#I am making tea and watching it though. which is enough a replacement

[canary-song]

do make sure to give your peter proper enrichment by letting him stand directly under the pouring rain for long enough to be just short of giving him a cold. it's important. levels out some of his perpetual anxiety a bit

[allthegothihopgirls]

just finished reading death in the family properly and. whoo the racist undertones are racist undertoning. but uh. wanted to say that i cannot understand why people hated jason back then because like. he’s just a kid. he’s a KID. shaking 80s fans by the shoulders he’s a CHILD. he’s not gonna be a mature adult he’s gonna be a little weird and a little annoying even!! but he is a KID.

also wanted to ask your opinions on the jason has chronic pain headcanon? i personally as someone w chronic pain really enjoy it because it makes sense and i am a firm believer that we need more representation of invisible disabilities like some chronic pain is (and mine is) but ive heard a few people say they don’t like it

— baptism anon

right?? like yeah i think jason dying was the most beneficial thing to ever happen to his character, and he also had next-to-no defining traits as robin apart from being a dick grayson carbon-copy + replacement... but i don't get why people hated him.

~

jason w/ chronic pain!!!!!! oh boy i have feelings about him... i LOVE.

especially when it's death-induced.. a bit like phantom feeling/pain, but instead it is. very. real. like, he has chronic joint pain in places where joker hit him a few too many times etc. personally i reject the 'lazarus pit made him squeaky clean' canon, so on top of him keeping all his scars, and being more frankenstein than man.. chronic pain fits in very well.

i also definitely enjoy headcanons of him with chronic migraines.. not because i'm projecting.

i think it's a pretty agreed-upon headcanon that jason isn't a fan of medication in the slightest, due to his mother's death (only making exceptions when he's sustained more than a minor injury on patrol or a mission and is being tended to).

so i propose, stubborn jason w/ chronic migraines, who will never admit to needing actual medication. obviously he isn't going to be stupid about it, he won't patrol if it's too bad, and maybe tries to ward it off with some regular ibuprofen. but he is so against being properly medicated for prevention or treatment, and gets super defensive if dick or bruce suggest it to him.

he's always in varying levels of head hurt™ and just. lives with it. in the comfort of his own apartment he's definitely not a stranger to herbal teas and heat packs though.. however at the same time he's 100% beating himself up whenever he can't just power through.

i don't think he'd actively tell anyone either. dick figures it out from the way he'll rub at his temples post-patrol, or maybe a couple of unclosed search tabs on a computer 'whydoesmyheadalwayshurt' or 'home remedies: how to naturally prevent migraines'

for bruce finding out i have a bit more of a developed idea. jason's gone out patrolling with a migraine, against his better judgement. he's on comms with bruce, who's getting his assistance on a case he's been tracking. seemingly out of nowhere he hisses a little in pain, and bruce is asking what's wrong.

jason grows defensive quickly and spurts out a routine "imfinedontworry" but was apparently not convincing enough because before he knows it bruce is asking "status?" ..and he swears there's a microchip in him somewhere that forces him to give a truthful answer, because it's not like he wants to tell bruce his head's hurting, because that's just plain embarrassing. he doesn't want people thinking that he can't handle pain that miniscule.

between that and the other times he's been asked "red hood, report" and stated his condition, adding on a "head hurts a bit too, but that's just normal".. it wasn't difficult for bruce to suspect something unusual.

moving away from migraines, i think he also experiences chronic joint pain. compared to the previously mentioned, it's easier to play joint pain off as 'normal' and convince himself there's no cause for concern. he's 100% in denial of having an actual issue, which i'd like to think somewhat comes from bruce experiencing the exact same thing, and jason watching him absolutely refuse to admit any weakness it causes him.

he ends up believing it's just something that happens to everyone (well, at least everyone who dresses up and fights crime on the regular). jason's confused when dick's asking him if he wants to stick around for a chat post-patrol, because is dick not also desperate to go home, ice his joints, and spend time doing stretches to ease his pain before finally getting some sleep?????

i don't think he'd realise that it isn't a normal thing until he's called out on it. maybe he makes an off-comment about 'never feeling 75%, let alone 100%' comfort-wise, and damian remarks how that is. an issue. jason's instantly defending himself "yeah well that's just what happens when you've been in the business for this long-" and dick chimes in to point out that he doesn't feel like that. from there i think he goes to an even larger effort to hide any pain he's in.

big believer in jason being a cane user too. i think babs is the one who convinces him to start using one, after the events of this panel ↓ ↓ ↓ 

you cannot tell me that she's letting that comment slide: "that book looked... useful" plus "i don't think i've ever been okay", ok jason mr 'i really resonated with this and now i'm having revelations' todd.

she's 100% sitting his ass down for a real talk about whatever he has going on.

and i think afterwards, babs suggests that he really considers mobility aids. to which i think he ends up being very accidentally ableist, in the 'but those are for old people' way. it takes... a lot to reverse his somewhat internalised ableism, and get him to at least try a mobility aid out.

he grows less opposed to it as he realises that it's not something he's obligated to use all the time, and that it works. so he uses a cane around his apartment, and around the manor when he gets to be confident enough (he's a bit worried of people asking questions, but no one even bats an eye, because it just makes sense).

i have a whole other set of thoughts about the batfamily + how they go about jason using a cane... but i think i've gone on for long enough.. my apologies

in conclusion... chronic pain!jason todd is a HUGE headcanon of mine. love it a lot.

[loveislandthegame]

thoughts on today’s volume ! now why the hell are we a girl going to casa and not a casa girl !? we didn’t even get the season 6 treatment of being able to show up first. FB is so nasty for this

moving on, yash, larson, and caleb are all very cute !❤️ everyone’s already pointed out that yash looks like zeph, but how about larson lowkey being the guy version of lisbeth 😭 just imagine him with amber eyes

raunchy races was pay to win, to absolutely no one's surprise. the free option text being something among the lines of "i am not a main character" truly sums up this season 😭 i chose to have the underwater kiss with lisbeth

bare minimum but i love when the islanders actually remember specific things about MC, like her job

dean is… let’s just say liam-esque 😬 i actually don't mind islanders that are not romanceable, not attracted to MC, whatever whatever, but disrespecting her by acting like she doesn’t exist is not it. at least tristan served cunt 💔

up next is tea spilling with lisbeth, one of many "pay to find out what happened" scenes. i have no idea why MC couldn’t have just watched this stuff happen on the TV in the hotel, even if it was still paywalled it would've made more sense. also tristan and sofia being dumped offscreen is some of the most ridiculous bullshit ever, especially if they don’t end up returning (which i'm not sure about honestly, i'm split between either #tristofia coming back, or dean & whoever is stupid enough to bring him to the villa replacing them) why couldn’t MC take them down herself ? why couldn't we witness them melt down ? there's no way FB seriously thought this would be satisfying to players

anyways, the game does acknowledge that both jesse and lisbeth are into MC ! but the way it's worded would make more sense if MC hasn't been pursuing him at all, like idk why my girl is so confused. i literally picked the "reveal that you've always fancied him" option before leaving the villa 😭

party time ! i chose to dance with lisbeth, and then there's a diamond scene with dean spilling the tea in the most obnoxious way possible. moving swiftly on

then there’s some more grafting on the guys, i really enjoyed the scenes. afterwards we reach the point where we’re forced to pick a casa guy. i like all of them but they're just gonna be a placeholder for me. i used a number generator and got a 1, so caleb it is !

we have a compatibility challenge, and obviously MC and caleb won ! the drink was cute lol

but where is the option to throw hands with dean ! i can deal with him treating MC like trash, but lisbeth ?! 👹👹👹 he is legit a liam clone, down to the weird "tormenting our female LI" thing

(and isadora & nyah being like “he’s just joking teehee 😍” is so gross)

i chose to sleep with lisbeth ! i only snuggled her because FB’s lazy asses keep reusing whatever MC does at bedtime in casa for her movie night clip. i may be romancing everyone in sight, but i'm evading the consequences of my actions classy about it 😏

…as an OG islander ??😭 we were a bombshell, the AI is AI-ing. anyways, i wouldn’t be surprised if this ends up exactly like “umagate,” where we meet the casa girl that wants our partner. it would be nice to see jesse though 🤞🏽

overall, we're at the point of the story where everything starts taking a complete nosedive. call it the casa curse, i guess. and to make matters worse, a bunch of the worst plotlines from previous seasons have been reused, this is certainly the season of all time 😃 but for real, the only upside to this volume is that we could spend a lot of time with lisbeth ❤️ (and for me that's pretty much the only positive thing about us not being a casa girl) also, caleb's such a sweetheart, he deserves the world ❤️

[fantastic-rambles]

Fandom: Durarara!!

Characters: Izaya Orihara, Shizuo Heiwajima, Others (mentioned)

Warnings: PTSD, Physical Disability, Mindfuckery, Dehumanization, Attempted Murder, Implied Suicide Attempt, Obsession

Word Count: 1.1k

Summary: [Post-Canon, light Izaya novel spoilers] Izaya remains haunted by the memories of the last time that he saw Shizuo, and in the still hours when everyone else is asleep, he reflects on the climax of the relationship that they shared. [Written for Shizaya Week 2023 | Day 2: Nightmare @shizayasweek]

- - - - - - - - - -

"I-za-yaaaaa!"

He bolts awake in a dark room, his heart racing, the cry of a monster still echoing in his ears. For a moment, he thinks that he sees a silhouette in the corner, the gleam of a white dress shirt… but no, it's simply a set of clothes laid out neatly on a hanger.

The glow of the clock on the side table tells him that it's a little before 6 am. Still a little too early for the sunrise, then, but Izaya isn't going to be able to fall asleep again anytime soon, so he pushes himself up to a sitting position before maneuvering to the edge of the bed so that he can ease himself into his wheelchair. As he manipulates the controls, it glides smoothly around the room, its machinery nearly whisper-silent. Which is only to be expected: it's the best that money can buy, with plenty of custom modifications, as even in his self-imposed exile from Tokyo, Izaya is still a man of means.

Opening his bedroom door is another struggle entirely, though. Briefly, he considers calling for Sozoro or even Nec—the hacker is probably awake—but he doesn't want anyone else to see him right now.

Eventually, he manages to tug the door open, rolling back quickly enough to not catch it on his chair, and leaves his room with a mental note to have Sozoro replace the door with something easier to open. Something that opens outward, perhaps. It’s not ideal: a sliding door would be the best, but the old man would probably balk at the sort of construction work needed to completely remake this place to Izaya’s needs. Besides, they’ll abandon this place soon enough when they move on to the next one where their services are needed, so it doesn’t make sense to spend too much time altering it.

Or perhaps he could just have Sozoro take off the door. But the last thing he wants is Haruto bouncing into his room while he’s asleep or busy to ask “Izaya nii-san” to play with him. Himari does her best to keep the boy away from him—not out of any consideration for Izaya himself, but in an attempt to keep his influence away from her little friend, which is quite endearing—but Haruto can be quite persistent. No, he still needs a door. Just a better one.

As he pours himself some cold barley tea in the kitchen before settling down at the dining table, he remembers replacing other doors. Too many of them, smashed down by inhuman strength. It was his fault, of course, for provoking Shizu-chan, but how could he not? It had simply been too entertaining, watching the monster prowling among his beloved humans as if he could be one of them and occasionally ripping off his mask to show everyone what he really was.

He’d only been one step away from achieving his goal, sending Shizu-chan past the point of no return while the Valkyrie he'd summoned brought him to Valhalla… but his little co-worker had ruined everything, leaving Izaya crippled and haunted by the ghosts of their interrupted showdown.

It isn't that he wants to die. If it was just that, Sozoro would probably be more than happy to end their contract and finish him off himself. It's not even that he believes in some sort of afterlife, really. It's simply a more appealing idea than just disappearing. But if he could leave some sort of permanent mark on the world, one way or another…

He'd intended to win. He still remembers the heady rush of euphoria as he watched the monster fall to its knees as it slowly suffocated. If he'd eradicated Shizu-chan from the earth, then it had to change somehow. There was no way that life would have been able to simply continue on as if nothing had happened: it was as preposterous as people ignoring a meteorite that had carved a crater into the heart of the city. His absence would be felt, remembered, passed down in legends like the Headless Rider. And Izaya would have been the one who'd done that, his own name and story eclipsing both Celty and Shizu-chan's.

His drink ripples in his cup, drawing his attention to the slight tremor of his arm. With a grim smile, he wraps his fingers around his wrist, tightening his grip until he's regained a semblance of control. Recalling their fight is making his heart start to race, just as it had when he'd realized that Shizu-chan had escaped his trap. But that had been alright, too.

In that moment, the other man had really seen him, been just as determined to kill him. They'd faced each other without any pretenses, only the purity of their feelings unfettered by any worldly concerns, just like the first time they’d met. Izaya had barely even felt his injuries at the time, captivated by the pure rage and violence before his eyes: no longer human, but a natural disaster in its own right.

If he had been consumed by that storm, it would have never been able to pretend to be human again. Izaya isn't sure what would have happened, but he knows that much. For all that Shizu-chan has done, for all that he hates himself and his strength, he's never killed anyone. It's the last thread to being "human" that he clings to desperately… even if it was just Izaya, his death at the other man's hands would have snapped that tether, sending Shizu-chan plummeting down to his own personal hell.

After that… would the Fighting Puppet of Ikebukuro disappear, drowned in its self-loathing? Would it finally renounce its claim to humanity and become more than a monster: a demon or a god, free of the flimsy chains of human morality that only bound it as long as it allowed them to? Shizu-chan has always frustrated him since he's the only thing whose actions Izaya can't predict. Even though he wouldn’t have been able to see the ultimate outcome, he would have left an indelible mark upon Shizu-chan, carved into his very soul. He would have been remembered by the one being that could be expected to be the last one standing when everyone else was erased from the face of the earth.

It had been his only chance. Because it's just as Simon said: Izaya's a coward. He'll never again find the courage to face Shizu-chan. It has nothing to do with the wheelchair, with the legs that could work again if he started rehabilitation.

Even if he lies to everyone else, he knows the truth. All he's doing is running away. And he'll keep doing it until the very end.

[astereim]

3 a.m. || suna.

↬ suna rintaro x gn!reader

↬ 0.8k // in which you are tired and weary and suna can’t bear to see you like this.

— reblogs are really, really appreciated !!

suna rintaro sighs before running a hand through black tresses, shaking his head slowly as he does. glancing over at you, he sighs again, this time through his nose, when he sees the way your forehead is scrunched. wrinkles are forming in the smooth skin and a frown in turn makes its way onto suna’s expression.

the constant stress you’ve been under lately has not been good for either you or your relationships. suna in particular has shown his clear dislike of both your school and your study habits.

some days you study all day, and these are the days he brings you water, tea, extra pens, highlighters, though not without a little bit of snark on his side.

some days you avoid studying until the very last minute, and suna taunts you when you do finally start, saying you should’ve started earlier. he always gets on your nerves then and so you irritably push him out, but in the end, he comes back to make sure you’re hydrated and helps you work through whatever subject you struggle with.

somehow, he’s good at almost every subject, though he slacks off on school on a daily basis. you guess it’s just one of those things about him you won’t ever quite understand.

suna always tries to help you in whatever way he can, but when he sees you like this, he wants to do more.

shutting the bathroom door behind him quietly, he makes his way over to your shared bed, slipping under the covers smoothly. turning toward you, he rests his head on his arm and just watches you for a minute. the room is dark as coal, and so he can barely see you, but he find something comforting about the silhouette of your chest as it rises and falls, as you breathe, as you show you’re alive.

suna isn’t scared you’re going anywhere per se, but it’s the way you look so haggard, especially during exam week, that gets him so worried. thus one of his favorite pastimes has been to watch you sleep.

which, if you or atsumu ever found out about, he’d be teased mercifully for. but you’re too deep a sleeper to ever wake up in the middle of the night.

however, it seems today is the sole exception. because only a few minutes after suna has gotten into bed, your breathing pace quickens and then your eyes fly open abruptly. suna, startled as well, shifts back a little and sits up a little and leans on his elbow, resting his head in the palm of his hand.

he waits quietly as you collect your senses, dark olive eyes trained on your movements. you look over at him when you’ve calmed down a little, and his jaw clenches a little at the lethargic movements you make.

“when did you go to sleep last night?” he asks, eyes focused on what little of you he can make out in the dark.

you shift a little, nervously, “1 am.”

it’s 3 am right now, so that makes barely two hours. two hours of restless sleep on top of that. suna sighs deeply, moving closer and he feels you stiffen.

“you used to go to sleep at 10. i can see from every move you make that you’re tired as fuck. take a break.”

“i can’t.” you say, and anger is peppering your tone of voice, replacing the drowsiness.

“you can.” he says, and he can feel himself getting angrier too; he’s had enough of seeing you like this.

“i can’t, suna.” and before he can argue, which you clearly know he’s going to do, you continue, “do you know how hard it is to study like this, online? i have no clue what’s going on and i can’t start early because it just stresses me out so much and i don’t know how to explain this to you, but i can’t—”

you’re clearly close to spiralling and suna leans forward and just presses his forehead against yours, because at that moment, he has no idea what else to do.

he feels your skin against his, warm and clammy, and his hands land on either side of you as he waits for you to calm down, and in turn, calms himself down.

“i know,” he says quietly, “i know, but you need to take care of yourself too. i can go over the notes with you, especially for the classes i’ve had. you don’t ask me for help, but i’m here to. take a break.”

there’s something in his voice that makes you finally take a deep breath, and then you nod, and feeling the movement, he smiles the smile he reserves for you — a quiet, content upturn of his lips.

“bed?” he asks, and when you nod again, he lies down slowly, taking you with him. you press your forehead into his neck and he curls an arm around your midriff, and the creases in your forehead smooth themselves out. you don’t wake up till 11 am.

[beels-burger-babe]

I Can Be Your Type

***I wanted to write some fluff, and all of my current requests, except for maybe one, have angst in them in one form or another. SO I decided to complete the prompt that @poppi144 and I discussed during a "party time" here. So this is happening. Enjoy a break from the angst.*** Summary: Asmodeus is bored one day and, more importantly, he doesn't think he can stand looking at the eyesore of Satan's clothing choices for a second longer. A makeover ensues much to the amusement of the other brothers and annoyance of Satan...that is until MC sees it. Asmodeus smiled mischievously as he peaked into Satan's room. Sitting in his chair, peacefully reading a book and enjoying his day, was Asmodeus's target. He giggled to himself and skipped over to him. "Oh, Satan~" Asmo began in a sing-song voice.

Satan's grip noticeably tightened on the book, but he didn't look away from the pages. "What do you need, Asmo? I'm trying to read." A glance at the cover told him that Satan was reading "Cultural Traditions and Practices of the Humans Realm". Asmo's smile grew. This really was perfect. He draped himself over the back of his brother's chair. "I just thought that perhaps we could help each other out! You see, I am extremely bored and want something to do. Preferably, giving you a makeover." The blond sighed as he flipped the page of his book. "Why in Diavolo's name, would I agree to that?" Asmodeus's grin widened as he swiped Satan's book from his hand and waved it in front of his face. "Because I can turn you into MC's type." Satan paused as a blush dusted across his cheeks. Checkmate.

Satan looked at Asmodeus with intrigue. "They have a type?" The Avatar of Lust laughed as he turned towards the door. "Oh, big brother, you have so much to learn if you actually want to stand a chance against me at winning MC's heart," he smiled over his shoulder. "Come on. Let me work my magic." Satan gave Asmodeus a skeptical look, but sighed and rose to his feet. If there was even the slightest chance of this working, it would be worth it. *** It was not worth it. Satan glared at his reflection in the mirror, "I look ridiculous." Asmodeus giggled as he straightened out the leather, hooded jacket that Satan was wearing. "Nonsense! I put this outfit together myself which means you look amazing!" He beamed at Satan as he took a step back and admired his work. "You look dangerous, mysterious, enticing, cool-" "Foolish," Satan cut off and groaned as he fiddled with the leather cord necklace Asmodeus had put on him. "There's no way this will actually work. You just did this to make me look stupid." Asmo gasped and put a hand on his chest in mock offence. "Like I would ever do something like that to my favourite brother!" Satan just gave him an unimpressed look and began to take off the jacket. Asmodeus quickly rushed over to stop him. "Wait, wait, wait! This wasn't a prank. I seriously think this is MC's type! Trust me on this. At least let them see you in it."

Satan frowned and looked in the mirror. He looked like the stereotypical bad boy in all those animes that Levi watches. He was layered in a white t-shirt with a jacket that appeared to be some kind of leather jacket/hoodie hybrid. The jeans weren't bad. He wore skinny jeans on a regular basis. But these were black and had rips on the knees. His normal dress shoes had been replaced with a pair of black Doc Martins. Asmodeus had even gone so far as to stylistically mess up his hair a little with some gel, and add a very subtle touch of eyeliner around his eyes. Was this really what you were attracted to? Satan huffed and turned to Asmodeus. "Fine. But if they laugh, you will regret this Asmodeus." Asmo let out a cheer as he pushed him out of the door. "Yeah, yeah. Doom and gloom. I get it. You know, you're actually very in character for your look right now." Asmodeus dragged Satan down to the living room where you were supposed to be having a game night with the others. "Oh MC~ I've got a lovely gift for you~" He pushed Satan into the middle of the room and dramatically gestured to him. Only you weren't in the living room. Everyone else was, and they thought this was priceless. Laughter filled the room as the brothers doubled over at the sight of Satan scowling in his bad boy outfit. "Y-You, your look finally matches your sin! Holy fuck!" Mammon howled as he struggled to breathe through his laughter. Belphegor nodded and pointed to Mammon as he cackled. "It's like someone just rained on your black parade! You look like you're about to go kick a bunch of puppies!" Levi snorted and lifted up his phone to take a picture, "This is definitely going on Devilgram." Satan growled and took a threatening step towards Levi. Lucifer chuckled and wiped a tear from under his eye. "Calm down now. We wouldn't you to ruin your eyeliner." The laughter doubled in volume as Satan shouted at Lucifer to shut up. Even Beel was laughing along. "Alright, guys I'm ba-" Everyone went quiet as you entered the room holding a tray of cookies. You froze and stared at Satan with wide eyes and your jaw dropped, a slight blush on your cheeks. "S-Satan you look-" A low snarl came from him as he avoided eye contact with you. "Spare me your pretences and just get to the laughing bit. I've had enough of this." "No!" You squeaked out, causing everyone to stare at you. Your face was quite clearly flushed as you sputtered bashfully. "I-I mean, I wouldn't laugh. You look hot! I-I-I mean good! You look good. Very good indeed," you chuckled nervously and averted your eyes. "Oh Diavolo kill me now," you whispered to yourself.

Asmodeus smiled victoriously while the others gaped at you in shock. Satan merely smirked and walked closer to you. "Oh? Do you enjoy my appearance MC?" More flustered noises came from your mouth as you set down the tray. "I certainly don't not like it. It's j-just a good look for you, th-that's all."

Levi looked between the two of you confused. "Wha- MC! He looks like bullies in every high school anime that we've ever watched!" Satan noted with amusement that you seemed to glance at him with even more interest now. "You mean the ones that tease the protagonist, have a soft side, and nine times out ten builds into an enemies-to-lovers plot with an incredible redemption arc? I'm aware," there was an adorable bashful tone to your voice that made Satan smile wider. He approached you and took your hand into his own. "Then perhaps I should let you get to know my soft side more? Would you care to join me over some tea and light reading library?" he lowered his tone into a seductive husky rumble. "I have a thousand poems that have reminded me of you, which I would love to share." The brothers watched in horror as you became even more of a flustered mess and nodded eagerly. "Eh?! But it's game night MC!" Mammon quickly piped in, throwing in a pair of puppy dog eyes for good measure. You barely glanced in his direction. "Lucifer had just beat me out of the round anyway. You guys enjoy the cookies, I'm going to catch up with Satan." The fourth born led you by the hand as he looked back and smirked at the others. "Enjoy your game night, and thanks for the help Asmo." Silence filled the room after you two left.

"Damn. That worked better than intended," Asmo stated with slight envy on his tongue. Mammon glared at him. "Ya had to give him a make-over and make him look like a hunk, didn't ya?" Lucifer leaned back watching the door. "It's unfortunate. Though perhaps not an entirely negative thing. We can learn something from this," everyone looked at Lucifer curiously. For the next two weeks, the House of Lamentation was full of leather jackets and eyeliner.

*** This was so fun to write. I hope you guys enjoyed it 😊***

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Laisse tomber les filles 1

Warnings: non-consent sex and rape; size kink; age gap; manipulation; tags to be added as story progresses

This is a dark!fic and Lee Bodecker x (short) reader and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Synopsis: You find yourself ostracized on campus by your shyness, but your reticence won’t deter an unwanted suitor.

Note: Just so you’re aware, this takes place during the mid-60s and Lee is a little older than in the movie :) Just so you’re not confused.

Thanks to everyone for reading and thanks in advance for all your feedback. :)

I really hope you enjoy. 💋

<3 As usual, I’d appreciate if you let me know what you think with a like or reblog or reply or an ask! Love ya!

You felt alone on campus. 

When you got your acceptance, your parents swore it would be the experience of a lifetime, not to mention the value of education. Always the quiet one, withdrawn and wispy, the thought of moving away from home and living among strangers made you nervous. 

Your first day in the dormitory assured you of your doubts and a semester in, you were still the sore thumb among the six girls in your unit. Your lectures were your sole respite from the pressure to make friends and fit in. You were always early and always intent on the professor.

That was what you were there for after all. If you wanted to hold onto your bursary, you had to maintain your average. You couldn’t be like the other students; you didn’t have rich parents or a trust fund, your degree actually had to mean something.

That night, you walked back from the evening book club meeting alone, as usual. You signed up in hopes you might meet someone like yourself, someone who didn’t just want to drink or smoke. While the members weren’t interested in the party life, they made you feel awful stupid as you struggled to pick up on the same themes in your readings and your sharing skills were never strong. 

When it was your turn to talk about the chapter, you stuttered and muttered until you just gave up. You replayed the disastrous meeting in your head, the used copy of Nabakov under your arm as your bag swung against your side. 

The sky turned a deepening azure as you reached Greek row and heard the muffled crackle of a record player and the buzz of voices from the largest of white houses painted with their respective fraternity colours. It was that new kind of music, the kind that made you want to hop, the kind the Christian club lobbied against on campus green.

As you got further down the street, the late winter crisp crawled up your thick stockings and made you shiver. You got closer to the raucous façade and watched as a couple stumbled out in bubbly conversation and quickly embraced against a pillar of the porch. You kept your head down and focused on the sidewalk.

A flash of blue and the ‘wop’ of a siren brought you to a halt. You stopped just at the corner of the frosty yard, the cloudy breath of the co-eds filling the air as they parted. The cruiser door opened and closed loudly and steady footsteps crossed the street. You watched from the shadows as the officer strode up the walk and stopped at the bottom of the stairs, propping his foot up on the lowest plank.

“You kids are bein’ awfully loud,” his voice carried above the din, he had the local accent that lilted his tone so that even the meanest words were dampened.

“Sorry, officer,” the girl pulled away from the boy and came to the top of the steps, “it’s Friday and we were just having fun--”

“Yeah, yeah,” the cop said as he hooked his thumb on his belt, “y’all know I’m here every week… you turn that racket down or maybe I come in and find something that needs confiscatin’.”

“Got it,” the frat boy said as he stood beside the girl, “I’ll tell Leighton.”

“Ain’t fun for me neither,” the officer slid his foot down to the ground, “I don’t like to ruin you kids’ night.”

“Thank you, officer,” the boy said, “I’m goin’ now.”

“Mhmm, I’ll see you next week then,” the cop scoffed as the boy grabbed the girl and dragged her inside. His voice called through the noise of the crowd for the boy Leighton and the music dulled just enough that it was only a subtle hum, “funny kids.”

The officer turned and chuckled as he reached into his jacket. He paused and his eyes wandered over to you as you stood silently by the edge of the yard. He pulled out a small box and tapped out a toothpick as he smiled at you. He replaced the box in his pocket as he stopped short.

“You headin’ in, girl?” he asked as he placed the toothpick between his lips, “looks like you late for the party.”

“Uh, no, I was just… going home,” you slowly urged yourself forward, “didn’t want to get in your way.”

You tapped towards him in your mary janes as you adjusted the book in your hand. He watched you approach as you kept your head down, just wanting to get past and get on to your dorm.

“Hold up,” he said just as you reached him, “you walkin’ home all alone after dark?”

“My dorm is just… just around the corner,” you said as you stopped and kept your eyes on his shoes, “thank you, officer.”

“Now, I don’t care if it’s just right there, you shouldn’t be alone,” he insisted, “how’s bout a ride, hmm? I gotta make a round of the campus anyway.”

“I can make it on my own…” you began and he tutted, “I mean, thank you, I suppose it’s rude to… um…”

“You’re not from these parts, huh?” he asked, “you got that accent. Real fine.”

“Uh uh,” you uttered, “it’s a nice place though.”

“City is, but the rest of the county...” he remarked, “you must be far from home then.”

“A little,” you shrugged.

“Well,” he rubbed his hands together, “let’s get goin’, it’s cold tonight.”

“Thank you, again,” you slowly followed him as he backed away and turned to cross the street.

“Not at all,” he said warmly as he neared the car and pulled open the back door, “one thing, it’s against policy to let passengers in the front seat.”

“Oh?” you blinked and looked into the cruiser, “I can walk, I--”

“Go on,” he waved you in, “probably comfier back there anyhow.”

You gave a tight-lipped smile and slid into the back seat. You swept your bag up into your lap as the door snapped shut and tucked the book under the flap. The car shifted as he got in the front and he looked at you in the wide rear view mirror.

“Mind my manners, I didn’t even introduce myself, Sheriff Bodecker,” he jingled his keys as he spoke, “and you, honey?”

You hesitated at the added pet name. No one ever called you anything but ‘miss’ or ‘young woman’. You cleared your throat and shifted as you tugged nervously at your scarf as it pressed against your chin. It was damp from your hot breath. You gave him your name and shrank back against the leather.

“This your first year?” he asked as he pulled out and tossed his toothpick out the window.

“Yes, sir,” you answered and you saw his head tilt just slightly as he drove slowly.

“You like it?” he continued.

“It’s… new,” you said stiffly, “I don’t know many people but I… I’m learning a lot.”

“Oh, I hear they teach lots of interesting things these days. Lotta red nonsense,” he sighed, “which way am I goin’, honey?”

“Left, sir, the third building on your right with the orange brick,” you replied.

“No parties to go to?” he snickered as he came up to your dormitory and rolled to a stop.

“I… I’m not much for them, sir,” you said as you tried the handle but the door didn’t budge.

“Sorry, forgot about that,” he got out and opened the door from outside, “there ya go.”

You stepped out and your foot slipped on a patch of thin ice. You caught yourself on the door as he grabbed your arm and helped steady you. You laughed nervously and thanked him.

“Careful there,” he said, “hate for you to mess up that face, honey.”

“I’m alright,” you assured him and carefully drew away from him, “thank you for the ride, I really appreciate it.”

“It’s just my job,” he sniffed, “you know, keepin’ the campus safe… when I can.”

“I’m sure you have much more to worry about than some college kids,” you said.

“Eh, you’d be surprised,” he intoned, “I’m around on Fridays, there’s always noise complaints ‘round here.”

You were quiet, unsure what to say or how to detach yourself gracefully. You just wanted to go inside and listen to the radio as you reread the chapter. You smiled nervously and he looked down at you beneath the streetlight.

“I might see you around,” he said, “and don’t mind givin’ ya another ride, ya know? Can’t have you lost in the dark, heh.”

“It’s nice of you, sir, but I’m grown now, I can take care of myself,” you assured him, though you hated how black it got on this side of campus.

“Well, don’t be shy, give me a wave if you see me,” he closed the door as you sidestepped it, “and you have a good night. Get yourself warmed up with some nice tea… though I know you college kids prefer a harder comfort.”

“I don’t drink,” you said awkwardly, “but, uh… good night, officer.”

You went around the back of the car and stepped up onto the curb. You went up to the grated door and fished out your key. You peeked over your shoulder as you unlocked the door and found the Sheriff watching you over the roof of his car. 

His large-brimmed hat shadowed his face and his constant gaze sent a shiver through you, but that could’ve been the nightly chill. You gave a small wave and let yourself in, quickly hiding behind the inner door, happy to be home safe.

[clouds-rambles]

hey bestie i was hoping to request xiao, venti, childe and zhongli where the the reader and the character have just had an argument + the reader needs time to calm down from the argument. omg maybe the reader comes back with a gift to apologise

Ask and ye shall receive <3. I’m the kind of person who needs time to relax and process the situation after an argument. I’m always too worked up (read angry) to kiss and make up straight after an argument.

Pairings; (Separate) Xiao, Venti, Childe, Zhongli x reader

Warning(s); breif mention of a wound, alcoholism, swearing

Keep reading under the cut!

Xiao

You’re probably being too harsh on the guy

You had just come back from a tough mission with a few more scrapes than you normally come back, a nasty cut in particular situated on your shoulder was what caused the argument to kick off in the first place

In hindsight the argument started from Xiao’s concern of you getting hurt worse but you were too tired from the commission to really read it as concern

But boy now do you feel bad. You both went your separate ways for the evening and in the morning you still haven’t caught sight of your partner. You eventually go around Wangshu Inn and ask if they’ve seen Xiao.

You get told that he’s out for the day, apparently he caught wind of something manifesting in the mountains. So, you suppose that it’s high time to make an apology gift

And what’s a better apology gift than your partners favourite food? Because your arguments are often few and far between you don’t mind making Xiao almond tofu since it’s not something you’ve associated with apologising

Though you’re aware that the sweet snack means nothing if you’re not sincere with your apology. 

So what’s more sincere than sitting at the highest balcony of Wangshu Inn and wait for Xiao. You don’t mind how long it takes for him to come back just as long as you get to apologise

He comes back just after dusk and you pour your apologise profusely and tell him you understand that he was coming from a place of concern

Xiao is a little distant a short while after the apology but soon you’re reassured that he accepts it when he places his hand on the table for you to take hold of

The two of you sit in silence sat hand in hand while Xiao eats his tofu

You watch him eat with a grin on your face, sometimes just watching the Yaksha sit still and do his thing is enough to keep you in a trance for the evening

-

Venti

Maybe you got into an argument because you’re concerned over Venti’s drinking habits, sure he’s an immortal god but doesn’t he worry about his liver?

Sure the argument started because you’re worried about the archon but boy does he make you angry with his non-sensical thought processes

Venti is the kind of guy who wouldn’t let you leave without settling the argument

Even if the happy medium isn’t actually going to bring any change into the questionable drinking habits

But this argument just feels a little different, you’ve had the same conversation form months but nothing seems to change

You’re not even sure if Venti has actually listened to anything you have said to him about it

So you tell him “Do what you want, but you’re sleeping on the sofa tonight” yeah you just resigned him to sofa treatment. As much as you hate it you’re far too heated to just kiss and make up right now

So the night passes and you wake up with the cold space beside you, you’re confused until you remember the previous nights events

Though your unusual silence in the room doesn’t last long, you presume Venti sensed that you’re awake because you hear a knock at your bedroom door, you’re surprised that Venti is actually here and that he hadn’t sulked off to Windrise where you had originally planned to apologise to him

As you open the door you notice your partner stood before you with a bunch of hand picked cecelia's and dandelions and an apologetic look on his face

You’ve never known Venti to speak so fast he apologises profusely for causing you such worry and promises that he’ll try to drink less, he mentions that he doesn’t wish to give up his Friday and Saturday drinking nights but he’s willing to tone it down during the week if it stops you worrying 

You thank him sincerely and find a vase to put the flowers in

You hug Venti and apologise yourself for being such a worry wart and causing such a big argument

“I’m glad I have someone to worry about me, I don’t know what I’d do without you” You can’t help but swoon at his flowery words and grin at him before the two of you start off the day

-

Childe

It’s a bad habit he has, when you try and talk about something serious with him he constantly cracks jokes at the situation. Which in its self isn’t the worse thing in the world, even you crack jokes to lighten the situation but at some points it goes too far

And today is too far, what started off as a disagreement about where you were going to eat lunch ended up in a full scale (mostly one sided) argument in Childes office about how he can’t take things seriously

You, of course, know this to be false. You’ve seen him in action against his foes and bank business but just in this moment when you are so angry about the situation those rational thoughts go out the window

And what does the bastard do? He cracks another fucking joke

“Is this what I am?” you ask finally reaching the catalyst of your temper “A fucking joke?” 

And boy does the exclamation comes to a surprise to him. No matter how frequent your use of curse words you’ve never directed them at him so it catches Childe by even more surprise

“[name] I’m sorry I didn’-” he tries to apologise

“You didn’t fucking what Tartaglia? Want to make me feel like a joke? Cause you’ve been going down that road at every fucking disagreement we have” you cut him off in a fit of rage “Sleep in your own fucking bed tonight” you add before storming out his office

He tried to follow you out the bank before he was stopped by a fatui agent about some urgent debt collection, so he never got to apologise immediately

And that’s how the next couple of days go, you’ve taken most of the time to cool off and avoid anywhere Childe might be hanging about, your plan works better considering said harbinger was out of Liyue Harbour for a couple of days

Though on the third night Childe appears at your door, he doesn’t bring any gifts, just himself. Childe enjoys gifting things to you so he doesn’t want you or him to associate gift giving with apologies. You’re more than thankful for this

Childe apologises before you even have the chance to invite him in and takes your hand and wholeheartedly promises to try and not make jokes when you have a disagreement

You also apologise and agree that, in hindsight, you blew things out of proportion. You reassure him that he’s a hardworking man and that a few out of place jests make everything more bearable to him.

You invite him inside for some tea, your bed isn’t as cold as it was tonight

-

Zhongli

Disagreements with Zhongli never seem to get any further than that. The archon likes to listen to you vent your frustrations over a cup of herbal tea and usually that calms you down and everything is settled before supper

But every once in a while you’re a little high strung. For instance this time you’re running on a total of 5 hours sleep over the last 4 days. Sleep deprivation could possibly be your middle name at this point 

The only thing you want to do when you get back from your restless trip from Mondstat back home is to just sleep the next few years 

But the sweetie that Zhongli is he quizzes you about your great to horrific trip

Zhongli pulls all the stops he readys some dinner for you and draws a bath when you get back. He even gives you a small lecture about how you’ll feel terrible not washing before going to bed

But with your tired ears, eyes and brain it feels like a personal attack in your entire self “I’ve had it up to here with bloody hillichurls for 4 horrific days, all I want to do is pass the living hell out thank you”

Replace the bloodys with fucks and that’s probably more accurate to what you said

Zhongli is taken a little aback, being an older traditional man it’s unbecoming of anyone to use such sailor language. And thus the male lectures you about it

You take that as about as well as you expect, you don’t respond to him and favour walking out the room, barely getting undressed and collapsing on your shared bed

You wake up the next morning (though when you peek outside it seems like it’s after noon) disorientated. You don’t actually remember coming home the previous day 

Then the memory resurfaces of you yelling at your spouse and regret washes over you

Surely the gift you had prepared for Zhongli would be good enough as repercussions of yesterdays outburst

You see Zhongli in the dining room, to the untrained eye he looks like he’s in a normal mood but to you, you can see his brooding emanating off of him. If you dare point it out Zhongli will deny that he even broods in the first place

He’s the first to greet you without turning around. Rightfully so, he’s still in a mood. So you just profusely apologise for your outburst

You explain that you were running on next to no sleep and while that doesn’t excuse your outburst it certainly explains it. If your spouse so wishes to ask how your trip was you would comply much more now since you’ve had a good sleep behind you. 

You then change the subject to the gift in your hands, some rose tea. Something Zhongli had mentioned when you were courting all that time ago. 

The man sits you on his lap and explains to you about how it was out of place of him to assume you’d be in a talking mood immediately after your travels. You reassure him that under normal circumstances you wouldn’t mind talking about it, you promise that you will do everything in your power to not let the previous night repeat

You then bring out his gift, rose tea, which he had mentioned wanting to taste a little while back, and before long you’re back in the cycle of Zhongli profusely explaining to you some random subject (in this instance rose tea) before you go off to make dinner where you finally share the details of your travels

Hope this is okay! <3 I kind of went a little ham with the Childe and Zhongli one in comparison to the other two hope you don’t mind lmao <3

[marauderundercover]

Taking Chances Chapter Five: Paris Revealed (Stories/Memories)

Prev

AO3

Marinette flinches back as the room erupts in shouting. The younger boy, who was definitely younger than her and yet almost (if not definitely) taller than her, was fiercely glaring while he screamed at Mr. Wayne in….was that Arabic? The man that walked in with him was waving around the knife in his hand while Dick yelled at Mr. Wayne, his face filled with confusion instead of fury. Glancing around for a way out, Marinette makes eye contact with Alfred who nods behind him. Sneaking away from the group of angry men, Marinette follows Alfred into the kitchen and instantly feels at home. And much calmer.

“I’m sorry.” She mumbles, breathing deeply to avoid spiraling again. Alfred simply hands her a cookie before turning around and putting water in a kettle.

“There is no need to apologize, Miss Marinette. It seems Master Bruce has forgotten all sense today and is instead insistent on acting like a fool. It was wrong of him to announce you like that, without preparing you or the boys beforehand. I do hope that his atrocious display of proper manners doesn’t make you want to leave.” Alfred says, and Marinette’s eyebrows shoot upwards. Was he? Was Alfred actually blaming this situation on Mr. Wayne? Was it Mr. Wayne’s fault? Did he not actually hate her? Did he just make a mistake?

“I- what?” Marinette says, unsure of herself.

“You, my dear, are not at fault. Your father didn’t tell any of his sons that you were coming to the manor today, or that you existed in general. And judging by your face, you weren’t prepared for the boys to be here either.” Alfred clarifies.

“Oh. No, I wasn’t. Mr. Wayne just said that he wanted to get to know me, and he knew I wanted to get to know him. I- my birth mother passed away. But my Maman knew her, so I can find out from her how I’m similar to Bridgette. But neither of my parents knew Mr. Wayne, and I just wanted to know if I was like him, I guess. I didn’t even know who he was until two days ago.” Marinette admits.

“As in you found out Bruce Wayne was your birth father two days ago or-” Alfred trails off, waiting for her to clarify.

“Oh no. I found out the name of my birth father awhile ago. It’s just- I really don’t pay attention to celebrities. The only ones I really know are designers. So I didn’t put two and two together, and I didn’t even know about Bruce Wayne and Wayne Enterprises until a few days ago. My friend Adrien made me google him and that’s when I found out about...the boys.” She says, stopping herself from saying her brothers as she was still unsure if Mr. Wayne actually wanted her like he wanted the others.

“Well I’m certain that things will start to calm down shortly. In the meantime, would you care for some tea?” Alfred asks, holding up the kettle. Marinette nods gratefully, trying hard to stop her inner spiral from drowning her.

---

“What do you mean daughter?” Damian snarls, finally switching to English. Bruce blinks at the boy before sighing.

“I mean, you have a biological sister.” He says, tired and wishing he had been able to convince Marinette to go somewhere else. Not that he didn’t want her to meet her siblings. But it definitely wasn’t the laid back first meeting that he wanted.

“You mean half-sister.” Damian spits out, crossing his arms and sticking his nose into the air.

“Shut up, Demon Spawn. She’s our sister, get over it. Where’d the kid come from? Her mom drop her off?” Jason asks, obviously trying to actually understand the situation.

“No. I first met her at the Museum and had my suspicions. She’s in Gotham on a class trip, and before you ask, yes. We had a DNA test done and yes, I am her father.” Bruce says, frowning when he sees Dick’s hurt expression morph into one of excitement.

“Wait, wait, wait! Was she the girl who was sassing the Joker?” He asks quietly, practically buzzing with excitement. When Bruce nods, Dick cheers and runs from the room. Okay then.

“Wait, she met the Joker?” Jason asks, his expression turning dark. Bruce watches his son’s face morph into one of disgust when he puts it together. “She’s the French kid he had at gunpoint, isn’t she?”

“Yes. Which is one of the reasons why we both thought the manor would be a more appropriate meeting place rather than somewhere public.” Bruce says, sighing as Damian once again starts screaming. This was not what he had planned.

---

After just a few minutes with Alfred, Marinette already felt calmer. Calm enough to giggle at another story about something that one of the boys- one of her brothers- did. Calm enough to let her guard down. And mess up.

“If you wanna see something ridiculous, you should look up the 26th time Monsieur Ramier was akumatized into Monsieur Pigeon. He made all the buildings turn into bird cages and all the food turned into bird seed. Luckily it didn’t last long, but seeing the Mayor of Paris stuck inside a giant bird cage was kind of hilarious.” Marinette rambles, giggling at the memory. It was definitely a needed akuma, situated right between two super destructive akumas. Monsieur Pigeon was, while a nuisance, always a breath of fresh air. His akumatized form was brought on by his fierce protectiveness of the pigeons, which luckily never led to death for civilians.

“Pardon me, Miss Marinette, but could I ask what you mean by ‘akumatized’?” Alfred asks, his posture suddenly stiff. Marinette’s eyes widen as she realizes what she just did. She told someone outside of Paris about the situation happening in Paris. Well crap. Normal Parisians didn’t know about the media block that she had set up with the help of the Mayor and Max. But after her calls to the Justice League were ignored, and she realized how disastrous it would be for a member of the League to be akumatized, the media block was the best choice. Time to act clueless.

“Akumatized, as in, a person is possessed by an akuma? Surely you’ve heard of it. It’s been happening in Paris for almost two years.” She says, hoping he doesn’t ask to see any evidence. This isn’t good, this is awful, this-

“And what is an akuma?” Alfred asks. Okay, this isn’t too bad.

“It’s an evil butterfly sent out by the villain, Hawkmoth.” Marinette says, giving out more information than she’s really comfortable with. Okay, time to change the subject, no more questions about heroes or villains or-

“Marinette!” A new voice calls, sliding into the kitchen, almost immediately falling over.

“Master Dick, have you forgotten about your ban on the kitchen?” Alfred asks, his lips quirking up in amusement.

“Awww, Alfred, I just wanted to talk to Marinette. I feel bad for all of us overwhelming her back there.” Dick says with a pout that somehow doesn’t look ridiculous on him. Despite obviously being at least ten years older than her.

“Don’t feel bad. It was just...a lot all at once.” Marinette says with a small smile.

“So I have to ask, are you the one who sassed the Joker at the Museum the other day?” He asks, a wide grin on his face as he sits on one of the stools. Marinette’s eyes widen and she blinks. How?

“Oh, uh, yeah, I guess. It wasn’t a big deal though. He thought I was a Wayne- well, I guess he figured it out before I did- but I think he just wanted to scare my class.” She says, waving her hand to brush off the topic. She really didn’t want to talk about the Joker. Because she was sure it would turn into-

“I apologize for asking, but have you been caught up in the villain attacks in Paris before?” Alfred asks, Marinette instantly panicking. Sure, she’d been caught up in almost every single akuma battle as Ladybug. But there were a few on record where she was targeted as Marinette, and even a few battles that she assisted as Marinette. And then there was Kwami Buster…

“Well, a few. But basically everyone in Paris has dealt with it at some point. That’s just what happens when there’s an attack so often, you know? And my school seems to be a hotspot but that makes sense because teenagers are full of negative emotions and-” Marinette cuts off her rambling, cursing herself on the inside. Great job, Mari. Now they’re going to be worried or they’re going to think you’re a freak or-

“What do you mean negative emotions? Why would that matter?” Dick asks, his previous cheerful smile replaced with a look that clearly meant business.

“That’s how the villain chooses his targets. Negative emotion. If someone is having a bad enough day, he can take control of them and give them powers and basically destroy the city trying to get to Ladybug and Chat Noir, who are our heroes. I only know what’s been posted on official sites like the Ladyblog or miraculousparis.org.” Marinette says, smiling apologetically and hoping that this conversation can be over.

“Have you ever been akumatized?” Dick asks, tension suddenly filling the room.

“No, thankfully. I’ve found ways to manage my negative emotions so that they can’t take me over. I don’t blame anyone who has been akumatized, it’s hard not to be. But, I also don’t think I’d be able to forgive myself if I was akumatized.” Because then her family would be a target. Because Hawkmoth would know her identity. And if Hawkmoth’s insistence on her being akumatized was anything to go on, she’d be a devastating akuma. And if Ladybug wasn’t fighting in the battle….would the cure even work?

“That is a lot of pressure, Miss Marinette.” Alfred says softly after a moment of tense silence. Marinette grins brightly.

“I can handle it, don’t worry!” She says, hoping no one can tell how hard it actually is. How hard it is constantly being strong. Never truly feeling a negative emotion.

---

Bruce winces at the faux cheerfulness in his daughter’s voice. He had only found out about the Paris situation a few days ago, but he was determined to fix it. Find a solution. Do something to help the city and by extension, his daughter. She’d be going back there soon. Back to a city that was being held hostage by an emotional terrorist. Bruce would fix this. He had to.

Next

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[kohanayaki]

.:Time and Time Again:. (Marauders Era x Reader) Ch 5

Harry confronts you with a familiar piece of suspiciously folded parchment, and you tell him the story of how you helped create it (mostly told through flashbacks taking place in the Marauders era).

LINKS:   CH 1   CH 2    CH 3   CH 4   CH 5   CH 6   CH 7   CH 8

___________________________________________________________

Ch 5 .:Narrow Spaces and New Alliances:. 

Your eyes drifted open slowly, the bright streams of sunlight coming in through your window strangely unbecoming of 12 Grimmauld Place. It took you a moment to get your bearings as you rubbed the sleep out of your eyes and remembered where you were. As you sat there, looking around Sirius' guest bedroom, last night's events all seemed to flood back to you at once. You groaned into the comforter, feeling your face burn as you recalled blatantly staring at his lips just minutes after crying into his shirt for at least half an hour.

Come on, get it together, you thought to yourself, you're here because Dumbledore summoned you, stay on task.

However, as soon as that memory left your head another replaced it, this one weighing heavier on your chest. You found yourself thinking back to your encounter with Severus. Well, as much as you could call it an 'encounter.' Even when you couldn't see him, you could feel him when you reached out to him with your mind. Severus was good at blocking legillemency— too good, in fact, because you would know the familiar force of his mental shield anywhere. You'd never felt it as powerful coming from anyone else. You almost laughed at the irony of it; the very thing he was trying to use to keep hidden was exactly what had given him away. That, and the smell of him, which took you back to the moment you'd first smelled that damn amortentia potion. . .

You tried to shake off the thought as you properly got out of bed and changed into some casual clothes. The next Order meeting wasn't until tomorrow afternoon, so you had the day mostly to yourself, but you knew the next time you were all in a room together you would have to address some things privately if you had any hope of working together efficiently. You gently padded down the wooden stairs, the door to Sirius' room still closed. He never was an early riser.

As you reached the kitchen you began to put a pot of coffee on when you heard someone approach the room, stalling in the kitchen entrance. You turned around to see Harry in the doorway.

“Morning,” you grinned, turning back to the counter and using your wand to bring some water to a boil, “Coffee? Tea?”

“Oh,” Harry said, a bit embarrassed you'd caught him in mid-thought, “no, I'm okay.”

“What's on your mind?” you asked.

“Um, I was wondering if you could tell me, I mean, if you have the time. . .” he trailed off, reaching for his back pocket, “well, the thing is, a few years ago I found—”

“Kreacher heard sounds coming from the kitchen and did not expect (Y/n)'s return,” Harry jumped at the house elf's sudden arrival, but you seemed unphased.  

“Though master's half mudblood godson remains here,” the elf muttered to himself, “How many more days must it be?”

“Hello, Kreacher,” you greeted him, “nothing nasty about Harry, now, alright? Don't forget he's my godson too.”

“Of course,” Kreacher said, thickly sarcastic but with respect for you in his tone nonetheless. His permanent frown seemed to deepen, however, when he saw you next to the coffee maker. “(Y/n) of house (L/n) should not have to be using the kitchen. Mistress Black would have wept to see a pureblood use muggle equipment. If (Y/n) requires refreshment Kreacher will have it ready.”

“There's no need for that,” you said, “Besides, it's done already, see? You can go on now.”

Kreacher squinted at the cup you poured for yourself. “Always peculiar,” he grumbled, stalking away at your request and muttering to himself all the while.

“He's oddly. . . nice to you,” Harry said, green eyes quizzical behind his round-framed glasses.

“He is,” you chuckled.

“But, well, you're—”

“A blood traitor?” you gave him an easy smile when you saw his expression, easing his fears that he'd actually offended you. “I know,” you said, “he's been through a lot, it's complicated. Trust me, he wasn't always like this to me. It takes time. And it doesn't hurt to be nice to him either.”

Harry decided against bringing up that the nicest person that he knew to the house elf was Hermione, who Kreacher regularly called a 'mudblood wench,' but decided to focus on the 'taking time' part of your statement, wondering  just how long this kind of progress took with the spiteful elf. Besides, you seemed to have some sort of history with him.

“Anyways, what was it you were saying?” you asked Harry.

“Oh, right,” he said, reaching back around him, “um, my friends Fred and George, you've met them?”

“Molly and Arthur's twins, of course,” you smiled, “little imps, they are. Those two could give your father and Sirius a run for their money.”

“Right!” Harry said, “well, that's sort of the point. They're the ones who gave me this.”

As you turned around to face him you stalled mid-stir, nearly dropping your mug as you did. Even as a piece of blank parchment you knew what it was, the distinctive accordion folds that met in the center giving it away.

“How in the world. . .” you trailed off as Harry handed it to you, “but Filch—”

“Didn't do a very good job of hiding it, apparently,” Harry finished, “I thought you might want to do the honors?”

You nodded wordlessly, a pang of unexpected emotion hitting you as you pressed your wand to the map's center.

“I solemnly swear that I am up to no good.”

The faded, brown ink showed itself as its protection charm was washed away, revealing the nostalgia-inducing inscription scrawled in your respective handwritings:

Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot, Prongs, and Fangs are proud to present: The Marauders Map

“Do Remus and Sirius know you have this?” you asked Harry, who nodded.

“Professor Lupin gave it back to me third year before he left Hogwarts,” he said, “but he never told me anything about it after that.” he seemed deep in thought for a moment before looking up at you. “If everyone else is who I think it is, you're Fangs, right?”

It was your turn to nod now.

“I always wondered, how did you do it?” Harry said, hardly containing his curiosity, and you couldn't help but think how much he looked like James in that moment. “How does it work? What sort of magic did you use? All the secret passageways, how did you find them?”

“Alright, slow down,” you laughed lightly, giving in, “I suppose there's no harm in telling you.”

Harry brightened at that, bounding into the living room and taking a seat on the couch as if to say 'we've got all day,' which you did. It warmed your heart to see him so excited, this was one of the only ways he could get to know his parents— through the stories that remained from the people who loved them. If you could help the picture of his family in his mind become a bit clearer, you would tell him any story he wanted to know. He deserved that much after everything he'd been through.

You took a seat opposite him, still nursing your cup of coffee.

“Well,” you said, “it's a long story, starting with how bad those lot were at keeping secrets. . .”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~   1974   ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Run!” James half shouted half laughed as Filch hobbled after the four of them. Sirius nearly bit his tongue trying to keep in his laughter as the Caretaker slung insults and promises of punishment their way, cat ears and a tail freshly sprouted from his body.

“I can't believe we actually did that,” Sirius cackled, keeping easy pace with James.

“I can't believe you dragged me into this,” Remus panted, his current body not lending itself well to physical activity. For once he actually wished he was a werewolf right about now.

“I don't know if I can keep up,” Peter wheezed, falling behind.

“Oh come on,” James said, grabbing his sleeve and helping him run, “we can out run a gummy-legged old prat like him.”

“I don't know, he's faster than he looks,” Remus pointed out as Filch rounded the corner behind them.

“Damn,” James cursed under his breath, “we'll lose him if we can make it to the one-eyed-witch passageway.”

“We'll never activate it in time,” Remus countered.

“The hallway behind the third floor tapestry?” Peter suggested.

“No, Filch knows about that one now,” Sirius said.

“Why the hell didn't you bring your cloak?” Remus huffed.

“Well getting caught wasn't supposed to be part of the plan, but someone had to let out a laugh before we could get out!”

“Just save your air and sprint!” Sirius hissed.

The extended run time was starting to catch up to all of them now, and when they'd made a wrong turn to a blocked off corridor they thought they were done for.

“Hey, morons, over here!”

Four heads snapped towards the sound of your whisper, but you were nowhere to be found. Suddenly, one of the light pillars began to shift, revealing a large crack in the wall just big enough for them to fit sideways.

No questions were asked with no time to waste, and the four boys clamored after one another so they could fit inside. Your magic moved the pillar back in place just in time, and you watched from your hiding spot as Filch reached the walled-off passage in surprise, grumbling as he looked around for the culprits behind you. You had to stifle a snicker as his cat ears lowered; was that growling coming from the back of this throat or did you imagine that? Eventually he stumbled off in frustration and you sighed.

“Alright, the coast is clear,” you said.

“Why did you help us?” James rose a brow, that signature shit-eating grin back on his face like it never left, “you haven't fallen in love with me since our truce, have you?”

“Dream on, Potter,” you rolled your eyes, pushing him out of the crevice and smirking as he tumbled to the floor.

“It seems like I'm always saving you nowadays,” you said, stepping out of the wall yourself with the rest of the boys following.

Remus was thoroughly confused, looking pointedly between you and Sirius. He knew you and James were pretty much friends now, but he also noticed that the hostile air that always seemed to be present with you and the elder Black had diminished. He'd even seen you two talking in the halls lately. Sirius gave him a look; he would explain what happened in the forest with Lucius to Remus later. Mostly he didn't want to admit that Remus was right about you not being so bad if he gave you a chance; you had actually been getting on pretty well since that night.

“You do realize it's no fun winning the house cup when you four practically make Gryffindor ineligible every year with all the shit you get up to, right?” you chuckled, “some competition would be nice for a change.”

“We'll see if you're singing the same tune when Quidditch season rolls around,” James said smugly.

“You're right,” you said, squaring up against him, “guess that's a new competition we've got going for us.”

It had recently been announced that you and James had both been selected to play Seeker for your respective houses next year. It was an arrangement that had the whole school talking, your rivalry turned (mostly) friendship now infamous, even if it was a recent occurrence.

“Hold on, how did you know that was there?” Peter asked you, pointing to the moving column, “even we didn't know about it.”

“Oh?” you crossed your arms, “and are you four supposedly some kind of all-knowing secret masters? Because clearly there's things you don't know about yet.”

Sirius slapped a hand over Peter's mouth before he could retaliate and give away what they've been working on.

“Yes, well, apparently,” he said, ignoring Peter's muffled protests.

You looked at them curiously, all four boys looking suspiciously nervous.

The next day at breakfast, James had brought up the idea of 'hiring' you to help them finish the map.

“I'm telling you, I think we can really make progress with their help,” he pitched, “they clearly know what they're talking about, and we know they can pull a hell of a prank from all the times they've gotten me.”

“How do we know they won't tell anyone?” Peter countered, “I don't know what's up with you, but you're trusting them too fast, James.”

“They're not the type that would tell,” Remus admitted.

“Oh, not you too!” Peter whined.

“I'm just saying, they'll likely appreciate what we've gathered so far and have a fair bit to add,” Lupin insisted, “it could be worth a try if you really want to finish it before we graduate—”

“Finish what?”

The four boys jolted upright, turning to see you and Lily.

“Are you guys okay?” Lily asked, concern written across her features.

“Of course!”

“Never better!”

“Why wouldn't we be?”

Remus just groaned at his friends' panicked answers. This was hopeless.

You and Lily shared a knowing look off the the side.

“Alright, whatever you say. . .”

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

Harry laughed heartily,

“Wow, I mean, I know you said they were bad, but that bad?”

“For being expert pranksters who hardly ever managed to get caught, they were remarkably terrible at hiding things,” you said, chuckling along with him, “It didn't take us long to figure out they were up to something, although they seemed to think they were brilliant at covering it up, Remus had to burst their bubble eventually.”

Harry shook his head, smiling fondly and imagining all the scenes in his head as you continued your tale.

“So that was when they were first starting to put the map together,” you continued, “but that wasn't even the biggest secret they were hiding. Of course, I wouldn't find out about that for another year, but we'll get to that part of the story later. . .”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~   1975   ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“This tastes awful,” Sirius complained, trying to ignore the plant prodding the under-side of his tongue.

“Well if you were expecting treacle toffee I'm sorry to disappoint,” James rolled his eyes, equally nauseated by the bitter tinge of the Mandrake leaf in his mouth.

“There's no way someone can do this for an entire month,” Peter said, “How do you brush your teeth? What if you accidentally swallow it when you're eating?”

“You three have fun with that,” Remus chuckled, flipping through an old library book and his mouth gratefully leafless.

“How about some gratitude, Moony?” James said, “We're doing this for you.”

“Please, you just want to see if you can turn into a dragon or something,” Lupin chortled, “and you don't actually have to go through with all this. Who knows if this animagus stuff will actually work.”

“Well, a dragon would suit me,” James mused, “but of course we're going to see this through, mate. You know we'd do anything for you.”

Remus smiled to himself, not responding and not needing to. He knew.

“Hey guys,” you grinned, walking up to the Gryffindor table.

Peter gulped suddenly in surprise as you came up behind him, and his eyes widened in horror.

“Shit!” he coughed out, “I-I swallowed it!”

“Your. . . food?” you questioned, glancing over at the boys who all had that same, vaguely panicked look about them.

“Okay, it was funny at first, but you guys have been acting weird since last year and now it's worrying,” you admitted.

The four looked between themselves and came to a sort of silent conclusion. Maybe in this scenario it was better to tell one secret to keep the other. And so, later that night, they told you to meet them after lights out so they could tell you what was really going on. You snuck out of your dorm room and made your way through the secret tunnel to the Gryffindor common room, a route you'd taken plenty of times to mess with James.

You pushed a loose panel of wood open, coming into the warmly lit space through one of the cabinets. You pushed an armchair that was half blocking your path out of the way as you crawled through the space.

“Blimey!” Sirius jumped, “give us a heads up, would you?”

“Sush,” Remus scolded him, “you really don't understand the concept of an inside voice, do you?”

“Alright, well I'm here,” you said, brushing off your robes, “now what's this big secret? This better not be a trick because I've been working on a new hex.”

“Nothing like that,” James assured you, “we've been working on something we think you might be interested in, if you're willing to contribute.”

He stepped to the side so you could see the floor where they'd been huddled around and your eyes widened.

“Merlin,” you said. The red and gold carpet was covered in at least forty different pieces of parchment. Pages upon pages overlapped with each other, each messily detailing a different part and level of the castle in scribbles of smudged ink. “This is. . .”

“The entirety of the Hogwarts castle and surrounding land,” Sirius said proudly, “complete with secret passageways.”

“This is our lives' work, (Y/n),” James said, “be impressed!”

“What impresses me most is how none of you have any sense of scale,” you said, sifting through the papers, “you should really condense this. Kind of hard to make any use of a map if you have to flip to page thirty-three to find the kitchens.”

“Point taken,” Remus said, “it could do with some reorganization.”

“And probably a bigger piece of paper,” you mentioned.

“Right, that. . .”

“That's not all there is to it, though,” Peter said, “Sirius?”

The curly haired boy stepped forward, pressing his wand to the center of the floor.

“Revelare Popularis,”

You watched in wonder as hundreds of names suddenly appeared across the pieces of paper, all students and faculty you recognized. They were scrawled in Sirius' handwriting, as if he'd written them himself.

“This spell shows where everyone in any location on this map is at this very moment,” he said, “It's not exact, and we've been working on variations.”

“So you can plan ahead without getting caught,” you mused, “how'd you learn something as advanced as this, Black?”

“I get around,” Sirius shrugged, unabashedly showing off. Peter rolled his eyes.

“So, the only drawback, of course, is that the spell doesn't work in real time,” Remus said, “so by the time you get where you need to go. . .”

“People will have moved,” James finished, “we're willing to share this little trove of knowledge with you if you're willing to give up all the secret rooms, passages, and hiding places you know.”

“And we thought you may have a solution to our timing problem,” Remus said, “I could tell from our study sessions you quite enjoy learning ahead of your year.”

Your eyes scanned the pages, and you were admittedly impressed. There was ton of stuff on here you had no idea about, but you knew a fair amount was missing as well. It seemed like a fair trade.

“I'm in,” you said.

“What?” Peter blinked, “it was that easy?”

“This is a useful tool you've got,” you said, “I think we can all benefit from it being improved. And now that you mention it, I actually do think I've read about a similar spell to that paper charm. It was in some Gaelic tome in the restricted section on ancient magic. I'm not even sure it used a wand. It was called the Homunculus charm. From what I read it sounded like it acted as a live feed for people in any given location, clan leaders used it to plan ambushes and keep track of citizens. If we could link it to the entire castle. . .”

“We'd be able to see where everyone is—”

“And what they're doing—”

“—At every hour of every day!”

“True, albeit a bit stalkerish,” you quipped, “you let me in on this if I add in what I know, and you got yourself a deal.”

James put out his hand, and as tempted as you were to turn it green or make all the bones in it disappear, you reached out and shook it.

“I do believe this puts us in a formal alliance, Potter,” you said cheekily.

“I believe so,” James smirked.

“Terrifying,” Remus chuckled, “This school won't even know what hit it.”

“Well, what are we waiting for?” James said with a cheshire grin, “let's steal ourselves a book, shall we?”

Read chapter 6 here!

Taglist:  @sleep-i-ness, @blackpinkdolan, @parker-natasha, @ornella0910 @undertaker1827 @thatwierdo-koemi @nxstalgicnxbxdy @calaryssia @aleksanderwh0r3 @mialupin1

[hb-writes]

You’ve Always Been Naive

Summary: It’s 1925 in the Little Lady Blinder universe. After an epic row, Tommy allows Clara to stay more regularly on Watery Lane with a few conditions, one of which is a mid-week meeting at the Midland Hotel to check in.

Characters: Tommy Shelby & Clara (Shelby!Sister)

Content Warnings: canon-typical content, angst, (underage) drug use (requested by anon)

--

Tommy glanced up from his whiskey sour as his sister stepped up to the table, her face a deliberately neutral façade as she set a ledger down in front of him, a week's worth of academic work stuffed inside the front cover.

"Lizzie said you'll need that for tomorrow," Clara offered as she extracted the papers, placing them on top and pushing the pile towards him. "And here are the assignments you've asked for. If that's all, I have plans, so…"

Tommy watched her determination waver a bit as he raised a brow, her confidence retreating the longer she stood planted in front of him, the first she'd been directly in his presence for a little over a week.

A meeting at the Midland Hotel had been Tommy's idea. Clara had accepted the summons, accepted the hotel as a sort of neutral territory though it was in no way impartial. The hotel was Tommy's home more days than it wasn't, filled with a staff as loyal to his payment as the staff of Arrow House, loyal like the staff of the company, but the Midland's staff didn't know Clara Shelby as well as the others. They didn't have their claws in her, couldn't appeal to her on Tommy's behalf like the others did, like little Charlie did, or Ada, so when Tommy requested the midweek meeting as a condition of his allowing her to stay on the lane far more often than she did under his roof, Clara felt she had little option but to agree.

Tommy barely glanced at the things she'd set on the table, more interested in the fact that Clara hadn't yet found her seat, still standing across from him bundled in all the cloth that had protected her from the stinging wind and chill on the walk over, almost as if she was convinced the coat and scarf and gloves would protect her from him too.

"Take a seat."

"I already said I—"

"You're going to make a scene?"

Both of Tommy's eyebrows rose with the question, the words almost a dare, or perhaps better likened to a threat, and Clara glanced about the room only to determine that the Midland wasn't the proper place for a shouting match with her brother. Scheduling the meeting there was meant to keep the two of them in check, but Clara knew Tommy would show no hesitation in raising his voice back should she choose to make a go of it, settling her firmly in the place where he thought she belonged with a mere line or two.

Clara's cheeks warmed at the mere thought.

"That's what I thought." Tommy shifted, sitting up straighter in his chair, eyeing its empty match across the table. "Take a seat."

Clara remained in her spot, pulling her eyes from him as she forced her finger into the opening between her coat sleeve and glove to expose the delicate watch set on her wrist.

Lizzie's handwriting in her diary had marked her down to be at the Midland with Tommy from 6:00 to 7:00, but she's made herself quarter of an hour late by a bit of purposeful dawdling at the office followed by a bit of nervous pacing out front of the hotel that had left her with chilled toes and wind-chapped cheeks.

"I really can't see why I need to. You've seen I'm alive and well—" Clara gestured to the book and papers. "—You have the ledger, have proof I've been doing as I've been told, and I'm certain you've already gotten reports off of—"

"Take a seat."

Tommy finished his drink, the ice clattering against the glass as he set it on the table, all of the force that wasn't there in his voice focused into the gesture before he pulled the papers closer, thumbing through her work though he cared little to see the grades or completeness. He had little concern that Clara wouldn't hold up that end of the deal, her motivations in that arena extending beyond any guidelines he could set for her.

And anyway, Tommy already knew she'd been towing the line. He didn’t need the completed packet of school assignments to know she was following his rules. He didn’t need this encounter to know she was alright either, his curiosity on the matter fulfilled well enough through reports from Lizzie and Ada and Frances and Michael, his confidence bolstered by the lack of contact from the school. Even Finn’s first words to him in every meeting over the last week and a half had been about their sister.

People usually told him things, always had, seemed to give him what he needed in that respect without him having to ask after it, but Tommy didn’t always trust the word of the world. There were some things he preferred to see for himself, some questions he needed to hear the answer to while seeing the reaction on her face before she got the chance to put her clever words in the way.

Something about the power of the impending fourth request to take a seat, and the knowledge that it wouldn’t be as much of a request as it was an order coming from Tommy’s lips, helped Clara to lower herself into the chair across from her brother. She kept quiet while Tommy thumbed through her work, slipping the gloves from her hands and settling them on the table though she allowed herself to shed nothing more as she sat on the edge of the seat, her back straight, every muscle in her feeling taut and strained while she waited. 

“You’ve been busy.”

Clara nodded. She had been busy, and she was quite certain her brother was at fault for that, accepting her being out from under his roof, but not out from under his thumb, ensuring she had more than enough to keep her busy, keeping her so occupied once she held up her end that all she wanted was her bed. 

The worst part was Clara knew it. She knew this wasn’t really the freedom she was after, the distance she’d said she needed, but she couldn’t help herself when it came to meeting expectations. Clara was losing either way, but the fact that she kept trying bothered her brother, that she knew. That she’d rather adhere to his rule and work herself to death than live under his roof and play that game unsettled him.

People listened to Thomas Shelby for many reasons—because of his influence or his threats, because they hadn’t a choice. He imagined his siblings fell into the last category, left without much of a choice, but he’d always imagined the girls were a bit different. His brothers filed in line like the soldiers they were, but the girls weren’t soldiers. The girls had always seemed to be tied to him and his words in some other way, some sort of different understanding falling between the three of them, but with Clara especially. The understanding didn't seem to be there any longer though, replaced with the same soldiering that he'd seen with his brothers.

“I’ve been doing as I was told,” Clara offered. 

“And what were you told?” 

Clara huffed, settling back in the chair, her shoulders slumping at his question, something about him making her repeat it for him doing the work that his tone alone couldn’t.

Clara fixed her gaze out the windows in the front as the waiter approached the table.

"Anything for the young lady, Mr. Shelby?"

"Tea," he said, not pulling his eyes from his sister, her annoyance at the order he placed on her behalf clear in the twitch of her face though she stayed quiet until the man stepped away.

"I'm not staying, Tommy. I told you I have plans."

He tilted his watch face to check the time. “Not until seven.” 

Clara seemed to accept that seeing as she didn’t fight him, settling a bit further into the chair, shifting her gaze out the window once again.

“So, back to doing as you’re told, then.”

Tommy raised his eyebrows, blinking at her long and slow though she’d met his gaze for only a short moment before turning her attention elsewhere, to watch people coming in through the front door. 

“School assignments, exams, the company, Sunday dinners. Your meetings...and all of it’s up to par, Tommy. I’m—”

“And what about this?” 

Clara stilled as he set the blue vial on the table, her pulse picking up as he left it there and sunk back into his own chair.

"Tommy!" she hissed, nearly reaching out her hand to knock it from the table, to remove it from such a clear view, but no one was watching them.

Tommy scoffed, leaning forward and closing the vial in his hand before pointing a finger at his sister. "I told you if there was any fucking nonsense, I'd bring you right back home."

"I am home," she answered. "Can't get more like home than Watery Lane."

Tommy's snort was so quiet Clara didn't even catch it and he nodded, leaning his chin on his hand as he sat back, his finger idly rubbing his jaw as he considered her. "You think you're clever."

"I am clever," Clara answered, unwinding the scarf from her neck, her eyes diverted as she focused on the meticulous folding of the fabric before she set the bundle on top of her gloves. "You've always said."

Tommy shook his head, the second snort almost leading to a smile before he cleared his throat, shifting his position again and rooting around for his cigarettes before he spoke.

"I'm not in the mood for it, Clara. You've been asking questions about things you have no business with and it stops now."

Tommy caught her eye roll as he lit the cigarette, couldn't miss it really, the way the gesture took over her whole expression, her whole body really, and he wondered whether she'd done it on purpose or if it was just a reflex.

Clara was inclined to do far more than roll her eyes at him, a whole queue of arguments settled at the leading edge of her tongue, every part of her except her lips prepared to fight him because everyone else was allowed a bit of snow for the simple fun of it, but Clara had a feeling voicing that argument wouldn't do well in the end. It would only serve to tell him what he somehow didn't yet know, that she hadn't simply asked her questions, that she'd also tried it for herself.

It had just been the one time, to quell some curiosity, a small indulgence, and even if it had helped her stay alert to get done what she'd needed to get done, Clara wasn't keen to try it again. Tommy had no need of knowing it, so she swallowed her arguments, swallowed her pride and distaste for the double standards that ruled her life.

"Fine, Thomas. I've heard you. You want me to stop asking questions. And Michael and Finn are loyal to you, not me. It's all understood, nothing for you to waste your precious time worrying over." She was sitting up straight in the chair once again, perched on the edge and eager to be out the door before the tea came. "Is there anything else?" she asked. "As I said, I do have other plans."

Tommy pinched the bridge of his nose, releasing an exhale before tapping the ash at the end of his cigarette into the tray between them and holding her gaze. 

“You’ve never tried it, then?”

Clara opened her mouth and Tommy let out a hollow laugh before she could answer, the cigarette pointed in her direction once again. 

“And don’t you fucking lie to me, Clara.”

His gaze was unblinking and Clara held onto it as long as she could manage, not even allowing herself to breathe for several moments as she stared back at him, a familiar strain falling between the two of them.

Clara allowed herself a small intake of breath, attempted to take in a little air before she'd find herself gasping for it, attempted to extend the standoff a bit longer, but her resolve crumbled with the exhale, Tommy's attack coming before she'd even finished the breath. 

“You’re going back to Arrow—” 

“No, I'm not. It was just the one—”

Tommy's laugh cut her off, set a silence between them as he took a drag off the cigarette. “If you believe that, you’re just being naive, always have—”

“Excuse me?”

“You're clever, but you’ve always been naive,” Tommy said. “And all you’ve done this evening is show me that that is still the case.” He cleared some ash into the tray.  

“If the work’s too much, you cut out the fun with the boys. It’s something you kids don’t seem to understand.” He set his finger down into the pile, jabbing the folder of school assignments and the ledger with each word. “The business comes first.”

Clara scoffed, the force of it so gentle it was barely noticeable, and she glanced at her watch. “It’s five after,” she said, scooping her gloves and scarf into her arms as she stood, pushing her chair back in place.

Tommy nodded. “I want you at the house on Sunday…to see Charlie. We can finish this then."

"There’s nothing to finish," she answered, setting her gaze away from him as she wrapped the cloth around her neck and pulled her gloves from the table, fitting one hand inside. "See you Sunday."

Clara took a step away as she worked the other glove over her fingers and Tommy caught her elbow, his hold far more gentle than any of the words he'd tossed at her during their meeting, more gentle than his stares or the mock laughter.

A wetness grew in Clara's eyes and she stayed faced away from him for a moment as she tried to resolve the tears, swallowing hard, her arm going limp as Tommy's grip shifted, sliding down her arm to clasp her wrist.

Enough. That's what his hand on her wrist meant, a gesture Clara and Charlie used to ask for the end of any bit of play that had gone a bit too far, a signal that communicated when it was too much, a gesture Clara knew Tommy had been deliberate in choosing.

"Clara, I mean it. No more snow, alright? If something were to happen, I…"

His words sent a searing lump into her throat, that combined with the touch sending her mind down into a spiral of guilt and shame, and as much as Clara hated Tommy for his role in it, for having the power to do it, she hated herself just as well for succumbing to it, even more for ever stepping out of line to begin with, disappointed with herself and her choices even though everyone else did it.

Clara cursed her brother and his temperamental provision of care, the sparse deliverance of love, and his double standards, and then she’d cursed herself, cursed the expectations and rules she’d set on herself and everything about the relationship that existed between them. Clara pulled her hand loose, tugging her glove the rest of the way into place before she took a deep breath, her back still to her brother as she bid him farewell.

"I'll see you Sunday, Thomas."

--

500 Follower Celebration Masterlist

Little Lady Blinder (Peaky Blinders) Masterlist

[fandomlovingfreak]

Glacial Passion (5/?)

Regulus Black/Reader

Rating: SFW, T+

Trigger Warning: Arranged Marriage

Word Count: 1998

MasterList Link I AO3 Link I Wattpad Link

Summary: Glacial, cold, icy… all words that described Regulus Black’s grey eyes. Was there truly no emotion behind those eyes, or did a caring man exist beneath? Could she defrost those glacial eyes?

Disclaimer: Regulus Black (Walburga Black, Orion Black, and Sirius Black) is a character from Harry Potter by J.K. Rowling. Reader or y/n is not owned by Rowling. This work has not been created for profit or financial compensation, and is a transformative fair use work in accordance with Section 107 of the United States Copyright Act.

Notes: My only note is that the characters in this fanfiction do some questionable things. This does not at all reflect my personal morals or anything I would do (and certainly hope you would not do). Please don’t read this story if you can’t separate fiction from reality. Fanfiction is for entertainment and should not be something that teaches you to be or act a certain way. Thanks!

Enjoy

***

Regulus is met with silence when (y/n) climbs into their bed after the fight and more silence when she doesn't acknowledge him in the morning, dressing silently before sitting on the balcony with her book.

He glances out of the glass door, watching her devour the words on the worn book. Sighing loudly, he looks back towards the parchment on the desk. He didn't exactly know what to say to Sirius. He knew he wanted his older brother to know about the developments his life had taken in the past month, but how do you complain without sounding entirely pathetic? Especially when your complaining was truly aimed at your own actions and attitudes. Sirius would love (y/n); he was sure he would. In a way, (y/n) sort of reminded Regulus of his brother. She was so adamant about not following the rules that people like them followed. Obviously, she hadn't been able to escape Pureblood society the way Sirius had... He doubted, though (y/n) would have tried. It had to be harder to be a woman in the circles they found themselves in. He honestly couldn't imagine living at the level she was expected to.

It's not like he had any special freedom from the constricting nature of their society, but he could do many things she couldn't while still maintaining his reputation. He could have affairs, he could (but personally wouldn't) abuse his spouse, he could even live separate from her without causing a stir. All these things happened within marriages like their own, and only the women seemed to be ruined by their actions and the actions of their husbands and fathers. 

Regulus picks up his quill, intending to finally start this blasted letter. Where does he even begin?

 Sirius,

I do not have any great excuses for my lack of communication, other than the last month, which has been one of the most hectic of my life. I am unsure what you have heard. I doubt you have a full picture of what my life has become, as I would hope you would reach out to congratulate your younger brother on his recent nuptials if you had heard. 

My new wife, (y/n) Black née (y/ln), apparently checked off the boxes our parents found necessary for the next Mistress Black. Funnily enough, though, I'm not sure they did much research into who she is as (y/n) could hardly be considered the traditional Pureblood bride.

But that is hardly a bad thing; if anything, I find her refreshing, if not a bit maddening at times. I had been somewhat afraid to have a meek and mild wife who would cower under my gaze. (y/n), despite being brought up similarly to us, she seems to have developed her own personality outside of Pureblood society. She isn't bitter or greedy like the other girls. The only piece of jewelry I have been able to give her without argument has been that horrible engagement ring-- you know, the one from mum's side. She doesn't want the things most of these Pureblood girls want. Jewelry and expensive things don't seem to make her happy the way mother said they would.

Even as she is different, I have this ever-increasing fear that I might drive her towards the other's level of bitterness and unhappiness. I will be the first to admit that I have no idea what I am doing with women; this fact has not changed in my marriage. It's become even more apparent that I haven't a clue how I should behave as I've been forced into this relationship.

It has also become clear that Mother's advice has been shit, as every attempt I've made with my bride has been met with annoyance from her. I can't seem to give her what she truly wants. Embarrassingly enough, what she talks of-- craves from me is some sort of romantic connection. This is something I hadn't planned on in an arranged marriage, and I'm not sure if I will be able to indulge her without a bit of deceit. 

Which I would feel horrible for doing-- pretending. 

Last night, like many nights in recent weeks, I found myself in an argument with my wife over this exact topic. Something she said triggered a memory, hopefully, a memory that you have a recollection of as well.

Do you, brother, have any memories of our dear mother when she was-- well, motherly, to say the least. Warm and loving, as a mother should be. When she would admit to us in hushed tones that the love we showed her was the replacement for the lack of love between Orion and herself?

During the heated exchange with my wife, I was struck with that strange memory, and I realized deeply and uncomfortably that I was in the early stages of pushing my own wife towards becoming our mother. Something, I realize now, I cannot allow to happen.

Pushing this girl towards unhappiness when she was forced into marrying me by her parents is unacceptable on my part. I'm completely aware that it is me who is making us miserable. I should be happy, or at least satisfied enough in the marriage to indulge her, to try. (y/n) is beautiful, everything a man could want in a wife. And I do want her. 

Yet, I do not know how to want her the way she is expecting me to. And, I have to reiterate that I don't know how to even-- fall in love, I suppose.

Through my woeful letter, I hope you see a solution to my dilemma. Or at least can offer advice as I have no idea which direction I should go at this time.

Sincerely,

Regulus places his quill to the side, reading over the content of his letter. At times, he sounds like a pathetic child whining, but he hopes his brother can see he sincerely wants his advice.

Very much requires any advice Sirius may have.

None of Sirius's advice could be helpful on the trials and tribulations of marriage per se, but if anyone had experience in relationships, it was Sirius Black. Sirius, who wooed and flirted his way through life, would know exactly how he would be able to win (y/n) over and hopefully form a romantic relationship with her.

Slowly, Regulus gets up from the desk, taking his time to cross the room. Opening the glass door to the balcony, he pokes his head out. When (y/n) doesn't look up, he clears his throat.

She freezes, slowly lowering the book enough for their eyes to meet, but doesn't say a word.

"I'm going to go to the lobby to have this posted." Regulus feels the light pink of embarrassment on the tops of his cheeks.

(y/n) nods once before giving her attention back to the blasted book. Regulus's lips pinch before he shuts the door a bit louder than necessary.

Much to his annoyance, the banging noise doesn't seem to faze his wife. 

He stalks down to the library in a mood, the letter to Sirius gripped tightly in his right hand.

A young witch greets him, asking if he needed any assistance with anything.

"I require an owl. I have a very urgent letter that needs to arrive as soon as possible."

"Okay, if you'll follow me, we can get your letter sent." The witch leads him up to the rooftop, showing him the hotel's fastest owl.

***

A sharp knock on their suite's door startles Regulus, who had been reading the Prophet to pass the time. He gets up off of the room's couch, opening the door to an older gentleman.

"Mail delivery, Master Black." The old man hands him a hastily folded piece of parchment addressed to him in Sirius's messy excuse for handwriting.

"Uh-- thank you." Regulus digs in his pocket, pulling out money to tip the man. They exchange the items, and Regulus hurries over to the desk. Hurriedly, he breaks the wax seal and opens the letter.

 You got married?

Ah, yes. His ever eloquent brother didn't even bother to address the letter, jumping right to the point.

Regulus reads on...

You got married? And I didn't even get an invitation? I'm sort of hurt, but yet again, mum would've been pissed if I showed up. How fun would that have been, though? Me crashing your wedding in my Docs and my worn Led Zeppelin shirt. Mum would've freaked.

We really missed an opportunity, Reggie.

But, wow. You married. That's wild. And she's a bit wild as well? How did you manage to end up in an arranged marriage with what seems like the most unique of the Pureblood lot? Besides me, of course.

I'll have to meet this fascinating (y/n) (y/ln)-- or should I say (y/n) Black? Weird-- I have a sister-in-law. That feels too grown-up and stuffy.

Maybe it feels wrong, mostly because you never dated anyone, or at least anyone I knew of.

The point you made about you knowing absolutely nothing about women is incredibly accurate, I'm afraid, Reggie. The poor girl, I hope you haven't been ignoring her like Orion does to Walburga. But, I'm almost certain that you have been sort of an ass to her by your letter.

You want advice though, do you now, little brother. Here is my advice to you:

I have dated plenty of people in my days-- plenty. If you truly wish to make your wife (what the hell that is so odd to write!) happy, Regulus, you need to get to know her. 

Ask her questions about her likes, her dislikes. What her childhood was like, who her friends are. Even silly things such as how she takes her tea or what she grew up wanting to be as an adult. But you must be prepared to be vulnerable and answer questions she has for you as well. If you can't open up and be vulnerable, you will never be successful in 

A) forming a "romantic connection" with (y/n) and 

B) falling in love with your wife. 

I hope that I have been helpful. My advice is simple, but knowing the woman you promised to spend eternity with is necessary to live a peaceful life. Maybe the whole "happy wife happy life" saying is accurate. Not like I would know, but still.

As for the memory of Walburga you brought up, I do remember instances like that. I hadn't thought about those instances in a very long time. I hope you are successful in your attempts with (y/n). I would hate to see another woman turn out like our mother.

Your brother,

 P.S. Take your wife out somewhere romantic! For Merlin's sake, Regulus. You have to have some romance somewhere hidden within you!

 ***

Regulus decides there's no better time than the present to follow Sirius's advice. Unfortunately, he already used up his one "romantic" idea (really Orion's, but still) with their disastrous dinner the previous night.

His only option would be to find a local who would know of spots he might take his wife to. He reckons the logical locals to ask where these locations would be are the hotel's staff.

The same witch that helped him with the owl still sits at the hotel's lobby desk. She grins widely when she notices he's walking towards her, "Oh! You're back!"

Regulus controls his mild annoyance with the woman as she bats her eyelashes foolishly.

"I wonder if you know any places around the city that you recommend for honeymooners?"

The girl's face falls slightly before she's grinning again, "You're on your honeymoon?"

"Yes, you've probably seen my wife with me," he says, asserting that he does have a wife and that the girl shouldn't get her hopes up, "I'd like to take her out this afternoon, but I'm afraid I know little of the spots couple's usually visit around here."

The witch thinks for a moment, "I think I have a perfect place in mind."

[crispyjenkins]

Rexobi. I really just wanna see Rex and Obi-wan drinking together and complaining about the disaster that is Anakin Skywalker. They decide to team up to get anakin to calm the heck down and to talk about his feelings. Anakin doesn’t realize what’s going on but gets the idea he needs to play matchmaker with his master and his captain. He thinks he’s the smart one but he’s really not

(i have once again chickened out of your full prompt and instead give you the leadup to rexobi getting anakin to talk about his feelings. 

i uhhh may be unable to think of anything but a rexobi au à la this post by @norcumii and @dharmaavocado about roleswap-ish senior padawan obi hella vibing with this mutant clone that can’t get above the rank of captain even as an arc trooper because the kaminoans are Like That, and qui-gon is going spare, because between anakin somehow being allowed to be in charge of a whole battalion and obi-wan picking fights with every single seperatist leader, he and cody never get a moment of peace. and like. just obi and rex being dumbass 20 year olds trying to deal with a general/master like anakin in the middle of a war. i don’t have TIME for that though

thank you for the prompt as always, i think this is the only rexobi/obex prompt i’ve ever gotten and this ship is criminally underappreciated. like?? kadavo?? anyways here’s whatever this is)

Alt+R to Quick Reblog on Desktop, Hold the Reblog Symbol to Quick Reblog on Mobile

 Not for the first time, Rex wishes Kote were the one here dealing with this, because “how to comfort your favorite Jedi” hadn’t exactly been covered in ARC training – actually, Alpha probably withheld the information on purpose, the fucker.

  But Kote is on the other side of the galaxy with the 187th and just as upset they’re not here in Rex’s stead: it’s barely a month off General Kenobi returning to his own face, and Rex knows his vod would strangle the entire Senate if given even half a chance for deploying them separately on their general’s first mission back after the Hardeen... incident. 

  And Fett’s Ghost knows Rex’s own general is going to pitch a fit when he finds out Rex is here instead of taking leave like the rest of the 501st, but Kote certainly wasn’t about to let Kenobi go all the way to Alderaan unguarded so soon after his supposed death; and honestly, Rex would have been offended if they had asked anybody else to do it. Thankfully, Kenobi hadn’t seemed offended when Rex had shown up at the Jedi Temple’s flight hangar before he could take off; instead, he had been rather amused. 

  Even luckier, Alderaan is barely a day’s jump from Coruscant, so they don’t have to spend too much time awkwardly pretending that Rex hadn’t attended the man’s funeral in Kote's place (that he would have attended anyways), or that Rex doesn’t know Anakin hasn’t spoken to his former master since their debrief to the High Council about Cad Bane. Which Rex should absolutely not know in the first place, but Anakin is his friend, for better or for worse, and Ahsoka thinks her master airs far too many of his grievances to his captain.

  It isn't until their cruiser is making the descent over Alderaan that Kenobi finally addresses the tension between them, which only proves that Kenobi is well aware of it, but had put it off as long as he could. It's a humanising observation, that Rex wishes he could have had when he isn't the only vod in a ten mile radius that isn't the pilot, because at least then he wouldn't be the sole receiver of the soft smile Kenobi gives him as he joins Rex to wait by the shuttle's access hatch.

  Rex thanks his progenitor's laughing corpse he has his bucket on, because all he can do is stare. 

  "You are worried about Anakin," Kenobi says matter of factly, though not unkindly, and Rex lets out a breath that's almost a laugh. 

  "I promise I am far more discrete with my thoughts in the field, sir."

  Kenobi chuckles warmly, tucking his arms behind his back to watch the planet under them grow larger as they approach. "Do try not to worry so much, my dear, this will all resolve itself in time." 

  It's hard to stare right at his gentle assuredness, so Rex looks away. "You have far more faith in his ability to forgive than I, sir."

  That laugh strains at the edges. "Yes, well, I'm afraid some of my lessons seem to have been... lacking."

  Rex has regs carbon-printed on his brain, he knows that even without the direct chain of command, the soft push and pull of his relationship with Kenobi, the steady, serene growth of it, is... problematic, for so many reasons that he wouldn't know where to start. Not least of all is rank, how much more important a Jedi is than a replaceable CC-track washout, but, well, Rex had washed out for being too emotional, so it's not as if he's exactly unused to reacting to things inappropriately for a good little soldier.

  "It's not my place, sir," he murmurs, remembering Kadavo, remembering Umbara, remembering the hand Kenobi had laid on his shoulder for far too long after the Blue Shadow virus, and has Rex really been this gone since then? "just say the word and I won't mention it again. But just because Kote isn't here doesn't mean you have to... shoulder all of this alone."

  In fact, it's wildly not his place to make such an offer, however implicit, but that month on Kadavo did happen, and Rex isn't so self-deprecating to believe he  hadn't had a heavy hand in helping Kenobi make it out on the other side as well as he did. He doesn't think so little of the bond they had formed then, to believe that Obi-Wan is unaware of it. 

  Not when he smiles at Rex like that, like he's a warm cup of caf after a week in the trenches, like Rex is... worthy of such sincere affection. 

  As the shuttle settles around them and the pilot announces their arrival over comm, Obi-Wan simply says, "I did not for a moment believe I was, my dear."

-

  "You and Rex seem close."

  Normally Obi-Wan can feel Anakin coming from an entire corridor away, but he also knows Quinlan has been teaching him a few Shadow tricks, so he isn't entirely surprised when Anakin appears at his elbow in the empty bridge looking like a smug necu.

  Aside from eating firstmeal with Kote in the mess, Obi-Wan hasn't even seen Rex today, much less interacted with him: as he understands it, Rex is trying to round up the remaining 501st shinies that are running around the Negotiator, so Obi-Wan really doesn't know where Anakin had gotten that notion. Recently, at least. 

  Anakin rolls his eyes and scoffs, leaning back on the railing next to him and crossing his arms. "Please, Master, even Snips has noticed."

  Obi-Wan refrains from telling him that anyone with a modicum more self-awareness than him has noticed. Be that as it may, "This is one of those times where I truly don't know what you're trying to say, my dear: I have been close with Rex since he was in the 212th."

  It isn't even an exaggeration, that there had been... something between them before Anakin whisked Rex away to his own battalion after his knighting, though back then it had been nothing more than friendship. If he recalls correctly, and he does, the cleanup of the Ryloth capitol had been the first time since then that they had worked closely, while Anakin had been on the ground with the locals and Mace had been with General Syndulla, and Obi-Wan had found he still quite enjoyed the way they worked together. Their time on Naboo combating the Blue Shadow virus had only endeared the captain more to him —he does remember a slip in propriety in his relief that Rex had been rescued safely with Padmé and Ahsoka, a hand left too long on the captain's shoulder until Kote had called him away— enough that Obi-Wan had been both relieved and horrified that it was Rex there to support him on Kadavo.

  "Cody said Rex was the one to go with you to Alderaan; you sure nothing 'happened' while you were there?" Anakin chuckles to himself like he's being incredibly clever, like there isn’t a hickey visible over the collar of his under tunic.

  Obi-Wan raises a brow slowly and refrains from rolling his eyes. "Despite what you may believe, Anakin, not everyone leaps into committed relationships after life-threatening situations." Not that Alderaan had been life-threatening, it had actually been as close to actual leave as Obi-Wan has had the entire war.

  "Please, it took Padmé and I ages to–" 

  Anakin seems to swallow his tongue, then, face rapidly going purple, and it really is a miracle the entire Republic doesn’t know about his marriage; the GAR certainly does.

  Sighing, Obi-Wan checks the chrono and decides it isn't too early for another cup of tea. "If you have a specific question about my relationship with Captain Rex, I do wish you’d be direct, my dear."

  Anakin splutters. "Relationship?!"

  "Great Maker, Anakin, you’re easier to spook than a half-starved blurrg." He pats Anakin’s arm, his sonbrother floundering for anything other than abject confoundment, as Obi-Wan turns away from the bridge to go locate both tea, and his commander to hopefully finalise their newest mission orders. "Don't worry," he calls over his shoulder, "I'll actually let you come to the wedding, unlike someone."

  Not that Obi-Wan has any such plans, Maker knows he and Rex have yet to address their feelings in the first place, but he'd be lying if part of him doesn't want to conspire with the captain in question —and perhaps Ahsoka— to see just how far they could take this before Anakin realises they're stringing him along. 

 Remarkably, Rex is waiting by Obi-Wan’s office with a flimsi cup of tea and a harried smile that promised quite the day chasing after shinies, and Obi-Wan decides conning his former apprentice can wait.

Mando’a: vod/e — “brother/s”, “comrade/s”, “sibling/s”, technically gender neutral but used most often in fandom as “brother/s”

[xxxsweetdreamzxxx]

warnings/tags: dom!wonho sub!reader, fluff, smut, fanfic; cursing, railing, unprotected sex, hook up, size kink, other types of filth

summary: your first encounter with your new nextdoor neighbor turns steamy

word count: 2k

===============================

Had this dream and decided that Wonho was a good fit to replace the rando my mind made up. Didn't require much editing, so this is straight from my messed up subconscious. Hope you enjoy!! ;>

and yes, I am a certified Wonho simp. (′ꈍᴗꈍ‵)

===============================

You glanced up past the tops of the skyscrapers of Manhattan at the gray sky and sighed, pulling your coat tighter around you in the cool air. Seeing the older structure that was your apartment building in front of you, waves of relief washed through you. Getting excited to head inside and warm up a little, you thought: 'Another day of work over, time to relax.' But as you neared the entrance, you heard a voice behind you. 

"Goddamn." A man muttered under his breath. "What's your name?" He said a little louder so you could hear, his tone indicating obvious interest. 

Fighting back a sigh and without looking his way, you replied: "Sorry, I'm not interested."

Despite wanting to desperately go inside, you turned and headed back the way you came, thankful he didn't follow. You figured it wasn't a good idea for him to know where you lived. Once out of sight of your building, you decided it was probably safe to head back.

Approaching your building for the second time, you could see no one stood outside the building, so you entered. Heading up one flight of stairs onto the second floor, you made your way into the hallway and to the second door, reaching into your pocket for your keys. Unlocking your apartment door, you went in and closed the door behind you. 

Glancing around, you could see your bed in the corner, the small two-person couch against the opposite wall, and the kitchenette near the door that consisted of only a mini fridge and tiny stovetop. The wall furthest from the door had a window with it's curtains drawn to the sides, letting natural light in. A door along the wall with the couch lead to your bathroom. You didn't mind living in a one room apartment much, its location was amazing - and something you cared more about then the square footage. 

Setting your keys down on top of the mini fridge, you changed into some more comfortable shorts before moving towards the couch, reaching for the remote that was on the armrest as you sat down. Flipping on the TV situated across from you, you turned on the show you were watching last night before bed. Taking place in the 1920s or so, it was about some rich influential family and their daily lives. Of course, more drama filled than it would've been in reality. One of the younger couples in the family had been slowly growing closer, and you were just waiting for them to hook up. You secretly hoped today's episode would deliver. 

To your delight, it didn't take long for the episode to go where you wanted, with the couple locking themselves in a bedroom late at night and climbing onto their canopy bed. The girl's soft moans made you turn down the volume and pray to god that no one could hear anything through your thin apartment walls. It began to pour outside your window, thankfully drowning out some of the noises coming from your TV. You curled yourself up in a ball and watched the semi-pornographic scene play out, feeling satisfied in the direction the show was going.

You were so wrapped up in the show that it took a second for you to process that the sound you heard was a knock at your door. 

"Fuck." you hissed under your breath, scrambling to pause the show on a frame that wasn't too suspicious. 

You left the remote on the seat you'd been sitting on and hurried over to the door, which didn't have a peep hole so there was no way to see the person on the other side. 

"Yes?" You question through the door. 

A man's voice answered. "Sorry to bother you, but I forgot the key to my apartment nextdoor and got caught in the rain on the way back from work. I don't have anything out here to dry off with and my roommate doesn't get back until a few hours from now. Could I please borrow a towel?" 

He sounded familiar somehow, you felt like you'd heard his voice recently but couldn't place where. He did sound desperate...

You opened the door. The poor guy was drenched and shivering, and looked at you in embarrassment. His expression then seemed to turn to recognition of some kind. Even though the way he carried himself seemed sweet and innocent, he was tall and you could tell that under layers of winter clothing was nothing but muscle. Despite feeling a little uneasy being alone with such a large man, you beckoned him to come inside. 

You took in his appearance further as he hesitated a bit before doing so. His wet dark hair was plastered flat across his forehead, his equally dark eyes looked tired. His red cheeks and nose stood out against his pale skin, and you wondered how long he'd been out in the cold. Even in such a disheveled state, his perfect visuals made you feel flushed in the face. He was prettier than any man - no, person - you'd met before.

"I- I'm y/n by the way." You wanted to slap yourself for stuttering. "You can stay here until your roommate gets back, I'd hate for you to be standing in the hallway the whole time." 

"I'm Hoseok," The man replied, "and I can't thank you enough." He smiled gratefully at you, making your heart skip a beat. 

You averted your gaze to quickly duck into the bathroom, getting him a towel. You gave it to him and showed him where he could sit on your couch, the seat next to where you'd been sitting before.  You could notice he was still shivering after sitting down. 

"Would you like some hot tea to warm you up?" You asked. 

He gave you another grateful smile. "Yes." 

You headed over to the kitchenette to heat up some water, pulling out two mugs for your tea. You continued the conversation, talking about work, the weather, city life, etc. until before long you'd finished making the tea and headed back to the couch to keep talking, sitting down next to him. 

You learned he was a mailman of all things, and funnily enough he delivered mail to the building you both lived in. He'd moved in with his roommate only recently, an old friend from high school. You'd met the roommate a few times, out in the hallway and such. You had no idea a second person had moved in.

Then there was a pause in the conversation, and his eyes drifted over to the TV. He noticed that it was on, but paused. 

"What you watching?" He asked in a teasing tone. 

"Oh, ummm," you trailed off, "It's nothing."

"Can I see?" He teased further, a slight smirk on his lips. "Its nothing bad is it?" 

"No, I just forgot to turn it off." You say quickly. 

At that, you went to grab the remote where it lay, on the opposite side of you than he was. A bit surprised by your quick motions, he tried to reach over you to grab it and press play, curiosity overtaking him. Trying to reach that far caused him to lean over quite a bit, too much. Nearly collapsing on top of you, the weight of his body pushed you down onto the couch underneath him. You yelp in surprise. 

Completely engulfed in his shadow, you look up at him, who seems equally surprised by the awkward position he got you both into. He held himself up with his arms on either side of you, but didn't climb off. You can see blush across his cheeks, your own face feeling hot. Something in his previously sweet and tired eyes changes, and his eyes move down to your lips. 

The next thing you know, your lips are crashing against his, and he pulls you into an upright position, placing you on his lap. He runs his fingers through your hair; neither of you stopping to take a breath. You can feel your panties already starting to get damp, clinging to your clit. Moaning softly against his lips, you began to grind your hips against his, feeling a growing bulge underneath you. Seeing this as an invitation, he swiftly picks you up and starts moving you across the room in the direction of your bed. 

Without unlocking his lips from yours, he splayed you out across your bedsheets beneath him. The feeling of being trapped under him only makes you wetter. He begins to grind his hips in rhythm with yours, the fabric of your shorts and his pants brushing against each other. His hands begin to feel you up, finding every curve on your body through your clothes. He then takes them down to the waistband of your shorts, wasting no time in using it to pull them off, along with your panties. 

He then tugs impatiently at your shirt, and you help him to remove it before placing your hands on his belt, fumbling with the clasp. He tugs his shirt over his head before helping you to remove his belt and then his pants. You use your own hands to explore his abdomen, feeling his hard abs between your fingertips. He definitely worked out a ton.  

You then felt his erection brush against your inner thigh, more apparent through the much thinner fabric of his boxers. Although, you wanted to feel it without the boxers. Your hands drifted lower, letting him know to remove them. He did so without hesitation, groaning in satisfaction now that his cock was freed from any restrictive fabric. The pace of your kisses slowed down a little as he spread your legs a bit more, then teased your folds with his tip. The contact with your dripping pussy caused you to moan louder than before. 

He moved his lips onto your neck, marking you as you waited for his next move - which apparently was slamming into you hard like a truck. You sharply sucked in a breath and unintentionally clenched your walls around his dick, causing him to moan against your neck. Tears rolled down your cheeks, caused by momentary pain. Relaxing a bit, you tried your best to match your thrusts with his again. He pushed in forcefully until he was balls deep. He was so large, he filled you up completely. 

Seeing your sweat and tears, he looks into your eyes with slight concern and speaks for the first time in minutes. "You okay?" 

"Mhmhmm." Is all you can reply. In reality you were much better than okay. 

He presses his lips back onto yours before pulling out and ramming back into you aggressively several times, causing lewd noises to escape you both. Feeling his orgasm approaching he pulls out quickly,  leaving you a sweaty mess. Only seconds later hot strings of cum splash against your inner thighs, spilling onto the bedsheets. Squirming a little at the tenseness there, you begin to move your hand down but he pins it to the bed, making you whine. 

"So needy." He comments before using his own fingers to rub fast circles on your clit. 

You arch your back - somehow him doing that feels better than you could ever make it feel. It doesn't take long before a feeling near your tummy begins to build up, your hips grinding a little faster. Before you can remove your lips from his to warn him, you release onto his hand, your nerves relaxing as you ride out your orgasm beneath him. He pauses to lick you off of his fingers, causing you to blush. 

"Fuck, you taste so good." 

After finishing every last bit, he lies down next to you onto the bed, snuggling you up against him. All of the sudden it seems he's gone back to his sweet and innocent self, despite what just occurred. Your kisses become softer until you eventually stop, he wraps his arms around you, and you bury your head into his chest. After a while, he speaks out in a soft and quiet voice. 

"So, what was it you were watching?"

You smile bashfully. "It was a sex scene in a show I've been watching."

He chuckles and pulls you closer. "You're so cute y/n."

[let-me-luve-you]

Dr. Holland

Tom Holland x Sister

Summary: Tom’s big sister is the hardest working person he knows. He is extremely proud of her and he can’t stop himself from talking about her during an interview.

Warnings: Overworked, maybe some angst, loving siblings, mentions of doctor work

MASTERLIST

Tom sighed as he got a text from you saying that you were scheduled to work the one week he was home. Another message followed saying you only had to work three days instead of the normal five. You were an emergency room doctor and you worked a lot. Tom was proud of his older sister. She worked her but off through medical school to get where she was. Now she was working her butt off to get the position you really wanted, Pediatric Oncologist.

Tom had been filming Spider-Man in America when you were going through medical school. You would call him to keep you company while you were studying. And when time was on his side, he would quiz you. Tom never thought he was smart enough to become a doctor, but he knew enough to get by now.

It was early Wednesday morning when you pulled up at Tom’s house. You had gotten off work at 6am and stopped by your house to shower and change clothes. Tom had texted you last night that he had a few Zoom interviews this afternoon that would take a few hours of his time. Tom told you that you were free to sleep in his room after breakfast. But with only a few days with your brother, you decided you could sleep at night when they sleep.

You took the key Tom gave you for when you house sit and let yourself in. The house was quiet so you knew everyone was still asleep. You moved towards the kitchen. You sat your purse down and went straight to the coffee machine. Normally you would drink tea, but after a long night and soon to be long day, you needed all the help you could get to stay awake. While waiting on the coffee to be made, you took out all the pans and ingredients you would need to make breakfast. You decided to make breakfast burritos since those were your favorite and you didn’t get them often.

Halfway through cooking the sausage, bacon, and eggs, Tom walked in rubbing the sleep from his eyes, his hair flying every which way. He walked over to you and gave you a big hug. You smiled into his chest.

“Still short, I see.” Tom said with sleep lacing his voice.

“Still rude, I see.” You said back.

Tom squeezed you tighter, “I missed you.”

“Missed you to bubs.” You pulled back and watched him walk towards the coffee pot. You gave a small laugh and turned back to what was at hand.

“How’s the hospital been?” He asked as he sat on the counter next to the stove so he could see your face while he talked to you.

“It’s been good. Being in the ER means inconsistent hours and long shifts. Dr. Hamilton is planning on retiring in the next few months and he's told them my name as a replacement. Hopefully that works out so I can finally be a Pediatric Oncologist.” You said.

“I know you’ll get it and you'll be the best at your job.” Tom said matter of fact.

“Thanks. I hope I get it. If not, I may have to switch hospitals. I don’t think I can stay in the ER. I had night shifts this week. Day shifts last week. I went from day to night on Sunday. I had six hours off to rest since they made me work this weekend. They messed up the schedule but if I asked for Sunday night off, they were going to make me work the rest of the week.” You said taking all the food you just made to the island. Tom followed you and sat at the counter. You started fixing his burrito.

“I can make my own you know?” He said with a laugh. “But honestly. Stick it out. No one is more deserving of that position than you. You care for the kids and you know exactly what you are doing. Everything will work out. I’m so proud of you. Don’t know if I tell you that enough, but I am.”

“Thanks Tom.” You smiled at him. After making your burritos, you continued to talk about everything in your lives. He caught you up on the movies he was doing. He explained what the interviews were for. You just stared at him in awe as you saw the passionate look in his eyes when talking about acting.

A few hours after breakfast, you went to sit with Tom in his office. You laid out on the couch joking with him before his interview. Tom’s phone rang and he saw that it was his manager so he answered. Ten minutes later when he hung up he looked at you asleep on the couch. He stood up and grabbed the blanket and laid it across you. He knew that you would be out the whole time he did interviews as long as he didn’t make any sudden sounds. Tom was grateful the call through his computer rang through his AirPods. That sound would have woken you up and he knows you need sleep. Tom clicked the green answer button and was met with a smiling reporter.

“Hello Tom. How are you today?” The reporter asked.

“I’m doing great. How about yourself?” Tom asked back. Talking quieter than he normally would for something like this. His eyes drifted up to you to see if you moved and he didn’t even see you flinch.

“I’m doing great. Thank you for asking. So my name is Gerald. I’m with Buzzfeed. And I wanted to start this interview off asking what you’ve been up to these last few months.”

“Well, I’ve been in Germany working on a movie. Can’t go into detail just yet about it, but news will be dropping soon.” Tom checked one more time on you before he moved his full attention onto Gerald. “Sorry if I’m talking quieter than usual. My sister is asleep on my office couch. She’s been working like crazy lately so I didn’t have the heart to wake her.”

“Your volume is perfectly fine. If you don’t mind me asking, what does your sister do? We know about your other brothers since they are more involved in your line of work. They even travel with you. But we don’t really know a lot about your sister.” Gerald asked.

“My sister is amazing. Her name is Y/N. She’s a few years older than me. She is currently a doctor at one of the hospitals here in London. She’s been an emergency doctor but she is working towards becoming a Pediatric Oncologist.”

“That sounds fancy. What is that?” He asked.

“It’s a doctor that treats children with cancer. Y/N has worked so hard to get to that point. She’s so caring and loving and knows so much that I think she would be the perfect fit in any hospital in that position.”

“You sound proud of her.” Gerald said, pointing out the fact.

“I’m incredibly proud of her. She is just so amazing at everything but I was in the front row watching her work to this point. I wasn’t ever great at school and she was always working for those perfect grades. She would let me study with her so she could help when I needed it. I was her first call when she was accepted into med school. I remember crying when she told me that because I knew the work she had put in during undergrad to get there.” Tom said as he looked up at you. You were still sleeping soundly and Tom smiled at that.

“When I was filming Spider-Man: Homecoming, she would call me. It would be six or seven o’clock at night where I was and so I knew it was around midnight her time. She just wanted my company while she studied. She was so used to us working together she needed me there to help concentrate. She would email me her note cards and I would spend hours quizzing her. We were close before that, but we were almost inseparable after that. She’s my big sister and I love her and I’m so, so proud of her.”

“It sounds like it. It’s refreshing hearing you say such great things about your sister. I bet the whole family is proud of the both of you.” Gerald added.

“I know we are all proud of Y/N. For me, I know my family is proud, but what I do doesn’t even come close to what she does. After not seeing her for months due to COVID, any good I do, will never compare to the good she does.” Tom said thinking of those awful months you refused to see your family so you didn’t put them at risk.

“Well, tell her we appreciate the work she does. We would love to meet her sometime. You should bring her around a set or press tour sometime.”

Tom laughed. “I’ll have to try. She always turns me down though. Maybe if I film in London. But she does always make it to my premieres. Thankfully we almost always have one here in London, so it’s easier for her, but she’s made the trip to LA a couple of times.”

“Can’t wait to meet her one day.” Tom smiled at Gerald. “So you said you’ve been in Germany…”

Gerald continued with his interview. Once he was finished with that one he went right into the next. He spent three hours doing interviews and you never woke up once. He was grateful you were getting rest. When the final interview ended, Tom went over to you and gently picked you up. You stirred in his arms.

“Tom?” You said tiredly and confused. “Where are you taking me?”

“My room. You need more sleep and I need a nap. We can go out for dinner afterwards.” He said as he sat you on his bed. He walked to the other side.

“Okay.” You said rolling over towards him. “I love you bubs.” You whispered. Tom wrapped you in his arms and kissed you on the head.

“Love you too y/n/n.” He whispered back before you both fell asleep.

[anyoneseenadam]

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

pairing: Fenrys x reader (throne of glass)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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