretty head of yours thinking about?” Namjoon hums when he realises you’re not paying attention to him anymore. He clasps your hands together to bring back your attention to him as you look up at him with eyes so full of love.

“Just reminiscing on the old days.” You tell him and he snorts.

“You say that as if we’re ancient.”

“You’re not fooling anyone. I heard your joints cracking when you bent down to pick up the strands of hair on the floor.” You tease.

“And who’s fault is it that I’m constantly bending over to pick up strands of hair because she sheds like a cat?” He retorts playfully.

“We’re both old.” You pout, playing with his fingers and admiring the glimmer of his wedding ring. You can’t believe you bagged a man like Namjoon.

“I still got it, though.” He adds thoughtfully and you raise an eye at his comment.

“Got what?”

“My game.” He wiggles his eyebrows at you suggestively and you burst out laughing because it was so on-brand for Namjoon to make a comment like that but blush when you got a little more touchy-feely with him when he least expected it.

“How about you show me then?” You whisper as you turn around to press yourself against his chest, ensuring that your cleavage was on full show to his line of vision when he looks down at you.

“Did I ever tell you how much I love your tits after the pregnancy?” He tells you breathily and you snort.

“So you didn’t like my tits before I gave birth to your child?”

He rolls his eyes and reaches his hands below your thighs to lift you up so that you could wrap your legs around his waist. The way he could effortlessly carry you and lift you up always made your heart and nether regions flutter because he was so big that he basically towered over you. Especially when he became a dad it was like his hot factor exploded exponentially. He basically became the epitome of a dilf.

“You and your mouth,” He tsks as he carries you out of the nursery and into your bedroom, “I just may need to shut you up.”

You whine into his chest before he tosses you down onto your mattress as he towers over you, looking over your body like you were the finest piece of art he’s ever seen. Namjoon always had ways to make you feel like a million bucks even though you were in an old camisole and your old college varsity sweatpants.

“Why don’t you do it then?” You tease back.

You were different from the women that Namjoon has been with prior to your seven-year-long relationship as most of them were pliant and quiet, and took whatever he gave to them. Don’t get him wrong, he loved playing the dominant character in bed but he also needed a brat to push his buttons and it was exactly what you were. Even if the two of you were so fundamentally different in personalities, the two of you were definitely sexually compatible.

“Flip over.” He demands and you whine before reluctantly turning over.

“I want to see you.” You whine petulantly.

You feel him rather than have him verbally respond to you because he delivers a tight slap to your ass as you gasp at the impact. He rubs his hands soothingly over your butt cheeks and squeezes them as he leans over your body, crowding your back with his body heat.

“Don’t be a brat ___.” He sneers into your ear and the moan is stuck on your throat when you feel him drag his hands all over your body until it reaches under your body to reach for your tits.

“Fuck. I love your tits.” He groans.

Namjoon’s hands immediately trail down your body until they reach the hem of your shorts and you wiggle your ass back at him teasingly. You hear him growl and you always knew that Namjoon was an ass man and your ass made him weak.

“Need I remind you that you’re in no position to tease, sweetheart?” He whispers into your ear and you feel the goosebumps erupt on the surface of your skin.

“Fuck. Please—Joon, touch me.” You gasp as you feel him pull down your shorts to be greeted with a cheeky pair of panties that left little to imagine of what hides underneath. Your husband had the talent of getting you obscenely wet without doing much and it’s proven again when you feel the uncomfortable ache between your legs as he flips your body over once again to get a good glimpse of your heaving body, as well as the stain on your panties.

His knuckles trace the inner side of your thigh carefully as he avoids the place you need him the most while you feel more wetness pool at your entrance. You’ve been deprived of his touch for way too long and that caused your sensitive reactions to anything that he did. You missed his fingers so much and having him so close yet so far away from your pussy was destroying your restraint.

“Namjoon p-please!” You cry when he finally cups your mound with his large palm.

He digs the heel of his palm straight into your clit as you arch your back and let out a low moan.

“So wet baby and I’ve barely done anything.” He taunts you with the low baritone of his voice.

“You make me so wet Joonie.” You pant when you feel him grind his palm into your clit some more, providing the satisfying friction that you’ve been craving.

The feeling doesn’t last long because he’s hastily removing your panties from your legs and tosses them somewhere over his shoulder. His face is directly in front of your pussy and you can’t help but feel flustered at the proximity of his breath to your hole. You’ve done this a million times before but the familiarity is slightly lost due to the time between the last and the present.

“Where’s the brat that couldn’t shut her mouth before, hm?” He mumbles and you feel every breath against your pussy. You squirm and feel his large hands wrap around your thighs, locking you into position so you wouldn’t be able to move.

“It’s just been so—ah—long,” You tell him breathily.

“Too long. Missed this pussy.” He says as a parting gift before he dives straight into your clit and begins to lap rounds over the hardened bud. You let out a high pitched moan at the pleasure he was providing you with just his tongue alone, and the way that he knew just where to focus on your clit with tense figure-eights.

“Ah—ah, fuck—Joon!” You groan as your hands wrap around his hair to tug at it. You feel him moan against your pussy, which sends vibrations up to your core and causes more wetness to pool at your centre.

Namjoon is relentless when he digs his hands harder into the meat of your thighs to prevent you from moving too much as he continues to suction on your clit, focusing his attention on it as much as he could. After years of being together, he just knew what you loved and this was it.

You liked it messy. Wet and fast, and Namjoon always gave it to you good. He pulls away momentarily so he could look up at you with a hooded gaze and you let out a high pitched whine when you see the glistening of his chin all the way up to his nose with the signs of your wetness staining him. His fingers run up your thighs teasingly and you shift under his ministrations only for him to smack your right thigh harshly.

“If you move you don’t get to cum.” He threatens you and you immediately still your body with the impossible threat.

You feel his fingers run up and down on your slit as he gathers all your wetness into one place, hovering slightly over your clit. You have to keep your whine to a minimum because Namjoon got real mean when he wanted to. But he was a good lover—so good.

Your hole is throbbing with a need to be filled, and your husband picks up on that immediately as he prods your entrance with the tip of his index finger. You attempt to grind down on him as you make eye contact with the dark eyes that threaten to take away your orgasm.

“I said. Don’t. Move.” He reminds you.

You whimper in silence as he teases your hole a little more before he decides to return home into the warmth of your walls. The moment that barrier was broken, you feel him go straight for the hook as he reaches his index finger all the way up until his knuckles. You hear Namjoon hiss under his breath as he begins prodding your walls until he finds—

“Fuck—there, Joon—ah!” You gasp, head tilting backwards when your husband finds your g-spot.

Namjoon smirks to himself and slides another finger in to hook them upwards into your g-spot, unmoving as he stills himself against the area; causing pure, unaltered pleasured to run through your veins. You’re vibrating and twitching all at once because you can’t control the involuntary response that comes with your husband's demon fingers that are causing every possible pleasurable feeling to run through your system.

You can’t keep the moan to yourself either as Namjoon looks at you with awe, but you miss it because your eyes are too busy being rolled to the back of your head at the way Namjoon skilfully thrusts into your pussy.

“H-Harder, p-please Joon—wanna cum so bad.” You moan and run your fingers through his hair to bring his mouth closer to your mound.

He lowly chuckles and shakes his head at your sex drive. And the next thing he does next nearly makes you cum on the spot.

The way he gathers his spit at the back of his throat was borderline pornographic as you see the way his throat revs up. He drops the glob of spit directly onto your clit and uses the hand that wasn’t in your pussy to spread the lubricant all over your slit. He purposefully grazes your clit but doesn’t apply enough pressure to make your head spin, but just enough for you to whine in want.

“Your pussy is so pretty love.” He coos, leaning into your mound to deliver kitten-licks to your clit, and the warmth of his tongue with the added addition of his fingers feels all too much.

“J-Joon!” You gasp when you feel him thrust his fingers rapidly in and out of your pussy that your body hitched up the surface of the bed. Every thrust was accompanied by the direct assault of his tongue on your clit as he presses down on the hardened bud with the purpose to drive you closer to your orgasm.

You were painfully close, and the precision of his fingers at your g-spot allows you to revel in the way the coil in your body is ready to snap, so close to release. Namjoon leans down so that his head is where you love him the most, between your thighs as he scores the final goal and presses his tongue against your clit.

“Oh my god Joon—fuck—s-so good—I’m gonna cum!” Your back arches off the bed uselessly because of the way that Namjoon uses his other hand to pin you down, arms wrapped tightly around your stomach.

“Come for me pretty girl.” He coos against your clit and the vibrations is what sends you over the edge.

He fucks his fingers into you as you orgasm, kitten licking your clit with just enough pressure for you to whine as you buck your hips up into his mouth involuntarily.

“Fuck. Baby—hurts.” You whine, pushing his head away from your pussy when the overstimulation gets to you.

Namjoon places one last teasing peck on your clit, which causes you to twitch and pinch his neck as he chuckles, dragging his hand up your body to bring you closer to him.

“Still got it, hm?” He whispers against the column of your neck as you roll your eyes.

“Just kiss me you fool.” You pull him in for a kiss, and your tongue immediately finds its place home in Namjoon’s mouth.

It’s probably because it’s been so long since the two of you could feel each other like this, without any rush to get it over with but with the freedom to enjoy each other’s bodies as much as you’d like. Namjoon’s hands were the truth of that as he trails his arms down the sides of your waist and tugs you closer to him by your hips until he reaches for the hem of your camisole to tug it off your body.

He grabs the mounds of flesh in his hands and squeezes them hard enough to cause another gush of wetness to drip down the side of your thighs and onto his sweatpants. Besides the fact that he delivered a mind-blowing orgasm to you, the stained wetness of his sweatpants from his pre-cum and your slick is enough for you to push him down onto the bed.

“I’m gonna suck your cock.” You kiss him on the lips one last time before you’re leaning down to palm him over his sweatpants.

He hisses above you and grabs the back of your neck lovingly that it has you snorting.

“You know if you’re laughing at my dick my feelings are going to be very hurt,” Namjoon says from above you.

“It’s just …” You shake your head and giggle as you clench your fist around the outline of Namjoon’s cock as he lets out a low breath of approval at your action.

“You used to shove my head onto your cock the moment I reached your pants and now you’re so soft.” You tease.

You hear his breath hitch and the grip on your neck tighten at your taunting words. The excitement already pooling in your stomach at the roughness that would ensue from your husband.

“Me? Soft? Is that what you want baby?” His tone is warning and you know he’s serious.

You shake your head as you look up at him with innocent eyes, a stark contrast to the hand that continues to fondle his balls over his sweatpants.

“Don’t be a bitch and take my cock out.” He sneers, and you smile to yourself cheekily—knowing you hit a sore spot.

You happily oblige as you pull Namjoon’s sweats down to be greeted with your husbands cock. The visual itself has your pussy throbbing, and every time you’re faced with it, you always burn with the prospect of his thick cock pounding into your pussy.

“Now suck it like a good girl.” He guides your head towards his dick but you’re proactive enough to fully start licking at his tip, tongue teasing his slit as you hear him let out a low groan.

Your eyes are locked on his figure, as his head is thrown back. You want to grind on the sheets but you know that would delay him fucking you so you decide against it. But that didn’t mean you couldn’t appreciate the visual that your husband was giving you from where you were.

Namjoon had always been handsome. But there’s something about seeing him throw his head back in pleasure because of you that has your stomach churning with pride. You’d shamelessly admit that you were more on the possessive side, purely because you knew there were many men and women out there who desired Namjoon in more ways than one; and you didn’t like sharing one bit.

You spit onto his dick as your hands worked the rest of the length that you didn’t engulf in your mouth as you hollowed your cheeks to create a suction. Your tongue begins to tease the underside of his shaft, the way he likes the most and you know he’s enjoying your focus there because the hand that grips your neck is now tightly clutching your hair in a fist.

“Fuck. That’s it, baby.” He groans.

Motivated by the praise, you sink deeper, hands resting on his thick thighs as you push yourself until your nose reaches his pelvis. You’ve taken his cock like a champion on many occasions, and you can only thank him for that like the numerous times he had to guide you down on his cock were probably the only reason why your tiny throat could welcome his thick girth.

The sounds of you chocking on his dick was a lot for Namjoon, mainly because he couldn’t get enough of his wife but also because he’s been waiting out to bust a nut down your throat—actually your pussy—so long that he can’t handle the onslaught of pleasure your mouth brings him.

“Baby—baby,” He tugs you off his cock and the redness around your cheeks with the tears that pool at your waterline is enough to make his heart soar. Even though you were nasty in bed, he loved every single part of your forwardness.

“Your mouth is amazing but I need to cum in your pussy.” He tells you.

You whine at his declaration and allow him to manhandle you until you were face down ass up, ass pressed tightly against his pelvis as you grind your wet cunt over the hardness of his dick.

“Fuck—you’re so wet, baby. You like sucking my cock?” He growls, arms reaching around your stomach to pull your body flush against his chest.

When you reach your hand to wrap around his head to balance yourself, you see a view of your bodies together in your mirror. Courtesy of when you first moved in and due to you and Namjoon’s egocentric tendencies of wanting to see you guys fucking each other.

“S-So much Joon.” You garble.

His hand reach down to cup your mound and digs his palm into your clit as you grind down against his hand. You feel him loosely trace over your clit to gather your wetness into his hand to lather it over his dick.

“I’m gonna fuck you so good.” He whispers in your ear when he lines his cock against your entrance.

You whine, excitement erupting inside of you—until he finally slides it.

It definitely takes you by surprise because your husband was big. And the fact that you haven’t had his dick in you for months made it much more of a pleasant surprise when he bottoms out completely in one swift thrust of his hips, which causes your body to fall forward as your hands grip the sheets beneath you.

“Fuck. This tight pussy’s mine, right?” He growls.

You nod your head into the sheets as he begins with a few experimental thrusts as you adjust to the slight, yet pleasurable, sting in your lower half.

Until you squeeze his hand on your hip to give him the go, Namjoon settles for slow thrusts into your pussy, but it’s enough to prod at your pleasurable spot because not only is Namjoon smart, kind, funny, handsome and ridiculously a great father—he is phenomenal at sex. Probably why he knocked you up on the night of your honeymoon with your bundle of joy.

Namjoon begins snapping his hips into yours relentlessly like a man starved, and starved he was. He’s missed the wet heat of your pussy; and God did he love your daughter—but he missed this—your pussy.

“F-Fuuuuu—” You’re heaving.

Namjoon continues to thrust into your pussy, angling his hips upwards so that he’d reach places deeper than ever as your eyes roll to the back of your heart in pleasure.

“Fuck—this—tight—pussy—” His words follow the sharpness of his thrusts and you don’t even know where to grab because all your sensations are heightened, especially when Namjoon reaches a hand down to your clit to begin rubbing it vigorously.

“Nam—Joon!”

You’re so wet that the squelch of his thrusts is echoed in your bedroom, and the only thing you hear besides that is your loud moans and the heavy breathing coming from Namjoon.

It’s only when he plants his knees firmly into the mattress and brings your hips to meet his thrusts is when you feel your pussy clench uncontrollably around his cock as you wail out his name.

“Fuck, baby—you’re clenching—so—hard.” He groans, pushing his hips deeper into your pussy.

“Love your cock,” You moan, “Fuck—Joon, please—fuck your cum into me.”

“Yeah?” He grits his teeth and flips your over effortlessly, dragging your leg over his shoulder as he begins pounding into you even harder as he admires the way your face contorts in pleasure.

“Yeah.” You nod your head like a sex-crazed maniac because your husband was just too good with his hips.

“Gonna give you another baby.” He whispers when he leans down into your face as your eyes widen at his declaration. Your pussy reacts too, gushing out even more wetness as it becomes tighter around Namjoon’s cock.

“Fuck. You like that idea? A sibling for Chan’?” He grinds his pelvis into your clit as his words spur your second orgasm for the night on.

“No shit?” You gasp when he revs up his spit in the back of his throat, looking at your mouth invitingly.

“Yeah,” He says breathlessly, and you open your mouth to welcome his tongue when he drops the glob of spit down your throat.

You whine, feeling your orgasm coming so closely.

“Fuck Joon—I’m gonna cum.” You gasp.

You feel Namjoon’s hips stutter and you know he’s coming soon too.

“Me too baby.” He tells you while giving you the set of most adoring eyes ever. Even as he’s fucking you into the next dimension, Namjoon makes you feel so utterly loved and whole that you can’t imagine spending the rest of your life with anyone else.

He snaps his hips the hardest he’s ever done throughout the entire night, and you feel your pussy throb so much; signalling to you and Namjoon that your release was right there.

“Baby—I’m gonna—I’m gonna c-cum,” You grab onto his shoulder to pull him closer to you.

He welcomes it and leaves open mouth kisses onto your mouth as he fucks into you like a mad man.

“Cum.”

That’s all it takes for you to reach an explosive orgasm, one that quite literally causes you to blank out for a second because while Namjoon’s hot cum spurts into your pussy short after you came, he feels your body go limp in his embrace; causing his eyes to widen.

Only until you’re blinking up at him dazedly is when he holds you to his chest, as you feel his chest rumble when he chuckles.

“Baby … I thought you died.” He cards a hand through your hair and you smile at him, stupidly in love.

“If I die because of your dick I’d be happy.” You grin at him cutely. And he scoffs at the way you look so cute after you’ve been fucked to hell and back.

“My horny little monster,” He flicks your forehead as you bring him close to your chest, his dick still settled inside of you. But there was a sort of intimacy that you couldn’t quite put words to, but welcomed the gesture nevertheless.

“Were you serious?” You ask after a while of sharing a few intimate pecks to each others’ lips.

He finally pulls out to roll on his side as he reaches over to pull your close to his chest. He raises an eyebrow at your expression when you feel his cum leak out of you.

“God you really didn’t jack off recently, did you?” You ask.

He pecks you on the nose as he quickly tugs clean boxers over his legs and disappears into your on-suite. You sigh to yourself dreamily, thinking of how lucky you were to be with someone as loving and compassionate as Namjoon was.

You weren’t necessarily unlucky when it came to your relationships prior to him, but there would always be dealbreakers that caused splits to be more bitter than neutral. Namjoon was the only man in your life that you could speak to without fearing any judgement from because he wasn’t like that. He knew how to make you feel wanted and also how to want yourself, all while being your best friend and partner.

When he returns, he returns with a damp cloth and immediately begins cleaning up the mess between your thighs, even as he cheekily mentions how there was more from where that came from as you slap him on the shoulder.

Once he ensures he’s satisfied, he tosses the cloth into the laundry basket and grabs a big t-shirt of his to slip it over your body. You hum in satisfaction as his scent overwhelms you, even more so when he tugs you close to his body and he looks at you with all the love in the world.

“You asked if I was serious earlier?” He repeats your question and you nod your head looking up at him.

“Yeah.” You let out a breathy smile when he leans down to pull your face towards his own as you admire all the freckles and pores on his skin, fingers tracing loosely over the wrinkles that come with age.

“I know it’s sudden but … I’ve been thinking about our family and—I want our family to become bigger.” He tells you like it’s a secret. You know he’s been mulling over it for quite a while because he looks a little unsure of himself, but all you can do is smile widely at him.

“Really?” You ask, playing with the hair on the back of his neck when you feel his fingers trace over the skin on your back.

“Of course. I love you, and I love Chanmi. I’ve always wanted kids and you brought the best gift in my life to me and … I can’t explain how happy I am when I’m with the two of you.” He smiles at you gently.

You don’t know if it’s because he just fucked you so good, or was it because you were lovesick, but your eyes water because Namjoon was Namjoon.

“But—if you’re not ready then I understand and we can—”

“Yes.” You interrupt him.

His eyes widen as you see the excitement begin to pour into his irises.

“Wait—really?” He asks innocently.

You nod your head and kiss him on the lips softly, no rush as he returns the gesture, holding you close onto his chest where you feel the best in his arms.

“Yes really. I want what you want. And I think it’s about time Chanmi gets a sibling, no?” You tease.

He groans like you’re unreal as he buries his head into the crook of your neck as you caress him gently. Namjoon was really just like an oversized baby and you wouldn’t have it any other way.

“When?” He asks.

You tease your fingertips down to his chest and offer him a knowing look.

“Now?” You feign indifference but you can see the wide grin he sports on his face.

“Fuck. Don’t say that. I think my dick is going to fall off at how hard I fucked you just now,” He whined.

“You’re getting old,” You massage his shoulders as he sighs.

“I am …” He acknowledges, “But we’ll grow old together, right?”

The prospect of a future of unknowns with Namjoon only makes your heart bloom. You nod your head, not another word need to be uttered as he holds you in his arms, excited for what’s to come.

[bruhbrosworld]

How They Flirt

Nadja of AntiPaxos x reader (reader is gender neutral)

-Nadja is probably the HUGEST flirt to ever exist

-like honestly

-but that doesn't mean she's the best flirt

-with most things, it takes her some time to figure out what she really wants.

-at first, she's off-putting when she gets carried away. her mouth just spews the most obscene, borderline violent things.

-like ma'am this is an arby's, i don't think we can behead someone here.

-you almost have to catch yourself tho because anything would sound good in that sultry voice of hers

-she gets far too into it too fast. casual is not a word in nadja's vocabulary.

-she flirts like a feral animal. loud, sensual noises. grippy, claw-like hands all over your body. aggressive mood shifts. it's absolutely, and completely overwhelming

-unlike most people, nadja is a better flirt when she tries.

-she's messy and confusing most times, but once she begins paying attention. starts noticing what makes you blush, what has you stuttering, what sends your heart galloping.

-sweet baby jesus

-not even god can help you once nadja hones in on you.

-then, it's honestly a matter of time before you're collectively woo-ed and all but ready to get hitched.

-it's a flip of a switch

-touchy, so touchy. the type to slide her hands softly up and down your arms as you speak so you'll lose your train of thought.

-invites you over and has you try on things for her. holds your shoulders gently as she comments on how gorgeous you are in the mirror.

-throws in little comments about how she wishes she could see herself next to you, see how good you look together

-plays with her hair while she talks to you so sweetly

-one time she asks you to help lace up her corset and you almost collapse.

-still has a strange way of flirting, but she surprisingly has a way of making anything romantic.

-takes you walking around Laszlo's vagina topiary while talking about her childhood. somehow, you don't even notice the various genitalia surrounding you because she's being so vulnerable with you.

-it's oddly charming, much like her

-the sexual references are still just as shameless, but far more tasteful.

-helped you try on a garter belt once, and could not stop commenting on your thighs. your strong and thick thighs. was so handsy, pinching them every so often.

-you were so torn between asking to be excused and just asking her to end your misery right there and then.

-nadja's love language is wholeheartedly quality time or touch. both probably.

-she's not good at giving gifts, nor is she eloquent at expressing her feelings, but for what she lacks there, she gives back in full when she's close to you.

-warm hugs, gentle nudges, including you every little thing she does.

-you know you've made it in with nadja when she begins to relax and talk shit with you.

-the men will do something stupid and she'll look over at you, rolling her eyes, her face asking if you can believe this.

-in truth, that's the real moment where you feel special to nadja.

-a moment where she shows that she doesn't think you're below her, or on par with all of the idiocy that takes place in the house she shares.

-a moment where she makes it known, indirectly or not, that you are her equal, and that she trusts you to see her as the same.

-it's also special to her, because you listen to her, you give her the time of your day just to hear about all of the lunacy that goes on in her daily life.

-it doesn't take long for you, and for everyone else in the world to know that nadja likes and wants you as her own.

[ayanna-wild]

Broken Wings

Word Count: 2921

Pairings: Lucifer Morningstar x Reader

Warnings: angst, fluff, hurt, comfort

A/N: Request from Wattpad, for the sake of this story Lucifer and the reader will not be related, set somewhere between s1 and s2, and I have nothing against Amenadiel, but he was kind of a dick during s1 lol

Requests and Tag List are open

Summary: It was a simple matter of loving the wrong man, but you couldn’t control your heart. How was it fair for you to be punished? But life was cruel that way.

.................................................................................

You weren't an angel per-say. You had the wings, the immortality, yet you lacked the power that came with being a true angel. To be blunt you were a side project God had taken up before abandoning it to create humanity, more a helper to his children than anything.

The only of your kind.

With little other purpose you dutifully fulfilled your role as the aid, accompying the true angels to earth. A mundane existence, but one you tolerated.

Until Lucifer had taken an interest in you, life was so much better after that. So full of fun and laughter, he called for your help more than any of his brethren or sisters. Although he never really needed any assistance, it was all an excuse to steal you away for a while.

For centuries that was your life, and you were content with it if it meant spending more time with him. You two grew impossibly close and thought you'd be with him until the stars in the sky fizzled out.

But that was before, before the rebellion, before his banishment, before your existence dulled so drastically. Spending centuries, millenniums feeling as though you were missing out on something better.

Which is why you had so graciously agreed to accompany Amenadiel to earth. So he could once again fail at convincing his brother to return to hell. You masked your excitement surprisingly well, or Amenadiel was just incredibly oblivious. Either way you weren't complaining.

~

"You seem happy..."

Your wings fluttered a bit, unable to contain the smile on your face as you glanced at the dark skinned angel.

"Well it's nice to get out of heaven once and a while, you know?"

That was only partially a lie, you really did enjoy earth much more, but truthfully you were excited about seeing Lucifer after so long.

"No. Heaven is perfect. " Amenadiel stated bluntly.

You watched him walk inside from the balcony, hanging back a moment to mutter to yourself.

"For you maybe..."

Your wings folded into your back as you walked in, not the least bit surprised to see the brothers at each other's throats already.

"Such hostility from such divine beings."

Your sarcastic remark quickly drew the attention of the king of hell, who turned to you with a grin so wide you wondered if it hurt his face.

"Oh brother, you failed to mention you brought along this beautiful little creature. Y/N, it's an absolute pleasure to see you again."

Lucifer approached you with open arms, your smile matching his as he embraced you.

"It is her role to assist us." Amenadiel said as if that was the obvious answer.

Lucifer pulled away from you, noticing the way your shoulders sagged a bit at the elder angels words. The devil frowned a bit.

"Role? Are you still listening to such nonsense?" Lucifer scoffed.

Amenadiel rolled his shoulders, flexing his wings a little in irritation.

"It is our father's will. You should be following your role as well."

Lucifer clicked his tongue, strolling over to his bar.

"It became rather dull, so many years doing the same thing, a drab existence, isn't it angel?"

The ending was directed towards you, and you almost forgot yourself, almost allowed yourself to agree, in front of Amenadiel. It was a nickname he had given you centuries ago. His own way of telling you he saw you as his equal, unlike the others.

You were his angel.

"She's not a real angel Lucifer, don't try to fill her head with your rebellious nonsense."

His words stung a bit, but he wasn't entirely wrong, you weren't a true angel. That bit of fact didn't seem to lessen the blow to your pride though.

"With such exquisite wings as hers, who could tell the difference?" Lucifer winked at you.

You straightened your back, feeling proud of yourself, your wings always were your favorite feature. You took immaculate care of them. Just as quickly as Amenadiel tore you down Lucifer built you back, you supposed that was one of the things that had drawn you to him all those years ago.

"You're a disgrace."

You stepped between them, placing a hand on Lucifer's chest.

"Maybe I can talk to him? He was always at least willing to listen to me." You offered.

Amenadiel seemed to ponder this a moment before nodding.

"I'll return tomorrow, don't let him pull you into any of his schemes."

Lucifer scoffed at his brother's warning. You smiled softly.

"Of course."

With a flutter of wings he was gone, and you were left alone with the fallen angel. Without a moment to appreciate the silence, a cup of amber liquid was held in front of your face.

"Fancy a drink my dear? We have so much to catch up on."

~

You weren't sure how it happened, maybe it was the drinks, or the way he spoke to you, but you found yourself stumbling out of his bed the next morning. Panic surged through your veins as you hastily pulled your clothes back on, cursing softly. You regretted nothing, but there'd be hell to pay if any of the heavenly host caught you bedding the devil. Lucifer still slept soundly, and you tried your best not to wake him.

You rushed from his room, running straight into a broad chest causing you to stumble back a bit. Amenadiel stared at you with an uncomfortably blank expression, and your heart dropped.

"Amenadiel... I-"

Your world became a blur in the next second, and you fell forward as your feet unexpectedly hit the roof of a hotel.

"What were you thinking! Fornicating with Lucifer!"

You glanced up at him, snorting at his wording.

"Fornicating? For someone who comes to earth so frequently, your vocabulary is a little dated."

You couldn't help the poorly timed jab, humor your way if deflecting tense situations. Unfortunately for you that only seemed to make Amenadiel more angry.

"Have you no shame? You don't seem the least bit remorseful for the sin you just committed!" He shouted.

You flinched a little, sitting back on your ass as you stared up at him. Should you grovel? Beg for forgiveness?

That would be the logical thing to do, it was what he was expecting. But perhaps your short reunion with Lucifer had sparked something in you because you found yourself leaning back on your hands, staring up at the angel before you with no remorse.

"I regret nothing."

~

Blood soaked your once white shirt as you leaned against an alley wall, shifting most of your weight onto your side. Anything to avoid the crippling pain in your back. Tears stained your cheeks and burnt your eyes. Dry sobs shook your body, no tears left to cry.

He'd ripped your wings from your back, tore them from your body, taking your immortality with him. You barely registered the sound of footsteps, hardly heard the woman talking to you in concern. You just felt so tired, a feeling you weren't used to.

It'd be okay if you slept, just for a moment, right?

Chloe panicked as she saw your eyes close, waving frantically as the paramedics arrived just moments later. Her hands covered in your blood as she wondered who could have possibly done that to you.

~

You woke to steady beeping, and an uncomfortable feeling of something wrapped just a little too tight around you. Bright lights forced you to close your eyes almost as soon as you opened them. You took a moment to adjust as you sat up, looking around the unfamiliar room that you slowly realized was a hospital room.

It all seemed so... human.

The reality of your sudden mortality crashed down on you, and you carefully pulled the I.V. from your arm. You hissed as you quickly stood from the bed, the sudden movement causing pain to shot up your back.

You nearly collapsed.

But no, you had to leave, get out of this place before questions you couldn't possibly answer came. You gathered your ruined clothes, fleeing before anyone could notice.

You kept your head low as you left the building, the bandages on your back straining against your hasty movements.

"Hey!"

A voice called out, catching your attention and a blonde woman hurried over to you. You stared at her in confusion, and she looked you over with concern.

"What are you doing out here? You shouldn't leave the hospital yet."

It suddenly clicked and your body tensed as you vaguely recognized her as the woman who found you.

"I'll be fine."

She looked ready to protest, and you grabbed her hands in desperation.

"Please... I just can't be there..."

She seemed to relent a little, and you breathed a sigh of relief until she told you her name. Then you found yourself begging her not to tell Lucifer anything, and she promised not to utter a word, if you told her what happened to you.

It had to have been the greatest lie you ever told, a fabricated story about a scorned lover. She believed it nonetheless, offering to help you get a change of clothes. Something less covered in blood, you went straight to Lucifer afterwards, carefully hiding what had happened.

Perhaps he trusted you too much, or maybe you were getting better at lying because he didn't question your claim to want to stay on Earth. He seemed thrilled, and you hid your pain with a smile when he embraced you, thankful your new jacket hid the bandages.

~

For months that was the routine, a difficult dance to move to, especially with how close you two were becoming once more. But you'd stop his hands before they could trail up your back in your more heated moments, directed his attention to something else. You were so careful not to let him see your back.

Careful to never let him follow you into the shower. Careful never to sleep on your side, or let him give you a back rub. Always avoiding Chloe, lest she bring up your injuries. You were so careful, for months.

So why had you forgotten to lock the door while you were getting dressed?

"Should we order out again darling? Perhaps from that little coffee shop you so like much? I heard they have a new..."

Lucifer had barged into the bathroom, clad in only his underwear and robe loosely tied as he questioned what you wanted for breakfast. Your whole body froze, mind shutting down as his words came to an abrupt stop. The atmosphere of the room suddenly felt thick, and you could have sworn it became harder to breath.

Lucifer said nothing, staring at your horribly scared back. You held your shirt to your chest, refusing to turn and meet his eye. Worried what emotion you might find. He had moved so quietly, and so quickly that you jumped when his fingers were suddenly grazing your back. Just below the rough skin where your beautiful wings had once been.

"Who did this to you..."

It was more of a soft demand then a question, but you hesitated.

"I... I cut them off..."

He chuckled a dry, humorless chuckle, and he draped his robe over your shoulders. Probably realizing you'd be more comfortable if you could cover your scars. You muttered a thank you and his hands rested on your arms, rubbing soothingly up and down as you grabbed the silk robe, holding it tighter around you.

"Those aren't the scars you get from cutting your wings, I would know. No, those are harsh, angry scars, something tearing wings off would cause. Don't lie to me angel, who did this?"

His grip tightened on your arms ever so slightly, but it wasn’t out of anger, at least not towards you.

"Amenadiel..." Your voice was so faint you barely heard yourself, but judging by the sharp intake of breath, he had heard you just fine.

"What?"

"A punishment... for being with you..."

You caught his reflection in the mirror, the flash of his eyes, his face shifted, just for a moment, but it was enough for you to realize just how angry he truly was.

"Lucifer-"

He turned on his heel, leaving the room and getting dressed in a fury. You approached him cautiously, closing the robe around you and tying it into place.

"What are you doing?"

He finished buttoning his shirt before turning back to you.

"I need you to do me a favor my dear."

A frown pulled at your lips, but you slowly nodded.

"Pray to my brother."

You jerked back as if someone had physically slapped you.

"What?"

"You trust me, don't you?" He smiled, but there was something in his eyes, something that unnerved you.

"Of course."

He seemed so calm, contrary to what he had been just moments ago.

"Then pray to my brother."

He guided you into the living room and stepped just out of sight. You hesitated, shifting your weight from one foot to the other before finally doing as he asked. It only took moments before Amenadiel appeared in front of you.

He'd come so fast, probably expecting you to beg for forgiveness.

You had no idea how vastly unprepared you were to see him again. Your hands trembled, and you held the robe closer around you, taking an unsure step back.

You didn't have time to dwell on it and Amenadiel had no time to say anything before a sickening crack filled the room and the angel was sprawled out on the ground.

"Hello brother."

You blinked slowly, taking a second to catch up with the fact that Lucifer had just delivered a crippling blow to his brother's face and Amenadiel laid dazed on the ground. Blindsided by the unexpected blow. Lucifer gave him no time to recover, picking him up by his neck carelessly throwing him into a wall. You shielded your eyes from the debris flying by.

"I've just had the unpleasant surprise of discovering what you did to my darling little slice of heaven."

You wordlessly watched Amenadiel pull himself out of the now prominent hole in Lucifer's stone wall. He was unsteady on his feet, but that mattered very little to Lucifer who swiftly grabbed his brother's shirt, tossing him across the floor as if he weighed nothing.

"And they call me the devil." Lucifer scoffed.

Amenadiel managed to at least prop himself up with his arms, spitting out a bit of blood.

"You are the devil, Lucifer, and she betrayed heaven by being with you."

Lucifer took a step forward, clearly ready to continue the one-sided fight. But you quickly stepped in front of him, worried he might go to far, if his red eyes were anything to go off of.

"Just let him leave, you made your point. You're flogging a dead horse at this point." You uttered, refusing to glance at the angel pulling himself off the ground.

"She received a punishment fitting her sin and she still crawled back to you."

Your skin bristled at his comment, and you found your unease fading away to anger. You rounded on him so fast you surprised even yourself at the words spilling from your lips.

"My sin!? You think you're a saint, but you're no better than me! It wasn’t sin Amenadiel, it was free will, if humans can have it why can't I?"

Amenadiel narrowed his eyes as he stood, but you didn't back down.

"You sound just like Lucifer."

You found yourself laughing at that, and with a sudden burst of confidence you shoved his chest back a bit. His beating from Lucifer making it slightly easier to do so. Speaking of the devil, he watched you unleash your anger, gazing at you with amusement and satisfaction.

"Good! You know what, I should have sided with him during that rebellion! Because he seemed to have the right idea! Heaven might have been perfect for you, but it was hell to me! I was beneath all of you, an errand girl for you to degrade, treat like shit!"

Lucifer pulled you back a little when he saw the anger in his brother's eyes. You were mortal now after all. You let out a cruel laugh, though there were tears in your eyes.

"Do you want to know the best part it all?"

Your laughter died down, and you gave him a cynical smile.

"I don't owe the Silver City a goddamn thing anymore, you think you were punishing me? You freed me, you and all your kind can go to hell, because if anyone belongs there it certainly isn't Lucifer."

Amenadiel opened his mouth to say something, taking what he probably assumed was a menacing step towards. But Lucifer rested his hands on your shoulders, daring his kin to try something. You didn't seem fazed though.

"Run back home and lick your wounds like the obedient lapdog you are. I'm not wasting any more words on you."

Amenadiel clenched his fists in repressed rage, but said nothing, not in any condition to fight his brother. He was gone in a blink, and you felt all the energy drain out of you. Lucifer caught you as your legs gave out, and he smiled proudly at you.

"You were marvelous love, I'd nearly forgotten how sharp your tongue can be."

You laughed breathlessly, and he brushed your hair away from your eyes.

"How do you feel?"

You smiled up at him, the heavy feeling finally lifting from your shoulders.

"Free."

................................................................................

Tag List: @sallyp-53 @mizzezm @adira-secrets @we-are-all-alittle-strange-here @gingernarwal @im-just-along-for-the-ride @lifeshortbro @measure-in-pain @emiwrites3reads @awesome-badass-cafeteria-sauce @kelly-n-russell @aiofheavenandhell @beththedemonhunter

[guardianofrivendell]

Oh Deer (request)

Legolas x reader

Requested: Yes! @lotr-th-nin-meleth​ asked “Hey! Could I get a Legolas x Reader where the reader is caring for an injured baby deer she found in the forest and she's usually really gruff and cold and keeps to herself? So Legolas gets all soft watching her be soft and she asks him for help or something you can choose and he's just all flustered and it's cute. Thank you xxx”

A/N: I switched it up a bit, hope you don’t mind! I also skipped the ‘old’ Westron Legolas usually speaks, to make it easier for me. Because I can do that.

Warnings: one soft curse word, mentions of blood, Legolas in love (yes, that needs its own warning)

“You are remarkably quiet today,” Legolas said to you after almost half an hour of silence.  You didn’t say anything back, eyes scanning the forest around you. Legolas shook his head. There was just no way to distract you, always focused on the task you’d been given. 

You were part of the Guard of Mirkwood. From the very beginning you had proven to be an exceptionally good fighter. Every mission you were sent on turned out succesful and with no casualties, so it didn’t take long for you to be allowed to go on even more dangerous missions.  Even though you had an impressive record, being an Elleth made it extra hard. It didn’t matter how skilled you were and that you’d showed more than once that you were tougher than most of the other guards, they still belittled you for being female. So when you were on duty, you put on a facade: stern expression, cold stare and not a sound unless you were spoken to. 

Despite your gruff facade, the Prince of Mirkwood had taken a liking to you. Not that you noticed; after all, you were too busy proving your worth.  Legolas made sure he was assigned to your group on patrols or vice versa - not that he didn’t have a choice, being Prince and all - and always suggested your name when there was a two-person job. All very subtle of course.

Today had been no different. There had been a sighting of a few Orcs wandering the forest, not that far from the palace. Thranduil instructed him to send a few guards to go and solve the problem. Those ‘few guards’ turned into Legolas and you. 

And now you were making your way through the forest, hunting some Orcs, with Legolas by your side who was desperately trying to make conversation. 

“You are allowed to speak, Y/N. It’s only me.” “Yes, only you... Don’t you think it’s rather strange our King sent only two guards? How many Orcs were seen again?” “Enough to handle ourselves, do not worry.” You scoffed. “I’m not worried, you know damn well that I could take them on my ow-” A sound in the distance made you cut off your sentence. Legolas heard it too, and you signaled him to climb the trees.

You both jumped from one tree to another with ease, until you reached a small clearance. There you could see about a dozen Orcs, most of them taking a rest, a few trying to make a fire to keep the spiders away. You signaled to Legolas to stay put, while you made your way to the other side of the clearance. 

He rolled his eyes at that. Shouldn’t it be him telling you what to do? But he listened anyway and waited for your signal. In his mind he was already planning how to attack the pack, thinking he could easily kill 4 or 5 Orcs from where he was hiding before making his way down the tree. This was almost too easy. 

A screech in the distance made the Orcs jump up and 3 of them disappeared in the woods, running past the tree you were hiding in. It seemed like the pack hadn’t been complete. You waved to Legolas, signaling you would go after them. Before he could protest, you were gone.  Why did you always have to prove yourself? He had no visuals anymore, but he could hear how your feet touched the ground. Your fight had begun. 

In one swift movement he took his bow and notched an arrow, and shot the Orc closest to him. Before he let himself drop down, he killed two more. He smirked to the six remaining Orcs and switched his bow for his two blades.  “Let us begin,” he muttered.

*

It was over in less than ten minutes. They didn’t even put up a real fight, Legolas thought.  Probably too exhausted from wandering through the forest for so long. He looked around but couldn’t see any sign of you, not even with his Elven eyes. Suppressing the slight rush of panic he felt, he began to look for you. You were tough. There was no way you couldn’t handle a handful of exhausted Orcs by yourself, he kept repeating in an attempt to reassure himself.

He ran through the forest, fighting the urge to call out your name. The last thing he wanted was to alert anything else of his presence.  “Legolas!” He halted immediately, frantically looking around him in an attempt to locate you. This was not a good sign, he thought. You knew how dangerous it was to draw attention to you this deep in the forest. It could only mean one thing... “LEGOLAS!” He tried to ignore the despair in your voice, and ran as fast as he could in the direction of your scream.  After a few agonizing minutes he found you hunched over on your knees. “Y/N?”

When you turned around, his heart stopped. Your hands were covered in blood. Red, not black, he realized.   He fell to his knees at your side, his eyes searching your body for injuries. “Where are you hurt?” Your tunic was no longer a lighter green, but stained with a dark red. He tried to remain calm for your sake, on the inside he was definitely freaking out. You didn’t answer him, and burst into tears instead.  “You’re going to be okay,” he said, more to himself than to you. “Everything is going to be okay.” He put an arm under your knees and around your waist and lifted you up with the utmost care, but you stopped him.  “Y/N, I have to get you back home. Just... please, let me take care of you.” “It’s not mine,” you said in between sobs, pointing to your drenched clothes.  “What happened?” Legolas asked, completely lost by now. He sat down on his knees with you still in his arms. If he wasn’t feeling so helpless at the moment, he would enjoy holding you this close. It felt nice. “I-...” You tried to take a long breath to calm down so you could tell him what was going on, but it only made it worse. Legolas rubbed your back softly until you found your voice again, relieved it seemed to help a little. “I-... I didn’t mean to hurt him!”

Legolas looked at you questioningly. Him? He scanned your surroundings but couldn’t see anyone.  You got up from his lap and took a few steps away from him, motioning him to follow you. He had to keep himself from taking your hand.  You took another ten steps and crouched down. Legolas heard you sniffling again.  What he saw in front of your feet, was probably the last thing he expected to see. A small deer, probably still a baby, lay on the ground. A large gap in his side, clearly your work. 

“Oh,” he sighed, finally understanding why you were so upset. The deer had definitely been in the wrong place at the wrong time. A laugh escaped his throat. You narrowed your eyes at him. Was he really laughing at you?  When he saw you were annoyed at him, he shook his head.

“Y/N you really are curious. Slaying Orcs, killing off spiders, you don’t bat an eye. Doesn’t affect you in the slightest. But an injured deer got you all upset?”  You felt the blood rise in your cheeks. Was it your fault you just really loved the forest animals? Someone had to take care of them, so why not you? You noticed him staring at you, a certain emotion in his eyes you could not seem to read. “What?” you asked him. “You’re cute... I mean-,” Legolas corrected himself too late. “It’s cute, the deer... is cute.”

You didn’t say anything back and Legolas cursed himself.  “You know what, let’s take it with us to the palace. I’m sure our Healers could do something for him,” he suggested. He wasn’t entirely sure they could do that, but if it would make you feel better...  “Are you sure we can do that?” “Of course we can, I’m the Prince.” He winked at you, and lifted the deer into his arms. You rolled your eyes at his cockiness. He was nothing like his father. 

“Thank you,” you said sincerely.  “Anything for you...”

A/N: Aaaaaah, I’m so bad at endings 🙈 I wanted something smart or funny, maybe I’ll change it later on if I can think of something. Sorry!

A/N part 2: It’s at times like these that I curse myself for not being a native English speaker. So sorry that my writing feels a little forced sometimes, but that’s mostly because of my lack of English vocabulary or because I can’t think of another way to say things and Google Translate can only do so much. So why not write in my own language you ask? Well... I don’t think there are a lot of Flemish (or Dutch) speaking Tumblr users waiting for Flemish lotr fics :)

[tamagochiie]

pairing: timeskip!kenma x fem!reader

synopsis: You come home late from your cousin’s funeral, and though Kenma didn’t expect much from you but perhaps a few leftovers you’ve managed to steal away from the dinner, he finds you with a surprise: a sleeping child cradled around your neck and a teenage boy hovering behind you.

Your poor boyfriend wondering what in the hell it is you’re plotting…

tags: angst and fluff, time skip!, slight spoilers if you squint

warnings: mentions of death, mentions of depression, cursing

w/c: 2.2k

tagging list: @angrylittleriri​ @chims-kookies​ @gooseyhouse​

a/n: hello! welcome to the second chapter of the series! i’m posting this a little later than expected because wifi is really trying to cock block me from posting :’) i honestly wasn’t expecting people to like or interacting with this fic, so my heart is super warm right now :>  

anyway, I hope you enjoy!

happy almost new year! see you all next week!

master list

<< life as we know it | life as he’s known it >>

You wonder what the younger version of you would think if you went back in time and told her she'd be eating at a dining table filled with food that wasn't microwavable, and the air wouldn't be filled by the sound of metal clanging and scraping against each other, but instead be filled by the lilting giggles of a little boy; his older brother pressing him to keep it down; and Kenma's casual yet awkward attempt to relate to the two.

She would probably cry.

Your parents' work piled up to the late hours of the evening and spilled into the morning, leaving you in a constant state of dejection. The house would be barren, nothing but the faint ticking of the old grandfather clock to keep you company. But even if your parents were home, it would still be the same; the air cold and unmoving.

Your parents were not warm nor were they emotional, and maybe that's what drew you to Kenma; he was quiet, rarely affectionate, and gave you more than enough room to breathe. Sure, there were the occasional forehead kisses, the head pats, the 'how are you doing' texts, and sometimes if he was brave enough, he’d interlock pinkies with you in public.

But you grew selfish, finding yourself wanting a little more each time you saw him, and you weren't sure if it was okay.

Was it okay to yearn for things? 

Was it okay to ask for more?

But Kenma saw through your facade of accepting things as they are and right into your neediness. He was willing to give as long as you asked or even when you were too shy to do so. He even gave you his whole life without sparing a second thought even if the realization that he had done so came much later.

"Here, let me." Kenma slips his hands over yours, taking the plate from within your grasp to wash it in your place. He bumps his hips against yours, causing you to stumble away from the sink.

You mumble a thank you before resorting to wiping down the dishes and setting them on the rack.

You delight in his banter. He asks you about your day, stealing glances between you and the stack of dishes before him while you give him the run down. He listens to you intently, gaze wandering a little longer when he hears an exasperated sigh escape your lips, but you let him know you're just fine.

"What about you?" You ask, tilting your head and playfully moving it in front of Kenma's face, blocking him from the plate he needs to scrub. "How was your day?"

He hums, tiptoeing over you to finish the chore like the diligent little worker he is. "It was another day," You frown at him and his lack of effort to push further. He rolls his eyes, chuckling at your pouty face. "I played another trial game with Eiji—"

"And how'd that go?"

"Oh, he's absolute shit—ow!" Your slap against his arm resounds throughout the apartment, causing Yuki and Eiji's to jerk their attention towards you both. You mold your face into a look of ease, sparing them a warm smile, telling them you saw a fly.

"The hell?! I wasn't finished!" The pudding head seethes. "Sure he was shit, but he was still better than you."

The cocky grin slipping across his lips matching with his lidded eyes has you throwing your hands, erupting a series of ow's. "You're such an ass, you know that?"

"Yeah, the ass you chose." He sneers, handing you the last plate to dry.

He rubs his arm in an attempt to soothe the stinging, glaring at you begrudgingly. It takes you a while to ease back into his trust, but you do, and he picks up where he leaves off as if he wasn't in any pain  to begin with.

He tells you about his little trip to the convenience store with Yuki for his strawberry milk, and the foreign, constricting feeling that wouldn't leave his chest until they came back home. How he couldn't let go of Yuki's hand when they were in the store, and if he did, it would send him in a state of sheer panic.

"Must be your mommy instincts kicking in," You joke, and he only rolls his eyes.

He also admits inadvertently turning all your favorite whites into various shades of pinks and blues. As someone as analytical as Kenma, he was challenged by the task of separating the lights from the darks. 

You snort, earning a scowl from your boyfriend and a string of explanations to defend his case. But it isn't the mistake that makes you laugh, but rather how far you've come after a month of adjustments and an unfortunate series of events.

The first two weeks were exceptionally trying. No one spoke a word and everyone walked on eggshells. Eiji was still too shy to look at you, his responses down to a bare minimum and quieter than a whisper; Yuki cried almost all the time over every little thing, and the vein in Kenma's neck was threatening to pop every time he did.

It didn't help when you and Kenma would end your nights at each other's throats, bickering till you fell asleep. And when morning came, you'd be greeted by the emptiness from his side of the bed.

And it helped no one when the two of you would avoid each other, never crossing paths or breathing a word the moment you came home until it was too painfully awkward to continue.

Two and half hours charged with petty arguments, things of the past, and all the little things that came in between only to have finally arrived at one conclusion: You weren't parents and you weren't Akihiro-san. You were your own people and it was okay to do things differently.

Even if different meant that Kenma might call the kids by the wrong name or forget the fact he's living with someone else other than you. Even if different meant that you'll be absent-mindedly teaching Yuki a few curses to add to his vocabulary or forgetting to enroll them in school.

The truth is no one from the family was going to return your calls, and you were probably going to spend the rest of your twenties making up bedtime stories and giving pretty bad advice to someone just a few years younger than you.

Which brings you here, wearing your bathing suit as you share your bubble bath with Yuki because he wanted to play with the rubber duckies he whined and moaned at Kenma to buy for him at the store.

Lathering his hair with shampoo, Yuki's head leans against your chest, eyes gleaming beneath the bathroom lights. He beams at you, giggling at the ticklish feeling as you massage his head. He brings attention back to his ducks, making crashing sounds as he splashes them into the water.

"Is that how ducks swim?" You ask, washing away the soap from his hair. "Don't they just kinda...float around?"

He shakes his head before twisting his body to face you. He's got a tough expression plastered on; brows furrowed, his jaw clenched, eyes unwavering.

A very serious boy.

"These are special ducks," He explains, raising one to your face."These are battleship ducks."

Your lips fall to an 'o', still not picking up what he's putting down but you pretend you do.

Is this what kids are into these days?

Yuki goes on to tell you about his special ducks; something about lasers in their eyes, super special flying skills, and...echo location? You ask him if he's sure—if you heard him right, but he's as firm with his stance as he is with the death grip he has on his rubber duckies.

You drain the tub before rinsing yourselves beneath the warm water of the shower. Yuki flips his hair around, air drying himself as he steps out of the tub. You tell him to brush his teeth while he waits for you to finish rinsing.

"Hey, Oba-san," Yuki's call is muffled by the foam of the toothpaste still in his mouth. "Are you and Kenma-san married?"

You nearly fall when you slip off of your bathing suit and into your pajamas.  "Ah, no, Yuki. We're not."

"But aren't you in love?" He asks, oblivious to the sudden shift in the atmosphere, spitting into the sink and washing his mouth.

Your eye twitches and you swallow the lump in your throat before it goes big enough for you to choke and die. "Uhh, people don't always have to marry right away just because they're in love..."

"But Kenma-san said he's been in love with you for four years."

"I—Yeah, well—"

"That's sounds like a really long time, Oba-san." You can't tell if he means to sound condescending. You can't tell if your mom has awakened from the grave and possessed the young boy because she woke up thinking she had a few more things she'd like to pester you with.

"Well, Yuki," You gather the little patience you have left, taking a deep breath as you step out of the tub. The bathroom tile is cold against the soles of your feet, sending a shiver down your spine. Enough to keep you sober for trivial conversation with a six year old boy. "Love—Love kinda looks different for everyone, Yuki."

You choose your words carefully, not wanting to say anything that might confuse him.

You help him into his clothes, his hair leaving wet patches onto his his dinosaur pajamas. He listens to you intently, looking right into your eyes. "There are people marry the moment they meet—or at least after a short while—because they can't help but feel sure?” 

And you can’t help but feel flustered at your own explanation, not too sure with your words, “...and other people don't do that. Some relationships move at a faster pace and other's move a bit slower; and Kenma-san and I...we're happy with how things are right now."

He hums, nodding his head as if he understands. "Even though Eiji-san and I are here?"

"Yes, little love." You assure him with the new nickname, booping his nose. "Even though you're both here."

You grab his towel and dry his hair. You pat down the tiny puddles of water on his face and neck, noting to wipe behind his ears.

"But," Yuki mumbles through the material of the towel, swatting your hand away to to catch his breath, "sometimes people don't like different..." Yuki pushes the towel to this side, his glossy eyes meeting yours and your heart cracks. "They didn't like my dad 'cause he was different."

"H-He didn't love someone th-that looked like y-you..." Yuki bites down on his bottom lip, keeping it from quivering and fixating his eyes onto the tiles of the floor to prevent himself from choking on his words. "H-He...He loved someone that look like Kenma-san."

You understand what he means. You know full well. Their father was gay and because of that, your family ostracized him without wasting another breath. As if it was easy as blinking.

You knew what their father had been going through, you had enough time to help, yet you stood idle, doing nothing but add to his loneliness.

You kept all the sunshine Akihiro-san shared with you during your bluest days, even when it had been so obvious he needed it more than you.

But not once did you ever think about returning a sliver of it. And you wonder maybe if you hadn't been so selfish and naive, a silver lining would've been enough to avoid something as painful as this.

Instinctively, you pull him close to you, threading your fingers through his still damp hair. You shush him and press kiss on the crown of his head as his petite figure trembles in your arms. You let him sob into your shirt, his fingers twisting the material in anguish.

And it breaks your heart that a little human like him would not only know the meaning of anguish, but how it feels to have it tear through his heart.

It takes a few moments for Yuki to catch his breath and for you to ease him. He slumps onto you as he regains his strength. You tell him you're sorry because you are and because you don't know what else to say.

You try to use his strawberry milk and his brother as an incentive to keep him from crying again. And after a few minutes it works.

You trail closely behind him when he walks out of the bathroom. He begins to run when he gets closer to Eiji, the  pitter patter of his wee little feet carrying in the apartment.

You watch as Yuki thrusts himself forward into the arms of his brother, and Eiji doesn't fail to catch him. The sight before you leaves you gawking in silence, watching Eiji unravel into his big brother form as  he lifts Yuki to the ceiling, playfully sniffing his under arms, the crook of his neck, and even his little bum before complimenting him, "Good job, you smell just like flowers."

His giggles float in the air, swarming around the apartment as if he hadn't been crying just a few minutes ago.

And as you watch the scene unfold do you  decide to step out of the sidelines, using this warm moment shared between the boys as your driving force to keep the last of your cousin's light safe. 

[tenspontaneite]

Wish Fulfilment (Chapter 1/?)

Rayla woke up in a tiny body in a tiny bed, blinked, looked at her tiny hands, and said “Right.”

(Time travel; indulgent and light-hearted. Ao3 link)

---

  Rayla woke up in a tiny body in a tiny bed, blinked, looked at her tiny hands, and said “Right.”

She spent the next few days taking stock of herself, the time-frame, her living situation, and her own abilities. She was a pipsqueak, lacking the advantages of a decade of training and conditioning, but she’d been a scrappy thing even at this age – climbing trees, making a nuisance of herself, getting hardier and more agile than most bairns did, and so on. She scrambled experimentally about some trees for a while, and assessed her stealth by mud-bombing the townspeople she disliked, and in the end decided that it would do just fine.

Her parents had joined the Dragonguard recently, and judging by her age, Callum must have lost his mother only a month or two ago. She regretted that she couldn’t have stopped that, but, well. Nothing to be done.

She spent a further week stealing supplies, testing herself, and getting ready. The Moon answered her when she called on it, even so close to its darkest phase. Magic answered too, when she begrudgingly tested the spells Callum had bullied her into learning. It would be enough.

She left a note for Ethari and Runaan that read ‘I know you’ll never listen if I tell you not to look for me, so just try not to waste too much time, alright? I’m fine.’ She took a moment to feel disconcerted at her history of leaving notes and disappearing, then added ‘Sorry. Try not to worry. I’ll see if I can send letters or something.’ With that in mind she took a brief detour into Ethari’s workshop and stole a shadowhawk. With that tucked into her pack, she did some last-minute checks of her supplies and headed out.

First on her agenda was heading North-East and breaking up her trail. Runaan would absolutely try to follow her, so she made it as hard for him as she possibly could, laying false trails, disturbing the true ones, and dunking herself in every body of water she could find to break up the chance of the family Moonstrider being able to track her. He’d probably still find his way through the first leg of her journey, but that was okay. She could live with that.

Rayla arrived at the mountainous plains on the edge of Lux Aurea a week later, finding with satisfaction what she’d expected to: vast tracts of farmland, developed for the feeding of the equally vast population of the golden city. It took a further day to find the farm itself, whereupon she broke in, ambushed the residents, and made some very uncompromising demands.

The Sunfire farmers looked so bewildered at having been hogtied and extorted by a baby-faced Moonshadow child that they offered absolutely no resistance except plaintive questions like ‘where are your parents’, or ‘are you okay’, or ‘do you need any help’. In the end Rayla departed with her packs three bags of seeds heavier, and also stole a Sunfin on her way out. She flew on the placid creature for three days due West before running afoul of the Sunfire army.

Rayla spent eight disgruntled hours in the custody of those soldiers, refusing to talk, until they finally left a twin-tailed inferno-tooth tiger to guard her while they went off to send letters to their superiors, trusting the guard-cat’s intelligence and ferocity to be equal to the task of keeping watch on a wee Moonshadow bairn. This turned out to be a mistake.

Within an hour, the animal was eyeing her with interest. Within two, it had drifted close to sniff at her. “What’re you looking at?” She demanded, in her tiny irritable child-voice, and that was when the thing instantly and very plainly took a liking to her. She spent ten minutes grumbling loudly about being sat on by a giant cat, then finally conceded to pragmatism and started using its tail-flames to burn through her ties. They’d only used rope, not wanting to restrain a child too sternly. It was very helpful stupidity on their part.

Rayla escaped on the cat and was only mildly singed by the ordeal. Later, after a day of very enthusiastic pursuit-evasion, she settled down with said cat and eyed it with resignation. “You’re not leaving, are you.” She said. It licked her with a sandpapery tongue almost as big as her entire face, and that was answer enough. She sighed. “Well, it’ll make the journey a lot faster, I suppose.” She decided. “But you’re going to be a pain to hide.”

Unconcerned, it rubbed its face against her insistently enough to push her over. But she’d grown up with a shadowpaw, so she was used to that.

Rayla, who was not good at naming things, named it Cat.

 ---

 Brightly-coloured cats with two flaming tails were not stealthy. They just weren’t. Cheerfully unaware of how inconvenient this was, Cat spent the next two weeks ruining her efforts at stealth by roaring at inconvenient times, following her when she’d told it to stay put, and in general by being constantly on fire. As such she arrived in the Pentarchy and crossed the Weeping Bay with considerably more flair than she’d have preferred, but at least the tails eliminated the need for campfires. It had obviously been used to cook food before, and tolerated the experience very agreeably, if it had also been fed.

On the third week she finally figured out that the thing had been trained with Luçais commands, and muddled her way through her extremely bare vocabulary in the language to finally get Cat to follow basic directions. With the ability to tell it to stay put somewhere while she went off to do something else, things went much better. She disappeared into the mountain range on Cat’s wings, choosing the least-populated route she could manage, and in the end managed to approach Katolis castle with no one the wiser that she was there.

Finding somewhere to leave Cat proved challenging, though. She briefly considered the alcove in the cliff under the castle, but dismissed it on grounds that someone would notice the roaring eventually. Cat was a noisy bastard. Eventually she resigned herself to the fact that she’d just need to relocate it periodically, and left it in a relatively well-concealed ditch with a freshly-killed deer corpse to occupy it.

Rayla waited till nightfall for the first excursion, calling on the Moon to turn her skin to shadows, and stalked down the castle halls, learning it as it was in this time. Learning the guard stations, the patrol patterns, its rhythms and sounds. She was half-way to checking whether Callum still had the right room at this age when she stopped in the middle of the hallway, goosebumps raising up in lines over her arms, feeling a vast and familiar presence passing over her mind. She slumped with relief.

“Ezran.” She murmured, more thankful than words could say. “So you made it back too.”

Being a baby had apparently not agreed with him, because he seemed to lack the control and finesse he’d developed with age. Instead his ability brushed at her in vague sweeps of feeling and intent, saying relief and frustration and this way. She followed his lead to the nursery where he was kept, his guards pressed into sleep by his far-reaching touch.

She looked down at him in his cot, so tiny she wasn’t even sure if he could crawl, and raised an eyebrow. “Somehow, you’re even tinier than I expected.”

“Ee,” he expressed sourly, blinking up at her with eyes that looked too big for his face. Babies were so weird. His hands reached up and made grabby motions at her, so obediently she leaned in and let him slap one baby hand onto her cheek. With the skin contact, it got a lot clearer.

Been here months, he seemed to complain, along with a rush of gratitude/relief/fondness at seeing her. Couldn’t do anything/missed you/been awful.

“How many months?” She asked with interest, and after a little back-and-forth managed to surmise that he’d awakened in his body very shortly after the titan-slaying party had departed for Xadia. She winced, entirely aware of how terrible that must have been for him. “I’m sorry, Ez.”

His little baby face screwed up, as if he was going to start crying. He almost did, but then seemed to summon the will to suppress the infant-body’s powerful instincts before it actually got going. Really sucked, he managed to express, with a little echo of his helplessness and anger. Then, subverbal: an impression of the heavy miasma of grief that had hung over the castle. Harrow crying, Callum crying.

She inhaled sharply. “Callum-“ she couldn’t finish the sentence. He didn’t make it back? She thought, numbly, and that was as good as saying it, with Ezran touching her.

He blinked wide ice-blue eyes at her. Hasn't yet/getting worried, he said, tangled up in the impression he had that she’d arrived later than him, hadn’t she, so maybe, maybe Callum would join them eventually too. He hoped. But time was passing and he was afraid.

She closed her eyes. Exhaled. “Did Zym make it?” Yes, he had. “Can you talk to him the same? Reach past him?” Talking: yes, but it was hard. Reaching: no. “Okay. We can work with that.” She hesitated, steeling herself, not thinking about Callum. “I’ve got a hotcat a little bit past the castle. Think you can convince it not to make noise?” She asked, half-heartedly.

Ezran blinked again. Then he looked delighted, a wide baby grin spreading across his face. He nearly bowled her over with the wave of enthusiasm and approval for her having made a proper animal friend, and expressed his intention to begin communing with said animal at once.

Rayla nodded a little, still tightly controlling her reaction to the news about Callum, and after a moment reached into the cot to lift Ezran up under his wee chubby baby arms. He made a surprised gurgle at her, then burped contentedly when she hugged him, patting her clumsily on the shoulder. He was so bloody little. It was making her annoyingly emotional. Damn it, Callum, she thought to herself, get back here already so you can look at how tiny your brother is with me.

Ez sighed, patting her with mental impressions of hope and affection and subdued sadness. Then he told her, though not in as many words, that Cat was a terrible name and someone really needed to make fun of her for it.

Rayla huffed and set him back down again. “Shush, you.” She said gruffly, and hesitated. “I’ll…come back to see you tomorrow, alright? Maybe in the day this time.” She had to get an idea of the daytime watch rotations too, after all. She still wasn’t sure what the plan was, but taking someone hostage might well end up being part of it. That would be a lot easier, with Ez on board. A lot of things would be easier.

A little spitefully, to let off steam, she made one final stop before leaving the castle that night: she broke into Viren’s rooms and stole one each of three pairs of his boots. She took these back to Cat and watched it maul the boots in question with a great deal of satisfaction.

Cat did quiet down after whatever Ezran communicated to it, but unfortunately also decided that if it wasn’t going to announce its presence by roaring, it had to do it some other way. This was how Cat ended up spraying the brambles at the edge of the ditch in urine, and incidentally also how Rayla discovered that it was a male. Thereafter the area stank too much for her to linger in, so she had to go off to sleep in a nearby tree, beyond the warmth of Cat’s burning tails. Rayla woke the next morning with a pronounced crick in her neck, grumbled a little, then went back to work.  

  ---

 Notes:

So this story exists because I made myself Really Sad about five year old Callum when writing the latest chapter (21) of piaj, and then made myself Even Sadder by promptly writing a future scene where Callum talked about said period of his life to Rayla, and then out of abject desperation I fired up a fresh document and started writing this to comfort myself.

Setting background: canon, but with worldbuilding borrowed from piaj. Future Rayla was somewhere in the region of 18+ years old, unspecified. Circumstances of the future and method of time travel left extremely deliberately vague. I have every intention of playing as fast and loose with this story as I can possibly manage; I already have one exhaustive and meticulous tdp work and I’m not interested in reallocating my brainpower from that to this.

Warning: what plans I have for this story heavily feature piaj worldbuilding that I consider pretty critical to the setting, and also unlikely to come out any time soon. Therefore, it’s pretty guaranteed that I’ll get two or three chapters in to publishing this and then have to keep the rest to myself for the next four years while piaj progresses.

 Other details:

Sunfin: a creature I came up with for piaj worldbuilding. It cannot breathe, and uses Sun magic in place of respiratory processes. If kept indoors it will die very quickly. It’s unintelligent and usually lives at high altitudes and will not generally touch the ground in its lifetime, but can be trained for use in farming, where it’s very useful in dispersing large amounts of Stuff (i.e. water, seeds, fertiliser) over a field from the sky. They’re basically crop dusters. Concept and name inspired by the Skyfin from endless legend. Looks somewhat more like a cross between an air shark and manta ray though.

Ezran: future Ezran in this setting was very, very powerful. Less so now that he’s a one year old baby. Rip.

Rayla: future Rayla learned how to use Moonshadow form at most times of the month, and in addition was eventually nagged by Callum into learning some spells. She uses them as part of her stealth repertoire but doesn’t consider herself a mage.

Callum: is baby.

Cat: a twin tailed inferno tooth tiger, highly trained, and in use by the Lux Aurea military as a war mount prior to his desertion in this story. They had a different name for him, but he rather prefers ‘Cat’.

Luçais: piaj worldbuilding; this is the in universe name for the French language as Draconic is the in universe name for Latin. Spoken by many Sunfire elves.

[rurifangirl]

oc askssssss💃💃

《~•°🌸kayn🌸°•~》

48. How are your character’s gestures? Vigorous? Weak? Controlled? Compulsive? Energetic? Sluggish?

《~•°🌸rui🌸°•~》

50. What are the prevailing facial expressions? Sour? Cheerful? Dominating?

《~•°🌸lyva🌸°•~》

16. What does your character do for a living? How do they see their profession? What do they like about it? Dislike?

《~•°🌸shoe🌸°•~》

49. What about voice? Pitch? Strength? Tempo and rhythm of speech? Pronunciation? Accent?

《~•°🌸qiran🌸°•~》

12. How does their education and intelligence – or lack thereof - reflect in their speech pattern, vocabulary, and pronunciations?

《~•°🌸naexi🌸°•~》

8. How does your character feel about religion?

《~•°🌸evelyn🌸°•~》

26. What does your character’s home look like? Personal taste? Clothing? Hair? Appearance?

《~•°🌸myst🌸°•~》

13. Did they like school? Teachers? Schoolmates?

《~•°🌸kerei🌸°•~》

3. Brothers, sisters? Who do they like? Why? What do they despise about their siblings?

《~•°🌸syndra🌸°•~》

36. Do they like to suffer? Like to see other people suffering?

Aight, let's go w another one you whore😍

💜Kayn-

Overall he's pretty much in control? Like, he's really self aware of his limits and how weak he is so he would have somethin, but I think most of the times he'd still do somethin outta the blue. You're on a mission with him? He's gonna try and pet that little death servitor that just tried to kill ya. So yeah, even tho he knows n Is self aware he's still pretty damn much impulsive.

N also would do anything in his power to make ya feel as good as ya can n doesn't really have much regolation at that point- So really It depends on context/day.

💎Rui-

They have like, a lil simile always with them. Like even when they're not doing/feeling anything special they still have a lil smirk w them. Plus they also wanna seem approachable so then again, I'm sayin that they'd have a sorta cheerful expression

📙Lyva-

I mean she doesn't really had that much of a profession. She would've liked being a medic but since she well, run away, she never got the occasion to nor the knowlege, so even though she enjoys being an adventurer with the gang she would've 100% liked studying abroad to learn more bout erbs rather than stopping some cult that got in the way.

But she'd help others trying to study something too.

🍵Shoe- (Shou)

Listen, Korekiyo's voice. Am I self projecting? Yes. But just, Korekiyo mf Shinguji's voice onto him. That's litteraly the best way I can put his voice and I'll die onto this hill.

LIKE LISTEN TO THIS SHIT

IT'S PERFECT

🗡️Qiran-

Thecnically speaking they still had an own education, but I think that being a traveller influenced A LOT more their ways of talking/behaviour in general. In fact they do speak in a somewhat of an accent, though they can very much understand complex texts too.

But they do have a strong accent, or takin out words from phrases to sound more southern in a way or nother.

⚛️Naexi-

They feel absolutely great bout It, since It Is part of human behaviour too. Or part of some types of folktores. It's really interesting for her to understand how a religion in particular works.

Like why are the whorshipped gods painted like that? Why are the offerings in that specifical way? How Is that going to influence all of that? All of these combined in one, THAT Is something that Is really interesting for them.

I could ramble a lot bout It but i got other ocs to feed 😩

⚙️ Evelyn-

HOHIHOHO SO, it's very based of their appereance. Like that steam-punk vibe? Absolutely like that. Everything's on that whole topic and he's absolutely livin it. She also has lots of projects messed up in their room n it's just, really REALLY messy around. The only clean part Is Sunshine's cell (which being their cockatoo btw) that he cares bout.

The other parts of the house are based off like that and are much smaller.

🎸Myst-

He didn't really get an education of her own, but definetly like, if she did he would've 100% been that loudy and cheerfull classmate everyone seems to be Friends w. That's really the best way I could put It.

Though honestly he would've prefferred going to school ESPECIALLY since she was young, but he unfortunatly never had the choise other than some gifts here n there :(

🔮Kerei-

Well... he's Qiran's older brother so 😃 We gonna get funky when he's gonna get introduced cuz spoilers he wasn't really much of a good brother to him n his other siblings.

He doesn't despise them for a good reason he just, never really wanted to have anything w them, though currently and after a lot of time in isolation he, he regrets it. All of It.

But Is way too scared to try and tie something back togheter with everyone. Much more will be in his post so ill not go further for now

⛩️Syndra-

Depending on the person, but yeah. I can totally see her gaining some form of pleasure into seeing suffering. I mean not when it's coming from the only people she cares about, but in most cases It's like that. Though she'd now avoid It not because it realized that it's wrong but more of that it's usless doing so.

Tags undercut:

@a-chaotic-dumbass @spoopy-fish-writes @damnfoxx @nadi-117 @dopesaladlady @audre-falrose @ahmanetsmultifandom

[fishylife]

Street Dance of China, Season 4, Episode 4

- I’ve had issues with Tumblr not saving my posts again v.v I’ll just save often and hope that that does the trick.

- Latrice and Ibuki reenacting HB’s performance haha. From the behind the scenes clips I’ve seen, Ibuki does speak English, so I like to think they are now friends :D

- Hilty & Bosch have known each other since they were six years old T_T That’s cuuuute. Apparently they don’t get into arguments a lot because they always keep a distance between them XD Good strategy.

- San’er’s performance was great! He definitely brings the entertainment in his creativity (including incorporating a story line), but he doesn’t forget about the technical parts of dancing (the popping).

- Bouboo cheering on Rochka when he challenged Jianyan :P

- This spinning move he did was neat

- 不咋地 is going to be the recurring inside joke between Yibo, Rochka, and Bouboo ^^;;

- Yixing singing the SDOC theme song again XD With his super low energy voice XD

- Yibo was tipping the bench which was why Yixing and Henry were like, rocking back and forth at the same pace lol.

- Admittedly George vs. C-Lil was kind of rough. George tried to include Chinese elements in his performance, but he was injured, so he couldn’t really showcase them, and the latter part of his performance became just a typical contemporary dance. C-Lil’s performance was alright, but I think the judges were expecting something more impressive. While break dancing is very impressive to watch, I am starting to see the limitations of it, because if a dancer is not impressive, they are just kind of mediocre. George and C-Lil weren’t able to bring anything superbly impressive, which I think it was difficult for them to vote. Yibo abstained, and C-Lil got two votes, so C-Lil advanced.

- Zyko was incredible as always. It fascinates me how he’s mostly performed with these ballad type songs that don’t really have a beat. Also his flexibility is insane. I’m glad he got through with four votes because we need to see him more.

- I really liked Chika’s performance! I feel like women’s dancing is sometimes a bit limited in the mainstream because people just expect them to look sexy. It isn’t as much the case on this show because all of the ladies on this show are dancers and not idols or pop stars. But anyway, I just love seeing women dance without their bodies being sexualized. Chika’s dance showcased not only control over her body, but POWER. I loved her big movements. Compare the power that she shows vs. the power that say, Ibuki shows. Ibuki is a much smaller lady and it shows in her proportions, so how she expresses power looks different from how Chika expresses power, and Chika’s is the sort of power that I’ve really looked forward to seeing.

- Rochka fanboys over everybody, I love it. Keep spreading the love, dude.

- Ok, Xiaoji’s performance was pretty entertaining. I am not kidding when I say my jaw dropped, at the same time that all the captains went OH SNAP. But this guy definitely has charisma and stage presence. His confidence made up for his lack of ability to improvise XD I was CACKLING when this guy thought the song was done and Yibo was like “bro there’s more” and Xiaoji had to come up with something to end it off lol. I wouldn’t say his challenge was as good as Xiaohai’s, mostly because he hadn’t memorized the music like Xiaohai did. In terms of technical stuff, his performance did seem more impressive than Lai Wei’er’s, but he also did less “stuff” (like, there were a lot of pauses in his dance probably because he didn’t now the music). But Xiaoji’s was definitely more entertaining, though that may just be because of who he is and not his dancing. (By the way, Xiaoji’s real name is 林森. I thought the name 林木森 was just a joke because of how much wood was in it. I never guessed that someone would name their kid 林森 X’D Guess his 八字 indicated that he had a weakness in wood or something lol)

- Have some laughing captains, it’s good for the soul.

- Acky-san acknowledged that he’s probably not going to beat the younger dancers in terms of technique, so what he brought instead was style. The “robot” style of popping is pretty old, but no one else has done it in this competition probably because it’s so old school, and he definitely delivered in a way that only he could.

- Henry singing Frere Jacques with the French contingent X’D

- Thoughts on Han Yu vs. Boris. I can imagine what Han Yu was going for in his original performance, but I don’t think it worked. I don’t have the vocabulary to explain it, but basically the way his performance was choreographed just didn’t really impress. As Yibo mentioned, Boris was impressive in his dance to Han Yu’s music, but his dancing didn’t suit the song as much as Han Yu’s did. So the original dance + challenge was a matter of impressiveness vs. whether the dancing suited the music. Han Yu shone in the battle. I think he seemed a lot more impressive when back in a hip hop sort of groove, music that has a lot of major beats, compared to the piano music that was less grand an epic. As for Boris, I think that seeing a few of his performances in succession showed that his toolbox is a little limited in comparison to Han Yu. It hate to see Boris go because I loved his battle against Zyko but alas. I also wanted him to stay because he’s one of the few non-Chinese contestants who speak Mandarin relatively well. He had no issues speaking in Mandarin with most of the Chinese people on set. The ending was hilarious, when he was asked whether he had any last words, and Boris was like “well, I’m literally going to see these guys in two seconds when I’m back in the audience, I’m not dying” lmao.

- I don’t know how I feel about how the show has decided to deal with the last 29 contestants, of which three would be chosen to join the 49 dancers advancing. They’re competing fairly with the other contestants that haven’t performed yet, but they’re at a disadvantage compared to the previous contestants that were judged individually. For example, what if the fourth best dancer was better than a dancer that had already entered the 49? It would only be fair if the judges were allowed to take out people from the 46 contestants that had passed. It would’ve been a bigger problem if there were still a lot of big names to go though. Most of the best dancers have already secured a spot for themselves, so I think that’s why I’m not like, the most perturbed.

- I was low key waiting for Xiao Jie’s performance because his audition performance during episode 1 was so amusing. I thought his individual performance was fun! He managed to add some creativity and story telling (Chinese dude getting drunk) but also showcase some of his specialty skills (locking).

- I forgot to mention this before, but it amuses me that so the editing team will so diligently put in a “don’t try this at home” warning message whenever a dancer does a dangerous move haha.

- So the captains are doing a dance battle for the reborn event, but I’m not really sure how this is all gonna work. I’m digging Yixing’s look for the battle btw.

- Anyway, pre-battle hugs for all.

- KRUMPMASTER. Also I think he did some of the routine that he did back in Season 3.

- Not gonna lie, I wasn’t super impressed with Han Geng’s first dance but his second dance was pretty hype.

- Lol Yibo feels most comfortable challenging Yixing during his battles. He did move where he dropped onto his back right after Yixing did it (i.e. being like you can do it but I can do it better). Based on what I saw of season 3, I think Yibo would call out Yixing in his performances then too.

- Yixing was definitely heavy on the krump side, though I actually thought his first performance was really interesting because there was barely any krump in that one. He mostly stuck to other elements. As we got through the other rounds, he became more krump heavy, and I think he lost a bit in terms of variety there.

- The thing about Han Geng is that he’s no longer as athletic, so he relies more on power and control, but he needs to make sure he does the right moves that showcase that.

- I think Yibo impressed me the most. He had a lot of variety in his arsenal and he was very entertaining. He is also quite athletic, so as long as he can imagine it, I think he can do it haha.

- As others mentioned, Henry was extremely creative. He used a lot of dance moves to show a certain action, like tugging a rope or playing pool and such.

- Anyway, big hugs.

- Baby needs a nap.

- Yibo won the most points in the four rounds of the battle. This hug with Han Geng is uwu. Anyway, Tony Gogo mentioned that Yibo interpreted the music very well.

- Of course, Tony Gogo as well as the Gogo brothers praised Yixing for his krumping energy

- Philip said that Han Geng had a really good ear, and that was how he was able to take advantage of the best moments to unleash certain dances.

- The five contestants that were saved were A-wei, Boris, George, JC Jun, and Kelo & Uwa. I definitely think the editors purposely showed us more clips of them so that we’d grow attached lol. The only one of these five that I don’t quite remember is A-wei though. Anyway, very pleased that Boris is back haha.

- Pouty boi

- Yibo, Henry, Han Geng, and Ibuki getting really into 煞科 lol.

- I think next episode is going to have some team performances, which I think will be fun. Some of these teams are STACKED.

- Previews for Hot pot!

- They were talking about songs they listened to in their childhood. Han Geng started singing a song about an Office Black Cat? XD I’m guessing it’s a cartoon haha. Yibo listened to Leehom Wang and Jay Chou. Henry mentioned that he looked up to Leehom because he was also an overseas Chinese, plus he played a lot of instruments (just like Henry). As expected, Yixing looked up to Jay Chou (after all, Jay Chou was one of the earliest artists to popularize using Chinese elements in pop songs). Yixing said he also liked Leehom Wang, JJ Lin, and Khalil Fong (I legit have not heard the name 方大同 in a long time so that took me by surprise lol).

- Yibo mentioned Li Ronghao and Yixing was like OH WAIT YEAH HIM TOO. We know from Idol Producer that Yixing and Li Ronghao are bros haha. The captain says “不榮藝 組合” which pronounced the same as “不容易 組合” which is something like “unlikely duo,” except the the 榮 is from Li Ronghao’s name and the 藝 is from Zhang Yixing’s name lol.

- The robot spilled all the tea! Bad bot!

- I think they later played a listening game that Henry kept losing? lol

[welllpthisishappening]

Hello there, I see you're back on blue-line drabbles! I love them, I am obsessed with this universe. I don't know if I ever came back to say hi after I read all your big fics, but somehow I liked each even better than the last! I don't know how that's possible! But anyway, I think one of the best signs of a good writer/good story is when you're not ready to leave the world once you've finished, and Blue Line is one of the few fanfics I've read where even well after I've finished it, (cont)

(cont) I want to keep living in it and I end up writing my own fic of it in my head (strange, I know). Anyway, for whatever reason, I got really invested in Roland and Lizzie's relationship. Like, how did they end up dating after knowing each other for literally Lizzie's entire life? How did the adults react? Do you have any Lizzie/Roland stories up your sleeve? They would not go unread :)

————

Hello, yes, listen, this ask has lived rent free™ in my head since I first got it and I cannot properly convey how absolutely, goddamn wonderful it is. I am a broken record of outdated references , but it continues and will always amaze me that people are not only interested in Blue Line (more than three years!!! after I originally started posting) but are also interested in other characters in the story who are, for all intents and purposes, original characters at this point. Like the overall size my heart becomes when reading something like that could potentially cause a serious medical condition.

But, like, in a nice way.

So thank you, thank you, thank you. It genuinely warms the cockles of my entire soul. And, like, if you wanna share those fic ideas of the fic, you’ll never hear me say no. Just like I will never turn down the opportunity to write more stuff. Which is what’s under the cut. This stuff includes:

Roland and Lizzie’s first kiss, what I hope is some legitimate banter, more kissing, obvious flirting, and Roland being something of a sap.

Also, uh, it’s entirely possible that I have also already written: Roland and Lizzie’s first “I love you,” their wedding and some other stuff where their kid is involved. Seriously, guys, I am always down to write other relationships in this ‘verse.

————

It was, she figured, something almost passably close to, sort of resembling, definitely inching somewhere nearer to—

Assured. 

Unavoidable. 

Inexorable

Inevitable. 

That was a bad word. That last word. The third one was pretty impressive, honestly. Vocabulary, wise. She’d have to remember that one later. The last one, though. Made teeth Lizzie wasn’t even aware she possessed ache as she ground them together, a pronounced tension in her jaw that was likely affecting her shoulders as well. That word. An awful word. Boasted less-than-positive connotations, letters practically dripping with lack of self-control and overtly aggressive infatuation, but if the world expected her not to be a little in love with Roland Locksley by the time she turned fourteen and noticed that slight indentation in his right cheek every time he smiled, well, then the world had another thing coming. 

Dimple, that was the appropriate description. Another word. More words. Too many words. All of them bouncing off the slope of her skull and scratching at the back of her brain, nearly distracting her from what should have been the very pleasant buzz lingering beneath whatever biological thing made up her top and bottom lips. 

Which were parted in an emotion very similar to overwhelming surprise. 

That was stupid. 

The whole thing was stupid. God, maybe she was stupid. No, that wasn’t true. She’d made Dean’s List last semester. Stupid was—

A stupid word, really. Despite the blush rising in her cheeks and the wide eyes practically boring into her soul, bated breath that didn’t make any noise because that was what bated entailed, and no one else glanced in their direction. Not once. No one else noticed. 

That the whole world had flipped upside down.

Or right-side-up, maybe. Depending on how the next five minutes or so went. 

Because the last two minutes and twelve seconds, give or take, had seen Roland Locksley tilt his head and let his eyes flutter closed before his mouth found hers for the very first time — at midnight for God’s sake. On New Year’s Eve. Or New Year’s Day, she supposed. His parents were standing on the other side of the room.

Suggesting that Lizzie had ever been just a little in love with Roland was a rather monumental lie. 

As far as those things went. 

“So, uh—” she started, only to find blood in her mouth. From her teeth. Wayward and unpredictable, as they were. Biting down on the side of her tongue and Lizzie hated going to the dentist. Doing irreparable damage to her teeth on what was now legitimately New Year’s Day, in the middle of an annual party, was not on her schedule. 

Metaphorical as it might have been. 

She liked schedules. Had plans. Focus, even. People always said that about her — how focused she was, liked to throw around the word drive with startling regularity, as if they were amazed she wasn’t simply willing to rest on her laurels or the pair of last names she proudly toted around with her. As if Lizzie expected doors to swing open on a glance. 

Rather than consistently preparing herself to knock them down. 

She liked the challenge of it all. Appreciated the way disbelief always spiked something in her blood, and that was likely equal parts genetic predisposition and a product of her childhood, but right now, Lizzie was simply prepared to fight for the schedule she’d never allowed herself to mention to anyone else before and it wasn’t like they weren’t friends. 

Talked outside the group chat, even. 

That meant something. Definitely meant something. Had to mean something. Her lips felt like they’d been doused in liquid nitrogen. 

She didn’t know all the scientific properties of liquid nitrogen, but it always made that rather impressive cloud of steam-type stuff on cooking shows. So, it seemed very likely that it did something similar to cause whatever was happening in the region directly surrounding her mouth. Buzzing and tingling, and whatnot. 

When had Roland last blinked? Lizzie couldn’t remember. That would have been impressive in any other situation. Right now, it was sort, kind of, totally— Pissing her off. 

Color dotted his cheeks, no sign of the goddamn dimple because he wasn’t smiling, presumably couldn’t do that when it was clear he was so intent on pulling his lips into his mouth, and that felt a little insulting. Her tongue had just been in that mouth. 

Lizzie was fairly confident in the abilities of her tongue, so she wasn’t all that pleased to be replaced by a pair of lips that could have been doing much better work against the side of her neck. 

“If you sit here right now and tell me that you are,” Lizzie lifted a finger, “one, sorry,” another finger, “two, anything even remotely resembling regretful,” another finger, wiggling close enough to Roland’s nose to make him just a bit cross-eyed, “or, three, too old for me, I will throw my heel at that bruise I know exists on the back of your left calf.”

His lips twitched. 

He really had impossible eyelashes. Seemingly made so he could glance up from underneath them, to meet Lizzie’s steely expression with what she refused to believe could be cautious hope. Passable optimism, maybe. She’d have to look up what liquid nitrogen did, later. 

“I’m standing.” “I hate you.”

“You wanna go in order, or how do you want to work this?” “Where else are you bruised?” Roland laughed softly, a shift of his shoulders and tiny burst of air between barely parted lips. Feeling that tiny burst meant they were standing very close to each other. How they were standing remained another mystery. 

One of those great ones, Lizzie figured. The kind referenced when people talked about the sweeping potential of life and love and— Ah, fuck. 

“Please don’t threaten to attack me anywhere else,” he muttered, before quickly adding, “you gotta know this was not my end game, Liza.” Narrowing her eyes did nothing to temper the…tempest. Swirling in her gut. Threatening the back of her throat. Eating away at vocal cords and vocal boxes and the structural integrity of her entire goddamn larynx. Possibly her tongue, too, just to be especially efficient. 

“Really? Might’a been mine, actually.”

She’d always liked his eyes. 

How they could widen, and it wasn’t like...a normal brown. Nothing about the way he looked was ever dull. Drifted toward regularly excited, and the sparkles were probably a figment of her over-active teenage imagination, but Lizzie liked to think sometimes the sparkle came from her. Because of her, even. When she’d call because he always wanted to hear about her latest lecture and he’d call because sometimes Western swings were exhausting and loneliness-inducing and—

She knew. 

He knew. 

They knew each other.   

Grand scheme, the sparkle-prone eyes still weren’t particularly close to the dimple. On the list of things Lizzie liked. What left butterflies fluttering in her stomach and her heart hammering against her chest. Sparkle was probably a solid fourth. Behind the precise way his curls fell toward his eyebrows when he didn’t have time to get his hair cut. Which rarely happened during the season. Right now, it was happening right now. Well-defined strands that Lizzie knew felt even smoother than she’d ever theorized between her fingers, and she wasn’t sure what she was going to do with that information. 

Obsess over it, probably. 

For at least the next week, or so. 

Still. Eyes. Eyelashes. Too long and too bright, and that was the wrong description order and she was starting to teeter. On the edge of a rather dramatic free-fall. Into feelings and possibility, and this was way too dramatic. For both of them. 

“Don’t do that,” she mumbled, a scrunch of her nose that apparently demanded his thumb. Brushing against the bridge, and there wasn’t any caution there. No obvious fear or concern. For the way it left Lizzie’s lungs pinched, and there must have been a limit. 

To everything her internal organs could cope with in a limited span of time. 

“What was the last one on the list?” She swallowed. “Too old.” “Yuh-huh.” “Pretty flimsy as far as excuses go. You realize I’m not asking you to marry me right now, right?” He choked. On what, she wasn’t entirely sure. Only that it made her stomach heave and her teeth dig into her lower lip, and that was— “Because I know I said, end game,” Lizzie continued, giving in to the need to fill empty space with the sound of her own voice, “but that sounds like several pop culture references all at once, and you know how much I—”

“Hate to come across as disingenuous.” “Mattie’s the pop culture reference machine, anyway.” “Please don’t talk about Matt when I keep thinking about how much I want to kiss you again.” Her eyes, that time. Widened. Bugged. Did something unnatural. “Yeah?” “You’re kidding me, right?” “You’re not an old man.” Rolling his eyes, Roland’s tongue dragged across the front of his teeth. To torture her, apparently. “I was in college when you were a freshman in high school.” “Yuh-huh.” “Liza.” “Nah, nah,” Lizzie shook her head. Crossed her arms. Tried to stand up to her full height, but even the heels didn’t do much to add to the overall intimidation factor. Roland was doing an awful job of fighting off his smile. “Pulling out ancient nicknames is not—” “—It’s not a nickname; it’s literally letters in your name.” “Nick,” she leaned forward, “name. All personal-like.”

Making mistakes was not something she enjoyed very much. It was that Jones competitive streak. Plus, the Vankald stubborn streak. Created a monster of determination, who knew what she wanted, and feeling Roland’s fingers graze her cheek as a strand of hair hung limply in the minimal space between them was the result of Lizzie’s mistaken movement. 

Even as much as she might have wanted it. 

Goosebumps prickled her arms. Stole whatever oxygen she’d managed to get in the last forty-six seconds, or so. Her eyes fluttered. Head tilted. Towards the touch and the warmth, and for someone who spent so much time on the ice, he really was impossibly warm. 

“This is your fault.”

He didn’t move his fingers. Cupped her cheek, instead. “You were doing that eyebrow thing.” “Expand on that for me.” “Lifting ‘em. Happens sometimes. When you’re listening intently. Like you’re a little amazed by new information. They’re these stupid little arches on your face. Drives me nuts.” “The compliment was in there somewhere, I’m sure of it.” “I am so much older than you, Liza.” “Shouldn’t’a played out a bunch of teenage daydreams at once, then.” She was legitimately worried about the state of his tongue. Barely biting back her laugh, Lizzie let her eyes lift. To find Roland gaping at her, drooped shoulders and puppy-dog eyes. And that goddamn dimple. “C’mon, this isn’t...do you think I haven’t made out with people before?” “Wouldn’t classify what we just did as a makeout.” “No?” His eyes darkened. Shivering was probably not a good move, right? Right. Definitely. She wasn’t shivering. It was just...January. And inside. With dozens of people around them. “I would not, no,” Roland said, and the drop in overall volume was some sort of trick. Or, something. 

“How many people do you think you’ve made out with? Ballpark it for me.” “No.” “Is the issue a lack of appropriate numbers to tally that mark, or—” She bit her tongue, again. At the flash of amused frustration sweeping his face and polluting the molecules of whatever air was hovering between them. Permeating was a better word. Lizzie really needed to work on all of that. Words. Being slightly less jealous of potential make outs that didn’t have anything to do with her and definitely happened because there had to be other people out there in the world who simply could not cope with the existence of that dimple. 

“How many people have you made out with, then?” “Scores,” Lizzie snarled, only to get immediately scoffed at. “I’m really, incredibly popular.” “Oh, I’ve got no doubt.” “Boatloads of guys. Lining up to,” she pointed an imperious finger at her mouth, “make out with this.” “Your well-defined chin?” “I’m going to take my shoe off.” “Draw attention with a move like that.” Whatever fight she had didn’t immediately die. It just, sort of, fell. At her feet, threatening all the bones there and there were too many. All of them far too fragile. For whatever metaphor she was running with at the moment. “And we’re not trying to do that, huh? Draw attention.” “Shouldn’t you be out sowing wild oats?” “Really know how to charm a girl,” she grumbled, and that got her a smile. No scoff. Not even the hint of a smile. The whiplash was hurting her neck. “Trust me, the oats have appropriately sowed. If I was ever particularly inclined to farm work.” “I’m starting to be vaguely embarrassed by all of this.” “Good.” Wasn’t quite a scoff. Was more like a half-hearted laugh, and a tinge of desire and that was better than the other emotions, but the decreasing level of Roland’s eyebrows gave her pause. “What about the status of your oats?”

“Well sowed, rookie season,” Roland said. 

“You’re going to change the name on your jersey.” “Not sure that particular fact has a lot to do with anything else. Seven years, Liza.” “I’m perfectly capable of doing math, you know I took that stats class once.” “Because I double checked everything you turned in.” “Makes you slightly less of an idiot than the vibe you're giving off right now.” “A freeway or compliments.” Pulling in a deep inhale through her nose, Lizzie didn’t miss the way Roland’s gaze fell. To the neckline of her dress, lingering on the jut of her collarbones for a few seconds longer than a strictly platonic friendship should allow, and they were friends. Still. She knew that as well as she knew that he believed she thought he was simply being clever with nicknames. 

And not making vaguely incorrect My Fair Lady references. 

Because he’d always been a little annoyed that Eliza had gone back to Henry Higgins. Instead of Freddie.

It was really impossible not to be a little in love with him at all times. 

“You’re really going to hyphenate?” Roland nodded. “Think of all the new jerseys they’ll sell.” “By the box-load, and Gina’s gonna buy the entire stock. She’s—that’s really nice, you know.” “Just a fact. Little late, but—” He shrugged. Lizzie’s smile threatened to split her face. In that same nice way, she’d been talking about. Her lips were still buzzing. She might have been buzzing. With adrenaline. Happiness. The near-desperate desire to find some type of closet and get her fingers back in Roland’s questionably long hair. 

“Of naming conventions.” She couldn’t begin to guess what the record was for shoulder shifts in an emotionally charged conversation between two people who were simultaneously ignoring the point of the conversation, but Lizzie also knew her eyebrows had been halfway up her face as he’d detailed the reasons for making his jersey say Mills-Locksley. From here on out. 

Maybe that was the top of the list, actually. 

He was a good guy. 

Had always been a good guy. The best guy, really. 

Falling into that chasm wasn’t nearly as terrifying as Lizzie expected it to be. 

“Why’d you do it?” Roland’s lips disappeared. His tongue moved, again. She was staring at the area around his tongue. So, like, his mouth. Directly at his mouth. “Because, I uh—have wanted to?” “Oh, don’t phrase that like a question.” “Wanted to,” he repeated, a statement of fact with a certain amount of conviction. Enough to make Lizzie’s pulse sputter. “Which is kind of freaking me out.” “Come back with more compliments.” “Your dress nearly made me fall over.” “Better, actually,” she laughed. 

He ran his fingers through his hair. “Made sense at the time.�� “Be more specific.” “Kissing you,” Roland said, enough emphasis that he leaned forward half an inch as well. It was a miracle their noses didn’t collide. Not the most impressive miracle, but—counted. “If I tell you that you might be my best friend does that make the lamest professional hockey player alive?” “Yes, absolutely.” “Matt might challenge you to a duel if he hears me talking like this, you know.” “God, Locksley, didn’t we just talk about the Mattie rules? Also, that made it sound like Mattie wants to kiss you too, so...”

He chuckled. Fingers still tugging on the back of his hair, like he was trying to ground himself in the pull and the self-inflicted tension, Roland looked up. Back at her. And Lizzie didn’t flinch. Didn’t blink. Held her position and prepared herself to defend the schedule she’d only ever allowed herself to hope for in the silence of that one corner in her brain. 

Filled, as it was, with memories. Of conversations that didn’t have anything to do with hockey. Others that did. Arguing over blue line placement in the brownstone and college rankings. Of movies watched on two different laptops in different corners of the country, bad jokes, and consistent updates, that deep-rooted understanding that came from a life full of expectations and the exact opposite. No overt pressure, but the need to prove yourself anyway, if only because of the name on the back of the jersey, and Lizzie was going to have to buy a new jersey. 

“You like me? Yes, or no?” Roland smiled. Wide and honest, the kind that ensured the dimple was on prominent display. “Yes.” “I am a grown adult? Yes, or no?” Crinkles appeared around his eyes. From the smile. 

“Yes.” “Meaning I get to make my own choices. Romantically, or otherwise. Yes, or no?” “Obviously.” “Wasn’t one of the options.” “Yes,” Roland corrected, fingers trailing over the bend of her elbow. Lizzie hadn’t uncrossed her arms. Or remembered when she’d crossed them in the first place. 

“Ok, good. Same page, then.” “Liza.” “Locksley.” Lifting her eyebrows wasn’t a challenge, per se. Was closer to instinct, really. Specifics didn’t matter, honestly. She did that thing with her eyebrows, and he did that thing with his mouth, the same one she was staring at and hoping would move closer to her, and then—

Well, it did. 

Hands found Lizzie’s hips, pulling her forward sharply enough that she let out a soft grunt. From the feel of hips bumping against hers, and she honestly wasn’t sure who hissed in their next inhale, only that it did something to the flutter-like state of her pulse and the erratic nature of her heart, and it was slow and fast and good and great and not a single person noticed. 

Miracles were arriving en masse, apparently. 

Pushing her fingers into Roland’s hair got Lizzie another hum of approval, the first brush of his tongue making her lips part and her head fall to the side, but then his hand was wrapped around the back of her neck, and she could not be expected to pay attention to anything except the semi-consistent swipe of his thumb against her skin. It left more goosebumps. Caused another chuckle, the kind that rumbled through her and resonated around her, a tiny bubble of that same cautious optimism from before. 

Like a spark. 

Fanning flames and threatening to burn everything because if this didn’t work, then Lizzie wasn’t sure what would, and that was scary and overwhelming and terrifying was a synonym, but she really was working with very limited word-based resources when Roland’s thumb kept moving. Tracing her. Committing the feel to memory, and she wasn’t sure when they’d established the rocking pattern they were moving in, but something deep in the center of her trusted it. 

Someone who regularly strapped knives to his feet and raced around at top speed knew how to stay balanced. And she was a stubborn idiot. Who got what she wanted. 

“Is part of liking me because I told you I didn’t think it was embarrassing that you still got a little emotional about Miracle on 34th Street?” Laughter pushed past her lips. Took root in the pit of her stomach and the spaces between her ribs. Laced through her heart. In the kind of way that cemented itself. Right in the middle of Lizzie. Right in the middle of this. Them. 

There was a them, now. 

“Was definitely a factor, yeah,” Roland said, not bothering to pull away. “You, uh—you snuck up on me a little, Liza.” “Peak romance.” “Want me to talk about your dress some more?” She shook her head. “Unnecessary. And you didn’t.” “That might be part of the problem.” “Nursing old crushes, you mean?” Her hair hit her cheek. And his hand. He couldn’t seem to let go of her. “Nah, this wasn’t like...there was no torch, not really. I—I wasn’t hanging posters of you on my wall if that’s the picture you’ve painted for yourself.” “Kinda disappointing, admittedly.” “Pick a lane, babe.” No sparkle, that time. Just flash and want and the very thin line Lizzie’s lips had become. “Be more specific,” Roland repeated softly. “You’re not standing on a pedestal. Just you, Rol, as is.” He waited. That was fair. There should have been more. Should have been a detailed list of all the reasons the grown-up version of her liked so many parts of the grown-up version of him, but that all felt a little extraneous when she was still thinking about closet-type possibilities and that stubborn streak was a mile wide, anyway. 

Roland nodded once. “Good.”

Both of them jumped. At the pop of another champagne bottle and Lizzie never understood how Regina managed to order so much champagne every year, but she felt a bit like she was floating on the bubbles, and they didn’t decide. Explicitly. To keep the whole thing—

Secret. 

Another bad word. With bad connotations and shadows that clung to the definition, but this was them and only them and, for right now, that was enough. And if no one noticed the way Roland’s hand drifted over the small of Lizzie’s back during David’s speech, then that was a miracle she was willing to accept. 

[simplyclockwork]

okay so this is super obscure and i apologize but i have this headcanon where rosie runs into sherlock’s bedroom while he’s sleeping in the morning even though john tells her not to (because that’s what toddlers do best) and john has to run in to grab her so she doesn’t wake sherlock up and that’s how john actually gets to properly see sherlock’s scars for the first time

-------

Hi Anon! I love this idea. Hopefully, my fill is what you were hoping for! You didn’t specify if you were 18+, so I kept this gen :) Thank you for your wonderful prompt!

You can also read your prompt fill on Ao3 here. The rest of the fic is below the page break.

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No matter how many times John catches Rosie creeping past the kitchen, down the hall to the half-shut door at the end, he can’t seem to break her of the habit. She seems utterly obsessed with Sherlock at four-years-old. Chubby little legs working, she toddles around after him when Sherlock paces the flat in a fluster. Sits in his lap when he’s thinking in his chair or when he sprawls across the couch, sulking. She clutches his leg when Sherlock sways in front of the window with violin in hand, a blonde-haired little limpet.

Honestly, John would be more offended to be snubbed by his own daughter if he didn’t understand the allure. She is, after all, a Watson, and Watsons always follow Holmeses. Rosie comes by the habit honestly.

It’s just what Watsons do.

Because of Sherlock’s poor sleep habits, John tries to keep the flat quiet and calm whenever Sherlock drops. Since Eurus and Sherrinford, Sherlock sleeps more than he used to. He’s a little slower, a little softer around the edges, a little more willing to listen to John’s stern advice. But, still, his sleeping could be more regular. The times Sherlock falls asleep on the couch are nigh impossible to preserve, and Rosie always sneaks up and buries her little hands in Sherlock’s hair, inevitably waking him every time. Whenever Sherlock makes it to his bed for sleep, John runs interference as long as he can.

Today is a particularly trying day because John has a case to type up and paperwork to finish. If that isn’t enough to handle, he also has a raucous toddler who seems deadset on bouncing between loudly banging blocks against the floor or running full-tilt down the hall in a targeted assault upon Sherlock’s room.

“Maybe you could take after me a little less today,” John mutters after catching his daughter around the waist and hauling her back to the sitting room for what feels like the seventh time in an hour. Her stubbornness would be admirable if John weren’t the one corralling her in every few minutes.

“Daddy!” Rosie wails, squirming in his grip with a pout on her face sulky enough to rival Sherlock himself, “suck! You suck!”

Heaving a sigh, John struggles to keep his hold on the twisting toddler. “Oh, Sherlock and I will definitely be having a conversation about your vocabulary because I sure didn’t teach you that.”

“Auntie said Daddy sucks,” Rosie retorts, and John sighs again.

“Fantastic. Can’t wait to have that phone call with Harry.”

Setting his angry daughter on the sofa with the Union Jack pillow and the stuffed bumblebee Sherlock bought for her third birthday, John retrieves his laptop and settles beside her. Almost instantly, Rosie tries to wriggle down off the couch, and John catches her under the arms, nearly knocking the computer onto the floor.

“Rosamund, enough!” he says sharply, planting her down on his knee and juggling the laptop to the side. She stares up at him with narrowed eyes and her bottom lip pushed out.

“Want Sh’lock,” she shoots back, unable to capture the full sound of her name.

John settles her more firmly and taps a finger to her forehead. “I know you want to see him, but Sherlock is tired, and we have to let him sleep.”

The expression on Rosie’s face is mutinous, and John feels a wave of exhaustion wash over him when she tries to worm away again.

“That’s enough.” Standing, John carries her over to Sherlock’s chair, wraps her in the red robe draped over the headrest, and squats down until they are eye-to-eye. “If you wake Sherlock, I will be very cross, Rosie. Do you understand?”

She stares back at him with a sombre expression, wiggling deeper into Sherlock’s robe. “Daddy sucks,” she says in a soft, petulant voice, and John stands with an eye roll.

“Fine, sure, I suck,” he mutters, giving in on the language for now. “Just let Sherlock sleep.” Retreating to the couch, pleased to see his daughter sitting still and seemingly appeased by the offer of Sherlock’s robe, John picks up the laptop again. He loses himself in his work, relaxing as the warmth of the sitting room seeps into his body.

When he jerks upright moments later, blinking out of a light doze, John frowns. Across from him, Sherlock’s chair is empty, the housecoat discarded on the floor in a wrinkled pile that can’t be doing anything good for the expensive material.

Standing, John stretches and picks the robe up off the floor, smoothing it flat over the back of the chair. He glances around the room, doesn’t see his daughter, and frowns again.

“Rosie?” John turns toward the kitchen as if there’s any chance she’s not already halfway down the hallway. Crossing the room, John pokes his head out into the hall just in time to catch Rosie disappearing through Sherlock’s open bedroom door. “Sod it all,” he mutters, hurrying forward as quietly as possible, hoping Sherlock is still asleep.

Peeking into the bedroom shreds John’s hopes. Already crawled up onto the bed, Rosie is climbing over Sherlock’s hips, where he lies sideways under the covers. Sherlock jolts awake and moves to sit up before realizing his attacker is a toddler. Frowning, he settles back against the headboard, drawing the errant child into his pyjama-clad lap.

“Hello, Watson,” he says in a sleep-roughened voice. Rosie shouts a string of happy words at him, too fast to catch, and grabs a handful of Sherlock’s hair before curling up on his thighs.

“Rosie, I told you not to—” John begins before he pauses, the rest of the words dying in his throat when the blankets slip down, revealing Sherlock’s bare upper body.

Sherlock’s eyes dart to John’s face, but John’s gaze is lower, fastened on Sherlock’s back, and the latticework of scars standing out vividly on his skin. The longer John stares, the more his confusion builds until he is frowning and perplexed, trying to pinpoint how old the marks are.

“John,” Sherlock says quietly, but John just shakes his head, wordless, and keeps up the calculations in his head.

The scars are numerous. Some are long, jagged lines crisscrossing Sherlock’s otherwise pale skin, while others are round and puckered. Others are thin, some thick, some ropey, some turned silver from healing and time. None of them are new, but all of them are awful, and John shakes his head slowly, numb with shock. He finally lifts his eyes to Sherlock’s, who is sitting up with Rosie curled in his lap, her face pressed into his stomach and fast asleep. John’s brief flicker of ironic annoyance at his stubborn daughter flares and fades in the time it takes Sherlock’s throat to bob with a hard swallow.

“John,” Sherlock says again, accidentally talking over John when John speaks.

“How did—”

They both fall silent, locked in a staredown that neither seems willing to break. When John breathes in a low sigh and finally speaks, he sees Sherlock brace himself, tiny wrinkles appearing at the corners of his anxious eyes.

“When?”

Sherlock’s gaze darts away, and he smoothes Rosie’s blonde curls away from her forehead with an unsteady hand. “A long time ago,” he says, without really saying anything. John’s eyes narrow at the careful lack of information.

“What happened?”

Still looking away, his eyes on the wall, Sherlock lifts one shoulder in a small shrug. “I was injured.”

John’s jaw tenses, and he shifts a little closer to the bed. He sees Sherlock stiffen slightly and pauses before sinking onto the edge of the mattress. Sherlock’s eyes remain locked on the wall, avoiding John’s solemn gaze.

“You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to,” he says slowly, watching Sherlock’s stony expression in profile. “But you can, you know?” Tilting his head, John tries to catch Sherlock’s attention and fails. Quiet falls between them until John carefully reaches out and drifts a finger over one of the longer scars. It is thick and raised, the edges jagged, the unmistakable mark of a serrated blade. “Does it still hurt?”

Sherlock’s twitches and shivers, his skin rippling under John’s featherlight touch. His head turns slightly toward John, a flash of surprise on his face. “Sometimes,” he admits, not quite looking at John. “Not so much anymore. But sometimes.”

Nodding, John folds his hands in his lap and drops his eyes to his laced fingers. “I’m glad.” He frowns before glancing at Sherlock, who is finally looking back at him. His expression is wary and impossible to read, but his eyes betray his vulnerability, and John chooses his next words with care. “I’m sorry for whatever happened, and I hope you know that I won’t let anyone hurt you.” His face flushes with the intensity of his own words, and John drops his eyes back to his hands, throat tightening. His mind flashes to Mary, to his own fury that put Sherlock on the floor of a serial killer’s ‘favourite room.’ “Not again, not anymore.”

From the edge of his vision, John catches Sherlock’s stunned expression. Unable to meet his eyes, John waits and holds his breath, finally letting it out in a grateful rush when Sherlock nods.

“Yes. Um. Thank you.” Sherlock sounds mildly flustered and busies himself with plucking at a loose thread in the sheets. “I… will do the same.” He looks at John’s daughter in his lap as Rosie squirms and resettles against his hip, mouth open and face perfectly blank in sleep. “For both of you,” he adds softly. Watching Rosie, John smiles before looking up to meet Sherlock’s eyes again. They stare at one another, the tenuous connection holding, strengthening into something that feels almost tangible.

“Great,” John replies, catching the slight softening of Sherlock’s face. “I’m glad.”

[ughgclden]

bee, love, don’t apologise, please, it’s okay, and first and foremost, are you alright?? i hope you’re taking care of yourself, love, but i understand, i don’t think there’s been a year since third grade that i haven’t gotten pneumonia in the winter. I hope you’re feeling alright!!

honestly, dead poets society is one of my only personality traits anymore, i find myself drawing parallels to it constantly, for no reason but i love thinking about it. i’ve watched it so many times at this point, it’s,,, concerning. those tests always take me way less time than they give me, and i used to feel really awkward, i remember i took a bio one once, four hours they gave me, 45 minutes in, i was finished, and the moderator didn’t believe me. i aced it too, like the silly little neil kinnie i am. i’ve gotten used to the ‘worse’ side of being a neil kinnie, and honestly, now that my mum isn’t as controlling about everything as she used to be, it’s easier to deal with. i remember once, i’d gotten an 89 in algebra, and she threatened to pull me out of the fall show. that was a neil perry moment if i ever had one lol. the biggest thing these days is just imposter syndrome, imposter syndrome like oh you’re not hispanic enough, but also, you’re not queer enough, nonbinary enough, things like that. It’s exacerbated some days, but i try.

i watched the it movies on my cousin’s hbo,,, i may or may not have used it without her permission since she forgot to log out of my computer, but that’s neither here nor there. i remember having such a hard time taking the first one seriously initially, because of all the new kids on the block jokes, having a mum who was obsessed with them made it hard, especially when i actually got them all- in truth, the only midnight premiere i’ve been able to make was the force awakens, and i had school the next day too. i’m definitely a richie kinnie, and i have the internalised homophobia (only towards myself though) to prove it /hj my waterbottle has both a sticker of neil on it and a sticker of the r + e carving on it. in case there was any doubt about me lmao. stan kin makes sense for you, honestly, i can see it, i can see it.

okay so listen- no really, i’d bought them with the intention of only drinking half of one that night and spreading them out like that, but then came 9:45pm, and i had a research paper (on womens’ pockets/lack thereof) due at 10am that i simply hadn’t even started, so i downed them all in an hour and got the paper turned in at 5:56 in the morning. but i scare you huh? /hj bee, you’re too sweet, in truth, i’m fairly inelegant, but i try, as for the comforting and cosy, i’ll take you at your word, since that is something only someone interacting with me could discern. i do try to be kind to others for the most part. mainly i think because i’m usually on the other end of mean people.

i’m just perceptive like that bee, i dunno what to tell you, something just tells me, you know? /j and thank you, i always feel a little silly talking about it, because most of the tattoos i want are dead poets society tattoos, i guess some part of me, within the part of me that feels so incredibly tied to it, feels as if if i were able to get a tattoo i’d owe it to the movie in some way, if that makes any sense. i’ve already begged a friend of mine to go with me to get my first once i get to new york, the question though, is what to get first. i’ve got time to make a decision (for once in my life) i just spend a lot of time thinking about it.

honestly, i have never known a school rule to make sense. banning ripped jeans? banning dyed hair? it’s almost as if if they don’t stifle everything natural about kids expressing themselves they dont feel like they’re doing anything. but i digress. the same-sex couple rules were. awful. 12 year old me had enough going on without having an administrator yell at my friend and i for hugging in the courtyard and not leaving until we were a foot apart, but hey.

okay, jumping over a fence to go to a mcdonalds? how coming of age indie movie manic pixie dream girl of you /hj

200k words, is that a challenge? also ahaha not at all like my italian uncle up there just opened a ‘pizzeria’ /hj but mob!star au? might be a project i should start… granted, i’m not as good a storyteller as you, but i can try.

when i was little, i wanted to revolutionise things, i guess. i even actually wrote out a campaign, i wonder if its still somewhere. thank you for believing in me, but these days, bee, i’m thinking less about changing the world, and more about making it the next few weeks, and then the ones after that. little star was aware of so much, but also so little. i wonder what they’d think of me now, honestly.

i did, in fact, teach archery, it was so fun but my arms got SO SORE, and the kid who challenged my archery skills seemed surprised when i actually,, hit the bullseyes. my inner susan was happy then. incidentally the experience is also why i made a playlist called “touchstarved and wanting to teach you to shoot a bow” which low-key slaps when i’m lonely. and bee omg i cannot believe you said im better than susan pevensie i will be thinking about this for the rest of my life thank you- and yes, yes it was named aslan, however did you guess? /j prince caspian<33333

i’ll let you know my results from the tournament, as soon as they come out, and i say this having just put on pjs after taking off my suit, and sitting in the room with my cat in my dear evan hansen hoodie, frantically refreshing the results page because i’m anxious and impatient.

i hope you have a good night, with fitful and restful sleep, i’m sorry this got to be so long, but you know me, i certainly can talk. i’m honestly shocked i even made it to finals, considering i was running off four hours of sleep, having gone to bed at three last night. whoops.

all my love, hugs, and a warm mug of tea,

yours,

star✨

p.s i said yes so that?? happened?? it honestly feels surreal but we’re not gonna be in the same place anymore come the end of this year, so that’ll be something to deal with

P.p.s might just start adding spanish or latin or russian phrases to these if i keep having to translate your cute french bee /lh /hj

star my love, i know you said don't apologise, but i think the word 'sorry' makes up about 60% of my vocabulary. i'm okay!! was just a bit icky, but luckily i've recovered now!!

that's so nice - and again, makes so much sense for you. i think you would work perfectly in welton, i know it. i love bringing the messages from that film into my own life, as silly as it may sound. i'm astonished, and so fucking jealous of you. i used to finish tests maybe half an hour early, but hours is so impressive??? fun fact i did finish my physics final in about 45 minutes and slept for the other hour <3 neil would b proud my love!!! oh my god - i'm so sorry that happened??? but that is also so neil kinnie??? it seems futile me saying this, but i assure you that you are hispanic enough, and queer enough, and non-binary enough. you are enough, period. more than enough even. imposter syndrome is the worst, and i'm so so sorry you're dealing with it.

she did that to herself, you just saw an opportunity /lh a midnight premiere of the force awakens sounds so cute though omg - i hope you had the absolute best time. the r + e carving actually broke me. as a die hard reddie shipper since 2017, seeing the movie make it basically canon?! had me a mess in the cinema.

you are ridiculously comforting and cosy, everything about you feels like a warm hug from a familiar face and i love it. and the way you write is so smooth, it makes me think of a quill smoothly gliding across parchment, the deep black ink unsmudged and pristine. that seems a little pretentious of me, but oh well.

i also want some dps tattoos!! i desperately want "and still we sleep" from todd's poem, and was also so so tempted to get an outline drawing of meeks + pitts dancing on the roof. i love that, and i can't wait until the day you get it, whichever one it may be. my one concern is becoming addicted to them and making my bank account suffer - at least my piercing obsession is a little easier to fund /hj

i've NEVER gotten that - they claim it's 'distracting' but how on earth would it be?? when i got to college, no one was distracted by my dyed hair, and i certainly wasn't distracted by other people's outfits or painted nails. you were yelled at. for hugging. a friend.. what the fuck is wrong with these people??

just call me ramona flowers star /j it was possibly the highlight of my school career, sans hiding in the back room of the music room to avoid a maths test

i bet you're an amazing storyteller, if these letters are anything to go by. it would be a new york times best seller, i know it

we all have to take things one step at a time, i think. that's the only way i really get through things if i'm honest. one day after another and the cycle repeats. i love wondering what young me would think of me now - i'd probably be intimidated of myself, but i like to think i'd be proud that i'm still here, pursuing something i love

that playlist. sounds nothing short of sheer perfection. i too am touch starved and want to teach someone to shoot a bow - even though i.. cannot shoot a bow... but i can wield a sword so, it's close enough.

i saw your message about the tournament results - im so fucking proud of you!!!! you deserve it so so much and i couldn't be happier for you. see, your words and ideas are changing the world, even if you don't realise it.

ps; that is so fun???? omg im so happy for you star, you deserve tis <33 i hope towards the end of this year whatever happens leaves you both happy, no matter how far the distance.

pps; omg no.. please don't do that.. aha that would be awful... definitely wouldn't make my heart race.. haha not at all

all of my love, star. pardon the pun, but you are out of this world ;) i'll leave you with one of my favourite quotes;

il n'y a qu'un bonheur dans la vie, c'est d'aimer et d'être aimé <3

[7r0773r]

Heavy by Kiese Laymon

Inside Concord Missionary Baptist church, I loved the attention I got for being a fat black boy from the older black women: they were the only women on earth who called my fatness fineness. I felt flirted with, and like most fat black boys, when flirted with, I fell in love. I loved the organ’s bended notes, the aftertaste of the grape juice, the fans steadily moving through the humidity, the anticipation of somebody catching the Holy Ghost, the lawd-have-mercy claps after the little big-head boy who couldn’t read so well was forced to read a greeting to the congregation.

But as much as I loved parts of church, and as hard as I tried, I couldn’t love the holy word coming from the pulpit. The voices carrying the word were slick and sure of themselves in ways I didn’t believe. The word at Concord was always carried by the mouths of the reverend, deacons, or other visiting preachers who acted like they knew my grandmama and her friends better than they did.

Older black women in the church made up the majority of the audience. But their voices and words were only heard during songs, in ad-libbed responses to the preacher’s word and during church announcements. While Grandmama and everyone else amen’d and well’d their way through shiny hollow sermons, I just sat there, usually at the end of the pew, sucking my teeth, feeling superhot, super bored, and really resentful because Grandmama and her friends never told the sorry-ass preachers to shut up and sit down somewhere.

My problem with church was I knew what could have been. Every other Wednesday, the older women of the church had something called Home Mission: they would meet at alternate houses, and bring their best food, their Bibles, notebooks, and their testimonies. There was no instrumental music at Home Mission, but those women, Grandmama’s friends, used their lives, their mo(u)rning songs, and their Bibles as primary texts to boast, confess, and critique their way into tearful silence every single time.

I didn’t understand hell, partially because I didn’t believe any place could be hotter than Mississippi in August. But I understood feeling good. I did not feel good at Concord Missionary Baptist church. I felt good watching Grandmama and her friends love each other during Home Mission. (Be, pp. 54-55)

***

You were on your way back from Hawaii with Malachi Hunter while LaThon Simmons and I sat in the middle of a white eighth-grade classroom, in a white Catholic school, filled with white folk we didn't even know. These white folk watched us toss black vocabulary words, a dull butter knife, and pink grapefruit slices back and forth until it was time for us to go home.

We were new eighth graders at St. Richard Catholic School in Jackson, Mississippi, because Holy Family, the poor all-black Catholic school we attended most of our lives, closed unexpectedly due to lack of funding. All four of the black girls from Holy Family were placed in one homeroom at St. Richard. All three of us black boys from Holy Family were placed in another. Unlike at Holy Family, where we could wear what we wanted, at St. Richard, students had to wear khaki or blue pants or skirts and light blue, white, or pink shirts.

LaThon, who we both thought looked just like a slew-footed K-Ci from Jodeci, and I sat in the back of homeroom the first day of school doing what we always did: we intentionally used and misused last year's vocabulary words while LaThon cut up his pink grapefruit with his greasy, dull butter knife. "These white folk know here on discount," he told me, "but they don't even know."

"You right," I told him. "These white folk don't even know that you an ol’ grapefruit-by the-pound-eating ass nigga. Give me some grapefruit. Don’t be parsimonious with it, either."

"Nigga, you don’t eat grapefruits,” LaThon said. “Matter of fact, tell me one thing you eat that don't got butter in it. Ol’ churning-your-own-butter-ass dying laughing. "Plus, you act like I got grapefruits gal-low up in here. I got one grapefruit."

Seth Donald, a white boy with two first names, looked like a dustier Shaggy from Scooby-Doo, but with braces. Seth spent the first few minutes of the first day of school silent-farting and turning his eyelids inside out. He asked both of us what "gal-low" meant.

"It's like galore," I told him, and looked at LaThon. "Like grapefruits galore."

LaThon sucked his teeth and rolled his eyes. "Seth, whatever your last name is, first of all, your first name ends with two f's from now on, and your new name is Seff six-two because you five-four but you got the head of a nigga we know who six-two." LaThon tapped me on the forearm. "Don't he got a head like S. Slawter?" I nodded up and down as LaThon shifted and looked right in Seff 6'2's eyes. "Every thang about y’all is erroneous. Every. Thang. This that black abundance. Y'all don’t even know."

LaThon's favorite vocab word in seventh grade was "abundance," but I'd never heard him throw "black" and "that" in front of it until we got to St. Richard.

While LaThon was cutting his half into smaller slices, he looked at me and said Seth six-two and them didn't know about the slicing "shhhtyle" he used.

Right as I dapped LaThon up, Ms. Reeves, our white homeroom teacher, pointed at LaThon and me. Ms. Reeves looked like a much older version of Wendy from the Wendy restaurants. We looked at each other, shook our heads, and kept cutting our grapefruit slices. “Put the knife away, LaThon, she said. *Put it down. Now!"

"Mee-guh," we said to each other. "Meager," the opposite of LaThon's favorite word, was my favorite word at the end of seventh grade. We used different pronunciations of meager to describe people, places, things, and shhhtyles that were at least eight levels less than nothing. "Mee-guh," I told her again, and pulled out my raggedy Trapper Keeper. "Mee-guh." 

While Ms. Reeves was still talking, I wrote "#1 tape of #1 group?" on a note and passed it to LaThon. He leaned over and wrote, "EPMD and Strictly Business." I wrote. #1 girl you wanna marry?" He wrote, "Spinderalla + Tootie." I wrote, "#1 white person who don't even know?" LaThon looked down at his new red and gray Air Maxes, then up at the ceiling. Finally, he shook his head and wrote, "Ms. Reeves + Ronald Reagan. It's a tie. With they meager ass."

I balled up the note and put it in my too-tight khakis while Ms. Reeves kept talking to us the way you told me white folk would talk to us if we weren't perfect, the way I saw white women at the mall and police talk to you whether you'd broken the law or not.

I understood how Ms. Reeves had every reason in her world to think I was a sweaty, red-eyed underachiever who drank half a Mason jar of box wine before coming to school. That's almost exactly who I was. But LaThon was as close to abundant as an eighth grader could be. (Meager, pp. 65-67)

***

When I came back from playing ball at the Greenbelt rec center during spring break, you made me read back over sentences I’d written in my notebooks back in Mississippi. You said I asked a lot of questions about what I saw and heard in my writing, but because I didn’t reread the questions I didn’t push myself to different answers. You said a good question always trumps an average answer.

“The most important part of writing, and really life,” you said, “is revision.” (Contraction, p. 85)

***

When I got in the house, you brought your belt across my neck. Earlier in the day, Ms. Andrews, one of your friends who was a teacher at my school, told you Coach Shitzler said I was in a sexual relationship with a white girl. You heard this “news” on the same day you watched a gang of white police officers try to kill a chained black man they later claimed had “Hulk-like” strength.

I did not know Rodney King, but I could tell by how he wiggled, rolled, and ran he was not a Hulk. Hulks did not beg for mercy. Hulks did not shuffle from ass whuppings. Hulks had no memories, no mamas. I wondered what niggers and police were to a Hulk. I wondered if all sixteen-year-old Americans had a little Hulk in them. 

I knew, or maybe I accepted, for the first time no matter what anyone did to me, I would never beg anyone for mercy. I would always recover. There was physically nothing anyone could do to me to take my heart, other than kill me. You, Grandmama, and I had that same Hulk in our chest. We would always recover. At some point during my beating, I just stopped fighting and I let you hit me. I did not scream, I did not yell. I barely breathed. I took my shirt off without you telling me. I let you beat me across my back. It was the only beating in my life where watching you beat me as hard as you could felt good. (Hulk, pp. 96-97)

***

I listened to the Coup and read everything James Baldwin had written that summer. I learned you haven’t read anything if you’ve only read something once or twice. Reading things more than twice was the reader version of revision. I read The Fire Next Time over and over again. I wondered how it would read differently had the entire book, and not just the first section, been written to, and for, Baldwin’s nephew. I wondered what, and how, Baldwin would have written to his niece. I wondered about the purpose of warning white folk about the coming fire. Mostly, I wondered what black writers weren’t writing when we spent so much creative energy begging white folk to change. (Already, pp. 143-44)

***

I’d never given much weight to the idea of present black fathers saving black boys. Most of the black boys I grew up with had present black fathers in the home. Sure, some of those fathers taught my friends how to be tough. But I can’t think of one who encouraged his son to be emotionally or even bodily expressive of joy, fear, and love. I respected my father but I never felt that I needed him or any other man in the house to show me how to become a loving man. I knew, truth be told, that a present American man would likely teach me how to be a present American man. And I couldn’t imagine how those teachings would have made me healthier or more generous. (Seat Belts, p. 200)