#AND THE SHARP SPIRALS!! I LOVE THE SHARP SPIRALS. I LOVE DRAWING HIS HAIR JUST IN GENERAL... I JUS LOVE DRAWIN WIWI...

[blimpintime]

a jar of wind part one

Wynnie Lara is a fairy that was saved from a jar from Amarantha's reign of terror, but is soon figuring out that her time of peace is coming to a end.

warnings: angst, azriel sucks :p and unedited

word count: 1.4k

eventual Eris x OC

“Rhys! You will never believe what I managed to do with my-” I bursted into the kitchen with a warm glow, my green dress flowing around me and headed towards where he was sitting with a cup of tea.

“Wynn, I have been up with Nyx for the past three nights and days with him teething. I would love some silence. Please.” He said with a low voice and eyes closed in annoyance. 

“Oh! Right, yes. Sorry.” I wince, I twirl my finger and use the wind to brush through the mellow sounding wind chimes I have placed around the River House. 

The tension seemed to leave his body, and I placed a sisterly kiss on the top of his head, my ginger bobbed hair layering over his black hair. In doing so I managed to remove the growing headache from him and take it on for myself.

“I didn’t ask you to do that, Wynn.” He said softly.

“I know, but that’s what family is for Rhys.” I respond with a light touch on his shoulder and whisper words of encouragement as I leave. 

As I walked out of the River House where the sun is setting, I ran into Azriel and Cassian. I smile and my subtle pink glow brightens.

“Hello you two!” I say with a wave and notice the grimm look on their body language and my face falls and my glow dims. “What happened, who's hurt?” 

Cassian winces and Azriel gives me a sharp look, “Stay out of it Wynn. You do enough damage as is.” 

I flinch back and the wind around me goes cold, “What is that supposed to mean?” 

He walks closer to me and leans over to get in my face, “It means that whatever magical experiment you tried this time back fired and hurt Elain.”

“What are you talking about?” I whisper back. My mind reels trying to remember if I left a magic trial unattended in the open, but I draw a blank. Unless… 

“She snuck into my cottage?” I question brows furrowing. There was only one trial I left at my house and that was my attempt of getting my wind to play instruments on its own, but wind is finicky and if interrupted incorrectly can cause a spiral of sharp and messy wind.

“Snuck? Wynn, you let everyone into your home all the time, there was no reason to lock your doors.” Cassian responded. I go hot with anger. 

“So just because I host all the time means my house is fair game? There are wards around it for a reason when I am not home. If that is your logic here then allow me to go into your guys home whenever I feel and do what I please.” I snap back.

“You’re being unreasonable Wynn.” Azriel says while rolling his eyes. “It was just Elain. She is harmless.” 

“I do not care who it was Azriel, it is my home. What did she need from me anyway? I just saw her this morning.” I ask him and he storms by me to go inside the house. Cassian and I follow him.

“Rhysand!” Azriel yells. Rhys walks out of the kitchen looking a little better than he did before. 

“Why are we yelling?” He asks.

“Wynn has caused more damage to this court.” Azriel says and I wince back. Rhys turns to look at me with an eyebrow raised. 

I raise my hands in defense.

“Wynn, was it another silly experiment?” Rhys asks. My heart tugs and I nod, and I feel as though I should defend myself. They’re not silly, they are fun.

“Did I do something to personally offend you Azriel?” I ask softly. 

“Yes! Since you’ve shown up to this court all you have done have been attached to the hip with Feyre, surprised she hasn’t told you that you are suffocating. You’re nothing more than an annoying weed.” He spat, “You buzz in and out loudly all the time, you cannot read a room to save your life, your experiments are juvenile and lack actual use, and whenever you shrink down to your pixie form is the only time you're tolerable because we can barely hear you.” He said like a weight has been lifted off his chest. 

I can only stare at him, shock and hurt cover my face. The glow of pink on my body fades down to a low humming blue, and suddenly I am back in that damn jar. 

The jar I am in is hot and stuffy. I do not remember how I got here but I do understand that this is cursed glass and I won’t be able to be let out unless the lid is opened by the one who placed the curse or is killed. 

The jar sits in the middle of a long dinner table as decor, with being alive I always have a glow to me. When I am neutral and healthy it's normally pinkish orange, right now it’s bluish purple relating to my mood and terror. It hasn’t changed in the past decade of being here.

Being small and trapped in a jar and treated as entertainment by those who are desperate to feel power again is something I would never wish upon anybody. They like to cover the oxygen holes on the top and force me to dance or create wind art. Which is borderline impossible with the lack of airflow in here anyway.

“Tell me pretty, what other colors can you turn?”

“Az-” Cassian whispered.

“Fuck you Azriel. You know why I don’t go into that size very often and you of all people should understand why.” I spit at him, and he for just a moment looks guilty. 

“What? You all say this behind her back anyway. Now that I tell her to her face it’s a problem?” He looks at his two brothers. And they both won’t look me in the eye.

“Is that true?” I choke out with silent tears running down my face. Rhys looks at me and takes a breath, “There could have been more tact to how we said this but to put it bluntly yes.”

My wispy iridescent wings pop out of my back. And I start walking backwards towards the door, “I will see myself out then.” 

“Wynn, wait please let's discuss this more maturely.” Rhys says. Azriel scoffs in the background. 

“If it wasn’t for her, Elain wouldn’t be hurt again.” I flinch again feeling sick to my stomach. 

“I am sorry.” I choke out. Cassian reaches for me and I step back curling into myself feeling betrayed by those I called family. 

“No, that was completely uncalled for.” A new voice responds. I turn around to say Nesta and Elain. I look over Elain and all I notice is a few wind burns on her arms. She gives me a soft smile and I look down with a frown.

“Azriel, what is the actual problem here? Because I am fine. I went into her cottage because I forgot my tea recipe book there and completely forgot she was running an experiment.” Elain comes up to me softly and puts her hand on my shoulder. I lean into her warmth. Nesta stares at him with a cold hard glare. 

“He’s jealous.” She observes. Azriel looks shocked for just a moment before he stalks closer into Nesta’s face. To which signals me and Elain to step back and Cassian to intervene. 

“Enough.” Rhys says rubbing his temples again. “Azriel you were out of line with the way you approached this situation and Wynn maybe just be a little less, you.” 

All three girls flinch with the wording. 

“Have you lost your fucking mind Rhysand?” Nesta barks. “Wait until I tell Feyre.” 

By the time the two of them are arguing I shrink down to my pixie size and fly home to my cottage. I arrive at the front stoop back to normal size, and burst into tears against my front door barely making it inside before I collapse into a pile on the floor. 

In a panic I start shoving some of my emergency belongings in a satchel; clothes, my hygiene products, and my magic trials notebook. 

Frantically rushing around my small cottage I see a teacup Elain painted for me, with little orange and pink flowers all over it. I wrap it in one of my shirts and stuff it into my satchel.

By now the sun has completely set, and I take off my porch, my holographic wings sparkling in the moonlight and head towards some place I know will bring me some comfort. 

The Autumn Court. 

a/n: please enjoy! I have been thinking about this idea for a while! Leave comments, like, and share. if you have any questions plz let me know!

I do not own any of the characters that Sarah J Mass has created. but I do own miss Wynnie Lara :p

[margeoww]

OKAY FOR THE ANGST

how bout some age gap (READER IS LEGAL OBVI) like reader is in her 20s and when she introduced toto to the fam, they did NOT like him. They were off about the age gap and made it clear they don't like the relationship. toto and reader end up breaking up cause of toto did not want to ruin her relationship with her fam and yadayada, just a sad ending overall

Too Wide a Divide

back to my masterlist

part 1 | part 2 (end 1) | part 2 (end 2)

pairing: toto wolff x fem!reader

summary: when the reader introduces Toto Wolff to her family, the stark age gap becomes an unspoken elephant in the room. Their disapproval grows evident, leading to tension and heartbreak. Despite the love between them, Toto decides to step away, unwilling to be the cause of her strained relationship with her family.

warnings: Angst and heartbreak, family disapproval, age gap themes, bad ending.

You should’ve known introducing Toto to your family would be difficult, but you hadn’t expected it to feel like walking into a battlefield.

The moment Toto stepped into your childhood home, his confidence seemed to dim under the weight of the judgmental stares. Your father greeted him with a handshake that lingered too long—firm, almost challenging. Your mother’s polite smile faltered as her eyes scanned him, likely comparing his age to their own.

Toto, ever the gentleman, carried himself with poise. He complimented your mother’s cooking, listened intently to your father’s stories, and even tried to engage your siblings in conversation. But no matter how much effort he put in, their responses remained cold, clipped, and filled with subtle jabs.

—So…—your older brother said, leaning back in his chair with an almost predatory grin. —how old are you exactly, Mr. Wolff?

—Forty-seven. —Toto replied evenly, his tone calm despite the growing tension.

—Forty-seven. —your brother repeated, drawing the words out as if to drive the point home. —That’s… impressive. Almost double her age, right?

You tensed, glancing at Toto, who gave you a reassuring smile. But you saw it—the flicker of discomfort in his eyes.

—It’s not about numbers. —Toto said, his voice steady. —It’s about how we feel about each other.

—And how long will that last? —your father cut in, his voice low and sharp. —Feelings fade. Reality doesn’t.

The rest of the dinner was a blur of forced conversation and thinly veiled hostility. You could barely meet Toto’s gaze, guilt clawing at you for subjecting him to this.

After dinner, Toto offered to help clean up, but your mother waved him off. —We’ve got it. —she said curtly, her tone leaving no room for argument.

When the two of you stepped outside for some air, Toto pulled you into a gentle embrace. His warmth grounded you, even as your mind spiraled with frustration and shame.

—I’m sorry. —you whispered, burying your face in his chest. —They’re just… protective. They don’t know you like I do.

—I know. —he murmured, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. —But maybe they’re right to be concerned.

You pulled back, frowning. —What’s that supposed to mean?

He sighed, running a hand through his hair. —You’re young, Schatz. You have so much ahead of you—so much to experience. I don’t want to be the reason you lose your family’s support or miss out on opportunities.

—That’s not your decision to make. —you argued, your voice trembling. —I love you, Toto. I chose you.

He cupped your face, his thumb brushing away a tear that slipped down your cheek. —And I love you. But love isn’t always enough.

The days that followed were suffocatingly quiet. You could tell something had shifted in Toto. He still held you close at night, still whispered soft words of affection, but there was a distance—an inevitability—that hung over you like a storm cloud.

It wasn’t until a week later that he finally said the words you’d been dreading.

—I think we need to end this. —he said, his voice breaking as he avoided your gaze.

Your heart shattered. —You don’t mean that.

—I do —he insisted, though the anguish in his eyes betrayed him. —This isn’t fair to you. Your family…

—My family doesn’t get to decide who I’m with! —you snapped, tears streaming down your face. —They’ll come around eventually. We just need to give them time.

He shook his head, his own eyes glistening. —Time won’t change their concerns. And I can’t be the reason you’re stuck in the middle.

—Toto, please. —you pleaded, your voice breaking. —Don’t do this. I can’t…

He pulled you into a final embrace, holding you so tightly it felt like he was trying to memorize the feel of you. —You’re going to be amazing. —he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. —You deserve the world, Schatz. Even if it’s not with me.

You never blamed Toto for his decision. Deep down, you understood it came from a place of love, even if it left you feeling hollow.

Your family never brought him up again, acting as though he’d been a passing phase. But every time you saw his name in the news or caught a glimpse of him on TV, the ache returned.

Toto, for his part, threw himself into his work. He told himself it was for the best—that you’d be happier without the complications of their relationship. But late at night, when the world was quiet and his bed felt too big, he couldn’t help but wonder if he’d made the wrong choice.

Some love stories aren’t meant to have happy endings, no matter how much you want them to.

[sodapopwrites]

a ballad of flame and shadow part one

images are not mine! all artwork credits go to termesart for their beautiful drawings!

pairings - lucien vanserra x rhysands sister!reader, azriel x rhysand's sister!reader.

series summary - what's easier to love? a crackling flame or a spiraling shadow? rhysand's sister, emissary of the night court, finds herself delving into her feelings for the seventh son of the high lord of the autumn court while pushing aside something possibly deeper she feels for the night courts infamous spymaster.

chapter summary - before amarantha's party, the emissary of the night court, rhysand's sister, seeks out her lover in the spring court in an attempt to issue a warning of what's to come. she finds a small comfort in his warmth much to the disapproval of her family back home, especially a certain shadowsinger.

word count - 1.6k

read the rest of the series here!

Music floated through the air around her. Fae danced around her in whooshes of color and laughter. She observed the festivities raging around her with a cool separation. 

Her black dress a sharp contrast to the bursts of color covering every person and every inch of her surroundings. The bottom of her dress swished around her ankles with every warm spring breeze. The glittering blue embroidery is a sharp contrast to the sweet pastels adoring the clothes of the revelers.  

Every inch of her out of place. 

She heard her name wrapped in an all too familiar voice. 

Cinnamon and crackling flames. The smell wafted towards her like ember red leaves falling to the ground. She straightened her spine, a small show of composure. She felt him before she saw him. At her back, his breath fanning across the side of her neck as he leant down to whisper in her ear. 

“I never knew shadows celebrated the summer solstice.” 

She turned slowly, facing him at last. 

Lucien Vanserra. 

Small braids weaved their way through the fiery river of hair flowing over his shoulders. His eyes glitter with something roguish as he watches her eyes flit from his hair, across the planes of his chest, and down the tall expanse of him, before coming back up to meet his gaze. 

“I’m here on business.” 

“So you came to spoil the fun.” 

She let her eyes roll before her hand came up to pull on one of his carefully woven braids. She twirled it between her fingers. 

“Who said emissary business can’t be fun?”  

He leaned down, closer to her now than he should be. The tip of his nose just brushed hers. His lips mere millimeters away from her own. It was like they shared one breath. 

≻──────────────⋆✩⋆ ──────────────≺

The music of the celebrations outside were muted against the windows. An easy quiet flowed through the room as he watched her dress. Slowly pulling the straps of her dress back over her shoulders. She flipped her hair away from her face and he let himself be mesmerized by the way the curls, black like shadow, tumbled down her back. He stretched his arms over his head and let them settle there. Content to watch her flit around his room trying to find her shoes. A small smile snaked its way across his face as he watched her grow more frustrated in her search. 

He leaned down and picked a silver slipper from the ground next to his bed. He let it dangle from one finger. 

“Looking for this?” 

She turned to him and let out a huff of irritation. She grabbed for her lost shoe but missed as he moved his hand a little further. Losing her balance she fell across his chest and he used his free arm to pin her. 

“So what was the business you came to discuss with me?” 

She glared at him, still reaching for her shoe. Realizing it was a losing battle she gave up and slumped against him, maybe even letting herself savor the feel of his skin against hers, the warmth of it. 

“My brother wishes to meet with Tamlin” 

Lie. 

Lucien raised an eyebrow at her, waiting for explanation. 

“Is he going to try to kill him again?” 

She scoffed and pushed away from him, “You really do know nothing Lucien Vanserra”

He winced at the name, the harshness with which she said it. 

“Don’t” 

A small warning. Don’t inflict his family name on him. The reminder of it a petty way to rip him from the sanctuary of the moment. A flicker of guilt lit behind her rib cage and she let the haughty draw of her shoulders fall. 

“Rhysand just wishes to issue a…warning.” 

Lie. She had come of her own volition. Wanting to warn Lucien and only Lucien about what her brother thought was to come. 

“A warning?” 

She looked at him. Tight lipped. A small crease in her brow. And he just couldn’t help himself. He reached up and smoothed that crease with his thumb. A feather light touch that seared its way into her skin. 

“The war may be over, but there are still enemies to be dealt with. People who we shouldn’t be so willing to put our trust in.” 

“You sound just like him,” Lucien sighed, “Always telling me not to put trust in anyone.” 

The crease returned. The comparison to Tamlin sending a spark of rage down her spine. The knowledge that Tamlin knew exactly what Lucien got up to every time she visited sent a churning to her gut that she couldn’t bring herself to calm. 

“So why trust me?” 

Her words came out softer than she’d intended. Like she was asking some unspoken question. He smiled, brushing an inky strand of hair behind her ear. 

“I’ve always had a bad habit of letting myself get distracted by beautiful things.” 

The playful glimmer in his eye contrasted sharply with her serious expression. He sighed and handed her the shoe still dangling between his finger tips. 

≻──────────────⋆✩⋆ ──────────────≺

Her family was scattered around the lower level of Rhysand’s townhouse. Mor and Amren sitting in the dining room pouring over some books and whispering to each other. Cassian, Azriel, and the high lord himself lounging in the living room. 

She tried her best to slide into the room unnoticed. 

Late. 

She had missed dinner and she had no good alibi. 

She prayed no questions would be flung her way as she slid onto the couch, tucking herself under Cassian’s arm. The shadowsinger found her eyes first. They flitted over her form, studying it for anything even slightly out of place. His eyes narrowed as he took her in and his shadows curled tighter around his forearms. 

Rhysand didn’t bother to look up from his stack of papers and sent a bored question her way, 

“Where have you been?” 

She shrugged and watched Azriel shift in his seat in what could have been discomfort. Cassian saw it too, the way his friend tried to hide his annoyance at her absence. He wore a wicked grin as he turned towards her, leaning into her, and mumbling, 

“New perfume?” 

She looked up at him confused for a second, “Excuse me?” 

“You smell faintly of…” Cassian rolled the word around on his tongue, “autumn”. 

Rhys looked up at this and studied his sister. Cassian’s insinuation rippled through the room. 

“Again?” Rhys kept that bored tone, something else behind it now though. 

“I was working,” She said, clipped and stern. Not wanting the conversation to continue. But Rhysand pushed forward, 

“I didn’t send you anywhere.” 

“And since when am I not allowed to do things of my own volition?” 

Azriel let out what could only be described as a snort. When she whipped her head towards him there was no humor in his eyes. The small laugh disapproving more than anything else. 

“What?” 

She was getting defensive now that the shadowsinger deigned to be involved in this discussion. He shook his head at her, 

“What exactly were you working on?” His question came out cold and quiet. His shadows creeped towards her as if they could pry the information from her. Cassian laughed. A real laugh. 

“She was working Lucien Vanserra.” 

She cast an annoyed glare at his crude statement.

“I’m sorry when did my personal affairs become the business of this court?” 

Amren’s voice floated from the dining room now, “More like the entertainment of this family.” 

She rolled her eyes and looked at the males in front of her. Challenging. 

“It’s unprofessional is it not?” Azriel pointed the question more towards Rhysand than to her. “Emotional entanglements.” 

“And who are you to say it’s an emotional entanglement? Maybe it’s just someone to get tangled in.” 

He winced at the sharpness of her words. The innuendo behind them. She tried not to note how it bothered him, how deeply it seemed to bother him. He shook it off fast though. 

“Because I know you.” 

Rhysand strained his neck, trying to make eye contact with Mor, trying to get her to come interrupt this conversation. She would not look at him, choosing this time to not get involved. 

His friend and his sister glared at each other still. Azriel using his face of stone cold disinterest as a weapon against her. Waiting for her to push at some unspoken boundary. She broke the silence first. Her tone withering. 

“Since when do you care who I fuck?” 

Rhysand grimaced. Not particularly caring to hear about this aspect of his sisters life. Not particularly happy with whom she chose to share this aspect of her life with. His disdain for Lucien was made evident to her since this whole affair started many years ago. As unsavory as this conversation was he couldn’t stop himself from looking at Azriel, waiting for his friend’s response, waiting to see how far the spymaster was willing to push his sister. 

“I don’t” 

Azriel’s answer was quiet and laced with some sort of simmering contempt. He leaned back in his chair, signalling and end to his involvement in this semi pointless discussion. His response washed over her exactly the way he had intended. A wave of cold. Triggering a pounding dissapointment in her. She hadn’t really realized how she had leaned closer to him while they sparred. The embarrassment of it hit her as she let herself fall back into Cassian, let his arm snake its way around her shoulders again. She didn’t look back at Azriel as she said, 

“Good. Cassian is next.” 

The warrior beside her pumped his fist in mock victory and exclaimed with teasing tone, “FINALLY”

Before putting his fist down at the first glower from his shadowy brother. Cass shot him a smirk before leaning down to her to very audibly whisper, 

“I’m free anytime little star. Just give me a shout.” 

She pushed her elbow into his ribcage and Cassian laughed through the cough the blow sent through him. Rhys studied Azriel’s features. Noting the jealousy etched across them.

“Enough.” 

The one word from Rhysand was enough to quiet his friends.

[clarkeyhill]

jealousy, jealousy | Arthur hill

Angst.

It started with a stupid comment, one of those offhand remarks that shouldn’t have meant anything but hit harder than it should have. We were at a party, the music pounding, the room crowded with faces I barely recognized. Arthur had been standing by the bar, laughing with some girl I didn’t know—a tall, effortlessly gorgeous blonde who had been flipping her hair and leaning in just a little too close for comfort.

When he came back to me, drink in hand, I couldn’t help the sharp edge in my voice. “Making friends?”

Arthur raised an eyebrow, his usual smirk tugging at his lips. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Oh, nothing,” I said, crossing my arms, the words already dripping with sarcasm. “Just looked like you and Barbie were hitting it off.”

And that was all it took.

“What, I can’t have a conversation without you getting jealous?” Arthur snapped, his tone harsher than I expected.

“I’m not jealous!” I shot back, though the heat in my cheeks said otherwise. “I just don’t appreciate you giving her all your attention while I’m standing here like an idiot.”

Arthur’s eyes narrowed, the tension between us thickening. “You’re being ridiculous.”

“And you’re being an asshole,” I retorted, stepping closer, the space between us crackling like a live wire.

The argument spiraled fast, our voices rising above the music, drawing a few curious glances from nearby partygoers.

“She’s just a girl,” Arthur said, his hands gesturing wildly. “You’re the one I’m here with. What more do you want from me?”

“What I want,” I hissed, my voice sharp enough to cut, “is for you to stop acting like I’m overreacting every time you flirt with someone.”

Arthur barked out a laugh, though there was no humor in it. “You think that was flirting? God, you’re impossible.”

“Oh, I’m impossible?” I shot back, shoving his chest. “You’re the one who can’t go five minutes without charming someone new!”

“You’re unbelievable,” he growled, stepping closer, his voice dropping to a dangerous low. “Always looking for a fight, aren’t you?”

“Maybe I wouldn’t have to if you didn’t give me so many reasons!” I shouted, my chest heaving as the anger bubbled over.

Arthur’s jaw tightened, his eyes dark with frustration—and something else. Something that sent a shiver down my spine despite the heat of the argument. He stepped closer still, his body crowding mine, and for a moment, I thought he was going to shout again.

Instead, his voice dropped, low and rough. “You know what your problem is?”

I glared up at him, my breath hitching at the intensity in his gaze. “Enlighten me.”

“You like this,” he said, his lips curling into that maddening smirk. “You love pushing me, getting me all riled up. It gets you off, doesn’t it?”

My stomach flipped, and I hated how right he was.

“Shut up,” I said, though my voice had lost its bite.

Arthur took my chin in his hand, his thumb brushing over my jaw as he tilted my face up to meet his gaze. “No, I don’t think I will.” His eyes searched mine, the tension between us shifting, turning hotter, heavier.

“Arthur—”

But before I could finish, his lips crashed into mine.

The kiss was fierce, consuming, a collision of frustration and passion that sent sparks flying between us. His hands slid to my face, his touch firm, possessive, as if he was staking his claim all over again. My fingers tangled in his shirt, pulling him closer, and the world around us disappeared.

When he finally pulled back, his forehead rested against mine, both of us breathing hard. “You drive me crazy,” he murmured, his voice low and husky.

I smirked, my lips brushing against his as I whispered, “Good.”

Arthur chuckled, the sound warm and rich, and then he kissed me again, softer this time, though no less intense. The argument forgotten, we lost ourselves in the fire that always seemed to burn between us, a flame that only grew brighter when we clashed.

-

🫶🏻

[gingerteafairy]

tear collection (kai anderson x reader)

Your tears fall, Kai gathers them all.

tags n warnings: trauma, bullying past, manipulation, sub!reader, slut shaming, dacryphilia, semi-public sex, unprotected piv, porn w plot, slut shaming,use of his divine ruler title, red flag bye. word count: 5.3k. masterlist

Monday. 5 PM. 

You stand in front of a door that feels larger than life. Once, this place was your sanctuary, a haven for your love of books. Then it became a cage, suffused with whispers, ridicule, and three years of relentless bullying. You never fully understood why you were singled out, but you knew enough to swear never to return.  

And yet, here you are. Blue jeans, an overly formal black coat you regret wearing, and nerves tied in knots. The invitation email had promised change: new members, a new leader, a fresh start. But doubt lingers as you stare at the heavy wooden door, questioning every life decision that brought you here.  

“Ah, you came,” a voice pierces through your spiraling thoughts—low, magnetic, and strangely commanding.  

You turn, startled, to see him. Kai Anderson. His dyed blue hair is tied back loosely, and his piercing eyes scan you like he’s already figured out your life story. There’s something both disarming and unnerving about his presence, a calm chaos simmering just beneath the surface.  His lips curled into a faint smirk as he said your name.  

“Uh, yeah,” you stammer, unable to hold his gaze for long.  

He gestures toward the door. “Well, are we going in, or are you going to stand there contemplating the meaning of life?”  

You hesitate, then take a deep breath and follow him. The door creaks open, revealing the familiar space—bookshelves reaching for the ceiling, soft cushions scattered on the floor, and a mismatched collection of chairs. But something feels different, charged, like the air itself has been altered by his presence.  

Kai strides to the center of the room, claiming a seat with an authority that no one questions. The others—four or five people, all oddly quiet—watch him with a mix of reverence and wariness.  

“Alright,” Kai begins, his voice sharp but enticing. “Let’s skip the small talk. This group isn’t about pretending to be something we’re not. It’s about truth. Raw, unfiltered truth. If you can’t handle that, the door’s right there.”  

No one moves.  

“Good,” he continues, leaning back in his chair. “Today, we’re diving into the mind of Tolstoy. War and Peace. Who wants to start?”  

A tall, pale guy raises his hand hesitantly. “I made an essay about the male characters.”  

Kai nods, taking the handwritten pages without a word. As he skims them, his eyes narrow in concentration. “This is good,” he says finally, his tone neutral. “But next time, don’t hold back. You’re smarter than this, Hemingway.”  

The guy—Harrison—flushes but nods.  

“Great job, Harrison. You’re our resident genius, after all,” a curly-haired woman teases, earning an exaggerated eye roll from him.  

Kai’s smirk deepens. “Enough. Let’s get back to the point. Beverly, what have you got?”  

Beverly, with nervous energy, stands and presents a detailed drawing of 19th-century St. Petersburg. Kai studies it intently, his expression unreadable.  

“It’s good,” he says finally, his tone softer than before. “But tell me—why’d you choose this scene?”  

Beverly falters, then answers, “It felt... alive. Like I could step into it.”  

Kai nods approvingly. “That’s what art should do. Nice work.”  

As the meeting progresses, Kai outlines the group’s next focus: philosophy. He holds up a copy of Sophie’s World.  

“This book will challenge you,” he declares. “If you’re ready to think for yourselves, that is.”  

Your heart skips. Sophie’s World. Your favorite book. Before you can second-guess yourself, you raise your hand.  

Kai’s gaze snaps to you, his eyes narrowing slightly as if sizing you up. “You’ve read it?”  

“Yes,” you reply, your voice steadier than expected.  

“Excellent,” he says simply. “Then you’ll lead the discussion next time.”  

Your stomach flips. Lead the discussion? But before you can protest, he moves on, his attention already elsewhere. As the meeting concludes, the others disperse, murmuring about travel plans for a literary conference Kai has planned. You linger, torn between intrigue and unease, until Kai approaches.  

“How was your first day?” he asks, his voice low but direct.  

“Different,” you admit cautiously. “Safer.”  

His lips twitch into a faint, almost mocking smile. “Safe isn’t the word I’d use. But don’t worry—I won’t let anyone mess with you. Not here.”  

The promise feels both comforting and unsettling, his intensity wrapping around you like a storm cloud. You look up at him, trying to read the man behind the enigmatic smile, but all you find is mystery. 

“I appreciate that,” you say softly. “It means a lot.”  

Kai rests a firm hand on your shoulder, his presence both comforting and disconcerting. “You’ve endured more than most people could handle,” he says, his voice calm but with an undercurrent of authority. “That takes strength. You don’t have to carry it alone anymore. If something’s wrong—anything—come to me. Do you understand?”  

You nod, words failing you under the weight of his intense gaze.  

“Good,” he says, his lips curling into a faint, almost wolfish smile. “Now, about the trip. Will you join us? We need you there. I need you there.”  

“I’ll think about it,” you reply cautiously, the doubt lingering in your tone despite yourself.  

Kai leans in slightly, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “You’re safe now. With me. Whatever decision you make, I’ll make sure of it.”  

For the first time in years, you entertain the thought that his words might be true.  

“I’ll think about it,”  

He reaches into his pocket and pulls out his phone. “Here,” he says, holding it toward you. “My number. Call or text me anytime—day or night. No hesitation.”  

You type the number into your phone, your hands trembling slightly as you save it under his name.  

“We meet every Monday, Tuesday, and Friday,” Kai continues, his tone growing lighter, almost casual. “Be there. You’re part of this now.”  

By the time you’re home, the weight of everything is still pressing on your chest, but a decision begins to crystallize in your mind. Maybe this trip is the first step toward reclaiming your life.   Kai's words, though sharp and commanding, carried a conviction that felt solid—unshakeable. Maybe, just maybe, this time things could be different.  

The next day arrived, and to your surprise, you found yourself striking up a connection with two members of the group—Ally and Winter. Their warmth and kindness is a stark contrast to the rest of the group’s hardened edges. They asked about your story, how you ended up there, and seemed genuinely interested. Their easy laughter and acceptance were disarming, and for the first time in years, you felt a glimmer of belonging.  

But even as you laughed with them, your eyes kept drifting toward Kai. He stood at the front of the room, commanding attention without effort, his voice steady, words sharp and deliberate. He spoke of loyalty, trust, and a brighter future with a fervor that ignited something in everyone present. His presence was magnetic, and every subtle gesture seemed calculated to draw you in—the way he brushed his hand through his blue hair or tilted his head slightly as he listened. The way he narrowed his eyes and relaxed when you spoke the most insignificant comment. 

It was then that you noticed his hands—more specifically, the absence of a wedding ring. Was he single? Did he want to be? You felt an ember of hope spark within you, one that you immediately tried to extinguish.  

You cursed yourself for it. This was supposed to be a fresh start—a chance to rebuild, to let go of old patterns and distractions. But Kai… there was something about him that made it nearly impossible to look away.  You just wanted the same fingers he flicked the pages so deep that he's knuckles could fuck you just right. Like only Kai Anderson would provide.

And as you watched him meet your gaze from across the room, a slow, knowing smile spreading across his lips, you couldn’t help but wonder if he already knew.

The day of the trip arrived faster than you’d expected. You packed your things carefully, boarding the bus early to secure a seat near the middle. Ally and Winter sat a few rows ahead, laughing softly, completely absorbed in each other. To maintain your solitude, you placed your backpack on the seat beside you, an unspoken barrier to anyone who might attempt to join you.  

As the bus rumbled to life, Kai began moving down the aisle, his sharp eyes scanning the group. When he reached your seat, he stopped, his gaze lingering on you. “Comfortable?” he asked, resting a hand on the back of your seat, his voice low and measured.  

“Yes, thank you,” you replied, startled by his sudden proximity.  

He tilted his head, a faint smirk playing on his lips. “You don’t look comfortable. Something on your mind?”  

“No, it’s fine,” you sat quickly, trying to steady your voice.  

Kai’s eyes narrowed slightly, his expression unreadable. “You know,” he said softly, almost conspiratorially, “it’s okay to feel uneasy. But remember, you’re here for a reason. And so am I.”  

Before you could respond, he straightened and moved on, leaving you with a mix of unease and curiosity.  

The trip unfolded smoothly. You were assigned to share a hotel room with Ally and Winter, their easy humor and affection making the unfamiliar setting more bearable.  

The presentation at the school was a success—Beverly took charge with her natural charisma, while Ally impressed the audience with her insights. You watched from the sidelines, clapping when appropriate, but a sense of detachment lingered. Even as others celebrated, you felt like an outsider, still unsure of your place within the group.  

On the way back to the hotel, the bus buzzed with laughter and conversation about the day’s accomplishments. You sat quietly, staring at your hands, your thoughts weighed down by doubts and memories you couldn’t quite shake.  

Kai noticed. As the group disembarked and began heading inside, he fell into step beside you, his hands casually tucked into his jacket pockets. “You’ve been quiet,” he remarked, his tone calm but probing.  

You hesitated, unsure how to respond. “It’s nothing,” 

Kai stopped walking, turning to face you with an intensity that made your chest tighten. “It’s not nothing,” he said firmly, his eyes locking onto yours. “Tell me.”  

“It’s just… people,” you admitted after a pause, your voice barely above a whisper. “Being around them. It’s hard to let go of… everything.”  

Kai stepped closer, his voice dropping to a near-whisper. “Listen to me,” he ordered softly, his hands resting firmly on your shoulders. “Whatever happened before, it doesn’t matter now. This group—I—will protect you. No one will hurt you again. You’re here because you’re strong, even if you don’t see it yet. Do you understand?”  

The sincerity in Kai's voice broke something inside you. The walls you’d so carefully built cracked, and the tears came before you could stop them.  

“I was so scared,” you choked out, the words spilling freely now. “I’m still scared. Every time I think about it, it’s like I’m back there. I get so anxious, so nervous...I cry all the time and I don't even know why. I developed depression, panic attacks. All the fucking shit.”  

Kai stepped forward without hesitation, pulling you into an embrace that was firm and almost possessive. His arms wrapped around you tightly, grounding you in the present. “It’s okay,” he murmured, his voice steady and low. “Let it out. You’re not alone anymore. I’m here, and I’m not going anywhere.”  

“Thank you,” you mumbled, your voice muffled against his chest. His shirt smelled faintly of cologne and something earthy, the scent oddly comforting.  

He rested his chin lightly on your head, his fingers running gently through your hair. “You don’t need to thank me,” he said softly, his voice carrying a dangerous kind of warmth. “You’re mine to protect now, and I’ll do anything to keep you safe. My little angel.”  

You stiffened slightly at the term, unsure how to respond. “I’m not used to this,” you admitted, your voice barely audible. “I don’t even know how to handle it.”  

Kai leaned back just enough to meet your eyes, his hands gripping your shoulders with a calculated tenderness. “Then start getting used to it,” he lit, his gaze intense and unwavering, almost fatherly. “You’re strong, smarter than most people here, and whether you see it or not, you’re special. You deserve more than the scraps life’s thrown at you.”  

“Why?” you whispered, your voice trembling with confusion. “Why are you doing this for me?”  

Kai’s lips curled into a faint, knowing smile. His hands moved to gently cradle your face, his thumbs brushing your cheeks in a motion that was both soothing and deliberate, almost like his life depended on your tears being collected only by him “Because I see potential in you. You belong here—with me. I don’t just let anyone in, you know. You’ve earned this.”  

You felt your heart race as his words sank in. His unwavering focus was overwhelming, and yet, part of you didn’t want to look away, as he was inside your soul.  

“You’re too hard on yourself,” he continued, his voice softening slightly. “You’ve already proven you’re more than capable. I admire that.”  

You managed a weak laugh, brushing at your damp cheeks. “I’m just… me. I don’t think I’m anything special.”  

Kai’s gaze darkened slightly, a flicker of frustration crossing his features. “Don’t you ever say that again,” he muttered firmly. “You’re more than you know. And I’ll make sure you see it, too.”  

The air between you shifted, thick with an unspoken tension. His hands lingered on your face, his eyes flickering down to your lips and back up to meet your gaze.  

“Kai…” you started, unsure of what you were even trying to say.  

You couldn’t help but glance at his lips, and you knew he noticed. A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth as he leaned in closer, his movements calculated yet unhurried.  All he did was control. His nose brushing against yours, eyes focused as a silent question remained in the atmosphere. Your breath hitched, but you managed to nod, the air inexistent. Permission conceded, but he knew before even you were aware of that.

Kai’s smile deepened, his gaze locking onto yours as if he was daring you to look away. Slowly, he closed the distance, his lips brushing against yours in a kiss that was both gentle and possessive. His hand moved to the back of your neck, holding you in place as he deepened the kiss slightly. It was better than you imagined. It was perfect, passionate, Kai. 

You gripped his jacket instinctively, your mind spinning as you surrendered to the moment. The kiss was charged, filled with a quiet intensity that made it impossible to think of anything else.  

When he finally pulled back, his forehead rested against yours, and his eyes searched your face, reading your reaction. A flicker of something softer crossed his expression—a rare glimpse of vulnerability.  

But just as quickly, it was gone. He smirked faintly, his thumb brushing over your jawline. “See?” he said, gently. “You’re stronger than you think. You’re meant for more than just surviving.”  

He stepped back slightly, leaving you breathless and unsure of how to respond. You couldn’t tell if his words were meant to comfort or control. Perhaps they were both.  

Eventually, you forced your legs to move, retreating to your own room where the girls were already chatting about the day. You barely heard them as you sank onto your bed, your mind racing.  

“Hey, are you okay? Saw you talking to Kai and got worried,” Ally added, concerned.

“Yeah, I just… need to sleep,” you replied sadly, turning your face to the wall.  

Flabbergasted, you touched your lips, feeling the faintest trace of a smile pulling at the corners of your mouth despite the whirlwind of emotions. What had just happened?  

The way back on the bus felt like torture. Kai’s eyes lingered on you too often, yet every time you met his gaze, he turned away, as if the weight of the previous night hung between you like an unspoken secret.  

To distract yourself, you talked more with Winter. She was incredibly kind, the type of person who made you feel at ease. Most of the trip, he gushed about her girlfriend, his tone light and affectionate, which made you giggle at the lovergirl. Still, the conversation only made your heart tremble more—how could you sit here, laughing with Kai’s sister, knowing you’d kissed him the night before? That you wanted more than this.

By the time you returned to the book club room, exhaustion and unease had taken over. You collapsed onto the soft, red-carpeted floor of the  room, feeling nauseous from the trip. Ally and Winter stayed behind for a while, hovering with concern. Harrison even stopped by to hand you some medicine, Beverly surprised with a snack he bought.  

“You sure you’re gonna be okay?” Ally asked as she stood by the door.  

You nodded weakly. “Thanks, Ally. I just need to rest a bit.”  

One by one, they all left, leaving you alone in the quiet room. The warmth of the carpet under your cheek and the hum of the air conditioner lulled you into a restless sleep.  You didn’t even notice when the door opened again, the faint creak blending into your dreams. It wasn’t until you felt a hand lightly touch your shoulder that you stirred awake.  

“Hey…” A familiar voice broke through the haze. “Feeling better?”  

You blinked groggily, your vision focusing on Kai, who was crouched beside you, his face etched with worry as he caressed your hair lovingly.  

You sat up slowly, rubbing your eyes. “… kind of,” you murmured, though your voice betrayed your lingering fatigue.  

His presence sent a jolt through you. The memory of his lips on yours the night before flashed vividly in your mind, and your eyes instinctively darted to his mouth.  

He noticed, quickly ran a hand through his hair, a small smirk tugging at the corner of his lips before vanishing. “We, uh…” He cleared his throat, his voice unusually hesitant. “We need to talk about… about last night.”  

The air in the room grew impossibly still. Your heart pounded in your chest as his words hung between you.  You swallowed hard, your voice barely above a whisper. “Okay.”  

Kai shifted, moving to sit on the carpet next to you. His hands rested casually on his knees, though his posture was tense. His dark eyes bore into yours with a mix of intensity and something else you couldn’t place.  

He started, his tone measured but low. “I don’t usually do that. I shouldn’t have. You’re…” He trailed off, searching for the right words. “It wasn’t fair.”  

You opened your mouth to respond, but he held up a hand, his fingers steady yet commanding.  

“I don’t want you to feel confused or cornered,” he continued, his voice softening slightly. “I’d never hurt you. That’s not my style. But last night… that was on me. I pushed too far. I need meditation to control myself.”  

His words were sincere, but they felt like a storm brewing inside you. You clenched your hands together, unsure of how to respond.  

“I didn’t feel unsafe,” you add finally, your voice steady but quiet. “I—” You hesitated, the confession trembling on your lips. “I… wanted it.”  

Kai’s expression shifted, a flicker of surprise crossing his face before his usual composed mask returned. A slow, deliberate smile curved his lips, but this time, it felt like it held a darker edge.  

“You wanted it,” he repeated. He leaned closer, his gaze never wavering. “Interesting.”  

You nodded, your cheeks heating under his intense gaze. “I didn’t want to say this, but… I’m attracted to you, Kai,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper.  “I'm sorry.”

His breath caught, and for a moment, the tension between you felt electric. But then he chuckled softly, a dry, almost bitter laugh as he stood abruptly. “That’s… complicated,” he said, pacing a few steps away. “You’re here to find yourself, to rebuild, not to—” He stopped mid-sentence, his back turned to you.  

“Not to what?” you pressed, rising to your feet despite the lingering dizziness.  

He turned back to you sharply, his eyes blazing with conflict. “Not to get tangled up in… this,” he said, gesturing between the two of you, his voice firm but laced with something unspoken.  

You stared at him, your emotions swirling uncontrollably. “You mean… whatever we are?”

His eyes searched yours, his desire evident. Finally, he sighed, his shoulders sagging. “Who cares about what we are, labels are for the weak.” he admitted. “But I do know this—you mean more to me than you think. I want you, and it's not in a professional way, just I wanna fucking kiss you on this carpet.”  

His words left you breathless, and for a moment, you both stood in silence, the weight of his confession settling over the room. His curse echoing in his mind, it went off the lips of the most cultured man you’ve ever met. 

“I don't care about it,” you said softly. “But I don’t want to pretend it didn’t happen.”  

Kai closed his eyes briefly, exhaling slowly. “Neither do I,” he said, his voice barely audible. “Fuck, I really don't.’

The room felt charged again, but this time, he didn’t linger. Kai’s hand lingered on your cheek, his thumb brushing softly against your skin. His gaze searched yours, not for permission—he’d already asked in his own way.  He took a step closer and cupped your head to catch your lips in a rough kiss. 

You corresponded, anchoring your body on his, kneeling on the carpet while he bent, devoured your lips carnally, biting as he wrapped your hair on his hands like a messy ponytail, pulling it to show your neck for his teeth to mark the sensitive skin. 

“You know how much I wanted to feel you?” He groaned on your ear, biting your earlobe as he squeezed your hip. “I had to jerk off after our little kiss, thinking about your pretty mouth on my cock.” 

He whispered his lewd confession while his hand snaked from your hip to your throat, digging his fingers making you gulp for air. “Yeah, I imagined you choking on my cock while doing it, just like this.” 

“Kai…” you mewl, his hand instantly moving from your throat to get your oxygen back while it moved to the back of your neck.

“m sorry, my dear.” He whispered with a dangerous sweet voice on the crook of your neck, kissing gently as an apology carried in his strong words. “I forgot how fragile you are. I'll take proper care of you, you want that?”

“Uh-huh” you cooed, looking at him with narrow eyes filled with desire. You wanted more, infinitely more. You wanted those fat fingers dug in your ass reddened by his slaps. Raw, like your desire for him. “Please”

Instead, he kissed you gently, his tongue catching yours in a slow soft dance, interrupted only by him passing your shirt over your head. Coming back while he unclips your bra, letting it sit somewhere on the floor. Irritated by his delicacy on your breast, you break the kiss to add.

“I'm not a porcelain doll, Kai. I want it—”

“Shhh” he shushed with his fingertip with a mocking chuckle that made you feel self-conscious.“You really think you can handle it? Please, my darling. You were a cry baby all the trip. I had to look after you all the time like your daddy, I had to ask my sister to be your friend so I had another eye on you. You just can’t help yourself.” 

Embarrassment took care of you with his note. A cry baby, that's what you were and always will be. Taking all his time and attention to you. “I'm sorry if I bothered. I didn't mean it…”

“No, my dear. You didn't bother me.” he interrupted again, pecking your lips. “I love to spoil you. Such a good girl following my instructions. So beautiful and obedient coming with swollen doe eyes and a heart in your hands.”

“Beautiful?” You echoed, furrowing your eyebrows. 

He proceeds, pecking your forehead. “Lay, my dear. I'll show you my admiration for you.”

All you could do was nod, your voice caught in your throat, the tears threatening to fall over again. You lay on your back, watching him spread your legs to fit himself as he reached your face again to kiss your tears, humming when he stuck his tongue savoring the salty liquid. A fire flicking on the edge of loving care and primitive lust. 

Finally, you managed to whisper, “Thank you… for seeing me.”

“How could I not see? You're so pretty when you cry.” He breathed.

He leaned again, the kiss deepening as his hand slid to cradle the back of your neck, the other unbuttoned your jeans, getting you rid of the fabric by tossing on the floor. His forefinger touched the wet patch in your panties, grinning when you swallowed to hold the urge to cry, so pathetically opened for him. So easy for the only man who took care of you.

“You wont call me daddy, this shit if fucking weird.” he inquired, peeling off the fabric to move in your glasting folds. “You’ll call me your divine ruler and take everything like a good girl, okay?”

“Okay…” You replied, receiving a harsh slap on your left thigh, ripping a dying squeak out of you. 

“I didn't hear it.” He mocked, caressing your red mark as he bit your jaw so hard that  his teeth remarked as your answer. 

“Okay, divine ruler.” you breathed, nodding and gulping. 

“Yes…yes…that's it.” He smiled, lifting his face to kiss your eyes. “Now, could you tell your ruler how much you wanna be spoiled?”

“Yes, ruler.” You replied, the tears flowing between happiness and shame for your masochism, sinfully wet. “Please, take care of me.”

“That's my girl.” His thumb brushed away a stray tear, his touch was tender even on your clit stimulated by small circles, chuckling when you shivered. “So worked up, already? Cute.”

Kai leaves your needy bud to reach his belt buckle, giving enough space to his cock to sprung out of his dark jeans, pumping himself a few times before placing his tip, stretching you perfectly with resistance, because, well… he was painfully thicker than any other partner. You arch your back crying out again. “Ruler, it's too much.” 

“Just relax for your master, hm?” he groaned, kissing your forehead, sustained by his palms on each side of your head on the carpet. “fuck, you're so tight, princess. You know how much I thought about you crying on my cock while I'm stretching your pussy? ”

He went deep inside you enough to feel your cervix or even your core. You sob under him with more and more crying, that only made him push even harder inside you. You became a mess, moaning on his cock ripping your walls, shutting your eyes to get more of this painfully pleasure sensation. “It's so good, so good. More, please.”

He kisses you, chuckling with your hiccups and whiny moans. “God, princess. You're so spoiled, begging for my cock. A man gives you enough attention and you let him stretch you? What comes next…fuck…begging my cum to cure your fucking depression? Is that what you want?”

“I’m sorry, I'm so sorry.” you squeak, your mind and body losing all its ability, surrendered by pleasure.

“uhm… so polite. You're so beautiful, so delicious with this tight pussy” He praised, caressing your thighs as his cock strokes in a faster rhythm. 

You scream, taking your thighs in your hands to get open for him, to get more pleasure, more pain, more him. Rolling your eyes back when he rocks your sweet spot, mumbling kittenish. “cum inside me, please.”

“Fuck, don't ask like this, almost came.” he grunts, his veiny cock being wrapped carefully by your needy velvety walls. 

“Uhm…Don't ask what? To fill your princess?” You teased, squeezing his cock, a pretty squelching sound coming out that made him slap your ass. “God… like this.”

“I can't believe it. My baby likes to feel pain.” He noticed, feeling you clench your walls on his cock by his talk.

“Yes, yes, yes- hmmmm, fuck,” you screamed, giggling when he tapped your cheeks, closing your eyes to catch more of the pleasure of your cheeks burning and rough stimuli in your cunt.

“Open your fucking eyes.” He ordered, slapping your face again as he gripped on your throat. “You wasted my precious time” another slap, releasing your neck to slap your tits multiple times. “Pretending to be a fragile girl when you were just a slut?”

“Right there, I'm so close, Kai.” you whined, you were sure that at this point anyone could hear and you loved this. Somehow you wanted to be seen, people watching all the marks, reds and hickeys he planted on you, claiming you his. 

“What? My princess is gonna cum? That's what you want? Cum in the fucking carpet of your book club?” he cooed, slapping your thigh when you closed your eyes, squeezing your face when you opened it. “Keep looking at me, God, I wish your mates could see the cunt you are.”

“yes-i wanna cum here. Please, let me cum.” 

“Cum on my cock, crying like the fucking cry baby you are. Hmmm, so pretty, need to fill your pussy” he groans, spanking your ass, moaning by the sensation of your velvety walls clenching him. The slapping sounds, music in the room.

“m gonna cum m gonna cum” you scream, coming undone on his cock while he continually fucks you sloppy. 

“Yeah, just like this.” He teased, rubbing your pearl as you toss and turn under him desperately.

“No, please. Too much…No, I can't- I can't take it, no-” You begged, trembling, interrupted by the same two fingers he got on your clit, inserted in your mouth.

“You'll fucking take it” he hisses, increasing his path. “Just shut up as i…fuck…fuck you right. And you're gonna cum again, you hear me?” 

He commanded before taking his fingers soaked in your drool to rub your pearl again. You nod aggressively, purring, crying and shivering as you feel the wave again, like your whole body obeyed every single order of Kai. 

“fuck I'm cumming.” he groans, fucking your pussy with his seed deposited deep on your cervix. After one more deep thrust, digging the last strand of his cum, he grinned, touching your foreheads together. He panted before pushing it back, laying by your side, the carpet drowning in fluids, pushing back his jeans. 

“Kai.” You call, turning to face him. “I'm sorry.” The silence that followed was heavy, but when Kai finally spoke, his words were deliberate, his tone unwavering.

“I am the one who needs to apologize,” he said firmly, turning to face you fully.

Your breath caught at the sincerity in his voice, your heart pounding in your chest. “Why would you want to?” you whispered, your words barely audible.

He smiled faintly, leaning closer “My actions, I didn't treat you like you deserve. Shit, I fucked you on the carpet of the book club room, didn't even take you home.”

You hesitated before the words spilled out, unbidden and raw. “You do take care of me, more than I deserve.” 

“Don't you ever say that again ” He commanded in a frown, softening his eyes as hugging your still naked figure. “You deserve much more. All the good things in the world. I'll work to make sure you get all of that.”

“Okay…” you grinned as a happiness unknown by you filled the void inside your soul.

“I won't let anyone make you cry again. Even if I had to kill one of them.” He promised, lifting his pinky, smiling when you interlaced yours on his. “And if you need to cry, just cry on my cock. Pleasure tears are the one I allow and i'll make a collection of them. "

@plutism divider

[mrsvante]

Waiting in the Water

pairing: jimin x oc

genre: mermaid au, strangers to lovers, angst

summary: when alma finds an injured man on the shore, she has no idea he belongs to a world beyond her own. jimin is unlike anyone she's ever met—mischievous yet gentle, with an undeniable pull that draws her in. as he helps her find joy again, she opens his eyes to the beauty of life on land, and their connection deepens into something neither of them can ignore.

but jimin's presence hasn't gone unnoticed, and forces from the sea threaten to tear them apart. with the weight of two worlds pressing down on them, alma and jimin must decide if love is enough to bridge the divide—or if some destinies can never be rewritten.

warnings: smut (more like soft & sensual love making), growling (jimin’s not the ‘little mermaid’ type), biting, light ritualistic copulation (fully consensual), soft soft dom jimin, unprotected sex (please wrap it up), jimin’s first time

word count: 3,259

Bound by Moonlight

You want to be here, lost in this moment—your body aflame beneath Jimin’s touch. His fingertips dance over your skin, teasing, coaxing, stoking a fire that threatens to consume you.

He toys with your restraint, pushing you to the edge of bliss, yet something inside you resists.

Your mind refuses to quiet.

Thoughts crash and tumble in a chaotic whirlwind—jagged pieces of memories bleeding into one another. A little girl with Jimin’s eyes. Your first kiss. The night you saw him torn and bloodied, sprawled across the rocks. The nervous tremble in your hands as you walked down the aisle. Placing third in the county science debate. A tangled mess of everything and nothing at all.

“You are distracted.”

Jimin’s voice draws you back. You meet his gaze, then quickly shift to his lips, anywhere but the piercing depth of his eyes.

He cups your chin, guiding you into a kiss that is lush, consuming, breathtaking. His lips brush against yours, chasing away the noise in your head. You melt into him, desperate to drown in the softness, to be rid of the never ending flood of thoughts.

But just as you surrender, he pulls away, grinning as his thumb sweeps tenderly across your cheek. He taps a finger against your temple. “What storms wreak havoc inside here?”

You smile faintly as he twirls the stray wisps of your hair between his fingers.

“I—” You hesitate, biting your lip. A fluttering heat coils in your stomach. “I think I’m nervous.” The words feel foreign on your tongue. “May wasn’t lying. It’s been three years. I haven’t been with anyone since…” You trail off, words dissolving into uncertainty.

Jimin tilts his head, jawline sharp in the dim light, his gaze tracing over your skin like the last golden rays of sunset. He doesn’t speak, and the silence sends you spiraling.

You want to hide upstairs, wrap yourself in a blanket, and let the moment pass.

“Would you like to know a secret?” His boyish smile pulls a matching one from your lips, anchoring you back to him.

He leans in, chest to chest, close enough that you know he must feel the frantic rhythm of your heart. His lips brush your ear, the ghost of a whisper sending a shiver down your spine.

“I am nervous as well.”

Your breath hitches.

“You will be my first,” he murmurs, pulling back just enough to meet your eyes again—always looking into your eyes, as if he can see the parts of you no one else has ever dared to. “And my last. So I ask for your forgiveness for my fumbles.”

He grins.

“Fumbles?” You scoff, heat rising in your cheeks. “What you did earlier was anything but a fumble.”

Jimin leans in again, lips barely brushing yours, teasing. The tension crackles between you, electric, a dance of push and pull.

“The same could be said for you, my love.” His voice is molten, dripping with something heady, something dangerous. “To witness pleasure consume you was a gift from the Goddess herself.”

He takes your hand, lacing his fingers through yours as he leads you upstairs.

“You and your words,” you laugh, shaking your head. “They never fail.” Then, softer, more hesitant, “I just don’t want to disappoint you.”

He stops.

Turns.

Stares.

Standing a step above you, his presence is suddenly commanding. The air shifts, charged, and the space between you crackles with heat.

His fingers trail over your shoulder, tracing the delicate strap of your dress. With one simple movement, he pushes it aside, watching as the fabric slips down your body, pooling at your feet.

Jimin drinks you in, his gaze dark, reverent. “You are who I have waited for, my love. Never doubt that.”

His voice is a growl just before he lifts you effortlessly, wrapping your legs around his waist as he strides toward the bedroom.

Your gasp turns into a breathless laugh when your back hits the mattress, bouncing slightly from the force. The nervous tremor in your limbs has vanished, replaced by something thicker, heavier—desire, heady and intoxicating.

Through hooded eyes, you watch as Jimin undresses, each layer revealing golden skin, dusted with silvered scars that catch the dying light. Lithe muscle shifts beneath velvet-soft skin, a breathtaking contrast of steel and silk.

And then—

Your breath catches.

Your gaze drops as he steps out of his pants, naked in all his glory.

Oh.

Your mouth dries.

Curiosity wins, and your eyes widen, taking in the sight of him—thick, heavy, perfectly distended, the tip glistening with need.

Your body moves before your mind can catch up. Sliding off the bed, you sink to your knees, heat curling low in your belly as you watch him twitch under your gaze.

Jimin’s breath stutters. His thighs tense when your fingers wrap around him, testing, exploring. Silken heat, firm yet yielding, blood-warm under your touch.

A slow stroke earns you a low, guttural groan. A bead of precum leaks from his tip, tempting, beckoning—

You lean in, tongue flicking out for a taste.

The reaction is immediate. A sharp inhale, a tremor in his legs, a strangled sound torn from his throat.

“T-This night is about your—blessed goddess—pleasure, not mine,” he rasps.

You hum against him, savoring the weight of him on your tongue, the way he twitches at every flick, every suck, every slow, deliberate movement. His hands cradle your face, thumbs brushing over your cheeks, his expression contorted in something between agony and euphoria.

When his hips jerk forward, the thick head of his cock nudging the back of your throat, he pulls you away with a wet pop, chest heaving.

His skin glistens in the dim glow of the room, breath ragged, muscles tight with restraint.

Sin incarnate.

��You deceived me, sweet love.” Jimin’s voice is a low, dangerous purr. “I had thought my mate would be a gentle wave of allure.”

Suddenly, you’re on the bed again, spread beneath him, drowning in the molten intensity of his gaze.

“But you,” he whispers, lips ghosting over yours, “are a tsunami of carnal desire.”

Fingers dig into the soft meat of your thighs, dragging you forward until you teeter on the very edge of the bed. A moan tumbbles from your lips, your body buzzing from the simplest touch—the cool sheets whispering against your overheated skin, the teasing air gliding over the stiff peaks of your nipples.

Jimin’s eyes trace every inch of you, dark and unreadable, his chest rising and falling as he drinks in the sight of your trembling body laid out before him.

His pupils, already blown wide, flicker with something beyond hunger—something ancient, something inevitable.

“I thought your smile and your laugh were my favorite things about you,” he murmurs, voice thick with heat. He lifts your leg over his shoulder, lips grazing the sensitive skin of your ankle before sharp teeth sink gently into your calf. The sensation sends a jolt of pleasure straight to your core, and you gasp.

“But then I made you moan.”

Your back arches, a desperate whimper falling from your lips. “Jimin.”

You feel slick arousal spill out of you, pooling between the cheeks of your ass, betraying the aching need consuming you. Every second of this teasing is driving you mad, and when you try to tug him closer with the leg draped over his shoulder, his grip tightens, keeping you spread and at his mercy.

He growls low in his throat. “I will not be rushed, nor interrupted again.”

A shudder wracks through you when he slides a single finger over your swollen folds, collecting the evidence of your desire. You jerk your hips toward him, offering yourself freely, but he merely chuckles, fingers moving with an infuriating slowness.

Then, with practiced ease, his fingers disappear into your cunt.

Your walls flutter, clenching tight, desperate to pull him deeper. The stretch is delicious, the press of his knuckles relentless.

“Oh god, please—”

“Beautiful.”

His fingers sink in, curling just right, finding every spot that makes you twitch and cry out. He watches, entranced, as your breasts bounce with every thrust, his thumb dragging lazy circles around your puffy clit just to hear the sound of your moans.

You feel yourself unraveling beneath him, and the way his tongue darts out to wet his lips tells you he knows it, too.

A sharp gasp rips from your throat when his lips finally descend, capturing a stiff nipple between them. His tongue swirls in slow, deliberate circles, teasing until your eyes roll back and your breath stutters. Your body responds instantly, your hips rocking into his hand, chasing the pleasure that’s building, winding tighter and tighter.

“Jimin,” you pant, fingers tangling in his hair. “Close—I’m so close.”

The confession only spurs him on.

He kisses his way down the valley of your breasts, dragging his tongue over every inch of skin he can reach. His lips linger at the curve of your stomach before he slips lower, shoulders parting your thighs as he settles between them.

Strong hands grip your trembling legs, spreading you open, exposing your swollen, dripping cunt to his greedy gaze.

The first flick of his tongue against your clit is searing, a bolt of lightning shooting down your spine, igniting every nerve.

“Ah—!”

You don’t hear the cry that rips from your throat—ears ringing, mind blanking as Jimin feasts. The wet slide of his tongue, the obscene sounds filling the room, the way his fingers move inside you with devastating precision.

It’s too much.

Your thighs tremble around his head, but he doesn’t stop, doesn’t slow. He devours you like a man starved, like your pleasure is the only thing keeping him alive. The feeling of you pulsing around his fingers has him rutting against the bed for some relief, his breath heavy, lips and chin slick with your arousal.

You’re so close, right there, and he wants—needs—to watch you break.

“Release it, Alma.” His voice is rough, almost commanding. His fingers spread, opening you wider for his tongue to glide inside. “Take from me your pleasure.”

That’s all it takes.

Your body seizes, waves of blinding ecstasy crashing over you, stealing your breath, your thoughts…everything. Your back bows, fingers digging into the sheets as your climax rips through you, relentless, all consuming, and toe curling.

Jimin groans against you, drinking in every drop of your release.

When you finally come back to yourself, your body is weak, trembling. But you’re not done. Not even close.

You rise on shaky arms, hunger still burning deep in your gut, and when your eyes meet his, you know he feels it too.

His mouth, his nose, his chin are coated in your cum, evidence of the destruction he’s wrought upon your body. His pupils are blown wide, black with lust and something else. Something deeper.

Determination.

His hand is slick with your release, strings of arousal snapping as he lifts his fingers to your lips. You part them without hesitation, taking his fingers into your mouth, tongue sliding over every crease and knuckle, tasting yourself on him.

Jimin groans, low and deep. The sound sends a fresh wave of arousal straight to your core.

When he pulls his fingers free, it’s with a wet pop, and the way he smiles—dark, knowing—makes your thighs press together instinctively.

Then he’s over you, arms braced on either side of your head, the weight of his body pressing you into the bed. Your breath catches when his nose brushes yours, a tender contrast to the raw hunger burning between you.

“My love,” he murmurs, “my sweet Alma.”

Your heart stutters.

It makes your head spin, the way he shifts so effortlessly between tender and ruthless. His lips press kisses of marshmallow sweetness into your skin only to sink his teeth in seconds later, carving pleasure from your flesh.

Then, lower.

His body cages you in, muscles flexing as he positions himself between your legs. The slick head of his cock drags through your folds, catching at your entrance, teasing.

He breathes against your lips, “Our souls will bind when I recite the vow of mates.”

The words send a shiver down your spine.

“You will be mine…”

His voice is reverent, a promise sealed in fate.

“…forever.”

Then, with one slow, deliberate thrust, he enters you.

Your jaw falls open, a silent cry breaking free as your walls stretch around him, greedy, desperate, clinging to every inch.

Jimin groans, head dropping to your shoulder, his breath hot against your skin. “Blessed goddess,” he rasps, “you are divine, sweet love.”

A broken moan tumbles from your lips when he pulls out, just enough for the crown of his cock to catch at your entrance before he sinks in deeper. Inch by inch, he claims you, rocking his hips in a slow, measured pace, dragging pleasure from your body with every thrust.

The bond begins to take root.

Heat surges through your veins, wrapping around your soul like vines of molten gold. Jimin’s body tenses, his breath hitching, and for a moment, everything stops—before a wave of raw, unfiltered power crashes through him.

His transformation begins.

The change is subtle at first. A shift in the air, a tremor beneath his skin. But then, his body tenses, a sharp gasp punching from his lungs as the transformation takes hold.

His fingers dig into the sheets beside your head, his muscles quivering with the strain of something bigger, something primal unfurling inside him. The veins in his forearms stand out, dark against his flushed skin, and his pupils, already blown wide with lust, swallow the last traces of silver in his irises.

Jimin’s breath shudders against your throat, his lips barely brushing your pulse. “Alma…” The name is a whisper, a plea, a claim.

Heat coils around your bodies, unseen but undeniable. The bond is forming, threading itself between your souls, tightening with every thrust, every shared breath. You can feel it, him, inside you in more ways than one. His essence merging with yours, his energy pulling you under, deeper, deeper, until there is no beginning and no end, only this.

He groans, low and guttural, his hips stuttering as the change overtakes him. His body swells with power, his scent intensifies—simmering spice, thick and intoxicating, like the embers of a fire coaxed back to life.

Then, his teeth sharpen.

You feel them graze the delicate skin of your shoulder, a silent warning, a promise of what’s to come. His cock throbs inside you, filling you completely, stretching you to the point of pleasure laced pain, and yet, you crave more.

“Jimin—”

The sound of your voice breaks him.

A growl rumbles from his chest, deep and inhuman, vibrating against your skin. His thrusts quicken, harder now, driven by something beyond lust.

Your nails rake down his back, his skin feverish to the touch. His hair clings to his forehead, damp with sweat, but his lips never stop moving. Whispering your name like a prayer, pressing kisses over your throat, over your heart.

Then, the bite.

Pain blooms first, sharp and electric, before it melts into something else. Something so overwhelming, so all consuming it steals the air from your lungs.

The bond snaps into place.

A white hot flood of energy rushes through you, burning through every nerve, every cell. Your body arches, your vision blurs, your mind fractures under the sheer force of it—of him.

Jimin’s cry is strangled, raw, his body shuddering violently against yours as the final threads of his transformation weave together. His canines retract, his eyes flicker with something ancient, something eternal.

When he finally looks at you, it’s with the weight of a thousand lifetimes.

“You are mine,” he rasps, forehead pressing to yours, voice wrecked, reverent. “And I am yours.”

Tears prick at your eyes, overwhelmed by the depth of him, the depth of this. You cup his face, thumb stroking over his cheek, anchoring him, grounding yourself. “Always.”

The first true breath of your new existence fills your lungs, and as Jimin cradles you to his chest, still buried deep inside you, you realize—

You were never meant to exist without each other.

You are his.

And he is yours.

Until the sun consumes the waves.

———

“My love?”

Jimin’s voice is soft, a breath against your temple, but even that feels distant—like a melody drifting through fog. You’re floating somewhere between sleep and consciousness, your body heavy, spent, but warm. So warm.

You stir, barely, the world around you is slow to take shape.

Your body hums with the lingering echoes of what’s just transpired—the imprint of Jimin still carved into your very being. Everything aches, a deep soreness that throbs in time with your pulse. But it’s a good ache.

A satisfying one.

You try to shift, but your limbs refuse to cooperate. You’re impossibly comfortable, wrapped in the scent of him, all sea salt and musk, a soothing balm against the rawness of your senses.

Fingers gently ghost over your cheek, tracing the damp strands of hair clinging to your skin. The touch is grounding, pulling you just a little further into the waking world. Jimin tucks the stray locks behind your ear, his palm lingering at your jaw as his thumb sweeps over your cheekbone.

His touch is steady now, absent of the tremors from before, no claws, no fangs—only glistening skin and tender devotion.

When you finally crack open your eyes, everything feels impossibly heavy, but there he is. The world is soft at the edges, but your mate is all you see.

Jimin, bathed in the dim glow of the room, his skin golden in the soft light. He’s watching you, eyes tender, lips swollen from too many stolen kisses. There is no hunger now, no feverish desperation. Only warmth.

Devotion.

A slow smile tugs at his lips, melting at the corners. He dips his head, pressing a kiss to your brow, then another to the tip of your nose, before finally capturing your lips in a kiss that is soft and savoring.

“I love you,” he breathes against your mouth, voice thick with something reverent, something unshakable. “You are incredible.”

You try to respond, to return the words with just as much meaning, but your lips barely part before exhaustion pulls you under again. A whisper of sound escapes, but Jimin understands.

A low, satisfied groan rumbles in his chest as he finally pulls away, his touch lingering as he withdraws from you. The loss is immediate, the stretch of emptiness raw and aching. A soft whimper catches in your throat, but before you can mourn the absence of him, Jimin is soothing you.

“I know, sweet love,” he murmurs, lips brushing over your temple as his fingers trace lazy, reassuring circles along your hip. “I am sorry.”

The bed shifts as he moves, but before he can rise completely, you reach for him—though it’s barely more than a twitch of your fingers. Jimin catches your hand in his, pressing a kiss to your knuckles before settling it over his heart.

“Rest,” he whispers. “Let me run us a bath. I shall return.”

His warmth lingers, even as he moves away. You try to follow the sound of him, the rustle of sheets, the soft pad of his feet against the floor, but sleep is a tide too strong to resist.

Before his foot even touches the ground, the world fades into quiet, dreamless bliss.

The last thing you feel is the press of his lips against your forehead, the promise of his return woven into the steady rhythm of your heartbeat.



previous | next

masterlist

[anxiousbrazilianstuff]

I'm going to tell some more of my headcanons about Jack because I love this boy🙏

SEVERE YAPS BELOW ‼️

— He knows how to sew, like, he lived on the streets and probably other newsies too, they technically wouldn't have much money to buy clothes, and most of the ones they have must already be worn out and torn, so he learned how to at least patch some clothes, and most of their clothes have these patches that he makes

— He maybe also knows how to take care of hair, not like a hairdresser, but he knows how to do some hairstyles, because just like they had newsboys, they had newsgirls too, and because he's older, he and other newsies the same age, probably take care of the younger girls' hair, because it is physically PAINFUL to run around in the heat with your hair loose and probably tangled, most of it gets a bit crooked, but he tries🤷

— I mentioned this in a previous post, but he is dyslexic, and because of the time, he probably just thought he was dumb because In the 1890s the disorders were not exactly known or taken seriously, he just learned the basics with a lot of effort, but still, that kid will NOT understand anything that is slightly more "fancy", and I saw a hc in that same post that in contrast David is hyperlexic, so 99% of the time, he's talking and Jack is looking at him with the most "🤨??" look in his life

— He is always full of doodles on his arms, whether it is a spiral or the most elaborate drawing of his life, his arm is never clean

— His teeth are crooked, some are broken, I mean, this kid is always getting into fights 😭 at least one of his teeth is broken, and I also have the hc of him having sharp canine teeth, I don't know why, it just makes sense 🤷

— He can go on rambling for hours about any subject related to painting, you mention drawing and this boy will be looking at you with the biggest eyes in the world waiting for you to authorize him to speak

— He CANNOT be still, he's talking? He's walking in circles, or gesturing, or pacing, he just physically can't be still

— He's latino, ofc ofc, I'm latino, I know what I'm talking about

[argisthebulwark]

I'd Die A Drunk, I'd Die For You

summary: Lucky you, you're his emergency contact! Unlucky for you, there's been an emergency. gn reader, no pronouns or y/n used. feat: Farkas, Brynjolf, Balimund, Vilkas, Cicero warnings: explicit depictions of blood & injury, alcohol consumption masterlist

Farkas

You are absolutely fucking terrified when the guards knock on your door. Sunrise is only a few hours off yet you'd hardly slept, putting off rest until you got a handle of your work. Recruitment requests, work orders, summons from the Jarl, orders for new bedding and maintenance for the hall... sleep simply doesn't fit into your schedule. Everything else falls away when you hear that Farkas is hurt. The guard has hardly finished speaking before you're rushing out the door, snatching a coat over your pajamas and slippers falling off your chilly feet when you hustle through Whiterun. Your mind conjures up awful scenarios that turn your stomach while you're tripping up all those damned steps. Bursting into Jorrvaskr hardly draws any attention. Companions and priests scurry around where Farkas is laid out across the grand table, bloodied linens clutched to his wounds while Vilkas barks orders. Your heart sinks when Farkas spots you, eyes unfocused but grinning. Bandaged fingers beckon you closer and you shuffle toward him, sinking to your knees. "What did you do?" Fat tears roll down your cheeks when you comb through the mess of his hair. Farkas' hand rests on your shoulder, eyes fluttering closed when he sucks in a sharp breath. "Made it home. Just like I promised." He smiles again, trying to cover up the pain with humor. "Don't tell Vilkas you're my emergency contact - 'fraid he'd lecture us both." "You were supposed to come back in one piece." You swipe at the blood drying on his cheek, desperate for a sense of normalcy. The fact that you could be losing him chokes out all rational thought. "Tried my best." He pants, face flushed as Athis mumbles about a dislocated shoulder. "Don't worry - it's not that bad, I'll be fixed up in no time." "You're bleeding all over the table." "Not the first time." His laugh is rough but offers you a touch of comfort. "Probably not the last time, either."

Brynjolf

Something has gone terribly wrong. A pair of guards knocking your door down sent your heart at a dangerous pace - they're at your home. You've been so careful to ensure that nothing ties your personal life to the Guild - had someone been caught? None of the recruits knew your real name and no one in your inner circle would ever rat you out. Their mention of Brynjolf's name wrenches you out of that spiral. You're nodding along to whatever they're saying, allowing them to escort you through Riften. Your skin feels too tight when you descend into the city's jail, too many eyes on you for comfort. They still haven't explained what the hell he did but if they know his real name it must be serious. Slumped against the stiff cot, Brynjolf grins up at you. His eyes shamelessly take in the mess of your crooked tunic and mismatched boots, cheeks flushed and looking far too relaxed for a man in a cell. He gazes at you, clearly ignoring the bloodied state of his knuckles. "Care to explain why the guards darkened my doorstep?" You seethe, paying no mind to his damned dimples. Now is not the time to let him distract you. "Ah, sorry love - put you down as my emergency call. Just in case they found me floatin' down the river." "And your hands?" "Heard some cunt talkin' about you in a less than savory way." He sighs, examining the clearly broken hand. You ignore the way your heart melts a bit. My hero." You deadpan, glad to see the guard fumbling through his keys. Brynjolf lurches forward, arm already around your shoulders before the guard's even finished opening his cell. "Knew I could count on you." You smell the alcohol on his breath when he leans closer, steadying himself on your shoulder. "You are going to pay me back for this." "Anythin' you want. Name it and 'ts yours."

Balimund

Mouth agape and blinking far too much, you try to process the question. Of course you know Balimund - why the hell is a nervous acolyte asking you this in the dead of night? They urge you toward the Temple of Mara, quite tight lipped and only telling you to hurry. You stumble up the steps, knees weak when you see him - the shirt is ripped away from his torso, injured arm laid out and surrounded by priests. The yellowish glow of healing magicka emits from their cupped hands but you see it; red, angry burns climbing up toward his shoulder and blood drying on the shreds of his tunic. His eyes are squeezed shut as their hands ghost over his injuries, paying close attention to each wound. Acolytes flutter around offering aid, one dabbing sweat from Balimund's forehead while the other pours fresh water into a basin. "Oh, honey -" "It's fine." He grunts, eyes squeezed shut. You drag a chair near him, wishing so badly that you could take away the pain. "What happened? Why didn't you wake me?" "Didn't want to worry you." His good hand clutches yours, allowing you to hold it to your chest. "Tried to add more fire salts to the forge, guess I went a bit too fast." He winces, fingers tense around yours. "Glad you're here, though." You do what you can, keeping his attention away from the healers fretting over his arm. You swipe at the soot on his face and press kisses to his unharmed fingers, doing all that you can to keep his spirits up.

Vilkas

When the guards on your porch asked after your ex, you were petrified that Vilkas had been hurt. He must have come back bloodied from some mission, confused when they led you straight past the temple. The relief of him not being injured only lasts a moment before reality sinks in - something else is wrong. You gut continues to sink when you follow them past the steps of Jorrvaskr, hands shaking at your sides as an endless stream of questions bombard your mind. You haven't spoken for a few weeks, taking some time away from the Companions after the break up - how much trouble could they have caused in that amount of time? Vilkas had never been reckless with anyone else's life but you'd gotten sick of watching him risk his own. All thoughts cease when you see him. Dark eyes stare up at you, bruises blossoming over his cheek. His hair has grown longer than he likes and blood dries on his split lip. Despite all the issues you've had, the fights and distance that wrecked your relationship, your heart still flips when he smirks at you. "You look awful." You lie, ignoring those sharp teeth his grin exposes. It's terribly difficult to avoid the memory of how they feel on your skin. "Did you get in a fight?" "You look nice." He counters, seemingly unbothered. "Is that my shirt?" "Shut up or I will let you rot in here." You will not admit that it is absolutely his shirt you'd been sleeping in.

Cicero

"We found your name written on this man's arm. He won't talk - can you please come with us?" Oh, you're in for trouble. If one of your assassins had been caught and isn't sticking to the script drilled into each of your skulls it must be dire. Tying your real name to it can only make the situation worse. Simmering in your anger you prepare to lecture whoever was dense enough to get caught. You freeze upon realizing where you are - you aren't staring into a jail cell. Flanked by two guards you're standing in the middle of the Jarl's longhouse, their healer intensely focused on your Keeper. "Cicero." You swoop down, all pretense forgotten when you press a nervous hand to his forehead. His eyes flutter behind closed lids, familiar clothing torn and stained. You can only pray that the blood isn't his. "What happened?" "We found him crawling back to town. He wasn't making any sense but it looks like he was attacked." The guard pipes up, your stomach dropping at the thought. He'd only been gone a few days but you recall his parting words - finally feeling confident enough to take a job on his own, promising you that he doesn't need you watching his every move. "My love." You murmur, kissing at his clammy forehead. You've never seen Cicero so quiet, even in sleep he mumbles. This just feels wrong.

[marvelskies1969]

Infinity

Bucky Barnes x Fem!Reader / Loki x Fem!Reader

Premise: Y/N Rogers was sent away as a child, her powers deemed dangerous. After years of brief summers with Steve and Bucky, she returns for good when their mother dies—just as war begins.

As her abilities awaken, she draws the attention of Loki, the trickster god, and faces growing fear from those around her. Caught between destiny, war, and forbidden ties, Y/N must decide who she truly is—and who she’s willing to fight for.

Warnings/content: slight angst, brief mention of death/dying, jealousy, sexual assault, fluff, swearing, unstable parental relationships, follows the plot of the MCU timeline, with small changes.

[Masterlist]

[Part 2]

Chapter 46

A Strange Sort of Exchange

The echo of her footsteps carried down the long stone corridor, sharp and uneven. Loki lifted his head from where he lounged on the narrow cot, chained within the shimmering golden glow of his enchanted cell. He knew her footfalls now — lighter than the guards’, more hurried, less mechanical. Human. Vibrantly, infuriatingly human.

He didn’t expect the crash.

It started with a muffled curse, then a shuffle, a thump, and the unmistakable clatter of objects hitting the floor in a cascading mess.

Loki sat upright, curiosity piqued despite himself. He rose smoothly to his feet, gliding to the edge of the invisible barrier. His fingers itched to part it, to reach through and catch sight of what chaos had descended.

Moments later, she appeared — or rather, the teetering, swaying mountain of objects she was buried under appeared first. Books, maps, scrolls, a leather satchel bulging at the seams. And... was that a jar of marbles swinging precariously from one elbow?

Y/N’s head poked out from behind the stack, her hair slightly mussed, her expression one of fierce determination.

"For the love of the Nine," Loki drawled, one eyebrow arching, "have you decided to move in?"

She beamed at him, completely unbothered by her precarious state. “Cultural exchange day!” she announced like a town crier proclaiming a festival. “Get ready to be enlightened, trickster .”

"You do know you teleported in here, yesterday. You could have just done that from wherever you got all this from." He remarked, attempting to hide a smile.

"I know!" She quipped back humorously. "I can do a lot of things easily now, but sometimes I miss the fun of normal life."

She took two more steps, then stopped. She then teleported through the barrier, gained on special favour by Frigga — then the bottom book slipped, and the whole pile avalanched spectacularly to the floor.

Scrolls unfurled in loose spirals. Heavy tomes thudded onto the stone. The marbles went pinging in every direction, a few ricocheting off the walls with high musical notes.

Y/N stood in the wreckage, hands on hips, surveying the disaster with the satisfied air of a general whose siege had succeeded in spirit, if not in technique.

“Well. That went about as well as I expected,” she said brightly.

And to Loki’s own horror, a short, involuntary laugh barked out of him — low, rough-edged from disuse. It slipped through before he could strangle it back.

Her head snapped toward him at the sound, her smile blooming wider, something warm sparking in her eyes that he immediately wanted to smother. No, he told himself fiercely. No closer than this.

Still, he said nothing, only crossing his arms and leaning lazily against the barrier, watching her gather the fallen treasures. It would have been undignified to kneel among the wreckage herself, but she did so without hesitation, stacking books in her arms with all the grace of an overeager librarian.

"So," she said, settling into a cross-legged sprawl just outside the golden field of energy that kept him contained, "I brought you some history, some poetry, a little wartime propaganda, and a few old myths. All Midgardian. Pre-ice."

Her voice softened a little at the mention of it — the decades she'd spent frozen, untouched by time while the world spun on without her. Loki found himself studying her face, the way the light caught at the corners of her eyes, the faintest crease of nostalgia at her mouth.

"And what am I expected to do with this… mountain of sentimentality?" he asked.

"You," she said, tapping a finger to the cover of the top book, "*are going to learn about Midgard the way I remember it. And in return—" she grinned mischievously, "—you're going to tell me about Asgard."

He gave a soft, derisive sound. "A fair exchange, except Asgardian knowledge is a gift most mortals are not ready to receive."

She only smiled more. "Good thing I'm not most mortals, then."

There was a lightness to her, a stubborn joy that made him want to scoff — and also made something ache deep and cold within his chest. He had forgotten people could be like this. Eager without hidden teeth. Curious without cruelty.

"Besides," she added, glancing up at him through her lashes, "if I really wanted to know, I could just look."

Her voice was gentle, not a threat but a truth. Loki's body went rigid. He was keenly aware of how vulnerable he was behind this barrier — how easily she could slip into his mind, sift through his memories, lay bare every ugly corner he'd fought to keep hidden.

But she only raised her hands in surrender, palms open. “I won’t. Not unless you ask.”

He stared at her a long moment, searching for the trap. The lie. But there was nothing but stubborn honesty, warm and exasperating.

She bent her head again, flipping open a battered, gold-edged copy of The Picture of Dorian Gray.

"This," she said, smoothing the worn pages reverently, "is about beauty and corruption. About wanting to stay perfect even when everything inside you rots away."

She paused, glancing up at him with a small, teasing smile. "Thought you might find it relatable."

He huffed a breath through his nose — not quite a laugh, not quite a scowl.

"And if I refuse?" he asked.

She shrugged. "Then I'll sit here and read to you anyway. I like the acoustics in here."

She began, her voice filling the cold stone space, rich and low and surprisingly musical. Loki leaned back against the wall, closing his eyes for a moment despite himself. Her voice wove around the harsh edges of his prison, softening them just a little.

He stayed silent for a long time, listening as she spoke of gilded portraits, whispered scandals, and vanity's cruel bargains.

And then, when she finally looked up at him again, expectant and hopeful, he found the words leaving him before he could catch them.

"There is a rite," he said slowly, "on Asgard, at the winter solstice. We gather around a great fire and speak of our greatest shames. Our worst mistakes. We burn them away with the night."

She sat forward eagerly, eyes wide. "What's it called?"

"Solvar," he said. "Truth burning."

"Would you—" she hesitated, searching his face for permission. "Would you tell me one? One of yours?"

The very idea of it made his skin crawl. Yet... her voice was soft, free of mockery. Free of expectation. Like she would listen, even if the story made her hate him.

He swallowed it down for now. "Another day, perhaps."

She smiled as though he'd promised her the stars.

And when she gathered her books and maps again, her hands brushing softly over cracked leather and ancient ink, Loki let himself lean a little closer to the barrier — as though proximity might make her voice clearer. As though he could borrow some of her warmth, if only for a little while longer.

It was dangerous.

It was foolish.

It was... nice.

And he hated how much he wanted her to stay.

[floralhuqzz]

Mine, Not Yours (Joe Goldberg x reader(fem)

(Chapter 5: Late Night Confessions)

MASTERLIST

⸻

You walk in again. Third time this week. The bell above the door rings soft, innocent. Just like you try to seem. But I know better now.

You smile—so warm, so easy, like last night didn’t happen. Like I didn’t see you with him. His hands. Your neck. That laugh that used to be mine.

I shelve a book I’ve already shelved twice, pretending I’m calm. Pretending I’m not still hearing the sound you made when he kissed you.

You stroll up to the counter, holding a paperback. It’s poetry this time. You always choose things with meaning. Layers. You’re complicated, aren’t you?

You set the book down, fingers brushing the cover like it’s glass. “You ever read this one?”

I glance at it. Pablo Neruda. Of course. Love poems. Messy. Human. Obsessive. “Once or twice,” I say. “Depends on who’s reading it, I guess.”

You tilt your head, watching me. “You okay? You seem… off today.”

Off?

No, I’m not off. I’m just trying not to ask you why you let him touch you like that. Why your curtain was open. Why it felt like a knife.

I look down at the book. Then up at you. I lean my elbow on the counter.

“Can I ask you something?” I ask, voice low. Steady.

You blink. “Sure.”

“That boy you were with last night. Who is he?”

Your eyes widen—but only for a moment. Then… that smile. The kind that says caught, but you’re not mad about it.

“Oh?” you say, playful now. “So you knew I was with someone?”

I pause. A beat too long.

And there it is. That look in your eye—amusement. Maybe even something darker.

“Wait…” you say slowly, drawing it out. “How did you know that I was with someone last night?” You lean in just enough to make my breath catch. “Did you… see me?”

You’re not backing away. You’re leaning in, whispering it now, like it’s a secret.

“Are you stalking me, Joe?”

My heart stutters.

You don’t sound scared.

You sound… curious.

Intrigued.

I study your face. That teasing glint in your eyes. The way your tongue wets your bottom lip.

“I was going for a walk,” I say. Calm. Controlled. A lie, but not quite. “Passed by your place. The curtain was open.” I shrug. “Didn’t mean to look.”

You hum, soft and amused. “Didn’t mean to?”

My jaw tightens. You’re playing a dangerous game. You have no idea how close I’ve been to the edge.

But then you laugh—light, breezy, like none of this matters. You grab the book and step back, smiling as you head toward the door.

“See you around, neighbor,” you say over your shoulder.

And just like that, you’re gone again.

Leaving me standing in a bookstore, pulse racing, stomach twisting, brain spiraling.

Are you teasing me?

Are you daring me?

Because if this is a game, you’re playing it well.

But games like this?

They always have a price.

And I’m very good at collecting.

⸻

I come home after closing the bookstore. The streetlights cast a hazy gold glow over the front yard. It’s quiet. Peaceful. But not inside my head.

Your voice still lingering

“Are you stalking me, Joe?”

You said it like a joke. Like you knew something.

And maybe… you do.

I lock the door behind me. Love’s in the kitchen. She’s wearing a linen apron, hair pulled up, sleeves rolled, chopping herbs like she’s starring in some domestic fantasy. It would almost be cute. If she wasn’t staring right at me when I walked in.

“Hey,” I say, trying to sound normal. Whatever normal even is anymore.

She doesn’t respond at first. Just keeps slicing. Deliberate. Slow.

Then—

“You’ve been working late a lot.”

I freeze for a second. Not long. Just enough.

“Yeah. Inventory. New titles.”

She nods, but her eyes stay sharp, cutting right through me like the chef’s knife in her hand.

“Funny,” she says. “I went by the shop earlier. You weren’t there.”

My stomach twists.

She went by. She didn’t say anything.

I keep my voice even. “I was on a delivery run. Left the register with Calvin.”

Silence. Just the knife hitting the board, steady and rhythmic.

She finally sets it down and turns to face me fully. Arms crossed.

“You’ve been distracted lately,” she says softly. “Like you’re somewhere else. Someone else.”

I meet her eyes. I try not to blink. “What are you talking about?”

She walks closer. Slow. Measured.

“Is there someone?” she asks. Straight to the point. No smile.

And there it is.

The beginning of the unraveling.

I shake my head. “No. There’s no one.”

A lie. But she doesn’t know that. Not yet.

She stares at me like she wants to believe me. Like she’s weighing it in her head, trying to tell the difference between the truth and a man who’s pretending he hasn’t already imagined another woman’s body under his hands.

She tilts her head. “Because I know what you’re like, Joe. When you get… attached.”

That word.

Attached.

I force a smile. “I’m not attached to anyone, Love.”

She doesn’t smile back.

Then—soft, almost gentle—

“You’d tell me, wouldn’t you?”

And I realize something:

She’s not mad. She’s scared.

Because Love knows what it feels like when something is slipping away. And she’s not just watching for cracks. She’s memorizing them. Preparing.

I kiss her on the forehead. A small gesture. A lie dressed in tenderness.

“Of course I’d tell you.”

She nods slowly, eyes lingering on mine for a beat too long.

Then she turns, picks up the knife again, and keeps chopping.

That night, I can’t sleep.

Because now, it’s not just obsession I have to hide.

It’s everything.

Love is watching me.

And so are you.

The difference is… one of you wants to be caught.

And the other?

She kills people when she does

⸻

The night after Love’s little interrogation, I’m lying in bed next to her. She’s asleep—or pretending to be. Her breathing is steady. Soft. But I know her well enough to feel the tension even in her stillness.

She knows something is off. She’s watching me now. Closely. But the thing is… so am I.

I’m watching you.

You haven’t walked by your window since that night. No curtain shows. No silhouette. You’ve disappeared. And it’s been driving me insane. Until now.

1:32 AM.

My phone buzzes once. Quiet. Subtle. A text. Unknown number, but I know the rhythm of your words like they were made for me.

-hey… i know it’s late and this is random but i didn’t know who else to call

could you maybe come get me?

i’m at the station. not in trouble, i swear. i’ll explain. just… pls.

I stare at the screen. Blink once. Twice.

Station?

And then it clicks. You’re asking me. Me. Not that teenage boy with the grabby hands. Not your friend from class. Me.

There’s a stupid smile on my face as I quietly slide out of bed, careful not to wake Love. She doesn’t need to know. She wouldn’t understand. This is nothing. Just a… favor. Just a good neighbor, right?

⸻

The ride to the station is calm. Too calm. But inside, I’m buzzing. The city’s empty this late—dead and asleep. Everyone, except you. Of course.

You’re sitting on the low stone bench outside the station when I pull up. Arms crossed. Legs pulled up like you’re hiding from the world. Or maybe from yourself.

When you see me, you smile. Sheepishly. God. You’re beautiful. Even at 2 a.m. in a hoodie and smudged mascara.

I roll down the passenger window. “So,” I say, “Do I even want to know what happened?”

You walk over, slide into the seat, and close the door. You sigh, already laughing a little.

“It’s stupid,” you admit. “Really stupid. My friends and I were drinking outside behind the gas station and—apparently, there’s still a curfew for minors out in public. The cops were just being dramatic.”

I raise an eyebrow. “You’re eighteen.”

“Nineteen,” you correct. “But I didn’t exactly have proof. I left my ID in my other jacket. I swear, they treated me like I robbed a bank or something.”

I glance at you, lips twitching. “So you thought I’d be the best emergency contact?”

You grin. “Honestly? You were the only one I trusted not to freak out about it. You’re… chill. Or at least, you pretend to be.”

I smirk. If only you knew.

“So,” I say, “What’s the punishment?”

You shrug. “Nothing. They let me go with a warning. I just couldn’t leave until someone picked me up. And I wasn’t about to call my mom.”

I shake my head, chuckling. “Rebel.”

You laugh too—really laugh this time. It’s sweet. Warm. It buzzes right in my chest.

“Thanks again,” you say softly. “Seriously. I didn’t know who else would come.”

You chose me. Out of everyone.

It shouldn’t mean this much. But it does.

And right there, under the quiet hum of the dashboard light, with your head leaning gently back against the window, your voice fading into a tired sigh, I realize something terrifying and perfect:

You’re trusting me now.

And I would do anything to keep it that way.

⸻

The air inside the car is warm, dim. Streetlights spill golden stripes through the windshield. You haven’t asked me to drive yet, and I haven’t offered. We just… sit there. Together. In the silence.

You pick at your sleeve, glancing at me through your lashes. That nervous little tick again. Fingertips brushing your necklace. You always do that when you’re thinking. When you’re unsure.

“So,” you finally say, voice quiet, a little hoarse from the cold, “You’re not gonna lecture me?”

I lean back against the headrest, eyes still on the road ahead. “Would it change anything if I did?”

You laugh—soft, real. “No. But most people try anyway.”

I turn to look at you now. You’re facing me too, chin resting on your hand. There’s something different in your eyes tonight. Not just the leftover adrenaline. It’s raw. Honest. Like the walls you keep up during the day aren’t fully built right now.

“You okay?” I ask, and I mean it.

You nod slowly. “I think I just wanted to feel something.”

My heart stirs. Feel something.

You go on before I can say anything. “I’ve been kinda… off lately. Out of it. Maybe it’s stupid, but I’ve just felt like I don’t really belong anywhere. Or like… everyone around me is faking it, and I’m just stuck pretending too.”

I swallow hard. God, I know that feeling.

I nod. “It’s not stupid.”

You look over at me again. “You ever feel like that?”

All the time. Every second.

But I keep my smile small. Controlled. “Yeah. More than you’d think.”

You study me for a long second. “You always seem so calm, though.”

I chuckle under my breath. “Calm’s just the part people are supposed to see.”

You’re quiet for a moment, and then: “That’s… kinda hot, actually.”

I glance at you, surprised. But your eyes don’t waver.

It’s small, but it’s there.

The air shifts.

Thicker now. Heavier.

You turn your head and look out the window again, like maybe you didn’t mean to say it out loud. Like maybe you regret it. Or maybe you want me to chase it.

“Do you tell Love where you go this late?” you ask suddenly.

My heart stumbles. “Not always.”

You nod. Slowly. “I was just wondering.”

Then you look at me again, and this time your gaze lingers—soft and unfiltered.

“You didn’t have to come tonight,” you say. “But you did.”

“I always will,” I say without thinking.

Silence.

Another beat.

Then, quietly—almost teasing—

“You are kinda stalkerish though.”

I smile. “Only a little.”

You laugh again, but it sounds different now. Like something cracked open.

Maybe we both did.

⸻

The car slows to a stop in front of your house. The porch light hums faintly, casting a dull glow across the cracked steps. It’s quiet here. Still. Just you and me and everything we aren’t saying.

You glance at the door, then back at me, tucking a piece of hair behind your ear.

“Well,” you whisper, “this is me.”

I don’t move. Neither do you.

The seconds stretch.

There’s something thick in the air, electric, like we both know something is about to happen—something we won’t come back from.

You shift in your seat, facing me more directly. Your knee barely brushes mine. A spark. You notice it. So do I.

Your voice is lower now. “Thanks again… really.”

I nod. “Of course.”

But then we just stare. Eyes locked. Neither of us moves. And yet… we do.

Because you’re leaning in.

And so am I.

Breaths shallow.

Your lips part slightly.

God, this close, I can smell the hint of your shampoo. Vanilla and honey. Your heart’s beating faster—I can feel it.

Then—

Our lips meet.

Soft at first. Then deeper. Hungrier.

Like we’ve both been starving for something we finally found in each other’s mouths.

Your fingers grip the front of my jacket, pulling me closer, and my hands slide into your hair, tilting your head just right. The kiss turns messy, urgent, desperate. We’re not thinking anymore. We’re feeling.

And it’s perfect.

But then—

You pull back.

Just an inch. Breathless. Eyes wide.

“Joe…” you whisper, voice shaking. “I—I have to go. I can’t—”

You fumble for the door handle, heart racing, lips still swollen from the kiss.

“Thank you,” you say again, voice cracking. “Good night.”

And then you’re gone. Running up the porch steps, disappearing behind the door, leaving me alone with my racing heart and the ghost of your mouth on mine.

I stare at your closed door for a long time.

Breathing. Thinking.

Or trying not to.

You kissed me back.

You wanted it too.

But you ran.

You’re scared. And I get it. Because I’m scared too.

But for me?

It’s not of what we just did.

It’s what I’ll be willing to do to feel that again.

⸻

[rosypenguins]

💔Bridges (Pt. 2)🖤

*+ *+ *+ *+ *+ *+ *+ *+ *+ *+ *+ *+ *+ *+ *+ *+ *+ *+ *+

Synopsis: Drew ends up spiraling.

A/N: Okay, this draws a lot from my headcanons for Drew’s backstory. This one’s like really emo lol.

Contains Swearing, Suicidal Ideation

*+ *+ *+ *+ *+ *+ *+ *+ *+ *+ *+ *+ *+ *+ *+ *+ *+ *+ *+

Drew watched Liam storm off before turning back to the bridge, taking in a sharp breath of air. That ever-familiar flame flickered in his chest; the smoke filling his lungs.

Each breath he took was heavy; it didn’t feel like he was getting any air. His head was spinning. The flame needed an escape.

Without thinking, Drew slammed his fist into the concrete railing, only for pain to shoot up his arm. Quickly, his hand recoiled, drawing closer to his chest. Fuck! Fuck, why the hell did I do that?

He could feel more sparks ignite at his own stupidity. The sensation was almost painful. Why couldn’t he just calm down?

Drew placed his elbows on the railing, his hands tugging at his tangled hair. Breathe, dammit.

But his throat felt tight, and his mind was spinning with voices and-

Drew felt a drop of water land against his cheek, and he glanced up towards the sky, only to find it covered with clouds.

…You’ve got to be kidding me…

He felt another drop hit his forehead, followed by a few more, and-

“Oh, is this some sort of joke to you?!” Drew suddenly screamed. “Do you think this is funny-?!” Drew’s throat tightened, his breath caught in his throat. He could feel tears forming in the corners of his eyes again, and almost instinctively he buried his face in his hands.

You worthless fucking failure. Get it together.

His nails dug into his skin as he thought back to the teary look Liam had given him.

You’re not supposed to be upset. You did the right thing. Liam was a bitch, anyways. You’re better off.

Slowly, Drew lowered his hands, resting them against the railing as he managed a few slow breaths. The flame was finally dying.

…

You didn’t need Liam. You don’t need anyone…

“All you do is hurt people!” The blonde’s words suddenly echoed in Drew’s ear, and he let out a huff as he sat himself on the railing. His gaze fell to the black water below, his reflection faintly visible, yet distorted by the ripples along the surface.

It’s not my fault. He told himself. It’s not my fault Liam has to be a little bitch about everything.

You’re lying…

He lied! Him and Jake and Zoey and everyone else who pretended to care about me! It’s not my fault they’re all shit!

You should’ve seen it coming. You really think anyone could love you?

…I’m better off alone. I’ve always been better off alone.

“All you do is hurt people!”

Drew let out a sigh, his gaze drifting to his hands. Bruises littered his knuckles, and there was still a small scar along one of his fingers from when he’d broken that mirror all that time ago.

His finger traced the mark, as his mind began to drift back to that night Liam had held him so softly…

What if he wasn’t lying..?

No, he was. He had to be.

…

“…Why am I like this..?” He whispered to himself, before placing his hands behind him, his attention returning to the waters.

“All you do is hurt people!”

I don’t hurt everyone. It’s not my fault-

It’s all my fault.

Everyone lies. Everyone leaves.

I’m the reason everyone leaves.

“All you do is hurt people!”

Drew pushed himself closer to the railing’s edge, his eyes locked with his reflection beneath him.

I was just defending myself! It’s not my fault everyone takes things so personally! It’s not my fault if-

“All you do is hurt people!”

I don’t hurt everyone.

“All you do is hurt people!”

I’m not… trying to hurt everyone.

“All you do is hurt people!”

It’s not my-

“All you do is hurt people!”

…

…Everyone would be better off without me.

Drew allowed himself to lean closer, his grip on the railing being the only thing keeping him steady.

“Probably be better if I was just dead, huh? Wouldn’t have to deal with all this bullshit if I was.”

Drew opened his eyes.

“Probably be better if I was just dead…”

His grip loosened slightly. He could hear his heart pounding, drowning out the sound of the rain.

…What use am I alive, anyways?

No one will miss me, not anymore, anyways.

…And it’s all my fault.

And Drew allowed himself to imagine it: falling over the edge, into the dark river. He imagined being swept away by the current, water filling his lungs and numbing his senses. How wonderful it’d feel to slowly lose consciousness, and simply drift away like the clouds in the sky…

“…All I do is hurt people, anyways...”

…

He released his grip from the railing, and his body fell forward.

But the sudden movement sent adrenaline coursing through his body. Instinctively, his hands grabbed the railing again, holding him steady.

His breath caught in his throat. His chest was tight. His heart was racing, but his head had finally gone quiet.

…For a split moment, everything was still.

…What did I just..?

…

Quickly, Drew hopped down from the railing, landing in a puddle beneath him. The splash alone was enough to make him flinch.

God, I didn’t actually just try to-

He swallowed, and pressed his back against the railing as he shoved his hands in his pockets.

And it’s not like I would’ve died if I fell, anyways. I mean, I probably wouldn’t have…

He pressed his palm against his forehead, taking a breath.

God, I shouldn’t even be thinking about this! I’m not supposed to be thinking like this! I’m not fucking depressed!

Drew shook his head, forcing the thoughts to the back of his mind as he glanced towards the rain-slicked path.

…He would’ve gone home by now, right?

After a moment of consideration, Drew decided to take the path back to his house, keeping his gaze firmly on the ground as he desperately tried to block out the screaming voices in his mind.

*+*+*

When Drew finally reached his house, he noticed the driveway was empty again. Thank God he’s gone…

And the first thing he did was return to his bedroom, throwing off his rain-soaked shoes and tugging off his jacket.

He made his way to his closet, pulling off his dirty clothes and throwing on a clean pair before collapsing onto his bed.

He didn’t care that his hair was still dripping wet. He could always wash it tomorrow.

He buried himself under blankets, and brought a pillow close to his chest, using it to hide his face.

But the moment he closed his eyes, he was met with the faces of those who lied to him.

The faces of those he hurt..

He opened his eyes again, but there was nowhere safe he could look. Every corner of his room had been tainted with their memory. Every surface tarnished with their presence. It was suffocating; realizing how much they’d impacted his life. How much he allowed them to…

How deeply he fell for their smiles, their voices, their lies.

Now he was left with the ghost of them, reminding him of what he’d once had. Of what he’d once believed…

And suddenly, Drew was back. Back to being the boy he was in Elementary School. The boy who’d lash out at anyone who came close. The boy who’d lock himself away in his room when he came home, knowing there’d be no embrace to greet him. The boy who couldn’t make a friend to save his life. The boy who’s own parents couldn’t be bothered to stay around…

The boy no one else wanted…

His grip on his pillow tightened, his nails scratching the light grey cover.

Eventually, his gaze drifted to his hands. His cold, bruised-up hands, that only seemed to push others away…

And Drew’s mind drifted back to the bridge, and he began to wonder what would’ve happened had he allowed himself to succumb to those cold, black waters…

[solarisfortuneia]

— 𝐢 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐮𝐧.

✦ info: this is a piece for @soleillunne's event, saudade. the first half was written by @llovelessly and i picked it up from there.

✦ featuring: kamisato ayato.

✦ warnings: some angst (?), not proofread.

✦ notes: hi hello my apologies for the lateness life has been life-ing real hard </3 i've done my best, but i still think it could've been better lmao

it’s strange, you think.

you sit in the comforts of expensive silk and lustrous linen, being doused into the arms of sleep and the soft sheets bit by bit—yet your eyes are laden with everything anxiousness has to offer. with a stifled sigh, your hand moves to lift you off the bed, and your feet start its nightly spiel. wooden floorboards creak beneath your step, and you do your best to focus on the crevices of your timber footing rather than the unease that begins the prelude of many, many endless and sleepless nights.

the hands of the clock by your bedside dance between the hour of midnight and eleven thirty, with a sharp yet almost inaudible tick when each second passes by.

it’s driving deeper into your anxious spiral.

why is your lover, ayato―not home yet? oh, but he promised he’d be here some time after dinner, saying in-between a quiet laugh that by the time he greets you with a sarcastic bow the food is still warm and you’d have plenty of time to ramble on about what happened in the midst of your day—however he’s nowhere to be seen. your ears are accustomed to the sound of his grimy soles, always noticing the close sound even in a crowded room—so he couldn’t be inside the house (and the chances of him toying with you were low since he loves you like the sun).

but—of course, finally—the impeccable timing of the clicking of key and lock never fail to snap you out of your strung-out haze, a welcomed arm pulling you by the waist into a quick hug before your lover places his muddy shoes under your shared bed and asks,

“how was your day, darling?” with that familiar, august tone you know dearly. you pull him into a sweet yet short, kiss—and glance at his soiled shoes.

you note they’re less dirtier than usual, and when you check upon the doormat by the entrance, it’s smeared with less sod and ground than the night after you washed it.

“. . . it was nice.”

a smooth, somnolent voice drawls between your worry and gut; reminding you that the carpet doesn’t matter more than the hours of slow dawn with your lover—so you prompt yourself to bed and forget anything but him the next morning. . . . . . it’s strange, you draw out on the patterned cloth, leg bouncing up and down from both stress and strain.

ayato has yet to arrive at the restaurant you sat in—with your hair done the way he likes it and clothed expensively in his gifts from various other nations. you bit your bottom lip each time the rusted bell that hung atop the door jingled, only to signal someone else entering and not him.

you straightened your posture, feeling your spine protest while you shift in your seat; moving your hands to either fidget below the table on your lap or on the table, where the knitted red material creases because of your awaiting and nervous actions.

just when will he arrive and kiss you like the sun?

it was as if time had grown languid with a single flutter of your lashes, watching painfully as each shift and hail had amounted to mere seconds when even just one breath had begun to feel like it weighed an hour of misspent moments on your shoulders. the quick veers from an edginess bordered by humiliation to a forced politeness (that you try to keep as light as possible to make it more believable), become more and more habitual with the minor bow of your head at the waitress checking in on your table, asking if you’d like to order something or be served more water—to which you answer that you’re good,

you’re fine,

you’re just waiting for someone—and she asks who it is—but your vocals thin to prevent you from saying anything other than,

“oh, just someone i know.”

then she nods and goes back to the mazes of the dirty kitchen, leaving you to count how many minutes it’ll take for her to come back again and ask the same questions again.

—

and so the ticks continue to sound in your head, a clock of your mind’s own making reminding you of the passage of time far better than the sounds that chime through the restaurant. and your presence feels like a statue made of stone, weighing heavily into the fabric of your surroundings. the eyes of people who entered long after you linger on the empty seat in front of yours, pity and curiosity dancing together in their gaze. 

 it’s strange, you think. he promised to be here before eight.

you’re intimately acquainted with waiting for him, the sounds of time passing by a bosom friend, the silent agony of anticipating his presence a slowly compressive pressure on your being. but he’s never made you wait this long.

not without a message, a lick of correspondence, an apology via one of his assistants, something, anything. 

where is he? 

anticipation twirls and swirls until it turns to anxiety, a glossy spill of viscous worry atop clear thought.  

where are you, ayato?

the grandfather clock made of gilded oak chimes nine, and you rise. you cannot bear the waitressess’ pitying looks anymore. to wait alone is easy enough, but under eyes that glow with condolence?

there is lighter torture in hell.

tears prick the back of your own eyes, and you cannot tell if they’re of frustration, worry or a combination of both. nevertheless, you hold your head high. the screech of the chair as you move it back rattles your skull.

the wait makes the journey home feel as if it merely flew by, as fast as lightning, the briefest flash of white in stormy skies. yet the ticks of the clock you cannot see haunt you all the same. 

hours later, long after you reach home, the hurried footsteps beyond the door, the click of the keys in the lock and the turn of the handle alerts you to his arrival.

“kamisato ayato.” you say, without bothering to turn. “where were you?” a waver betrays your emotions, your concern, your worry.

he rushes to grasp your hands in his, rare sincerity in his eyes. the raw emotion etched across his face, a clay tablet engraved by a stylus, is uncharacteristic.  “look at me, please.” his voice breaks.

slowly, you raise your gaze to meet his own.

“darling, i—” he pauses to swallow at the sight of sadness lining the rims of your eyes. “i’m so sorry.” 

“you said you’d be there before eight.” your words sit heavily in the air, laden with emotion you can’t quite verbalize. “i waited.” like i always do, you think, bitterness sharpening the edges of your thought.

“i know.” he hangs his head, moving to look at the silken lavender sheets. “i…i fell asleep. on my desk, after a meeting.”

the admission takes you by surprise. 

you glance at the shoes by the fireplace. though the luster of shoe-polish is no longer as distinct, you cannot see any evidence of dirt or sod or sand marring the sleek blackness. he really was in the office, you think. 

he loves you like the sun. you know he does. but not all of us have the luxury of basking in it when we want to. life binds our hands and our feet together in the dark.

and just like that, your heart softens against the resolution of your mind. the bags under his eyes are heavier than you’ve last seen them. “you look tired,” you murmur.

“i’m never tired for you,” he replies.

“i was worried.” you say, holding his hand tighter. i was worried about you not sending a message. i was worried that you forgot about me. i was worried that i’m not as important to you as the things that occupied your mind. 

he pulls you closer. i’m sorry for making you feel that way, he says wordlessly, with the way he draws circles on your skin.

and at last, his lips are upon yours, desperate, wanting, rushed despite exhaustion, so unlike the thorough, careful, controlled man he is. 

 “i’m sorry,” he whispers fervently, over and over, as his hands worship your skin with reverence. 

“i’m sorry,” he whispers against your shoulder when you lay fast asleep. 

“i’m sorry,” he whispers to your hair, in hopes you hear his apologies in your dreams.

this time, he makes another promise. to never promise you time out of his schedule that he cannot give. to never make you wait longer than you should. to learn to put his burdens into the hands of those willing to help, so he can swear to devote days to you, and only you. he knows both his happiness and his love revolve around you, and they will for as long as the heart in his chest beats.

after all, he is but the earth to your sun. 

[ghostchems]

For the horror prompts: 19 and/or 28 with Copia? Perhaps with some sexy vampire action? 👀 love youuu ♡

boys suck

that gut feeling something is following you & having blood smeared all over you

a/n: mdni! 18+! there’s smut and blood and drama. tw for blood, death, mind-control, and mooooore. about 1.8k words! ao3 link.

You know you shouldn’t be out in the park this late at night but you need some fresh air and some space away from your boyfriend. The situation is spiraling out of control between the two of you and it’s getting exhausting trying to hold a doomed relationship together. You need to be able to think, to try and clear your mind so that tensions could at least go down before speaking again. You know that this is the big one, the last fight you would ever deal with and you are ready to tell them now - you just had to think about how.

The brisk air sends chills down your spine as you snuggle up in your oversized sweatshirt. Your mind is far away, so much so that you’re not paying too much attention to where in the park you’ve wandered off to. It isn’t until you start to get the feeling of being watched that you’re brought back to reality, finding yourself in the far, dark corner of the park. The sound of the wind through the trees distracts you for a moment, and then you hear it: a deep, throaty snarl ripping through the quiet night air.

You don’t know what else to do other than run, a fear striking through you that you haven’t felt since you were a child. Grass and leaves crunch beneath your sneakers as you race back to where you came. A hand grabs you by the arm, the grip impossibly tight and it brings you to a halt.

“Why are you running, dolcezza?” His voice is smooth and has a heavy Italian accent. You turn to look at him and you’re immediately struck by his sharp, white eye. He is wearing a cape, a bat clasp keeping it in place over his shoulders and his brown hair looks a bit wild.

“I… I heard something. Growling.” You manage to say between heavy breaths but your eyes fall to his grip on your arm. Danger is ringing in your ears and you start to feel like there is something not right with his man. The more you look at him, the more his features change to appear more pointed - his eyes, his eyes… his teeth. You swallow thickly once you notice blood on his check. “Y-you…”

Before you’re able to say anything more he has you pinned against a nearby tree and his hand is clamped over your mouth to muffle your scream. He presses his lips against your ear and draws in a deep inhale through his nose, a low moan spilling from his lips.

“You are lucky that I’ve already been sated.” His hot breath fills your ear and he pushes in closer to you, his body firm against yours. “Ohhh… but you smell so delicious.” He groans into you, his breath shaking as he pressed his nose against your neck. You try to push away him but he is far too strong for you, his gloved hand so tight on your face that all sounds are swallowed by it. His lips brush your neck and heat spreads along your skin. There’s a small moment of silence before he sinks his fangs into you.

The pain is blinding. Your vision starts to blur and a scream rips from your throat, the taste of his leather gloves filling your mouth. Your entire body feels like it is on fire, growing to a point that you’re sure you are about to burst into flames. And then, the pain is suddenly gone, replaced by comfortable warmth and numbness. His hand drops from your mouth and you give a shattered exhale. You have no urge to scream even though your brain is telling you to. His tongue laps at the wound on your neck, breathy moans and huffs coming from him as he grips at your waist.

“I need your help.” He whispers as he pulls away from your neck, his mismatched eyes gazing into yours. You want to run or to at least tell him no but you can’t bring yourself to speak. He leans in and brushes his pointed nose against yours. The warmth within your spreads and your cheeks grow rosy. “Be a good girl for me, dolcezza.” He murmurs against your lips and you can feel the tickle of his mustache. His tongue licks along your lip, the salty taste of blood starting to seep into your mouth. You are only able to give a small whimper before he forces his tongue into your mouth.

It’s then that you feel an ache between your legs as he kisses you. It’s desperate and demanding, the taste of your own blood coating your mouth while he grips your chin, forcing your mouth open even wider. All thought has left your mind. All that matters is him and what he wants. You don’t fight anymore. Your body melts against his, your hands drifting up his chest and feeling the soft velvet of his cape. It’s like you can’t control yourself anymore — it’s like he has taken over every corner of your being.

“There is a body not far from here.” He whispers and his voice echoes in your mind, to the point that it’s all you can hear. “I need your help moving it, dolcezza. Will you help me?” You nod slowly. His lips curl into a blood-stained smile. “Atta girl.” He grabs you by the arm again and starts to lead you back toward the dark corner of the park. You allow him to pull you and you feel like you are merely along for the ride at this point.

A little further past the spot you had turned back from is where the body is laid out in the middle of the path. It’s completely unrecognizable with blood completely covering him and his face mangled. It would make you scream normally, in fact, you are screaming in your head but on the outside it’s like it doesn’t phase you. He lets go of your arm slowly, his fingers lingering for just a moment before he motions to the body.

“Grab him by the arms.” The suaveness of his voice has gone and is replaced with a deep, commanding growl. You don’t hesitate, reaching for the man’s arms and lifts them as the stranger grips his feet. Blood spills from his neck and head all over you, but you’re too focused on following your orders despite how uncomfortable it feels and how badly it smells. The two of you make quick work of moving him, dumping him into some nearby bushes.

Blood clings to your gray hoodie and is smeared all along your face. You look at him with bright eyes, waiting for his next order. His lips twitch into a wide smile, blood still dripping from the sides of his mouth from when he bit you. He circles you, his cape blowing in the evening breeze before settling behind you. His hands fall to your hips, tracing lazy circles along the outside of your thighs, further staining your sweatpants.

“You’ve done so well for me, dolcezza.” He hums, his nose lightly brushing against your ear. “You’ve helped me out of a tight spot, si. Perhaps I owe you a bit of thanks.” He rests his chin on your shoulder and slips one of his hands to your stomach, teasing at the waistband of your sweatpants. You give a soft yelp and try to push back against him. He shushes you, his lips pressing against your neck. “Do not worry. He won’t find out.” He presses soft, wet kisses to your neck that lights a fire in your abdomen.

All of your worries wash away as his hand dips into your pants. The feeling of his leather glove against your bare skin makes your breath catch in your throat. He cups your sex and presses his palm firmly against your clit, your eyes fluttering and your back arching against him as he moves his palm in slow circles. You can’t hold back a moan, your hands moving to clutch at his arms while your hips rock against his hand.

“You haven’t gotten attention like this in a long while, have you, dolcezza?” He tsks as he presses his palm firmer to your clit. You can’t bring yourself to speak, the building pleasure is all that matters now. It’s like he’s closed you off to the world, causing you not to care that you’re out in public or that you don’t even know his name as he continues on with his intimate touches. His fingers dip lower and run along your wet entrance, humming in approval before he easily slips two fingers inside.

“God!” You moan, your chest heaving and your legs trembling. His fingers dip in and out of you, then eventually he curls them inside with each dip, massaging that deep, sweet spot. He chuckles against your neck, playfully nipping at it. Your body is burning now from the overwhelming sensation and you suck in a sharp breath as your head tilts back against his chest. You close your eyes and part your lips, a steady stream of breathy moans flowing from them as you let go, your hips rolling against each of his thrusts.

“That’s it, baby…” He growls before nibbling on your earlobe, rolling it between one of his sharp fangs. Your toes curl in your shoes and a sharp cry rips from your throat as shockwaves grip your body, coming hard against his fingers. You slump against him, his arms loosely holding you up as you catch your breath. Silence falls over the two of you and you lean your head back to look him in the eyes.

“You don’t want to go back.” His voice is light and it sounds like he is sad for you. Emotion swells in your chest, tears forming in your eyes. How does he know what you’re going through? “You don’t have to go back.” He tugs you against his chest and wraps his arms securely around you, tucking you underneath his cape. You feel safe and warm snuggled against him, like you never want to leave his side.

“You don’t ever have to go back.” His voice drops to a low growl, his mouth hovering just over your neck. He sinks his teeth in again, this time deeper than before. The familiar warmth overtakes you and you lean into it, closing your eyes as his arms tighten around you to the point that you can hardly breathe. You welcome the feeling and you press into him further while he drinks from you with deep gulps and soft, pleased moans.

Your eyes flutter open and shut as numbness spreads through you and your mind starts to drift far away…

[hazyletter]

flowers in spring, they bloom (just like my love for you)

"Hm."

Till startles when a hand takes a gentle hold of the side of his face, close to his bangs. He looks up from his sketchbook to see Ivan, with that crooked smile and stupid snaggletooth of his.

"What the hell do you want." Till deeply frowns at him, thumping the head of his mechanical pen on the surface of his drawing, already impatient.

Ivan merely raised a brow, and the slight perk of the sides of his lips is a telltale that he was clearly onto something idiotic once again. Till glares at him. Ivan stays unrelenting, continues to gaze down at him from where he sits on the window sill, the cherry blossoms on the side of the school carelessly falling and framing its white surface from outside.

It's a scene that Till is not looking back on, and he is not given any chance if he ever wanted to because Ivan guides his hands from Till's jaw, to caressing his cheek with a thumb, making its surface grow warm from the impact. Till purposefully rounds them with air on the inside and gets a hold of Ivan's arm, tightly.

"I said," Till glowered. "What the hell are you doing."

Ivan ignores him, does not acknowledge that Till did not in fact repeat his first statement like he should be, and pulls his arm up, plays with a couple of his locks, and puts them between his fingers. He takes his time to gather them all up behind his index's knuckle and with the normality of an affectionate persona, tucks them all behind Till's ear.

Till can feel the collision of skin on his ear's shell, and he resists a shiver, his hold around his mechanical pen tightening. It takes no genius to notice how red he'd gotten, even with his head tilted towards his sketchbook on his lap in which he also gripped on. He does not see Ivan's expression that way, but he feels the other's hand staying on the tips of his crimson ears, until they finally leave.

Till takes a deep breath with closed eyes, letting the rush of wanting to deck Ivan in the face flood through his veins, and he looks up with hands balled into a fists, scaldingly sharp daggers in his eyes locked and loaded, but the sight of a triumphant Ivan drowns it all as if his hearing was filled with water, the already silent muttering around the library now curiously deafening.

Till lets himself guide his hand towards his ear, and there he feels the surface of a solid object tucked with his hair. He follows its figure and it does not take long for him to figure out it was a flower, one that he knows all too well by now.

He sucks in a breath as he pulls his gaze back towards a waiting Ivan, with that stupid, idiot, ridiculous, giddy smile of his as he holds out a bouquet of big, bright anakt flowers with a white and grey wrapper with intricate spirals and dots of leaves and flowers on them.

"W..what..." Till internally swears at the stutter of his voice, but it falls second and behind his thumping heart when Ivan grins, with that glee in his eyes that seemed to brighten the black spiral of it, and all it reflects is the flustered, crazy look Till has. He covers his face, drops it onto his empty hand, but a laughing Ivan pulls it away with a soft grasp on his chin.

"You're so cute, Till." Ivan is reeling with happiness, the crescents his eyes make would have probably risen towards the roofs if it were ever possible. "I'd like to take you right here, right now if you weren't so busy." He tilted his head with an innocent cheer around his voice.

"W-W-What the fuck...!" Till seethes, letting go of his mechanical pencil to slam both of his palms on top of Ivan's mouth. "Don't fucking s-say that out loud, you prick!!" He whisper-yells, quickly looking left and right to see if no one had heard or was currently watching them.

"Boo..." Till feels Ivan's pout on his hand. Then, a kiss on his left, followed by a lick.

"Urk..!" With a disgusted twist on his face, Till pulls them away, but his right is quickly snatched by Ivan, and he puts it close to his jaw, shamelessly nuzzling it like a cat. "You're so fucking weird..."

Ivan hums, eyes closed. "You love me." He then opens them, bores his stare on Till's whole figure, and kisses his quickening pulse while keeping its twinkling state steady.

Till clicks his tongue, looking away with a glare. "I question why every day."

Ivan pouts. "No, you don't. It's our anniversary, you can't push me away."

Till flinches at the reminder, even if he had already known the moment he touched the flower that is still on his ear, and he ignores the feeling of his face erupting into flames once again. "Who the hell decided that."

"Me." Ivan dramatically bats his eyelashes, making doe eyes that disgusts Till even further he has the urge to kiss the other until he never speaks ever again.

And so he does, and is welcomed by the satisfied hum of Ivan in between it, like a dog finally getting its treat after so many tricks. An imaginative mind is all it takes to see the bastard's tail thumping and shaking left and right behind him.

On the back of his mind, Till reminds himself that they are still in a public place, even if he specifically chose a spot that is on a secluded part of the library, but the smell of flowers beside him, the chuckle that Ivan releases when Till's grip on his sleeve tightens as he pushes his lips towards the latter even further, the easy glide of Ivan interlocking their hands together—it all stops any coherent thought in Till's mind.

He stays there, even as Ivan insufferably lays his whole upper body on Till's lap with arms flapping and his legs awkwardly bending to fit his tall figure on the window sill, making Till pull on his sketchbook and mechanical pencil with a yell, then immediately smacking it right dab on Ivan's face.

He does not let go of Ivan's hand even when the latter's eyes go wide with fake, glistening tears as he profusely pouted at how Till was so mean to him, and continues to hold onto it with Ivan dozing off on his shoulder, now sketching the bouquet that sits on his empty side as the school bell from outside the library signals the start of noon.

Till glances at the flowers, can mutely smell its familiar aroma, and when he steals another one towards Ivan's sleeping figure that is muttering incoherent syllables, Till lets his lips break into a small but indulgent smile before he glides his mechanical pen on the surface of his sketchbook once more.

if you'd like to continue to support this fic, it is on ao3 as well!

[aerkame]

I’m curious what the others finfolk forms look like, what kinda tails and colors do they have, markers, etc. I’m so excited for the au!

I am not feeling well enough to really draw so I will just give descriptions instead! I'll be sure to draw everyone at some point though, but if you want me to ping (or just message) you or anyone else just private message me or let me know in replies.

__________________________________________________________

For all neighbors minus Home:

Each and every neighbor will grow claws, teeth, increased height, increased strength, and webbed hands when fully transformed. As for clothes, they're designed to change with their form.

Wally Darling

Wally may still be the shortest of the neighbors, but he's still quite tall when compared to normal puppets (most finmen are huge regardless). When he comes off as a normal-looking puppet, he wears a blue glass colored (blue glass is a color, it is my favorite color-) clothing, or sometimes loose-fitting beach clothes if he feels like relaxing. He often keeps a red shell pendant around his neck area and a black single earring on his right ear.

When Wally is a finman however, his yellow felt turns to scales that range from yellows, purples, teals, and different shades of blue. His ears become thick and finned, each end going up into a small S-shaped curl. Underneath the clothing, his body is covered in soft red swirling and spiraling markings, something you can he on his cheeks. Unlike the finwomen, finmen don't turn into mermaids/mermen, so he does not have a tail at all and he instead grows various fins on his body, all very colorful. Oh, and don't forget the fangs and claws...those are pretty sharp.

Barnaby

Barnaby is one of the taller finmen, but not the tallest. You can usually find him wearing shorts, sandals, shell necklaces, and a sunhat. It's just so darn hot sometimes so don't expect to see him in a shirt really. If anything he'll probably be under a shady area or relaxing in some cool water.

While he does already have teeth and claws, they are pretty dull until he transforms, having his teeth become more shark-like and claws much sharper than anyone else's. However, Barnaby is the only one here who does not grow scales at all. Instead that blue felt skin will turn into something far more smoother and paler in color almost becoming grey but not quite grey. The spots all over his body stay of course, but they become darker and more larger, creating marbled patterns. Not only is Barnaby the only one without scales, but he is the only one to grow a tail and keep his legs. The once small fluffy tail turns into a strong shark-like one, being capable of causing someone a concussion or head trauma if he really swung hard enough with it.

Sometimes everyone suspects he isn't a finman, but even if Barnaby wasn't, everyone would still love the big guy.

Howdy

Being a fisherman has its perks. One being that it tends to be a good workout, another being that you can get all kinds of stuff from the ocean. That being said, Howdy is a giant when compared to the others. In his normal form, the fisherman has medium long blue hair that's often slicked back or just braided all under his hat. You'd think that running a shop and being a fisherman would leave little time for this man to tidy up his clothes but you'd be wrong. Everything remains completely clean no matter the weather, it's almost scary. Even the shell pendant he wears on his apron is constantly shining.

Obviously having double the legs and arms leaves him with double the amount of claws to tear someone up with. As a finman, Howdy's height becomes outright terrifying to anyone he meets. Forget the scary claws and fangs, his height alone is enough to scare the fear of God into anyone.

The colors of Howdy's scales match himself much like it does with Wally and the others. Green scales fade from blues to teals and tiger-like stripes decorate his body, leaving oval spirals on his cheeks.

Eddie

Probably the friendliest captain out there with the coat to match! Often times Eddie will be wearing his white captain's coat and hat, having a shell pendant pinned to the black suit he wears under. He always stays tidy, keeping his red hair slicked back under his hat.

As a finman, Eddie will also grow in size. This is when his usual friendly appearance turns more scary to some. Being large and having a giant captain's coat squaring your shoulders can look intimidating. Along that, Eddie's hair tends to get more rougher and slightly wavy, so he lets it down every once in a while.

Frank

Frank is the only one that wasn't a finman before moving in on the island, having been a normal puppet before. He still prefers to remain as his normal puppet self on most days unless it's rainy or stormy. Usually he is wearing vests, casual clothes, and colors that are muted in color, preferring to keep the shell pendant he has on a butterfly bow, keeping the bow as a reminder of his old life.

In the rare times that he decides to be more fin-like, the only things about Frank that change is that he grows teal, purple, and grey scales, square-ish finned ears, squared swirls, and fangs.

Julie

Being a finwoman (or mermaid) has it's perks.

Julie will on most days wear light colored fluffy dresses with thick high sandals, a large sunhat, and a shell necklace to match. If not a dress, then she'd be happy to wear anything good for the beach so she can go ahead and jump in the water at any time.

As a mermaid, Julie transforms her legs into a long and strong tail, being just as strong as finmen (no really, you do NOT want to get hit with her tail). Her scales often reflect the dresses she usually wears, which are deep shades of coral reds, pinks, oranges, and yellows. The fins at the end of her tail are wide and flowing, sometimes she'll even wrap herself up in them for fun.

The ears differ slightly from the others as they appear more softer and fluffy with light pink swirls and sparkles dusting her face.

Sally

Sally is sometimes nicknamed Sally Scarlet for several reasons. One reason being the clothing she wears. Everything is always extravagant or just screams passion, having everything in shades of red and black.

Sally is the only one who is almost always in her mermaid form. No really, she even has a part of her house with an indoor pool that leads to the ocean because she just doesn't feel like getting out of the water yet. Her tail is much longer than Julie's but more slim and much sharper, some scales being so sharp they can be flung or used as throwing knives. The weapon tail is made up of blood red scales with speckled black and gold scales scattered on her body.

She often wears a golden crown around her already existing crown (she's a star so duh) and dark makeup to compliment her scales. Of course, she painted her claws black to match. Dramatic...

Poppy

Poppy is probably the most colorful out of the neighbors, having literally every color in the rainbow on her. You can usually find her outside gardening with Julie, wearing nothing (because she has feathers) or just wearing a light colored shawl with a matching sunhat. She often carries her shell or clips it to a shawl.

However, Poppy is a little bit different like Barnaby when it comes to her original form, but no one questions it really. Like the other mermaids, Poppy will form a tail consisting of the rainbow, but the rest of her body becomes much larger and longer, resembling something closer to a serpent. The feathers soon turn into long spikes and sharp scales that could easily cut through steel. Her wings become giant fins and her beak grows a sharp curved end. She doesn't transform ever much like Frank due to her scaring herself and others sometimes.

Home

It is known that Home has a physical body, but no one other than Wally has talked to him. The only time anyone ever gets a glimpse of Home is when a shell is being given to a neighbor. Large clawed and black scaly hands reach out from the dark whirlpool to take the shell and imbued his magic into it before it's given back.

Sorry for any spelling errors, I'm a bit tired right now.

[eri-pl]

I would love to hear some of your orcish Maeglin headcanons! I think it's such a neat idea! (Thanks my friend who gave it to me!)

If I may ask, there's a few things in particular that I am super curious about! Does it affect his appearance at all? How does he first react when he learns? If his family learned of it, how would they respond? (Particularly Aredhel!)

Thank you for asking! People never asked me things before.

Long post below cut.

OK, so first, I think we have a different definition of hc. For you it seems to be a complex thing, like a mini-au (not necessasarily alternate). For me hc is just a fact I assume, or sometimes like to assume, or at least like to entertain at the moment.

So when I say "with this origin of orcs (link for people not knowing the context), I would probably hc Maeglin as semi-orc", I mean just this fact, not that I have an explosion of details in my brain. (I think semi-orc is a better name than part-orc when we're talking more about "orcs spontaneously reverting into elves through some generations" thing).

Anyway, I love to see how enthusiastic you are about things, and I like being asked, so let's make something up.

With appearance it depends on how you imagine orcs in general. I would say they are more animalistic and much less symmetrical than Elves, and get scars easily. Elves heal neatly (except in dractic circumstances, like Angband), because of the fea-hroa harmony.

Orcs have less of this harmony than humans, that's how they're made, by messing up their bodies and if the soul gives up, but instead of going away just accepts the situation and is like "well, that's bad, but it's fine I guess" we get an orc. Something like that. Something like in one text in Morgoth's Ring? Manwe talks about accepting evil and building upon it, as not necessarily evil in itself, but a source of problems (the context is of course Finwe's remarriage).

But we're talking an Elf here, so after some generations the bodies are born normal enough to be immortal. So it's more a Maedhros level of messed up than Orc level of messed up.

So how would he look?

Obviously, paler skin and bigger pupils, because this fits the physical traits. I would say, a less symmetric face. Not visible at first sight, still more symmetrical than average human, byt when he smiles, the smile goes a bit sideways. Maybe that's why he doesn't smile in front of others.

Also, in some depictions orcs have thicker, fur-like hair, so, especially if we imagine elven hair as very fine, Maeglin's would be more stiff.

(Also, no big flapping ears. Elven ears are human-sized, maybe a bit more sharp on the top but that's it. That is canon. IDK why but giving Tolkien Elves huge ears angers me more than it should. <3 and respect to everyone who draws the like this, but it gets on my nerves.)

I would assume he learned about his ancestry when being interrogated about the location of Gondolin, so it was ...difficult.

Disbelief, but Maeglin had always known that something was off about him, he'd always felt that his father is hiding something. (Mother too? I'm not sure if she knew.) Basically, it's the mix of emotional reactions which Luke has on Vader being his dad. But with more guilt mixed in, and shame. Maeglin very much feels like a toxic shame guy to me. He would do everything to keep it secret, especially from Idril. And to not be turned into a full orc (which I assume is impossible w/o consent, but the consent may be persuaded with long torture, so...)

Later, after returning to Gondolin, he would spiral into toxic shame, self-hatered, jealous of others who have a normal background and were not threatened like this, etc etc.

Family... well, Eol knew, obviously. It came from his side of family. His mother or father, I would assume, or (if we ignore the "kin of Thingol" note), Eol was of purely orkish ancestry, it just mosly reverted.

Eol... didn't assume orkish ancestry is something you should mention to your future spouse before marriage. He teased Maeglin, always suggested that there was something they shared that was unique and the Noldor would not accept it, but never told him anything concrete.

Aredhel...? she would be worried. Not in a "will my son turn evil?" way, more in a "will my son be healthy?" way and she would be like "now I see why he is like that". Imagine getting a mental health diagnosis for your child, and that's it (well, ok, orkish background has also physical components, not only mental, but I think in terms of how the parent feels it's close). Along with the "How do I treat him now? I should act normal, but also, he has special needs probably..." part.

She would generally be loving but a little lost. She would be angry at Eol for not telling her, but also very much wanting to show Maeglin that she doesn't love him less because he's like this.

She would probably tell the rest of the family, Aredhel doesn't seem to secretive to me. And she'd expect help. Turgon... I know a little of him, I guess he'd be fine with it? I mean, Maeglin is not an orc, just has some traits... And he's a good warrior...

Idril may, paradoxically, feel more comfortable with Maeglin after that (as long as he isn't flirting with her, because unrequited flirting is always uncomfortable). Now she knows what is off with him, she doesn't have to worry that much. She would overcompensate a bit, try to show him "I like you, the reason I don't romantically love you isn't because you have orkish ancestry, it's just because I don't", this would be a little awkward and Maeglin would read it as pity and probably hate it.

Celegorm would suggest banishing Maeglin, if not outright killing him. He spent a lot of time with Orome and is very strict about orcs. (Also, he is kind of a jerk). Curufin wouldn't care, Maeglin is good at crafts, and reasonable and polite, and this matters.

Of course, a lot depends on how and from whom they would learn. This is assuming Aredhel would be alive and she would tell them. I f they learned, let's say, from an anonymous letter, it would be a very different story (Turgon doesn't believe anonymous letters, Celegorm wants to find a way to check it, Curufin agrees it's worth checking, Celegorm is contemplating murdering Maeglin)