#ALSO you cannot look me in the eyes and tell me he wouldn’t be interested in forensics. on god

[cathnospam]

Continuing from This Drabble about you and your BF Katsuki answering sex questions about each other<3

Black Female Reader x Katsuki Bakugo , mentions of panty stealer bakugo, slight smut???

“Okay uh, how do you rate your partners kisses 1-10.”

“9”

“9?! Muthafucka I taught you how to kiss—-“

“You always push back first like you can’t handle it, it pisses me off.”

“I like breathing.”

“So.”

Rolling your eyes, “I was ganna say 12/10, but since you’re being a bitch—“

“So, 12/10 got it. Next.”

“Does your partner have any dirty secrets?…oooh.—-”

“M’going to bed.” Bakugo immediately gets up to take off his tank top seeing as he was going to sleep in your dorm tonight, but as the shirt clung to his semi flexing biceps you grab him, “No, y/n.”

“Oh c’mon boy are the secrets THAT bad?! I’ll tell you mine at least—-fuck.” He considers for a moment. Curiosity weighing heavier than his will to sleep at the moment, “You ass.”

“What did you call me—“

“I think…” You place two fingers on his soft lips, “One secret is that……….one time, when you were out on work study you left your black tank top in my room….and….i missed you….and i was ovulating so i….put on your tank top and ….played…with myself.”

The air was thick, it’s as if Bakugo took it as he grew closer to you while speaking, there wasn’t much to make him speechless but dammit that’s a new one.

Fuck. That’s actually more sexier than he wants to admit right now. He crossed his legs, hoping a tent won’t form in his grey sweats and noticed your eyes wandering at every part of your room but his eyes.

“I…moaned your name too.”

“You…you damn….pervert fuck—-“ His voice almost broke into a groan, looking away also embarrassed you knew he didn’t mean it in a malicious way from how he looked back at you, Adam’s Apple bobbing up and down, “Stop acting fucking weird. You did it. Who cares. As long as it was MY name you moaned.”

“Of course dumbass. I only want you…”

Bakugo felt his ears burning, already annoyed he was flustered once he groaned, “I took your panties once.”

“What?”

“Why the hell would you wear that lacy frilly shit during class in that short ass skirt? It’s like you want those idiots to see you.”

“That CANNOT be the reason—“

“IT IS. If you’re ganna wear ‘em wear them IN OUR dorms you dumbass.”

“…well.”

“Well what.” He pouts.”

“Well where the fuck are they I like wearing them after I get waxed.”

Bakugo hesitates, not wanting to actually answer mainly because he doesn’t just have ONE pair of panties. But a few. “I’ll show you later.”

“Tch.” You mock his sounds, “Ever use ‘em to masturbate?”

“Shut the fuck up.”

You giggle, you can only imagine what his perverted ass has done with them. And the last time you seen them was in your hamper so you assumed they got lost somewhere in the laundry. Honestly it’s kinda….interesting he’s telling you this.

“Does your partner have any no’s during?”

“I’m not calling you a bitch.”

“Aw.” You sarcastically sigh, “Why.”

“Why the hell would I call you out your name—“

“You called me your slut yesterday.”

“…Slip of the tongue.” He crosses his arms like a child, making you giggle. “Sorry.”

“No need to apologize it was hot.” You say adjusting yourself closer to him, you could actually feel the heat from his body rise as you kept speaking, “It’s fine. Degrading isn’t something I’d need from you anyway.”

“I don’t get that kink, who the hell likes to be disrespected by someone they…are y’know with.”

You shrug, you understand why certain people have kinks, but it’s hard to put in words for someone like Katsuki. He’s a very simple man when it comes to relationships. Almost traditional and old fashion which is what charmed you the most about him. He never even called you a bitch before in any sense nor has he ever told you anything that would genuinely hurt your feelings, “Some people are just into that.” You concluded, your boyfriend looks at you with an unresolved look, but accepts it anyway. Weirdos.

“I wouldn’t hit you either. Like in the face or anything. Only on the ass”

“Good because my face is too pretty for that.” Katsuki smirks at you, you’re absolutely right you’re too pretty for him to hit.

“Nobody else.”

“Hm?”

“…Nobody else is allowed to join us.”

Squinting for a moment his statement clicks , “OH! No threesomes and stuff. Oh yeah of course not. If I see you with any other girl I’ll kill you and her.”

Katsuki swallowed his laughter, masking it with a clearing of his throat, your eyes not tearing from his making sure he knew you were serious. You don’t scare him typically, but he knew the moments when you genuinely had an aura about you that screamed “Fucking try to play with me.” And this was one of those moments. “You look at me like I didn’t just fucking say —“

“I know.” Your voice cracked a little trying to cover up the jealous tone you were about to spew out. Just the thought of Katsuki touching another girl had you upset.

Little did you know it was the same for him with you.

“Anything else?”

“I won’t do race or age play.”

“What the hell…?—-“

“Well I am black so obviously no and then you have age play which is just a cute way of saying you like children—-“

“WHAT?”

You pause to cover up his loud mouth with your small hands, “SSSHH! Before we get in trouble again!…anyway moving on!”

Not wanting to argue, he takes your laptop and smacks your hand away, “What is something you DONT like that your partner does during sex.”

“Take my laptop away from me.”

He strikes you and look, he doesn’t say anything verbally but he says “quit fucking around” with his eyes, admitting defeat that he won’t give you back your laptop you sit back and think for a moment.

“Eh…Oh! I don’t like that you won’t let me ride you.”

Damn it.

He had a feeling you’d say that too. Bakugo scratches the back of his neck roughly while letting out a groan. Throwing his head back a little he side eyes you, “Why do you wanna be on top so bad. I’m the man I should—“

“It’s not even about dominating you or anything you can still fuck me from below, ‘Suki. You’ll still have all the power.”

Bakugo has seen porn videos where the guy fucks up into the girl. Even some where the man is straight up holding the girl up and pumps her full. It’s so erotic he couldn’t even finish the video, but even though he enjoys vanilla sex, he is quite certain riding him isn’t too far off from what he likes.

Besides he loves having your tits bounce in his face and feeling your nipples practically bounce into his mouth makes up of great reason.

“…Fine. But when I’M ready.”

“Yaaaayy mkay….now what is something YOU don’t like about me.”

“You’re ganna be pissed.”

Your smiles immediately transforms into a straighten line, “Uh oh.”

“I don’t …like when you cum too fast.”

It was a bit embarrassing yet confusing to hear. Clearly that means he’s doing a good job so why —

“Because I want to keep fucking you.” Bakugo speaks up as if he read your inner thoughts, all you could do was blink a few times at him, and he continued more, “Even though I don’t cum until after you do which isn’t that long, sometimes I wanna keep going. I’ve timed it, the moment I start fucking you sex only last about 6-8 minutes.”

“That’s average. Some people are 2-3 minutes.” You spoke with an unimpressed and deadpanned voice mostly because this sounded ludicrous to you and Bakugo seen it in your expression causing him to sigh in annoyance. “Shouldn’t your ego be filled knowing you make me cum fast?”

“Yeah, but —-fuck sue me for wanting more. And don’t say some shit like I’m a nympho or some shit because that’s fucking disgusting and those freaks are usually only in a relationship to fuck—-“

“OKAY OKAY CALM DOWN, BOY!” His voice kept getting louder and louder and you refused to have another write up because you have him in your dorm past curfew…again. “I get it though.”

“You want to be overstimulated.”

What? Bakugo scrunched yo his eyebrows. He never heard that term before used when talking about sex.

“Overstimulated means …well… showing you is actually better than telling you.”

In an instant Bakugo’s furrowed eyebrows soften, his gaze transitioned from confused to darker and subtly lustful. You felt the vibe of the room change so quickly you practically had to clear your throat to make him focus again.

“So the next question…”

“Nah, show me.” He firmly shuts your computer and places it on your nightstand. Arms still crossed, “Show me what that word means or should I look up a video and figure it out myself.”

“….y’can.”

It wasn’t ideal for your evening to end like this with him, but it’s just you and your slightly horny boyfriend watching porn videos.

What’s the worse that can happen?

[ectoplasmer]

recent brainrot. private investigator ryou

[janeyseymour]

Love Thy Neighbor- pt 10

Part 1. Part 2. Part 3. Part 4. Part 5. Part 6. Part 7. Part 8. Part 9.

Summary: With your ex-husband in town, this is sure to be interesting.

WC: ~2.4k

I’m in Philly this weekend. We should talk.

The good mood that you were in from waking up in your girlfriend’s arms sours at that text, and she notices.

“Hey,” she whispers as she kisses your temple, also rolling out of bed. “You’re upset.”

“I’m not,” you shrug. “I’m fine. Just… thinking.”

“About?”

“It doesn’t matter,” you sigh. “I should probably go check on El. You comin’?”

The redhead nods and follows you into Ellie’s room, where she’s playing on the floor with a few of her dolls.

“Momma! Mel!” she grins up at the two of you. Immediately, she’s launching herself at you, and if either her or Melissa notice the way that you cling to your daughter only a bit desperately they don’t say anything. You lift your little girl onto your hip and hold her close, smoothing down her wild locks and kissing her temple. Melissa follows suit, and she grins when Ellie kisses her cheek back.

“Breakfast?” your daughter looks to your girlfriend with those sweet eyes of hers.

“Obviously,” Melissa chuckles. “And what does the princess want?”

“Chocolate chip pancakes!” Ellie cheers. When you give her a look, she quickly adds on a, “Pretty please!”

The three of you head for the kitchen, and while your daughter and your girlfriend mix the batter together and start heating up the griddle, you stare at your phone contemplating what you should do.

“Penny for your thoughts, hun?” Melissa breaks your trance as she sets a plate full of the breakfast food in front of you. Ellie comes bouncing over with the butter and syrup a few short moments later.

“We can talk later,” you tell her softly. “When we take El to the park.”

Once you finally get Ellie ready for the park and get yourself ready, you head out. Melissa drives the two of you there, and as soon as she can, Ellie is running for the swings. You and your girlfriend walk hand in hand to find a park bench to sit on and keep an eye on your little girl.

“So, what has my girl down?” the redhead asks you once she’s sure your daughter can’t hear her.

“Jared texted me. Said he’s in Philly, and we should talk.”

Her face flickers through a few different emotions before settling on a neutral face. “And how do you feel about that?”

“Honestly? Like I never want to see him again, but I also have El to think about. He is still her father.”

“And he gave up his parental rights,” she reminds you. “Willingly, and without hesitation.”

“I know, I know,” you sigh as you set your head on her shoulder. “But if he wants to reach out in order to stay in Ellie’s life, I cannot deprive my child of her father.”

“You can,” she tells you.

“But it wouldn’t be right… especially because El… she loved her Daddy before everything got messy.”

“It’s up to you, hun,” your girlfriend says. “But I would be cautious.”

“I know, I know,” you mutter.

Ellie has a blast at the park like she always does, but after about an hour she’s running back to you with rosy cheeks and telling you she’s sleepy. Melissa carries her back to the car, and in the short ten minute drive back to the apartment complex, she falls asleep in her carseat clutching one of the stuffed animals Melissa keeps in her car now. You lift her out of her carseat and hold her tightly as you make your way up to your apartment. You settle on the couch with her, still in your arms while your girlfriend heads for the kitchen.

“Are you good if I make eggplant parm?” she calls softly.

“That sounds great,” you sigh out.

As she cooks dinner, humming quietly to herself, you continue to torture yourself with the pros and cons of texting Jared back. Ultimately, you tell him that if he’s serious, you can meet him for coffee tomorrow- preferably around the time when Melissa will be going to mass.

His response is almost an immediate one. So the two of you set a time and a place, and you know that come tomorrow morning, you’re going to have to make an excuse to your girlfriend as to why you can’t join her for the church service tomorrow.

Ellie stays asleep up until Melissa calls in that dinner is ready. She clings to the redhead through dinner, claiming that she’s warmer than you are. Despite Melissa trying to get her to stay with you (she knows you need Ellie to keep you grounded right now), your daughter insists on staying in her lap.

Your routine through the end of the night goes on as usual, and when you and Melissa finally lay down for bed, you have an awful pit in your stomach as you prepare to lie to her.

“I don’t know what’s happening,” you mumble with your head on her chest. “But I’m not feeling too great right now.”

“Oh?” Melissa looks at you. “What’s goin’ on?”

“Just… cramps. Probably PMS.”

She’s immediately out of bed and grabbing some ibuprofen and the heating pad, and you feel even more guilty at your lie. Melissa is so willing to take care of you and love you through everything.

You’re lulled to sleep with the extra warmth provided by the heat on your abdomen as well as your girlfriend gently combing her fingers through your hair and her soft humming.

The next morning, you wake up and you wish that you were lying to Melissa when you said that your cramps were awful- they really are. But you also know that this is going to be the perfect way to get out of going to the long church service with her, and you know she’ll take Ellie with her to let you ‘rest’.

She does, and you stay in bed until they both head out. And then you run around like a maniac trying to make yourself look presentable to meet your ex-husband. 

You arrive at the coffee shop you agreed to meet at, and he’s already sitting with two cups in front of him. You drop into the seat across from his, and he pushes one of the cups in your direction.

“Hey!” he smiles at you, and it’s that damned charming smile that made you fall for him in the first place. 

You stare at him for a few minutes in a steely silence. Why did you come here? “What do you want?” is all you ask him as you take a sip of the coffee in hopes of it soothing your nerves. You cradle your abdomen in hopes that your cramps begin to subside soon.

“Damn,” he chuckles. “I come all the way out here to meet you, and that’s the greeting I get?”

“I didn’t ask you to. What do you want?” you ask him again.

He looks a bit stunned that this is the approach you’ve decided to take with him. He’s so used to you being meek and mild, warm and gentle. “I just wanted to catch up.”

“I’m doing just fine out here, with my daughter,” you say shortly.

His eyes go soft. “How is Ellie?”

“She’s fine.”

“C’mon, Y/N,” your ex sighs. “Listen, I’m sorry about everything that happened.”

“You should be,” you laugh bitterly. “You broke apart our family, and for what? To go fuck someone newer and younger? Tighter?” you quote back one of his texts to Jen that you saw after you caught him in bed with her. 

“Y/N, I was an idiot,” he tells you. You nod with a smirk. “I came out here to tell you that I want us to get back together.”

“Not a chance in hell,” you snort.

“Then at least let me see Ellie,” he tries. “C’mon. You owe me that.”

“I don’t owe you shit,” you tell him. “You cheated on me, and then signed away your parental rights without hesitation. And I’m still waiting for all of your child support money. So, I see it that if I don’t have the money in my hand by the end of this meeting-”

“Where is Ellie?” he asks quietly. “I was hoping she would be with you.”

“With our neighbor,” you say. “Not that it’s any of your business.”

“You left her with your neighbor?” he asks you incredulously.

You nod. “I did. I trust Melissa- my girlfriend.”

He raises both of his eyebrows at that reveal. “Moved on so quick?”

“You moved on before you even took your ring off, so don’t give me any fucking shit, Jared,” you hiss out. “Babysitter fucker.”

“I didn’t realize you still swung that way. I thought I fucked the gay out of you,” he smirks.

“Oh, eat shit,” you stand from your place and throw your hot coffee in his face. “Don’t bother getting in touch unless it’s to fork over the child support. If I don’t have it by the end of the month, I will be getting a lawyer.”

You head out to leave the shop, and who do you run into on your way out the door but Melissa and Ellie. Your girlfriend gives you quite the questioning look, considering you were sick in bed an hour ago. 

“Momma!” your little girl shouts as she slams into your body to hug you.

You groan softly at the contact, but lift her into your arms and hold her tightly, praying she doesn’t see her father. Melissa kisses you at the same time that Ellie gasps, points, and shouts, “Daddy!”

You close your eyes and give a face of pure defeat. You were just caught.

“Ellie girl!” your ex-husband replies with the same amount of enthusiasm, and your daughter is wiggling her way out of your arms to run over to her father. He scoops her up into the biggest hug, despite the fact that he’s still covered in your beverage.

“You came here to meet Jared?” Melissa whispers as she eyes the man.

You nod sheepishly before attempting to make your way over to the two of them. You have to stop about halfway there, gasping in pain as your stomach twists in knots. Your girlfriend follows, an arm wrapped around you protectively.

“Daddy, you’re all wet!” Ellie giggles.

“You know Daddy,” he chuckles in the easy way that he used to with her. “Clumsy, clumsy.”

“Silly Daddy,” your little girl playfully rolls her eyes and sighs dramatically.

“How are you, little girl?”

Your daughter grins as she launches into her stories. “I love it here! I love school, and Momma and I go to the park all the time with Miss Mel like we are today!” she points to Melissa. “That’s Miss Mel, and I love her. She’s my favoritest person in the whole wide world!”

You have to bite back a snort when you see the hurt expression on his face, and you beam when you see your girlfriend’s proud look. You don’t even care that you aren’t your daughter’s favorite person right now because at least it isn’t him. 

“And Miss Ellie’s favorite person in the world brought her down here to pick up some coffee and doughnuts for being such a good little girl at church today,” Melissa cuts in. “Which I think we should do, what do you think El?”

The little girl absolutely beams as she remembers why they’re here, and she runs for the redhead. 

They head off towards the counter, and your eyes turn to stone again as you face your ex-husband. 

“I don’t know what kind of game you’re trying to play here, but quit it. You’re not getting her back,” you hiss. You turn on your heel and make your way up to where your girlfriend and daughter are ordering.

“I already ordered your coffee,” Melissa tells you with a kiss to the temple. She readjusts Ellie so she can grab her wallet from her pocket, but before she can insert the card, Jared is there handing over some money.

“I got this one,” he says cooly. “For my little girl, and my wife.”

There’s a fire in Melissa’s eyes, and before she can get anything out, Ellie pipes up. “You and Momma aren’t married anymore!”

Your mouth, along with Melissa’s and Jared’s, form into shocked faces. Your little girl is right.

“But thanks for breakfast anyway,” you laugh in his face. “Bye.”

You hope that he’ll just leave in anger, but he doesn’t. Instead, he turns his eyes even softer and his voice even smoother. “Well, I was hoping that I could maybe tag along to the park to spend some time with my little girl who I’ve missed so much.”

Fuck. Now he’s using Ellie against you, and you know your daughter will beg you to let him come.

“I missed you too, Daddy,” your daughter whispers softly, but she keeps her hold on Melissa.

“Not today, sweetheart,” the redhead says quietly as she runs a hand through your daughter’s hair. “Your momma isn’t feeling super well, so today is going to be an easy day.”

You nod along.

“Maybe another day this week then,” he shrugs. He isn’t giving up. “I’m here all week for a work conference.” With that, he kisses Ellie’s head, kisses your own, and then heads out.

A tense silence washes over Melissa and you as you wait for your coffees to finish being prepared. Ellie just hums to herself softly as she lays her head down on the redhead’s shoulder and fiddles with the ends of your girlfriend’s hair.

Your names are called, you grab the coffees, and make your way out to her car- you silently thank God that you won’t have to take the Septa now.

No words are spoken between you and your girlfriend for the entirety of the drive home, and when you make your way to your apartment, she turns for her own door.

“You aren’t coming in?” you ask quietly, and you hate the way that your voice breaks.

“I need ten minutes,” she says scarily calmly. “To change and collect myself.”

Fuck. She’s mad. Deciding that it’s best to give her the ten minutes she’s requested, you unlock your own front door and take Ellie to the kitchen table to enjoy her breakfast.

Tags (and let me know if you want to be included!): @schemmentis @thesapphictimelady @marvel210 @itisdoctortoyousir @morgana-larkin @thesamesweetie @doesthatsuggestanythingtoyou @marvels--slut @gwennybriggs @megamultifandomtrashposts @nothere1111 @lemz378 @http-sam @melissaschemmentisbranzino @imaginesmultifandoms @sexysapphicshopowner @lilfartbox1 @maybe-a-humanbean @imlike-so-gaydude

[fatesundress]

⭑ observations. tom riddle x reader

part ii here.

summary. you've been going to hogwarts for four months, and find this whole school-wide obsession with tom riddle a little bit ridiculous, and a little bit contrived. surely not all the rumours are true...

tags. smut (minors dni -_-), fem anatomy, fingering, reader who is soooo in denial, trying to worm into tom's brain like a parasite and failing miserably (me projecting), i think reader is implied to either be short or tom is implied to be tall, ooc tom because i am so far from the belief that he would ever just spontaneously hook up with someone but… it is what it is.

note. this is my first post so support is much appreciated!! god forgive me, i've never written smut in my life, and it's safe to assume any smut i write within hogwarts is a university au — these people are all 18+ tyvm. also, i tried my best to make reader fairly neutral, but it's late, and if i've fumbled over some description bc i'm sleepy i shall fix it in the morning ♡

word count. 5.1k

Your first observation is that nobody has Tom Riddle quite right.

He’s beautiful, yes (obvious, repetitive, shallow), and undeniably intelligent (being paired with him in Potions has proved that in a matter of weeks), untouchable (this one is a bit interesting), and, above all, unusual. The latter you like the most. It makes you feel unabashedly exceptional in all the very unexceptional gossip about him. No one ever uses that word to describe him. A rarity of charisma and charm — austere, refined, and clinically polite. Unusual has a negative curve to it that most people don’t attach to the elegant litheness of Tom Riddle, but your observations cannot be stated without the word.

It’s prompted and peddled by Selwyn’s much-too-enthusiastic vehemence in the wake of your first.

You narrow your eyes at her and say it again, no less certain than the first time. “Tom Riddle has not had sex with half the school.”

It’s a bit of a jump. Some necessary context is removed.

Riddle, once more, rarity of charisma and charm and austere blah blah blah, has been rumoured since you arrived this year from your last school to be some silent conqueror, oh-so nimble with his hands and nimbler even with his other appendages, and you — you’ve only been here four months and it’s laughable how many people believe it.

Backtrack to untouchable (this one everyone agrees is a primary characteristic of Tom Riddle, there’s no debate there) and the reason you find it interesting. Untouchable doesn’t exactly work if everyone in the bloody castle has been touching him this whole time. And it’s not as if he could hide it, not as if people wouldn’t be giddy to tell their friends of their exploits with the beautiful, revered Head Boy. And such exploits would be whispers among the halls in a matter of hours. You’ve considered this, with almost scientific determination, and it’s impossible. Tom studies all day, and when he isn’t studying he’s corralling Slytherin first-years away from forbidden corridors, attending to Dippet’s newest errand, escorting third-years to Hogsmeade, dining with the Slug Club, and — point is, someone would have noticed by now if he was disappearing into broom closets with a new lay every weekend.

But Selwyn shakes her head, because this rumour is such an integral part of Tom’s allure. He is, somehow, both untouchable and a master at touch. Distant until he isn’t, and then he can break you apart with practised, perfect hands. It’s all very mythical.

“Look,” she says, “maybe if I’d only been here four months, I’d think so too, but everyone else knows—”

“Maybe it’s because I’ve only been here four months that I have the objectivity to recognize how ridiculous you all are. He’s not a god, Selwyn, he’s a scholar, and an obsessed one at that — has it ever actually occurred to you he might not have had sex at all?”

This, now, is sacrilege. 

Selwyn gapes at you, and you shake your head in surrender before you burst out laughing at how offended she looks. “Fine, whatever. Consider the matter dropped. I give up.”

You don’t really give up. It’s very fun research.

Your second observation is that unusual is not an apt enough word for Tom, and maybe you don’t possess the vocabulary to think of one that is.

You’re in the Restricted Section. This is unrelated to your Tom research, and perfectly sanctioned, with a key granted by the librarian who you feel sorry to admit you have not remembered the name of, and the library, by all means, is still open. It’s a late Thursday night, but not past curfew. You’re there with a study partner you rather wish you weren’t — Gregory Godefrey, Gryffindor (the alliteration is nauseating), and the only half-decent fellow in your Ancient Runes class, but not especially bright. You feel more like his tutor than his partner. In short, the regular books on the topic you’re writing your end-of-term essay on are slim pickings, and thus — Restricted Section.

“So,” you say, “the scriptures might look the same, but they’re written in vastly different time periods, so the meaning has changed. If you were to charge a spell with one of Ashe’s runes now, there’s almost no doubt you’d get a completely different result.”

“I don’t get it,” Godefrey grumbles sleepily into his sleeve. “How’s anyone meant to use runes if they can just change like that?”

You sigh, shaking your head. “Any magic can change, Godefrey. Half of the stuff we learn is based on intention and skill. Uagadou barely even uses wands — all of this is arbitrary.”

“My head hurts.”

“Then… just… just go to bed. I’ll finish up here and we’ll try again on the weekend.”

He grins with heavy eyes, lugging his bag over his shoulder and leaving you a packet of sherbet lemons you bitterly wish he’d pulled out sooner. “Wicked — you’re the best. See’ya.”

“See you…” you mumble, unwrapping one and popping it in your mouth.

You don’t stay for long, twirling the key to the Restricted Section around your finger as you tuck your books back into their shelves.

“It’s ten past curfew,” says a voice from behind you, all cool, measured authority, and you nearly collapse.

You stare up from where you’re grabbing onto your knees for balance, your heart halfway out of your chest.

Tom Riddle is there, his Head Boy badge somehow still glittering in the dim light of the library, and it’s only by the half-smile quirking at his lips that you can detect his words weren’t some sort of threat.

“Right, thanks.” You gather your breath. “I was just leaving.”

“Pity about Godefrey.”

You blink. Having worked with Tom in Potions since September, you’ve become perfectly adjusted to speaking to him… only about Potions. He indulges in polite small talk, he smiles freely, but your distance from him is the same as it is with everyone else, if only for the fact that, you suppose, you aren’t actively pursuing anything closer.

Oh. That is interesting — would he be so easily intrigued? It’s a bit cliché, but you suppose he is too.

You’re making an awful lot of assumptions from the words ‘pity about Godefrey,’ and then, you don’t actually have a damn clue what Tom could mean by that.

“Sorry?” you ask.

“Godefrey,” he repeats. “I assume you’re being made to tutor him.”

Right. He must have seen him on his way here. That would make sense.

“No, actually. It’s entirely voluntary — he’s my study partner for Ancient Runes.”

His chin lifts in some nearly imperceptible way, smiling still, and you know he’s a polished thing, an unusual thing, but it reads as an especially fake smile then. “Ah.”

… Oooookay?

“Well —” you start, a mechanical smile of your own forming — “curfew, then.”

The charm fixes onto his face like a damn ornament. You want to flick it away with your finger. “Of course. I’ll see you in Potions?”

You nod, leaving the key behind the librarian’s desk as you slink awkwardly away. Into the corridor. Off to bed. Yet another note to scrawl on the enigma of Tom Riddle.

You see him again first thing in the morning. You’re yawning into the archway of Slughorn’s stuffy classroom, eager to dump your bag over your table and empty the many contents necessary for today’s lesson. 

There’s one girl, the oldest of the Lestranges, who glares daggers into the back of your head every class. Tom is, as always, nonplussed, asking you about your morning as you both prepare your phials and ingredients. You can’t help but shake your head at him this once, a bemused smile on your lips as you glance between him and the Lestrange girl.

“Have I offended her somehow, or is it just that I’m paired with you?”

He laughs under his breath. “I daresay that is the offense.”

You can’t help it. You’re mumbling to yourself in amazement at the bizarre, borderline cultish devotion this school has to Tom Riddle. “Unattainable commodity that you are, Riddle…”

“Well," he begins, his smile small but his voice amused, “I hope you don’t think of me as quite that far outside your grasp."

You freeze.

Are you — have you missed something? Has your casual (really, very casual and not at all unwarranted or peculiar) research for the sake of dispelling Selwyn’s obsession skewed your memory of Tom? Has he always said things like this to you? Have you always read into them like this?

One of his eyebrows rises, and it might be his notorious flattery — but if so, he makes it sound like an obvious truth, and you stammer over the jar of foxglove in your hand. Then you look away, unscrew it, do well not to put too much weight on his words.

“Hm. I have no need for you to be within it, Riddle." You say it with all nonchalance you can muster. To spit it at him in some aggressive dismissal would be to treat it like a big thing. 

It isn’t a big thing. He’s talking to you like he talks to everyone else.

But you catch the barest flicker of disappointment on his face, a flash of something that might even be annoyance. Then, though, it’s gone, and he’s back to that same unshakable, confident smirk.

As the lesson proceeds,  he’s once again the sharpest thing in the room.

You watch for him in the library that weekend, a bit distracted while you and Godefrey study. Without your guidance, there isn’t much studying occurring at all. Godefrey is sort of skimming the pages of a textbook, yawning, as always, like he’s never had a good night’s sleep in his life, and you’re suckling sherbert lemons until the roof of your mouth feels raw.

“What was it you said about Calarook’s Method?”

Your eyes snap from the empty doorway to Godefrey’s face. “Huh?”

“Calarook’s Method.”

“Oh.” You sink boredly into your seat, twirling your quill between your fingers. “It revolutionised the usage of runes globally. She incorporated — um — a much simpler means of translating the scriptures for different methods of magic.”

“Ohhhh, I remember now. Did you write that down?”

“Yes, Godefrey, I wrote it down.”

The final hour before curfew dwells agonisingly longer than it should. It feels like three, at least, until you’re packing your things and bidding Godefrey goodnight, tired legs dragging you down the corridors.

And then you straighten. You stand tall. (You’re absolutely normal about the sight before you.)

Tom smiles at you as he turns the corridor to approach.

“On patrol?” you ask in a friendly tone.

You’re… friends, right? Being someone’s Potions partner for four months qualifies as some degree of friendship, does it not? After all, he did say not to think of him as too far outside your grasp. That was a line if you’d ever heard one, but — you could be Tom’s friend the way everyone is his friend: wholly detached until you were needed.

“Leaving detention,” he answers with a timbre to match.

Your eyebrows raise at that.

“Leaving the second-years I watched in detention, I should say.”

You shake your head. “I should have known.”

“And you?”

“Studying again.”

“Ancient Runes?”

“Mhm.”

“...With Godefrey?”

“That is the concept of a recurrent study partner, yes. It’s recurrent.”

He doesn’t look very much like he appreciates your sarcasm.

“So, then,” you mutter, clearing your throat. “Curfew, I suppose.”

“You performed well in Potions today,” he says after you. It feels like the sort of thing someone says when they don’t want someone to walk away.

You bite your cheek between your teeth — such assumptions will get the better of you. Such assumptions will lead you down a path of crude, obsessive analysis (though you suppose you’ve been doing that all this time, haven’t you?) where you think, in some unspooling knitwork, that there are really only a select few reasons he could want such a thing. Your mind draws to the irresponsible conclusion, as he walks toward you again, a new glint in his eyes, that it’s exactly the sort of thing someone says before rumour has it they disappear into the nearest broom closet with the one they approach. This, you’ve decided an observation ago, Tom Riddle does not do.

“Thank you,” you say carefully. “So did you.”

“We make for a good pair, don’t you think?”

Crude, obsessive analysis. “Slughorn certainly does.”

“And I am asking you.”

He stops a respectable, inviting space before you. His weekend attire is a grey jumper and black slacks, his dark hair in its regular, pristine waves, hands laced behind his back. Everything about him is a request to be met, and not to step forward and close the distance himself. Close the distance, pristine waves, inviting space — you’ve lost your damn mind. You sound like Selwyn. The sugar of a whole packet of sherbet lemons has rendered you imbecilic. You’ll be off to bed, then — sleep this absurdity off.

“Of course, Tom,” you say with a polite smile. “It’d be hard to disagree with the grades I get in that class.” You grab onto your bag to have something to do with your hands, to perhaps signify you’ll be making your exit now.

He seems a bit amused to have to contort himself through the specifics of his meaning. “I was referring to our… rapport.”

“Rapport?”

“We work well together. We communicate efficiently.”

We communicate efficiently? Damn if you couldn’t suddenly make sense of the rumour he’d be applying for the DADA post in the future — that one was definitely true.

“Yes, we do.”

He steps closer. “And I remain far outside your grasp.”

You blink, and there’s a stark, sinking feeling as your eyes drift over the unmarred ivory of his skin, his jaw, his throat, his — no, absolutely not his hands — and you let yourself wonder for the first time if the rumours, albeit exaggerated, have even a shred of truth to them. One exploit, perhaps, to satisfy his endless curiosity. Something academic, like — oh, God, like the way you’ve been studying him for weeks. His hands carving a path down someone’s body to etch it in his memory, another skill added to his arsenal, a new way to work his fingers without a wand, a new way to work his mouth without a word.

It’s only a moment that you wonder it. Some flash of pictures in your head. It is, nonetheless, a moment far too long, and one you don’t know that you can return from.

Tom looks at you from under his eyelashes with an expression that suggests he's the only one in on a very funny joke, and the air is… different. Thick like the Potions room but in a way that’s entirely unfamiliar, not cloudy with the steam of cauldrons but hazy with the proximity of him, cologne and quill ink and something you can’t catch because you’re trying too hard to breathe it all in at once.

But he steps forward again, and seems to say in the slow way he moves, that if you’ll let him, he'll place a hand on your shoulder, and if you’ll allow that — well — then he'll move that hand up to gently frame your cheek. And then, and you no longer consider yourself at all versed in the realm of Tom Riddle, but you think you know what’ll come next.

You allow all of it. You know very well in advance you’re going to allow all of it.

And still, like it’s a surprise, you shiver at the feeling of his hand on your cheek, at the gleaming, certain look in his eyes. Your gaze flickers to his lips for just a second (a fleeting, tiny second you pray fruitlessly he doesn't notice) but his lips curl into the barest of smiles. Something so like him, small but unrestrained, like it never had any hope of growing bigger, but then — you’ve seen the way he grins at you sometimes when you say something stupid in class — you know he’s capable.

“You know what I'm going to do, I assume," he says quietly. It's not a question, per se — more of a statement, and he keeps his eyes fixed firmly on yours as he says it. He's so close you can feel the warmth of his breath. And then he leans in so slightly it might be imperceptible if you weren’t staring, holding your damn breath. “Are you going to let me?"

“I..." You're humiliated to find you are actually struggling to speak. His lips are so close to yours you can feel the ghost of them, can imagine what they might feel like on you. Your mouth is very dry. “We’re… friends, right?”

His voice only wavers for a moment, even as his lips inch ever closer to yours. His voice is tauntingly low, and there's an intimate sort of smile there, a chastising, humorous gleam to his eyes. “Friends," he breathes, and then his lips do close that short distance, and you feel the barest trace of his mouth against yours — his lips, soft and supple against your skin. A moment's kiss. Gone as quickly as it came. “Should we be friends?”

You gape at him, breathing far too heavily for such a chaste kiss, and you imagine your eyes are blown wide, and you lick your lips for a reminder of his taste but it isn't enough. You don't think before standing on your toes to find his lips again. Of course, Tom is stood impeccably straight, his chin almost pointedly jutted so that he can look down at you, and you actually — it's horribly embarrassing — you groan, or whine, or make some sound of blatant discontent at the fact that your kiss doesn’t reach him.

To his credit, his laugh is a very small one. Had it been the other way around you would have been far less forgiving. “I suppose the answer is no, then?" he says, with the implication that the next move might be yours.

“Tom," you as good as hiss (really very foolish of you to use the word forgiving to describe Tom Riddle), “you're being... you're being mean." And you refuse to make the first effort again, even though you probably appear to be a train wreck, your chest is heaving, and you... you want him.

“Am I?" he asks, and he tilts his head to the other side, almost as if to get a better look at you. “How so?" You think he's enjoying himself far too much. But he remains where he is: close enough for you to reach him if you would just yank him toward you and be done with it, and far enough away that you can't take that step without giving him the win.

You stare at him for a long moment, and then with teeth gritted so tight you might chip one, turn to walk away. Tom makes some very hollow, annoyed sound at your stubbornness, and thank god you feel him behind you: soft, lulling, not so immovable as you. 

You stop. His fingers brush your hair to the side. His mouth hovers over the skin of your neck. You shudder.

“Tom..." you sigh, half-exasperated, half-sighed, half-surrendered, but he doesn't answer or stop or do so much as acknowledge your mumbling. He only presses forward, until his breath is right by your ear and his lips, soft, gentle, are against the junction of your exposed neck, and you feel his mouth, the gentle pressure of his lips against your skin... so tender, so light that it doesn’t feel at all like something merciful.

It feels singularly, purposefully cruel.

Your third observation (if you can manage the thought) is that Tom is driven by your reactions. Every little mewl, every shudder, every gasp, he wants more of. He wants whatever you're willing to give him, and you suspect it wouldn’t be hard for him to take it all. Every movement of his hands, his mouth, his — oh, oh no — his tongue, abide by whatever you respond to most. He draws in patterns. He stops. Appreciates the speed of your pulse on the curve of your throat for a moment and then tastes it again. It doesn't seem like he particularly cares what he gets out of it. The intrigue for him is having the proximity (he greatly enjoys that you’ve allowed him it) and capacity (that, you think, he’s always had) to make you fall apart.

He's spinning you then, so you're pressed facing the wall, his chest against your back, and the way he whispers against your skin makes you shiver. You dare to think he feels it, his chest heaving against your back, his breath warm and steady by your ear. And as he kisses you you can't help but imagine what might happen if he were just a few inches lower, if he were to sink to his knees, kissing the soft flesh of your chest, and down, and down, and down…

Your eyes flutter closed, and it's clear you like what he's doing by the sound that escapes you — something loud enough for him to stifle your mouth with his palm. Perhaps a little too much. Perhaps you’ll be embarrassed about it later. But right now his tongue is brushing against your skin again, and there’s something very dizzying and hot that starts with his mouth on your neck and works its way down until it's a challenge just to stay standing. You wonder if he can tell just how weak in the knees you are right now, whether that only makes him push forward, and —

And that must be it. He must know, because you think you're trying to say something but you can't form the words, and he has to feel the reverberations with his teeth bracketing little violets on your neck, he must feel the way your legs buckle, how you're held up only by the weight of him behind you.

He must know.

He pushes forward, his fingers bury in your hair, and he pulls your head back slowly — not necessarily to expose you further, but to better see your face. Your eyes lock with his over your shoulder, and there's that hunger there, lips swollen with the print of you... and his voice, when he speaks, is as if he's only barely stopping himself. “Do you want me to stop?"

You shake your head before you think he’s actually finished the question, swallowing the cotton-dry feeling in your throat. No, no — him stopping is the very last thing you want — you feel entirely rational and not at all melodramatic in saying you might just die if he stops. You want more, and he's looking at you like that’s the only thing he’s ever wanted.

He bites down gently on your neck, and you gasp as your knees finally go out from under you (you almost think he planned for this with how quickly he catches you), and you wonder if he'll do something you can't bear; if you'll be reduced to a mewling, drooling mess before he's finished with you.

Your fourth observation — which really is the last one you can muster before it starts to melt into something else — is that you make him human in the only way he can understand: panting into him, fingers in his skin, white-hot and damp at the centre of his obsession. The object of his affection. You make him understand something more singular than ambition. 

Want.

And then his spare hand is dipping past your skirts, and you dig your fingers into his wrist — the combination of the hardness pressed against your back, his hands marking a path to forbidden territory, his finger curling into your mouth as his lips continue their assault on your neck — it's too much. It’s deliriously, disastrously not enough. Your vision is starting to blur.

His fingers stop at the curve where your thighs part and you bite gently down on him to quiet the noise that wants to escape you. He hums against your throat, continuing to kiss and lick and bruise you. You're dazedly aware of the cool air on your thighs as your skirts halo your waist, the heat inside, the shudder as his fingers find your core, and carefully begin to circle you. You feel self-consumed, immolated, devoured and spat out again. You feel like you're still falling, and Tom is the only force that keeps you standing.

He draws in slow, expert patterns — and you think, nonsensically, somewhere very distant where you still have sense, that they can’t be expert, he must have read something or observed some — oh. He’s pushing the thin fabric aside until his fingers are pressed directly against your flesh, and he makes a satisfied noise in the back of his throat as the evidence of how much you need this soaks his fingers, as they begin to sink in without resistance. Oh. Right. You don’t remember exactly what you were saying. 

You gasp at the feeling of having him inside when they finally curl into you. 

His finger is pulled from your mouth with a small pop, and you can’t even really muster the capacity to be embarrassed by the lewd, wet sound of it. He watches you over your shoulder, at his fingers vanished between your legs, at the drool clinging to the digit he’d quieted you with. He’s smiling into your neck now, proud and grateful all the same.

“Mine,” you think he murmurs, but it’s more something you feel than hear, some vague, hazy consonants pressed to your throat. It would be very like him, so you decide that yes, that’s probably what he said. And there’s something funny about it — the idea of being his — about what it means for him to want you so badly that he says it out loud. It feels a little bit like he’s yours, too.

Tom’s breathing is harsh, the fingers inside you moving as if they have a will of their own. Every muscle in your body constricts and squeezes around them; every cell, every neuron, comes roaring to life; and you’re fucked. You’re so completely fucked. His teeth scrape against you again, wholeheartedly pleased. This is what he wanted to see — the utter loss of you — when you are nothing but sensation, barely aware of your limbs as they slump against him. Tom is it; Tom is the only thing you can think of.

Tom is, inexplicably, upsettingly good at this.

“Look at you," he says softly. And his touch changes; it becomes slower, more deliberate and careful.

You’re trembling hopelessly. The way you coil and collapse under his touch is just further encouragement. He doesn't even bother to speak anymore, only pants, his eyes half-lidded, his lips swollen and slick when they attach to your throat again. Your whole body is on fire, and he's the one setting you alight — there is not a single inch of you that is not alive with the feeling of him, and you can barely breathe through the slow, heavy rush of it. 

You think you cry at the divine curve of his fingers carving inside you, slow and soft and then intense — when you grip his arm for more friction, and one of his hands is coming up to wipe a tear away but the feeling flares in your abdomen and you're only half aware of it, really — you think your eyes have rolled back. You think you've gone somewhere else. 

He keeps you just on the precipice, just shy of losing control, just far enough to leave you craving for more.

“To—Tom," you sob, gasps cleaving his name in two — you're on the brink of something incomprehensible, building inside you to something you can't help but think is about to shatter, your eyes clenching shut as you grip him so hard you're certain your fingers will leave marks. “I'm gonna—"

“I know," he breathes against your neck, hands running a familiar path along your body; he's so very, very proud that he's made you like this. He just barely bites into the spot above your collar, curls his fingers, and then you’re falling — something unfurls inside you and can’t be collected, something hot and depthless that your hands can’t clutch at from where they’re clinging so desperately to him — and you think, coming down from it with trembling, debilitating ecstasy, that he looks very much like he’d be proud to make you like this over and over again.

You're flattened, and that triumph in his eyes — the absolute satisfaction of seeing you this way, of knowing that that he's the one that did it to you — that feeling fills your mind and makes you collapse even more, makes you want to melt and flow into liquid at his feet; to give in, do whatever he says, even if all he says is just be like this for him.

He slowly removes his fingers as you come down, and your eyes are blinking for focus when he turns you around, his thumb coming up to brush over your bottom lip and you sigh at the taste of yourself as he pushes it inside your mouth. His other hand brushes away the damp, stray hairs that have fallen across your face, almost reverently, a silent worship as he takes you in, appreciates everything you just gave him.

He smiles gently at your half-blinking, half-vacant expression, his thumb still in your mouth; he watches you for a long moment in silence. His eyes are heavy-lidded and he's got a small quirk at the corner of his mouth as he pulls his thumb away and swipes it once more over your lip.

You're still not quite sure you can find words. Still not sure they'd form right as your tongue darts over the residue of Tom's finger and you flush impossibly hotter at the feeling of your own arousal on your mouth. Tom fixes your hair behind your ears and it doesn't seem like he's ready to stop taking you in in this state — your hair wild,  lips swollen, throat bruised and dress askew — and he leans in so tenderly it startles you, pressing a faint, almost imperceptible kiss to your forehead.

“Tell Godefrey he’ll be needing a new study partner. I think you’ll find yourself committed elsewhere." And with that he turns on his heel, perfectly composed, and disappears into the darkness of the midnight corridor.

Oh God, you think, and you’re too stunned to even react as you watch him vanish. It takes you a moment before you regain your senses, and you can only just manage to sputter out a breathless, miserable sigh into the air before you.

You are so completely, utterly fucked.

[morose-melodies]

There’s been rumours of the winter forest that lurks behind your home. Apparently the mysterious clacking of a horses hooves came from a man with no head. Of course, you try to pay no heed to these rumours since they are no more than just that.

It isn’t until a snowstorm attacks your village that you feel the need to venture into that forest. You’re unprepared, and food is running out fast. The forest is the quickest way to the city, but the biggest problem is that you don’t own a horse. And none of your neighbours have anything to lend you to make the trek through the treacherous path easier.

So you pile on clothes, stacking your socks on, wearing more than three layers of tops and bottoms. You make sure your feet are snug are in your father’s old winter boots, before leaving the warmth of your home.

- You walk past the snow-laden trees that hover above you and seem to stalk your every movement. You tighten your grip on the handle of the bag that’s slung against your shoulder.

It feels like you’ve been walking for an eternity, your head’s starting to hurt from seeing nothing but trees and the occasional prints of deer hooves in the snow.

Determined to make it to the city in one piece, you take a break. Just to catch your breath. Then you’re back to walking again. You find a peaceful space to sit, somewhere where the trees hid an odd bench. It seems out of place but you ignore that.

Suddenly you hear hooves against the snow, so you look up and see a man on a horse. Clad in silver armour, and a matching helmet covering his face. Despite seeming like a knight, he’s secluded in the forest with nothing but his horse to keep him company. You get the chills from him and how he basks in the sliver of the moonlight that hadn’t been stolen by the tall trees.

Ignoring every alarm bell that rings in your head, you get up from your seat and frantically start to wave your arms to the man clad in armour, “excuse me! Sorry for bothering you but can you please give me a ride? My village has been-��

“What are you doing here?” The man speaks rudely cutting you off, his voice so deep, yet velvety almost.

You take a deep breath before continuing, your patience running thin from how long you’ve been walking for. “..Like I was saying, my village has been struck by a snowstorm, and the forest is the quickest way to get to the city. I am running out of food and my own village cannot provide me with anything, so I’ve had to resort to going through this stupid creepy forest. So, please, I beg of you to ride me through this path.”

“Why are you lurking in these forests without a hors-”

“Do you have to question everything!?” You broke, your fists clenching at your side. Your stomach turns when looking up at the man, you realise you shouldn’t have said that. “Sorry. It’s just- I don’t have a horse. If I did, I wouldn’t be here right now. I’ve been wandering through this path since the night was young, and now it has gone all dark and gloomy. I’m tired, cold, and everything hurts.”

The man sighs, and reaches his gloved hand out to you. Your eyes brighten at the sight and desperately take the hand to help you up his horse. “Thank you so much! I swear I’ll repay you for this.”

- Through the ride, you’ve learnt to call him “Capitano.” A title he said he was given long ago. You’ve also learnt that ‘Capitano’ isn’t very talkative, so you were the one doing the talking the whole time. Telling him of useless information like the average village gossip, travelers you’ve met, and your day-to-day life. But only one thing piqued his interest, the rumour of the ‘headless horseman’. He must just like creepy myths you thought.

Finally you reach the end of the path, and he helps you get down. You repeatedly thank him again. “Come with me to the city, I shall treat you to something for your generosity!”

“I cannot join you.” He replies flatly.

“Oh come on now! I’ll only steal you away for 10 minutes-”

Interrupting you once again, he unhooks his helmet and takes it off. Revealing.. nothing. No head, no face, nothing. Just an unattached neck. You took a step back from him, is he really a he? Is he anything? All you know is that he’s a monster.

“I suggest you leave, and never come back into this forest, lest you wish for your fate to end like mine.” You want to say his tone seems disappointed, but you don’t even know if he can feel anything. But nonetheless, taking his warning you run away and into the city.

You look behind yourself, only to see nothing there. Like he didn’t exist. Your throat starts to tighten, but once you step into the light that beams from the city, you calm down, and try to forget all about it.

- Thanks to a friend you found in the city, you were able to get back to your village without going through the forest again. But the ride back was still eerie, you felt like someone or.. something was following you. But every time you looked back, there was nothing.

It had been a while since you’d been to the city to restock all your essentials. A while since you met ‘Capitano’. Every time you hear a knock at your door, or the wind pass against your window, you feel bile rise in your throat. Luckily, it seems like you won’t have to leave again, at least not for a long time. Your village’s businesses are thriving more than ever after also getting restocked, and you’ve also finally started to get some sleep after that incident.

Today, your home feels cold and so do you. So you’ve lit your furnace, and are cosied up against it, on your sofa with your blanket wrapped up around you. You feel yourself about to fall asleep until you hear knocking at your front door. You groan at having to get up from the comfort your sofa, and mumble incoherent curses against your breath as you sluggishly walk to your door.

But when you open it, you see him again. Capitano. Except this time he doesn’t have his helmet on, and is leaned against the wall. His breaths are short and ragged. He seems, what you think is, frustrated.

“I could not stop thinking about you.”

- XOXO that one Pantalone anon <3 (A gift in light of Halloween.)

DO I EVEN NEED TO ADD TO THIS??? THIS IS SO GOOD TYY

well, the captain was so frustrated because he expected you to come back to the forest even though he told you not too.

what a hypocrite he was.

it was odd. he had spent much of his time expecting you to come and inadvertently began thinking of you, it had gotten to a point where all he thought about was you.

and when you didn't come back, as per his command, frustration began to bud inside of him.

because honestly, to see you once more was all he wanted.

that was not what he got though. not so soon anyway - before he saw you again, he allowed that frustration in him to build up for oh so long until he couldn't handle it anymore.

just this once, he reasoned, he wouldn't deny himself of what he wanted.

that's why he was at your front door that night, desperate to indulge himself with all the knowledge of you he could get.

after all, he had tried so hard to deny himself. he deserved this much.

and then he left that night. you would be alone once more, well, for a few weeks before he came back once more.

one thing capitano was was honest.

whatever he was feeling was frustrating.

it was frustrating. he would have a passing thought of you, then begin to wonder about you, and then soon enough all he could think of was you.

"i refuse to deny myself of you," he told you and he hoped you didn't mind, because he could not for the life of him stay away, not when he felt so drawn to you.

"you said you'd repay me? is that correct?"

you nodded and capitano took a step toward you and reached forward, towards your face.

his finger twitched before the cool metal of his armored glove grazed your cheek. his hand lingered for a moment.

"i'd like to know everything there is to know of you, that's how you will repay me."

A/N: THE END IS SO LAZY SORRY

[hibiscuswrites]

Do you write for COD MW2?? If you do, could I have Ghost, Alejandro, Rudy, and Price reaction to coming home to their women after a tough mission with a lot of close calls?? Thanks!

I do! 🥰 I haven’t yet but I’d like to try my hand at them so I’ve added them to my list. I’ve written a few things for practice but I haven’t posted them. Admittedly, I don’t feel like I write Soap very well 🥴 but I’ll keep trying. Hope you like it 💕

Edit: just realized I’m illiterate and put soap instead of price so I added him in at the end 🙈 sorry about that

You can see his shoulders drop in relief as soon as he lays eyes on you

Happy to be home

Happy to be safe

Happy to be back with you

There were a few times he was worried he wouldn’t make it back to you and not that he finally has, he can’t let you go

His embrace is gentle yet secure as he clings to you

“Missed you so much, mi vida.”

He clings to you for days once he’s back

Definitely makes you breakfast in bed with fresh fruits and whipped cream smiley faces on your pancakes

He’ll sit with you on the couch and watch whatever your heart desires

He makes love to you gently

All soft kisses and hand holding

Enjoys for you to ride him and lets you take whatever you need from him

He’s more than happy to lay there and look up at you looking like a goddess as you bounce and grind

Nearly knocks you over with the force of his embrace when he finally gets his hands on you

One too many close calls where he wondered if gazing at the picture of you in his best would be the last time he ever saw you

He’s handsy

Paws gripping at your ass and thighs as he spins around with you

“There she is, my pretty girl.”

Probably trips with you

He doesn’t mean to be rough with you, he just can’t help it that he’s clumsy in his excitement

He goes down on you every chance he gets on nearly every surface in the house

On the sofa

In the shower

With you bent over the kitchen counter

He’s a munch through and through

And stays by your side like a puppy, simply happy to be back with his favorite girl

His embrace feels like it could pop your eyes clean out of your head

It’s tight and desperate almost

One bulky arm wrapped around your waist, the other cradling the back of your head, holding your face into his chest

Before he had you, it didn’t matter all that much if he didn’t make it home

But now that you’re his, he knows he needs to make it back in one piece

He needs to be there to protect you

To look after you

To make sure you eat and drink enough water

He holds you tightly as if you might slip away if he’s not careful

Eyes fluttering closed as you lean forward and press a soft kiss to the bridge if his nose

He allows himself to enjoy your affection and tenderness, whether he believes he deserves it or not

Loves soaking in a hot bath with you, feeling your back against his chest as he just enjoys the safe silence

Just don’t tell any one

He also will go down on you until you cry, hands pushing away at his head and shoulders

Whining that you can’t take any more

But he’s not interested in hearing that

“Sure you can, love. You wouldn’t deny me this perfect pretty pussy now, would ya?”

He devours you as soon as he has you in his arms

His mouth and hands touching everywhere he can get to

He’s barely got the door locked behind him before he’s stripping you

Leaving soft bites and hickies trailed along your body

He knows things could’ve easily gone south and he would’ve never seen you again

And that’s a thought he simply cannot bear

He’s got you in a mating press on the living room floor before you know it

Eyes fixated on your face as you whimper and pant, full to the brim with him

He commits every expression and noise to memory

“Missed me like crazy, huh chulita? My poor baby was so lonely without me.”

He ignores the rug burn in his knees, the very least of his worries

But he’s tender and caring with you afterwards, cleaning you up and cooking you your favorite meal

Planning date nights

Taking you out dancing

Enjoying as much of you as he possibly can before he has to leave again

He encases you tightly

Breathing in your scent

Committing it to memory

He’s missed you like crazy

Gazed at that crumpled picture of you in his pocket just in case it’s the last time

And now that he’s home he just can’t take his eyes or hands off of you

He wants to shower, get the grime off before he taints you

And he brings you with him

Making sure he’s clean before he has you pressed against the shower wall

Showing you how much he’s missed his girl

“Can’t get enough of you, I swear. You’ve ruined me.”

Romance for days once he’s back home

Flowers fresh from the florist

Little love notes scattered around the house

Anything to see you smile

General taglist

 @titty-teetee   @vibranium-soul @ateliefloresdaprimavera @glimmerglittergirl @hatterripper31 @lilac-tea-time @krysiewithak

[middleearthpixie]

Can you please write a fic where Thorin falls in love with a human girl, but he thinks she is disgusted by his looks? 🙏

Hi there, Nonny!! I know it took me forEVER, but here you go and i hope you like it! 💜

The Harp

Summary: You and Thorin are friends, but then you find out his feelings for you run deeper, and he’s holding back because he feels he is not good enough for you.  

Pairing: Thorin x fem!Reader (post-sack of Erebor, pre-quest for Erebor)

Warning: None. Just fluffy fluff

Rating: G

Word Count: 4.7k

***

He came into the dining room at the same time each evening and always sat at the same table—the one in the far corner, which was also the darkest corner of the room. He was polite, but kept to himself and you noticed how he always sat with his back to the wall and rarely did his eyes pause from scanning the room. 

The other diners eyed him with just as much suspicion but then again, they all eyed each other with suspicion as well. It was second nature to this lot, as they came from all four corners of Middle Earth. No one was actually from Emyn Vanya. No, every warm body had come from somewhere else to this tiny village on the outskirts of everywhere and yet somehow in the middle of nowhere. Some came to start over. Some came to forget. Some came to do both and some were just passing through. But everyone was from somewhere else and almost no one wished to discuss where that somewhere else might be.

You couldn't help but notice him, for he was a dwarf and the Grey Gander did not see many dwarves in their dining room. And not only that, but he was a handsome dwarf, to boot, with black hair, touched here and there with hints of silver, that spilled over his shoulders in a long tangle of curls. His most striking feature was his eyes, however, for they were the most piercing shade of icy blue you’d ever seen. There was a hardness within those pale eyes, one belied by his polite demeanor and deep, if soft, voice. 

Night after night, this man came in alone. He sat alone. He spoke to no one other than you when you approached to take his order, just as you did this evening. He was polite, if reserved, and spoke only when absolutely necessary, which was an interesting change from the patrons who grew louder and more opinionated as they dove further and further into their cups. 

“Welcome back,” you said with a smile as you approached him. “Might I fetch you a drink to begin?”

“Thank you. A tanked of ale would suit.”

“Of course. And do you know what you’d like or are you still trying to decide?”

He looked up at you with those striking eyes. “The hunter’s stew.”

His order never varied and you were certain you could just bring him a bowl of the stew without asking, which was why you couldn't resist a bit of playing with him. “I think we should start calling that your usual. Perhaps we should change it on the menu itself.”

That earned you one of the dwarf’s rare smiles. “I am not so certain that is necessary.”

“Well, you’ve been in here eight of the last ten nights and have yet to order anything different.” You couldn’t help teasing him. You sensed a hint of sadness in him, one that might explain the hardness in his eyes. And while it was a bit of a risk, teasing this man you didn’t really know, you had to admit, his smile made the risk worthwhile.

“But,” you added, taking your teasing further than you normally did, “you would have to tell me your name first. I certainly cannot ask to rename it Dwarf Stew. That would give the wrong impression, don’t you think?”

A darkness flashed through his eyes and you knew you’d overstepped. Your mind raced as you struggled to come up with something to smooth over his obviously ruffled feathers, knowing your employer would be furious if your flippancy drove away a paying customer. “I mean… that is… I apolo—”

“No,” he interrupted softly, shaking his head, “there is no need to apologize. And you’re right, it would sound odd. So, I suppose then, it would only be fair to tell you my name, wouldn’t it?”

Your heart beat a little faster at that. Perhaps it was but your imagination, but his voice sounded lower than it normally did. Lower and bit growlier. Had he, by any chance, noticed you the way you’d noticed him?

No, that was madness talking. Very few people noticed you aside from being their serving girl. You tended to blend into the background far too easily and since so many people in Emyn Vanya were only passing through, they paid little heed to you.

Still, that didn't stop you from replying, “It would, yes.”

To your surprise, that earned you a laugh. A genuine, honest-to-goodness laugh and one that sent flutters through you as it rolled across the small table in your direction. Like his voice, it was low and silken, and those flutters made you forget your own name for a moment.

“Very well,” he nodded, his eyes meeting and holding yours, “I am Thorin.”

You offered your name in return and added, “It’s wonderful to make your acquaintance, Thorin.”

“And yours as well.”

Heat climbed into your cheeks and you ducked your head, saying, “I will be back in a few moments with your ale,” you hesitated, then added, “Thorin.”

“I will be here.”

Thorin sat back as you darted off and couldn't believe his cheek. What had possessed him to even think to flirt with you? Your interest had to be only because he was a paying customer, because there was no way a woman as beautiful as you could possibly be interested in him. 

The first time he stepped into the Grey Gander, he’d noticed you at once, noticed how easily you smiled and joked with the tavern’s patrons. Your laughter was a silvery melody that made everyone turn in your direction and smile even if they had no idea what it was that made you laugh. 

He noticed everything about you—from that amazing smile and intoxicating laughter to your beautiful eyes and easy grace with which you moved about the crowded dining room. You never seemed impatience, or irritated, and even when someone gave you a hard time about something, you never lost your temper and somehow managed to defuse the most volatile of situations. 

The second night he’d come in, he’d witness such a scene, almost reaching for his sword, propped against the table, when the giant of man actually grabbed you by the arm. He had no doubt he’d have intervened if you needed it, but you didn’t. You smiled at the man as you peeled his fingers from your wrist and very sweetly informed him that if he touched you again, you’d turn him from a rooster to a hen in one fell swoop. 

It was at that moment, Thorin lost his heart.

A foolish notion at best, as you would never feel about him the way he did you. Why would you? He was a dwarf. He had no home. He had been in line for a throne, but now supported himself by moving from place to place, taking work where he could find it. 

That was what brought him to Emyn Vanya. His trade was blacksmithing and the village needed one. So, there he was, in the dining room of the Grey Gander, admiring you from afar and wishing he stood a chance at winning your hand. 

It was just as well, for what did he have to offer you? A king with no kingdom was no better than a pauper, really. Not to mention, he certainly couldn’t compete with the men of Emyn Vanya, who were all taller, slimmer, and far more attractive than he certainly was. You would be a fool to even consider him.

But, he watched you from afar, watched as you moved from table to table, how you brought a beaming smile to the face of an old crone, how you soothed angry children bickering over a toy, how you made a crying infant smile by making silly faces until they could do nothing else. 

How you focused on him as if he was the most interesting man in the room and not, for lack of a better phrase, a homely, homeless refugee. 

If only…

He sighed as you approached with a tankard in one hand. His heart beat so much faster when you met his gaze. His mouth went as dry as the plains between his lost kingdom of Erebor and the city of Dale after the dragon Smaug torched it from one end to the other.

You set the tankard before him. “Your supper will be ready in but a few minutes, Mr. Thorin.”

Mr. Thorin. He smiled, shaking his head. “No Mister. Thorin is just fine.”

“Oh, well that wouldn’t be proper now, would it?” Your eyes almost sparkled as your easy smile curved your lips. “After all, we only just met.”

“This is true,” he nodded, reaching for the tankard. Then, on impulse, he added, “Perhaps you might join me one evening?”

You looked taken aback and he immediately berated himself silently. You fool! What is wrong with you?

But then you smiled. “I think I would like that. I have an off night tomorrow. Would that work for you?”

He was stunned, not only by your agreement, but by your suggestion. No woman ever approached him that way. He’d always been the one to ask. You were bold and he admired that. So, he nodded. “That would work just fine for me.”

“Wonderful. What time?”

“Half seven?”

“Half seven it is,” you told him. “And I’ll be back in but a moment with your supper.”

****

What were you thinking? How could you just blurt out an invitation to him that way? He must think you a harlot, or a wanton woman for doing so. 

But at the same time, as you smoothed a hand along your skirts, you had to admit, you looked so forward to seeing him without having to wait upon him. It was a nice change of pace for you. A break in the monotony of your life that was work, sleep, and more work.

You’d told him where you lived, a rundown little flat above the florist’s shop, and at half eight, when the knock came at the door, you nearly jumped clear out of your skin. Then, laughing at your foolishness, you hurried to the door, before he thought you’d changed your mind and left. 

You smiled as you pulled open the door. “You are early.”

“I allowed myself extra time in case I found myself lost. I’m still new to these parts and this town takes a bit of getting used to.”

“If you remember the streets run east and west, and the avenues run north and south, you might fare better.”

He bobbed his head. “I would, but there are three florists on this street alone.”

“It is a very competitive business in Emyn Vanya.”

“So I’ve noticed.” 

You hesitated a moment and then stepped aside. “Come in.”

As he stepped over the threshold, you tried not to dwell on how shabby your flat was, with its scratched and scuffed hand-me-down furnishings. After you paid your rent and made certain there was food on the table, there was not much money left for luxuries such as nice furniture. Normally, it didn't trouble you. This was your home and you thought it cozy, if a bit rundown. But, when you tried to see it through Thorin’s eyes? 

You saw exactly how awful it must have looked to him. Threadbare sofa. The armchair had a hole in the cushion thanks to a broken spring, which meant that not only was stuffing peeping up from the hole, one received a nasty poke in the backside, should they think to sit there. 

And of course, there was that awful water stain in the far corner. You had no idea from where it had come, only that no matter how much you tried to paint over it, it bled through. You’d given up trying when paint fell into the luxury category.

But, he reached up for the frogs at his throat and then whisked his cloak off to drape over his arm. “This is lovely.”

Lovely? You looked about, wondering exactly what he found so lovely about it. “It’s a bit… ah… worn, don't you think?”

“Lived in, is how I would describe it.” He smiled at you. “Homes should be lived in. That is how they become such. Otherwise, they are but houses, flats, nothing more than buildings.”

You looked back at him. “Lived in?”

He nodded. “Lived in.” 

Then he looked back at you and for a moment, you were rendered speechless. Did he have any idea whatsoever as to how handsome he truly was? Because if he did, he certainly did not act as if he did.

Of course, you kept that to yourself, especially when that night, a deep friendship was born. You had dinner together on the nights when you weren’t working. You spent off days together, sometimes running errands with each other, sometimes just doing nothing. He had a knack for the acrostics printed in the village newspaper and the two of you spent your share of days or nights looking up which answers you thought would work. It didn't matter. He had quickly become your dearest friend and while you loved that, you’d also begun thinking that perhaps there was a bit more to your relationship than only friendship.

It was too bad he’d never given any indication at all that he saw you as anything more than a friend.

So you stayed quiet. Autumn gave way to winter and the Yule holiday was only a few days off when you made your way to Thorin’s forge at the northern end of town. A bitter cold wind whipped down the narrow alleyway where his shop was located and you didn't have to look to know you were near it. The carved wooden sign identifying the forge creaked on its hooks as it swung in the wind. Through the swirling snow, you could still make out the word etched into the wood. 

Blacksmith

Beneath that word, Thorin had carved symbols as well, and when you’d asked, he’d smiled and explained that they were a language called khuzdul, which was his native language, actually. He’d attempted to teach you some of it, and showed nothing but patience as you fumbled over seemingly simple words. Little by little, though, it became easier and left you wishing you had something like that to share with him. 

But then you found something. One night, over several goblets of wine, he confessed that he once played the harp, but had lost his when he’d lost his home, but that was all he would say about either the harp or what happened to his home. So, you’d saved a bit of your pay each week and put it aside and then went to the music shop at the far end of town and found what you’d hoped would be a suitable replacement harp. It wasn't a big, grand instrument, as those were far beyond what you could ever hope to afford, but you hoped he’d like it the same. You couldn’t remember the last time you were so excited and impatient to give someone a gift as you were this one, which was why you braved the worsening weather.  

So there you were, at the far end of a gray-shingled building with a roof in need of repair, listening to the almost melodic sound of metal striking metal. The closer you drew to his workshop, the warmer the air grew and as you rounded the corner, a blast of heat hit you square in the face. It was a welcome sensation as your cheeks felt quite numb from the cold. 

He had his back to you and heat shot through you at the sight of him, shirtless in deference to that blasted heat, the muscles in his back and along his shoulders bulging as he held a piece of iron in one hand, a hammer in the other. The clang rang through you when he brought the hammer slamming against the iron, again and again and you couldn't help but just stare. 

Your eyes roamed over his naked back, heavy with obviously well-earned muscle, and inked with black lines of varying sizes that covered his entire shoulder, stretched across his back, and into the opposite shoulder as well. You had no idea what the symbols and lines meant, but they looked very similar to the ones carved into the forge’s sign, so your guess was they were dwarfish runes or words.

The heat in the forge was brutal regardless of how cold it was beyond the walls. Sweat prickled along your back as you stepped closer. You didn't want to startle him. The iron with which he worked began with an orange glow, but slowly, as he pounded it flat, the glow faded and when he set down the hammer and used a pair of tongs to pick up the flattened piece and thrust it into a tub of water, steam actually rose from the tub.

“Thorin?”

He jumped, letting go of the tongs as he spun around and now heat shot up into your cheeks at the naked chest you found yourself staring at. Like his back, his chest was just as broad, with black hair swirled from one nipple to the other and down across his belly. More symbols had been inked across it, meeting with the design on his left shoulder.

“I am so sorry,” you stammered, tearing your eyes from that impressive sight to meet his startled blue eyes, “I was trying not to startle you.”

“What are you doing here?”

You hugged the package close. “I had to go and pick something up and thought while I was out, I’d stop by.” You peered around him, at the iron still resting in the water. “What are you making?”

“A sword.” He reached for the towel draped over the workbench and swept it across his forehead. “You should not be in here. It’s far too dangerous.”

“I will come no closer then. But tell me, who commissioned the sword?”

“No one. It is mine. I work on it when I’ve a bit of free time.”

“Might I see?”

“It’s not even close to being finished.” He came around the bench and stood before you. His black hair was damp at the temples. 

“You don't have to stop on my account, you know.” You took a step closer to him, the urge to reach out and touch him so powerful, it nearly overwhelmed you. You wish you had the courage to tell him how you’d come to feel about him, as you’d had when you’d left your flat. You’d left there full of fire and determined to confess your feelings for him, but unfortunately, by the time you reached his forge, that courage evaporated like the water in the tub had. 

“It would be rude of me to continue.”

“Not at all. I think it would be fascinating, watching you work.” 

His gaze shifted slightly to his left and you followed it to see what he looked at—a heavy dark gray henley lay draped over a chair by his desk. Without thinking, you shifted the package to one arm and reached out to catch him by the upper arm as he stretched for his shirt.

“Wait, don’t,” you said, shaking your head.

“Don’t?”

You nodded. “I—what is this?” You traced your fingertips along the thick black lines curving his shoulder, unable to believe your own brazenness but unable to halt your touch as well. 

“It’s my… my… it’s a raven,” he managed, his voice deep and huskier than usual. He cleared his throat. “The symbol of my clan, and my family crest.”

You could not keep yourself from tracing along those lines as little by little, the image of a raven wearing a crown slowly showed itself to you. You’d held back from telling him how you felt for so long, now that the opportunity to perhaps go beyond friendship had presented itself and you were not about to let it slip by. But… you had to be careful. It was a delicate matter and that called for delicate handling. The last thing you wished to do was destroy your friendship with him.

With that, you lowered your hand “It’s lovely.”

“Thank you.”

“This is for you, by the by.” You pressed the package toward him. “I know Yule isn’t for several more days, but when I went to pick this up, I grew far too impatient to wait.”

He stared down at it. “What is it?”

“Well, you have to open it to find out.”

He took the package and slowly unwrapped it and then just stared, his blue eyes growing shiny as he murmured, “How did you know?”

“You told me, silly.” You nudged him with your shoulder. “Remember? We were talking about how my neighbor plays the harpsichord and how awful it sounds and you told me you once played the harp. So, I asked Mr. Trumble if he could find me a harp for you and he did me one better. He made this.”

“He—” those blue eyes met yours, wide and incredulous—“made this?”

You nodded. “He did, indeed.”

He gazed down at the harp, and then back at you. “I—this—this is beautiful. I thank you.”

“There is one condition to it, however.” You nudged him once more. “You must play it for me.”

“Oh, I couldn't now. I’d be far too rusty.”

“Well, once you flake off all the rust.”

“Fair enough.” He offered up a smile brighter than any you’d ever seen from him. “You shouldn’t have done this, though. Save your wages, don’t spend them on me.”

“I didn't mind.” You shrugged as if you spent that kind of money all the time. “And it’s Yule, so it was but a small sacrifice.”

He stepped closer. “This is the most thoughtful thing anyone has ever done for me, you know. I will treasure it. And you.”

And with that, he leaned in and to your surprise, pressed his lips to yours. You froze at first, caught by utter surprise, as this was the last thing you’d expected him to do. For one maddening moment, you wondered if perhaps you were just imagining it.

But then, his lips moved softly against yours and your toes actually curled in your sensible boots when he brought his hands up to cup your face, and you knew that this was, in fact, actually happening. And how wonderful it was! The sensations that rippled through you were soft and sweet, the crisp, coarse hair around his mouth tickling at first, but then you found you didn't mind it so much as it was a caress of its own. 

Your head did a slow spin, his kiss leaving you lightheaded and when your hands came to rest on those massive upper arms of his, your fingers pressed into muscle that greatly resembled stone of their own accord. You were afraid your weak knees might buckle on you at any moment.

His kiss was slow and sweet, teasing and gentle and when his lips parted and his tongue swept gently along yours, your head spun even faster. A rush of heat swept through you. Your lips tingled. Your heart beat harder and faster and it took every bit of will you had to not melt right into his arms. 

When he drew back, his eyes were soft, swirling with an emotion you couldn’t quite place and he seemed as breathless as you were as he murmured, “I’ve wanted to do that for a very long time now.”

“What?”

He nodded. “I do and I did and now I just want to do it again.” Then he paused, a hint of sheepishness creeping into his smile, into his eyes, “Unless, of course, you’d rather I didn’t.”

“No, I’d not rather that at all,” you told him, smiling as you curved a hand against his cheek. “In fact, I’d like it very much if you would do it again. And again. And I think you should keep doing, no matter where we might be.”

A low chuckle rumbled up from the depths of his chest. “So, I am not about to send you screaming into the snow?”

“Hardly.” 

“Are you certain? I mean,” he rubbed his bearded jaw ruefully, a sheepish smile coming to his lips, “I know people whisper about me and poke fun at me behind my back.”

“They whisper about you because they are fascinated by you. And no one pokes fun at you. I know they think you’re quite an excellent smithy, judging by what I’ve heard. And I won’t even tell you what the women say about you.”

To your surprise, his sheepish smile faded and a darkness came to his eyes. “I can only imagine.”

“Have I said something wrong? I thought I was complimenting you. Do dwarves not like to hear how handsome they are thought to be?”

“Handsome?” He snorted as he shook his head. “That’s kind of you, but I’ve seen my own face and that is not how I’d describe it.”

“Well, perhaps you should but have Mr. Sinclair examine your eyes, for you are not only handsome, but very handsome.”

He stared at you, clearly not believing a word you said. “Thank you, but you are just being kind, as you’ve been since we met.”

“Thorin,” you caught his hands in yours, “I’ve been wishing you’d notice me as more than simply your friend, that you’d kiss me, and perhaps I’ve been too brazen in taking the first step. If you wish me to leave you alone, I will.”

“Leave me alone?” His eyes went wide and he shook his head once more. “No, no, I don’t wish that at all. In fact, I—”

A scarlet flush swept up into his cheeks and he went quiet. You waited for him to continue, your heart hammering away at your ribs. All you wanted was for him to pull you into his arms, to tug you flush against that massive chest, and kiss you until you forgot your name.

“You what?” you asked softly.

“I lied. About the sword.” He smiled then. “It’s for you, actually. For Yule. I meant it to be a surprise.”

“For me? But I don't even know who to wield one.”

“Worry not, for I will teach you. When the weather breaks.”

“You did this for me? You would do that for me?”

He nodded. “I would do anything for you, you know.” His eyes softened then as he smiled. “I love you.”

This was the last thing you ever expected him to say and you could only stare at him for a long moment, as your stupid brain forgot how to process words. The best you could muster was a whispered, “What?”

“I love you. I’ve been wanting to tell you for some time now, but how could I when I thought you would be embarrassed to be courted by me. So, I relegated myself to knowing we would only ever be friends, but now…”

“Embarrassed to be courted by you? Are you mad, Thorin? Are you absolutely and completely mad? Because you would have to be to think any woman alive would be embarrassed to be courted by you.” You shifted to wind your arms about his neck. “And no one has ever made something for me. At least, not something as beautiful as a sword. So, if I didn't already love you in return, I would have most definitely fallen at this moment.”

He smiled. “So, all this time, it would’ve only taken a sword to win your hand?”

“I’m a very simple woman, Thorin. You should know that by now.”

Your heart skipped a beat as he eased his arms about your waist, pulling you flush against him. He leaned closer, his lips just brushing yours as he murmured, “I’ll keep it in mind.”

You tried to think of something witty to reply with, but then his lips met yours once more and rendered words unnecessary.

***

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[hotluncheddie]

stop being a goblin and let me kiss you

part 2

˚✧₊⁎ ⁎⁺˳✧༚ ⁎⁺˳✧༚

steve is at the diner with robin and eddie, after another mind numbing shift at the ol’ FV. thankfully, eddie came in a little while before close so the time went a lot quicker. steve might honestly tell him to come in even more because the clock just seems to become his best friend when eddies around; jumping nonsense off of robin, telling steve random shit about himself and laughing at all of steve jokes. (which his jokes deserve, of course, obviously. no matter what robin likes to say, knock knock is a classic set up.)

steve sat across from eddie and ordered his favourite milkshake, making eddie bat his eyelashes and make fun of steve. ‘milkshakes at a diner stevie? all you’re missing is the cheerleader and letterman.’ and steve rolled his eyes, about to let eddie know he still has his letterman and eddie can borrow it anytime. but robin had been sparked into talking about the most recent band drama that happened after the game the other night.

steve cared about the gossip, really he did. but eddie ordered fries and now yeah, sure, normal diner behaviour. however, eddie likes adding salt to his fries, like a lot of it. which means he’s constantly licking his fingers clean, like, thumb in his mouth, sucking. and that image is making a lot of very fun and interesting scenarios pop up in steves head. very fun, very cool scenarios.

so steve is distracted, playing with his whipped cream and cherry, half listening to eddie talk about hash browns but mostly just thinking about fingers, and mouths.

eddie, for some reason steve cannot fucking fathom, likes to pretend he’s not into steve, like they don’t flirt and like he doesn’t know steve is very much into eddie. steve knows what someone looks like when they’re into him and eddie is into steve. eddie just seems to have a mental block because no matter how much steve touches his arm or hair or tells him he has nice eyes, or like, flirts back at eddies initial flirting, eddie just gets bright red and changes the subject. it’s very cute. but dumb, because they could still do all that while also making some of those fun, pretty, fingers near mouths images a reality.

so, offence is the best defence as they say, defence being eddies self built cock block castle. but lucky for eddie steve is feeling pretty chivalrous so he’ll attempt to scale the castle walls again and hope some day soon eddie will just open the fucking door.

steve sticks his cherry in his mouth, pulls out the moves, ties the stem easy as pie and now, cherry on top, the wink.

gotcha. eddie saw the whole thing, beet red, soda up his nose. the moves never fail. steve did not plan for eddie to leave for the bathroom right after (hates to see him go, loves to watch him walk away) and has to deal with robin and her overprotectiveness when it come to eddie. but come on! he obviously liked it!

she knows steve likes eddie and wouldn’t be surprised if eddie talks to robin about steve. he would, if he was eddie. but she still more often than not gives steve a very pointed look if she feels he’s stepped over some invisible line she’s made up, like there some rule to how bisexual he’s allowed to be at certain moments of the day, particularly around eddie munson.

‘stop messing with him!’ she’s hissing but there’s a little smile on her face too.

‘i’m not! i’m just, presenting him with some facts, some info.’ steve rests his chin in his palm and mumbles quietly ‘not my fault he kept sucking on his damn fingers.’ aware that they are very much in public.

‘god, i am so sick of you both. you gotta talk to him steve, or stop, or something because i’m actually about to go back to doing puzzles with my nana on weekends if i have to deal with you two dancing around each other any longer.’

steve pouts ‘i love puzzles, and your nana, you cant go do that without me bob’s, that’s mean.’ robin groans and clunks her head on the table. ‘ughhh you are so weird! it astounds me every day that you used to be popular. people are so dumb.’

steve pats her head smiling. ‘yeah well good aim goes a long way.’ robin groans louder. ‘i’ll talk to him though, sir steven will break through those castle walls one way or another.’

robin lifts her head to squint at him, face of utter distain. ‘love you.’

‘love u too boobie.’

˚✧₊⁎ ⁎⁺˳✧༚ ⁎⁺˳✧༚

part 1 (eddie) part 3 (eddie) part 4 (steve) part 5 (eddie) part 6 (steve) part 7 (eddie)

@mackdaddyofheimlichcountyy @gregre369

u asked for it :)

[breadarcade]

Longan x Clumsy/Childish Reader and Longan being so in denial but fails miserably

Like bro Reader is trying to reach for a jar of pickles on top of a shelf and instead of using a ladder they used pots and pans and getting themselves to fall to the ground with a small bruise but is still smiling and happy because they got that Pickle Jar off of the shelf before falling like dude they just went like- *They fell and is cover in pots and pans* "Got the pickles!"

note: THAT’S SO ME! GREAT NOW CAN I BE WITH LONGAN RN

PAIRING: LONGAN DRAGON COOKIE x READER

WARNING: you’re an idiot

★VERY FEW COOKIES can be granted the privilege of being favored by a dragon, especially the main 5 dragons of Earthbread. Dragons have standards that are impossible to comply, those who are favored by one are granted with power and wealth. It is the dream of many cookies that acknowledge the existence of dragons, their legends, and accomplishments that help contribute to the present that cookies get to live on. Although one should be warned, once worn out and bored by the dragon, they could be heartlessly thrown and disposed of. It may be the dream and nightmare of a cookie of ambition.

And one thing close to impossible, or it is impossible according to the records, is receiving the favor of none other than the Ivory Dragon of Earthbread. The Ivory Dragon is a heartless, apathetic dragon that would not care if everyone dies either way, the only thing that matters for him is his dragonkin. Everyone is easily disposable in their eyes, they have little meaning to them and they wouldn’t even dare take a good second to stare at them. Those would dare to be close to the Legendary Ivory Dragon are close to turning to stone. The Ivory Dragon have no time for trifles and setbacks like you, you should give––” Young Cookie?”

Ah never mind, Longan Dragon Cookie hurriedly walks towards the halls of the lustrous Longan Palace. Were they worried? Oh dear no, they don’t think so. After taking you into their palace out of curiosity and interest, they have been through several hassles thanks to you. They cannot tell whether they regret it or not. They were simply walking on eggshells, dragon orbs are scattered, wandering around the palace as they floated to find you. “Such weak cookie wandering around,” they murmured to themselves, watching as several wyverns that he had also taken under their wing, watched them with curiosity.

They looked at a particular wyvern, Longan Lancer Cookie, and they silently gestured Longan Lancer Cookie to find you, and so they immediately complied, swiftly vanishing through the thin air. As Longan Lancer Cookie went their way to find you, Longan Dragon Cookie tried to slowly compose themselves, Why are they acting like this? Why are they so merciful to you in the first place, you were just a cookie; weak and insignificant, and bear no importance and position that is worthy of their respect! Why are they latching and attached to you, you must have done something to them to be like this, that was the most reasonable explanation for Longan Dragon Cookie.

While Longan was busy looking for you, there was a sudden crash echoing across the palace, leaving Longan Dragon Cookie agitated for once, and rushing towards the source of that ear-piercing sound. To see the grand kitchen that they made for your own sake, Longan Lancer Cookie was also there, tending to you, by the time Longan Dragon Cookie came into a silent panic. It wasn’t unlike them, but they could not help but stunned when they saw you holding a jar of pickles, foolishly smiling like an idiot, with apparent bruises all over you to their dismay. While Longan Lancer Cookie is busy tending to you with a medical kit that Longan Dragon Cookie gets for your sake, Longan Dragon Cookie approaches you, clearly not amused by your apparent cheekiness. “Longan I got the–” “How reckless can you go to be this kind of level?” Longan Dragon Cookie sneered in pure dismay, watching you as you raised the jar of pickles with such pride, that they could not tell what made the both of you tic and what was so good about you. “You went up, to recklessly get a common treat, have you no common sense?” Longan Dragon Cookie was this close to obliterating you to stone. Crossing their arms as you sheepishly, and shamelessly smiled in front of them, “Come on, that was one time!” you pointed a finger at them to their irritation. “You cannot simply take something, that’s the purpose of the wyverns.” they retorted back.

Longan Dragon Cookie grumbled to themselves as they dismissed Longan Lancer Cookie away, gesturing to walk out as they were in front of you. They took you by the hand and helped you stand up, their grip was strangely tight for their character, making you look up to them. “Fine...I’m sorry, alright?” you apologize, making their grip soften as they look down at you “You should have been more aware.” they bluntly remark as they face you and trace their rough hands to your soft skin, tracing the shape of the bruises. “I know, and like I said I’m sorry,” you murmured, but this time, earning no response when Longan Dragon Cookie was just staring at you. Wait, is this love?

Let me rephrase this again, One thing that is close to impossible is receiving the favor of the mighty ivory dragon, yes, it is still impossible. But that was before you came along to their life, At this rate, you are making this less easy for them. You are tainting their judgment, Longan Dragon might say, but it is impossible to assume that when they are just there… Taking you along with them, and putting you in a closer view of them. So sooner or later, you might be the first and last cookie that the Ivory Dragon, the Longan Dragon Cookie might favor.

[the-west-meadow]

Normal People

Lukas Matsson x (fem)Reader, Roman Roy x (fem)Reader

word count: 3k - read on Ao3 here!

NFSW: 18+ ONLY

You first met him at Kendall’s birthday party.

Roman was being obnoxious. All he could talk about was finding Lukas Matsson. He and Shiv were relentless in their pursuit of the man. It was all business, no pleasure tonight. So while Roman and Shiv stood with their heads together, compulsively sipping vodka tonics, you slipped away unnoticed to try and have some fun before the night was over.

You found your way upstairs, where for some inexplicable reason Kendall had built a replica of his childhood treehouse. The inside was bustling with people yet the two buff men outside wouldn’t let you enter without an armband. Dejected, you started to turn away, when you heard Kendall’s voice from above.

“Hey! Let her through, she’s cool!”

He was pointing right at you with a grin. The guards moved aside, letting you in.

Upstairs, Kendall greeted you with a hug.

“Nice treehouse,” you said.

“Thanks. It’s pretty infantile, right? Sort of the vibe I was going for.”

“Definitely. You nailed it.”

“Hey, I need a favor while you’re here. See that guy over there?”

He nodded over his shoulder to a tall blonde Scandinavian-looking man slouching alone in a plush leather chair.

“Who is that?”

“That’s Lukas Matsson. He’s pretty disgruntled and I need someone to keep him from wandering. I can’t do it anymore, I need to mingle. Also, Roman cannot know he’s here.”

“Roman’s entire purpose in life tonight is to find that guy.”

“Please don’t tell him he’s here. I’ll owe you one. Seriously.

“Don’t worry. Roman’s driving me fucking crazy at the moment.”

“Amazing. You’re amazing. Let me get you a drink and I’ll introduce you.”

Kendall stepped away. You glanced curiously in Lukas’s direction. He glanced up from his phone, met your eyes, and did a double take. He stared at you for a long moment across the room.

Kendall returned with your drink, breaking your gaze.

“Let’s go. You’re about to meet one of the weirdest rich guys out there.”

Drinks in hand, you approached the man. He kept his eyes fixed on yours.

“Yo, Lukas. Meet my good friend Y/N. I promise she’s not going to network you to death.”

Kendall clapped him on the shoulder.

“You guys have fun.”

You thought you saw Kendall wink, but it was too quick, and then he was gone.

“Kendall thinks I need a babysitter tonight,” Lukas said. “Too many sharks in the water.”

“Thankfully I don’t have any interest in what Kendall and his family does. I’m just along for the ride.”

“What do you do?”

“I’m a writer.”

“What do you write?”

“Words, mostly.”

Lukas cracked the smallest grin.

“Is that, like, meaningful for you?” he asked.

“I don’t really care if it has meaning or not. Mostly it keeps me entertained.”

“Cheers to that.”

He raised his beer bottle and clinked it against your glass of gin and tonic.

“So you know all of the Roy siblings?” Lukas said.

“Too well.”

“Which one’s your favorite?”

“Do I have to have a favorite?”

“It’ll say a lot about you. I’m still figuring out who I’m talking to here.”

You considered briefly.

“I think I relate to Kendall the most.”

“Daddy issues?”

You laughed. “I’m not going there. But if I had to pick a favorite… Roman is the most fun to be around.”

“So you like fun.”

“You don’t?”

“I don’t relate to what most people think of as fun.”

“Like what?”

“I don’t know. Partying. Getting drunk. Rollercoasters.”

You burst out laughing.

“What?” he said.

“Rollercoasters?”

“People find them fun, right? You tell me. What’s fun to you?”

“Not rollercoasters.”

Lukas considered you with a curious, calculating look.

“I’m starting to think you’re not a normal person,” he said.

“I could tell you weren’t normal the second I looked over here.”

You gave him a sly smile. He set his beer down and folded his hands in his lap.

“I’ve got to get out of this treehouse,” he said.

“You don’t think the treehouse is fun?”

“I’d like to find out what your idea of fun is. You still haven’t told me.”

You gazed at him for a long moment. Then you heard an all-too-familiar voice over your shoulder.

“There you are. Both of you.”

Roman was leaning over you with his hands on the back of your chair.

“This is a weird pairing. What are you guys even talking about?”

“Rollercoasters,” Lukas said.

You smiled, catching his eye once more before you stood.

“I’ll let you guys talk.”

“I’ll see you later, though, yeah?” Roman called. You glanced at Lukas, who had put everything together in an instant.

“If you can find me,” you said as you left.

When you glanced back over your shoulder, Lukas was staring at his phone again and Roman was sitting cross-legged in your chair, trying unsuccessfully to get his attention.

Not long after, you found yourself in Italy, lying poolside beneath the mild northern sun. Eyes closed, you felt a shadow pass over your vision and cracked your eyes open. Roman sat in the neighboring beach chair, squinting in the light.

“I forgot how much I hated the sun.”

He leaned back uncomfortably in the chair.

“So, I have a mission for you. For both of us.”

“What?”

“Guess who lives right across the lake.”

“Who? Stop making me ask questions.”

“Our old buddy Lukas Matsson.”

Your heart skipped a beat.

“Who?”

Roman grinned.

“You know who. You’re literally blushing.”

“It’s the sun.”

“I know you’ve been wondering how big his dick is.”

“Roman, what the fuck?”

“Hey, it’s fine. I mean, you still haven’t seen mine. It’s only healthy to think about other men’s dicks every now and then.”

“Jesus…”

“Look, seriously. I need your help. I have to convince him to make this deal. But I don’t think he likes me all that much. If you’re there, maybe he’ll perk up enough to listen to me. I mean, the man’s practically comatose.”

“What am I supposed to do?”

“I need you to get him a little hard, metaphorically speaking. He’ll want to show off his big dick in front of you by making this deal.”

“Stop saying ‘dick’. This is sounding really fucking weird.”

“Like I’m trying to whore you out to him?”

“Yeah. Exactly that.”

“Come on. You don’t have to do anything. Unless, you know, you want to.”

He wiggled his eyebrows. You gave a sigh.

“When are you leaving?”

“Soon. Now, actually. Can you put some clothes on? The bikini might be overkill.”

“God dammit, Roman.”

You stood up and grabbed the towel from the back of your chair. He grabbed your hand gently.

“Hey.”

You paused, gazing down at him, the quirky smile flashing, eyes obscured behind his dark sunglasses.

“You’re my secret weapon.”

You were on the boat less than half an hour later, speeding across Lake Como in the warm air.

“That’s his place,” Roman said, indicating the approaching villa. Tall cypress trees swayed in the lake breeze, revealing a stuccoed exterior and red tile roof. A hidden paradise nestled at the foot of the Alps.

“You’re shitting me.”

Roman grinned.

Lukas was waiting for you on the dock. He was barefoot, in a black t-shirt and white linen pants. His dark blue eyes glinted in the light reflecting off the lake.

Roman disembarked first, turning to lend you a hand. You felt Lukas watching the two of you.

"There you are, you tall motherfucker," Roman said, stepping forward to greet him. He shook Roman’s hand, then turned his gaze to you.

“You remember Y/N, right?” Roman said. “I think I interrupted your little party in the treehouse.”

“So you two are together?”

“Well, we haven’t fucked yet if that’s what you mean,” Roman said.

Lukas glanced at you. You rolled your eyes discreetly.

“I feel like I shouldn’t ask,” Lukas said.

“Oh, it’s all me. Not her fault.”

Lukas led the two of you to a patio shaded from the sun. His property was quiet, beautiful, secluded. It was strange to imagine him padding around the villa in his bare feet, alone. He reclined on a wicker sofa while you took a seat nearby.

Roman was looking at his phone, suddenly serious.

“What is it?” you said.

“I gotta take this. Sorry, guys.”

He stepped away, leaving you alone with Lukas. He reclined on a beige sofa, glancing at you with his hands folded in his lap.

“I was wondering if I’d see you again,” he said. “Where did we leave off?”

“I don’t remember. It was a long night.”

“When you said Roman was your favorite, I didn’t realize why.”

“It’s pretty complicated.”

“Sounds like it.” Lukas paused. “You guys really haven’t fucked?”

“It’s just… not like that. I know it sounds weird.”

“How long have you been together?”

“About a year.”

He let out a low whistle.

“So does that mean… I mean, are you guys exclusive?”

“So far. Yeah.”

You gazed at each other silently. Roman returned, phone in hand.

“Hey guys, I gotta run. But I’ll be back. Is it cool if she stays?”

“It’s fine,” Lukas said. “Is everything okay?”

“Yeah, yeah. Just family stuff. Kendall,” he added, glancing at you.

You nodded, unable to tell if he was bluffing or not.

“Try not to talk business without me,” Roman said. He turned and jogged back towards the dock. You heard the boat engine start as he sped off across the lake.

“Fun,” Lukas said.

You looked at him in confusion.

“We were talking about fun.”

He was gazing at you, broad shoulders in the dappled sunlight, his eyes calm.

“Do you want to see the rest of the house?”

You followed him inside, bare feet on the cool terracotta floor, a warm breeze moving through the open rooms. The villa was exquisitely decorated, a blend of modern art and traditional Italian motifs. Green and gold curtains, plush beige sofas, a gleaming oak dining table.

“You live alone?”

“Yeah. To be honest, I don’t like living with other people.”

“I know what you mean.”

“You and Roman don’t live together?

“Let’s stop talking about Roman.”

You paused in the doorway of a bedroom that opened onto a patio overlooking the lake. The sheer curtains lifted in the breeze. You felt Lukas glance at you.

“The downstairs is all for show. I live upstairs. Do you want to see?”

The upstairs was a loft with exposed beams and skylights. In contrast to the overblown downstairs decoration, everything here was black, white, grey. This was where Lukas’s preference for Scandinavian minimalism became apparent. He was so tall that he had to stoop in certain places. You peered into his office, sparsely decorated with a wooden desk, MacBook and high-end stereo system.

“This is where I get my thinking done. I really don’t like having visitors in general. Present company excepted.”

His bedroom was adjacent to the office. Again you lingered in the doorway, hesitant to enter his private quarters. He leaned on the doorframe across from you and folded his arms. He looked straight at you.

“So,” he said.

“So...?”

“Kendall’s birthday party. I had every intention of inviting you back to my room.”

“Roman ruined your plans, huh?”

“Pretty much. But then he brought you here.”

You went silent, gazing back at him. The blonde stubble, heavy brow, hard blue eyes. Something in him both frightening and compelling. Impenetrable but vulnerable. He was tan from the summer sun, calm and cool. He seemed curious to see what your next move would be. And he was willing to wait you out.

You meandered into the bedroom, glancing around at his possessions. A shelf full of books: classics, modern novels, books on tech. A stray pair of headphones. A solitary person’s existence.

He followed you in, taking a seat on the edge of his bed. You turned around to face him.

“Roman brought me here to help make the deal for his dad,” you said.

“I know that. I don’t care. I’ve already made my decision.”

“Okay.”

“Okay.”

You stepped up to him, feet nearly touching. He watched you with the faint smile of someone who has been alone for a long time observing a newcomer in their space.

“Let’s not fuck around any longer,” he whispered.

Almost before he had finished speaking, you leaned down to kiss him. He kissed you back, long, deep kisses, like he had missed you intensely in your brief, inexplicable absence from his life. His hands slid up your back. You sank onto his lap, straddling him as his hands moved lower, exploring your unfamiliar form.

You ran your hands through his hair, along the back of his neck, across his broad shoulders. You slid your hands beneath the sleeves of his t-shirt, feeling his toned arms. You kissed his neck, the sound of his rasping breath in your ear.

“Did you think of me at all?” he whispered.

“I couldn’t stop,” you breathed.

You felt a throb as he grew harder beneath you. You pushed him back onto the bed and ground against him as he swiftly unbuttoned your shirt then shed his own. He pulled you down against him, kissing your neck, your shoulders, his stubble brushing your skin.

“You really haven’t been fucked in a year?”

You shook your head, gasping at his touch, unable to speak.

“Time to change that.”

He deftly changed positions with you, so that you were lying half-dressed beneath him. Now you had a full view of him, his bare torso, ruffled blonde hair, the intensity in his eyes. He unzipped his pants and slid out of them.

“Oh my god,” you said, unable to stop yourself. Lukas grinned, breathless.

“What?”

“You’re fucking huge.”

He tugged your pants off, gripping his cock, and without any further delay, slid swiftly into you.

You let out a long, vocal moan. It had been too long. Everything in you had been aching for him. He watched your every reaction, the slight grin on his face, his eyes glittering. You bucked against him, running your hands over his lean body as he slowly, firmly pounded into you. You gripped his forearm for dear life.

“Fuck, Lukas”

“Yeah? Is that good?”

You groaned in response as he leaned into you, his hot, sticky skin against yours, running along the length of your body with his bulk. He gripped your wrists, pinning you lightly as he pulsed in and out of you. You sank your teeth into the muscle of his shoulder, and he held you down harder.

“You feel like you want to come,” he murmured.

“Mmhmm.”

“You’re so fucking wet.”

You dug your fingers into his back, feeling your entire body tense up.

“It’s been so long. You’re ready to fucking burst.”

He slid his thumb into your mouth and you bit down on it. There were starbursts behind your eyes. His voice in your ear.

“There you go. Let me hear you. I want to hear you.”

That was it. You let go, back arched, thighs tensed, warmth spreading across your body as you let out a half-moan, half-scream. You heard Lukas groan and stiffen, his hand twined in your hair.

You stayed like that for a long moment, breathing into each other’s mouths. Finally he rolled off of you, shining with a light cover of sweat. You lay side by side, recovering.

“Fuck,” you whimpered.

“Is that what you wanted?”

“Fuck yes.”

You felt his fingers brush along your forearm. He was gazing at you from his pillow.

“You can come closer. If you want.”

You gladly complied, feeling his arm encircle you as you found a place against his chest. Your eyes traced his unfamiliar body. A tuft of blonde chest hair, a scar below his ribcage, a small birthmark near the belly button. But you didn’t touch him further. This was still new, the boundaries not yet established. Perhaps Lukas didn’t want to be touched in a tender, loving way. Perhaps you didn’t either.

“I wish we had more time,” he murmured. “There’s a lot more I want to do with you.”

“I was very pent-up,” you said, half-apologizing.

“No, it’s fine. It’s good when it’s fast sometimes. Plus I’m not great at seductive gestures.”

“This is only the second time we've met and you made me come. That just doesn’t happen.”

He gave a slight laugh, a low sound deep in his chest. He stroked your shoulder with his thumb briefly.

“I mean I’m not a normal person. Some things people want from me, I just can’t give them.”

“You’re talking to someone who’s been dating Roman Roy for a year and a half. I go without a lot of things.”

You gazed down his body, his skin soft and tan in the natural light.

“Plus, there’s probably a lot I can’t give you,” you murmured. “Remember, I’m not normal either.”

“I don’t care. I don’t want normal. I get bored easily.”

From the open window, you could hear the sound of the lake lapping against the shore. Then, growing in the distance, the high whine of a motor.

“Well,” said Lukas with a note of finality.

“What do we do?”

He turned on his side, looking straight at you again with that penetrating gaze.

“I think we need to see each other again,” he said.

“Okay.”

Without another word, he sat up, sliding into his pants. You savored the sight of his torso as he pulled on his shirt. You dressed quickly then met him in the doorway, where you paused. He brushed a strand of hair behind your ear, then leaned down and kissed you once, warm and deep. He held your eyes for a long moment. He looked like he was about to say something, but instead he smiled slightly to himself and started down the stairs. You followed, eyes lingering on the back of his neck, his shoulders.

Roman met you on the green lawn. His hair and clothes were windblown and disheveled but he was grinning.

“Hey kids. Have fun without me?”

“Just showing her around the property.”

“I bet you did. Hey, I know it was shitty for me to run out like that, so if you want to talk about the deal another time, we’ll get out of your hair.”

“We don’t need to talk about it. I want to do it.”

Roman raised his eyebrows. “Well, shit. Are you sure, man?”

“Yeah. It’s fine. I’m sure.”

Roman grabbed his hand and shook it with a grin. “I guess we’ll be seeing a lot more of each other.”

“I guess we will.”

Lukas’s eyes flashed in your direction. You smiled slightly and looked away.

On the boat ride back, Roman was strangely silent. He had a secretive grin on his face and his eyes were obscured behind his dark glasses. Then he unexpectedly turned to you, grabbed your face between his hands, and kissed you on the mouth.

“It worked. It fucking worked.”

He held your hand the rest of the way back to his mother’s villa. It was the first time in a year and a half of dating that he had done so.

[andreafmn]

Collision | Chapter 28

Word Count: 3.0K

Story Description: (Y/N) Uley is back home after being away for four years. Her life is at its first standstill and she is taking this time to find out who she is without school. But she never thought that coming back to the reservation would turn her whole life around. In the midst of secrets and mystery, a man crashes into (Y/N)’s and her life will never be the same.

A/N: okay so i fell in love with the house I used to base the cullen home in Ithaca... all i need is $3 million 😅

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The time that had passed between (Y/N) debating speaking with Esme and getting on a plane with her and Theo had been less than half a day, and yet it had felt like a week had already gone by. Her energy had been completely drained from both confrontations she’d had that afternoon.

She had learned betrayal from every person she loved and trusted, all at various degrees of hurt. Granted, she should have been used to it. After her own father had disappeared from her life, it seemed everyone else had decided that hurting her would be the norm, and they all had taken perfectly to their task.

The second (Y/N) finally sat on her plane seat realization dawned upon her. She was crossing the country to save the man who had decided her heart wasn’t worth love and care. All because she knew she would never be able to live with herself if she ever treated Carlisle like he had treated her.

The girl wanted to burst out laughing, for fear that if she started crying again, she wouldn’t stop. Well, if she thought much about the situation she was in, she knew she would cry. Instead, she turned her attention to anything but that.

“So, you and Esme, huh,” she whispered toward Theo, nudging her softly with her elbow. “You two seem to have been getting close.”

“Oh, um, w-well, we’ve just been working together,” Theo stammered. “For Carlisle, you know?”

“Right,” (Y/N) grinned. “So, that means that those googly eyes and lingering touches are all part of the plan, right? Good to know. Will I be getting any of that treatment?”

“So, you saw that, huh?”

“It’s not like you were very discreet about it,” she teased. “I’ve also grown to know that look very well.”

(Y/N) knew if Theo could, her face would have grown red already. Although Esme was a few rows in front, there was no doubt she could hear them had they spoken just a decibel higher than they were.

“God, I can’t really lie about that,” the vampire sighed, rubbing her eyes in frustration. “I do. I like her. A lot. Way more than I’ve ever liked someone before.”

“Then why don’t you tell her? It’s not like you have anything to lose.”

“Come on,” she chuckled. “Why would she ever be interested in someone like me? I’m nothing special.”

“Seriously, Theo? You cannot believe that,” (Y/N) said. “Just the fact that you’re an immortal being with powers makes you special enough. And that’s the least interesting thing about you. You’re extremely intelligent, you’re funny, you’re caring—you’re honestly a great catch.”

“Yeah, but so is she. So, what am I bringing to the table?”

“Love, respect, loyalty, kindness… I mean, what else can you ask for, really. It’s not a pageant, Theo. There are no shoes to fill here.”

Only silence came from the vampire as she thought over her friend’s words. Her eyes darted to the pale woman three rows in front of them whose nose was stuck in a book, headphones over her ears. For someone so fearless, who had lived a century and some change, and had faced a multitude of obstacles and dangers, confessing her feelings to someone was the scariest thing she had come across.

“When did you know?” (Y/N) broke Theo out of her thoughts. “That you, uh, well, that you liked girls.”

“Question for the ages, isn’t it?” Theo chuckled softly, thankful to drift her mind away from the brunette a few rows down. “Is it too cliché if I said I always knew?”

“Of course not.”

“Back in my time—and many years after that too— I would have been killed just for looking at a woman for too long,” she said. “After, I would have been locked in a mental asylum and left to rot. If I had not been a vampire, I would have been dead for who I loved a long time ago. “Restricting myself for years made it hard for me to allow myself to feel for another woman,” Theo continued. “Not only did I have to hide the fact that I was a vampire, but I had to deny the most human of feelings. Then again, I haven’t been a human longer than everyone on this plane has been alive. So, yeah, I have always known the kind of person I can love, but I’ve never been allowed the right to.”

A small trickle of tears had started falling down (Y/N)’s right eye, warming her cheek as it did. The only reason she had been judged and chastised over who she loved was because he was a vampire, which had nothing to do with the fact he was a man. She couldn’t fathom having to live avoiding love all out of fear someone who couldn’t stand the sight of it would react.

“Oh, I didn’t mean to make you cry, (Y/N),” Theodora cooed, wiping away the tears with her cold hand. “It’s just how things are. I’m used to it.”

“You shouldn’t be,” (Y/N) sniffled. “How could loving someone be a bad thing? I mean, even Christians should understand that—the bible tells as much. “Beloved, let us love one another, for love is of God; and everyone who loves is born of God and knows God.” I just can’t understand why others seem so concerned about everyone’s life but their own.”

“I’m guessing there’s more to the story here than just gay rights, (Y/N),” Theo inquired. “What’s going on?”

“I veered off topic there at the end, didn’t I?” the girl sighed. “Sam and Paul admitted to throwing away your letters. They say it was to protect me, but they just didn’t want me to have any relation to your kind.”

“What?” Theo mused. “Lesbians?”

“Come on,” (Y/N) laughed. “You know what I mean.”

“Your brother was probably doing what he thought was best. It’s his job to protect humans from people like me,” the vampire reasoned. “I’m not saying it was right, nor that you shouldn’t be angry. But it must be hard juggling his sister being around his mortal enemy and being your brother.”

(Y/N) threw her head back in frustration, knowing the viridity of her friend’s words. There wasn’t a right or wrong way to handle things—if there was, she hadn’t read those rules yet. Everyone was simply going around, hoping the decisions they make don’t affect those around them. And if they did, that the damage wasn’t permanent.

Yet, it didn’t alleviate the anger that had built inside her. (Y/N) felt no one trusted her judgment. Even worse, that they didn’t believe her to be capable of making good decisions. It seemed everyone had written her off as a secondary character in her own story—nothing she wanted was the right thing. She hadn’t even been given the choice to be with the man she had grown to love.

Somewhere along the five and a half hours it took to cross the country, (Y/N)’s eyes had drifted shit. When she woke, the plane was landing on the tarmac, and the pilot was welcoming his passengers to Ithaca, New York. From there, it would be a three-hour ride to where Theo believed Carlisle had gone. But Esme thought it would be best to stop by their residence so (Y/N) could have a little rest.

It was the first time (Y/N) had been on that side of the country, and for the first time, she understood the allure of the east coast. Of course, they weren’t exactly situated in the center of New York City. There weren’t the bright lights and grandeur of the big city, but there was a stark contrast to the town she was born and raised in.

As they drove down the streets of Ithaca, (Y/N)’s chest started to wrench. That was the place she would have moved to had Carlisle given her the choice to. She could see herself walking down through the town, she could pinpoint the coffee shop she would frequent before or after work, she could imagine herself taking a weekend stroll through the shops or even the farmer’s market that happened every two Sundays. She could see the life she might’ve had. The life she never would—at least not with him.

The Cullen house in Ithaca was nothing short of magnificent, not that she expected anything less. The first thing she was met with was a big gate leading to an even bigger driveway. Unlike their home in Forks, this one felt like an estate. It truly was an architectural wonder. From the front garden to the stone walls and opulent height, the house was a sight to behold—a four-floor wonder hidden by the trees of Ithaca.

“Carlisle had this built back in the 20s,” Esme commented as she unloaded their bags from the car. “I think it was a year or two after I was turned. But we didn’t live here until after we left Forks for the first time. I think it’s my favorite of all the houses.”

“It’s beautiful,” (Y/N) muttered. “Very different to the house in Forks.”

“Well, it’s kept its old-timey charm,” she chuckled. “There’s a little over seven acres of land, which helps with maintaining the privacy the family needs. I wish we were here in different circumstances. I really think you would like this place.”

As though she could read her mind, Theo was quick to change the topic. “Why don’t you go in and freshen up?” she told (Y/N). “We’ll go and get you some food in the meantime. Still a fan of burgers?”

“Yeah,” the girl smiled weakly. “No onions…”

“And no pickles,” Theo added. “We’ll be right back.”

(Y/N) was left by herself in the house, and she couldn’t help but feel overwhelmed. Everywhere she turned, there was a picture of the family or an award one of them had won at a given point in their lives. There was nowhere she could go where she wouldn’t be reminded of who the house belonged to.

Instead of choosing a room to lie down in, the girl decided to explore. She opened door after door, her eyes running through every surface she could find. Ever room was different, but a perfect example of every single of the Cullens that normally inhabited the house. There was a clear distinction behind every door she opened, there was no way she could mistake who the area belonged to.

But it was the last door she opened that took her aback.

It wasn’t a bedroom, unlike the other ones she’d opened. That one was an office filled from floor to ceiling with books. A beautiful oak desk lived in the middle of the room paired with a black leather office chair. It was undoubtedly Carlisle’s room.

And if there was any doubt that it was the older vampire’s office, a particular picture on the desk only cemented the premise.

She could remember the exact moment the picture had been taken. Three days before her entire life changed. Alice had made sure to document everything about Bella’s birthday, taking picture after picture of anything she could think of. It seemed one of those things had been a moment (Y/N) and Carlisle spent apart from the family. They had only been talking, but that wasn’t what the picture captured. It was the absolute look of love in their shared gaze that stood out from the image. A radiant gleam that had washed over them and seemed to radiate from the still. A beautiful moment frozen in time that seemed like a lifetime ago.

(Y/N) took the frame in her hands as she sat on the floor, running her fingers across the glass as though she could relive that moment with just a single touch. Every emotion surged from deep inside her and erupted in another stream of tears she didn’t want to fall. She had cried more in those last six months than she’d had her entire life. And though she was tired of it, she couldn’t seem to stop.

She wanted the feeling in that photo back. The smile she wore and the glint in her eyes, the glow of being in love and being loved. She wanted to be that happy once more. A part of her would always want that with Carlisle. But there was another side, albeit a small one, that told her life went on and she could have that with someone else.

Suddenly, the ringing of her phone made the frame in her hands stumble to the ground. After seeing that the glass was unharmed, she pulled the device out of her pocket and clicked the green button.

“Hey, you get there okay?”

“Hi, Eden,” she said as she let out a breath of relief. “Yeah. We got here about an hour ago. Just settled into the house. We still have a bit more traveling to do tomorrow.”

“You must be exhausted,” he said. “Have you eaten yet?”

“Uh, my friends went out to get some food, but I’m honestly not that hungry. I’m just tired, you know? And it’s not sleep I need,” the girl sighed. “I just want this to be over with already.”

“Think of it this way: it will only take a couple of days before you can pass the page and get on for the rest of your life. You can do a couple of days, right?”

“I have to,” she chuckled. “I’m already here.”

“You’re stronger than most, (Y/N),” Eden muttered. “You’ll come out of this better than ever.”

“I wish I had your conviction, but I can’t help but wonder if I’m still doing the right thing.”

“Wanna know what I think?”

“More than anything.”

“I think you know you’re doing the right thing, but you’re looking for an excuse to think it isn’t,” he said. “I think you wouldn’t be able to live with yourself if you didn’t help this guy, regardless of what he did to you. Because that’s who you are, and there’s nothing wrong with that. It’s what makes you a great person.”

(Y/N) pulled her knees to her chest as she listened to Arden’s words. He spoke so surely it was as though he had known her all her life. He’d told her what she needed to hear and more. She had shown her there was someone else who had been able to look into her soul. “Thanks, Eden,” she smiled. “You have no idea how much those words mean to me.”

“I’m only saying what I believe,” he said. “I know it might be surprising given how I acted those first couple of months, but after giving myself the chance to get to know you, I can tell you’re an incredible person.”

“You sound so sure,” she chuckled. “We’ve only been properly acquainted for almost a month.”

“Doesn’t take much time to be impressed by you,” Eden admitted. “And I can honestly say that. You’re amazing, (Y/N).”

(Y/N) found it hard to accept the compliment, especially coming from him. His words made her heart hammer against her chest, and her cheeks grew red and warm. She took a moment to think of her next words, thankful that he wasn’t standing before her. And as if by divine intervention, from a distance, she heard the front door open and two voices following behind. “Uh, so, my friends just came back.”

“Oh, yeah, of course. I’ll let you go.”

“Thanks for calling, Eden,” (Y/N) smiled. “I’ll let you know when I get back home.”

“Alright, sounds like a plan,” he said. “Be safe, (Y/N).”

“I will. Bye, Eden.”

With a reciprocated goodbye, (Y/N) put her phone back into her pocket. She wiped away her tears and placed the photo frame back on the desk, making sure nothing looked amiss. Just as she had entered, the girl left the office to join the vampires in the kitchen.

“So, we got you a burger and fries,” Theo said as she pulled the items from the bag onto the kitchen counter. “We also got you some drinks and snacks in case you get hungry during the night.”

“We want to try and be out of here as early as possible tomorrow morning,” Esme added. “But no pressure. You can sleep for as long as you need.”

“Thanks, guys,” (Y/N) smiled. “You didn’t have to do all this. I would have been fine with just the burger.”

“Well, it’s mostly for us,” Theo shrugged. “Made me feel human for a second to go around buying food. Makes me want to go grocery shopping just for fun.”

“It is fun,” Esme chimed. “Granted, we’re not limited to allergies, diets, or money. Could not imagine being a human again and being betrayed by your stomach.”

“Well, as a human that is not betrayed by my stomach, I will agree it can be fun,” the girl chuckled softly. “What’s not as fun is having to feed yourself every day and cook most days.”

“That’s true, I guess,” Theo agreed. “It’s easier when your choices are just whatever wildlife you encounter, and we don’t even have to cook it.”

If either of them noticed that (Y/N) had been crying, they didn’t make any mention of it. Instead, they asked if the burger was good and if she had found a room to rest in for the night. For a moment, the three women weren’t on a stop to save Carlisle. For a split second, it felt like three friends who had decided to take a weekend trip to New York. They were able to talk and laugh about nothing and everything.

They spent the rest of the night in front of the fireplace, dancing around what they would have to do the following day, instead preferring the normalcy of their encounter. Even though Carlisle was still very present in the back of their minds, they allowed themselves that one night just to be friends. They all knew it would most likely be the last time they would be able to be that close.

Next ->

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[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

What would you change about Malleus if you could?

To quote myself from an older post:

“Honestly, I wouldn’t change anything about Malleus, even if I don’t like him as he is. A lot of my grievances with Malleus fundamentally make Twisted Wonderland what it is, so changing Malleus would also change Twisted Wonderland, from the marketing (aka make Malleus NOT a focal point) to the story itself. Like, the whole point of Malleus is to be standoffish and mysterious. If he wasn’t, then there wouldn’t be any good foreshadowing for chapter 7 […] I understand that he is the way he is in service of the main story plot and to stay true to his Disney origins […] he serves his purpose in the story. Don’t fix what isn’t broken.”

Instead of changing Malleus, I’d like to change how the world interacts with him without making major changes to his background or personality. That will be the focus of this post!

Here is what I would alter:

Introduce Malleus to Yuu sooner and make their interactions more meaningful than a few dialogue exchanges before he poofs away.

A lot of my issues with Malleus come from how weak his friendship with Yuu feels, especially if the player does not project onto their relationship to fill in the gaps. They don’t meet until book 2, Lilia delivers instead of Malleus in book 4, and Malleus and Yuu don’t interact at all in book 6. When they do meet, they don’t even do or say that much that would make them… I don’t know, connect? And no, the nickname (Tsunotaro/Hornton) alone doesn’t cut it for me. The value of Yuu and Malleus’s relationship as it currently stands is too dependent on whether the player likes Malleus or not, and anyone who doesn’t is left not caring about his and Yuu’s bond.

Let’s show Malleus sooner (even as early as the end of the prologue). Maybe Yuu sees his figure from a distance and is curious about him. Then have him appear and interact with Yuu every book. Have them actually get to know each other a little, but not in ways which would be too intimate or give away his identity. Tailor each interaction so that it tangentially relates to the problem Yuu is dealing with that particular book, then, through their interaction, have Malleus give advice in a roundabout way that ends up helping Yuu come up with a solution for that book. This way it progresses the story, maintains Malleus’s enigmatic presence, AND it deepens his bond with Yuu.

One good example of this actually occurs in book 3 of the main story. Yuu confides in Malleus in 3-24 that they’ve lost their dorm as collateral in a deal. Malleus then abruptly changes the topic to gargoyles. He points out that although they look scary, they serve an important function as a type of drainage spout to protect buildings from the elements. “They look frightful, and yet they are beings devoted to the preservation of the home. Sometimes, what you see with your eyes is the complete opposite of the truth.” Finally, Malleus advises Yuu to keep fighting for their dorm, as he too would hate to see Ramshackle be seized and turned into a noisy establishment. This is PERFECT, we need more of THIS sort of Malleus-Yuu interaction 😭 He’s still communicating in a quirky way and sharing his interests but he also manages to impart sage advice to Yuu, which they use to deduce the truth to Azul’s “indestructible” contracts. Give us more of this every book, please.

Properly reprimand him when he actually makes mistakes or endangers others.

I cannot tell you how insanely frustrating it is that Malleus gets let off easy for the transgressions (whether major or minor) he commits and the danger he puts his peers in. He should be held to the same standards as his peers and treated the same too. If some rando mob student or another dorm leader would get into trouble for starting a fight, then Malleus should also be held accountable when he abuses his magic (which he KNOWS he has an abundance of compared to his peers) to "prank" others. He should not get special treatment or get put on a pedestal just because of power or social status.

Give Malleus opportunities to demonstrate his abilities as a leader.

Diasomnia is known for having tons of Draconians (Malleus fan boys), right??? So show us what makes him worthy of being followed and revered beyond his lineage and the power he was born with. Don't tell me they just mindlessly worship him for his title and strength. What has he done to earn their respect and loyalty? What makes him fit to rule over them? Surely not just noble blood?

Instead of telling us about Malleus’s greatness, how about we actually get to see him show how great he is? No magic, no physical prowess. Put him in a tough situation where he cannot handwave the problem away and force him to use his brains to come up with a creative solution on his own. We kind of got a glimpse of this in Master Chef/Culinary Crucibles, since Malleus was not allowed to use magic for the course, and that was just small stakes. I would like to see more scenarios like this which force Malleus to confront issues and to think outside of the box. This would help us see how he fares on his own, how he thinks, and how he reacts when he cannot rely on magic as a crutch. Who is Malleus without his magic? That's what I want to know.

[days-until-burnout]

It is now day 8 ;)

request short fic involving ravager rush.

jokes on you. it is longer now :D _____

📧 Day 96 -

Characters - Etho/Joel Words - 647 Time - 25 mins Content - Hermitcraft

After finding nothing in his pockets, Joel rummages through the ender chest for spare change. Despite knowing he is low on diamonds, he just cannot help himself—something about this blooming game has him hooked, and if he has to take a loan to play, he probably will. 

He pauses, realizing how stupid that is. 

His hand holds the lid, running his thumb along the edge of it. There are a couple diamonds reserved to buy materials for his next build, and there are the diamonds he made from his shop—and his tools in his inventory almost taunt him, reminding him that he can get the materials himself or even go gather more diamonds. 

Joel wonders if this is what having an addiction is. 

Still, in his haste of mental calculations, he fails to hear someone approaching, and it is not until they are right beside him, practically draped over his side that he realizes. 

He jumps back, tripping on the ender chest and roughing up the side of his leg against the edge of the stair. He falls hard, wincing, pain replaced with anger and frustration. His palm presses hard on the ground, pushing himself to a sitting position to glare, finding Etho looking down at him with wide eyes, shocked. 

“So– Sorry… Just, whoa. Quite, uh, quite the scare, there… buddy…” Etho stutters, offering a hand that Joel simply swats away. Etho dares to look hurt as he takes a step back, shrinking onto himself. “I… Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you…”

Joel glares a second longer then he sighs, using his other hand to rub the back of his neck. When he scoots closer to the edge, he hisses at the scratches on his leg and arm, and this time, he accepts the hand offered. 

He chuckles when Etho does not let go. “What? Scared I’m going to sue you?”

Etho blinks, then squints. He shakes his head. “No. I mean, you wouldn’t, right Joel?”

“Dunno, I’m proper roughed up now. After your little stunt, that is.”

“Sorry,” Etho drags, then Joel freezes when Etho leans over to press their foreheads together. He smirks, however, when Etho stays in place. “I’ll give you two keys.”

“Five and I won’t sue you.”

“Hm. I don’t know, Joel. Is it really my fault you’re such a scaredy cat?”

Joel uses his free hand to shove his shoulder, but he smiles as Etho comes back with some distance between their faces. He can tell Etho is smiling too, that crinkle in his eyes and subtle rise of his mask is enough sign for him. 

“It’s closed anyways, you shouldn’t be here after hours.” Etho argues, and Joel raises his brow. “Maintenance. Gotta keep everything working, you know. I didn’t think the Hermits would come to play so much so now I have to do maintenance.” 

“Oh, how horrible. Dry your tears with those diamonds, won’t you?”

Etho smirks, revealed when he tugs his mask under his chin. Joel’s eyes flicker from his lips back to his eyes, and Etho almost looks elated at the action. 

“I was going to offer you a deal.”

“By hurting me? I could’ve died, you know. Hit my head or got a heart-attack.”

At his antics, Etho only rolls his eyes, continues as always. “Aside from that, I was going to offer some keys.” Joel’s pupils widen with interest before he squints, drawing a quiet chuckle from Etho who inches closer again. “Five kisses for a key. Simple and it costs you nothing.”

Joel cuts the last distance between them, looking up slightly as their lips brush. He smiles and his words touch on Etho’s lips when he speaks, “Gosh, you’re so obsessed with me, Eefo.”

“What of it?” Etho whispers as he leans down, kissing him again.

Joel only smiles, a hand between them to grab Etho’s collar, keeping him in place. 

_____

i wasnt going to do daily today because i wrote so much already. but why not. smalletho are my pick-me-ups. i love them. my bias<3 also, 4 more days until day 100.... damn

[universesweetheart]

Your Umbrella (Dazai x Reader)

I love him. My baby, my love, my sunshine is safe and happy in my bed.

Wrote this before watching today's new episode! This feels rushed because I was too excited for the new episode to wait to write it out. Sorry babes, Dazai is my top priority.

Post episode Mars: I giggled and kicked my feet like a little girl! That was some gay shit, but HELLO DAZAI IS ALIVE! My babyboo ahh.

(Also did you guys see the chapter236 JJK leaks?! I shall write for Gojo...I'm coping)

Writing is how I cope.

In which we talk with Dazai while we both overlook the setting sun (see what I did there hehe)

Bye now - Mars ♡

Together on a bench, onlooking the sunset, you and Dazai sat in silent. The rays of the warm sunlight pleasant on your skin and face. The clouds, a pretty colour of orange and yellow. The blue contrast of the sky blended nicely.

“Why are you a detective?” you asked Dazai, you were in a sulky mood today, you felt… drifty, for lack of a better word. It was one of those days where you wake up and question your existence. Why were you you? Why did you want to do this job? Why did your life turn this way?

Dazai shifted his gaze to you, his eyes looking at yours. He let out a silent sigh before giving you a smug smile.

“Don’t I look like I belong here? Plus it’s quite interesting” He looked up at the pretty clouds and then muttered under his breath, “This job comes naturally to me”

“Brushing my teeth comes naturally to me but that’s because I’ve done it a million times” you stated, and you heard him chuckle.

“I suggest you don’t compare your little daily routine to my life darling” he snorted, eyes still on the sunset.

“Do you take pride in your job?”, you continued to probe. Your mind was curious, but your heart wasn’t. Your heart feared triggering him and making him angry, a product of your own troubled past. But you knew Dazai, you wanted to believe you did, and he wouldn’t snap like that. He was too much of an unserious person. But what if?

Dazai gave a small nod, confirming your assumption. He turns to look at you, “it’s because of my job that I’ve been able to accomplish many things” his smile smug, “Impressive, yes? Heh.”

“Many things like?” You seem to not take the hint to not go further but you couldn’t stop yourself.

“Handling guns” he jokes and you chuckle, it wasn’t even funny. His voice just made everything sound giddy.

“Have you accomplished happiness?” you tilt your head and look back at him.

Dazai freezes up but quickly basks it with a little laugh and turns backed to face the sun. A desperate attempt to avoid your eyes. “Do I look unhappy?” he muses, his voice teasing.

“I’d rather not judge a book by its cover. You tell me.”

Dazai laughs, “What a curious thing you are, asking me such a thing” he smiles, it’s not pretty you think.

“Should I be irritated by your little question or find it funny how straightforward you are” He asks you with a little smirk. When you don’t answer and just stare at him, he adds “Happiness had abandoned me, I’ll say, a very long time ago.”

Abandonment? Was this the closest Dazai will ever allow you to be? Desperate and lovesick, you grabble at any piece of crumbs he gives. It’s pathetic. You attempt to keep your cool, but you’re sure he knows how you really feel. He seems to always know everything.

“Doesn’t that contradict the philosophy ‘Happiness is found inside of us’?”

Dazai glances at you for a moment, then back to the sun, he let out a small hum of interest. You really had a way of surprising him, not that he’d ever let you know that.

“I suppose so, however the happiness I’m searching for cannot be reached. I assure you that.”

You stole a glance at his face, he seems to be reminiscing on something. Or maybe that was just another façade to lead you astray from his true feelings.

“Why not?”

With a bit of hesitation, he smiles, eyes bright. A change that catches you off guard, Dazai shifts closer to you. The edge of his trench coat brushing up against your pants. He lowers his voice several octaves, almost in a forbidden whisper, “Because I am searching for one thing that cannot be obtained.”

Your eyebrows shot up, “And what’s that? Dinosaurs?”, a futile attempt to lighten up the conversation. You wanted so badly a shred of him, the real him, but now that you think you’re getting it, you’re not sure. You’re running away.

Dazai laughs amused by your response, the corners of his eyes crinkling up as he closes them, letting the laughter overtake him. “Good observation, but no” he clicks his tongue playfully, “To put it simply. I am searching for one thing to fill…” he sighs out and shakes his head a little.

“Ah” he giggles, “I’m not sure what I’m searching for” he deflects. He doesn’t know if he should share, if he could bare to say it out loud. Because to say it out loud would mean to admit it. To acknowledge it.

Bullshit. You knew it was a lie. He was a liar. Damn your heart for falling for him.

Looks at him, “It’s okay” you said with a sigh, “I’m searching for myself in a way,” you decided to turn the conversation on you to avoid going to go down the road of awkwardness.

“The thing…I’m searching for doesn’t exist, love doesn’t exist.” He sounded like he was in pain. Like it pained him to say that. To tell you that. You find yourself feeling guilty, did you pressure him?

“Love isn’t limited, so again, why?” you continue.

Once again for the multiple time, Dazai laughs “Curious little thing indeed” he turns to look at you, “Think you have a chance, Bella?”

You find your face heating up and keeps your eye on the sun to avoid his gaze.

“Do you think you could meet my standards? They’re quite high” he teases and once again you think he’s deflecting. A big distraction to avert your eyes from peering at him.

He holds his head up high, his gaze on you unwavering. You aren’t looking at him, but the intensity of his eyes pins you to this old bench.

“Are they high to protect your heart?” you blurt you before you even knew what you were saying. “Sorry!” you instantly apologize.

Dazai was surprised by your statement, yes that was exactly what it was. He stayed silent for a moment, contemplating your words. “Perhaps,” he sighs, shall I take a chance? He questions himself, a battle between his brain. “I have set out expectations that I’m even unsure about myself.” He spoke and then stayed silent. He waited for your next words. His heart was pounding yet his face had a smug smile.

“Expectations are like umbrellas, they stop rain and sun from reaching us” you state, and then laughs.

“Indeed, but what’s your point?”

“Rain is like pain, yes your umbrella, your walls, protect you from it” you cross a leg over the next, eyes drinking in the sunlight. “But you miss out on the warm sun too.”

Dazai ponders to himself for a moment. It appears you’ve managed to grasp a greater sense of him. Did he underestimate you? No, he wouldn’t be so careless. “Quite the profound analogy you have there, it’s fascinating.” He smiles at you, “How did you come to this conclusion, might I ask?”

“You know, I like sun especially in the mornings and evenings, it’s like a warm hug” you fiddle with your shirt, “but I also like rain, though sometimes storms are too harsh for my umbrella.”

Dazai observed you for a while, the silence between you two comfortable. He noticed the light pink tinting your cheeks and the way you avoided his eyes. You had intrigued him, maybe he truly had a soft spot for you.

The silence was not comfortable for you, did you overstep? Did he find your analogy dumb? Your mouth acted on its own, “I always use my umbrella” you stated, “But one harsh storm broke it, and I was drenched with a skeleton of an umbrella” your eyes have this faraway look, he notes.

“And then the sun hit me and I wasn’t ready and I was scared” you breathe out, closing your eyes. Dazai thinks the sight is better than the setting sun, “But it dried up my wet clothes and wet skin and wet hair. It felt warm and…yellow” you laugh softly, “yellow is such a beautiful colour, yes?”

He hums, “Are you saying that you decided to get rid of your protection and walk and bask in the sunlight that you so adore” his voice is light and teasing. His eyes laser focused on you as if you’d burst open and come up with a new revelation.

“Yes, sun being metaphor for love. Rain for pain, umbrella for protective walls and wet for I guess, depression?” you break down your words, trying to make him understand. He already understands, he just loves your voice so much.

“To translate from my understanding, you’re saying you choose love regardless of the costs?” you nod.

“You fascinate me,” he admits boldly, “Do you have someone in mind?”

“Someone in mind?”

“For love, the person you choose will be a caliber of that, do you?” He shifts his eyes to the clouds. A blissful sight.

“When I say sun is love I don’t speak of lovers. I would say I’m my own sun. A lover would be a mirror, reflecting to me how bright my own sun shines.” Your lips presses together into a thin line.

“A mirror, I see” he chuckles. “Oh, you curious little thing” he smiles.

“Then can we test this?”

“Test what?”

“Let go of your umbrella and let me be your mirror,” he takes a hold of your hand, “Belladonna,”

“Osamu”

His heart stops when you whisper his given name. It sounded so beautiful falling from your lips. “Say it again” he leans in and connects your lips together.

[gallavichsreddie1128]

Sneaking Around (Will Graham)

Description: Will and Y/N are sneaking around but Freddie finds out and threatens them.

Word Count: 710

Requested by @linetaylorsversion hello! You can do an imagine with Will? where he and Y/N are co-workers, and sometimes she always ends up in his bed or at his classroom desk. 😏 relationships between agents are prohibited, Jack has already warned. but one day in the parking lot Freddie Lounds ends up seeing and taking photos of the two kissing (or something like that) and she threatens to tell Jack and provokes Y/N to the limit, and at the end of the day Freddie gets a broken nose from Y/N.

Author’s note: I am currently working on a Patrick Zweig request that I have! I am trying to go in order from when they were sent in. Also can someone please tell me how I am able to comment under my own posts? I see other people doing it but I cannot. Thank you!

“You may not date a fellow worker. Ever. If you do and I find out you’re fired.” Jack told her on her first day. “Got it.” She said. She didn’t feel the need to date a co worker. It could end messy but then she met Will Graham. The man was so sexy and ugh Y/N got wet just thinking about him. She hated that she liked him because at first he showed no interest in her.

Alana was all over him and it made Y/N sick to her stomach. Will seemed more uninterested in Alana than he did her. That made her feel a lot better. Will thought Y/N was beautiful but knew that Jack would freak out if he ever tried something. Y/N was always around him. Whether it be his classroom or on a case. That’s how he knew that she was into him. She made it so obvious. Will and her were in his classroom after hours laughing and talking.

Nothing was work related and she brought a little alcohol with her. He ended up kissing her and one thing led to another. Sex in a classroom. It wasn’t something Will ever thought he would do. He could be fired but it was so hot. After that Y/N found herself in his bed multiple times before they established anything. “Jack will kill us if he finds out.” Will said as they stood outside his car.

She shrugged, “He doesn’t have to find out.” She said with a smirk. Will loved that smirk. She used it to get her way and damn did it work everytime. She walks up to him and wraps her arms around his neck. “Besides, isn’t it hotter this way?” She asked against his lips.

Unknowingly to them Freddie Lounds was also in this parking lot and snapped a photo of them or two. Y/N hated Freddie as did Will and Freddie knew that Jack forbidden relationships. She planned to use this to get her way. She wanted a story, she was going to have one. Y/N and Will broke the kiss and smiled. “You’re a sexy little demon.” He said to her and she winked. “Only for you.” Seduction dripped from her voice.

Freddie smirked as she approached the secret couple. They looked at her and Y/N rolled her eyes. “Hi you two.” She said in that fake happy voice. “What do you want?” Y/N asked. “A story.” Will rolled his eyes this time. “Listen, we have nothing to give you nor do we want too, so move on.” y/n told her. Freddie smiled and pulled out her camera.

“So I don’t think so.” She said and clicked to the pics of Y/N and Will kissing. “You already gave me a story technically.” She shrugged and showed the two the camera. Y/N’s jaw dropped and Will looked surprised. “You were stalking us?” Y/N asked, angry. “I was just in the area but ya know Jack wouldn’t approve of this.” She pointed to the camera. “What the fuck are you saying?” Y/N asked her. “Are you threatening us?” Will asked. She shrugged, “I don’t know, that depends. Are you willing to give me something else?” Y/N knew what she was getting at.

“We aren’t giving you shit.” Y/N said. Freddie shrugged, “Suit yourselves. I’m sure Jack would love these.” “You wouldn’t.” Will said. “I will.” Y/N stepped closer to Freddie with a glare. “Do that and I'll knock your teeth out.” She growled. “Are you threatening me?” Y/N shook her head, “It’s not a threat it’s a promise.” Freddie chuckled, “What makes you think I'm scared of you?” Y/N laughed and punched her square in the face.

Freddie gasped as her nose started bleeding. Will watched in awe as he thought that was the hottest thing he’s ever seen. “Show him the pic and there’s more where that came from.” Y/N said. Freddie looked scared and ran away causing Y/N to laugh. “Scared little bitch.” Y/N said as she watched her ran away. “That was hot.” Will said, Y/N laughed and turned to him. “Really?” She asked and walked closer to him. “Really.” She pulled the man closer to her and whispered in his ear, “You wanna show me how hot?” She asked.

[billdenbrough]

cannot possibly express enough how strange this one is. ok. @naturecalls111 prompted me (technically for microfic monday, but it was quickly determined to be untenable) kevaaron + frogs. there was an additional, informal element to the prompt she wanted that rocketed it from 488w (already egregious) to 1.6k (don't look at me), but i'm already wrestling with my psyche enough abt this one lmao. we'll leave that part to be a surprise so i don't have to think about it anymore HAHA. i guess. anyway. kevaaron + frogs, for mina.

“This is your fault,” Aaron says.

Kevin is affronted. “How could this be my fault!”

“Nobody cares enough about what I do to curse me,” Aaron points out, huffy. As huffy as a frog can be, anyway. “But you? Absolutely. You’re also really annoying.”

Kevin sulks.

“How sure are you?” Neil asks, following Nicky into the room. “I mean. Frogs?”

Nicky gives him an incredulous look, then snatches Kevin off the desk. Kevin makes the world’s most indignant croak, which everyone rudely ignores, except Aaron, who rolls his eyes.

“He has a queen mark,” Nicky exclaims, brandishing Kevin at Neil. “What kind of frog has a tattoo?”

Neil stares at it, then sighs. “Okay. Sure. Why not. So it’s Kevin. How do you know it’s Aaron with him?”

“Kevin wouldn’t leave without him, so it had to be one of us,” Nicky explains. Kevin thinks this is an optimistic reading of his character. “Which already probably meant Aaron, but I’ve confirmed he’s the only one also missing. So.”

“How did this happen?” Neil muses, sitting down on Kevin’s bed. His bed is right there. Kevin strongly considers kicking him. Except he doesn’t have the right feet.

Almost immediately after he has that thought, his mouth opens—without his express permission—and his tongue goes flying, a projectile aimed right at Neil’s face.

Neil barely manages to dodge, throwing up his arms and falling backwards quickly enough that Kevin’s tongue narrowly misses his skin. (Thank God.) 

Nicky squawks, dropping Kevin, who thankfully lands on the desk. Aaron is watching Neil with interest. And Kevin—

Kevin is just pleased his aim and ability to forcibly correct Neil’s behaviour is still intact.

“Oh, gross,” Nicky complains. Neil looks relatively unruffled, though he shoots Kevin a slight glare before moving to his own bed. Thank you.

“Yep, that’s Kevin,” Neil mutters. “I wonder how Aaron got wrapped up in this.”

Nicky cocks his head.

“Assuming turning people into frogs is a real thing—which, okay, yeah—then I have to assume it doesn’t happen randomly,” Neil says. “And as annoying as Aaron can be—” Aaron rolls his eyes. Again. “—It’s gotta be Kevin, right? The reason?”

“Oh, yeah, that makes sense,” Nicky says immediately. Which is so rude.

“Maybe they were together?” Neil muses aloud.

“Or it’s like a fairytale,” Nicky says. At Neil’s confused—and slightly judgemental—look, he elaborates, “You know, like, The Frog Prince! Or The Frog Princess! Or—that movie coming out, the Princess and the Frog!”

“This is too many frogs,” Neil mutters, but looks attentive. “So what’s the common theme? Other than frogs.”

“You know, normal fairytale stuff,” Nicky says, waving his hands through the air. On the desk beside Kevin, Aaron has gone still. It’s weird that Kevin can tell—it’s not like Aaron was especially mobile in the moments prior, after all—but paying attention to Aaron isn’t that big of a surprise, these days. “True love’s kiss, all that.”

Neil goes still too.

Aaron is looking at Kevin, gaze watchful, eyes intent.

Kevin looks away. Unfortunately, this means he’s looking at Neil, who is observing him with a calculating expression. At least Neil can’t expect a response, Kevin thinks. Small victories.

“Well,” Neil says. Kevin assumes he’s talking to Nicky—as strange as Neil is, conversing with a frog is probably out of even his realm of behaviour—but he’s still looking at Kevin. Ugh. “That might explain it.”

“Huh?” Nicky asks.

Kevin cannot look at Neil anymore.

Aaron is still looking at him.

“Neil frequently has bad ideas,” Kevin says, a pre-emptive defence.

“I don’t disagree,” Aaron says. It’s fucking weird. He’s a frog. Green and disproportionate legs—maybe he should try keep those when they get back to normal, Kevin thinks, suddenly daydreaming of a genuinely tall defence line; and then his thoughts shift a little to the left, Aaron’s knobbly knees but now they’re green and his calves are endless, pressing against Kevin, and wow, okay, Kevin is shelving that one before he gets too anatomically-confused, what the fuck—but still so Aaron. It still feels the same, him looking at Kevin, and now there’s something in Kevin’s throat to swallow past. He’s not even sure if he still has a throat, technically.

Neil and Nicky are still talking in the background, a buzzing noise that Kevin can’t focus on.

“Fairytales aren’t real,” Kevin says.

“We are frogs,” Aaron enunciates. Which is a reasonable counterpoint.

“This is ridiculous,” Kevin mutters.

“Kevin,” Aaron says. This is going to do something insane to Kevin’s dreams, he thinks, dismayed. Aaron croaking his name, and it being completely understandable. Life is so hard.

“Ugh,” Kevin says. His tongue goes flying past, apparently the frog equivalent of throwing one’s arms up in exasperation.

Aaron watches it go past, then looks at Kevin. If they were normal, he thinks Aaron’s eyebrow would be raised, or face tilted to the side, or something to that effect. People don’t think of either twin as especially expressive, but Kevin knows Aaron’s face, has mapped all its mountains and shifting planes. He misses it, suddenly, fiercely. More than the consistent pulse of exasperation and disbelief at their situation, the underlying desire to get back to normal. It’s an active, immediate thing: he wants to see Aaron’s face again, a deep-seated ache.

“Careful,” Aaron says. “If you keep throwing that tongue around, I won’t let you put it in my mouth.”

Kevin chokes. His tongue tangles itself on the way back into his mouth, his eyes bulge, and he makes a sputtering noise. Neil and Nicky don’t even pause their discussion.

If there’s a way for a frog to look calm in the wake of their friend (?)—also a frog—almost dying in response to an implication of flirtation, Aaron does.

“Aaron,” Kevin wheezes, once he’s got his tongue safely back inside his mouth and has reminded himself how to be a person.

“Kevin,” Aaron returns. He sounds so calm. So sure. And Kevin still knows him, down to his bones, but in this body, he can’t figure out his tells as easily. He can’t watch the movement of his knee, the furrow of his brows, the curling of his fingers into a fist. There’s no jaw to tighten, no hair to run his hands through, and while he still has eyes, they’re not ones that Kevin has memorised the way they soften.

“Is that a joke?” Kevin asks.

“We’re frogs,” Aaron reminds him. “We’re already the joke.” Before Kevin can decide how he feels about that, Aaron says, “Kissing you? Sure. Why not. Worth a shot.”

“Why not,” Kevin echoes. “Worth a shot.”

Aaron looks at him again. Kevin thinks maybe this is what it looks like for a frog’s eyes to soften, but who knows? Maybe he’s just looking for what he wants to see.

God, this whole thing is fucking ridiculous, but maybe the most unsettling part has been realising how much he misses seeing Aaron’s face. He’s gone longer without seeing it, obviously, it’s just—he’s never had to look at Aaron without it being Aaron. He can’t explain it better than that.

“Maybe I wouldn’t mind,” Aaron says suddenly, “if it were a fairytale.”

Kevin blinks. (Oh, that was weird.) He thinks that over.

“Oh,” he says, then smiles. He thinks he smiles. He’s not really sure what his mouth is doing. It’s unnervingly large in relation to the rest of his body.

“Oh,” Aaron echoes, but he hops closer. One hop. Two. His legs are very strong, Kevin notes, but then he stops thinking about it, because Aaron is really close.

Kevin cannot believe he’s maybe—probably—almost certainly—about to kiss Aaron for the first time. And they’re fucking frogs.

Kevin hops that last step, moving in closer.

“Hi,” he says.

“Hi,” Aaron says, rolling his eyes again. Kevin has never seen a frog do that before, though jury’s out as to whether that’s because normal frogs can’t, or because Aaron Minyard brings a level of exasperation previously unknown amongst the species.

Kevin leans in, and kisses him. It’s the weirdest sensation he’s ever had—their bodies are approximately 30% mouth right now, which is a lot to deal with—but then Aaron’s mouth is open a little, and Kevin’s weird, powerful tongue darts in and tangles with Aaron’s.

This is fucking insane, Kevin thinks, and then there’s a sudden whoosh of air through the room, and suddenly the desk crashes and he and Aaron are sprawled across each other on the floor.

Human.

And naked.

“Oh my god,” Nicky says. “You’re back!” And then, tilting his head at Kevin, “And naked.”

“We’re leaving,” Neil announces, grabbing Nicky by the elbow and tugging him out of the room. His expression is dismayed. “I don’t want to see you today,” he says over his shoulder, which Kevin would like to apply to Aaron, but probably mostly means him.

Aaron is beneath Kevin, which luckily means his modesty is protected, given his usual hangups (Aaron and Neil often tell Kevin that it’s not that everyone else has hangups, but that Kevin is entirely too open with nudity; Kevin largely ignores this); unfortunately, it does mean Kevin landed on him, and now he’s groaning.

Kevin gets off him, then looks at him. At his face. God. He missed that face.

“Why are you staring at me?” Aaron grumbles.

“After everything that just happened, that’s your question?” Kevin asks, incredulous. Fucking fond, because of course it is.

“Everything else has a root cause of you being annoying,” Aaron says. “This—”

Kevin leans in, cupping Aaron’s jaw with one hand.

Aaron shuts up.

“Take a guess,” Kevin says. His voice is – soft. Too soft to hide behind.

There’s so much going on Aaron’s face, eyes quick, expressive, roving all over Kevin’s, taking him in, figuring him out. Then his expression clears.

“You’re so annoying,” Aaron says, and then he surges up and kisses Kevin.

It’s much better, Kevin thinks, getting to do this as them.