#...they were a necessary evil for the shorts though

[library-whale]

I was playing Survivor over Discord for the past month! (It's since ended.)

One of the challenges had us do a bunch of stuff as a tribe, one of which was come up with a mascot... thanks to a tangent about wrestling, the previous challenge being a crossword puzzle, and the name of our tribe being "Gabas", we wound up with this.

...He's just too glorious to keep in that server, lol.

[keigo-chan]

I Don’t Know Where To Put My Hands

Rating: Explicit

Summary: Keigo comes home, just for a bit, in the middle of spying on the League of Villains. He needs you, he needs this. And you love him. What else is there to say?

Word Count: 6.7k

Warnings/Tags: Pro Hero!Reader, No Gendered Pronouns for Reader, Reader Has a Vagina, Extremely Dubious Consent, Unhealthy but Loving Relationships, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Emotional Masochism, Hurt/Comfort, Minor Injury from Sex, Fluff but Evil

FULL TAGS/NOTES ON AO3

Communication from Keigo had all but disappeared after the battle in Kamino. He didn’t even text anymore. He certainly didn’t call. He didn’t even send mail, or notes, or anything. Civilians spotted him, even around the very city they lived in, as the tags you had alerts on for notified you, but he didn’t make any effort to contact you.

You tried to be calm about this. He was still alive. That’s what mattered. If he wasn’t trying to talk to you, it was because he couldn’t.

But that was a scary thought, too.

You thought about asking the Commission for a short leave. It was the Holiday season, so many other heroes were beginning to stagger out their own leaves. But that only made you more hesitant to do so in turn. Your agency- Hawks’s agency- was always close to reaching ‘understaffed’ numbers. You wanted to be there to help fill in the gaps. Especially with the biggest gap right at the helm of the agency. What was important these days, as the voice in your mind that sounded a lot like Keigo reminded you, was how the public saw the heroes. The best thing they could do was bring hope- so you kept busy making public appearances, trying to just keep up with him.

When you finally got home at the end of that week, the end of your set of patrols, you were exhausted. You were distracted by your phone when you unlocked your door and went in. You tripped over the threshold of it, barely catching yourself with your wings. You looked back at your stoop for what had made you fall, and saw a red book waiting for you.

Attached was a note. “From: K”.

Your heart dropped. You lunged for the book at once, picking it up and flipping through it. Just like you suspected, there were many highlighted portions.

You and Keigo had been working side-by-side for years, and though actual partners for longer, you knew a couple of the more intimate details of what the Commission dragged Keigo through. You’d known for a long time that skills associated with espionage would be necessary. The two of you had made up your own.

You flipped through the book, barely registering what it was even about, as you hurried to shut the door and locked all the locks behind you. You fluttered about quickly, drawing the curtains and blinds while opening the book with one arm. There was nothing else written not in code. You settled in on the couch and began to decipher.

You used a cipher, always based off of a word or phrase or date only you would know. The cipher that worked would correlate to the level of danger they were in or amount of secrecy they needed. You worked your way up three levels, to the day of your anniversary.

‘Being watched by LOV.’ Reading that alone had made the ever growing anxiety worse. Is that what he was doing? Something involving the League of Villains? ‘No big danger now. Keep ear to ground. Lay low. Attack in four months. Hope to come home for New Years. Miss you. Love you. Be safe. Keigo.’

You sighed out a long breath you didn’t know you were holding, shutting the book and resting your forehead against it. He’d held this book, had written in it with care. You wished he had left anything else, though the messy handwriting on his note was nice. 

All of the feathers you’d had from him had faded, gone a very dark, dull red- a sign that they had died. Keigo no longer had control over them, and could no longer hear or feel through them.

If they were going to attack in four months, did that mean that he would be away until then?

You tried to clear the thought from your head. He was on a mission. Clearly one that even he took seriously. For now, you needed to take over as the cool-headed hero that everyone wanted. For now, you needed to take care of the Agency. Keigo’s image as a hero didn’t need to suffer, even if he was away.

You could do this. You would wait for the next couple of weeks, until you might be able to see him again. Keigo wouldn’t have mentioned it if he wasn’t decently sure that he’d be able to come back.

He’d be alright on his own. He’d be alright on his own. You set the kettle on to boil and made his favorite tea. It gave you an idea.

Over the next couple of weeks, you left things out for him. Boxes outside with small notes, assurances left in code. Sweaters and smooth pebbles and old trinkets they’d collected over the years, so that wherever he laid his head to rest, it would feel a little more like home.

He took them. Sometimes it was overnight, sometimes days or a week went by without them being taken. But he always did, and he always left something in return. A shiny, pink shell. One of his feathers. One of the silver rings he always wore, too big to fit anywhere but your thumb. You took to wearing it around at once, rubbing it when you were nervous or overwhelmed, thinking of him, thinking of his hands.

 New Years came limping around the corner. You sent everyone in the agency home with warm smiles and their much-desired bonuses. You went back to your own home alone, shuddering under your coat. The Christmas tree had already been put away- because it had never gone up. You and Keigo always took it out together, decorated it together.

You hadn’t spent a Christmas without Keigo before since you’d met him. Even before you were dating, when the two of you found out you had no one else to spend it with, the agreement to visit each other came almost immediately. That very first time, you’d waited to put up the tree until that very day, and you hadn’t managed to finish decorating until he’d gotten there. You were ashamed- but he was just excited. He asked you, stars in his eyes, if he could help. He confessed, words rushed and still half-flying, that he’d never gotten to before. You didn’t ask and he didn’t offer. You handed him a box of mismatched ornaments gladly. 

That night, you’d sat around the tree, the sight of threadbare branches and two gifts perhaps looking pitiful to anyone else, but there were lights. Keigo had gone and gotten lights mid-way through, saying he’d been struck by inspiration, and he hadn’t come back for quite a bit since most of the stores were closed, but they were beautiful. You’d turned the rest of the lights in the house off and just basked in the warm glow of them. They reminded you of Keigo’s eyes, a bit. That was the first time you’d rested your head on his shoulder. He wrapped his wing around you.

You couldn’t help but be upset that he hadn’t even mentioned Christmas, much less apologized for missing it, even if it felt a little childish. You felt homesick more often than not. All you wanted to do these days was lie in bed, lounging around in his baggy clothes, twirling dead feathers between your fingers.

You left him a gift before Christmas. When you saw that he still hadn’t picked it up the next day, all you could do was sigh. By the time New Years came around, the gift remained by your doorstep. You began leaving less and less, just to stop crossing that threshold.

You baked cookies that night. You lit candles and dimmed the lights and listened out for sparkles and fireworks all over. You’d started hating fireworks when you started dating Keigo. He’d made a joke once about having to fly through them and it made you sick to your stomach just thinking about it. He was as flammable as a bundle of dry straw. The heater was on, but you still wore one of his old, tacky Christmas sweaters around. You popped open a bottle of Champagne and poured yourself a glass.

You had a bad feeling, but you pretended like you didn’t. You glanced at the clock. Keigo wouldn’t have given you false hope- no matter how optimistic he was. But eventually, the clock struck eleven, and you were two glasses of champagne and batches of cookies in, and there was no sign of him. 

You groaned when you finally heard the clock mark the hour, resting your forehead on the cold of the kitchen table. 

Why were you so miserable without him? You obviously could never know, but you were willing to bet money on the idea that Keigo was not nearly as shaken up about it when he was away. In fact, the more dangerous a task he was about to embark on, the happier he seemed to send you away. A familiar coil of bitterness rose up in you. After all this time, he didn’t trust you. He didn’t think you could hold your own, not next to him.

But maybe he’s right, You mused, munching miserably on your cookie. After all, he goes away and I spend all my time sick and moping and thinking about him. God, I really am useless.

Maybe you should get a cat. Keigo was never their biggest fan, and they didn’t do well around his wings, but you really wanted one for times like these. And if he was going to spend this much time away from now on, what did it matter?

You were idly scrubbing a dish when the clock went off at midnight. Screams erupted from every direction around you, the sound of illegal fireworks, the cheers of loved ones celebrating with one another.

Honestly, you thought you’d be more sad, and angry, and disappointed. But you weren’t. The hour passed and it was the next year and Keigo wasn’t there to celebrate- like he always was- even though he said he’d try to make it and it didn’t hurt nearly as bad as Christmas. There was no one to call, no one to text. You finished washing the dish and downed the last of your glass, before pouring yourself another.

You settled onto the couch. You weren’t ready for bed yet, not with the sounds outside. You scrolled through a million shows and movies before settling on one you’d seen a million times, like white noise. It was past one am, and you had finished up your millionth game of Sudoku when you heard someone at the door.

Fear rang through you, at first. You were alone, you were tipsy, and your hero brain whispered that nobody would hear your screams with the din of New Years around you. You jumped to your feet the best you could, setting aside your glass and phone at once, preparing to defend yourself when you heard keys turn the lock.

It was Keigo. Of course, of course, it was just Keigo.

All of the resentment, all of the bitterness, all of the anger you told yourself you’d take out on him softened at once when you caught sight of him. Not only because he looked more tired than you’d seen him in a long time- with uncharacteristic bags under his weary eyes, slumped shoulders, and wings noticeably smaller than usual- but just because…

Because it was Keigo. Because, miraculously, he looked like he needed you more than you needed him. 

“You’re awake.” He sounded surprised. He didn’t look it. Maybe he was too tired to even look surprised. He locked the door behind him, but didn’t move from across the room.

”I was-” You words caught around the lie. “I was waiting for you.” But he beamed, and you were glad you hadn’t told him the truth. Oh, Keigo. Always the optimist.

“I’m home now.”

“Yeah,” you walked to him, pace increasing with every step, until you were flinging yourself into his arms. Keigo, for his part, was more than ready. He caught you easily, and no more conversation was needed. When you kissed him, his face and nose and mouth were all cold, and he held you like a dying ember. The way you fell into each other reminded you of the moment you’d managed to catch him after the battle in Kamino, behind the alley, a moment you had been unable to stop yourself from replaying and replaying and replaying.

There was no thinking to be done while you were kissing, your mouths opened immediately for each other’s. You wrapped your legs and arms around him, indulging both of you in the kiss. He turned the two of you, pressing you flat against the wall. His kisses fell against your chin and neck, and then all at once-

“Keigo!” You gasped, which was the only thing saving it from being a scream as Keigo sucked at the skin on your neck hard. You squirmed, thrashed really, in his arms, trying to push him away, but it was fruitless. “What are you- Keigo, oh my God-” Your voice was just a whimper by the end as he barely even reacted to you. “W- wait, you can’t-”

The Commission had strict rules involving appearance. Some were obvious: no alterations may be made to the uniform without going through one of their designers, heroes must appear at the scene relatively kempt (unless coming from another battle), tears or rips must be mended by next appearance. But there were other, unwritten rules, pertaining to the professionalism of the costume. No hero could be caught drinking or smoking in their uniform. No hero should be seen doing non-heroic activities in their uniform. And, of course, famously, hickeys were not allowed to be showing while they were in uniform.

Everyone claimed to have a friend of a friend who had gotten in trouble for it, to the point that it was just something heroes knew to avoid while participating in… more illicit activities. But it had happened closer than that to the two of you. In fact, Keigo had once gotten in massive trouble when the Commission caught him with a hickey that you had given him. It was (mostly) an accident, and they hadn’t suspected where it actually came from, but he was put on night patrol with no breaks for the next couple of weeks.

You were extremely apologetic, but not enough to accompany him out all of those times.

Ever since then, you were both careful about it. After all, they really didn’t need the scrutiny that the Commission was trying to protect them from in a roundabout way. Not only would Hawks’s fangirls go ballistic if they thought he was actually seeing someone, but it would invite people to speculate on who. And nothing good would come of that. 

This was to say, it wouldn’t be good if either of you showed up to your job with a lovebite visible on your necks, and concealer could only last for so long in a job like yours. The two of you whined and bitched about it, but for the most part, you reserved your marking for things below the collar, even if the ‘claiming’ of it all was half the fun.

Until tonight, apparently. Keigo was still sucking and biting at your neck like a man starved. “Sorry- sorry,” It sounded genuine, he sounded almost hurt him, but he didn’t stop. “Need- Need something permanent- need it to last-”

And it did hurt. You weren’t prepared for the sharp heat of it- but it was good. It was so good, Keigo’s lips wrapped around such a sensitive part of you, making you feel a mind-numbing pain derived intimately from his own mouth, his face buried into your neck, while he was holding you close together. And he was marking you. He was marking you and everyone would know you belonged to someone and entirely irrationally, for a split second, you hoped they would know it was Keigo.

He growled and pressed open-mouthed, sloppy kisses to your neck, before licking a stripe up your throat and swirling his tongue over what must have been the forming bruise. your head was going fuzzy from the abuse of your neck. You barely recognized the usual care he treated you with, even in their most morally bankrupt moments of fornication. Instead, he bit down on another part of your neck and started the process again.

You threw your head back and gave in, moaning and bucking your hips against him. This only seemed to egg him on, as his kisses grew more frantic and messy, and a heavy sort of note joined his panting, like he was moaning with every breath. 

Your neck was starting to feel wet at this point, but you didn’t care. You could feel every move he made down to your pussy, and it was leaving no room for anything to go to your brain.

Several marks later, Keigo finally seemed to remember that there were possibly other ways that he could have you- though he didn’t give you any warning of this thought at all before he pulled you away from the wall and fell to his knees. This would have been alright, hot even, if you weren’t still attached to him. You yelped as they dropped, performing a clumsy combination of your arms flailing and still clinging to Keigo as he went down. 

But you didn’t collide with the floor, you were simply on his lap now, nails digging into his clothes and back. He took the second of your confusion to tear off his work jacket and reveal the compression shirt underneath. You dearly loved the eyeful of his lithe muscles you got through the tight fabric. You ran your hands over his chest and shoulders appreciatively.

”You know, you could have given me a heads up,” You meant to scold him, but it came out more as a sort of pout. But Keigo didn’t laugh like he usually would have, didn’t even smile. He sort of frowned distantly as you spoke, staring only at your lips. “Keigo?” You brushed a lock of flaxen hair behind his ear. “Are you oka-”

”No,” He shook his head, his voice thick with something you couldn’t name. He took an unsteady breath and shook his head, looking somewhere just past you. “N- no, I’m-” The glint in his eyes wasn’t right. You were contemplating it when he sprang back into action. He lunged, pinning you under him on the floor, but his arms had broken the worst of your fall. Still, you cried out in surprise, Your world suddenly in an entirely different orientation. Keigo licked and nibbled at your ear as he pulled off your- his- sweater roughly, the friction of it burning for a second. He tossed it aside carelessly before returning to his position right on top of you. His hands squeezed and groped at your chest painfully- and not in a good way.

Your head spun. What was going on? This was nothing like Keigo. Even when he was rough, it was usually only because you had asked for it, or confirmed it was what you wanted at least once. Every once in a while, you even had to egg him on. But this- this felt careless and crude, bouncing between the two extremes of him being too intense and not there with you at all. 

“Ow,” You hissed, but it was really more of a whisper. You were almost afraid to snap him out of the trance, even as he bruised you in places you weren’t accustomed to. “Ow-”

”Please,” He whined. His mouth was against your chest, he had begun to work his way down. He sounded… truly pitiful. “Please, I- I need- I can’t-” He sat back up and away from you, running a hand through his hair, only for half of the strands to fall back into place right after. You finally got a good look at him, closer now than across the room. He was frantic, searching. His eyes darted around your face wildly, but he didn’t seem to find what he was looking for. “Please.” He slumped down again on top of you like his strings had been cut, all at once, landing hard onto you.

“Are you on something?” You wondered aloud. “It’s- it’s fine if you are, but you should tell me, Kei-chan-”

”No, no.” He shook his head frantically. “No, I swear, I just-” He tugged at your pants. His eyes grew pleading, beseeching. “Please-”

This wasn’t how you pictured their reunion. But he was looking at you with those desperate eyes, and you could only ever be the personyou were. 

Keigo was hurting. You could help him. As always, you could do your service by helping him, by being at his side.

You didn’t speak. You just nodded. Keigo breathed out what could only be a sigh of relief and tore your pants off. You were wet, your moments of hesitation unable to strip that awaym  especially not when Keigo spread your legs and dipped his fingers into the place that you had wanted him for weeks. Thankfully, he didn’t finger you. You shuddered a bit to think of what his thick, rough fingers would have felt like inside you in this state. Instead, he pressed a kiss to your knee and then tapped you gently on the ass. ”Flip over.”

He didn’t need to tell you twice.you turned and assumed your position, ass in the air and face against your arms on the floor. There was a second where it was just ou, in the dark, your face warm with your breaths and the sound filling your ears. Maybe- maybe it would be easier this way, unable to see his face.

There was no preamble before Keigo slammed in.

”Oh my GOD!” You shrieked, nails digging into the hardwood floor in front of you and leaving gouge marks in their wake. “Oh my fucking God,” He took you with a speed and strength that truly belonged on a battle field. Every other stroke or so hit your cervix, entirely bottomed you out with that thick cock of his, a Russian roulette of pain that entirely cleared your mind. 

”Fuck,” He cursed. He gripped your hips brutally, but you didn’t even feel it over the flood of sensation below it. He pulled you back and forth against him like you were an to for him to use, something small and thoughtless he could move as he pleased. “Fuck, yes,” He hissed through his teeth sharply. “Holy fuck, you take it so good, look at you- taking my cock so fucking good.” He babbled.

”Please,” You choked out, eyes rolling back so faryou couldn’t see anything other than stars. “P- please,” A broken gasp wracked through your chest like a sob. In fact, you rather thought you were sobbing. Your fingers and hands jumped and convulsed, just trying to hold on, to regain any sort of footing as he fucked you into the floor. you didn’t even know what you were begging for. For him to stop? For more? For him to hold you, just hold you, so you could sit in the silence and look at the Christmas tree?

Your safeword danced on the tip of your tongue. You wished you could say that you hadn’t used it to be a good girlfriend, that you’d suffered through it all silently because it was clear he needed you, that you were kind and benevolent- but the truth was that you simply couldn’t even string enough of a thought together to control your tongue enough to say it.

”Please-” He panted, pleaded, “Baby, say my name-” His voice broke around the syllables. “I- I need to- pl- please, saymyname-”

“Kei- ei- go- oh-” Each sound was broken up by the bounce of you against his cock. You couldn’t speak properly even if you wanted to. You slurred his name, your tongue too heavy in your mouth, too confusing to move properly. “Kei- go!”

“Yes, yes, yes,” He whined, bending over your body. His chest pressed against your back. He was all over you, inside you, above you, all-encompassing. Each thrust sent your body back and forth against the floor, scraping against the skin of your face and arms. Your knees ached from holding yourself up on the hard surface. Your legs trembled, weak with the strength it took to even stay up. “So tight, so fucking tight-”

”Keigo- w- wait, please-“ You gasped out, but the words were unintelligible to even your ears, too breathy and muffled and confused, too pierced through with your moans. Instead, all Keigo heard was ‘please’. The next couple of thrusts were even harder.

Your mind and body couldn’t take it any longer, you tensed, trembled so much your limbs began to hurt, and came so hard you saw white. The scream you let out was guttural, and gave its way into sobs. Your whole body gave out, but unfortunately, Keigo’s grip didn’t relent, he hardly even noticed. “Pleasepleasepleaseplease-”. You keened pitifully. “Keigo-”

His grunts and noises had become animalistic. There were no more words or pleas from him. Instead, he moaned his own release, slamming into you with absolute abandon, finishing inside you by using his body’s weight to pin you all the way to the floor. You were squeezed between the two unrelenting surfaces, as Keigo came as deep as he could possibly go, gravity assisting him in his terrible mission.

Finally, finally, he was still.

He breathed heavily above you as you shook and trembled and just tried to do the monumental task of catching your breath or moving your limbs. Your hands shook so hard it looked like you had tremors when you tried to draw them back into yourself.

Every body part that you could think of ached in one way or another. You tested different parts of yourself, operating them like a puppet who had just gained control of their own body. It was a long while before Keigo let up, long enough that you had almost forgotten it was him on top of you. You lifted your own face from the floor. It was wet. You hadn’t even realized you were crying or drooling. Your hair stuck to your face with tears and sweat. you took a deep, shuddering breath.

Keigo pulled out. You felt his soft cock slip out of you and were astounded that the now-feeble part could have done what it just had. You remained on the floor, little will to move, no capacity to consider what he might think about it.

He laid his hand on your hip. ”Hey, do you wanna-” But you jumped. You hadn’t meant to. But it was a motion so sudden it startled him. He blinked. And it came to him. The scene, the house, his love- it all finally appeared in front of him. “Oh my God-” He breathed, expression stricken and horrified. “Oh my God, baby bird, I- oh my God-” You tried to push yourself off the ground, but your arms gave out underneath you, and it looked downright painful as  youfell. Keigo pulled you up at once and flipped you over, as gently, but quickly, as he could.

Keigo hoped, prayed, that it wasn’t as bad as he suddenly remembered it all was- 

When you turned, something in the back of your head warned you to school your expression into a more neutral mask, but it was too slow and quiet. But every bit of the shock and confusion you felt must have been evident on your face, because when Keigo turned you around, he shattered.

He dissolved into sobs, curling and melting onto you, into you. It only took a split second before you, too, were crying, until you were both wracked with it, holding each other. Clinging tighter than ever before.

There was nothing else to do.

*****

You woke first the next morning- and you woke in pain. The way your insides ached made you feel like maybe the phrase ‘rearrange their guts’ wasn’t as fun as it was before. You realized, when you went to the bathroom, that you had been bleeding. A wave of sickness. You put on a pad and walked carefully back to bed.

The noise of the bathroom alone had woken Keigo. He locked eyes with you as soon as you came out of the restroom. Your heart sank. You immediately tore your own away. You were really hoping he wouldn’t wake for a while. He sat up as you got into bed, back towards him. Neither of you said anything for a long moment. 

You gave in. You flipped over towards him, tossing an arm around his lap, your forehead against his hip. He rubbed a hand down your back, almost on instinct. You hated the way his hand jumped away once he realized what he was doing like nothing you’d ever experienced before.

You gave a gentle demand, ”C’mere.” He obliged at once, shifting down to rest next to you. You were careful not to make eye contact, even as he stared at your face, watching your expressions like- well, like a hawk. You adjusted until you were lying on his chest, arms curled around him. He was sleep-warmed. Comfy. Smelled familiar.

It was still Keigo. 

Just Keigo. 

Always Keigo. 

Only Keigo.

”I’m bleeding.” You said softly, shutting your eyes. You didn’t know why. You didn’t want to guilt him. You didn’t really even want him to know. But you felt like he needed to. Deserved to, even. You listened to the sharp breath he took.

”Fucking shit,” He breathed, and that was it for a moment. You pretended like you couldn’t hear him crying. He pretended like he couldn’t feel you do the same.

”Will you make me some tea?” You asked quietly, when you had both gone still and silent again. Keigo jumped up at once. He was just in his boxers, the ones he had pulled on last night when you had finally gone to bed in a daze.

”Yes. Yeah. Of course.” He nodded, looking grateful for something to do. He hurried off to the kitchen at once. You laid on in warm space he had left on the bed. You tucked yourself in and sniffed the pillow he’d been lying on deeply. It smelled like him- like the man you knew and loved. In the kitchen, pots and pans moved around, water ran, the stove clicked to life.

It wasn’t long before the smell of food filled your nose instead. It smelled like grilled fish and rice. After another couple of minutes, he walked in, holding your favorite mug.

”What kind?” You asked, pointing for him to set it down on the bedside drawer.

”Your favorite.” He didn’t even let you react before he hurried out, “ButIcanmakeyouadifferentone! I just- I thought that I- I guess I could have asked-” He winced at his own words, and you sighed.

”It’s fine, Keigo.” But your voice sounded tired, even to you, and his name rang cold. ”Thank you.” He hesitated. You buried yourself deeper under the covers. You just… didn’t want to hear it right now. Thankfully, whether he got the message or simply couldn’t decide what to say, he walked out of the room once more. After another ten minutes, you finally stood and came to the kitchen, wincing as you did so. He smiled when he caught sight of you, but the worried furrow in his eyebrows didn’t unknot.

”H- Hey, good morning. I made breakfast.” He gestured around at the spread. You eyed it over. “I- um- there’s fish and rice and miso soup and a rolled omelet- I made coffee, too, just in case- or we could- we could always order takeout or-”

”Hey.”you put your mug down on the table and walked towards him. His wings drew up, somewhere between fear and shame. He seemed to balance on a knife’s edge as you stood in front of him. You leaned forward and rested your forehead on his bare chest. “It’s okay.” You said softly, wrapping you arms around him and stroking at his back, between his wings.

Keigo nodded shakily, before finally hugging you back.

”I- I just- I didn’t feel like me when I came in last night,” He babbled against the top of your head, “And I’ve- I’ve felt really lost in the mission, all of my interactions are being watched, I could only step away last night because-” He took a breath. You felt the shudder in his body. He was tense, like he wanted to hold you tighter, but was too afraid to. “I wanted to come back and feel like me, I wanted- I-“ You hushed him. Keigo buried his face deeper into your hair. ”I’m…” Keigo started. You tensed. “I’m so-”

”Don’t.” You snapped.

You had an unspoken agreement- the two of you never apologized. You were almost proud of it, your ability to move on from mistakes and stupid things the other had said. You gave each other space any time you had an argument, and came back with level heads and open arms. This was the first real thing either of you had, they were both bound to make mistakes. You were happy you both knew that, and found something that worked for you guys, even if other people didn’t understand it.

Hearing him almost do so now made your throat tight and eyes burn.

”No, really, what happened last night-”

”Takami Keigo.” You wrenched yourself out of his grip, instead grabbing him by the arms, pinning them to his side. The cruelty in the sneer and look and touch and name shocked him like ice water. “It’s fine. I said yes. I could have used my safe word. I ask you to be rougher all the time. It-“ You cleared your throat. You removed your hands. “It is fine. I need you to drop it.”

Keigo stared, face to face with bared teeth and anger. “Okay.” His voice was just a whisper.

You stared for one last minute before letting go and turning away, back to your tea.you took a long, deep draught, before something caught your eye. He looked where your gaze fell. It was a mirror, in the hall. You touched your neck. “I forgot about those.” You hummed, looking thoughtful. Keigo couldn’t discern anything else from your expression, so he said nothing. 

He turned away and grabbed a couple of dishes and began to plate everything up for the two of you. Before you sat down, he grabbed a pillow from the couch and placed it under you without a word. For this, at least, you were grateful. 

You ate in silence for a while. It wasn’t exactly comfortable. He found it a little hard to look at you, now, close up. He wished he could have been pleased to see you all marked up, but instead, you just looked… bruised. Battered. The way you did after a battle didn’t go your way. There was an exhaustion in your eyes you couldn’t fake and you didn’t bother to hide.

“When are you leaving?” You asked, your voice carefully free of any inflection. He bit his cheek. Usually this question would be asked with the clear wish that it wouldn’t be for as long as possible. But today, he was unsure.

“I was-” Any strength in his voice broke. “I need to leave tonight.” He admitted. You were entirely still for a moment, but just a moment. You resumed eating, without even looking at him the whole time.

“Alright,” Was all you said, soft and small and sad. Your utensils clicked, but otherwise, it was silent.

*****

The first day of the New Year was difficult. For once, you found yourself glad that Keigo was leaving. No matter what you did, you couldn’t get rid of the silent stiffness that permeated all of your interactions. Perhaps the distance would do you good for once.

When night fell, Keigo had to leave. He stood by the door and you came to say your goodbyes. He held his arms out tentatively, and you fell in at once. He squeezed you tightly. You squeezed back.

”How long will you be gone?”

“I don’t know.” He answered honestly. ”…Probably at least another three months.“ Your heart sank. You knew that, but to hear it was another can of worms. “But I will visit before then, I promise.”

”Okay,” Your voice was hollow with unshed tears. As he made to pull away, something desperate in you woke at once, and you held on tighter. “I- I miss you so much when you’re gone.” You rushed out, like he didn’t know that already. “This mission was so sudden, I went from seeing you all the time to not at all, and I don’t know what you’re doing or how dangerous it is, and I don’t even have anyone I can talk to about this because you’re who I talk to about things, please don’t leave me.” Your pathetic plea rang in the air for much longer than was comfortable.

He spoke, “I’ve been seeing you online again.” Picturing him seeing all the embarrassing headlines and memes and photos from your recent appearances made you groan. “You have no idea how proud I am of you, or how much I miss you, too. I’ll tell you all about it the second I can.” He pulled away a bit, cupping your cheek in his large, warm hand, lifting your chin to look at him. “I don’t- I don’t want to do this again, okay?” His gaze was loving, and sincere. You nodded, tears beginning to stream down your cheeks silently. “I don’t like it either, I promise.” He kissed your forehead. “Be brave, okay?”

“Okay.” You nodded, but the lump in your throat and chest hadn’t gone away. He hugged you again, and you both rocked back and forth and back and forth.

”Hey,” He said seriously. “I love you.”

That was another thing you didn’t say. Or, at least, it was very rare. You really only said it when you didn’t have to actually… say it. You wrote it in notes in code or texts. Occasionally, during a very intimate moment, or if you weren’t sure you were going to see each other again.

You swallowed, wondering which one of these things was true now.

”I love you, too.” He wrapped his wings around you. Their hold was soft and strong, and you felt like you could breathe easier, even if your chest was tighter.

Finally, finally, you pulled away. ”I’ll see you soon.” He promised, and your lips met for one last kiss.

”See you soon.” You repeated throatily. You waved with a miserable little half-smile as he slipped out the door, taking his bright red wings, all the color, and your heart from your world.

When you went out the next day, you remembered Keigo’s present and groaned unhappily, having forgotten to remind him of it- but when you went to check it, you saw that he had taken it, and left something in its stead.

It was a tiny box, covered in shiny, red wrapping paper. You stepped right back inside your place and tore it open, finding a ring box inside the first. Inside was a silver band made of metal feathers widing their way into a ring. Your mouth fell open at that alone, only to realize that there was an extra slit in the box.you checked the larger box it had come in. Inside was two photos- one that must have been of the advertisement, with your ring and a thicker-banded version of it- and the other was one of Keigo.

In the photo, he was somewhere far in the sky during sunset, pink and purple and orange and lovely all around him. He was beaming, always so handsome, but glowing with the halo of the sun and his smile. His wings were a blur behind him, but in front of him, his gloveless hand was fanned out, showing off his own ring from the matching set.

You laughed through tears, sliding the ring onto your finger. It seemed he hadn’t forgotten about Christmas, after all.

[porcelainseashore]

Into the Ether (1)

Series Masterlist

Pairing: Vampire! Toreador! Leon Kennedy x Fem! Reader

Summary: At the all-night events cafe you run, you’ve become acquainted with an elusive patron, Leon, though you can never remember the last moments of your interactions together. After a harrowing encounter, a love-hate relationship develops between the two of you as you grapple with your newfound status in a world of darkness and investigate the reasons behind the untimely attacks.

Content & Warnings: 18+ Resident Evil x Vampire: The Masquerade crossover, horror, mystery, romance, slow burn, strangers to enemies to lovers, angst, fluff, eventual smut, swearing, smoking, alcohol, drug references, non consensual blood drinking, blood bond, vampire turning, violence, injury, mild gore, torture, religious themes, minor character death, RE ensemble, VtM concepts.

Author's Note: Super excited for this crossover series! I’ll try to keep a regular update schedule on Wednesdays. I might take some liberties with VtM lore and mechanics to fit the story, but hope to stay as true as I can to the source material. Finally, I imagined RE2R Leon (my favorite!) in this role 🫶

AO3 Link

Chapter 1: RC By Night

You first saw him in summer, when the days were long and the nights were short, and the streets came to life again. There was the heady smell of pollen in the air and the humidity was sweltering. Just a couple of months after you and a bunch of idealistic friends from your theater school days had taken the plunge, and opened an all-night cafe in one of the cheaper, grittier areas of town, east of the river of Raccoon City.

It had been a scrappy little project, one you didn’t expect to receive a cult following and gain in popularity amongst the intellectuals and counterculture crowd. But then again, there was also the City College nearby and the events program you’d lined up each week drew them in. From comedy nights and disco fevers to site-specific and performance art, you knew what people liked and how they wanted to be entertained. A bit of kitsch, a sprinkle of avant-garde and a generous dose of unpretentious social drinking. It pulled him in too.

Him. You didn’t even know his name. The first thing you had noticed were his striking blue eyes that seemed to glow from the shadows of the dimly lit space, peering out at you. Always observing, always watching, never speaking. Sometimes he’d glance over across the opposite end of the room at another pair of companions — a rugged, broad-shouldered man with a dark crew cut bumping shoulders with a younger, spunky redhead in a matching biker jacket. They’d exchange subtle looks of recognition and mild suspicion before returning to whatever they were doing. Though they never uttered a single word to each other.

He came back week after week, ordering the same drink each time, but never touching it. One Manhattan, please. You obliged. A waitress you had sent over to pry on your behalf told you he enjoyed the cocktail, but couldn’t tolerate much alcohol. You saw him lift the drink to his nose, sniffing it as the corners of his mouth turned upwards, silently smiling to himself before he placed it back down on the table again. Strange. You shook your head and prepared a cup of black coffee, taking it over to him as his eyes lit up in surprise with your approach.

“On the house,” you explained, plonking it down on the table. He raised an eyebrow but remained tight-lipped.

Maybe he didn’t like coffee? Or how did he usually take it? “Uh—” you turned back towards the service area, as if to check that the condiments were still in place. “Would you like some creamer or sugar to go with it?”

He raised his hand to indicate it wasn’t necessary and his jaw clenched, before fixing it into an awkward smile. “Thank you.”

Those were the first words he had spoken to you. It rolled off his tongue like a swirl of mist, a sliver of a dream you couldn’t quite remember when waking up. You took another step forward to get a better look at him. He had a baby face, angelic almost, with that typical, boy next door charm your mom would have gushed at, and you imagined he couldn’t be older than his early twenties. Upon closer inspection, he seemed slightly pale, faint dark circles around his eyes that had seen more than his fair share for his age. There was a sense of weariness and jadedness behind them that made him appear older than he was.

Bringing the cup to his lips, he sipped a small mouthful, letting it sit for a moment, before swallowing it down languidly. You admired the curve of his Adam’s apple, bobbing as the liquid poured down his throat, littered with freckles and specks of moles. Something about his very presence mesmerized you, even more so than earlier. It was hard to place a finger on what it was exactly, and why this feeling seemed to grow with every second you were lingering near him.

He pulled out a pack of cigarettes, tapping it on the table before offering one to you. Why not? You were a social smoker and took it as a sign to join him. In fact, there was no other place you’d rather be at the moment. You were confused, but did not question it as you took a seat beside him, noticing that he flinched each time he flicked open his lighter to ignite a flame.

His fingertips brushed across your wrist as he lit your cigarette, causing you to shiver in response, while his jaw tensed again, as if trying to rein something in. Licking his lips, he took a puff from his own, exhaling the smoke as it billowed around him and for a second you thought you’d lost him to a wall of fog. Both of you continued smoking in silence, checking in with each other through furtive glances, even though there was nothing to be ashamed about.

At some point, you followed the direction of his gaze and saw that same pair of companions he often regarded from the corner of his eye. They were frowning, giving him dirty looks as he shrugged nonchalantly in return.

“Not much of a talker, are you?” you broke through the thick stillness of the air that surrounded the both of you like a bubble, separated from the rest of the evening revelers.

“You’re observant,” he teased, his eyes crinkling as he stubbed out the leftovers of his cigarette in the ashtray. You followed suit.

“So, what brings you here?” you asked, gesturing to the suit attire sans tie that he was wearing. “Don’t get me wrong, but this place doesn’t exactly seem like the kind you types hang out at.”

“Hm,” he huffed, though your question didn’t phase him. “And what exactly is my type?”

“I’d say you were a yuppie,” you blurted out, your mouth rarely had a filter on these days. “But I can’t be sure, something about you seems…”

“Off?” he offered, smirking, yet his expression carried a hint of somberness.

“Different,” you corrected, but mumbled out a quick apology nonetheless soon after.

“Don’t be,” he grazed your hand again as he adjusted himself in his chair, and you felt like he was doing this on purpose. “At least you’re honest. It’s a rare quality to find these days.” Though the way he said the last sentence sounded loaded with a double meaning.

“These days?” you guffawed. “You’re speaking like an old man.”

He joined in your laughter though that was the end of your conversation for that night. The rest of the evening went by in a blind haze, and you found yourself in a dazed state later on in the wee hours of the morning, still sitting at the same table, but your newfound friend gone without a trace. None of your colleagues had noticed a thing. You didn’t even get his name, but you shook yourself, commanding your limbs to get back to business and clean up after the customers that had left.

The next time you saw him was when you were hosting the karaoke night of the month. Decked out in a shimmery mermaid glitter jumpsuit, hair tied up in pigtails and face caked with extravagant make up, you hopped onto the stage, only to nearly stumble on your flimsy heels when those piercing blue eyes landed on you from the all the way back. Of all the nights he could have dropped in, he chose this one.

You suppressed your embarrassment and warmed up the audience with a couple of well-placed jokes before kicking the event off with those who had registered to participate. It appeared to be a tough crowd as you only had a handful of sign ups, and would need to potentially seek out volunteers when they were done. You hoped the rackety sound system would hold up till then too.

Fortunately, when it came to the crunch — which it did — you always had an ace up your sleeve. “You there,” you called out, pointing towards the back of the room. “Yeah, blue eyes, you.” Crooking your finger, you beckoned him over, waiting in anticipation to see what he would do.

To your surprise, he bowed his head, accepting the challenge, before slowly weaving his way through the crowd, who were cheering him on with your prompting, towards the stage. He flashed you his pearly whites as he climbed up the short stairs, his floppy bangs bouncing with each step. For a moment, you thought you caught something feral in his gaze, but it dissipated when he reached out for the mic from you, his hands sweeping over yours with an electric touch.

You were in awe of him, like almost everyone else in the cafe, when he broke out in a rich tenor voice, effortlessly floating through the notes of the gentle melody, that you felt as though you were being wrapped in a serene, velvet cocoon. Enthusiastic claps and hoots filled the space when he finished. The only two people in the room who were scowling were the same pair of companions he knew from before.

“Will you join me after the show?” he whispered in your ear as he handed you back the mic. Nodding was the only appropriate response.

You were rushed off your feet for the next couple of hours and it was late by the time you called the event to a close, but he was still there, by his usual table, waiting patiently for you.

“So you decided to push me into the spotlight,” he accused with a wry smile.

“Don’t pretend you didn’t enjoy it,” you shot back. “Here.” You set a cup of black coffee down in front of him. “My treat.”

“You’re too kind.” It sounded flat, like a game that had become routine between the two of you. He took a sip from it, nothing more, nothing less.

That was all you could recall from your conversation. You didn’t get his name until a few nights after.

“Hey, blue eyes,” you acknowledged as he strolled in.

“Leon,” he disclosed sharply. “It’s Leon.”

That was the night of exchanging introductions. You named all the nights you’d spent with him under various labels, so you wouldn’t forget.

Another night, he had whipped out a flip phone and you nearly choked on your drink. “They still make those?” You stared in disbelief.

He turned to face you in amusement.

“Bet you don’t have a—”

You didn’t even need to finish your sentence for him to fish out his pager, dangling it in front of you like a toy.

“Fuck off,” you laughed. “No fucking way.”

He grinned at your outburst and it was one of those times, few and far between, where you experienced a glimpse of that youthful energy he often hid behind a calm, matured facade.

“You’re still living in the 90s dude?” you jested, grabbing the pager as you flipped it over, trying to determine if it was real. It was.

His lips curled up into a playful smirk. “Something like that.”

“Healthcare,” you guessed, squinting at him. “I heard people there still have them. You’re a doctor?”

“I wish.” He coughed out a self-deprecating laugh, before rummaging through his wallet for a sleek white card, sliding over to you. “P.I., actually.”

“Private Investigator Leon S. Kennedy,” you read the title out loud, deliberately emphasizing each word.

“Go ahead, shout it from the rooftops,” he joked.

“Don’t tempt me.” You gave what you hoped was a cheeky wink, not flirty, definitely not flirty.

A lopsided smile spread across his face, and you wondered if you were finally beginning to unravel the mystery of this man, one that he seemed to carry around like a burden.

“Well, now you know where to find me.” He winked back, taking a tiny sip of his free coffee.

That was the night of P.I. Kennedy. Soon, these nights blurred into each other. You felt like you were getting a step closer, but yet you weren’t. He always had you at an arm’s length for some reason, even though he seemed to want more. Why did he keep coming back?

He also appeared to care about what you thought of him. At some point forth, he started dressing down, exchanging his usual formal attire for a shirt with no blazer, and his sleeves rolled up to his elbows. A fine gold chain necklace peeked out from underneath his top collar, which was left unbuttoned. “Better like this?” he asked with no context. You had to pause and consider what he meant for a while before you understood.

“If you’d like to fit in.” You shrugged indifferently. “But I don’t think you want to.”

“You know me well,” he murmured fondly. The back of his fingers caressed the side of your neck, just under your jawline, along a pulse point. You closed your eyes and sighed. It felt sensitive and tender.

“And how well do you know me?” you asked. 

There was no reply, but somehow you already knew the answer.

Another thing you were vaguely aware of was that you kept missing the tail end of your interactions with him. It was as though after a certain point in the night, you would come to, like waking up from a daydream, and he would have disappeared by then.

Your colleagues asked if you were seeing each other. Were you? You were only chatting, you surmised. Nothing had gone that far yet, at least from what you had gathered. But you liked him more than you would’ve liked to admit.

He walked you home one night, and when you reached your doorstep, you were about to invite him in, but he interrupted you. “There’s something I need to tell you…”

Guilt clouded his eyes, unmistakable and heavy. But as he was about to say more, he held back, as if pulled by an invisible thread. Then, you felt yourself overcome with tiredness, but it was pleasant and comforting. “Can you help me to bed?” Your voice sounded far away.

All at once, you felt yourself being propped up under his arm and your weight shifting under your feet, until your head touched a feather-soft pillow. He draped a blanket over your unmoving body. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I never should have—” Even in your state, you could tell it pained him.

“I won’t do it again, unless you let me.” 

That was the last you heard from him for a while.

━━━━━━━━━━━

Leon couldn’t get enough of you. Believe him, he tried countless times, but it didn’t work. From the moment he had set foot into that establishment, he had damned himself. He knew it when he spotted you and smelled your sanguine resonance from afar. It was the humor of your blood, and it was stronger and more consistent than he was used to. You were just so full of life, and enjoying it to the point where he was envious. You signified all the hopes and dreams that had been dashed spectacularly to the ground, ever since becoming… what he was now.

He had to have a taste of you. A little drop wouldn’t hurt, would it? He’d been taught ages ago, by Ada, his sire, that he needed people like you to survive. If one ignored their hunger for too long, things would get worse, so much worse, and not just for himself, but for everyone else around him. It was simply the lesser of two evils to feed, and he’d never actually killed anyone by doing so. Then, why did it feel so wrong? He had gotten good at pushing down these thoughts, until they were reduced to an inaudible hum at the back of his mind. Just like many other things, he learnt to compromise. But compromising meant that sometimes, he’d lose a piece of himself. If there was an equivalent of a soul within the monster he had become, then it was fragmented, and he’d never get back the ones that had dissolved into the ether, due to the bad decisions he had made. Like the ones he would soon make with you.

Taste. Taste was something he had acquired since young. In his human life, he always had an eye for detail, an eye for what fit, what worked, and what didn’t. It certainly helped when he became a cold case detective with the police force, filled with unbridled potential, only to have that overturned, when he decided to chase after love instead of missing people and puzzle pieces. For years, he would’ve done anything for her, only for it to amount to wasted time and regret when the inevitable boredom that came with time struck, and he was tossed aside over something exciting and new. Still, he knew a delicious vessel when he saw one. You were just meant to be a special curiosity that he could pass on to the older vampire for a favor or two. At least, that was what he told himself, when you took the initial bait and he beckoned you to stay through unnatural means. That was the first lie.

When he bit into you, he was met with a burst of color, vibrant shades of all kinds of red. The flavor saturated his mouth: sweet roses, his favorite kind, their scent carried on a gentle zephyr; warm light that enveloped him but didn’t hurt; traces of nicotine coursing through your veins; and the familiar iron tang that gave it its kick. Your face, your voice, your very essence haunted him in that taste. He could see you like a will-o'-the-wisp performing on stage in one of your many plays across a lifetime, laughing with your friends in the back of a car speeding down the highway, crying into a pillow when you had your heart broken by your first love… How was this possible? Your memories came flooding through him and you were blissfully unaware of it all. He felt like a spy, listening in to all your secrets and desires, and his blatant invasion of your privacy disgusted him.

This was wrong. He shouldn’t have gotten so close. He should’ve heeded the warning glances the Redfield siblings were throwing his way. So, he tried his best to stay away, but like an addict, he kept crawling back, seeking you out like a dog with its tail between its legs. How could a mere mortal have such an effect on him? Did he taste this way to Ada when she turned him? He laughed sardonically. If only she could see him now, being so torn up over a woman he had just met.

He tried to erase you from his mind, but you were always meant to be something more. You reminded him of all the things he missed when he was living. You were the best he had ever tasted, but he didn’t want to turn you over to her, not yet. After all, he could afford to enjoy you for just one more time. The second lie had spun its thick, dark webs throughout his head. Truth be told, he would never share you with anyone else.

The third lie came when he resolved to tell you what he really was. He couldn’t keep going on like this and deceiving you, but his sire’s words bore down on him. “You don’t get attached to a vessel,” she scoffed. Wait, wasn’t he one too at some point? Her contradictory words replayed in his ears like a broken record. In any case, he wasn’t attached. He was being brave and honest, which was how he liked to think of himself. But when it came to the crunch outside your doorstep, he was a coward, finding himself unable to breach the rules of the Masquerade and gave in to his urges instead. It was then that he realized deep down, he was truly a despicable and hateful low-life.

Thump! He felt his body slam against a solid wall, as he entered a secluded alleyway round the corner from your apartment. A dull ache bloomed across his skin. After the events that had happened that night, he didn’t even bother putting up a fight. He slumped down until the brawny, older male sibling, Chris, lifted him by his collar and pinned him in place. At the same time, the slender redhead, Claire, Chris’ female counterpart, spoke, “Where the hell are you going with this, Leon?”

“Why do you care?” he spat, blood coating his teeth. “The cafe’s in neutral ground, no one’s claimed domain over it yet. I can feed on whoever I like.”

“Listen, you’re Cam scum, but you saved my brother back then, and you used to hang with us,” she hissed, jabbing her finger into his shoulder to emphasize each point. “So, I’m gonna give you a tip, but just this once.”

She brought her mouth to his ear. “There’s interest in the domain… and you’re not the only suitor vying for her attention.”

His eyes widened at the threat.

“Whatever you do, do it fast.”

[androgynouscomputerthing]

this post is a repost of an amazing reddit post by u/throwaway6372801 on the r/MoDaoZuShi subreddit.

https://www.reddit.com/r/MoDaoZuShi/s/GeHsDKCFON

Growing up in a Chinese brothel and how it may relate to Jin Guangyao/Meng Yao as a character

Just to start off I would like to preface that I’m not excusing his crimes, only putting in perspective parts of his character that I personally resonate with based on similarities. I will start off discussing how brothels and debts tend to work, especially involving children.

I will not be releasing where I grew up nor my name due to privacy reasons as I have somewhat personal information about myself on this account, despite its name.

But in short, I grew up in a brothel in China with my mother. She worked as a prostitute out of desperation and debt, which I ended up also helping with.

Debt was accumulated through food, housing, water, electricity, makeup, clothes, anything that we were unable to pay for ourselves and had to ‘take out a loan’ for. Things necessary for my mother to work, such as makeup, also fell into this category. This is not to mention baby items which were even more expensive and often times couldn’t be stretched out to last as long as other items.

Your co-workers are not your friends. You may both be in this situation, you may both have children, but if you cannot afford it, kindness is not an option. You have to be callous to survive.

On the same subject, politeness is a sought after commodity. If you can have a convincing smile, laugh, anything of the sort. Lying as well, if you can’t convince the man about to rape your child that they can’t because you would be ‘jealous’, you and your child are cooked.

Selling a child isn’t uncommon either. If someone has a particularly low-paying client who happens to be ugly or undesirable, they may offer the nearest person to them, not uncommonly a child that’s either their or one of their co-workers’.

Being a woman in a brothel is not a ‘women supporting women’ place. It is survival. And yes, some people are just evil, and will try and sell the child of a better paid co-worker than work themselves.

It doesn’t matter how pitiful you look, though it can help, you cannot stop it.

Onto Meng Yao. I will be calling him that since at this point in his life, he was indeed called Meng Yao.

We see when Wei Wuxian performs Empathy, that he goes into the body of Anxin. We as the readers get a glimpse into Meng Yao’s childhood at the brothel. It’s brief, and mostly focuses on the event of his mother, Meng Shi, being dragged naked into the streets, with himself after (fully dressed). Sisi comes to their defence.

But what I think that most people forget is that earlier, Anxin tries to sell Meng Yao to a customer. Not an uncommon thing to see in a brothel sadly.

We as the readers also are aware of Meng Yao’s signature ‘customer service smile’. This is pretty common with people in the customer service industry. Where you have to keep people happy to keep them from screaming at you. I have no doubt that this is likely a learned behaviour from his childhood at the brothel. All my fellow brothel brats, as well as myself, default to it as well.

Another response is possibly immediate lying/not taking fault in a situation where you are obviously at fault or have been caught red-handed. Think the scene of Meng Yao stabbing the Jin Captain and being caught be Nie Mingjue. Reading this scene, it always felt more like when a child drops a plate and immediately points to the dog to avoid punishment. While the child was clearly at fault, they took the blame off of themselves in an act of self-preservation. I’m not claiming that he was right here, just that his response makes sense to me. I have found myself and many others with a similar background doing it as well.

Well, that was definitely long. I don’t want to come off like I’m ridding Meng Yao of all his faults. I’m only trying to shed light on how some of his responses to things make sense given his upbringing, as well as maybe give people an insight as to how horrible brothels can be, especially to children.

If your mother is the only kind person to you, she is your whole world.

In addition, prostitution is often called ‘the first profession’ or ‘the oldest job’. I think this rings very true. Much of the practices mentioned have been practiced for centuries and likely will continue to be practiced for centuries to come.

If anyone decided to sit through and read everything, thank you. I would also like to apologise in advance for any grammatical or spelling mistakes, English is not my first language. I’m pretty all over the place here so apologies for that as well.

Edit: I forgot to mention the disgust and prejudice that people hold to this day. Meng Yao serving tea and it being seen as ‘tainted’ is a sentiment still somewhat held to this day. Same with him not being allowed to hold Jin Ling due to his perceived ‘dirtiness’. It’s something that is sad but true, and follows people for their entire lives. You will never be clean, due only to the circumstances of your birth and childhood, as well as a desperate attempt to survive. Prostitution is not something people aspire to achieve generally. If they do, they likely don’t understand the long term effects and social stigma that isn’t just limited to you.

Edit 2: Safety is another huge thing, especially for formal brothel brats. Safety comes with power. I’m not excusing Meng Yao’s use of getting power, he definitely used certain means that I don’t agree with. But especially growing up in that setting safety = power. I was given the advice many times growing up to cling to a powerful man in hopes that I become his wife, as that would grant me safety and stability. Many of the children I grew up with ended up working alongside their mothers or turning to drug dealing and criminal activity, which in turn gave them power. I think that what we learn growing up has a huge impact on people as adults. It can be very difficult to unlearn these associations.

Last edit, more of an update: I would like to thank everyone and extend that thanks on behalf of my mother. We are both doing well now. We have both come to America and I have started my own family in the past few months. She has a new job and recently moved. She’s very happy and has many friends here. Thank you all for your kindness and well wishes. Have a lovely day!

screenshots of the original post as well as my messages. cut off, but she did approve this post.

[bandgie]

Can you do yandere bang chan kidnapped y/n? Please :)

yandere!bangchan x fem!reader

a/n: ofcofc sorry for the wait I had to come up with *some* plot

synopsis: You didn't know he watched you for months, plotting and stalking. He just wants you to be his. Even if you might not love him in the beginning, he'll make sure you need him just as much as he needs you.

warning: MDNI 18+, /NONCON/DUBCON, kidnapping, drugging, PIV, fingering, no protection, rough face grabbing, restrains, nipple play, some asphyxiation, very slightly mentioned of piss, squirting, overstimulation, aftercare, some Stockholm syndrome towards the end

3.3k words

It could happen to anyone, at any time, at any place. It didn't matter that you had just gotten off working overtime, deciding to go late night shopping. There was no discrimination when it came to evil, to the wrong doings of people. You just happened to fall perfectly into Chris's hands for his taking.

You were lovely to him. He first noticed you a few months ago, sitting in a simple coffee shop alone. You were on your laptop, most likely working on a task that you waited to do last minute. When someone had accidentally spilled a drink on you, you just laughed it off. Not even a speck of anger on your face as you accepted their apologies and napkins. 

Cute, patient, kind. All the things Chris learned about you rather quickly when he watched your every move. A homeless man in front of you was short on cash to afford a coffee? You bought it for him. A child that lost their mother in the sea of people? You didn't hesitate to help them. An angel, his angel, Chris was convinced. 

It's why he waited by your car now, barely hidden by a lamp post. He had managed to get Fentanyl from his roommate. Chris's gloved hands gripped the opioid as he watched you exit the store with a few bags in hand. The gentleman part of him wanted to offer to help, take the load off you. It wouldn't be necessary though, there would be more than enough for you at your new home.

You had barely managed to rummage through your purse for your keys when a cloth clamped over your face. You blinked at first, unsure of what was exactly happening. The effects were immediate though, and your body went limp against the rigid body of another. Your vision was hazy, head was pounding, breathing was labored as this masked person picked you up bridal style. 

-

When you finally had the ability to open your eyes all the way, you were in an unknown room. The cold air hardened your nipples, and you quickly realized you were completely nude. There were no sheets on the bed, just two pillows and the mattress. When you tried to move your arms to cover yourself, you were met with resistance. You strained your head upwards to where you saw your arms knotted together against the bed frame. 

Your legs were in a similar position, though open instead. You would scream or yell if you could, but your throat was too dry to speak. All you could do was make garbled noises and weak attempts to form words. The drug your kidnapper used must've been illegal with how the effects were still lingering in your system.

Your head lolled around, eyes scanning the area. There was a dim light in the center of the room and a lamp next to the bedpost, though that one was off. It was hard to make out the room, but you quickly found two pairs of eyes watching in the corner. You squinted to make sure you were seeing what you thought you were seeing, and the figure finally shifted into sight. 

Your body jerked backwards, fear running through your blood when he stalked closer to you. He wasn't that tall, but he did have wide shoulders. There was no mask on him this time as he let his bare face meet yours. Full lips, orangish hair, round cheeks and a cute chubby nose. His eyes were filled with worry, concern, and... happiness?

Chris was happy, he was in disbelief that you were actually here after so many months. He had taken the honor of stripping you down, there was no need for clothes when you were down here. His steps are careful/ginger as he approaches the bed and sits down, eyes scanning your body. Truly, you were a gift sent to him from the heavens above.

"I didn't mean to scare you," his voice startles you, "I like watching you sleep." 

If you thought you were scared before, you know it's terror crashing through you now. With sudden strength, you thrash against the bonds. The man immediately stands back up, rushing to your face that he cradles in his hands almost tenderly. "No! No you're fine, you'll be fine. Hey, it's okay I'm here to explain things to you. You'll understand." There's such certainty in his voice that it sends fresh chills down your spine.

Your face is warm in his hands, wide eyes staring into his. Chris let his thumb gently stroke your cheek. In response, you try to flinch away, but his grip on you is firm. You're still too drowsy to really put up any sort of fight against him, and you're tied to his will. There's really no way you can get out of this one.

Without thinking, Chris leans in for a kiss. You weakly thrash your head around, but you can still feel his tongue trying to pry its way into your mouth. He just couldn't help himself really, not when you looked like a Michelin star meal in front of him. Chris prides himself in being a good lover, he's practiced many times with previous women for this very moment. 

One of his hands trails down your neck, to your chest where he grabs one of your breasts. You're still fighting against his mouth, trying to escape his touch. A pinch on your nipple makes you squeal, back slightly arching upwards. You can feel him smile slightly into the kiss, as if he's proud of himself for making you react in such a way. 

"Stop," it's only a whisper. A fleeting attempt for this man to take pity on you. He breaks the kiss and pouts, "You'll be okay baby. I promise." You think he's going to resume kissing you, but he instead focuses on your tits. Now with two hands on each one, he gropes them freely. His hands are rough, but his touch is gentle.

Each tug and pull on your nipples makes you whine. It's dully painful, but it still affects you. Perhaps it's the drugs making you so sensitive, and you pray it's also the reason why you can feel the space between your legs growing wet. 

His warm mouth takes in one of your buds, tongue flicking and swirling around it. You have to bite your lower lip to keep quiet, only letting out unsteady breaths. A harsh suck makes you shiver, body chasing his mouth after he pulls away. He moves onto the next one, making sure to give it the same attention. He tweaks and pulls on your wet nipple and the stimulation makes you try to close your legs. 

Chris can tell how much you're struggling to keep quiet, how wet your pussy must be getting. He's tempted to play with your folds, but he shouldn't yet. He wants you to be aching, needing him so desperately that you don't care about how he stole you in the night. So he decides to focus on your breasts until you're impatient. 

It's working, much more than he had anticipated. The drug leaves you hypersensitive, groggy, unable to move freely. You can feel everything tenfold, and you're struggling to keep your moans down. 

Your tits are red and swollen, your cunt most likely in the same position from neglect. You can't ignore the twitching from the insides of your walls anymore. "Please," it's full of desperation. "Please."

Chris lifts his head up from your chest, eyes locking on yours. He keeps both hands on your tits as he speaks, "Please? Please what?" 

Please stop. You should say it, you should scream it. Yet here you are, red in the face, unable to speak. The man patiently waits for your response. When you don't give one, he questions you further. "You want me to stop?"

You hate how tender his hands are against you, the gentle cupping of your breasts. You suddenly wonder if he would be the same if he fingered you. His eyes are full of lust, need, but also worry. Like if you really said to stop in this moment, he would. 

Deep down, you don't want him to stop. You don't want this unwanted pleasure to come to a halt. In the morning, you'll grow to hate yourself, maybe more than you hate him. Still there's no way you can confess your true desires to your capture. 

Rather than forcing you to answer, Chris ghosts one of his hands down your body. His fingers tickle your stomach and leave goosebumps that make your breath hitch. It's not until he's just above your clit that he stops. His fingers don't dare to graze your sex, instead moving to the area surrounding it. 

Your hips buck involuntarily, trying to get a finger to touch you where you need it most. Your movements give all the confirmation Chris needs to continue. "Aww," he can't help but coo at you sweetly. "All you have to do is ask baby. Don't be shy." He smiles lovingly at you before he lets his two fingers dip in your wet clit.

A dragged out moan escapes you at the feel of his warm fingers. He rubs on your bud, your lips, the entrance of your pussy. Sharp shocks of pleasure envelope your body. The soft squelching sounds of his touches bounce off the walls. You bite into the part of your own arm you can reach to muffle your sounds. 

Chris is quick to notice your self-infliction, and he quickly reaches with his free hand to grab you by the jaw roughly. 

"Don't do that," his voice is stern. "You'll hurt yourself. You can be loud here, I soundproofed the walls for you." 

His words are a harsh snap back to reality. The reality is that this man took you, drugged you, and is planning to fuck you in his house. You thought it was on a whim, but now you can't help but shake the feeling that this was all planned, just for you. The way he looks at you, speaks to you like he's your lover, it all starts connecting in your mind. 

You shake your head, trying to ignore how wonderfully his hands are working on you. "You're a sick bastard," your words are filled with venom. You notice his face slightly drop and fingers slow, "You just don't understand. I did this for you, for us, for our love." 

That makes you scoff, words slightly slurring from the effects of the drugs, "Love? This isn't love." 

Chris shakes his head at you, getting slightly irritated with how you're not willing to realize his adoration for you. "This is love. You just don't see it yet. You just have to love me back and it'll all make sense." Chris thinks that's enough for you to go back to being quiet and pliant. Instead, you spit out the one thing he's prayed you would never say to him.

"Love you back? I could never love you. I hate you."

The expression on his face is beyond heartbreak, he looks devastated. You swear you could see his soul shatter with your words. His bottom lips trembles, eyes tear up, and his voice thickens with emotion. "Hate me?" He says it like he can't believe it. "No, no you don't. You're lying." 

He can't let you respond, Chris can't stand another terrible sentence you'll utter. He plunges his fingers into your cunt, effectively shutting up your vicious words with a moan. It's gonna take time, he tries to convince himself. She'll learn to love you.

You've gotten used to his slow and sweet fingers, but now he's pounding into you like he's trying to knock the air out of you. Where there was little resistance when he put them inside, now your walls were more than inviting him in. His fingers drag through your cunt, fitting snugly . You can feel the palm of his hand smacking against the lower part of your clit. 

You twist and thrust your hips to accommodate his pace, but he's relentless. There's no steady rhythm, no patience. Just erratic pounding at any speed his desires. He only slows down when his hand tires, but just when you begin getting used to that he starts up again. Your slick is all over your ass, his wrists. You can't bear to look at the mess he's created.

It's not until he suddenly rips his fingers away that you peek your eyes open. The man moves to settle between your legs, hastily pulling his joggers down. His eyebrows are furrowed, nostrils flaring, lips in a tight line. He's still upset about what you said, and you start feeling slightly guilty. No, you shouldn't. He's the one that did this. He's the one that kidnapped you and thought you would fall in love with him like a delusional maniac. Still, you can't help but think that if he just talked to you like a normal person, you would've gone out with him.

Even with an angry look on his face, he's handsome. It's a fact you've been trying to ignore since you saw him. Everything about him is pretty, even the heavy cock that springs out. You shiver at the sight, licking your lips unconsciously at the red tip. His has 2 protruding veins, a girth that convinces you that your hand can barely wrap around it, and a trimmed bush above it. 

Chris is too troubled to notice your gawking. He uses one hand to grip the base of his cock and the other to your hip. "You'll love me," he mutters. "You'll love me and my fucking cock." Chris pushes forward, uncaring of how you try to move away from him. He gets about halfway when he's met with your tightness. He can hear you moaning, your attempts to quiet yourself. He would've thought it was cute, but now he just thinks about how you're doing this because of your hate for him.

He pulls out a few centimeters before pushing back in, forcing his way inside. You whine, "Wait! It's too big. Please just wait-" He moves his hand from his cock to cover your mouth. You can slightly taste him on your lips, and you have no choice but to lock eyes with him. "No. You're gonna take it," his tone leaves no room for argument. 

So there you lie, legs spread against his thighs as you mewl against his palm when he sinks inside of you. A throaty groan finds its way out of Chris's mouth when he's completely inside of you. He stays there for a moment to soak up the feeling. His grip on your mouth hasn't let up, and it's getting hard to breathe.

Chris gives you shallow thrusts before you're ready, and you're forced to adjust to his size. Your walls are squeezing him so tight, almost possessively. It's like your pussy can't stand the thought of being separated from him. You blame the fact that he teased you, that you're doped up. 

Your breasts bounce with his strokes. His hips move more aggressively now, and there's no way you can stop yourself from being loud. He's so deep inside you, giving you surreal amounts of pleasure that makes you want to crawl out of your skin. It's overwhelming, teetering on the threshold of unbearable. 

When Chris pulls his hand away from your mouth, there's a string of saliva that connects and breaks. He watches as your chest expands from deep breaths and deep moans. It's impossible for him to stay mad at you, not when you're so pretty under him. He should be nicer, this is you two’s first time. Still, he thinks he should give you some punishment for your behavior. 

Chris doubts he can really consider this a punishment though,with how your eyes are rolling to the back of your head, lips twisted in pleasure. He doesn't think you notice, but you've started to drool. Chris is tempted to lick the saliva up and back in your mouth, but he doesn't. He has a very romantic idea of how your first kiss should go, and now is hardly the time.

Now that his hand is free, he uses it to stimulate your clit. You cry out, begging for him to stop, that you might wet the bed. He gives you a fake frown, "You don't have to be embarrassed about that." He rubs you a little harder. "What did I say about being shy?"

You tighten around his cock at your impending release. There's nothing for you to grab onto besides the binds. Your wrists are red and raw from struggling, but you can't focus on that right now. Not when his fingers play with your clit while his harsh thrusts hit you in all your sweet spots. 

Your body tenses, legs shake when you finish. You can feel the hot release leave you like rain. Chris soothingly rubs your hips as his thighs are coated in your essence. He slows down for a moment, letting you ride out your orgasm. You pussy twitches from the aftershocks. Your sweet moans fill Chris's ears.

He resumes his pounding not long after your body stops convulsing. You squeal when he rubs your lower lips roughly, overstimulating you. He's doing it too fast, too soon. As unbelievably good it feels, you keep begging for him to stop. Even if just for a moment. 

"Tell me you're sorry. That you didn't mean it," Chris groans through his words. At this point, you're willing to do anything to get this immense pleasure to stop coursing through your veins. "I'm sorry!" You sob. "I'm so sorry. I didn't mean it I sweaarrr!" Tears slip down your face. Your pussy is puffy and red, and you think after this you'll never want to be touched again. 

Chris moans at your words, "Tell me you love me." 

He knows he won't last long whether you say it or not. You're so wet and easy to fuck into that there's no way he can prolong his orgasm. There's a moment of silence, and he thinks you won't say it. 

"I love you!" You wail. "I love you so much. I'm sorry I was-oh fuck!-I'm sorry I was mean. I didn-I didn't mean it, I really really love you!"

It’s all Chris needs to hear to tip him over the edge. It takes forever to cum inside you. . Chris wouldn't stop himself from pulling out, not when you confessed so willingly. His moans and stuttering hips slow to a stop. His hand on your clit relents, and he feels your walls relax a little. Chris can hear you sobbing, small 'thank yous' that make his heart flutter. 

It doesn't matter how sticky you are, how badly your cunt is abused. What matters is that he stops, slowly sliding out of you. You whine when his fat head slips out of your pussy, leaving you with relief but a slight emptiness. 

Chris watches as his cum drips out your hole, how it stains the mattress. He'll need to buy a new one, but that's no issue for him. He'd buy the entire Earth if it meant you'd be his. 

"How are you feeling baby?" He asks. He's sitting on his knees, eyes trained on you. You think you should give back a snarky response, but you don't find the energy to do so. "It hurts," your eyes are still filled with tears. He lets out a soft 'awww' and leans down to nuzzle against your tummy. 

You hate how you find comfort in his touch, how lovingly he acts towards you. You feel him start peppering kisses on your stomach, and you don't bother fighting against it. You kidnapper seemingly loves to give aftercare with how he pampers you. A twisted part of you thinks you could actually get used to this. 

After all, you still need to learn his name.

a/n: hoped you guys liked it! ngl this was kinda hard but I really tried lmao. feedback is appreciated!

proof reader: @then-make-me (thank you so much again!)

[lycheedr3ams]

Death's Angel

Part 1: Looking Death in the Eye

royal!fem!reader x executioner!konig

Summary: It's 1554. You're one of the eight daughters of the Austrian royal family, and your parents do everything they can to ensure their kingdom is prosperous and peaceful. No royal court is complete without their hand-picked executioner, one who stands out against the sea of black, faceless bodies that make up the profession. It just so happens that your family's new executioner, one who has made a name for himself far and wide for his skill with the axe, has caught your eye and ruined you for good.

Warnings: MDNI! eventual filthy smut, mutual pining, forbidden love, death (konig is an executioner duh), mean sisters, mentions of medieval-type violence, overbearing parents, konig is brooding, maybe dark themes bc reader likes seeing him kill people?

Part 2

.......

series inspired by the art below!

If there was anything your parents taught you, it was to never mix with the lower, working classes. You were royalty: there was never any need for you to lift a finger, let alone even ask for anything. Everything will be served to you on a silver platter. The heads of your enemies were no exception.

You grew up watching executions like it was a normal family affair, like it was the same as lazily observing geese land in the pond behind your castle as you sat with your chin in your hand. It was always the same. Your family's star executioner, up until now, would force the victim on stage and enact whatever cruel punishment your king and queen parents decided. It was a routine. There was no malice or passion behind it, it was just a job. Chopping heads off blocks was the same as completing a to-do list for most executioners, and you grew accustomed to seeing bloodied heads rolling over cobblestone.

But your family's loyal executioner died suddenly. The peasantry said he was possessed, that the devil had finally taken the man's soul for all the heinous acts he committed. Whatever the case, your family needed a new executioner, fast. It wouldn't be long before people committed more crime, knowing the axe of judgement was temporarily frozen above their heads. you could hear your parents frantically whispering in the dead of night over which executioner to choose. there were so many contenders for the spot. you couldn't have cared less who the new executioner would be. executioners, though their jobs were necessary for functioning society, were spurned and looked down on. a necessary evil, as some may say. your parents taught you to never speak to the executioner, much less even look his way. not out of respect, but rather to keep your eyes clean from the monstrosity of whatever man could live with cutting off heads each day.

the day eventually came when your parents decided on a new executioner. they seemed pretty excited about it, and decided to get right to the "festivities" to commemorate the occasion. the new executioner would, the moment he reached the royal ground, execute the line of prisoners whose deaths had been delayed since the passing of your previous executioner. You strode elegantly, as you were taught, to your seat on the elevated surface as the victims were lined up on the lower stage. the crowd watched anxiously. there was a different feeling in the air. everyone seemed even more scared than normal. the blood-stained oak chopping block had never seemed more foreboding.

and then you saw him. out of your family's royal carriage - the oldest and dingiest one, mind you - this giant of a man stepped out and scanned the crowd. everyone went silent. not even the birds dared to sing as he walked across the stage silently, his axe slung over his shoulder, the wooden boards underneath his jagged leather boots creaking loudly. he was nothing short of a giant. his shoulders were broad, and even though his chest was clothed with black cloth, you knew he was toned. he carried that monstrous axe like it was nothing but a butter knife. the only thing that reminded you that he was, in fact, human was the faint reflection of the sunlight in his eyes from deep within his black hood.

your breath caught in your chest as you observed him. he stood still by the chopping block, so naturally that you felt your spine tingle. your father bellowed out the reason for the execution spree - something about celebration - but your mind was completely fogged, filled with nothing but morbid curiosity for this new death-bringer who would be living in your castle. the executioner was then commanded to turn towards your family and bow before the executions began. this grim reaper turned his broad back and faced your family. his eyes scanned each one of you, but they lingered on you the longest. you felt like a gust of ice wind had just raced up from his gaze alone, manifested somehow by whatever mental prowess he seemed to possess. He bowed lowly to you and your family before standing, glancing at you once more, and then facing the crowd.

your father yelled out with raised arms, "my kingdom! this is your new judge, your executioner! the one who will bring you to justice from here forth is Konig!"

king. His name means king, you thought. how ironic. that a man with such a name - likely an alias - would be performing the work that no one dared do.

for the first time in your life, you watched avidly as this new executioner, as konig, swiftly cut each victims' head off like he was slicing butter. konig commanded respect. even the crowd was silent as he worked, his grunts and the dull sound of the axe meeting wood and bone were the only things to be heard as he performed his duty. it should have scared you. he should have scared you. and when the last victim's head rolled off the block and konig rested against his up-turned axe, you released a breath that you didn't know you had been holding.

hope you enjoyed! this will likely be multiple parts, and a slow burn. i just love this so much

[anonymousewrites]

One Hell of a Love Halloween Special 2023

Sebastian Michaelis x Demon! Reader

            “Sebastian, is everything prepared for the ball tonight?” said Ciel, sipping his tea as he finished his business for the day.

            Sebastian bowed. “Of course, my Lord.”

            “Good.” Ciel put his teacup down and glanced up at Sebastian. “I expect you ready and in costume before our guests arrive.”

            Sebastian paused. “Are you sure it is necessary for me to wear a costume?”

            “It’s a Halloween Ball, and Elizabeth insists that everyone be ‘in the spirit,’ ” said Ciel.

            “I understand, my Lord.” Sebastian smirked. “I know we must always make a good impression on the Lady Elizabeth.”

            Ciel turned red at the teasing tone in Sebastian’s voice. “Just go and get ready. She had costumes for the staff delivered earlier.”

            “Yes, Young Master,” said Sebastian, bowing again before leaving the room.

            He walked back to his quarters and found a package resting on his bed. He sighed before opening it and holding up the costume. He smirked. (Y/N) would find this entertaining, and if it pleased them, then it pleased him.

            I wonder what they will be wearing, thought Sebastian. It didn’t particularly matter, though. He’d find them sinfully attractive no matter what they wore. However, after their vampire costume last Halloween, he’d be lying if he said he was a bit excited. Sebastian anticipated something demonically divine on their figure.

l

            “Happy Halloween,” said Sebastian, bowing as he opened the door for the final guest to enter the Phantomhive manor.

            “Ah, Sebastian!” Elizabeth smiled happily. (She wanted to make an entrance so had arrived last). “You’re wearing your costume!”

            “Of course, my Lady,” said Sebastian. He gave her a closed-eyed smile. “You were generous enough to give a simple servant a gift. I would not let it go to waist.”

            Elizabeth grinned. “It’s not very cute, I know, but it’s very Halloween.” She giggled. “Though I admit I still went with cute.” She wore a purple gown with gold inlays and a tiara on her head. She was a princess.

            Elizabeth spied Ciel across the room and brightened. “Ciel!” She rushed over and hugged him. “Oh, you look simply marvelous!”

            “E-Elizabeth!” stammered Ciel, catching her awkwardly. He had on a fake suit of armor as “Princess” Elizabeth’s faithful knight.

            “You must call me Lizzie!” said Elizabeth, already dragging him towards the dancefloor.

            Sebastian chuckled.

            “She certainly has a lot of energy,” said an amused voice beside him.

            Sebastian smirked as he turned to face (Y/N). “It is to be expect of the Lady Elizabeth, especially on Halloween.”

            “You seem to be in the spirit of Halloween as well,” remarked (Y/N), looking him up and down.

            Sebastian wore a black suit with a translucent black cloaked tinged slightly red draped around his shoulders. He wore gold spectacles that allowed him to gaze at (Y/N) overtop with a familiarly devilish look. “According to Lady Elizabeth, I am a warlock.”

            “A conjurer of evil?” said (Y/N). “What a coincidence. I am a witch.”

            “I could have mistaken you for a succubus with such beauty,” said Sebastian, smirking.

            (Y/N) wore a black dress with a corset on top and had a black shift-like material draped around her and cinched with a belt. The neckline highlighted the slope of their chest, and the dress fell around their figure deliciously. The shift swayed with each movement like shadows chasing their body or a dark, mysterious magic. Around their neck, (Y/N) wore a silver choker necklace inlaid with black jewels. On top of their head, they had a black velvet hat with a short veil guarding their face from the light.

            “Flattery doesn’t work on me,” said (Y/N), smirking.

            “Are you certain?” said Sebastian, taking their hand and kissing the back.

            “Hm, perhaps we should test it.” (Y/N) drew him in and smirked. “Flatter me more.”

            Sebastian’s eyes flashed fuchsia, and he pulled (Y/N) to the dance floor. He spun them out before tugging them to him again. “Where can I begin? This costume—” Sebastian ran his hand down (Y/N)’s side before resting at the small of their back to dip them backwards in the dance. “—it’s sinful how divine you look.” He guided them back up and glanced at their lips, wanting to lean in but unable to look unprofessional in front of Ciel. “But then again, you are always alluring.”

            “Do I distract the finest butler in the world?” teased (Y/N) with a catlike smirk.

            “No one can withstand you,” said Sebastian.

            “So I have you under my control?” (Y/N)’s eyes flashed fuchsia.

            “Oh, darling, you have had me for quite some time,” said Sebastian, smirking.

            “In that case, how about we have some fun and you obey me?” said (Y/N).

            “Oh?” Sebastian raised an eyebrow, intrigued.

            (Y/N) smirked. “The ball is going well. Ciel is busy with Elizabeth. Our own servants are under control. No one would notice if we slipped out.”

            Sebastian smirked. “Lead the way, darling.”

            (Y/N) grinned and took his hand. Silently, the two demons moved from the dancefloor to the door leading to the kitchen and servant quarters. No one would follow them, too busy with the ball. Before the pair were even near their rooms, Sebastian was pushing (Y/N) to the wall and kissing them fervently. He would never get tired of his darling cat demon. And (Y/N) would never tire of their dear raven demon.

            “I thought you always taught me patience,” teased (Y/N) as Sebastian kissed their neck.

            “I waited too long to have you. I will waste no more time,” said Sebastian.

            “I certainly hope not,” said (Y/N). They smiled at him. “After all, I love you too much to wait.”

            Sebastian smirked. “Oh, darling, careful. I love you too much to hold back.”

            He kissed them again, and (Y/N) reciprocated enthusiastically.

Taglist:

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@izzieg3987

@jinxxangel13

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@bellacastiel

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@sarkzjam

[mslanna]

Raphael reacting to waking up as the little spoon, even though the little mouse is smaller than the fiend. Like Tav's chest is pressed against the fiend's back, arms loosely but tenderly wrapped around his torso, their head resting by his shoulder blades as he feels the mortal's peaceful breath gently fanning the base of his wings. Perhaps the fiend even realizes that his tail has ended up coiled around one of Tav's legs.

Just a lil fluff soft devil is soft enby Tav without body configuration (Also on AO3)

Fragile Sanctuary

Devils didn't need to sleep, but Raphael indulged in it now and then anyway. By choice. It was nothing his half human side forced him to do. So, of course, when his little mouse finally fell into his trap, when he got to devour them inch by inch, drawing the pleasure out through the night, he stayed.

The mortal was small to his cambion form, so deliciously small and what was left of the night was short enough to be acceptable. After this night, his mouse would not look at others. He claimed and true and well. They were his.

Raphael's sleep was deep and dreamless. A relief after many nightmares, some only half remembered. There was no threat rising from the depths of his future. With Tav secured, so was the Crown and his throne. With Tav at his side, the future was not only glorious but bright and full of joy.

Raphael woke refreshed without the lingering dread of nightmares. But also, without his little mouse. He frowned, but the space Tav had occupied was empty. Where would they go? He shifted and something stirred between his wings.

Moving them gently, Raphael noted the weight on the lower one, not enough to be a problem, just smushing it a little deeper into the mattress than usual. Taking inventory of his remaining limbs, his tail came up curled around a leg not his – Tav's leg that hung, haphazardly, over his waist.

The little critter was clinging to his back. Now that Raphael concentrated, he felt the puffs of breath on his skin, the soft pressure of lips that mumbled inaudibly in their sleep. How did they even end up there? Raphael mulled over the possibilities. Still, it felt unlikely that he'd relinquish his hold on them, even for a moment. But he had and this was the result.

Short arms wrapped around him, one leg thrown over his waist. He pulled at it gently with his tail curled around its ankle. Tav murmured something and scuttled closer. It felt surprisingly good – safe – despite them being just a fragile mortal. They would protect him to the end.

Raphael relaxed into their hold. Soon enough he'd have to return Tav back to the world and their quest. A necessary evil. But for now, for now they were all his and proving his point with every second they clung to him.

[baddieladdie]

♡ Companion Shorts ♡

Fallout companions react to depressed vault dweller

Rating: Teen Charon ➼ Arcade Gannon ➼ Hancock ➼ Nick Valentine ➼ Deacon

Charon [FO3]

"What are you doing?" Charon grumbled from behind you, annoyed at the sudden stop in broad daylight. The view was nice from this vantage point, but it also meant they were in clear view of any hidden antagonists.

The burden of your loneliness beckons you to the ground. You fall to your knees, though the weight off your legs does nothing for heaviness in your spirit.

Why? You didn't know why.

Perhaps you had been too optimistic. Believed so wrongly that you could bring change to the wasteland. Or at least bring some minor degree of improvement. It was futile, all along. The wasteland was ever hungry, taking everything it was given and reducing it to rubbish. Even with the few good deeds done, the Talon company just kept sending mercenaries to kill you for the very slight of fighting the good fight. No good deed goes unpunished, right?

You look down the chasm below, half-hearted imagining your mutilated body on the rocks. Would even your death make a difference? Or would it just be one more life taken by the wastes?

"Hey," A familiar firm hand gripped your shoulder, "It's not safe here."

Tension swelled up in your sinuses as you shrugged his hand off. You clenched your hands together, digging your nails into the palm of your hand. The subtle pain was refreshing against the agony in your mind.

Charon was a victim even before the bombs fell; a constant reminder that humanity was corrupt well before apocalypse. Perhaps you really weren't so separated from the innate evil nature in the human spirit. You relied on Charon in nearly every fire fight. Taking advantage of his experience and strength through a contract you knew was akin to slavery. He obeyed every command, helped with every request. Never questioning you for a moment and always risking his life. You felt sickened on your reliance on that bloody contract. You should be finding a way to free him, and yet....where would that leave you? Dead? And what future what that be? Dead now or just dead later...

Charon grumbled as he sat beside you on the chasm's edge. He had seen ages pass, experienced more agony than he could ever be bothered to explain. For some employers, he'd leave them to their devices. But you? You are one of the few bastards crazy enough to help others selflessly in the wasteland. Even if wasteland was utterly indifferent to your efforts, it certainly be a darker place without the hope you brought others with each intentional good dead. Their very existence showed a brighter side of humanity that was a rarity in dark times.

"Tell me what troubles you," Charon's familiar gravelly voice was laced with an unfamiliar tone of... genuine concern?

"I just," You sigh heavily. "I don't know how much longer I can keep going on like this."

"I've wondered the same thing myself." Charon nodded with an empty stare.

You felt a pang of guilt at the possibility of bringing up painful memories for him.

Charon continued hesitantly. "I feel I must remind you; I am honor bound to keep you safe. From threats and, if necessary, from yourself"

"I don't want t-"

Before you can finish your thought, Charon scoops you up into his arms and walks you away from the ledge. "You need to be more careful," He complained. "You won't make a difference out here if you're dead."

He carries on walking through the awkward silence. "We passed a shelter not far from here. We could rest until you feel ready to continue again. We could uh, listen to that radio broadcast you like you so much."

"Maybe play game?" you tease.

"Don't push your luck, kid."

-Charon carries you to the shelter where he watches over you diligently until the worst of your depression episode passes-

Arcade [FNV]

You stare blankly at the ceiling above. Small particles of dust lazily hung in the air of the abandoned cabin you and Arcade took shelter in a few days ago. You really should leading the charge back out into the Mojave, but you simply couldn't find the energy to do so. Therefore, you simply rested.

Arcade knocked on the door and patiently waited for a response you couldn't be bothered to provide.

"Alright, guess I'm just going to let myself in then. I'll give you to the count of three," Arcade raised his voice from behind the wooden slat door. "You better be decent by then." you head him mumble.

Arcade cracked open the door, peering around to see your still body in the same position as when he gave you a mug of coffee hours before.

"In another one of our spells, are we?" His sarcasm brought you little comfort.

"Sorry. I just lose my heads sometimes," you sigh with a heavy heart.

"If by 'sometimes' you mean 'a lot of times', I agree. Please just....go easy on yourself, okay?"

You nodded, the vague emptiness you felt threatening to swallow you whole. Taking everything with it 'til you couldn't feel nothing at all.

"This is worse than before, isn't it?" Arcade pulled up a chair next to you. It creaked under his weight as he sat down. "Was it something I said?"

You shook your head. "No, nothing like that. I'm just....tired, Arcade. I'm fine, really." You gave a meager fake smile, hoping to appease the kindly doctor.

"Mmhm," Arcade paused for a beat. "Is that all?"

You could have sworn you were just tired, but now that you think about it, there were some troubles on your mind. Arcade waited patiently for you to open him to him about it. He did enjoy lengthy conversations more than most and always had his opinions ready.

"Ready to get back out there?"

"All right, let's not waste any time!" Arcade rested his doctor's bag on a shoulder, the enthusiasm in his voice giving away his excitement. "There are people out there to help, things to learn. Maybe not in that order, but let's get to it!"

Hancock [FO4]

Hancock chuckled, lounging on the couch next to you in the old state house. "I don't buy that shit for a minute." He shook his head, "No way, you can't fool me, sister/brother." He casually rested his hand on your thigh, immediately drawing your attention to him. "It hasn't been easy transition ya, has it?"

Your eyes began to water as Hancock looked you over with care. He nodded slowly with genuine understanding, "I didn't think so. No one should have to go through what you've been through." He gave your hand a little squeeze. "Ya always give me hope for brighter future. Cause I get to have you in my life." He smiled, "Cause the odds, it's practically impossible our paths would ever meet. I mean, you're pre-war, baby. The freshest smoothskin around and you wanna be a drugged out, dragged out ghoul?! That's how I know all that karma shit is bull, 'cause there is no way someone like you could ever end up with me."

You granted him a half-smile with the compliment. But the mayor didn't quite seem to grasp yet that you had burdens, very real and unconventionally heavy emotional baggage. Not that there was a trauma competition in nuclear wasteland, but you would have at least won a medal in most-fucked psyche. Your smooth nature stopped at skin level.

"It's been a Hell of road that brought us together, but aren't I glad I took up with you? 'Cause this person," Hancock paused, waiting patiently until you returned his gaze before continuing, " - the one I'm looking at right now. They're the one I love. I don't want to be without them ever again."

You wince slightly, his words a little too sweet. "You sure about this, Hancock? I mean, with everything I've been through...." You sigh heavily, your chest falling. "People are going to talk, Mayor" You give him a sly look, knowing how he enjoyed the occasional call to his title.

"Can't say I care much about what others think. Half the opinions out there aren't worth listening to anyway. The only opinion I care about, is yours." He grinned.

"I don't want to make you uncomfortable. Are you sure?" "You kidding me? So long as I got you at my side, it doesn't matter the capacity. I'm with you all the way, rain or shine" "You're a damn fine man, Hancock. I'm lucky to have you at my back." "And God help any of 'em who get in our way."

Nick Valentine [FO4]

"In my line of work, you usually see folks at their worst. I can tell there's something troubling you. You want to talk about it?"

"Not particularly." You grumble. You swirled with antagonistic emotions, unable to tell where one pain started and the other ended. Guess that's just what happens after you go through one too many impossible tragedies. Losing the love of your life and child alone was unimaginable. Your years of service in the U.S. army gave you the 'gift' of surviving the nuclear attacks that transformed your home and country to a primitive wasteland. You've always tried to make the best decisions possible for your family. But if you hadn't signed up for Vault 101, would you have died peacefully alongside your love? Would that have been better? You stared into your hands, agonizing over the conversation you had with the Vault-tec sales rep.

"Not enough people out here are willing to try and do what's right. I consider myself awful lucky I fell in with one who is," Nick paused, the smoke from his cigarette seeping from the metal cracks in his feature. He glanced around the Boston shore, checking for any ne'er-do-wells. But the coast was clear, perhaps due to their combat efforts earlier that day. He cleared his throat, and continued with some insistence, "If there is something bothering you, I'd like to be the one to help lighten the load. I happen to know a thing or two about find yourself after losing the life you thought you had."

"Thanks, Nick," You snap out of momentarily. The Boston harbor air was foul. You couldn't escape the reality you were in, no matter how you tried. The smells, the sounds, the food - none of it was familiar. "I'll be fine. I just don't sleep well." That wasn't much of a lie. Whenever you try to sleep, the memory of your love screaming your name returned. Their blood painting the inside of their frozen coffin while you watched helpless from inside your own. When you eventually fell asleep, the unfamiliar sounds of gunfire, screams of terror from the wasteland, and shouts of mutants would wake you. It was all just too much.

"I think it's time we take a break from the case, friend."

"What?!" You jump up from the bench, "We can't stop now! Not with the progress we've made!"

Nick flinched in surprise, but quickly settled to a concerned frown. "You haven't been yourself lately. We-," Nick sighed, committing to genuine honesty as he often did. "Partner, I need you at your best to solve this case. Come on, let's go back to the agency. I'll review the case files and you get some rest."

You look away, anger and guilt fuming within you. "I don't feel much like resting, Nick. I want to finish this."

Nick let your words marinate in the pregnant silence. "Is that what you want? To 'finish' this?" He gripped a metal hand your shoulder and looked down into your eyes. "I understand, you must feel angry. You have every right to be. But hurting others won't bring them back."

You simply couldn't hold it in anymore. Tears of grief, rage, and pain streamed hotly down your face, pooling at the apex of your chin. Nick pulled you into a tight embrace, rubbing your back as you cried into his signature detective trench coat.

"I'm sorry, friend. Truly."

Deacon [FO4]

You take a long drag off your cigarette, savoring that ever-so-familiar lightheadedness. The weather was shit, as it always was in Boston. Cloudy, and damp. You wrapped your cloak a little tighter around yourself, but it didn't do you much good. The bitter cold you felt reached deeper than your bones and left you frozen to your core. Just an icy fraction of the vibrant person you were before. Before you lost everything you had fought for, everything that had mattered to you. It all was gone. And along with it, any reason to carry on.

You exhaled slowly, watching your frozen breath drift aimlessly away from your cracked lips. Deacon watched quietly from aside, nursing a chilled Nuka-cola. He cleared his throat awkwardly. Genuine words never did come easily to him. Deacon had always found it more comfortable to flirtatiously avoid the truth. Kept him safe from every getting hurt....and ever making close friends. Deacon, being a loner himself, recognized the loneliness you dwelled in.

"I know what I feels like to wear a mask. That kind of protection only ambiguity can give you. But really - are you feeling okay? Cause you can talk to me"

"Another one of your little lies?" You sigh, tapping the ash off the butt of your cigarette.

"No, not this time," Deacon kept an uncharacteristically straight face

You pause, stirred by the sincerity present in Deacon's voice. He loved the way lies could crack your usual composure. You watch his expression carefully, checking for any usual hint of his usual mischievous nature. But all that saw on his face was genuine concern for a companion he cared deeply about.

"Well, look who's acting out of character now," you tease. "Thanks, Deacon. I appreciate that. And I'll be fine. It just, uh...." you take in a deep breath. "It takes time, building up this new life. Making these new memories. Building these new relationships. Just sometimes, I uh, miss my old life. My old friends. Sometimes I see something, and I just know my spouse would have loved to see it."

"I know. But we'll stop the Insititute. For them."

"Right," You nod, filled with determination. "For them."

To.Be.Continued...

[paraliveimaginesblog]

Can we get 42 from the kiss prompt with Yuto, please?:D

Yuto Inukai:

42. Distracting kisses from someone that are meant to stop the other person from finishing their work, and give them kisses instead.

Yuto was always susceptible to your distractions.

He didn’t have it in him to ignore you, not when you could make your eyes water on command or when you jutted out your lower lip in a pout that was too cute to resist. You never bothered him during work that was too important, only mindless paperwork that was heaved onto him by superiors who had no respect for his time. It was a necessary evil to allow GokuLuck to continue operating, to prostrate himself to the higher-ups whims to allow them some sort of freedom or potential rehabilitation, but there did come a time where he wanted to pick himself.

“Man, I wish I was your paperwork ‘cause then I’d have all the attention I needed!” Your opening statement was all the evidence he needed to know you were about to cause trouble. From the moment you had entered the room and started shuffling around, he knew you were waiting for him to address you before you became a complete distraction.

He chuckled nervously before responding, “I-I’m sorry. I’m almost finished, and then we can—”

“I’ve heard that before,” You huffed, arms draped around his shoulders now as you peered at the papers he was looking at. “Such tiny text, don’t your eyes need a break?”

The closeness was forcing him to fight the devil on his shoulder, taking an unsteady breath as he flipped through another page; he had long since stopped absorbing the words in front of him but he was trying to prove a point. He couldn’t just let you have your way all the time, could he? Not that he minded giving in to your demands but he liked when you put in the effort to distract him, hanging all over him, giving him all of your attention…

You turned his head toward you and your eyes meant his warm grey ones, your lips quirked into a tiny smile as you saw that you had already won. You leaned forward to press your lips against his, feeling him sigh against your lips before returning the pressure. You were happy where you were, pressed against him with your hand on his cheek to keep him facing you, lips moving together in a slow dance you wished would never end. His neck muscles were beginning to beg for mercy at the awkward position though, and as much as he wished he could keep going, he needed to catch his breath.

“Such a tease~” You scolded him, giggling as he mumbled something in exasperation under his breath. “Come on, just a short break, okay? Then I won’t bother you for a little bit.”

Yuto didn’t know your definition of a short break, or how long a ‘little bit’ qualified as, but he had long since accepted he lost the battle.

[player1064]

Footy RPF Fictober, day 2 - injury

also available on ao3

MINDLESS NONSENSE!!!! also side-note writing about Gary having tight muscles that need a massage is making me very aware of how tight MY muscles are. massage roller save me....

carraville, set vaguely while they're off on one of their little trips to film the overlap on tour

---

Jamie hauls a limping Gary out of the lift and into his hotel room, lets him put his weight on him as he gingerly lowers himself to sit down on the bed with a wince.

What a drama queen, honestly. They’d been spending their afternoon off of filming on the beach with Roy and Wrighty – a chance to relax, but of course Gary Neville’s not relaxed a day in his life and he’d started getting antsy after a few minutes on a sun lounger.

Jamie’s also not much for sunbathing, so he’d found them a frisbee and they’d been playing around with it when Gary had suddenly done a weird little hop mid run and gone ‘ooh, fuck, I’ve done me ‘amstring’ in that squeaky little voice of his.

So now: Jamie’s left Roy and Ian at the beach (not that they’d notice if he was there or not anyway) to bring Gary back to the hotel, tease him a bit about being an old man with a broken-down body, and then get back to enjoying his day.

But Gary just looks so miserable, like he feels guilty for not being a twenty-something anymore, like he’s just personally ruined their whole trip, and Jamie feels – well, he should try do something, shouldn’t he?

“D’you want me to—” he gestures vaguely at Gary’s leg, not sure if he should say it. If it’s allowed. “I mean, I do an alright massage, if yer –"

“Oh.” Gary blinks. “Oh, I – ha. Thought you were just gonna give me an ibuprofen and leave me to ‘ave a nap or something.”

“Oh,” Jamie echoes. “Yeah, no, that – makes more sense, doesn’t it? I’ll just –” he looks around the room, all of a sudden feeling slightly desperate. Does he even have any ibuprofen on him? Does Gary?

“Massage sounds nice, though.”

Gary isn’t looking at him as he says this, is fidgeting with the starched white sheets on the bed instead. Oh, Jamie thinks again. Oh, he’s not used to asking for help.

A memory hits him, unwelcomed, of a summer’s day a lot like this one. But instead of the warm sands of Italy he’s on the battered grass of Melwood, instead of Gary sitting awkwardly at the end of the bed like a child waiting for a telling-off it’s –

He shakes the thought off.

“Go on then,” he replies, nodding towards the bed. “On your front. And off with those shorts, eh Gaz?”

Jamie’s never felt right using that nickname for Gary, but it’s a necessary evil. ‘Cause otherwise he’d just be a man asking another man to strip for him. So: Gaz it is.

Gary rolls his eyes but he shifts his shorts off – he’s got black boxers on underneath, big fucking surprise. Jamie could’ve told you that without even needing to look; he’s pretty sure it’s the only kind of underwear he owns.

Jamie goes into the bathroom to fetch the hotel-brand body lotion trying to pass itself off as fancy, then he hovers awkwardly at the edge of the bed, kind of half-kneeling half-standing next to Gary as he tries to work out how to do this in the least questionable way possible.

“Where’s it worst?” he asks, cringing at the way his voice cracks, just a tiny bit. Probably not even noticeable.

Gary hums in thought. “Hamstring,” he says simply.

Well, duh.

He eventually realises that Jamie’s not making a move because he needs more information, so he takes another second then says, “uh, think it’s the centre muscle. Maybe six inches up from my knee.”

Jamie spreads his hand over the back of Gary’s thigh, runs a firm line over the muscle with his thumb. “Here?”

“Hmm, bit lower maybe.”

Every muscle in Gary’s thigh is tight, left unattended for god knows how long. But Jamie knows it when he’s got it, feels the hard knot of muscle that makes his whole leg twitch when he presses into it. Slowly, slowly, he starts working at it, tries to stay gentle so he doesn’t put Gary off when he’s just barely started.

“Mmph,” Gary says, his voice muffled by the pillow, “you’re not bad at this, y’know.”

Jamie digs his thumb into the muscle hard, just ‘cause he can. It twitches involuntarily under the pressure, and Gary lets out a displeased, squeaky sort of hum. Then, after a few seconds, he watches smugly as the tension holding Gary’s entire body rigid starts to fade, as he relaxes back into the mattress.

“I’m serious.” Gary tries to twist around and look at Jamie, moving to prop himself up on one elbow. Jamie pushes him in the shoulder so that he lies back down. “D’you take a class or  somethin’? Don’t think I’ve had a half-decent massage since before I retired.”

“Bloody cheapskate,” Jamie mutters. Because of course Gary would never go out and pay for a massage. Though to be fair to him that’s probably less because of the cost and more because it’s never occurred to him that he might need one. “No classes, no. What, you think I can’t just be naturally talented?”

He can practically hear Gary rolling his eyes. “Just tryin’ to make conversation, James. Makes it less like I’m just lying half naked in a hotel room while another man feels me up.”

“Steady on, lad. There’s a long list of people I’d rather be feelin’ up right now than you.”

“Mmm,” Gary says. He sounds softer than Jamie’s used to, less frantic. “You do this for Nicola? She’s into her running, right? Bet she appreciates havin’ a masseuse at her beck and call.”

Jamie freezes, just for a moment. The sun beaming through the windows is warm on his back, and if he closes his eyes he can almost convince himself that he’s some other place, some other time. In his memories it’s always summer, warm and hazy and sweet. God, Carra, no wonder the girls all like you so much.

He shakes himself back to reality, back to Gary and his troublesome hamstring – or rather now his calf, because as Jamie works his way down his leg he’s realising there’s not a single relaxed muscle in his body. Typical Gary, of course.

“Not for Nicola, no,” he says, all light and conversational like. “She’d rather go to a professional. No need to risk my meaty hands making things worse.”

“Oh, right.”

Who, then? Gary kindly doesn’t ask. After all, he’s the expert in half-truths, in talking his way neatly around a subject until you forget the question ever crossed your mind.

Gary’s still built like a defender. Solid, stocky. Thick thighs that were never going to make him a sprinter but could get him in the air, could win him his fair share of tackles. There’s a faded surgery scar on his knee, a few more scattered over his ankle, his foot. Jamie’s not sure he could name a single footballer that doesn’t have scars like that.

Is all this really worth it? he’d asked once, a few lifetimes ago. He’d got a call from Mo, late evening, and he’d gotten straight into his car and driven half an hour to find him home alone, lying on his plush carpet with his face twisted in agony. And the only person he’d tried to call was Jamie. He always used to call Jamie.

Don’t be stupid, Carra, he’d said. He’d been trying to sound confident, cocky, but it had been through gritted teeth as Jamie tried to ease his leg back to a useable state. Of course it’s worth it. He’d let out a cry of pain that shot right through Jamie, that made him want to fold in on himself, then he’d looked him straight in the eyes and said it again. Of course it’s worth it.

“Sometimes,” Gary says now, interrupting the scene in Jamie’s mind, “sometimes, when it’s really cold I still feel an ache in my foot.”

Jamie’s nowhere near his foot, so he’s not sure why he’s bringing it up at all, but then –

“Becks used to get the same. An’ it’s so stupid, isn’t it? The things that make us – but every time I feel it, I wonder if he’s feeling it too. And I wonder if he’s thinkin’ the same about me, d’youknowwhatImean?”

The Foot, the papers used to call it, and The Foot’s Best Friend. Jamie kneads his fingers into Gary’s calf, thinks about all the times he’s gone through the same motions a on slimmer pair of legs, wonders if Michael ever thinks about calling him again when he’s in pain. Feels a twinge of guilt that he doesn’t ever really think about Michael at all.

He clears his throat. “That any better?”

Gary shuffles to sit upright, stretches his leg out like he’s testing it still works after such a grievous injury as the minor hamstring pull he’s suffered. “You know what, I think it actually is. Thanks, Carra. Maybe I should keep you on retainer, eh?”

“Not enough money in the world, Gary, this was a one-time offer.”

[hello-nichya-here]

Why do people hate JK Rowling?

Long-ass story short: She said she always intended Dumbledore to be gay, but only didn't write into the books because it was not necessary to that particular plot. People understood and cheered.

Then she started revealing OTHER "bonus information that didn't make it to the books" through the years. They started out reasonable enough, but it soon became clear that Rowling was just making that shit up as she went along, to get more praise and attention in a quick way instead of actually sitting down and writting new material.

Eventually she DID started writting, or at least approving, of new stuff, like "The Cursed Child" play, or the Fantastic Beasts movies. The receptions were mixed to put it VERY kindly, and worse yet, Fantastic Beasts had a controversy regarding Rowling seemingly not understanding that women can sexually abuse/coerce men - something that was already a big issue in the original Harry Potter books, but it no longer got the pass of "It was a different time."

One of those movies would be centered around Dumbledore and his falling out with his evil boyfriend - yet the script was not going to acknowledge that they were indeed a couple, even though it was relevant to the plot this time, so it basically confirmed to people that "Dumbledore is gay" was just bullshit she made up at the last second to get praised as being a super progressive writer, aka queerbaiting. To make it worse, Rowling acted like people asking for canon confirmation that Dumbledore was gay could only possibly mean that they wanted sex scenes in the film, even though they were only saying "If he really is in love with this dude, let him say it. That's literally a key aspect of his conflict in this story."

To make matters even worse, during all of this, Rowling also decided to go full TERF/Radfem mode:

Any criticism of her, no matter how mild or valid? She'd call it misogyny.

Trans person existing? Treated like walking, living, breathing rape-threats. But no comment on TERFs literally spying and sometimes filming people in the bathroom "just to make sure they're not secretly trans" and TOTALLY not because they're creeps.

(And she'd also not comment on how some of her TERF buddies were doing insane shit like "claiming/exposing/harrassing" famous people like Daniel Radcliffe, aka the guy that played Harry Potter himself and that Rowling knew since he was a little kid, for "secretly being trans" for stuff like "being too short/tall for their supposed gender").

People getting uncomfortable with how she continued to not so subtly double-down on "Women cannot be abusive/predators, that's exclusively a guy thing"? Yelled at for "demonizing women" instead of "calling out the patriarchy."

Finally, her TERF buddies also started putting her on a pedestal for being "one of them", doing shit like claim no other woman EVER had any success as a writer. People were already no longer comfortable praising her for her real accomplishments after the shitshow she had turned into over the years, so you can bet that they were NOT okay with acting like women like Mary Shelly, ya know, the one who literally wrote Frankenstein nearly two centuries before Harry Potter was created, didn't exist or weren't important just because some truly vile people wanted to kiss Rowling's ass and she continued to let them be vile because she liked having her ass kissed.

So yeah, reminder: FUCK JK ROWLING AND ALL HER TERF BULLSHIT! Now excuse me while I wait for the inevitable angry asks from Radfems calling me a pick-me, porn-addicted "fmoid" brainwashed by the patriarchy.

[212-apricity]

mastermind, part eleven

we’re so back,

last gcse on friday AND bridgerton AND euros???😟😟 getting spoiled stoppp😍😍

goodness gracious im so sick and tired of this exam rubbish gosh i cant wait to be done😫😫,

anyways if you’re reading this rn im eternally grateful to you bc the way i wouldve left if i was you…

no but seriously i love you guys so so much😕😕, this is a very short one (apologies) bc its the first time ive written since like last year (we’re ignoring that) and i really hope you enjoy the scraps ive put together while on no sleep for the past 72 hours. as a result (look at me using exam terminology in my day to day life😋) there may be some typos or like whole sections that arent meant to be there so very sorry for that, i think it should be fine though

anyways have a great day/night, pls pls pls lmk what you think of it and PLEASE send me requests for absolutely anything🙏🙏🙏

warnings: none i think!!

masterlist

theodore nott masterlist

✧ ‧˚₊ ❆ ‧ ₊ ⊹˚✧ ‧˚₊ ❆ ‧ ₊ ⊹˚✧ ‧˚₊ ❆ ‧ ₊ ⊹˚✧ ‧˚₊ ❆ ‧ ₊ ⊹˚

“Here,” Theo hands me a sandwich he had managed to make with the little supplies we had left, “You need to eat something.”

I absent-mindedly take the plate from him and take a bite as he sits besides me on the tattered sofa and grabs the radio on the table, fiddling around with it.

“They’ll be okay darling,” he reassures for the millionth time, switching between stations, “I promise.”

I look to him with glassy eyes and lean my head on his shoulder as he kisses the top of my head.

He finally finds the right channel and holds my hand as I continue to eat the sandwich. We listen out for any news of our families or Harry, Ron and Hermione.

Theo and I had been moving around, camping here and there for a few months now. Lord knows where the other three had gotten to. Looking for them would be foolish and most likely unfruitful under these circumstances. Theo had been comforting me and making sure I sustained myself this whole time, I don’t really know what I’d’ve done without him.

“Theo, can I ask you something out of the blue?” I asked him as he lifted a cup of tea to his lips, raising his eyebrows and humming, “Do you still love me?” I questioned in a way that wasn’t accusatory, but rather of wonder.

His eyes glassed over slightly as he put his cup away and looked to me with a confused- almost offended expression. “Why would you ask that?”

“I don’t know we just haven’t been this close and alone since.. The Yule Ball and I wasn’t sure where we stood.” I shrugged, trying to read his thoughts.

“Tesoro,” he started “I look for you in every crowd, I search for your eyes in the nature around me. I savour and stretch any moment we have together. I endlessly shame myself for leaving you  that day, but it was a necessary evil. I couldn’t let you get hurt. Not even a little bit. I lett you patch me up after fights even when I don’t like people helping me. I talk to you about my mother and father and I take delight in all your accomplishments. I love the way you talk to me, I love the way you are and I am eternally grateful that you’ve forgiven me somehow.”

I look at him with teary eyes and big smile on my face as he recisprocates and grabs my face in his warm hands smiling at me, “Doubt whether stars are fire; or the sun moves across the sky; or truth itself be a liar; but never doubt whether I love you.”

I kiss him softly.

✧ ‧˚₊ ❆ ‧ ₊ ⊹˚✧ ‧˚₊ ❆ ‧ ₊ ⊹˚✧ ‧˚₊ ❆ ‧ ₊ ⊹˚✧ ‧˚₊ ❆ ‧ ₊ ⊹˚

“Hey I wanted to ask you,” I began as the smooth chatter of the radio fades into the background and he looks at me with his blue eyes, “Do you think we should go back to Grimmauld place? I mean it’d be a lot safer than us being in the middle of fucking nowhere, we’d be able to see everyone else and we’re running out of supplies anyways.”

Just as Theo opened his mouth to respond, a letter flew into the tent in front of us as Theo and I instinctively grabbed our wands before seeing the parchment.

Theo gives me a confused look as I say, “Who’d know we were here?” and grabs the envelope.

He opens it cautiously as I keep my wand pointed at it, just in case, and starts to read the contents aloud.

“Dearest Y/n, it pains me to have to invite you to this bloodbath or anywhere near it but I am doing so with The Order’s direct command. We are all either stationed or arriving to Hogwarts for the upcoming battle, you and Theodore should get here as soon as possible, and please darling at least for my sake, try and keep out of danger. I cannot say much at this point but you must get here quickly. Come to your common room and when you arrive, I’ll be there. Yours, Sirius.”

Theo and I stand in silence for a few minutes, rereading the letter again and again until Theo backs away and starts preparing a bag big enough for one. I break out of my gaze and collect some of my things I need to bring and pass them to Theo to put in the bag but all he does is give me a look of confusion.

“What’s this for?”

“My things?”

Something crosses Theo’s face before he hides it with a blank look, he returns to his packing and clears his throat before saying, “No, you need to stay here.”

“What?” I say, astounded at his words, “What do you mean stay here?! I’m coming with you, Sirius told both of us to come.”

He abruptly stopped packing and sighed, giving me a look of desperation and exhaustion. “Listen to me,” he begged, stepping closer and taking my hands in his slightly shaky ones, “You need to stay here. You’ve already been though too much and if Bellatrix sees you I have no idea what she’ll do but I will not risk your safety. Not ever. So please darling, please listen to me for once and stay here.”

“Theo that’s so unreasonable, what if I’m in-”

“If you are in danger,” he breaks me off “Go to Grimmauld Place and send me a patronus immediately. If you come to Hogwarts with me, I’d be worrying about you the entire time anyways, and you’d be targeted along with Harry.”

“What if you get hurt?” I ask, shoving my thoughts aside for a moment, lowering my voice at the thought.

He pauses, staring at my eyes, his swimming in hesitancy, “Darling I’d rather it be me than you.”

“Theo-” he kisses me suddenly before I can protest, he runs his hands though my hair and the other on the small of my back. He kisses me for the first time, and he kisses me as though its our last. 

He breaks away and looks at me with teary eyes,

“Sei il mio cuore, la mia vita, il mio unico e solo pensiero.”

You are my heart, my life, my one and only thought.

He looks lovingly into my eyes as though trying to memorise every detail about me before rolling is eyes, sighing and blinking tears away as he smiles and looks to the ceiling before bringing me to his chest and saying, “I know you.”

I look up at him with confusion as he holds me in his arms, his hands on either side of my waist as he looks down at me, “I know you, and I know that you’re going to come to Hogwarts anyway. No matter what I say.”

He smiles at me sadly as I snicker in his chest amongst tears, “But I swear if you hurt yourself,” he warns, resting his chin on the top of my head.

✧ ‧˚₊ ❆ ‧ ₊ ⊹˚✧ ‧˚₊ ❆ ‧ ₊ ⊹˚✧ ‧˚₊ ❆ ‧ ₊ ⊹˚✧ ‧˚₊ ❆ ‧ ₊ ⊹˚

LOLL that was so shit im so sorry...

anyways im so happy i FINALLY got this out like omggg it had been a MINUTE...

pls lmk what you thought and pls send me requests on what else to do‼️‼️‼️

[papabearbobbynash]

So i want to share some thoughts here, because I've been spiraling until now and I'm not sure I will ever stop until the episode airs. About the bathena fire, I really want to believe is the opening scene of the episode considering Bobby is in his LAFD hoodie sleeping on the couch in entrance hall (???) of their house, something that clearly feels displaced. The following would be we watch him wake up from said dream and then the 9-1-1 intro comes. Would connects the audience with latest episode and set to them that Bobby isn't well. However, the bts of Athena in her black leather jacket with a gun in her hand is preventing me from thinking it's only a nightmare, because i don't think they would have time to introduce a random call in the middle of the chaos of storylines happening in this season, unlest they are short calls) but also in those bts Athena doesn't not have her badge at all (different from the S4 snyper chase), it could be due not being necessary on the scene (close up) but it's an interesting point to analyse.

And this makes me think about the conveniently unwrapped loose of the cartel situation, because showing that to the audience feels like it's a narrative choice.

So i'm lead to believe it's either it's a nightmare and something else happens to Bobby that set Athena in rampage, or the fire is actually happening in bathena house and we are actually being mislead into thinking the fire was a preview mislead purposely, because of the previews misleading us last episode. when i said i was spiraling i mean it My current favorite theories i've seen around are:

1 - Bobby has a brain injury

To me this seems like a very plausible theory where Bobby has a brain injury from the car accident in the desert and since he didn't get check, he is only now showing signs. Also fits to how this season seems to be playing with the characters minds and mentality (Chimney hallucinating with Doug due a disease, Eddie daydreaming about Shannon after seeing Kim). A brain injury would explain Bobby having hallucinations (if it's the case with bathena house on fire) and such injury probably contribute to his mental state that clearly downgrading. However I didn't find a reason to why would Athena be on the same "mode" she was when trying to catch the sniper in S4.

2 - Bathena house is actually on fire

At first I though the writers would be evil and play a "Bobby accidentally set the house on fire when making cookies" pretty much throwing a callback to 7x08 and making an even better job triggering himself, but In the 7x08 previews, seems like the fire started on the yard's door, like something was thrown on it and went boom. So maybe there are some shenanigans with the cartel. Since Herman got hurt in the car accident and they stole Bobby's car (what is a plot tool to keep both Bobby and Amir in the desert, but it can also be used for later). Also the fact the accident happened after Herman told to the guys both Amir and Bobby were with him is conveniently fitting for a narrative like this. I mean the guy got on an accident and got arrested so maybe there is some revenge in Bobby's plot, but not as we thought. This would also explain why Athena seems to be in chasing mode (with that face lol she looks really not in the best mood). Because not even lord will save those man from Athena, if they're the reason Bobby ends in the hospital

Another thing that contributes to this theories is how she seems to be approaching Amir. Could be to help Bobby with his mental state for sure (i would prefer if it was the case) but the thing is the way she put it "I think my husband is in danger" i feel like she would do different if it was to reach out Amir about Bobby's mental state. It feels like she is voicing a thought and her best source of info regarding that is Amir, and he also might be a potential target (since y'know he shot that guy on the road).

3 - Coma!Bobby / injured on the big fire from bts

This one is quite short because we have so little details regarding what that fire is, but this is more an assumption based on the show history.

So we have that big fire, and Bobby seems to be working still in some bts, but his mentality is in a place where he believes he doesn't deserve to be alive at all. People are assuming this means he is well, but, guys, this man did bottle up his feelings for a long time, he surely might be trying doing now. Would also be lovely to the team perceive the strange behavior or their captain. Anyway theory here is that he ends up in coma after being hurt due saving someone in that fire, be a civilian or one of the team (for extra angst as Tim seems to be in the mood this season lol). And it happens the fire was criminal and then it explains why Athena is in chasing mode in some bts. Also explain other pictures such as the one of Bobby with the ladder behind, that could very well be from before the whole thing happens.

Anyway what you guys think, do y'all have any other theories around that seems fit the content we have? Particularly i think those theories doesn't explore much the healing of Bobby's current mentality, mostly because I believe (hope) this is going to be extended to S8, where Bobby's arc is to deconstruct that mentality he is rn.

[mariaofdoranelle]

Look at Us Now - ch. 22

Fic masterlist

I’m too much of a chicken to experience something remotely close to the game Rowaelin played this chapter, so I’m thanking Reddit for the lended knowledge lol. It’s very quick though I just always over-research

Warnings: brief mention of a cult, moderate alcohol intake

Words: 3,3k

They were gonna die in this hellhole, and Aelin was killing Rowan a second time when they met in the afterlife.

They’ve looked everywhere for clues, tried cracking the puzzles, turned every hint inside out. This was a dead end, and Rowan only had one job: pick the fucking lock.

Just one more lock to open this wooden box, and they’d be free.

Aelin’s heartbeat picked up when she heard voices and steps outside. They were coming back. The members of the cult were coming back.

She met Rowan’s agitated stare from across the room, but he didn’t make a fuss, just frowned at the lock and went back to work, his posture rigid.

They were absolutely going to die in this basement, and Aelin wasn’t a fan of losing.

Aelin eyed the pentagram drawn on the floor, a heavy weight on her chest. She needed to do it. There’s no other choice, she repeated to herself as she laid down on it, a sense of emptiness taking over.

"To thee, O mighty Game Master, I offer myself willingly. May my sacrifice be a beacon, lightning the way for those I leave behind in the form of one more hint.”

She heard Rowan rushing her way, but it was done. Her self-sacrifice would give him one more clue, and he’d win this game for them.

“Take me, Master,” she repeated.

“NO!” Rowan fell to his knees before her, his arms wrapped around her waist. “I can’t bear it, Aelin. I can’t.”

She stroked his cheek, nothing but resignation in her eyes. “I’m doing this for you, babe. I’ll see you on the other side.”

“Let me find another way. I will find another way, Aelin—“

“Do you want me to repeat the three hints?” The escape room’s employee said through the speakers, “I know there’s a pentagram on the floor, but you can’t make a human sacrifice in exchange for another one.”

Aelin sighed, her body relaxing against the floor. Her clothes must be dirty with chalk now, and she didn’t even want to leave the game, but it would be a necessary evil. Rowan held out a hand, helping her get up.

“How’s the lock-picking thing?”

Rowan narrowed his eyes at her, humorless. “Reverse-engineering,” he corrected.

She crossed her arms, silently asking him to just answer her already.

He sighed. “Not great.”

Aelin analyzed the box and the padlock locking it, then looked at the card reader at the door. One card. One card was all they needed to win this.

Without thinking, she violently shook the box between her hands.

“What’re you doing?” Rowan said.

“It’s a wooden box. Maybe there’s a crack the card could slip through.”

Rowan froze for a moment, blinking at the scene. Then he held out his hands, “Gimme that.”

“What?”

“It’s a wooden box,” he repeated, his tone low and astonished.

Next thing she knew, he was pressing all sides of the box against the card reader. When the door unlocked, Aelin’s laugh was nothing short of maniac.

“It’s a proximity card!” she shouted while jumping on him for a hug.

“It’s a proximity card,” he echoed, tugging her impossibly closer and kissing the side of her head.

Outside the escape room, the employee looked pissed. “The combination for the lock was on the back of the blinds.”

Rowan looked completely unaffected by the snarky Game Master. “You should put the card in a metal box if you don’t want people doing it my way.”

They were met by a cool breeze outside, the sidewalk damp in a way that indicated that it must’ve rained while they were playing inside. She turned to take a look at Rowan, and he was already studying her. Despite the cloudy weather, something about him—his features, the way he carried himself, or the frequency in which his lips tugged up today—had a lightness to it, something Aelin didn’t know she longed to see so badly.

She squeezed his hand and instead of going somewhere—doing what they were actually supposed to do on a sidewalk—he leaned down and pecked her lips. It was a quiet mid-afternoon anyway, they weren’t slowing anyone down.

He hummed contently in a way he sometimes did after tasting her, cupping her face as if she was something precious.

She chuckled and checked the time. “We don’t have to pick up Maisie for another hour, so…” Aelin looked around, checking if there was somewhere interesting nearby; they had time to explore, but not too much time. She pointed at a quiet pub, wooden-looking in an old-timey way. “Wanna go there?”

It was nice having the day for themselves, no work to attend after working the graveyard shift. And as much as family time was her favorite, it was refreshing to do some adult stuff other than sneaking out from the five-year-old to get some action with Rowan.

After they woke up late in the morning, they decided their first date should have all the things they wouldn’t be able to do with a kid. So far, it included a fancy lunch somewhere they couldn’t even pronounce, some place they wouldn’t trust Maisie to hold the glasses. Then they went to a horror-themed escape room—not exactly romantic, but why not?—and their last stop was this expensive-looking pub.

They’d be back to princesses and Paw Patrol and nursery rhymes within the hour, but Aelin was excited for that too, to hang out with Maisie again. She got too spoiled with this new thing with Rowan, sleeping at his house during his days of custody. Now that she saw her daughter every day, Aelin was struggling to understand how she spent two, three days in a row without her. One sleepover at Auntie Sellene’s and she already missed Maisie like crazy.

The empty pub’s lights were dim, and the vintage furniture mixed with jazz covers of modern songs made Aelin feel like she was in an old movie. Rowan led her to a booth by the wall, and he wouldn’t take his eyes off the cocktail section of the menu.

“You want a drink,” she pointed out.

He frowned at the menu. “They just have a distinct selection, that’s all.”

Biting back a laugh, she nudged him. “Go on. I’ll drive.”

“Just one.”

She smiled. “I know, Buzzard.”

He seemed reluctant at first, but soon enough he was nursing his one whisky cocktail with a bottle of water while Aelin drank some mango juice.

“I was searching something online these days…” Rowan said, fidgeting with his cup.

“What was it?”

“I asked when I should tell my own child that I’m dating their mother. It was the first time Google completely failed me.”

Aelin snorted at the thought of a distressed Rowan searching this on his phone. She can imagine why there aren’t many online articles about their specific situation.

“Did you have a rule?” Aelin asked. “For how long before you introduce someone to Maisie, I mean.”

“Did you?”

“Six months,” she answered, plain and simple. “I never got that far with someone after Maisie, but I’ve had a bit of a relationship disaster because of this, so having the rule beforehand establishes a boundary, you know? In case somebody feels like rushing things.”

Rowan only stared at her, lips flat, looking sullen. He does know that she wouldn’t apply to him the same rules she did to a stranger, right?

“You’re not just ‘somebody’, though,” she added, “You’re her dad. That changes things.”

“Was it Lieutenant Cortland?” Rowan asked, completely changing the point of the conversation. Of everything she said, this was what he focused on?

Aelin crossed her arms, her eyes narrowed at him. “How do you even know I dated him?”

The faint blush on his cheeks must be because of the whiskey. “You told Elide, who told Lorcan, who told me.”

“Yeah, I was talking about Sam,” she finally answered, her back resting against the cushioned seat. “Single parents abide by different rules when dating, and not everyone understands that. He wanted too much too soon, and I wasn’t ready.” There was also the issue that Aelin wasn’t exactly eager to get serious with Sam, but she didn’t feel like adding this part to the conversation.

Rowan nodded, looking down at his half-empty cocktail. He looked almost crestfallen, and Aelin was struggling to understand why.

“So… six months.” He sipped his drink. “You want to wait six months before we tell people?”

Aelin wanted to argue that, technically, they’ve already told people; their best friends fit into the ‘people’ category, but that’s not what he meant. Rowan wanted to be able to kiss her in front of Maisie, feel his parents’ pride when he told them the news, stop pretending they’re not a couple at Maisie’s school so those fucking moms would stop hitting on him.

Gods, she wanted that so bad. Especially the last part.

Still, Aelin and Rowan carried a lot of responsibility together. This little bubble with no questioning of their relationship or putting more expectations on them wouldn’t last forever, but she felt comfortable in it.

Besides, Aelin didn’t like to even entertain the thought of her relationship with Rowan not working out so soon, but if it didn’t… Well, she’d like to keep a last shred of dignity, if only to attend Yulemas at Uncle Orlon’s.

“Not six months,” she finally replied. “It’s not fair to use the same rules with you as I'd use with a stranger.” Aelin grimaced. “Three? I tried asking Yrene, but she wasn’t really helpful.” Therapists and their maddening non-answer answers.

“Three months.” Rowan slowly nodded, his eyes vacant. “One down, two more to go?”

“Sounds good,” Aelin said, and Rowan agreed, but he didn’t look like it sounded good. With a sigh, she rested her chin on his shoulder and held his hand. “We can talk this over again if you realize it doesn’t sound good to you, okay? We can talk anything over again if you feel like we should.”

His answer was a kiss to her forehead.

˜˜

“Three months?!” Lysandra shrieked after Aelin told her about that conversation, and her loud tone earned a few glares from the ladies at the table near them, not that she cared. Still, she lowered her voice to say, “Honey, if I had a man like that, Timmy would be calling him ‘daddy’ by the third month.

“I mean, you could.” Aelin wiggled her eyebrows before taking another bite of her chocolate cake. Rowan was currently with Maisie, Dorian and Fenrys at the adoption event, and she used this kid-free time to try on this new pastry shop with Lys.

The woman narrowed her eyes. “I could what?”

Aelin stirred her coffee, a Cheshire cat grin on her face. “Hunter told Asterin and Asterin told me that Wesley has a crush on you.” And this is completely reliable gossip because Hunter, Asterin’s husband, is close friends with him.

“Oh.”

She frowned. “You don’t sound excited.” Half of the single moms had a crush on Wesley, the widowed single dad. Aelin was part of the other half who didn’t really care about him, but could understand the appeal. And she heard her friend comment about how ‘fine’ Wesley looks more than once. “I thought you’d like to hear that.”

“Well, obviously, I’m flattered.” Lys took a bite of her lemon pie, her chin in her hand while she clamped her lips shut to hide a smile. “But I kind of just started seeing someone.”

Aelin gaped, surprised. “Tell me.”

She didn’t know who he or she was, but she was happy for her. Mala knows the amount of shit she took from Timmy’s dad, some entitled man from Adarlan she hated just from hearing a few stories here and there.

“So, remember that birthday party we went to last month?” Aelin nodded, so Lys continued, “You posted a picture with me. You tagged me in it.”

“As millennial Instagram etiquette requires me to do.”

“Your cousin Aedion followed me, and—“

“No!” Aelin poured all the disgust she felt into that one word, grimacing. “I mean, ew!”

Lys straightened her posture. “I get it if you're upset.”

“Why would I be upset? Because you’re too good for my idiot cousin?” Aelin schooled her face into neutrality and sighed, trying to look a little more serious so she could give Lys a proper response. “Look, it’s fine. Just spare me from the sordid details, and we’re good.”

“Alright.” She relaxed into her chair, looking pleased with that answer.

“So you two are a thing now?”

“Not exactly. We chatted a lot and he asked me out, but I didn’t want to go without checking with you first. But I also didn’t want to make a fuss because of one date, you know? So I went. It was amazing. I blamed it on the sangria for making me see the date through rose-colored glasses. So I went on another one, completely sober, just to make sure. It was so good that I almost begged him to fuck—“

“Fucking Mala!” Aelin’s face morphed back into disgust. “Okay, I get it, it’s new. Good luck with his pineapple pizza obsession.”

To be honest, she wasn’t all that repulsed, and she totally blamed it on Rowan. It was those near-daily nighttime orgasms and early morning cuddles—sometimes orgasms again—getting to her head. Aelin was so happy she felt delirious; and after all Aed and Lys have been through in the dating scene, if they managed to find that as well, she was happy for them.

Said reason for her incredible mood texted her, asking her to drop by his place to talk. As if she’d go anywhere else, being his day of Maisie’s custody. His tone almost made it feel like old times, but Aelin knew better. They had a child together, they always had something to talk about.

Knowing her daughter, the adoption fair must’ve been a total chaos. Aelin told Dorian it was a bad idea to bring Maisie along, but her friend insisted on playing the cool uncle.

She promised that she wouldn’t ask for a dog at the fair, but it was just to set expectations. Maisie’s a puppy-loving five-year-old, it’d be ridiculous to think that she wouldn’t throw a tantrum when he saw countless puppies for adoption.

On the way home, her chest constricted to think of a distressed Rowan trying to wrangle his daughter. He was probably exhausted.

Aelin parked her car outside. She grabbed her key to his house—which they recently traded for practicality—but before she could get to the porch, Rowan jumped out of Maisie’s bedroom window, his hulking figure swaying a little as he landed. He darted her way before she could enter the house.

She grasped his face with both hands and kissed him, and it lit her up from inside out, waking up the fluttery feeling that kept mostly dormant while she was away. “Was this a throwback?” She gave the window a pointed look. “Because if you’re trying to make me think of our first night together…”

When he jumped her bedroom window because she still lived with Uncle Orlon and Darrow. Aelin had no idea she’d think about that night to this day.

Rowan didn’t look overwhelmed by memories of great sexy times, though. The crease between his eyebrows was deeper than usual, his lips tightly pressed together. He took a glance at the window he came through.

“We need to talk.”

He looked serious. Way too serious. Aelin took a step back, his keys still on her hand while her pulse picked up. “Is Maisie alright?”

“Yes!” He grimaced, realizing that his secretiveness freaked her out. “She’s alright, but I did something…”

Aelin tuned him out, her mom instincts taking over. She hurried to his front door, as fast as her breathing, and opened it without listening to Rowan and whatever made his speech frantic. She’d check on Maisie, then she’d pay attention to him.

And that’s when she saw it.

It looked like a hurricane passed through his living room. His coffee table was a mess, full of papers and unopened shopping bags. Pet shop shopping bags. A small, pink carrier was left on the corner, close to some uncleaned dog poop.

He wouldn’t.

Rowan absolutely wouldn’t. Not without telling her first.

Aelin shot her most menacing look of disbelief at him but, to be fair, Rowan held his ground. Her fury never scared him but, right now, she wished otherwise.

The house was absolutely silent, and he didn’t fight her this time when she marched into Maisie’s bedroom.

When she opened the door, her daughter’s wide grin paused the boiling under her skin.

“Hi, Mommy,” she whisper-yelled. There was a small ball of golden fur asleep on the little girl’s arm, so she couldn’t get up to greet Aelin. It was obnoxiously cute. Like meeting a new mom at a maternity ward, but it’s little girls and puppies. “I’ll tell you when Fleetfoot’s awake, so we can play with her.”

Aelin kissed Maisie’s forehead. “I’d love that.” Then she left as quietly as she came in.

He fucking did it, Aelin realized, heat plummeting through her stiff muscles.

“Seriously, Rowan?” she whisper-yelled back in the living room.

He opened his mouth to speak but Aelin beat him to it.

“Are you kidding me right now?” she pointed at the direction of Maisie’s closed bedroom door. “You gave her a dog? And you didn’t think to consult her own mother first?”

“I’m sorry.” Rowan looked like a deer caught in the headlights. “I tried my best bribes—“

She plastered a fake smile on. “Let me guess, they didn’t work.”

Rowan put both hands up, a flicker of relief on his face, like Aelin was finally beginning to understand him. “Yes! And—“

Aelin could only imagine the scene Maisie must’ve caused. Still, she yelled, “And you have no authority over a five-year-old?”

He does. Aelin knows he does, as much as she knows she’s prone to say hurtful things when she’s mad.

“Come on, Aelin, the house is big. It’s staying on my place, I’m taking full financial and caregiving responsibilities—

Aelin tilted her head back, her angry laughter almost berserk. “You fucking bet you are!”

His entire posture deflated, and Rowan had a wounded expression intense enough she looked away.

“Can’t we just talk?” Rowan’s voice was soft in an uneasy way, a mix of hesitancy and vulnerability. “We could go back to Yrene’s pdfs and—“

“Not now.” Aelin crossed her arms. “I’m gonna rage alone at home until I feel empty, and then I’m gonna think about it. Once I’m done thinking about it without wanting to say mean things to you, I’ll let you know.”

“And if you don’t?” He scratched the back of his neck. “Stop feeling angry, I mean.”

She adjusted her purse around her shoulder. “Then I’ll see you in therapy.”

They were still going, though their sessions have been rather uneventful after they got together. Maybe Yrene knew something like this would blow up sometime. Whatever. Aelin’s not the shrink here.

Rowan nodded without meeting her eye, then let her go.

She didn’t even get her car, needing the small trek to her house. Way too small for all the thinking she needed to do, actually.

The chilly wind bit into her bones, and Aelin soon regretted the thin shirt she wore. The street was deserted, the ruffle of the sidewalk trees being the background noise to her thoughts.

Fuck, that dog is cute. No matter how much Aelin raged, how petty she acted, she knew how this would end.

Besides, it wasn’t about the dog. Deep down, Aelin knew why she was upset.

They got together, and when they were starting to feel like an united front, Rowan committed to a decade-long life decision without her. What was up with that?

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[naavispider]

Actually had a prompt idea when I saw your post!

While they’re out in the jungle, Quaritch eats the wrong plant and gets violently Ill/nauseous. The other Recoms appoint spider to take care of him until he recovers (since he knows the local illnesses and cures best). Quaritch keeps insisting he’s fine, even though he keels over when he tries to stand, much to Spider’s concern/amusement…

"Hell no."

"This is an order."

"I said no, butthead!" Spider stood firm, throwing his arms across his chest as he glared at Wainfleet. Quaritch was currently twenty feet away, bent double being sick in a bush. Spider had been quite enjoying his fake-father's sudden illness, until the squad's second in command had realised that Spider was the only one with knowledge of how to cure him.

Wainfleet stared down hard at Spider, while the rest of the squad stood around either the Colonel or the camp. The squad's medic - Ja, Spider thought his name was - was rummaging through a pack, presumably for medical supplies.

They knew as well as Spider did that Quaritch had ingested something poisonous, and now, after several hours of watching their Colonel become undone by the sickness, they were growing frustrated. Frustrated at the Colonel's continual deterioration, and frustrated at the fact that Spider could probably help.

Which he could.

But he'd be damned if he was gonna tell them that.

“Think you're pretty smart, huh?" Wainfleet chastised, as Ja took Quaritch some kind of fluid.

Spider glared back, saying nothing.

Wainfleet looked around for a second, clearly thinking hard. He must have come to a decision, for he turned back to face Spider with a resigned look on his ugly face. He raised his rifle and pointed it at Spider. "Tell us how to cure him."

Spider scoffed. The gun was pointing right at him, and he knew by now how thirsty for blood Wainfleet could be, but he wouldn't let his fear show. "You won't shoot me!"

Wainfleet took a step closer. "Try me."

Spider eyed the barrel of the AR. It was pointing directly at his head, and he knew Wainfleet was perfectly capable of emptying the ammunition straight into his brain. He refocused his gaze on the recom holding the gun.

He exhaled, hating himself. "He's inhaled burnfiber pollen. It's toxic. He needs a dapophet leaf."

Wainfleet's face spread slowly into an evil grin. "There we go. Not so hard, was it?"

"You little shit," Lopez shouted. "You knew how to fix him the whole damn time!"

Spider glowered in his direction. Fike input the name of the necessary fern on his tablet, bringing up reference photos and beginning to probe for the specimen nearby. Zdog and Mansk joined the search while Wainfleet went over to converse with Ja and Quaritch.

Spider threw himself down on a log, watching the recom squad fan out. He hated that his resolve had broken so easily. As soon as he'd seen Quaritch coughing in the pollen, he'd vowed to not give away the easy fix that could have righted him within minutes. His hope had been that Quaritch would fall too sick to continue, forcing the squad to abandon their mission. Besides, Quaritch deserved it through and through.

He'd lasted a few hours, and only cracked when he'd had a gun shoved in his face, so he couldn't be too hard on himself. He looked over at the struggling Colonel, who was now sat with his clammy head leaning against a tree trunk, eyes closed.

Spider huffed amusedly. Such a gigantic recom, covered in weapons and ammo, yet brought down by a simple powder and his own ignorance. Eywa had a good sense of humour.

Quaritch retched again, and Ja had to doge out of the way as the Colonel vomited for what must have been the tenth time that hour. Behind them Lopez, Mansk, Zdog, Fike and Wainfleet were all scouring the area for the plant that would end his suffering.

Spider looked down, trying to hide his smirk. He readjusted his position on the log, carding his hands through the short, leafy green dapophet leaf that grew out from soil beneath him. At this rate, the recoms would kill themselves via their own stupidity, and all Spider would have to do is sit back and watch.