#I mentioned this to my mother and she pointed out that Polish does the same

[rosetta-j-stone]

Slovenian: OK so here are the days of the week, they are

after-not-workday

secondday

middleday

fourthday

fifthday

sabbath

not-workday

Me: Just too much effort to number every day of the week eh, yeah I feel that

[rom-e-o]

Forever and Ever. (Constance DoGoode lore)

@quill-pen proposed an amazing idea, and I ran with it into the first, concrete store of exactly how little Connie's life began.

Full story beneath cut. For all ages, though this story does describe fictional child abandonment.

"We have to go. Leave her."

"I can't."

He shuddered at the reluctance oozing from his wife’s weepy voice, and detested how it threatened to make sobs rise in his own throat.

The man, mid-thirties in age, watched in agony as his wife, a copper-haired woman of similar age, hugged their daughter tightly. He saw her staring up at him over the bony edge of the woman's shoulder, and it hurt too much to stare.

Wide eyes, bright as twin stars, stared up at him as if he was her whole world. And she had no clue that he was casting her away.

“S-She’ll be in better hands here,” the man added feebly. “They have money in this part of town! She’ll have a better life than we could ever give her. You know that. We owe her that.”

The woman fired a glare at the man at the mention of the word ‘owe’. As if an infant owed anyone anything.

"I still can't, Emeryk,” she hissed through tears. “It’s not fair!"

He paused, hand settling on his hips. His head hung suspended in a slight swing between his shoulders, his brow furrowed.

“We … can’t support three children,” he finally reminded her. “The boys are home. Crying. Waiting for us.”

“I…I could…”

“We have tried, Myrna. Let her go. Someone here can give her the life we can’t.”

Her sob was strident enough to send a nearby rat scampering from its post as the garbage pile. The man checked around them frantically to make sure the sound hadn't drawn the attention of any humans. It was the dead of night, but New Yorkers had a pesky tendency to be light sleepers, even after long hours of toiling.

"Myrna, please," Emeryk beseeched, his agitation causing his words to slur into a hiss, accentuated by his Polish accent.

She swallowed another cry. "S-She doesn’t deserve this. She doesn’t deserve to not have a mama.”

"These people will give her a new one,” he replied, gesturing up to a large engraving above the doorwaythat read, Albany Center for Children.

“It’s not the same!”

“It must be, kochanie. We have no options left.”

Myrna was still; a silent admission that her husband was horribly correct. With another steadying breath, she placed a tender kiss on the little girl’s head. “Oh, my angel…please. Whether you forget this day or hate us forever…please know that we love you.”

The word ‘love’ made the girl smile. She nodded, and Myrna’s heart nearly shattered.

“Myrna.”

“We loved you so much, słońce.. As hard as we could and knew how to.”

After a final squeeze, hugging the girl as tight as she could without pressing her into her heart, the woman gently nudged the girl out of her arms. “Be happy in your new life, my love.”

In a shaky voice, she then pointed to the stoop of the orphanage. The wide step was cradled by iron fencing and littered with leaves from a swaying English elm. "S-Sit."

The redhead girl stared at the space for a moment before obeying. She waddled to the step, and after a moment of struggle to pull herself on the second step, rolled over on her bum and sat up as primly as she could on the steps of the orphanage. All the while, she stared at her mom with wide, cornflower blue eyes. She was barely a toddler, but old enough to see the distress on her mother's face and feel it through her frantic movements.

The little soul could sense and see something was terribly wrong, but was powerless to ask what was amiss, let alone do anything. “M-Mama? Sit. I sit.”

"Good job, angel," Myrna said, scrubbing her red eyes with the frayed hem of her shawl. The threads were so worn and caked in grime that they felt like straw on the sensitive skin.

Upon feeling the chilled cement on the backs of her legs, the little girl let out a whine of discomfort. She rocked in place, her brow furrowing.

"Cold, mama."

"I know. I’m sorry."

"C-Cold..." the girl repeated, shivering as a strong wind tugged at her threadbare onesie, which was taut and ripped at the elbows and knees. She pulled her chubby legs close, rubbing her bare feet together like a cricket in an instinctual gesture to try and warm up.

As the breeze passed, the child reached her arms out, seeking comfort and warmth from her mother. He fingers splayed frantically as she rocked in place, as if trying to will them closer to her.

Myrna’s expression crumbled as she turned away. “No.”

Checking over his shoulder again, Emeryk squeezed his wife's shoulder before looking down upon his daughter. “We have to go, little one. Goodbye.”

She kicked her feet in excitement, ready to get out of the cold. "D-Da..."

"No," he repeated with a heavy sway of his shaved head.

"No?" The girl didn't understand, her expression only growing more confused with each moment. She flicked her head to her mother, only to see her cowering against the form of the other adult.

The little girl started to push herself off the step to go to her guardians, the only two people in the world she knew. When she’d barely teetered forward, the man pointed a finger at her.

“Stay.” His tone was hard as granite, and unlike before, he did not stutter.

The girl waddled forward another inch, not understanding the word. Moonlight caught the fury in the man’s eyes at the perfect moment, his gaze startling her like sparks from a spitting fire.

“Sit down, and don’t move!”

His voice rose to a dangerous growl, and the young girl bristled in fear. Reassuming her stop on the stoop, she lowered her head and blinked back tears.

So, without any other order or hope, the little girl sat back down on the stoop.

After one last check to make sure nobody was watching the couple and waiting to confront them, they joined hands and started to run. They bolted down the road together, their fingers twined and eyes ahead, even as tears clouded their vision to near uselessness. The two adults were spry, and in a blink of an eye, they had vanished like nymphs in a shadowy glade.

All that was left in their wake was the silence of the city.

After waiting a few moments, the child peeked down the road. A sense of alarm from not seeing her parents took over, and despite her orders, she clumsily slipped off the stoop and tried to run after them. However, her small legs stood no chance of carrying her within hope’s reach of her parents. Almost instantly, she tripped and crumpled on the pavement, skinning her knees. She whimpered, laying in the road for a moment before pushing herself upright.

In the cold and dark, she returned to the steps of the orphanage, waiting for parents that would never come back to get her.

She waited.

And waited.

Even when she heard voices up the street or saw a light flicker on in a nearby window, she didn’t call for help, for none of the voices or shadows belonged to her parents. The girl was too terrified to try, fearing that something would distract her at the exact precious moment that her parents would come back to get her.

She kept waiting, all through the cold night.

That following morning, when one of the center’s groundskeepers emerged from his basement-level apartment to start the day, he saw the red-headed girl curled up like a kitten on the doorstep.

Fearing the worst, he threw his jacket over her and furiously knocked on the main door.

When the live-in staff did answer and saw the girl balled in his arms, they were shocked. Nobody had heard a sound or a cry all night, and the realization that she’d survived an entire night alone on the streets of New York sent them reeling with shock.

“Do you think she’s lost?” one staff member asked. The others swung their heads, skulls heavy like solemn, weighted pendulums. Children that arrived on their doorstep were never there by accident, after all.

“They couldn’t even bother to ring the bell?” one social worker asked another as they mounted the stairs to the W.C. “They have to know people live here!”

“Probably terrified of getting tossed in the bin if they got caught.”

“Cowards.”

“Hush! We don’t pass judgement. We can only hope they made this … decision with a heavy heart.”

“Hope. I suppose so.”

The redhead was immediately brought inside and doted upon in every way possible. The girl was changed, bathed, and given clean clothes. They then gave her porridge, which she ate in silence while a doctor gave her a physical. Upon seeing her knees, he took care to clean the wounds and patch them up. The girl remained catatonic despite the kind and insistent prodding, even when bribed with stuffed animals or candy for any information. The entire time, she didn’t so much as mutter a word.

Meanwhile, staff spent their early morning hours sending correspondence to every member of their board to alert them of the emergency take-in. After all, the center wasn’t exactly swimming in funds. They couldn’t turn away a child, but in the same breath, they had to be transparent with their sponsors and fundraisers about the use of their funds. Lots of care would need to be paid for, and the center was already bursting with children in need of foster homes, or permanent homes.

However, one particular member of the board told them to tally the charges, then charge them to her name.

“I’ll bring my bank book,” the woman wired in return. Then, the line went dead.

Fifteen minutes later, Theresea DoGoode strutted into the children’s center.

Entering in a flurry of fur and floral perfume, the woman removed her pillbox hand and stole. After smoothing her belted dress, she entered the foyer of the building that she and her husband had contributed a small fortune to build and support.

As a result, she was greeted with enthusiastic salutations and many thankful praises and comments from the staff. While obviously thankful, she brushed them off with poise and grace. After all, today was not a day that she had made a trip from Manhattan to speak to the center’s crew.

“Here,” she said, handing the lead social worker a small piece of paper. “A blank check, already signed and authorized. Write the amount I need to pay on it, and feel free to cash it now.”

She then made a beeline to the in-house physician’s office, her heels clicking with the rhythm of a heartbeat.

When she rounded the corner, she saw her.

A small, redheaded two-year-old, sitting opposite a doctor. The doctor looked stressed and forlorn at his lack of progress with the mute child, but Theresea absorbed none of it. Instead, she walked forward and beamed a gentle smile.

She kneeled down softly, careful to make no sudden movements.

“Hello.”

The little girl said nothing. She kept her blue eyes averted, staring at the wall.

Theresea, ever patient, lowered her body further. Sitting cross-legged allowed the child to have a slight advantage in height over her, which was mostly attributed to the chair. It wasn’t made for a child so small.

“What’s your name, love?”

“She won’t talk, this one.” The little girl had looked up, but the strident baritone of the doctor had startled her back into silence. “If she had a name, she may not remember it.”

Holding back a groan, Theresea kept her tone airy and easy. “Well, every little girl deserves a name. Do you know yours, angel?”

‘Angel,’ The girl’s eyes welled up at the familiar word. A word she knew was for her, but spoken by the lips of a stranger. “M-Ma…”

Tears had barely begun to fall before Theresea leaned in and hugged the child. The little girl crumbled into Theresea’s embrace, crying audibly as her fists gently pounded the woman’s shoulders. It wasn’t a gesture of aggravation, but rather, the only way the girl could think of siphoning out the horrible dread that she didn’t have a name for yet.

Theresea lifted her off the chair and into her lap, cooing as the little girl clung to her like an infant cloth.

The doctor was stunned at the sight, and even more stunned when Theresea turned and regarded him with an unyielding stare.

“I’ll stay with her while you finish the check-up,” she said, “Once she has a clean bill of health, I’d like to submit a form.”

“A…payment form?”

“An adoption form.”

Arthur DoGoode was a truly, truly happy man.

Despite hardships in life that had made him frail and delicate than most other adults, he had surpassed them all and amassed quantifiable success that could be measured by both his bank balance, and his social standing. He'd had the privilege of being able to work hard and cultivate a career as a prestigious property owner and investor in New York. Through those ventures, he'd met an aspiring philanthropist traveling from Morocco to New York, looking to make a difference. They shared a passion to help others and change the city for the better. Their shared passion culminated into a blissful marriage.

To him, it felt almost lucrative to have such a wonderful life. What had he done to deserve such grace?

Then, one day, an unfortunate situation turned into yet another blessing.

An abandoned two-year-old left was overnight on the doorstep of a New York orphanage. Staff had sent for his wife, and she'd made the trip while Arthur stayed back to tend to the real estate business affairs and make the meetings he'd scheduled. The entire time, the minutes ticked by more slowly than sap from a tapper.

Two hours later, Theresea came back through the door of their Manhattan abode with a swaddled, red-headed babe in her arms.

That day, a tepid April 30 in New York, at just before 9 a.m., Arthur DoGoode became a father to a voiceless daughter.

An entire year had passed since that fateful day.

"Papa!"

At that moment, on a cue uncannily parallel with his wandering imagination, said daughter manifested in the doorway. A copper-haired girl with bouncy pigtails bounded into the Manhattan breakfast nook. Her dress was trimmed in pounds of lace, and the layers shook like the pelt of a dog shaking itself off after coming in from a deluge.

Seeing her father seated at the table, she used all her strength to jump up onto the wooden chair next to her father's seat.

She jumped, then faltered, and her polished Mary Janes lick-clacked against the tiled floor.

"I-I can do it," she said, tiny fingers holding onto the wooden arm with all her might. "I can do it!"

He nodded.

"K-Keep watching, I can do it!"

He nodded again, further encouraging her while simultaneously restraining himself from reaching over to help her, even when she struggled.

When the three-year-old did pull herself upright finally, she raised her arms in victory, and he clapped as if he'd just watched a running cross the first-place marker at a marathon.

‘Well done!’ he mouthed out, beaming ear to ear.

Arthur never spoke much. Or, more accurately, he couldn't. He was a frail man; a delicate soul since birth. It hurt his lungs and throat to speak, and the pain was only heightened by a lurking dysphonia that made breathing some days difficult as trying to manually fill a hot air balloon with just his lungs. So, he conveyed his emotions with expressions and hand gestures.

To Constance, her father's lack of speech wasn't an absence of any communication, for there was never a statement between them that went misunderstood.

The same could be said for Arthur and his wife, Theresea. The love of his life, and the one who had brought their daughter home. For that, and many other things, he’d be forever thankful.

"Well, well, look at this!"

Dressed in a navy jumper and white skirt, Theresea entered their kitchenette with a wide grin, hands balanced upon her hips.

Unbeknownst to both Arthur and Constance, Theresea had watched the toddler's monumental feat from behind the arched doorway leading into the spacious kitchen.

"I say,” she started with a cheeky lilt, “Did you pull yourself up all by yourself, my girl?"

The girl nodded proudly.

"Well, you are a clever young girl, aren't you?" the mother inquired with a teasing tilt of the head. She reached down and tousled her bangs playfully, then placed a painted kiss atop her crown. Theresea always wore dark plum or deep, mahogany-tinted lip paints. Yet, by magic Arthur couldn't fathom, Constance never had so much as a trace of a lipstick mark on her forehead after kisses.

“Well, well, what are you two schemers up to so early?” she asked while pulling out a chair to join them. “It’s Saturday, and the sun is barely up! Last I saw you before my bath, you were like a rock.”

Arthur pointed subtlety to the oven. which was on and baking … something. Theresea closed her eyes and inhaled deeply, taking in a sweet aroma that she noticed building in the kitchenette. The smell was one she knew. Vanilla.

“Ah, baking a cake?” she asked, and he nodded.

Arthur then pointed to Connie’s festive dress and done-up hair, his fingers starting at his forehead and spiraling down in loops to convey the shape of her pigtails.

“Yes, she roused me a little earlier than normal,” she said, “So, I brought her into my powder room for a little girl’s pampering session. Hair, clothes, nails, the works!”

She reached over and tickled the young girl through the lacy layers of her dress. The toddler screamed in mirth, her strawberry-seed teeth bared in a full grin. Not for the further time that day, Arthur’s heart sang with joy. “After all, today is a very special day!”

Constance paused her laughter to stare at her parents in intrigue. Her cornflower eyes bounced between them as they took turns humming and making dramatic ‘pondering’ gestures. Even a audience member in the back seats the Globe Theatre – if it still stood today – would have rolled their eyes at the over-dramatic display, but Constance was enthralled.

“What?” she asked, bouncing up and down on her chair. “What? What day? Spe-thial?”

Then, in unison, both parents gasped in mock-shock.

“Why, it’s your birthday!” the parents expressed in tandem.

Theresea cheered while Arthur went to check the delicious cake in the oven, hearing the timer ping just moments before.

“Birf-day?” the girl repeated as Theresea kissed her chubby cheeks.

“That’s right. It’s the very special day when you came into our lives and made us very happy.”

Connie’s mouth formed an ‘o’ shape, which quickly shifted into a sheepish grin. Her fingers steepled in front of her face and she rocked from foot to foot. In her large dress, she looked like a tipsy snowball. “I did? I made mama and papa happy? For real life?”

“You did.” She reached out and folded her tiny hands into her own. “You do, my love. Every day.”

Arthur lightly spread a layer of premade glaze over the surface of the round cake. Then, he sifted a blanket of powdered sugar and cinnamon on top of the perfect, circular surface. After sticking on a paper topper, which was cut into a kaleidoscope of swirls and flourishes, he scooped it up proudly.

With a skillful pirouette, he turned and placed it before the young girl. Upon seeing the vanilla cake, her face lit up. It was her favorite kind, even down to the dusting of cinnamon. How had her father known? She loved everything he baked, after all.

Arthur smiled as he gently placed a candle in the middle of the topper. Then, with a hand as steady as a surgeon, he struck a match and lit it.

“Now,” the woman said, nudging her forward, holding onto her side to prevent her from drifting too close to the frame. “Blow out the candle and make a wish.”

She thought hard. What was her wish? There wasn’t much she wanted, she supposed. He lived in a very pretty house, had a really nice bedroom with a real mattress, warm clothes (although they were sometimes itchy) and she had the best parents in the whole wide world. Her beautiful mama and handsome father; the two people she loved more than anyone.

That, she realized, was the part she loved most.

With a mighty inhale, she blew as hard as she could, dashing the flame out swiftly. As her parents clapped, she settled between them contently. She held the wish in her heart, content with the warm buzz it generated there.

Please … stay my mama and papa forever and ever.

[dextixer]

Performative Slacktivism - Or how CRWBY and the FNDM want brownie points without putting effort into actual representation

(Also, how the FNDM keep using Montys name for petty arguments like the ghoulish fucks they are)

I know that we all are waiting for tomorrows episode and the moderation team is already gearing up for a possible shitshow depending on what the episode decides to do. But today i have noticed a bit of an old discussion rearing up again that i really wanted to adress.

I think i will not be out of line to say that RT is a shit corporation. But that alone does not bother me too much, shit corporations are common in our day and age. What always got to me is how RT kept pretending to be progressive, how they put on a show of being pro LGBT+, pro people of colour and the like, and yet their products have for the most part been devoid of actually showing that.

Sure, the creators will SAY that they are LGBT+, and then take FIVE and TEN years to confirm a single lesbian relationship (Of one which is for side-characters). And they will include a trans character after SEVEN years of production (Only to later be revealed that the person who voice acted that character experienced shitty behaviour at work in regards to their identity).

They will SAY that they are pro people of colour, only for the four main characters of the show be so white they glow in the dark and most dark-skinned characters either being relegated to background characters, antagonists/villains and/or being stereotypes until 4 years after the start of RWBY, Oscar was created? Or should i mention the piss poor writing of their racism allegory and the WF, which is very much created based on the Civil Rights era in the US? Writing so shit that it somehow manages to spread alt-right messages without intending to?

What im trying to say is that RT are and always have been fake ass progressives. They arent even rainbow capitalists, even rainbow capitalists (like Disney) do more than RT. RT does not even bother to put even THAT much effort.

RT wants brownie points for being progressive while being ANYTHING but. That would be bad enough, but the rabid Fandom that RT has cultivated seems to be intent on doing EXACTLY the same.

This is the first tweet that i saw on the topic. Yang is Chinese? Since fucking when? Shes whiter than the fucking white bread i make sandwitches with. She is whiter than the fucking snow! Instead of "using ones brains" maybe you will use your eyes?

This lead me to more brainrot than i could ever post here, so i will only post a few of the comments that i saved before i felt my brain leaking out of my fucking ears.

It seems that most of the "arguments" around Yang being Chinese center around her name (Which, by the way is written in the OPPOSITE way than it should be). Which in my opinion is quite a stupid fucking argument considering that my last name from my mothers side is part Polish and part German (Not gonna post it for obvious reasons), but im pretty fucking sure i aint Polish OR German.

The other argument is that both Yang AND Ruby have Chinese culture in their designs? Let me remind you that Ruby wears a gothic Lolita outfit, wields a Scythe and if i am not misremembering had a fucking cross around her neck. What about THAT is chinese? The ONLY argument there would be that Ruby has Japanese inspirations due to the gothic Lolita outfit. Scythe is associated with European conception of death (And as a farming implement) and the Cross is in the same category. Not to mention that Ruby is based on an European Fairy tale of the Red Riding Hood!

Yang on the other hand is based off Goldylocks (Another European fairy Tale) and has associations with Beauty and the Beast (Yet ANOTHER European fairy Tale). Nothing of what she wears has any distinguishable style. In fact Yang is so generic you can put her anywhere in the world and it would most likely fit.

Also, "Her name references a martial artists" thing really reeks of fucking whiteness. Yes? It does? How is that relevant? If i am named after a martial artist im suddenly Chinese now???

There is also another very unsubtle sinophobia, when talking about the Branwens being Japanese to prove that Yang is Chinese... I know that to Americans regions very much become blurred but holy shit, the LACK of thought that China and Japan are not the same just because they share a race is...... Its fucking insane...

The only partially valid argument i have seen is that people of White colour can also be Chinese/Japanese or come from any part of the world. Which is fair. IN THE REAL WORLD. This aint the fucking real world! This world of Remnant is created! They dont even have our countries! Mistral has a mix of Japan/China/Greek aesthetics.

JUST LOOK AT THEM! The supposedly "German" Weiss somehow has MORE colour than the "Chinese" sisters! Blake is the only one that has actual colour in her cheeks (And is STILL white). Ruby and Yang look like they would glow in the dark if i turned off the light! They would make a fucking shut-in blush with how pale they are! They are whiter than the milk in my fucking Cereal!

And you know what makes me mad? Because the show COULD have made these people actually have features of people of colour. Blakes Parents live on a TROPICAL ISLAND! Why the fuck is Blakes skin not olive or even darker? It COULD have been! But it isnt! IF Yang and Ruby are Chinese, where the hell are there ANY identifying features of them being Chinese?

The reason is simple. RT DOESNT CARE ABOUT REPRESENTATION! IT does not give a single solitary shit on a sunny summer afternoon about progressivism. The main 4 characters of the show are 4 glow in the dark white girls voiced by.... White women! (Yknow, its funny how they say that Yang is chinese and then full on not even acknowledge the good old chestnut of "Minority roles should be given to minorities")

I hate these fake progressive fuckers from the bottom of my heart. These people are more interested at licking the boots of a shitty corporation than actual representation! There is no argument, no LOW these fanatics will not sink to as long as they can worship a capitalist corporation, and im sick and tired of them pretending to be progressive. Because they fucking aint.

Also...

I hope that the fandom who weaponizes Monty. Burns to the ground. Previously, i did not care about V10 being greelit. I would not mind if it got greenlit or not. But when i see shit like this, all i wish is for V10 to never be greenlit. So that ghoulish corpsedigging necromatic fucks would fuck off.

Imagine using Monty as a cudgel for petty internet arguments. The fandom is a shithole, and they can PRETEND to be nice all they wish. But everyone can see these fuckers act like this.

[rreskk]

I just thought about something with drama (love drama 😏) Imagine Reader who's confronting Trevor's mother (I don't remember her name) without Trevor. BUT Trevor came home when Reader slapped the mother and insulted her because she abandonned Trevor. Trevor's mother trying to make Reader look like the bad girl by saying she's crazy, attacked her for no reason and Trevor has to protect her from Reader? Trevor's gonna protect her mother, do nothing or take the side of Reader ?

---A/N: Heyyyyyyyyyy, I made Trevor do nothing. I tried to be realistic, basing it from his reaction to the 'Mrs Philips' mission.

Summary: Betty came to visit.

TW: -Implied child abuse.

You were rightfully cleaning up your laundry in Trevor’s trailer. While unloading the stacks upon the kitchen counter, the door opened. You automatically thought it was Trevor, proceeding to turn around with a smile. Until it dropped.

The woman seemed to look at you the same. Both staring a each other. She had red curly hair, droopy cheeks and awful makeup. She wore clothes that were obviously dated back to the 70s… Yet she stood with unlimited confidence.

“Can I help you?” Steadily eyeing up her every move, you spoke.

“Where’s Trevor? And who are you?”

“Trevor’s out… I’m his partner.”

She scoffed, “Partner? No chance, my love. He’s probably drugged you.”

There was appalling amounts of shade in her words. You took a step back in offence.

“Who are you?”

The woman was silent for a moment. She spent another second observing the trailer before pointing to herself.

“I’m his mother.” She said in a soft tone, sugar-coating the title of being a mother to gaslight you. The way her eyes furrowed in pity and innocence. You weren’t fazed.

Instead, you were angry. Trevor spoke about the trauma this woman gave him. The neglect, verbal abuse, abandonment… And now she stood in his living room. You were lucky he wasn’t here. You hoped he’ll turn up after she’s gone.

“I’ve heard of you. Betty Philips. Trevor told me. It’s nice of you to show up… 10 years later, without a damn word.” You backhandedly foretold with a scowl.

She flinched at your words like flint and steel. Betty lifted her stuck-up nose and ignored your truthful insults.

“Why should I listen to a random person I’ve never met before. I doubt you even know the boy. He couldn’t possibly find himself a lover.”

You chuckled, “You’re funny, Betty. This random person has been with Trevor long enough to know your games. He may not know, but I do. You ram your tongue and boss him around. You manipulate him through insults and neglection. You get your own way by giving him the cold shoulder. If you were ashamed of who he is today, damn right it’s all your fault.”

Betty inhaled sharply and held a massive grudge. Her eye twitched, something Trevor had inherited whenever he felt enraged. You stood your ground though and kept great eye contact with the woman as she took a step forward.

“What did you just say to me?” She hissed.

Muted due to her stealth, you kept a close attention to her. Trevor mentioned this type of behaviour before. She acts like she’s about to physical hurt you but don’t. She makes you think she will.

“How DARE you say that to me. How DARE you speak for my son. He is not here and I kindly reject your filthy manner!”

You breathed out painfully and smirked, “Now you know how it feels.”

Betty, in spite of her rage, began raising a finger to your face. Her polished nail almost scratched the surface of your cheek. The audacity made you grind your teeth and strike her in the nose. As you palmed the exact centre of her face, the door opened once more.

You gasped.

“Wha-“ Trevor whispered as he just about caught you slapping his mother. The mere shock in his eyes. He hadn’t of seen his mum in 10 years and the second he does, she’s being harmed by someone close to him. You.

“Trevor, I can explain!”

“Oh, yes they can!” Betty bellowed with a snarky grimace, “Of course you find yourself an abuser for a partner! You wrecked boy!”

He was overwhelmed. His mouth was dropped open and all the confidence he normally had was gone. He carried nothing on him. Nothing but weakness.

You shook your head rapidly, “No, no! She was disrespecting me and you!”

“I-“

“You can’t let your own mother be attacked by a slut, Trevor! You aren’t a man at all! You’re a pathetic little girl. Your father was damn right about you…” She enjoyed the look of despair in his face. You held your breath at the ongoing series of insults and verbal abuse.

Trevor stuttered, “Mama, no-“

“Mama? What are you? My god, Trevor. How are you living? You… You were such a waste of space,” Betty belittled, “I expected so much of you.”

“Shut the fuck up, Betty. You leave him alone.”

She glared at you as Trevor finally spoke.

“W-What are you doing… Here?” His voice cracking with anxiety.

“I’m your mother! You rascal!”

“SHUT UP, BETTY!”

“Okay!” Trevor cried out, holding out his hands to both of you, “Okay, please. What is going on… What…”

I sighed, “She walked in without knocking and began tormenting me.”

He didn’t know how to react as he looked at his mother for moral support. You were disgusted.

“Trevor, don’t look at her. She’s a bitch!”

“A bitch?” Betty riled up.

“YES, A BITCH!”

“STOP IT!” He wobbled, “PLEASE, JUST STOP!”

I threw my hands up in disbelief and scoffed under my breath. Betty looked at me up and down through this action in distress. She was amused. She loved the negativity of people. She was an evil witch.

“Oh, get over yourself, boy.” Demanded Betty, hands stationed on her hip.

You tried to give him a reassuring look but Trevor refused to even glance in your direction. Growing tired of this woman, you threw the laundry onto his bed and leaned into his ear.

“I’m leaving.” You spat.

Trevor went to reach for your hand but you left the trailer, furious at his muteness. He turned to Betty who was smirking at your defeat.  

[flowersdaggersviolasandblood]

Assassin with a Heart of Gold

Name: Admaer Daeneiros (He/Him)

Race: High Elf

Class: Rogue (Assassin)

Background: Criminal

Inspiration & Story: This lil guy I made long before I even touched BG3. He was originally made for a Out of the Abyss game that was unfortunately dropped. So his story was prematurely ended. The main inspo for this character is that he's an asshole with a soft heart. A tsundere hoe who thinks the don't care, but they actually do.

The main concept of his backstory is that he was born and raised a slave, more or less. At a young age, his Elven mother gave him up to a poor Human family. Only for that family to sell him away for money. He spent the majority of his life being bounced around by different slave owners, doing various different jobs that were asked of him. Eventually, his skills were so polished that he did better as a hired killer and assassin. He eventually escapes his enslavement and is on the hunt to kill every slave owner who ever owned him.

Below will related to his story so far within BG3.

WARNING, SPOILERS AHEAD!

Admaer isn't a native in Baldur's Gate, but he was quite obviously in the city when the Mindflayers snatched him up. He was (and still is) on a hunt to go after the man who made his life a living hell. For the purposes of this game, that end goal for Admaer is killing Lord Enver Gortash.

While on the Nautiloid, he opt to not save Shadowheart since the ship was quickly sinking. After the fact, he would meet her again and recruit her in the group. He would do the same with Astarion, Lae'zel, and Wyll. As for Gale, because the portal seemed dangerous, he saw no need to interfere with it.

Admaer's mind right now, aside from his own personal goals, is to get rid of the Mindflayer tadpole within his head. So upon entering the Emerald Grove, he's been largely dismissive of the Tieflings' blight and the Druids wanting to kick them out. However, the small inklings of the Druid Halsin has slightly peaked his interest. He's yet to meet kagha and Nettie.

Companion Relationships:

Astarion: Since EA (Early Access) Astarion was always my number one pick for this character, so he's obviously the "End Game Girl." Right now, in the context of the story, Admaer still doesn't know that Astarion is a vampire. However, both being fellow roguish men, Admaer currently is friendly with Astarion. Though he has noticed that Astarion has been feeling a little slow as of late.

Shadowheart: Admaer is also friendly with Shadowheart, though he is more distrusting of her than he should be of Lae'zel. Shadowhearts' constant bashing against the Githyanki has Admaer questioning why that is the case and if she's hiding any shit of her own. Especially since she's yet to come forth about the mysterious bauble she keeps on her person. If there's one thing he does agree with, it's that they need to find someone who can get rid of the tadpole.

Lae'zel: Not vibing with her condescending attitude, but respecting that she's not afraid to break a few bones to get the job done. Funnily enough, I accidentally appealed to her so much that she offered to fuck him XD. Admaer politely declined, though he did get some insight on what her history was like as a Githyanki warrior serving the Lich Queen, Vlaakith. Admaer is a little bit more on board with going to the Gith Creche since Lae'zel has been forth coming about what the next steps should be. Compared to Shadowhearts suggestion of just finding a healer. You know, in the middle of nowhere.

Gale: Mentioned this earlier, but when he found the unstable sigil, Admaer decided to leave it alone. So no opinion on Gale yet.

Wyll: Admear see's Wyll as a typical "do-gooder" type individual. He's even more confused as to why he's more focused on his search for Karlach than the tadpole they both possess in their head. He allows him to camp with his crew, seeing no point in not including the famed Blade of Frontiers. Especially, if his status holds true, he could utilize his fame to get themselves into the good graces of some important people.

Karlach: He hasn't met her yet. Right now, all he has is Wylls word: She's some sort of Devil who's out murdering innocents.

[lafiametta]

I'm coping with the news with high drama 🙃 I was thinking about your 1899 NY au and.. what if one of the rare women who works at the same factory Olek does started to take an interest in him? Maybe she's Polish too? 🤔 Like Ling Yi said, he isn't like other men, and if he pretended not to be in a relationship or kept it vague, what would he do if someone made an advance on him? Would he tell Ling Yi? How would she react? I love everything you have to say about this couple and I hope you're doing well. Stay positive! We will stay strong as a fandom!

Just this morning I was wondering where all my 1899 anons had gone and then I got the notification for this very fun ask, so thank you, anonymous friend! I've loved getting all these asks about the show (both the ones specific to Olek and Ling Yi and the general ones), and so even with the very sad news about the show, please know that my inbox always remains open — I'm happy to try to answer any questions anyone has!

Anyway, to answer your question about the 1899 New York AU, it would be really interesting to imagine Olek's reaction to another woman's interest and how he would handle the situation. You're totally right that there likely wouldn't be very many women working in the same factory as him; there tended to be a fair amount of segregation by gender in factory work (women didn't work in heavy industry, for example), and even within a single factory, they would often be separated, with men working in one part of it and men in another.

In the story, I gave Olek a job in a shoe factory, and while it isn't likely he would be working side-by-side a woman, there might be one working on a different floor, doing less skilled labor. But maybe she might see him, learn that he's Polish, get to talking to him a little during a scheduled break or lunch? Maybe it turns out they're from villages not too far away from each other or they have mutual acquaintances? Maybe she starts sharing some of the food she brings from home, after seeing how nostalgic — and hungry — he looks at the sight her mother's pierogi ruskie? (And of course he doesn't mention that he lives with a woman, because he's trying to keep that fact under wraps.) Part of me would love to imagine Olek being so relatively clueless when it comes to women that he wouldn't realize when the interest has switched from friendly into something decidedly more direct. It would definitely be after the food sharing, maybe even after several "accidental" brushes of her hand against his arms and shoulders... perhaps after she invites him back to dinner at her family's apartment to enjoy more of her mother's cooking?

Once he realized, Olek would naturally be so red-faced and awkward. He wouldn't want to hurt her feelings — now that he understands that she has feelings — but he wouldn't want to lead her on. There might be some stammering or some mumbling as he tried to figure out what to say, eventually just telling here that she was a very nice girl, but that he was engaged to someone else. (I don't think he would go so far as to lie about being married; lying about being engaged might be the most he would do — and of course it would naturally lead him to think about being engaged, and what that might entail.) After that, Olek being the conflict-avoidant guy that he mostly is, I could see him just trying to mostly avoid her at break times.

I also suspect that Olek would tell Ling Yi nothing about this other girl. I mean, in a practical sense, it would be hard for him to convey the information, much less in the kind of nuanced way that the situation demands. I also think that he would never want to burden her with anything that he didn't have to; what would be the point of telling her about another girl? His heart belonged solely to her, so what would it accomplish to make her think anything else might be possible? (He knows that she wonders about his relationship to other girls — it's literally the first thing she asks him in their common language.) So I don't think he would tell her, allowing her to stay blissfully unaware of the entire situation.

An alternative scenario — and one that I think would be just as likely, if not more so, than the Olek-meets-a-Polish-girl-at-his-job scenario — is one where his brother and sister-in-law are secretly (or maybe not so secretly) trying to separate Olek from Ling Yi by getting him to start seeing a girl from their neighborhood. When Olek and Ling Yi first arrive in Brooklyn, it might not be immediately clear to Janusz and Agnieszka what the nature of Olek and Ling Yi's relationship is (as an unmarried couple, they definitely wouldn't be sleeping in the same bed under Janusz's roof) and I could totally see them going the whole, "Hey, my friend from church has a younger sister, so sweet and devoted to her family, maybe you should meet her?" route. Olek being Olek, he might agree to be introduced to the girl after church, just for politeness' sake, but after that, he puts a big halt on the matchmaking attempts. (Among a number of other things, it's part of what convinces him that he and Ling Yi need to leave Brooklyn and live on their own.)

So I clearly had a lot to say about this question, Anon — maybe some of this needs to show up in a prompt fill at some point! :)

[lizzie-is-here]

Hellooo I would like to request again bcs I thought of another one a Kate Bishop one shot 16. “don’t. fucking. touch. them.” where a guy was fliriting with you beside Kate and he doesn't know you and Kate r dating so Kate gets jealous and gets mad at him :) <3 Tysmm you have really great writing I really enjoy reading ur one shots this is Kate again cuz I'm obsessed with her if u can't tell ty again <3

follower event!

character: kate bishop x fem!reader

prompt: “don’t. fucking. touch. them.” (changed to her for this one because kate x fem!reader is my jam now. this girl radiates fruity)

warnings: alcohol, cussing, violence, harassment, gross men being gross, brief mentions of spiking drinks

a/n: ugh these are so enjoyable. honestly might consider keeping my requests open for a bit… 👀 if i do i’ll put up new rules so yeah. hope u all enjoy, love uuuuu <3

“Ah, they have Russian vodka, Kate Bishop!” Yelena’s thick accent carries through the bar, turning a few heads. The girl continues, ignoring the confused looks shot her way.

“My mother sent me a bottle a week ago, but this is so nice,” she says, sidling up to the bar. As she begins to lean over the counter and grab random bottles, Kate smiles apologetically at you.

She’s wearing a sweatshirt and jeans, a bit out of place in the dim bar, but you can’t fault her. Mainly because you’ll steal the sweatshirt later for bed.

“I’d better go… keep an eye on her,” she says. “I’ll be right, back, I swear.” You laugh and give her a thumbs-up, wandering to another section of the bar to order.

A sign catches your eye, listing some Christmas special cocktails. You squint in the low light as you read through each one.

“What can I get for you?” The bartender tosses her towel to the side. She nods to the sign. “The peppermint Bailey’s is pretty good.”

You smile. “Then I’ll take that.” As she whisks away to make your drink, you watch to ensure the drink stays in your sight. The bartender rims the glass with peppermint crumble as a final touch and sets it on the bar in front of you.

Taking it with a smile and tossing down some cash, you look around for Kate and Yelena. On the other side of the circular bar, you see the blonde reluctantly give up a bottle of vodka to another bartender.

You hurry over, sliding in next to Kate as she lightly scolds the Russian assassin.

“Boo,” you whisper, giggling when your girlfriend jumps at the sound. She clutches her chest in feigned hurt, all wide-eyed as she turns to you.

“I trusted you,” she gasps dramatically, before breaking out into a grin. She points to your glass. “Christmas-y.”

She has her own drink, a Tequila Sunrise from the look of it. “Yours isn’t,” you quip back, clinking your glass with hers. Yelena continues to hassle the bartender for a free bottle.

Just as the bartender sets his elbow on the counter and Yelena does the same, grasping his much larger hand on her own, a voice clears its throat from behind you.

“What’s a girl like you doing without anyone to dance with?” When you turn around, you’re met with a rather sleazy looking man. He’s in a button-down, with clean slacks and polished dress shoes. What man wears dress shoes to the bar?

You’re about to point to your girlfriend, but she’s busy filming what you suspect to be an arm-wrestling contest. The man takes your silence as an answer.

“Well, I couldn’t help but notice you. Hard not to,” he smirks, looking you up and down. Okay. Now you’re freaked out. “Wanna dance, sweet-cheeks?”

As you internally gag, because one: ew, men, and two: nasty pet names, he sidles up even closer. On instinct, you cover your drink.

“Oh, come on, baby, don’t be like that. Plus, I wouldn’t have to spike your drink to get you back to my place. I’ve been told I’m a very smooth talker.” He lowers his voice as he talks, as if sounding like he’s been smoking since infancy would make him attractive.

You scrunch your nose, scowling as intimidatingly as you can muster. “Well, go be a smooth-talker somewhere else. I’m not interested, sorry.”

He narrows his eyes. “What do you mean? I’m clearly rich, I’m better than any guy in this bar-“

“Ok, well, I have a girlfriend,” you interrupt, really hoping Kate will hear you. He scoffs.

Then, after taking an obnoxiously long slurp of his beer (third red flag), he belches. “Lesbians are sooo hot,” he slurs. You roll your eyes so hard it hurts, looking around for a way to get this guy away from you.

A small crowd has formed around Yelena and the bartender, but you can spy Kate’s ponytail through the throng. As you scoot away towards her, the asshole holds out a hand.

“Wait, wait, wait! Come on, you don’t have to lie and say you have a girlfriend. I promise, I’m a really nice guy. I never harass girls, I’m always a gentleman…” He goes on and on as you frantically glance at your girlfriend.

Eventually, she seems to feel your panicked gaze and looks over. She raises a brow at the very persistent problem rambling next to you and you look from him to her a few times, raising both brows in a silent message.

She casually sits down beside you, waiting and listening. You hold a hand up to the man.

“Listen, I’m sure you’re a nice guy, but I was serious when I said I had a girlfriend, and she’s right-“ You turn to point to her, but the guy grabs your wrist, yanking you.

You tear your hand away, breath shaking as he stumbles a bit. Kate steps in front of you, glaring at him.

“Hey, asshat.” With a vicious kick to the shins, he doubles over. “Don’t. Fucking. Touch her,” she growls. You’re so busy swooning over Kate’s protectiveness you don’t even notice a loud thud and cheers from behind you.

As he stands up and begins to yell at her, you slip off your heels, setting one on your chair and grasping the other one in your hand.

“God, you’re such a fucking bitch! Women will never pick nice guys, will they? You’re all fucking horrible, you know that?” he snaps.

Kate raises a brow. “Aren’t you the one who just harassed my girlfriend after she told you, multiple times, that she wasn’t interested?” When he can’t come up with a counter argument, the man goes in for a punch.

But you were waiting.

When he rears back, you step in front of Kate as she dodges the poorly aimed blow, and swing your stiletto into his jaw.

You don’t hit very hard. You aren’t really trying to. The goal isn’t to break a bone, or even make him bleed, as much of an asshole he is.

Instead, you hit hard enough to leave a sizable bruise and send him stumbling back, before chugging your drink, swiping up your shoes, grabbing your now very flustered girlfriend by her hand, and beelining for the exit. But not before a blonde, Russian assassin hits the man with a hard-earned bottle of vodka.

[bestiesenpai]

Dirty Little Secret - Toji Fushiguro

I love a good meanie :) this was inspired by a thrilling convo i had femme reader lads, everyone 18+ 12.3K words

content warnings are as followed: dubcon, blackmail, age gap, manipulation, noncon somnophilia, pseudo-incest, cheating, infantilization(?), mention of guns, drinking, choking, burning(w/ a cigarette? Idk how to explain), a lot of different pet names lol and Toji calls himself daddy

It all started with the messy, bitter divorce your parents went through, leaving your mother a struggling woman all on her own. You tried to help with bills, tried to tack on a few side gigs here and there and get a couple part time jobs but it just wasn’t enough.

Until she met Toji and all the worries you two had about money just suddenly melted away. He wasn’t outlandishly rich but somehow he made enough money that both you and your mother could quit all the jobs you’d had to take on.

Your mother was ecstatic, positively thrilled about the newfound freedom she has. She’s able to afford luxuries she’d never been able to before and there was no need to worry about pinching pennies and scrounging for every last meal. You could live comfortably, but there was something about Toji that rubbed you the wrong way.

There wasn’t one singular thing that drove you to disliking him, it was all just a culmination of things. His cocky attitude, the way he acted like he owned the whole house the first time he visited, how he seemed to be eyeing you up in a way far less acceptable for a man that was meeting his new step-daughter. As soon as his eyes landed on you, it was like your mother no longer existed.

They got married faster than you could blink, a rushed ceremony done at city hall with a few random witnesses watching her take the surname Fushiguro. Your mother was beyond happy, and while you were happy to see an easy smile on her face again, the knowledge that Toji would be living with you now hung like a dark cloud in the back of your head.

“Careful there doll, wouldn’t want you to break a nail.” Toji teased as he saw you pick up a moving box that was left in the living room. He was moving his and his sons belongings into the house and you’d been tasked with helping.

“Shut up.” Glaring at him, you grabbed the box in a huff and stormed up the stairs, stomping your way into the room that was your step-brothers, Megumis. You’d only met him once at a formal dinner and he seemed nice enough. Far different than his father but strikingly similar in appearance. He was away at university in another city, only visiting every other weekend if he felt like it.

Lingering in the empty room longer than you should, you tried to steer clear of Toji. The physical labour of moving boxes had made him sweaty, a nice sheen building up on his forehead and arms that highlighted the taut muscles underneath the skin and underneath the tight black t-shirt he was always wearing.

“Why don’t you go sit pretty on the couch, hm? A little girl like you shouldn’t be trying to lift such heavy things.” Catching you coming down the stairs, Toji was sporting his usual signature smirk whenever he saw you.

“There’s still a lot of stuff to bring in and I don’t want this to take all day.” Standing at the top of the stairs, you wavered. He wasn’t making any move to get out of your way or to come up the stairs and the two of you were stuck in a staring match.

“But you’re just so delicate, are you sure you can keep up?” Toji finally started moving up the stairs, a large box in his hand that looked to be no trouble for him.

“I’ll be fine!” You snapped at him, backing up and out of the way to let him pass you.

“You sure about that?” Stopping right in front of you, Toji held the box out of the way so he could lean close to your face, almost brushing his hair against your forehead.

“I’m sure!” Face erupting in a hot flush, you scramble away from him and down the stairs. You can hear the dark chuckle leaving his throat and the incident has your hands shaking as you go to the moving van.

Starkly avoiding eye contact with him for the rest of the day, you take the pizza your mother ordered for the family straight to your room and don’t come out for a good while. She knocks on your door not once throughout the night, too busy giggling stupidly in the living room with Toji.

“Good morning baby girl.” Toji croons when he sees you appear in the kitchen in the morning, a hot cup of coffee in his hands as he leans against the kitchen counter. Your ears burn at the nickname, but you ignore him and go straight to the refrigerator.

“Hey!” Shuffling back when he slams the fridge closed in your face, another shout is caught in your throat as he looms over you, large calloused hand keeping the door closed.

“You just gonna be rude and not say good morning to your new daddy?” The smell of coffee and cigarettes hangs on his breath, fanning over your face. He’s cornering you against the refrigerator, using his looming stature to force you against the door entirely.

“Go away.” You whisper, but you want to shout, push him away and stand up for yourself. But something in Toji’s stare and the way he carries himself has you withering.

“I don’t even get a good morning kiss?”

“Huh?” Your eyes go wide when he grabs your jaw, tilting your face up and holding it there so he can lean in and graze his lips against yours. Slapping your hands on his chest, you struggle to keep him at bay.

“Toji, have you seen my car keys?” Your mothers shout from the other room rips away the quiet, tense moment between you two. Toji takes a few smooth steps back, shuffling back into his place against the countertop right as she comes into the room.

“Yeah, right there.” Flicking his chin to the kitchen table, there lies her keys.

“Thanks.” Grabbing them, she takes a glance at you and then a double take, furrowing her brows and pointing vaguely at you. “Sweetie, what’s wrong? Why are you making that face?”

“I-” A tiny flicker of your eyes to Toji has your face burning all over again and any words are lost on you. “I feel a bit sick.” Ducking your head down, you rush out of the kitchen, the passing cry of ‘go lay back down then’ from your mother going ignored as you slam the door to your room and lock it.

Toji leaves sometime after your mother does and for a while you’re home alone. Finally able to eat in peace, there’s a few things you’ve been wanting to do ever since you met Toji, one of them being snooping through his things.

He was secretive with so many things, it was only right that you get a little intel on him. You barely knew what he did for work, the only thing he said he did was ‘freelancing’ and that was it.

Walking through the open bedroom door, you steered clear of the things you knew were your mothers. The old dresser she had and her section of the closet was still exactly the same as before Toji came into her life.

But now there was a new chest of drawers tucked away in the corner of the room, rich dark wood that contrasted with the light color palette of the rest of the room. There was also a safe tucked under the bed and one in the closet as well, you’d seen Toji bring those in himself.

Opening the top drawer, it was no shock to find folded piles of socks and underwear, a few black tank tops. The second had more shirts, the third was the baggy pants Toji mainly lived in and the fourth had more fitted bottoms.

But sticking out from between a few folded pairs of slacks was a thick file folder with your families last name on it. It was in pristine condition and once you opened it, you saw that so were the things inside it.

Detailed records of your bank history, notes that had everything about you on them; your favorite food, color, your typical daily schedule, who you hung out with and all their personal information, the places you frequented and all the jobs you’d held in your life.

“This fucking stalker.” Reading over notes clearly written in Toji’s handwriting, the contents of the folder made your stomach churn. Shoving it back between the pants, you stood up properly and turned to the closet.

The safe in here was buried under a stack of folded clothes waiting to be hung up. Toji’s side of the closet was relatively bare, with the only thing hanging up being the lonely suit he owned that he wore to get married in.

Punching in all the possible number combinations you could think of - all the phone numbers you knew by heart, your home address and every birthday - you came up empty. There was no way to open the safe in the closet, and you had to abandon it.

The safe beneath the bed was heavy, nearly breaking your back as you tried to drag it out into the open. It was a thin black metal box with a long rectangular shape and the same number pad as in the closet. Only this time, when you punched in the last four digits of your phone number, it opened with a click.

What you saw inside wasn’t what you were expecting. Sure, Toji was a mysterious guy with secretive habits and a job you knew nothing about. You had barely information on him, yet you still weren’t prepared to see all the guns he had stored inside the safe.

There were long shotguns, handguns, revolvers and plenty of ammo and holsters. Even with the slight wear and tear on some of the barrels, you could tell Toji took good care of them as nearly all of them were freshly polished.

“Just couldn’t help yourself, could you?” Just as you reached out and skimmed a finger across one of the handguns laying innocently in the pile, Toji’s flat monotone voice sounded behind you.

Ripping your hand away, your head whipped over your shoulder to stare at him in terrified shock. He shouldn’t be home, you hadn’t heard him come in or the front door open and close. Frozen on the ground, you struggled to find the air to breathe.

“Such a nosy little thing.” Toji commented, his eyes drifting to the open closet door and the dresser drawer that you’d left ajar. “If you were curious about daddy, you could have just asked.”

“Why do you have these things?” What were you referring to? The guns? Records of your every move, down to how long your phone conversations were late at night?

“They’re for work.” Pushing away from the doorframe, Toji sauntered into the room, dragging his feet lazily.

“But-”

“That’s all you need to know.” He cut you off with a stern look, kicking closed the safe.

“Why...why do you have all those papers about me?” Came your next question. Looking up at Toji, you were suddenly aware of how you were presented to him. Sitting on your knees, hands balled up into fists in your lap, looking up at him with wide scared eyes - and he noticed it too.

“You’re my little girl, why shouldn’t I know everything?” Biting his lip as he looked down at you, Toji had to stop himself from grabbing your hair and shoving your face into his clothed cock. Instead he flexed his fingers, rolled his shoulders and used his foot to push the safe under the bed. Scrambling to your feet, you watched as the safe disappeared.

“What’s in the safe in the closet?” You were standing far too close to Toji for your liking, he was within less than an arm's reach of you and you could smell the dark woody aroma he liked to put on.

“Important shit. ‘Gumi’s birth certificate, passports, the usual.” Shrugging casually, Toji walked over to the dresser and kicked it closed as well. “Got some stuff for your mom and you in there too.”

Letting a lull fall into the conversation, you scurried from the bedroom when Toji went to close the closet door. You could hear him chuckle and mutter something under his breath upon discovering your absence, but he closed the bedroom door shortly after and you could hear him go down the stairs.

Hours later and your mother informed you she wouldn’t be home for dinner. Something about meeting up with friends for an unexpected late night outing and staying out past dark.

Left to your own devices, you tried to avoid being detected by Toji as you milled around in the kitchen and fed yourself.

“Sweetheart, that you?”

Keyword being tried.

Biting back a harsh sigh, you emerged from the relative darkness of the kitchen and into the living room where Toji was lounging on the couch with no shirt on, all his muscles and scars on full display.

“There’s my baby girl.” Toji broke into a smile.

“Yup, I’m here.” Rolling your eyes so you could force yourself to stop ogling his body, you turned halfway back to the kitchen.

“Woah woah come back!”

“What do you want?” Not keeping this sigh at bay, you quirked a brow at him.

“Ya know your mothers not here and I’m getting awfully lonely sitting in this house by myself. Why don’t you sit with me?”

“No thanks.”

“That’s too bad, sweetheart, ‘cause I wasn’t asking.” You can feel his hand wrapping around your upper arm before you even hear him getting up from the couch.

“L-let go!” Thrashing in his hold does no good, you’re thrown onto the couch like a doll in no time and Toji sinks in next to you, spreading his legs wide and throwing an arm over the back of the couch.

“Your mother wants us to spend more time together, get better acquainted and whatnot.” Grabbing the beer he had on the coffee table, Toji drinks until it’s empty and he crushes it in his hand. “And what better time than now?”

Huffing and puffing, you adjust yourself on the couch and try to focus on whatever Toji has playing on the TV screen. It’s some cheesy action movie made way before you were born, and while it makes you groan at the cliche plot points, Toji is having a grand old time.

“You want a beer?” Toji asks, picking up a can and cracking it open.

“No.” Shaking your head, the last thing you’d want is to possibly get drunk and lose your senses around him.

“Oh, oops.” Upon hearing your no, Toji not so subtly tipped the can over and let it fall into your lap, the beer inside spilling out onto your clothes.

“Toji! What the-” Leaping up and tossing the can onto the coffee table, you could feel the cold liquid seep into the fabric of your pants and underwear, even stretching to the back of your pants.

“That’s too bad, my mistake! Better go get changed.” Toji laughed, completely unashamed of what he’d done. Flipping him off, you stormed away. “Put your pajamas on, it’s getting late!”

“Fuck you!” Angrily walking to your room, you ripped off the wet clothes clinging to you. You were tempted to stay in your room the rest of the night, but there was no doubt that Toji would come up and drag you back down to the living room.

“Aw, don’t you look cute.” He teased when you came back down in an oversized shirt and sleeping shorts. He had procured a blanket from behind the couch and it lay on the arm.

“Ugh, it’s still wet.” Even though he’d grabbed a blanket, he hadn’t grabbed a towel to sop up the beer in the couch cushions.

“It’s okay, you can sit right here.” Grabbing your wrist, Toji yanked you onto his lap, wrapping an arm around your waist as you fell into him. Throwing the blanket over you, Toji forced you to lay against his bare chest.

“Let me go sit in the other chair.” There was a perfectly good arm chair a few feet from the couch you could sit on.

“Now how could we bond if you’re so far away?” He chuckled, hiking you back up as you tried to slide off him. Biting your tongue against any further useless arguments, you tried to get comfortable in Tojis lap.

“Be careful now, baby, all that squirming might get me excited.” Toji whispered in your ear, gripping the flesh of your waist tightly underneath his fingers. Chuckling again at how your body went completely stiff, he settled back into the couch and watched the movie.

Begrudgingly focusing on it as well, it was almost inevitable that you relaxed into laying on Toji, the smooth up and down of his chest expanding with every breath lulling you into a sense of comfort.

“This movie’s stupid.” You grumbled as a commercial hit. Your arms were crossed tightly, having gotten riled up at one particular scene for how predictable it was.

“S’not stupid, it’s a classic.” Toji replied.

“Still stupid.” Shaking your head slightly, you let out a soft yawn.

“Aw, is it getting close to your bedtime?”

“Shut up.” It wasn’t that it was particularly late, but sitting in the low light of the living room, under a cozy blanket with a warm body underneath you holding you tightly, it was more relaxing than you thought. Coupled with the quietness of the TV and the slow even breaths Toji took right by your ear, who wouldn’t get a little sleepy?

“Poor baby’s tired.” You could just feel the mocking pout on Toji’s lips. Shifting his hands and grabbing onto your thigh, he turned you to sit sideways in his lap, legs across him and your head securely tucked under his chin.

“Not tired.” Trying to reason with him was impossible, and you gave up once the movie came back on. With a secure arm wrapped around your back and his other hand resting snugly on your outer thigh, Toji had you right where he wanted you.

“Still awake?” Toji asked ten minutes later and he already knew the answer. Your breathing had gotten quiet and you’d fallen slack in his arms, and when he rubbed your back you let out a soft, sleepy hum and snuggled deeper into him.

Careful not to wake you, Toji dipped his hands to the hem of your shirt and tugged it up so he could get under it. Trailing his calloused fingertips up your back, he felt the bumps and ridges of your spinal cord as he went. Pushing under your arm, he got to where he wanted: the soft flesh of your breast.

Cupping it in his palm, Toji bit his lip to hold back a soft groan. He’d wanted to do this since the day he started dating your mother and learned about you. From the very first picture of you she’d shown him he was hooked and every subsequent move he made after was calculated to get right to this very moment.

A soft uptick in your breathing let him know that you could feel what he was doing, but you did nothing else as he pinched your nipple and rolled it between his fingers.

Pushing you to lay back a little, Toji crept his other hand up your thigh. Your legs were simple dead weight to him and with a few nudges he was able to get his hand down your shorts and cup your sex.

“Be a good girl and get nice and wet.” Mumbling to himself he pushed his middle finger through your folds, coming to your clit and grinning wildly. Rubbing it with practiced precision, Toji kept his ears trained on the sound of your breathing and he was prepared to keep going even if you woke up.

Pressing a few kisses to the top of your head, he cooed at the delicate sigh you let out. You were getting aroused, Tojis finger was starting to get slicked up and glide easier against you.

Pushing his index finger against your clit, he worked you up even further. The movie was forgotten on the television, all of Tojis focus going to you and the way your brows scrunched up at the feeling of someone else’s fingers against your cunt.

You weren’t wet enough for Toji to push a finger inside, but he was fine with waiting for another time. Just playing with your clit and pinching your nipple was enough for him for now.

Pressing his nose against the top of your head, Toji let out a shuddering breath when you came in your sleep. A few desperate whimpers fell from your lips, and your face screwed up a little, your body clenching as pleasure rolled through your sleeping form.

Taking his hand slowly out of your shirt, Toji laid it back on your thigh and tried to collect his own breathing. Getting you to cum in your sleep on his lap had riled him up more than he expected, the thrill of making you come undone without your knowledge going straight to his head.

It wasn’t long after that your mother came home, gasping at the sight of your sleeping body in Toji’s lap and delighted that you were finally getting more comfortable with him. Not wanting to wake you, she snapped a few pictures for posterity and had Toji carry you to your room.

“You want me to what?” Staring at your mother like she’d grown another head, you couldn’t hide the disdain at what she had just proposed of you in the late morning.

“I want you to spend the day with Toji! He’s going into town to do some shopping and I think it’d be a great way for you two to get closer.”

“I don’t want to get closer to him.” The memory of last night made your cheeks burn. You were far more embarrassed about falling asleep in his lap than you’d ever be willing to admit.

“C’mon (Y/N), I saw you two together on the couch last night! It was so cute, I want you to have more moments like that with him.” Your mother gave you a pout, one just begging to humor her request. The desire to say no was right on the tip of your tongue.

“Fine, I’ll go with him.”

“Yay!” Clapping her hands together lightly, your mother turned away and started to gather a few things to start her own day.

“Let’s be quick, okay?” Ten minutes later and you were sitting in the front seat of Toji’s vintage camaro.

“I think we should take it nice and slow today.” Toji replied, firing up the engine and drowning out your thoughts with the loud roar. It was hard to look at him, so you kept your gaze trained to the passing scenery outside.

“Did you sleep well last night, baby?” He asked as the car came to a stop at a light. Toji was staring right at you, a wide smirk on his face. Pressing your lips together, you refused to look back at him. You might have slept well, but waking up with slick coating your inner thighs ruined the entire experience, whether good or bad at all.

“Why do you care?”

“Ha! Why do I care?” His sharp laugh made you jolt, turning to glare at him as the car started moving again. “You must have slept well, you were knocked out on my lap.”

“Won’t happen again.” You grumbled, watching his hand fiddle with the radio and turn it to a random station.

“That’s what you think.” Giving your thigh a quick pat, Toji settled into his seat. Driving to the shopping district he had in mind, as soon as you stepped out of the car Toji was by your side with a hand on your back. “I’ve got some business to take care of first, let’s go.”

“Don’t touch me.” Shoving his hand away, it was right back where it was in seconds. A low wave of annoyance washed over you, but you started walking in the direction Toji was taking you. The annoyed feeling only grew as you passed people by on the street and women openly stared at him, not giving a care in the world about the gold band on his finger or the fact that you were next to him.

And he didn’t seem to care either. You could see the way he would look back at some of the women, sending them easy smiles or holding eye contact longer than normal. Walking into a jewelry shop, you were finally away from their prying eyes, but the hand Toji had on your back only got firmer.

“Want me to buy you a little something?” Toji whispered, leaning close to your ear.

“Like what?” You challenged, looking across the shop floor. There were countless expensive jewels just lying in wait behind thick glass cases.

“Whatever you want, baby girl. Just point and I’ll get it once I’m done.”

“Done with what?” Looking at him incredulously, you saw him nod to someone waiting against a back wall.

“Business.” Patting your back, Toji went to talk to them, slipping into a back room and leaving you alone on the shop floor. Trying not to stand out, you found an open chair and pulled out your phone, already bored.

“Finally.” You said upon seeing Toji appear in front of you after nearly thirty minutes.

“Sorry to keep you waiting, I was doing some negotiations.” Inspecting him further, you could see he was breathing a little heavier and there was just the slightest sheen of sweat above his brow.

“What, did you kill someone back there or something?”

“Almost.” He replied with a shrug. You’d meant it as a joke, but with the way Toji wasn’t smiling you couldn’t tell if he did too. Letting his eyes roam over the shop, he flicked his chin out. “Find something you like?”

“No.” Taking a step toward the door, you were tugged back by your sleeve.

“I bet you didn’t even look.” Toji chuckled, dragging you over to a case. “How about a little tennis bracelet, hm? We could add a little charm, how about a T?”

“I don’t want it, I won’t wear it.”

“Ah, sure you will.” Brushing you off, he waved over a sales associate. “Now, tell the nice worker what color you want, gold or silver.”

Walking out of the store with a pretty little bag in hand, you followed Toji to the next few stores he had to go into for ‘business’. Sometimes he was quick and you didn’t have to wait even a few minutes for someone to hand him a thick envelope that he tucked into the inner pocket of his jacket. Others, he’d slip into the backroom and you’d have to awkwardly wait around.

“Are we actually going to do some proper shopping today, or is this it?” You snapped after being dragged around for a good while. You hadn’t even wanted to come, but now you just felt like a kid being dragged around against their will.

“Relax baby, daddy’s done, he’ll pay attention to you now.” Toji teased, pinching your cheek and cooing at you.

“Whatever, lets go.” Swatting him away, you stormed off in a random direction, Toji’s laughter burning in your ears. It was your turn now to drag him from store to store, some you weren’t even interested in. Following you dutifully, Toji bought whatever you wanted regardless of price tag.

“Let’s go in here.” Toji stopped you right in front of a popular lingerie store. There were large adverts in the windows of scantily clad women dripping in lace and frilly garments, and there were a large number of people inside as well.

“You can’t be serious.” You blanched, watching in slight horror as he toed his way over to the front door.

“Cmon baby, you deserve something nice.” He said loud enough to have a few passersby giggle. Seeing your face turn from one of shock to embarrassment, Toji knew he had won. Following him into the store with your head down, you tried not to look at all the bras and panties displayed so prominently.

Taking a seat at one of the chairs near the front of the store, Toji kept his eye on you as you walked around. Seeing your fingers glide across silk and lace, pass mannequins in intricate pieces of lingerie, he couldn’t help but imagine you in some of them. He’d only gotten a taste of what you had to offer last night, and he already hungered for more.

“I think you’d look great in that.” He came up behind you as you looked at a bra and panty set, little red and white love hearts adorning lacy pink.

“Pervert.” Glaring over your shoulder, you tried to conceal that you’d grabbed a pair for yourself. “Go sit back down.”

“I get it, you wanna keep it a secret and surprise me.” Fishing out his wallet, Toji handed you the credit card he’d been using the whole day. “Take your time baby, I’m going to have a smoke.”

Making sure he left the store, you let out a sigh of relief at finally being alone in a place like this. It was bad enough he suggested it, but to have him watch you pick out underwear was downright mortifying.

Grabbing whatever you liked, you walked out with a sizable bag in your hand and a pretty long receipt. Toji was nowhere to be found outside the store, and as you scanned past the people milling about, he wasn’t on the street either.

You had his number, feasibly you could call or text him to find out where he was. But with a limitless credit card in your hand and newfound freedom, that was the last thing on your mind. He would find you eventually, say something snarky and tease you and then you’d be on your way to grab lunch.

“Excuse me, miss!” For a moment, you thought the gentle voice calling out to you as you walked down the street was Toji. But as you turn around and are confronted with a stranger, you’re reminded that Toji would never be so polite.

“Yes?” He was an average looking man, around Toji’s age.

“I couldn’t help but notice you walking around, you look so beautiful.” The man had a hopeful smile on his face, taking in your reaction to the sudden compliment.

“Oh, thank you.” Giving him a once over, you quickly spotted the silver wedding band on his finger.

“What’s your name? I’d love to take you out sometime.” Shuffling a tiny bit closer, the man was already pulling out his phone before he even finished the sentence.

“I’m s-”

“She’s not interested.” A heavy hand landed on your shoulder, yanking you back into a firm chest. There wasn’t a need to look up and see who it was, the distinct cologne wafting into your nose and the rough treatment was enough.

“Huh?” Bunching his brows together, the man looked confused between you and Toji.

“Huh?” Toji mocked, leaning towards him with a raised brow.

“I think she can speak for herself.”

“My baby doesn’t talk to insignificant flies like you.” Staring him down for a moment, Toji got him to turn tail and leave in a huff.

“I could have handled that myself.”

“Yeah, well I handled it better.” Turning you around, Toji smirks down his nose at you for a moment.

“What?” His look is unnerving, it makes your heart flutter a bit and that’s the last feeling you want to have for him.

“I deserve a reward, don’t you think?”

“A reward for what?” Scrunching up your nose, you recoil a little as Toji bends at the waist and presents his cheek to you.

“For coming to the rescue of a damsel in distress.” Tapping his cheek with one finger, he looks at you from the corner of his eye. “Don’t leave your daddy hanging, now.”

Looking him over, you weighed your options. It was only a kiss, an innocent little peck on the cheek. Where was the harm in that?

The harm came when, as you were leaning forward with your lips slightly pursed, Toji turned his head and kissed you square on the lips.

Jerking back in shock, you didn’t get far as Toji grabbed your chin to keep you in place. His lips were rough, dry and cracked and the scar on the edge of his mouth wasn’t helping in that regard.

Brushing his nose against yours, Toji didn’t keep the kiss going for long; even he had boundaries for being in public. Pulling away, he swiped your bottom lip with his thumb, grinning at your flushed face and slightly labored breathing.

“Daddy got you flustered?” He teased, taking the shopping bags out of your hand and holding them himself.

“No.” You reply a few seconds too late, your lip’s in a pout and your voice has a slight whine. Biting his lip, Toji scanned your face.

“God, the things you do to me.” Roughly grabbing your hand, he tugged you along down the street. “Let’s get some lunch, I’m fucking starved.”

“You’re back!” Your mother exclaimed upon your arrival, leaping up from the couch to hug both of you. She quickly hurried out of the way upon seeing all the bags Toji insisted on carrying in by himself, her jaw dropping in shock.

“Don’t gimme that look, babe, you know I had to spoil the little princess.” Toji laughed at her expression, dropping some of the bags into your hands and kissing your mother on the cheek.

“I-I’m just shocked...we never come back with that many bags when we go shopping.” Her voice was quiet as she looked between the two of you.

“You gettin’ jealous on me now?” Toji teased, poking her in the side and making her jump. “I was just following your orders, forming a closer bond with my new step-daughter.” Pointedly shielding the lingerie bag from her view, Toji passed it into your hands. “Maybe she’ll show you some of the outfits she bought, we even picked some out together.”

If by ‘together’ he meant he shoved a slew of tiny skirts and low cut tops into your hands in the dressing room and then bought them when you rejected all of them anyway, then yes, you could say you two picked some out together.

“Uh- yeah mom, I’ll show you some of the stuff later.” You nodded along, eager to escape the situation and hide in your room. Not waiting another moment after the words left your lips, you ran up the stairs and to your room.

Pouring out all the things Toji bought you, you couldn’t say you didn’t enjoy going out shopping with him. There was no limit to what you wanted, anything your eyes touched was yours in an instant.

“Knock knock.” Pushing open your door and swiftly closing it behind him, Toji held up the remaining bags. “You forgot some.”

“Thanks.” Reaching out to grab them, you didn’t get the chance as Toji set them down and stepped around you, grabbing the little bag from the first store you went to. Fishing out the velvet box, Toji opened it and dangled the dainty tennis bracelet from his finger.

“Put this on for me, will you? Wanna make sure it’s a good fit.” Dropping the bracelet into your hands, Toji chuckled when you struggled to get it on. “Need my help?”

“No I’m fine.” You said, pinching the clasp between your fingers desperately.

“Let daddy help you.” Grabbing your wrist and pulling you closer, Toji swatted your fingers away.

“Your fingers are too thick, how’re you ever-”

“Got it.” Releasing the bracelet, Toji watched triumphantly as it hung from your wrist. You barely mumbled a thanks before he was grabbing your wrist again, nearly pulling you chest to chest with him. “Now, what was that about my fingers?”

“N-nothing!” Slapping your free hand on his chest, your face burned terribly and only got worse as he laughed.

“No, no, go ahead and say it. My fingers are too thick, huh?” Grabbing your jaw, Toji slid his index and middle finger across your face until they came to rest on your lips. “Say ‘ah’.” Pressing your lips together firmly, you shook your head as best you could.

But Toji wasn’t one to take no for an answer and shoved past your lips, forcing your mouth open with his other hand and flattening your tongue. Clutching onto his wrist tightly, you looked up at him with watering eyes as his fingers slid too far back and choked you.

Growling at the sight of his fingers stuffed into your mouth, Toji dropped his other hand, grabbing your ass tightly in his hand and rocking your hips against him. Looming over you, Toji ripped his fingers from your mouth and slammed his lips onto you.

The kisses you shared before were nothing compared to this one. With a hand gripping the back of your head, Toji made sure not even a centimeter of space passed between you two. His lips molded to yours perfectly, mouths slotting together as he pushed his tongue in and claimed your mouth for himself.

Drool began to drip down the corners of your lips, sliding down your neck and chest and creating a glossy mess. It was getting harder to breathe the longer you went, your body quickly growing weak from lack of oxygen.

Gasping for air when Toji finally broke the kiss, your mind was spinning, barely able to focus on the fact that you were kissing your mothers husband and certainly not paying attention to the way Toji pushed you back onto your bed, body bouncing roughly on the mattress.

“God, I’ve been waiting for this moment.” Toji says with a sigh, climbing over your body and pressing his lips against the curve of your jaw. His hands pawed at your clothes, bunching up your shirt as he tried to get to your breasts.

“T-toji! Stop!” Letting out a scandalized gasp, your eyes flew to your bedroom door. Surely your mother would hear and come to save you.

“No need to be nervous, baby-” yanking down your bra, Toji palmed your breasts roughly, “daddy’ll make you feel good.” Sitting up just enough to yank your shirt and bra off, Toji held your arms down and stared lovingly at your chest, his cock twitching to life the longer he looked.

An argument had bubbled up from your chest, ready to spew out and knock some sense into Toji, but as he descended onto you, taking one of your nipples into his mouth and rolling it between his teeth, the words died just as quickly as they formed.

What was the use of telling Toji to stop when you knew he wouldn’t? There wasn’t a shred of doubt in your mind that if you yelled at him, told him it was wrong to cheat on your mother and fuck his step-daughter, he wouldn’t laugh straight in your face.

Fire back and ask why you think he cares about that? You’ve already seen the file he has on you and the lack of information he had on your mother. He’d already proven himself to be more than enamored with you and what kind of man would he be if he let something like ‘morality’ get in the way of what he wanted?

Moaning under your breath as Toji kissed and licked your chest, you had an argument with yourself brewing inside your head. You couldn’t deny that you enjoyed the attention he was currently giving you. He was confident in what he was doing, so sure of himself unlike some of the people you’d been with. The knowledge that came with being older was surely showing itself now.

Especially in the way he rolled his hips against yours, getting you to moan out a little louder this time, the sound coming from deep within your chest.

“Sound so pretty, baby.” Toji groaned, peeling himself away from you to shed himself of his clothes and to take the rest of yours with it. Letting out a low whistle at seeing you completely bare in front of him, Toji slapped his hands onto your thighs, peeling your legs apart to stare right at your cunt.

“Don’t look at me like that.” The pure animalistic look in his eyes had you throbbing, both with need and embarrassment. No one had looked at you like that before, unadulterated and hungry. Shyness crept in and you flung your hands down to cover yourself.

“No hiding, little one.” Smacking your hands away, Toji laughed at the pitiful, embarrassed whine you let out. “Aw, is someone getting shy? Can’t handle daddy looking at your messy cunt?”

“S’not messy.” You pouted, but it was true. A steady buildup of slick dripped out of you, coating everything between your legs and even dripping down between your asscheeks.

“You’re my messy little girl, aren’t you?” Ignoring your light protests, Toji laid himself down between your legs, making a show of putting your thighs on his shoulders and squishing his head with them. “I bet you taste as good as you look.”

With one last wink, Toji dove between your thighs, his tongue already out and ready to lap at your folds. The first touch of the tip of his tongue to your clit made you jump, hands flying down to grip his hair as your eyes went wide.

Flicking it a few times, Toji wrapped his lips around the bud, sucking hard as his fingers dug into your thighs firmly. You moaned just as loud as Toji did, the vibrations from his mouth travelling up to the ones leaving your chest.

Toji’s dream of being here with you, having you laid out on your back with his face buried in your cunt, had only gotten stronger as time went by. He nearly lost it in the lingerie store, seeing you walk so innocently around all the thongs and delicate lingerie. He had to leave to smoke a cigarette and cool down or else he would have dragged you into the dressing room in front of everyone.

Lapping at your entrance, Toji shoved his tongue in, his nose bumping your clit as he did. Massaging your walls, he drank in your essence, easily getting drunk off the taste and feeling of your thighs crushing his head. Painstakingly letting go of one of your thighs, he brought his thumb to your clit.

“Toji!” You gasped and your thighs got even tighter around him. Toji could barely breathe let alone think about anything but making you cum on his tongue and he wouldn’t have it any other way.

Shoving his fingers between your legs, he slid them down to the hilt and felt your walls clamp down onto both them and his tongue. Your essence was everywhere now and he was sure the scent of your arousal would linger on his skin for days.

Putting his tongue on your clit again, Toji fucked his fingers into you. The obscene wet sound was music to his ears, a song he hoped to play over and over. Your moans had turned into babbles, your fingers carding through his hair as the pleasure washed over you.

“F-fuck-” Barely able to get the word out, you came on Toji’s fingers, whimpering loudly as he sucked your clit harder. You were sure you had crushed him for good now with how hard your thighs tensed up around him, but Toji seemed more than okay when they finally relaxed and fell to the wayside.

“What a good fucking girl.” Toji was breathless and lightheaded himself but he wouldn’t miss the opportunity to tease you, slap your quivering thighs with both hands and drink up your release. Your feeble hands were too weak to push him away, just a slight nudge on his forehead that he easily ignored.

Forcing air into your lungs, you got a moment's reprieve when Toji finally pulled himself away from your cunt. Your arms wound around his broad shoulders, pulling him into a half hug as your legs were hoisted up around his waist.

“You gonna let daddy take what’s his?” Toji whispered in your ear, blindly grabbing his cock and tapping tip against your clit.

“Yes!” You sobbed, nodding your head desperately. Glancing down between your bodies, you could see just how thick Toji’s cock was; his fingers surely did not compare.

Pushing the tip of his cock in, you could immediately feel the difference from his fingers. The stretch that his cock gave was unimaginable and you nearly broke into tears as he bottomed out.

“Hurts- s’too big-” Unwinding one arm, you pushed on Toji’s chest.

“Sshh, sshh, you’re fine.” He cooed, intertwining your fingers and pushing your hand onto the mattress.

“Toji…” Whining under your breath, you blinked away the mist of tears at your lashes and looked at him. “Daddy, please.”

The soft ghost of a smile on Toji’s face fell after hearing you call him daddy. His whole face fell, in fact, eyes going wide and pupils blowing out. The hand that was holding yours tightened, smashing yours into the mattress as his other flew to your thigh.

“Oh, you’ve done it now.” Toji could hardly get the words out before he was pistoning his hips, thrusting his cock into you at an alarming rate. He had intended on taking it a bit slow, savoring the moment more as he finally got to fuck you.

But that plan was gone and in its place was the plan to fuck you into the mattress, turn your brain and body into mush as he made you cum over and over again.

“Daddy! Slow down!” You wailed and in the back of your head you wondered if your mother could hear you, if she was outside the door just waiting to burst in on the two of you.

“Not a fucking chance.” Toji responded, voice muffled against the side of your neck. His tongue lashed out, hot and heavy against your pulse. Leaving bite marks along your skin, Toji growled into you, grinding his hips and getting a shiver down his back.

Already sensitive from your first orgasm, the second one came with no warning. Scratching your nails down Toji’s back, your feet dug into his back as your cunt clamped down on him. Any remaining sense you had, any thoughts about your mother or being caught were gone now, the only thing filling your head now was the drag of Toji’s thick cock against your walls and the way his balls slapped against your ass.

The sound of Toji fucking into you seemed to echo off the walls, mixing with the choked moans you let out and creating music to Toji’s ears. Every drag of his cock along your oversensitive walls, every thrust forward bringing another gush of your sticky release to coat his skin - all of it was heaven for him.

“Honey, have you seen Toji?” Your mother’s sudden call wafted down the hall as she came up the stairs, the familiar thud of her footsteps getting closer.

“Uh-” Your voice caught in your throat, fighting through the jumbled mess that was your mind to come up with a good answer.

“Better say something quick, I didn’t lock the door.” Toji smirked against your skin, forcing his hips to all but stop and grind painfully slowly against you, his skin just lightly catching your clit.

“I-I don’t know where he is.” Your tongue felt like lead, sitting stupidly in your mouth and barely forming the right words.

“Okay…” There was a pause as she trailed off and you could hear her right outside your door, feet shuffling a little as she thought of what to do next.

The sound of her footsteps trailed off and both you and Toji let out a gruff exhale.

“Finally.” He mumbled, pulling his hips back.

“Honey one more question, what do you want for dinner?”

“Pizza!” You screeched right as Toji snapped his hips forward. Burrowing your face into Tojis hair, you tried to stifle the squeals leaving your lips.

“Alright, I’ll see what I can do.” Waiting until her footsteps completely rescinded, Toji sat up on his elbow and smirked at you.

“Guess we’re having pizza for dinner.”

“Shut up.” Pushing his face back into your neck you avoided his teasing gaze. Chuckling to himself, Toji nipped at your skin.

“Now, where were we?”

Crawling out your room nearly an hour later with sweat on your brows and unstable legs, you tried to conceal the cum dripping down your inner thighs. Toji refused to let you clean up, sliding a pair of shorts onto your legs and telling you it would be a waste to get rid of the gift he gave you.

Sitting down at the table without him, you were thankful to be the only one there. No one could see the way you were trembling and squirming with every squishy gush of cum that seeped out of you.

“Hi honey.” Joining you a few minutes later, none the wiser to what had happened upstairs, was your mother. Greeting you with a soft smile, she was about to open her mouth to speak again when the front door opened.

“There you are!” She beamed at seeing Toji walk through the front door. Your brow furrowed at seeing him come through the door instead of walking down the stairs. He’d made a comment about climbing out of your window and acting like nothing happened, but you didn’t think he was serious.

“Yeah, went on a walk.” He shrugged, stepping into the house and holding the door open. “And look who I found on the way!” With a fake beaming smile, Toji waved his hand behind him as Megumi walked through the door looking as unimpressed as the day you met him.

“Megumi, you’re home!” Clapping excitedly, your mother shot up from her seat and to him, giving him a quick hug and taking the bag slung over his shoulder.

“Mhmm. Nice to see you again.” Polite as ever, Megumi smiled briefly at your mother.

“Go sit down at the table, we’re just about to have dinner!”

“Okay.” Nodding slowly, Megumi set his eyes on you, raking over your form as he took a seat across from you. The silence between you two was thick and you could tell there was something hanging on the tip of Megumi’s tongue.

“Hi.” You whispered, briefly making eye contact with him before looking at the wood grains on the table.

“Hi.” Sighing out the word, Megumi kept his eyes on your face, observing the way you bit your lip nervously and kept your thighs tightly clenched together. When his eyes dropped down to see the tennis bracelet on your wrist, you thought smoke would pour out of his ears.

“Getting acquainted with your new step sister?” Sauntering into the space, Toji roughly ruffled your hair, laughing at the way you swatted him away before doing the same to Megumi.

“You could say that.” The younger man replied, his eyes slightly narrowed looking between the two of you. Loudly pulling out the chair next to you, Toji sat down and slid his hand onto your thigh under the table.

“Alright, everyone, time to eat!” Ever the hostess, your mother appears without fail with the pizza you’d said you wanted for dinner.

As you ate, you could tell Megumi knew something was up between you and Toji. He always seemed to make eye contact with you whenever Toji’s hand strayed too high up your thigh and his thumb grazed your soaked slit. He was far too keen, sending you questioning looks whenever you would clear your throat to cover up a soft moan.

Left to clear the table with him, you couldn’t make eye contact with Megumi at all. The silence between you two was overbearing, made even more so when you went to the kitchen to wash the dishes.

“So, (Y/N)...my dad is fucking you, isn’t he?” Megumi’s abrupt question made the plate you had in your hands fall back into the sink with a loud clatter.

“W-what?” Staring down at the soapy water covering your hands, you could feel Megumi’s eyes burning a hole into your head.

“Don’t think I didn’t notice you two at the table. And I saw him climbing out of your bedroom window.” Taking a clean dish out of your hand, Megumi peers his head into your personal space, forcing you to make eye contact with him.

“And what if he is?” The lump in your throat was bigger than you expected, choking you as you tried to speak. This was it, now that Megumi knew he would tell your mother and life as you knew it would be over for you.

“Don’t cry.” He said softly, wiping off a tear on your cheek you didn’t even know was there. “My dad’s sick, taking advantage of you like this.”

“What?” Hiccuping softly, you rush to wipe the other tears off.

“I knew ever since he started dating your mom that he was into you, I’m sorry I didn’t try and stop him.” Megumi sighed heavily, shaking his head as if to chastise himself. “I’ll have a talk with him and-”

“N-no, don’t.” Sniffling the last of your tears away, you force your voice to be steady. “I can handle it.”

“(Y/N), he’s not a good man, he won’t listen to you if you just tell him to stop.”

“I know, I just-”

“Then let me help you!” Clearly growing agitated, Megumi’s voice rose and his palm slapped against the counter, making you jump. There was silence, then the shuffling of footsteps with Toji appearing in the kitchen entryway with a furrowed brow.

“What’s going on here?” Looking between the two of you, his gaze settled on Megumi. “You, speak.”

“I know what you’re doing.” Megumi glared at him. Refusing to back down, he remained locked in a stare with Toji as the man approached.

“Yeah? And what that might be?” Coming nearly face to face with each other, you noticed how close in height they were to each other, with Toji only a few inches taller.

“You’re taking advantage of (Y/N).”

“Ha, and who said that?” Flicking his eyes to you, Toji chuckled. “Cause I know it wasn’t her.”

“You’re disgusting, you know that? You’re married to her mother for God’s sake!”

“Whoop-de-fucking-doo, you’re so observant.” Spinning his finger in the air, Toji pushed Megumi’s shoulder. “What do you plan on doing about it?” Quirking a brow, Toji didn’t wait even two seconds for a response. “I know you’re just upset I got to her first, kid. Now all you’ve got is your little hand at night.”

“That’s not true!”

“Even if it’s not, keep your fucking hands off what’s mine.” Hooking an arm around your shoulder, Toji pressed a kiss to your temple. “If I catch you so much as jerking it when she’s around, I’m kicking your ass.”

“Fuck you.” Megumi spat, his fists clenched at seeing Toji touch you so casually. It boiled his blood to see his dad treating you like this; there wasn’t a doubt in Megumi’s mind that you weren’t suffering with him around.

“Sorry, not into boys.” Letting you go, Toji slinked away to the fridge and grabbed a can of beer. Leaving without another word, as he turned the corner Megumi slammed his hand down against the counter.

“That fucking bastard.” He snarled, hanging his head low and trying to calm his shaking breath. Slowly releasing the tension in his body, Megumi stood up straight and ran a hand through his hair. “Sorry, I need to take a walk.”

“Okay.” You whispered back, probably going unheard as he stormed out the back door. Leaving the rest of the dishes in the sink, you left the room as well, going up to your room and staying there for the rest of the night.

It’s deathly quiet in the house the following day. Any instance where Megumi and Toji are in the same room, the tension rises dramatically. Refusing to even acknowledge the others presence, Toji has already whisked your mother away for an impromptu date night at five pm, promising to stay out late with a biting tone directed at Megumi.

“Finally that dirtbag left.” Huffing as soon as the door is closed, Megumi slumped onto the couch. “I can’t stand him, I don’t get what your mother sees in him.”

“I have no idea.” You mumble, feigning disinterest and scrolling on your phone. In truth, whenever you had a moment alone during the day, Toji had come up to you and touched you, teasing you by cupping your ass or kissing you. All you wanted to do was go upstairs and relieve the burn between your legs, but no good excuse to leave Megumi alone came to mind.

“Some of my uni buddies sent me home with a gift, if you’re interested.”

“What is it?” Sending him a curious look, you watched him hop up from the couch.

“You’ll see.”

The gift in question was an unopened bottle of liquor one step up from the bottom shelf. It didn’t smell good when he opened the bottle and even mixed with some juice from the fridge, the burn as it went down your throat was horrid.

“Are you sure this can be called a gift?” You blanched, face scrunching up tightly in displeasure.

“When you’re on a budget like we are, yeah.”

“I thought Toji sent you money?” Swirling the liquid in your cup, you watched Megumi take a bitter sip.

“Why would I ever use his money?” Sure, Toji made sure Megumi’s bank account never hit below five digits, but that didn’t mean he wanted it or even asked for it. Leaving well enough alone, you turned on a random movie and kept drinking, keeping all mentions of Toji at bay.

It doesn’t take long for the two of you to get properly drunk, words slurring together and dumb drunk giggles shared between you. It was easier to get to know Megumi this way, his likes and dislikes and general personality; the harsh scowl on his lips was gone, replaced with a lopsided smile.

“I gotta take a leak.” Stumbling up from the couch, Megumi strolled out of the room, keeping his hand on the wall to steady himself. Flipping through your phone in his absence, a sudden text caught your attention.

(Toji): daddy’s bored baby, send me a little something

(Y/N): like what?

(Toji): I’d love to see you in that new lingerie

Giggling coyly as if he’d spoken the words directly to you, you kept a tight grip on your phone as you made your way to your room. Megumi and the movie on the TV didn’t even cross your mind as you closed your door and went straight to your dresser drawer.

It was a bit of a hassle getting your clothes off and then the new ones on, your vision was swimming and every few seconds you stopped to giggle at yourself and your lack of ability. Bumbling through sliding the lacy panties up your legs, you flopped onto bed and opened the camera.

Emboldened by the alcohol, you took several pictures of yourself for Toji. Nearly all of them were at least slightly blurry, some brazen shots of your cunt through the panties while others were tasteful shots of your breasts.

Sending them off with a few heart emojis and a little ‘sorry, I’m drunk’ tacked on, you clutched your phone to your chest as you waited for his reply.

“(Y/N), you in here?” Megumi threw open your bedroom door with no warning or second thought, his eyes bulging out of his skull seeing you spread out on your bed in lingerie.

“Gumi, get out!” Throwing your hands over your body, you let your phone fall to the floor. Stuck in a drunken stupor, Megumi didn’t leave the room, but he did look down at the text Toji sent you.

“Why is my dad texting you that he’s fucking rock hard?” Curling his lip in disgust as he read the message aloud, he scrolled up to see the previous messages, his mouth falling open at seeing your pictures.

“Megumi!” Snatching your phone angrily from him, you gave him a hard shove. “Leave!”

“(Y/N), don’t let him do this to you!” Megumi barely moved from the push.

“Just leave!”

“No! I won’t let him ruin your life!” Grabbing onto your shoulders, Megumi swayed slightly. “I know it can be exciting to get attention like this but- but don’t do it with him.”

“You don’t know anything.” Crossing your arms over your chest, you refuse to meet Megumi’s eyes. He’s silent for a beat, weighing whatever options are inside his head.

“I do know some things.” Licking his lips nervously, Megumi tilts his head and catches your eye. “I do know anyone is better for you than that nasty fuck. Even I’m better than him.”

“Yeah?” For some reason, you crack a smile for him. There’s something about how adamant Megumi hates his father that makes you laugh a little.

“Let me show you.” His voice drops and Megumi shuffles closer to you, the fabric of his t-shirt grazing your nipples through the thin fabric of the bra. The action, along with the way Megumi looks at you, has the heat between your legs picking up again.

You’re grabbing his collar and kissing him before you can take a full breath in, lips drunkenly smashing against each other as you stumble back onto your bed. Megumi’s hands go up and down your sides, grabbing and squeezing your flesh between his fingers.

Kissing down your neck, Megumi’s hand slides under your panties and he doesn’t speak on the fact you’re already wet enough that he can slide two fingers into your cunt with ease. Even if the fact does catch his mind it’s gone just as quickly as he grinds the heel of his hand on your clit.

Sloppily rutting into your thigh, Megumi lets out a pleased sigh when you tug his sweatpants down and free his cock. Jerking him off as you kiss, he swats your hand away when he finally gets fully situated overtop of you.

“Fuck.” You both groan as he slides in, your panties hooked to the side because both of you were too frantic to properly take them off. Megumi kisses you as he thrusts into you, noses bumping painfully together as you chase your high.

Even with Megumi looking exactly like him, you still find yourself wishing it was Toji above you. They sound nearly identical as well, Megumi’s groans a dead ringer for his fathers. Keeping your eyes squinted, you force the image of Toji to be the one in front of you and combined with Megumi messily rubbing your clit, you’re able to cum with a soft moan the same time as Megumi.

“Shit, I came inside.” When the glow of his orgasm finally subsided, Megumi pulled out of you with a hiss and slid your underwear back into place.

“It’s okay, I’m on the pill.” A decision you were happy about, remembering Toji had cum inside you as well. Sitting with you a few minutes longer, catching his breath and lightly petting your hair, Megumi comes to a slow stand.

“I’m going to take a shower, try to get some sleep.” Pulling your blanket over you, the two of you share a smile before he leaves. Your phone lays forgotten on the floor, all the ensuing text messages from Toji ignored as you fall asleep.

It’s not that he’s upset. No no, Toji could never be upset with you. He was more disappointed than anything. Coming home in the dead of night to an empty bottle of vodka on the floor and his son passed out drunk in his bed, and then coming to your room to see you still in the lingerie you’d sent pictures of with cum that wasn’t his smeared along your panties.

No, Toji wasn’t upset. But the way he ripped the blanket off your body could lead you to think otherwise. Staring at you, passed out and utterly helpless beneath him, the desire to ruin you had him rolling his shoulders. He was getting excited at the prospect of hurting you, teaching you a lesson in not sharing what was his.

Climbing on top of you, Toji spread your legs apart, a sick grin pushing his cheeks up. It wasn’t everyday he got to use his own sons cum as lube, and it surely wouldn’t happen again. But as Toji slid his cock into you and the squelch of it sounded around his cock, he couldn’t help but let out a deep, low laugh.

Lighting a cigarette over you, Toji goes slow in fucking your sleeping body. He doesn’t need to worry about your mother possibly wondering where he was; he had drugged her on the way back home. Megumi wouldn’t wake up even if you screamed, liquor was always a good nightcap for him.

Maybe Toji was a bit upset, because the longer he stared at you, the more irritated he became. He knew he would have to take care of Megumi later, smack the kid around a few times and send him on a train back to university. But with you, your punishment needed to be special.

“Wakey wakey, sweetheart.” He sang to himself, nearly dropping the cigarette dangling between his lips as he shifted forward and wrapped both hands around your neck. Slowly increasing the pressure, Toji’s eyes flew open in delight when you choked and sputtered to life.

“Toji?!” Your voice was practically none existent, there was hardly any air left in your lungs for you to make a sound. Your fingers clawed at Toji, struggling to be let go in your still drunken haze.

“Thought you could go and be a slut, did ya?” Leaning over you, Toji begins to pound into you. Although there’s a slightly softer give because you’re still wet, your cunt still burns painfully from the treatment and Toji refuses to be even the slightest bit gentle.

He lets go of your neck when your hands fall slack, clamping one hand on your waist as the other ashes his cigarette over your stomach, watching as it settles onto your skin.

“Le-let me go.” You force the words out between hard gulps of air.

“Why, so you can fuck my son again?” He cocks his head to the side and takes a long drag, blowing the smoke right in your face.

“How do you-”

“Cameras, baby. I put cameras all over the house and there’s a couple in your room right now.” Toji revels in your surprised expression and even more so in the pained one you give him when he takes another drag and puts the lit cigarette against your skin. You scream exactly how he wanted you to and he does it again and again.

“Toji! Toji stop, please-” You sob, trying to swat away the cigarette butt getting your hands pinned to the mattress instead. Looking down at your thighs, there’s several blooming burns taking shape, marring your skin and leaving bloody welts.

“Only if you stop being a slut.” Finally done with his cigarette, Toji flicks it onto your bed to be dealt with later. Planting both hands by your head, Toji sneers down at you. “Tell me, are you ever going to fuck someone else again?”

“N-no.” Tears cloud your vision and you shakily put your arms around Toji’s shoulders as he fucks you even harder.

“No what?”

“No daddy!” Fully wailing, you bury your face into Toji’s neck when he leans down close enough. “No no no no.” Your quivering little cries are all Toji needs to cum, slamming his hips against yours one last time before stilling completely. He breathes deeply as his seed mixes with Megumi’s, too much for your cunt to handle as it spills out when he pulls out.

“That’s what I thought.” Toji isn’t gentle when he removes himself from you. He’s even less so in removing your lingerie, ripping it to shreds with his bare hands and touting that it was ruined now. He leaves you alone for a few minutes, returning in only his boxers with a new shirt in his hands that he forces onto you.

Sitting at the head of your bed, Toji pulls you into his lap. His shirt does a good job of covering the burn marks littering your upper thighs, something you want to forget about sooner rather than later.

“I’m telling my mom.” The words fall slowly from your mouth, taking all your courage to say. Toji snorts, lighting another cigarette and blowing the smoke into the air.

“Life’ll get a lot worse for you if you become a little tattle-tale.” He says it calmly, meeting your eye when you pull away to look up at him. “Who do you think stopped all those debt collectors? Payed off this shitty house and filled not only your mom's bank account but also your fridge.”

“I-”

“Who’s gonna take care of her if I leave? You two certainly weren’t cutting it without me.” He’s right and you know it. The truth of the matter was that you couldn’t survive without Toji’s money and if your mother left him, the two of you would have an even harder time finding work.

The truth made tears burn your lashes and fall down your cheeks, hiccuping cries left your lips that were only slightly muffled by Toji pulling your head into his chest. Putting out his cigarette, he ran a hand down your back and cooed.

“Oh pretty baby, don’t cry. Daddy won’t do it again, he promises. So long as you promise to keep that little mouth shut and let him do whatever he wants. We got a deal?” Toji half nods your head for you, pressing a big kiss to your forehead.

“Daddy, m’tired.” Sniffling loudly, you force the tears to stop falling, biting your lip to stem the flow.

“Let’s go to sleep then.” Shuffling you under the covers, Toji follows suit. He smells strongly of cigarettes, the scent overtaking you as his head hits your pillow. Pulling you against his body, Toji grips your ass tightly. “Goodnight doll.”

“Goodnight.” Biting back another wave of tears, you push your head into Tojis chest and will yourself to go to sleep.

Being awoken with your step fathers hands around your neck had been scary and was imprinted on your mind for the rest of your life. But waking up in the morning with your legs over his shoulders and his face buried in your cunt was surely a memory that would stick with you as well.

“There she is.” Toji grinned, his chin glistening as he looked up at you. “Took you long enough.” Shoving his tongue deep into you, Toji stifled any opportunity for a response. Your heels dug into his back, hand shooting out to grip his messy bedhead. With how sensitive you were already, he must have been between your legs for a while.

Sucking on your clit, Toji groaned as you gripped his hair painfully hard, your back arching high off the bed as you came. Your body thrashed around, hands trying to pull Toji closer while also pushing him away. Pulling his mouth away, Toji rubbed his fingers against your clit in the absence of his tongue.

“Good morning, princess.” Laughing when you smacked his hands away, Toji sat up and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, making a show of licking off all of your slick that coated his face.

“G-good morning.” Breathless from the ordeal, you dumbly kissed Toji back when he knelt down and captured your lips. You could taste yourself so strongly on his tongue and smell yourself on his skin.

Breaking the kiss, Toji helped you dress for the day. He didn’t make any mention or acknowledge the marks on your legs, only giving them a flitting glance as you pulled on some pants.

Walking down the stairs together, to your horror Megumi was already in the kitchen when you walked in. He glared angrily at Toji, giving the man a wide berth as he moved about the space. Slinking to the farthest wall, he sent you a pitying look and took a sip of the coffee in his mug.

“Good morning!” Your mother announced her presence with a loud yawn, barreling into the kitchen with terrible bedhead and a stumble to her walk.

“Good morning mom.” You couldn’t look her in the eyes, keeping your head bowed as you returned her greeting.

“Morning honey.” Toji smirked, kissing your mother right on the mouth and keeping her there for a few seconds.

“Get a room.” Megumi mumbled under his breath, rolling his eyes at the two.

“Toji, what’s that taste in your mouth?” Smacking her lips together as she pulled away from the kiss, your mother furrowed her brows. “Is that a new gum or something?” Making direct eye contact with you, Toji snorts and pulls her into a hug.

“Yeah, something like that.”

[bitsandbobsofwriting]

Camlann, except no one is being held back by stupid destinies;

Merlin manages to keep Morgana and Mordred on the side of the light, which has a few rather influential knock-on effects.

Morgause leads her army onto the barren fields of Camlann, her hair and eyes wild, but her sword and focus sharp. Opposite stands her traitor sister’s half brother, the Boy-King of Camelot, surrounded by his precious knights. Today, they would all die, she would make certain of that.

Arthur struggles to keep his hands from trembling, he’s well aware that this battle will likely be his, and subsequently Camelot’s, downfall, but his nerves are settled slightly by Merlin’s comforting presence at his side. Which he feels immensely guilty at. 

He’d done his best to urge Merlin to run, to take Gwen and Gaius and maybe even Morgana, to go to Ealdor to pick up his mother and run even further, just in case. Merlin had refused of course; Gwen and Morgana had squawked at Arthur’s stupid chivalry and planted their feet firmly in the throne room, a symbolic last line of defence, and Gaius rolled his eyes and reaffirmed that he would be in the infirmary tent, as planned. 

He’d given his men his speech and they all seemed content to die for the cause, for one last desperate attempt to keep their home safe, but that didn’t stop the freezing claw of guilt from shredding Arthur’s lungs every time he took a breath. They were just waiting now. For someone to make the first move, for Morgause to get a little closer, for someone to send a messenger. 

Arthur’s broken from his stare when a warm, soft, steady hand takes his gently. His head whips to the side to see Merlin, stood without armour (oh, how The King despaired) staring at him with a slight frown. A frown, Arthur thinks, that should be much deeper, and much more afraid. He’s grateful it isn’t. He’s not sure he could cope with seeing Merlin scared:

“Arthur, if... if I knew a way to win this, once and for all, with not a drop of Camelot blood spilt... would you let me?”

It takes Arthur a few moments to process what Merlin had said, on account of his brain focusing on how grateful he is to hear his voice and feel the warmth of his hand instead of actually listening to him speak, but when he does, he copies his servant’s frown, though his is slightly more confused. He doesn’t let go of Merlin’s hand as he responds, instead tightening his grip:

“What on Earth are you talking about?”

Merlin gulps and looks away briefly, a look of guilt if Arthur ever saw one, but he finds he doesn’t really care. They’re all about to die, he’d forgive Merlin anything:

“If I could win this battle, and the war, right here, right now. Would you let me?-”

At Arthur’s continued perplexed look, Merlin rolls his eyes and huffs, smirking slightly as he adds on:

“-Just humour me.”

Arthur gulps, glancing towards the slowly advancing army before once again squeezing Merlin’s hand and looking back at him:

“It would... depend on the consequences, I suppose. Would you get hurt?”

Merlin shakes his head, then stops, and tilts it sideways as though he’s considering something he’d really rather not think about. He can’t meet Arthur’s gaze as he responds:

“I... might need a few hours to rest, afterwards, but any... long term consequences would depend on your reaction.”

Arthur recoils slightly at that, frown deepening as he shakes his head, completely oblivious to the keen listening ears of his six most loyal knights, and another, hidden towards the back of the group. If he’d turned to see them, Arthur would’ve noticed the blank looks of steely determination on Lancelot and Mordred’s faces:

“Well we would never have to worry about that. I... I could never see you hurt, Merlin.”

The King’s voice cracks as he mentions Merlin getting hurt, and the servant’s gaze softens, knowing that Arthur was thinking of their inevitable demise, creeping closer and closer. He squeezes his hand, giving him a soft smile as his other hand lifts up to rest on his shoulder; his question comes out soft and pleading:

“Do you trust me?”

Arthur has to use all of his self control not to yell his answer across Camlann:

“More than anyone.”

Merlin smiles sadly and steps back, dropping both of his still-steady hands to his sides; Arthur feels the gap between them more heavily than he feels the armour on his back. Merlin goes to turn away without another word, but before he can take even one step, a figure is pushing through to the front, gripping his wrist and pulling him back:

“I’m coming too.”

Arthur’s eyes go comically large as he hears Morgana’s voice come from under the hood. He steps forward to rip it down, and she only spares him an annoyed glance before she’s back to staring purposefully at Merlin. A gasp goes up around the group from all bar two, and Mordred dismounts his horse, walking forward to be in line with Morgana. The three of them entirely ignore Arthur’s outraged words:

“Morgana, what the hell are you doing here? You need to be safe at the castle, you’re meant to take the crown what the hell are you doing here?!”

Merlin meets Morgana’s determined glare with a resigned one of his own:

“No, this is my-”

Mordred interrupts him, his voice strong in a way that Arthur had never heard from the youngest knight before:

“No. No, it’s not. You’re not just fighting for Camelot, Merlin, you’re fighting or us, for our people.”

Merlin looks like he wants to argue, but Morgana crosses her arms and holds her head high as she speaks:

“You’re making a stand and you have no right to stop us from doing the same. This is bigger than you, bigger than all three of us, this is our fight just as much as it is yours.”

Merlin can only hold their stare for so long before he sighs and looks to the floor, entirely oblivious to the knights panicking (bar Lancelot, of course). He looks up with a small, relaxed smile on his face, and if Arthur weren’t so preoccupied with the fact that Morgana was definitely not supposed to be here, he would’ve found Merlin’s almost-nonchalance calming. The servant holds both his hands out:

“Together?”

Mordred grins widely, taking one of Merlin’s wrists as he responds confidently:

“For Camelot.”

Morgana does the same, a sudden wind whipping her hair behind her wildly:

“For our people.”

Without another moment’s of hesitation, Merlin turns and marches towards Morgause and her army. His steps are purposeful and strong, and Arthur can’t bring himself to stop him, no matter how desperately his brain is screaming at him. Morgana turns to him with a not-quite-cruel smirk:

“This has been a long time coming, brother. Enjoy the show.”

Arthur can only blink in surprise as she turns and walks towards Merlin. Mordred looks to him next, though the young knight’s smile is a lot softer, a lot more pitying:

“You should consider yourself lucky, Arthur,-”

Arthur barely registers the use of his first name:

“-my Lord gave up his throne in favour of serving you, buried his crown in favour of polishing yours.”

Arthur shakes his head slightly, his voice quiet and confused and strained as he asks:

“Your Lord?”

Mordred looks to Merlin, still marching across the seemingly never-ending field, with an awed smile; his voice is quiet and holds notes of what almost sound like worship:

“He’s more than you know.”

Before Arthur can respond, Merlin and Morgana stop, turning to look at Mordred expectantly. Merlin stares blankly, his brows slightly furrowed, but Morgana sports a wild grin as she yells back:

“I though you wanted to join in on the fun, Mordred?”

The young knight grins in response, turning to Arthur and giving him one last short bow as he cheerfully says, not a trace of worry in his voice:

“Lady Morgana is right My Lord, enjoy the show.”

He turns away quickly, jogging to catch up with the other two before anyone can say anything. Gwaine is the first to react, jumping off his horse and starting forward, to catch up with them, to pull them back, to ask them what the fuck was going on, but Lance quickly lands behind him, grabbing his shoulder:

“Wait, don’t. You trust them right?-”

He casts his gaze around the others, all looking slightly confused but mostly panicked as they dismount their horses. Mordred, Merlin, and Morgana make their journey to the centre of the field, but Lancelot’s eyes focuses on Arthur:

“-You said you trusted him, so just... this is what he does, Arthur. Please, just trust him, everything’s going to be ok.”

Arthur is desperate to question his knight, to demand that he explain what’s going on and give up anything, everything he knows, but before he can say anything, Elyan gasps and points somewhere beyond their friends. The whole army seems to resume their earlier jitters as Morgause differentiates herself from her soldiers.

~

The three magic users spread out slightly as they come to a stop, Mordred on the left, Morgana on the right, and Merlin, of course, in the middle.

A storm seems to be fast approaching and the loud wind makes hearing each other difficult, but they don’t need words to speak, and Mordred’s question echoes in Merlin’s head as all of their gazes focus on Morgause stepping forward:

“Are the other two coming?”

The Warlock nods, tapping his finger to his temple briefly as he replies:

“I called for them hours ago, they’re almost-”

~

Arthur is distracted from all that’s in front of him when a desperate and terrified voice screeches out from the back of his army:

“DRAGONS!!”

He, and all the other knights, whip their heads around in panic, only to see exactly what had been yelled about. The Dragon that Arthur had supposedly killed years ago is flying towards them like a hurricane, golden scales shining bright even in the shadows of the approaching storm. Next to him flies a much smaller dragon, pure white and clearly young, unstable in the air but still graceful, still terrifying.

Arthur’s heart sinks even impossibly further as they both fly straight over them, aiming for the other side of the field. If Morgause had two Dragons at her beck and call somehow, there was no hope, no matter what ridiculous plan Merlin had. Arthur felt the tears fill his eyes, but he didn’t let them fall. If this was to end in fire, then he’d sprint to Merlin, just so he could see him, hold his hands, beg him for a smile, one last time.

Lancelot holds him back with a hand on his shoulder and a soft smile:

“I know this doesn’t make sense, but just... trust him.”

He turns back to Merlin just to see the great beasts land in front of them, almost acting as a barrier between the three of them and the opposing army.

~

“-Took you long enough.”

Kilgharrah does his best imitation of rolled eyes before dipping his head in a bow:

“Where would you like us, young Warlock?”

Merlin grins, allowing Aithusa to push her head into his hands as he answers:

“I want you somewhere off to the side looking vaguely threatening. Only intervene if you have to, I don’t want the Camelot knights getting twitchy and skewering you, you’re an old man after all, I’m not sure you could take it.-”

Morgana laughs aloud and Mordred snorts behind his hand, but Kilgharrah just rolls his eyes again, giving another bow that this time somehow seems sarcastic before clomping off to the side, prowling up and down the edge of the field and huffing the occasional puffs of smoke in the opposition’s direction. Merlin looks down to Aithusa next, scratching her chin and using a much softer voice:

“Go watch over Arthur, keep him safe but don’t let him or any of the others hurt you, I’m sure Lance will explain. Try to stay out of the fighting and don’t let Morgause get anywhere near Arthur or the knights, you understand?”

The creature purrs and nods, stepping around her master and beginning an impossibly fast sprint towards Arthur.

~

Arthur stares with wide eyes at the gathering in the middle of the field, letting out a deep breath when the Great Dragon bows down to Merlin’s confident stance. The smaller creature bounds to him as he... exchanges words with the beasts, and all Arthur can do is stare as his brain argues over which emotion should be at the forefront. Fear? Confusion? Betrayal? Some kind of guilt? Pride, maybe?

Lancelot definitely looks proud, worried, but proud, and Arthur spares him a questioning glance; before he can say anything, Leon lets out a quiet yelp, pointing across the field and drawing his sword on instinct. Arthur whips his head around to see the white Dragon speeding towards them, eyes bright, teeth bared, and sharp claws ripping up the ground with every step.

He draws his own sword, panic clawing at his gut, but before he can step forward in some pointless attempt to protect his men, Lancelot pulls him back again, stepping in between Arthur and the approaching Dragon with a placating hand held out to each of them; his voice comes out quickly and desperate:

“No, no, she’s on our side, don’t hurt her. Merlin sent her here to protect us, don’t hurt her.”

Arthur stares between them with a mix of blood-curdling fear and endless confusion. But he trusts Merlin, and he trusts Lancelot, so much to Leon’s displeasure he lowers his sword, though he doesn’t sheath it, not yet.

The Dragon finally reaches them, coming to a skidding stop a few feet away. Arthur’s fear is overpowered by confusion, and an odd fondness in the back of his mind, when the creature almost topples over in it’s haste. She purrs loudly, and even Leon appears to relax slightly, even more so when she dips her head in what appears to be a bow to Arthur, before turning her attention to Lancelot and pushing her face into his hands.

The other knights all start forward on instinct, but when Lance lets out a low chuckle and begins... scratching the creature’s chin?? They step back again, watching as the Dragon begins purring even louder, almost bowling Lancelot over as it rubs it’s scaled body across his legs. It’s... acting like a cat...

Gwaine coughs very deliberately and Lancelot looks up with a blush, biting his lip before saying, his words awkward and stilted:

“Uh... guys, this is Aithusa, she’s... a Dragon. She can’t speak yet, but-”

Percival makes a confused noise in the back of his throat, shaking his head with wide eyes as he asks incredulously:

“Dragons are meant to be able to speak??”

Lancelot grimaces, but nods, but before he can say anything, Morgause’s crazed voice echoes over the field, and their attention is drawn back to the face off between Merlin, Morgana, Mordred, and the enemy.

~

“You can not beat me, not even with your precious pets!!”

The gang can hear Kilgharrah’s low growl at the insult and the sound vibrates across the ground and up into their very bones, even with the distance between them. Aithusa tenses in response, eyes narrowed and teeth bared as she detects the anger and insult swarming in her Kin, but Merlin holds a hand out to the Great Dragon, and both creatures relax as he monotonously responds:

“I’m giving you one chance, Morgause, do not send your followers to a pointless death.”

His tone is even and confident, his back straight, his head held high, and Arthur wonders how he’d never noticed Merlin’s obvious power before. Despite speaking normally, his voice is heard by everyone, even over the howling wind.

The knights can see Morgause’s hands shaking in her rage, her eyes wide and bright golden as she screeches her response, her anger showing through clearly:

“I am no coward!! You are nothing but a servant, a child soldier, and a pampered princess! What hope do you have against me?! I am a High Priestess, you are nothing!!!”

Merlin lowers his head, nodding slightly in resigned sadness. His muttered words, once again, somehow seem to echo across the field, and Arthur recoils at the grief in his tone:

“So be it.”

He slowly lifts his arm, holding it at a forty-five degree angle from the ground, his fingers splayed wide, and Elyan gasps, pointing wordlessly to the lightening dancing between his fingertips. Gwaine lets out a boisterous laugh, grinning as he realises with sudden clarity that Merlin is about to kick ass in a major way.

Arthur just gapes, struggling to process what was happening even as Gwaine whoops and Lancelot smiles proudly. The other knights are also staring, varying levels of confusion, awe, and happiness on their faces. 

From where they’re standing, they can see Mordred and Morgana get into a fighting stance, though neither of them draw the swords they have hanging from their hips. Morgause lets out an ear piercing screech, this one wordless, giving the distinct impression that her mind had snapped under the weight of her fury. Her army begins their march forwards as she hurls a fireball the size of a horse straight for Merlin, but he simply twists his wrist sharply forwards. A bolt of lightening rips down from the sky, intercepting the fireball and forcing it to the ground where it explodes in a miniature storm of silver sparks and golden flames.

Morgause screams again, her and her army speeding up in their approach as Merlin gives some sort of unseen command. All of a sudden, Mordred gives a small leap forward, planting his feet firmly as he thrusts his hands towards the ground before ripping them up again; with the movement, the ground at his feet explodes, vines and rocks and roots bursting from the field in a sharp line heading straight for the army. Morgana, at the same time, swirls her arms gracefully around her head, a few sparks of fire lighting up in the darkness as if from the friction between her hands and the air. She brings her arms down again, completing the elegant flow, stepping forward as she blows harshly into her cupped hands. A great, hot fire bursts forth, huge and angry and writhing as it shoots towards the enemy.

A few feeble counter attacks are thrown from Morgause and the sorcerers she has in her ranks, but ultimately, the army can only look on in horror at their approaching deaths. After a few moments of Merlin staring proudly at Mordred and Morgana’s handy work as it rips apart the first few hundred soldiers, he takes his own step forward, raising his arm to the sky. Lightening dances between just his fingertips at first, then down his arm, then all over his body; he connects to the flashes in the sky, and he glows brighter and brighter until he thrusts both arms forward. A tornado of flashing, crackling light shoots out from his hands, striking down thousands of soldiers. Shards of lightening jump from enemy to enemy, leaving none untouched by magic, each being struck down by Mordred’s earth, Morgana’s fire, or Merlin’s sky.

The Camelot army can only stare on in shock and horror as the enemy is wiped out in minutes, screams of those being buried alive, burned as if on pyres, or fried from the inside out reverberating across the field. Arthur’s mouth hangs open, his eyes wide and frozen on Merlin as he conducts lightening as if it were what he was born to do. Something deep in Arthur’s soul tells him that this is what he was born to do.

Aithusa’s protection isn’t required; none of the enemy soldiers get within ten metres of Merlin and his pupils, let alone Arthur and the other knights, but she patrols the front edge of Camelot’s army regardless, nudging back those that step too far forward (everyone was too focused on The King’s manservant, knight, and half sister being... well... Godlike, to care about the fact that a Dragon was using her snout to gently push people around), always with one eye on Arthur, just like her master had asked.

Within minutes, the field goes almost silent; the only sounds to be heard are the gentle crackling of still-smouldering bodies, and the deep breaths of Morgause, Mordred, Morgana, and Arthur. Merlin seems entirely unbothered, his stance still strong and powerful where Mordred and Morgana sag slightly from the exertion.

Morgause falls to her knees, tears on her cheeks as she finally realises the power that she’s up against; Merlin tilts his head slightly before clicking his fingers. The four of them disappear in clouds of deep black smoke and Arthur struggles to stop himself from yelping and falling back when they reappear in front of him.

Morgause is still kneeling, Merlin in front of her with a blank expression on his face. Morgana stands to the side, her face an odd mix of sorrowfully defeated—Morgause was her sister after all—and vindictively victorious. Mordred stands at her shoulder, looking a lot more tired but still managing to stay upright as he gazes upon the scene with well put together indifference. Aithusa bounds over to be stood at her master’s side, and even Kilgharrah joins them, standing behind Aithusa a way’s off.

Morgause finally speaks through her deep breathing, staring up at Merlin in desperation:

“Who are you?”

Merlin just tilts his head and frowns slightly, crouching down to place a soft hand on her shoulder:

“Who do you think?”

Morgause sags even further, her tears streaming down her face as she almost whispers, her voice cracking:

“Emrys.”

Merlin nods slowly, looking to Arthur for the first time since the whole ordeal started. Arthur is taken aback at the shining gold of his eyes, but holds his gaze, gulping and waiting for his servant (?) to make the first move:

“Your orders, My Lord?”

Arthur takes a deep breath, looking first down at Morgause, who is staring at the floor blankly, then to Mordred and Morgana, who raise eyebrows at him, then Lancelot, who shrugs, and finally the other knights, who stare at him with wide eyes, waiting for his answer just as Merlin is. His hands clench at his side, but he looks back to the dark-haired man, his face determined and his voice strong:

“Your suggestion?”

Lancelot nods approvingly at Arthur’s obvious show of trust; the question is more than just a question, it’s a display that The King is treating Merlin like an advisor, asking for his counsel and trusting his allegiance in front of a crowd. Merlin smiles slightly, tightening his grip on Morgause’s shoulder, not that she notices:

“I’m not overly fond of execution, but we don’t have dungeons strong enough to hold her long term, and too many have suffered at her hand.”

Arthur nods, though he sheathes his sword. He takes a deep breath before his next instruction, knowing that this is... delicate, and important; a turning point in his Kingdom’s history:

“Make it merciful.”

Merlin holds in his proud smile and Morgause only has time to gasp quietly as his hand moves from her shoulder to her forehead. Her eyes roll back and she collapses to the floor, dead before she even hits the ground. 

The Warlock spares the dead witch a quick, pitying glance, and the grief in his eyes, even after all she had done, is endearing, reminding everyone around them of the compassion Merlin is capable of. He stands quickly, but is careful not to make any of his moves too sudden, stepping away from the body and towards Arthur. His stance is strong once again, allowing some before unseen authority, confidence, power to shine through; Mordred and Morgana take their places either side of them, and even Aithusa sits up, tall and proud, as Kilgharrah edges forward slightly.

This is Merlin, showing off his army, presenting it to his King, offering it up for judgment. An army consisting of himself, his two apprentices, and two Dragons; not large, but likely the most powerful the land has ever known, and ever will know.

Arthur gulps, but meets Merlin’s golden gaze. The atmosphere is thick and charged and The King couldn’t pinpoint whether it was from the residual lightening still jumping between Merlin’s fingers, or the sheer power that was just displayed, seemingly effortlessly. He glances over the Warlock’s shoulder at the carnage behind him and can’t help but take a deep, fortifying breath. Merlin tilts his head, glancing at the massacre for just a moment before looking back with an almost repentant smile:

“I apologise for the theatrics,-”

He’s interrupted by Morgana’s whispered murmur of “I don’t, that was brilliant.” but ignores her:

“-but I can... fix that. If you like?”

Arthur frowns slightly, confused and so far out of his comfort zone that he doesn’t even want to hazard a guess at what Merlin might be implying. He feels a mould grow spontaneously in his gut, a horror with spores that spread throughout his bloodstream as he realises that... he doesn’t really know anything about magic, about how it works, about how Merlin is offering to use it. It had yet to occur to him to be afraid of Merlin, but the sudden realisation that he’d been persecuting his servant’s people with no real understanding of his own former hatred was... jarring.

The Warlock sees Arthur’s hesitation, widening his reassuring smile slightly as he repeats an earlier question, from a time that felt as though it had come years before, but was really only minutes. The discrepancy in timelines between Arthur’s head and the real world does not alter the King’s answer

“Do you trust me?”

“More than anyone.”

Merlin closes his eyes, holding his hands out to the side slightly as he lets out a deep breath. The storm, which Arthur and the knights had become entirely oblivious of despite it’s ruinous thunder and blinding flashes of lightening, quickly dissipates; blue sky and bright sun peek through the fading clouds. A gold shimmer ripples out across the ground from Merlin’s feet, spreading backwards like a wave over sand, turning pebbles and leaving the beach clean and fresh in it’s wake. The ground clears, bodies sinking into nothingness and fires being smothered by magic, even Morgause disappears into the dirt. 

Arthur absentmindedly thinks that that could be seen as honorary or disgracing; he supposes it depends on what type of person you were before the end of your life. Merlin would see being entombed within the Earth itself as a blessing, he somehow thinks that Morgause, with her God complex and inflated feelings of infallibility, would find it... demeaning.

Merlin sags his head slightly, and when Arthur’s brain comes back into focus, mostly prompted by the gasping and widespread whispers of the uneasy army behind him, he sees that the barren fields of Camlann, soaked with blood and scorched by lightening, no longer exist. In their place was a vast meadow, bright with the colours of spring and summer; untameable wildflowers stood tall and crimson butterflies were the only reminders of the bloodshed that had watered this paradise before them.

Arthur feels the smile on his face before he had even made the conscious decision to smile, but he decides that today, of all days, he doesn’t mind accidentally wearing his heart on his sleeve. Trust Merlin to do something as unspeakable as rip an army to shreds with lightening, and then apologise for his dramatics by creating heaven on earth.

The King sighs before shaking his head slightly, letting out a short, disbelieving laugh. He can feel the sun on his skin, and his smile grows with the knowledge that the heat warming his cheeks was entirely unnatural for this time of year; Merlin really was pulling out all of the stops.

“You’re a gift to this world, Merlin.”

His voice comes out softly, as if he were afraid of ruining the peace, though he only adds to it; The King finally turns to his Warlock again and almost stumbles back at the immeasurable devotion shining from his now-blue-again eyes. His whispered response carries on the wind as if he were a part of it, and Arthur wonders just how much of this world Merlin has touched, just how much of this universe Merlin has created, extended himself to. Did the wind exist before Merlin? Did the sun? Did butterflies, or lightening, or the colour gold have any space in this universe before Merlin willed it? Gaius’ thick books say they have an answer, but Arthur thinks they might be lying:

“A gift to you, Arthur, only to you.”

~

THE END!

I’ve been looking forward to writing this one for a while, so I hope y’all liked it!! I LOVE writing BAMF!Merlin, (and BAMF!Mordred/Morgana as well so) :D

Same as always, you wanna extend it/write it properly/remix it, then that’s fine, but drop me message before hand and credit/tag me!! :)

[after-witch]

Act of Contrition [Yandere Chrollo x Reader]

Title: Act of Contrition [Yandere Chrollo x Reader]

Synopsis: A shimmering blue evening gown was not the last thing you expected to see draped over the sitting chair that was tucked into the corner. What you didn’t expect, however, was his suggestion for you to try it on

Word Count: 3646

notes: yandere, kidnapped reader

 A shimmering blue evening gown was not the last thing you expected to see draped over the sitting chair that was tucked into the corner. It would certainly not be the first time that Chrollo had brought back something ostentatious, something glittering and expensive; something that you (if you were to psychoanalyze him, which you did, out of anxiety first and boredom second) would guess he wanted you to admire before it disappeared into the ether like so many other things he’d pilfered over the past few months.

What you didn’t expect, however, was his suggestion for you to try it on. 

At first you thought you’d misheard, your brain still pulling itself out of a dull, listless sleep. You had argued with him the night before, and the space between you on the bed was thick and heavy with tension until you had finally slid headlong into sleep. Surely he wouldn’t try to give you a gift after you spend most of the evening reminding him that you’ll never love him, or even like him, much less feel one iota of happiness in his presence.

But then he repeated the suggestion.

“Why?” Your tone is borderline acidic, and you don’t feel the need to hide your suspicion of his intentions.

Your captor had no doubt become well-acquainted with your nastiness over the months, though he rarely reacted to it with more than a tight expression, if he even gave you that. Sometimes he simply ignored you, as if you were a child having a tantrum, not his kidnapped victim.

In some ways, it was a surprising relief. In some ways, you could consider yourself lucky. Considering his abilities, considering his past, considering what he did when he left you alone in the condo or hotel or wherever he had you situated--he might well be the type to slap the attitude off your face, gentlemanly facade be damned. He could do worse than a slap, too; far worse.

But the months had gone on with only pointed sighs and looks; and despite his rationally stated insistence that you would give in to his attentions in time, you held onto your bitterness as tightly as you could. You prized yourself on it, the way you figure that he prizes his most precious steals.

He sometimes comes back with glittering jewels worth calculable fortunes, laying them out to see the way they look when the moonlight filters in through the open curtains. He doesn’t keep them for long, doesn’t display them, just memorizes their magnificence and then whisks them off.

You can relate to the gloating. But you don’t give your greatest treasures away. You, on the other hand, wear your bitterness 24/7 like an old woman clinging to her last precious mink coat, a remnant of an era gone-by. Draped over your shoulder, haughty and visible, daring him to say something when you give him a sarcastic jab in response to perfectly-polite-inquiries about this and that. The worst (but best, you think, to you) is when you feign interest in a conversation, feign some sort of acceptance of your situation, willing your hands to get closer to his as you sit on the sofa and read; only to snap back at the last moment, baring your teeth.

You hope it hurts him, to think he’s getting an inch forward with you only to have it pulled away. He deserves it for keeping you here.

Sometimes, you almost hope he would say something, do something, only because it might be a sort of reprieve. If he gets mad or slaps you, even, maybe the solid, sticky bitterness surrounding your heart might abate just a bit.

Then again, you know this saying very well: be careful what you wish for.

“I need to see if it fits.” His expression and tone haven’t changed. Polite, cordial, matter-of-fact. You hate it.

You force yourself out of bed and give the gown a glance before heading into the bathroom. He follows, picking up his own morning routine as you wash and brush side-by-side. You think he does it to seem domestic, in his own fucked-up way. You pointed this out, once, and he’d merely given you a small smile and asked: “Do you want to this to be domestic?”

Chrollo had a habit of turning your impulsive snark around on you, so you tried to plan your barbs out more carefully in the future.

“Why do you need to see if it fits?” You finally ask, words a bit muffled by the toothbrush hanging out of your mouth. You force yourself to glance at him in the mirror. He’s finished, already drying off his face, pinning a wrap around his forehead.

He catches your gaze in the mirror, and you feel too caught to look away.

“For tonight. We’re going to the theater.”

The toothbrush drops from your mouth and lands next to the sink, splattering lathered toothpaste on the counter. You wipe your mouth with a washcloth, missing a bit and not caring, and physically turn away from the mirror so you’re face-to-face.

“Are you serious?”

For the moment, your bitterness slides off, forgotten on the floor. He’s never offered to do something like this before. Sure, he’s mentioned that you might go out--”it depends on  your behavior”--but the thought of “being good” for Chrollo made you sick to your stomach every time you were tempted. So you hadn’t been outside for months, not really--the brief gaps when he’d whisk you into a car, always by his side, then pull you into a new hotel or luxury condo didn’t really count.

He nods.

“Yes. Please do hurry and try it on, I’ll need time to find another if it isn’t suitable.”

You glance out of the bathroom door and back into the bedroom, where the gown sits, draped, shimmering softly in the morning light. It’s something you never would have been able to afford before--and the thought of wearing it now makes your skin tingle. What is his plan? Why is he doing this?

“But I haven’t been good,” you say, almost spitting out the last word. Last night, in fact, you’d been almost beastly--you recall the words “go fuck yourself” and “I hate you” being thrown out before you twisted in the knife by bringing up an ex-fling.

He laughs, quick and harsh. It seems like a real laugh, for once, and something in your chest twists. It’s been a long time since you’ve heard anything truly authentic from him. Or yourself.

“Maybe it’s a reward for me, to have you by my side.  You want to go, don’t you?”

The thought makes your stomach clench. But… you did want to go. Really. To get out of here, even for a night? To get sucked into some type of show, whatever it was? You didn’t entertain the idea of trying to escape or draw attention to yourself for help--you knew Chrollo would never suggest taking you if it was a viable option. He was just as likely to slaughter the entire theater if you whispered to an usher that you were being held captive.

No, no escape in the cards… at least not physically.

You shrug your shoulders and try to seem nonchalant about it, though you’re sure he can feel the way your skin is buzzing.

“Sure, whatever. Don’t expect me to hold your hand or anything.”

He laughs, again. It’s blatantly false this time.

***

It has been… a while since you’ve done your makeup. The pile of messy makeup wipes on the counter can attest to that--this is now your third try at a full face without messing something up. Thankfully, the third time has been the charm, and you’re satisfied with the reflection in the mirror. Chrollo had turned up your old makeup bag, and sliding on the eyeliner you used to wear to work, out with friends, in your old life felt surreal and comforting at the same time.

You’ve even done your hair, though it could be nicer. You haven’t bothered with anything but hasty brushing in the past few months, and sometimes you’re too lethargic and frustrated to even bother with that. But it’s styled, a bit elegant--if you do say so yourself.

You glance down at the trio of lipsticks he set on the counter earlier. They’re not a brand you ever wore--they’re expensive, something out of reach for anyone used to pulling cheap store lipsticks out of a bin. The center lipstick is a bold red, and your hand reaches for it. Brief memories of your mother gushing about red lipstick come to mind; she always associated red lipstick with elegance, the fanciest of events, and you’re inclined to agree. It feels smooth, impossibly so; praise be to expensive formulas.

After blotting it with toilet paper--old habits--you step back to stare at yourself in the mirror. The dress fits you beautifully. The fabric is soft, refined, showing you off in all the right places. You’ve taken your time with your hair, your makeup, and you really do look nice. You bring your wrist up to your nose and sniff--the perfume Chrollo had picked out for you was elegant, subtle. Rose petals and apples and white musk.

You feel a wave of nostalgia come over you that you push down. It’s too bad you’re going to the theater with your captor and not with your friends. Or your mom.

“Are you finished?” His voice calls from the bedroom.

The thought of Chrollo seeing you like this makes you feel uncomfortably anxious for reasons you can’t quite pinpoint. The gown is not exactly risque, but it’s designed to highlight your features--and while he has never crossed the hardest line in regards to your personal autonomy, he wasn’t beyond stealing kisses from your unwilling lips when the mood struck him. He said it was to help you adjust to the relationship, as if kissing you against your will would make you love him.

You don’t answer him and instead give your hair a final touch up before heading out the open bathroom door.

Chrollo is standing next to the vanity, wearing an elegant suit, primped and polished--and handsome. You can’t help but freeze in place when he gives you a once-over, slow and deliberate.

“You look beautiful,” he says, finally, a slight breathiness to his voice. There’s an authentic tone to his voice again, and it makes you feel queasy.

You try to ignore the way your skin feels heated and shrug, crossing your arms over your chest as you approach him.

“Are we going now?”

He gives a soft smile. “Almost. One more thing.”

You watch curiously as he pulls out a jewelry box from his pocket, then opens it to reveal two glittering sapphire earrings. You can’t hold back a little gasp, but when you reach for them, Chrollo holds the box out of reach.

“I’ll do the honors.”

You want to say no. But you’re so close to leaving, so you simply stare to the side as he steps behind you.  He touches your ear--and you flinch. He chuckles quietly and you ignore the blossoming heat across your cheeks, both from his closeness and your reaction, while he fixes the earrings into your ears.

When he’s finished, you look up. The visage in the mirror seems like a familiar stranger. The feeling you get at seeing yourself so dressed up is familiar in some way. You think back to going to shows with your friends, or going to the ballet with your mom; your little ring-clad hand gripping hers as she hurried you past alleys on the way to the theater, your sparkling white party dress shedding glitter onto the streets. You can practically feel the way the theater always hums with anticipation, the unusual heaviness of feeling alone in a crowded room as your friends left you with the tickets while they grabbed a drink or two.

The sight of Chrollo behind you in the mirror, watching you with clear intent, breaks you away.

“We’re leaving now.”

***

“I… actually really like The Sleeping Beauty ballet.”

You feel awkward. It’s certainly not the first time you’ve been in a car with Chrollo, whether your forcibly pressed against him in the back seat or in the front, blasting the radio in an attempt to prevent him from striking up a conversation as he drives you to some new destination.

But it’s the first time you’ve been in the car for reasons other than transporting you to a new ‘home.’ The first time that you’ve both been dressed up; Chrollo’s cologne wafts gently over to you, and you can’t deny that he knows how to pick a good scent.

It’s also the first time you’ve felt conversation to be a necessity, if only to find out where you were going (the opera house) and what you were seeing (a ballet).

In fact, the news of the performance makes you sit up straighter in your seat. You feel a ping of excitement, and without thinking you share it out loud.

“That’s actually the first ballet I ever saw with my mom. Do you know what company it is?”

He tells you, and you bite your lip anxiously, squaring your shoulders against the back of the seat as you start to imagine the night ahead. Then you remember the smooth red lipstick and force your mouth to relax.

You talk, instead, to keep yourself from ruining your lipstick with your nervous habit. “I’ve heard about this company’s version. Well,” you continue, “I wanted to see them perform this a few years ago, but tickets sold out so fast. I couldn’t afford the scalper prices.”

“How nice that I have tickets for this performance, then.”

“Right!” Your pitch is higher and you internally cringe. You shouldn’t sound so excited. You glance at him from the corner of your eye, but he seems focused on the road.

As the drive continues, you keep talking. Without realizing it, your voice becomes lighter, easier, and even you don’t know why you’re speaking so freely. You talk more to him on this stretch of road than you have within months, sarcastic replies and bitter responses notwithstanding. 

You talk about ballet. You talk about the history of the show. You talk about this company’s costumes--you saw them displayed in a store window and wow, were they gorgeous--and as the words come out, you feel lighter. Less bogged down by your protective anger, less heavy and hateful.

Happiness. 

It’s something that you haven’t felt in a long time. It’s a feeling that your stomach rebels against, not welcoming the sudden intrusion of lightness and lift while you’re sitting in a car next to your captor. But you push your stomach’s rebellious nature down and force yourself to remember that tonight,  you get to escape onto the stage; for a little while, you can be somewhere else.

Even being in the car tonight is doing wonders for you, you think. You must be getting close--the lights of the city are brighter and there’s throngs of nicely dressed people walking down the street towards what you realize is the theater. You see a little girl holding a woman’s hand and your stomach clenches in bitter nostalgia, but the thought is pushed aside quickly enough when Chrollo pulls into a valet circle.

You don’t have time to open the door before he opens it for you, extending his arm like a gentlemen.

“Ready?”

**

You’re buzzing on the way home. Not just from the champagne--three glasses, Chrollo having subtly waved away the usher approaching your opera box with your requested fourth. Not just from the show, which was magical and lush and everything you hoped it would be. Not just from the fact that you had a night out, away from the stuffiness of whatever luxury suite you were trapped in.

But from the thrill of feeling something, anything, other than your own deep despair and bitterness. You laughed in delight at the sillier moments, the bright-yellow Canary fairy and her trills; you cried at Aurora’s pleading vision to be set free, the first time you’ve cried at something other than your own situation in ages; you clapped and even, in the end, let yourself shout out a cheery “Brava!”

Even Chrollo seemed different during the evening. No forcible hand-holding or other niceties that had given you anxiety earlier in the evening. No unbearable condescension, only the hint of a smirk during the intermission when you--instinctively, you insisted to yourself, not because you liked his company--began an excited conversation about the events of the first Act. Did he like this part? What about the orchestra? And oh, this variation, didn’t he think it was a bit too overdone on the part of the dancer, but she more than recovered by the end?

When Chrollo helps you out of the car into the private parking garage, the air is cool and crackling; everything still feels electric, the way it always does when you come home from an event. Though as the doorman opens the private elevator leading to the condominium above, you dimly remind yourself you’re not coming home, exactly.

The swift ride up the elevator leaves you feeling dizzy. Your mind feels like it’s crashing, suddenly. From the champagne, maybe--but something else, too.

The elevator doors open into the condo suite you share with Chrollo and it hits you as you take the first step inside: you’re back to where you started the night. Trapped. The transporting, glittering events of the evening fall off your shoulders like a worn coat; you’re left once again only with yourself, with your present situation--and with Chrollo.

Your cheeks feel hot and you know the tears are coming before you feel them prickle at your eyes. The urge to wipe them away is masked only by the remembrance that you’re wearing makeup, but that doesn’t stop it from running as they begin to flow down your cheeks.

It burns, and you start for the bathroom, intent on scrubbing your face and ripping off the dress--but your entire body jerks back as Chrollo grabs your arm and prevents you from taking another step.

“Let go,” you say, voice empty of anything but the desperate need to be in the bathroom, to clean your face, to be alone with your returning misery.

He doesn’t. Instead, he pulls you back, forcing you to stand up straight as you fruitlessly fight against his grip.

“You’re crying.”

“I don’t need you to tell me that,” you murmur, voice edged not with bitterness this time, but sorrow. You don’t want to look at him. He’s seen you cry countless times, but you hate the way he looks at you when you do.

“Tell me why.”

You finally force yourself to look up at him, eyes blinking away the stinging tears, and you’re not surprised by his intensive gaze. He’s studying you. Analyzing. Like you’re some sort of book he can read and discover.

Maybe the champagne has loosened your tongue; maybe the night itself has loosened the tight-lipped hold your bitterness has on you. Whatever it is, you confess.

“I was happy,” you say, voice wobbling with tears. “I was--happy on the way there. I was happy at the theater. I was happy on the way home. I--I haven’t…” you rub at your eyes, smearing eyeshadow onto your fingertips. “I haven’t felt that way in months. And now we’re back and I don’t feel it anymore.” Your voice finally cracks with your last words, and you cover your eyes with one hand as crushing feelings of sadness sweep over you.

He pulls you closer to him, and you can’t fight away from his physical strength.

“Let go,” you plead. “I just want to be alone.”

You jerk your face away when he strokes your cheek with his free hand.

“Alone? Whatever for? My hypothesis for tonight was correct.”

His words make you stop pulling. Hypothesis? You sniffle and try to get your bearings, try to brace yourself. But you’re tired, and sad, and your head is swimming.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

He places his free hand on the back of your head and leans in closer. The heat of his skin and the pressure of his grip makes a flushed warmth bloom across your skin.

“You see,” he whispers, his lips ghosting against the side of your ear. “You can be happy with me, after all.”

[crossedsabers10s]

Hi, I wanted to let you know that I am a huge fan of all your stories and when I saw this Tumblr account I was really interested in all those short stories that you wrote but the one that I completely fell in love with was how the Damon from Strikes Thrice travels to the canon world and I was wondering if you ever thought of expanding on that a bit more. I have fallen in love with the idea AU and Canon collaborating and how the original  Canon characters react to their alternative selves and their lives and the relationships that they’re in. but I never see authors writing that way and when I saw your story My heart skipped a beat I was so excited and it is such a good story overall.

First off, thank you!!!

Tbh I really love the canon meets AU stuff too, it’s one of my favorite things to read. Or the ones where canon reads the books or reads a fic.

It’s also one of my favorite things to daydream; it helps me with characterization sometimes, trying to figure out how x event changed this reaction and so on and so forth.

Like one of the things I’ve been thinking about recently is how hilarious it would be if Ursa Major’s Damon, Katherine, and 5yo alter!Hope met the canon cast. Mostly I’m picturing everyone’s faces when this tiny strawberry blonde child starts babbling in some absolute mishmash of languages—New Orleans’ French, Italian, American English, British English, with a scattering of Old Norse in two different dialects—about her Uncle Damon and Aunt Kitty.

And Damon basically being a responsible adult figure in her life makes everyone collectively twitch. But he is. And the kid mentions Enzo at one point, in relation to him being her mother’s friend/person.

Or her meeting teenage canon Hope—I still need to watch more of Legacies tbh so I don’t know too much about it—and it going like:

“New sister!”

“…half-sister. Technically. Even allowing for dimension travel.”

“Sister.”

“Half-sister.”

Slow blink. “Sister.”

Onto ur main question—Strikes Thrice is still somewhat fluid, so the set up changes every time I picture it.

But one of the base things that remains the same is that Damon is part of his own—… okay so I’ve been thinking about it like political blocks? He and Enzo and Dagur are a group. Mess with one, mess with the others. And, collectively, they have leverage. Not just because Dagur’s super strong—though that too—but also because they have teamwork and their combined deviousness is stupid high. So he’s a lot cockier than canon Damon. Hard to do, lmao, but he manages. And he’s also more—hyper? almost. More likely to joke around and maybe less defensive on the whole. Hence the mention of glittery nail polish. He likes shiny things, has no shame, and his friends started it. So why not? It was kind of a way to differentiate between them, that doppel!Damon is a bit more upbeat. Sometimes Jenna’s alive and therefore she and Damon bicker. A lot. Like all the time. So you have casually mentioning her and how she’s an annoying baby vampire. Because Jenna and Dagur have—had? Depending on the day they’ve ether had a fling and broke up because Jenna realized that Dagur is like. Actually crazy. And then gets with Alaric a la canon which spawns a vampire hunter dating a vampire subplot. Or they’re together and Jenna learns to just roll with stuff. Which puts Elena and Jeremy under Dagur’s protection independent of Damon. For the record, Jenna and Dagur having a thing prompt conversations like:

“Huh.” Enzo tips his head to the side, watching Jenna blush. “Well. No one tell Damon.”

Damon walks in. “Tell me what?”

Dagur points at him. “No killing this one!”

“Wha—what does that—…. W a i t”

Because Damon has absolutely killed one of her girlfriends before and he maintains it’s not because he was jealous that she was paying him less attention but the running joke is that is was absolutely that.

Oh! And he’s also just like the tiniest bit physically stronger than canon Damon. Because he’s shared blood with Dagur and it’s left a mark. It also makes his temper worse is it’s a recent thing. Which they figure out because doppel!Damon is used to people who can and will throw down and laugh it off a second later. So he does something a bit too vampiric making Canon Damon take offense and they grapple. Except other Damon is more used to fighting and is just that tiniest bit stronger so when they clash he plows other Damon over and then starts making jokes about it.

Anyways, hope this isn’t too rambling lol

Thanks for the ask!!!!

[handsmotif]

The Queercoding of Pinky and the Brain

This originally was just me infodumping to my friends on discord, but I decided it might be interesting to some people on here, so I polished it up and made it an actual essay lmao

To start, we’re going to break this into 2 sections -- the relationship between the mice, and Pinky’s relationship with gender, because queercoding doesn’t just mean gay!

For a 90′s show, Pinky and the Brain (and its mother show, Animaniacs) was very progressive for its time! But there were still lots of things that they couldn’t slip by censors, and thus, that’s where we have to read between the lines. And that is something I wanted to clarify here before we dive in, the actual meaning of queercoding. It’s NOT the same as queerbaiting. Queerbaiting is when the people producing certain media purposefully dangle the possibility of queer representation to lure in audiences (most prominent examples are BBC Sherlock, Riverdale, and Supernatural I GUESS? who knows abt that last one anymore), but never follow through, purely for profit. Queercoding is when media producers WANT to write in queer representation, but can’t, usually because the censors won’t let them. So, they must resort to subtext. (example: the policemen from Gravity Falls) It could also be unintentional, simply assigning certain characteristics associated with the LGBT community to characters. (example: Bugs Bunny, many Disney villains) Either way, it heavily relies on the audience picking up subtext, but whether it’s malicious or not varies, depending on the media. Bugs Bunny is an example of positive accidental queercoding, while a lot of Disney villains are negative examples.

Now, to actually discuss the gay little mice! Pinky and the Brain, whether it be intentional or not (based off comments from Maurice LaMarche, Rob Paulsen, and Tom Ruegger, signs strongly point to intentional, but it’s never been explicitly confirmed), is an example of positive queercoding.

There are many moments that I could pick out to discuss here, but we’ll start with some VERY on the nose gay metaphors. 

Remember Romy? If you don’t, that’s their actual biological son! Romy came about due to a cloning accident, where their DNA got combined and spat him out. 

There’s SO many things I could say about Romy. Every appearance he makes has an overarching gay metaphor as the plot. His first appearance in the episode Brinky (yeah it’s literally titled their ship name), it deals with his dads (WHICH I ALSO WANT TO POINT OUT, he DOES call them both dad, and they do both call him their son) disapproving of the fact that he wants to leave home and not follow in their footsteps of taking over the world. Brain even goes as far as disowning him whenever he tells him, which is certainly something a lot of queer people can unfortunately relate to. Also seen a lot in this episode is Pinky and Brain arguing even more than a married couple than usual, which pushes Romy away even further. Later, when Romy eventually does leave, and Brain starts to regret chasing him away, he tries desperately to reach out to him, but Romy doesn’t want anything to do with him. They end up tracking him down to an apartment building, where Romy is now living with his human girlfriend. When questioned about their relationship, the girlfriend, named Bunny, goes off on a tangent about how people shouldn’t judge others based on labels or relationships (hello?), and that Brain needs to be more tolerant. Brain apologizes and Romy forgives him. Happy ending.

Romy’s only other appearance is in the comics. Essentially, the plot of this one is that Brain wants to become the president of the local high school’s PTA, but he needs Romy’s help to make it look like he has a normal home life. He also enlists the help of Billie, the obligatory Woman introduced to make sure Brain doesn’t look as gay as he actually is, that he has a crush on. She pretends to be his girlfriend, and Pinky pretends to be Romy’s uncle, while they make up the story that Romy’s actual mother was lost at sea. Because if the organization found out that Brain has a son with a MAN??? THINK of the controversy! Anyway, the plan works, and Brain actually manages to get elected as president. Throughout this though, Pinky gets WEIRDLY jealous that Brain keeps brushing him aside for Billie. To the point where during Brain’s inauguration, Pinky actually dresses up as the wife/mother lost at sea and storms into the room.

[ID: Comic panels of Pinky, Brain, and Romy on stage at the inauguration ceremony. Pinky busts into room wearing drag, saying, “Yoo hoo! I’m back from years lost at sea to be with my son and ungrateful husband! Narf!” He then hugs Romy, while glaring at Brain. He goes on to say, “I’ll stand by your side, even though you left me behind!” The people in the audience begin to question this, saying, “Oh great fuzzy bangs!”, “What’d she say?!”, “He deserted her to be with that other woman!”, “What kind of monster is he?!”. Brain then rips off Pinky’s wig and says, “This isn’t my wife! This isn’t even a woman! It’s my roommate, Pinky.” Pinky replies, “Well, yes... But Romy really is my son! Poit!” And Brain responds, “N-Nonsense! He’s my son!” More people in the audience angrily speak up, saying, “What’s that?”, “He lives with a guy who likes to dress up in women’s clothing and the both claim to be that kid’s father!”, “Grumble! Mutter!” /END ID]

Needless to say, this doesn’t end well for them. What we can conclude from this is that homophobia exists in the Pinky and the Brain universe, and our characters are directly affected by it.

Moving on, And-There-Was-Only-One-Bed is a pretty common occurrence with these two. Their cage is big, they have plenty of room for two beds, but? They choose to sleep together? Even in some times where this has been inconsistent and they DO have separate beds, they’re always RIGHT next to each other. (what if we put our minecraft beds together ❤😳)

I would like to mention the episode, You’ll Never Eat Food Pellets In This Town Again! This episode is interesting to say the least. Deals with a lot of the meta of the show. Anyway. In this episode, Brain has a nightmare that he’s in a loveless marriage with Billie. You know, the woman he’s supposed to have a crush on. In the end, he wakes up from the nightmare in the same bed as Pinky.

Speaking of female love interests, Pinky is seen having multiple relationships with characters of different species. Any time this is brought up by Brain, Pinky counters with Brain being too intolerant. An honorable mention with this is in Wakko’s Wish, when Pinky is with Pharfignewton, and Brain’s constant pestering about their relationship could be read as jealousy. Pinky needs a mousy date, after all!

Something else I would like to mention is in one episode (I forget what it’s called, I’ll try to look it up later and edit this), Brain is applying for a job. The employer asks Brain if he’s married, and Brain hesitates before saying he “has a roommate,” but that he’s occupied with his own things, which then cuts to a shot of Pinky applying lipstick.

Leading into part two of this essay, Pinky’s relationship with gender! Pinky has always been very gender nonconforming, and loves to wear dresses, do his makeup, and make himself look pretty. For the most part, this is played pretty straight, and not as a gag, like a lot of shows tend to do! It’s just a casual fact about him that he likes to present femininely sometimes.

This does play into their taking over the world plans pretty often, where Pinky wears drag, usually either to sneak into somewhere. Like in one of their earliest appearances on Animaniacs, Noah’s Lark, where they pose as a couple to board Noah’s, and I quote, “love boat.” After boarding, Noah says to himself, “Who am I to judge?” Okay. Yeah. Alright. Anyway.

I actually had less to say on this than I thought I did, but I wanted to make sure to emphasize that Pinky at the very least is coded as being Not Quite Cis, and that he’s played a key part in helping a lot of people watching the show figure out that they’re also Not Quite Cis. 

Wrapping this up because I’m hungry, but I want to throw in some more honorable mentions that I really do not see any type of cishet explanations for:

They literally go on a romantic date at a very fancy restaurant in Brain’s Night Off. This is played extremely casually, and the only remark from anyone that they receive is that they are “much smaller than the usual clients.”

Pinky, on at least one occasion, daydreams about him and Brain being a married couple, and wanting to be a housewife (the original malewife ❤)

There’s an issue in the comics where Pinky has a crush on another male mouse, and when Brain gets annoyed, Pinky reassures him that he thinks Brain is cute and quite the catch too

Brain attempting to kiss Pinky in the reboot??????

Brain actually did conquer the world once in the Halloween special, because Pinky made a deal with the devil for it, and thus Pinky got sent to hell! Brain actually went to hell and gave up the world to bring him back

Brain was extremely close to conquering the world once more in the Christmas special, but after reading what Pinky’s feelings for him were (nothing romantic, just Pinky basically just praising Brain for being so hardworking and an amazing mouse, and lamenting that he never gets anything for it), he gets so emotional that he sabotages himself and wishes everyone a Merry Christmas instead

TLDR; these mice are very queer and need therapy, and are probably the most heavily queercoded characters that I can think of in children’s media.

[sushi0989]

Pick Me If You Want To (part 3)

Summary: Set in the early 1950s, you are an aspiring photographer that is currently working at a toy store until you make your big break. During a surge of Christmas shopping, you are first met by Wanda Maximoff, a mother of twin boys and married. She leaves her gloves, which gives you the opportunity to meet her again. She takes fond of you, and you of her, but her messy divorce with her husband, Vision, risks the custody of her twins. Does she continue your blossoming relationship or fight for her kids? Based on the movie Carol

Pairing: Wanda Maximoff x fem!reader

Warnings: smut and explicit content, don’t read if you’re under 18! 

Word Count: 6k

A/N: After this chapter, I think it’s going to take me longer to get content written and published because I want to take my time with writing and making sure that it’s good before I post. Enjoy reading! <3

You and Wanda arrived at a rundown motel in Ohio to stay the night. You wished you had the ability to drive so that Wanda didn’t have to exert all of her energy, but alas you did not. Despite appearing a bit ragged on the outside, the interior of the motel was quaint and surprisingly polished. You dragged your ratchet luggage to the front desk while Wanda effortlessly tugged hers along since all four of her wheels were working properly unlike yours. She found your clumsiness adorable as she attempted to conceal her giggles while you struggled.

The old man at the front desk, however, was not amused by your failure at picking up your luggage as he found it frustrating since it was not that hard to maneuver. As the two of you reached him, he already filled out most of the form. You took notice of his posh demeanor even though this had to have been at most a 2-star motel. Who does he think he is? He wore a light blue dress shirt with a black tie, his shiny bald head was his most striking feature. His peppered gray goatee was thin and his thin-rimmed glasses were held together by tape in the middle.

“I have a two-bedroom suite on level 2 room number 3. Could I get your name and the number of nights you plan to stay?” he asked with little civility due to his irritants for your lack of professionalism. Wanda took notice of the man’s behavior and responded in the same manner.

“Wanda Maximoff and one night is enough. And why don’t you get some manners and help my friend with her bag instead of silently judging her?” Wanda huffed and raised an eyebrow. After he wrote down the information, the man cleared his throat and walked around the desk while muttering something under his breath that you couldn’t quite catch. He assumed that you lacked the knowledge of rolling your bag by the handle, but then he noticed that one of your wheels was broken and understood why you were struggling. 

Wanda laughed at him, not making any attempt at hiding it this time. You couldn’t help but laugh with her and the two of you walked past him to get to your room. The man gave up and carried the luggage up to your room instead of dragging it along the carpet. The still night allowed your giggles to echo into the atmosphere, but it eventually stopped as you neared your room. Wanda unlocked it with a key the man, who was struggling with lifting the bag up the stairs, gave to her in the lobby. 

There was nothing too alluring about the room, it was quite average. The two twin beds, both an interesting orange color with stripes, had a few feet of space in between them. There was a window next to the front door with curtains that matched the color of the bedsheets. The bathroom had the basics: a shower, toilet, sink, and soap. You were surprised there was toilet paper as well.

“I expected worse,” you admitted with a pleasantly surprised expression as you took in the room. You heard the man’s heavy panting get louder as he neared your room, practically stumbling when he placed your luggage inside. 

“That’s what happens when you make assumptions without doing a bit of digging,” Wanda teased, the man rolled his eyes and muttered “Merry Christmas” as he left. She quickly shut the door while you flopped back into the bed nearest to the bathroom, claiming it as yours. 

“If I’m feeling this tired then you must be exhausted. You should get some rest,” you told Wanda who opened up her bag and pulled out some pajamas. You watched as she dug through to look for something, her eyebrows furrowing in concentration and her teeth nipping at her bottom lip. 

“I will, I want to take a shower first, but I can’t seem to find my towel,” Wanda continued rummaging through her bag, but you understood by her huffing and puffing that she must have forgotten to pack it. “Here, let me get mine out of my bag,” you insisted and rose from your bed. Wanda assured you she brought it even though you both knew she didn’t. “Oh, please it’s no big deal. I’ll take a shower in the morning and I’m sure it’ll dry by then,” you waved her off as you easily found your towel in your luggage.

You handed her your light purple towel and she hesitantly took it with a sigh, there was nothing she could really do; either accept your offering or try to find a rag in the cabinet that would most likely be moldy. 

“Thank you very much,” she smiled with gratitude and you nodded back, her smile bringing a shiver up your spine and fluttering in your stomach. It was something about that dark red lipstick that made you go crazy. No. You can’t let her get to you or else this is going to be another Steve situation where you’ll end up breaking her heart. Besides that she is a soon-to-be divorced mother of two children, you definitely aren’t ready for that. But her lips.

Wanda blushed when she saw you staring her lips up and down, but then you got flustered when you realized that she caught you and quickly turned away. Neither of you mentioned it, so Wanda made her way into the bathroom but caught a glimpse of you smiling at your thoughts. 

While Wanda showered, you could hear her humming some songs you had never heard. It was pure bliss to your ears as you laid on the bed staring at the ceiling. How were you falling for this woman so quickly? A woman. You would have never thought you would be head over heels for a woman in this day and age. Sure, you’ve had some crushes on girls, but you would brush them away since it was taboo. But with Wanda, there was something more alluring about her. Maybe it was the fact that she seemed to reciprocate those feelings back to you.

The way she comforted you when Steve left was something you were so grateful for, but that is what was sending you to your tipping point. You knew that this wasn’t just you craving her touch, but also her heart. Right now, however, you needed to make sure you were also there for her. She’s in the midst of a heated divorce with her husband and about to lose her husband, so you couldn’t take advantage of her vulnerability. If she wants to get closer, then she will have to make the first move. 

“Go with the flow,” you muttered to yourself as you pulled at your fingers.

“What was that?” Wanda hummed as she stepped out of the bathroom, your towel wrapped around her body and steam infiltrating out of the bathroom. Her body was moist and glistening from the excess water, her hair sopping wet with water dripping from them. You were speechless. You immediately covered your eyes out of respect. 

“God, I’m so sorry I didn’t mean to stare,” you quickly apologized which earned a chuckle from Wanda. “Oh don’t worry you can look. I’m covered up, am I not?” she teased and bit her lip seeing you fluster at her response. “I don’t want to make you uncomfortable,” you continued to ramble. “Please, would you think I would come out like this if I was uncomfortable?” she questioned, but you didn’t answer.

“Well, the answer is no. I forgot to bring my clothes with me into the bathroom,” she stated as she walked over to her bed where her pajamas were neatly folded. You gradually lowered your hands from her face and glanced at her state. Damn, did she make your towel look so good on her. 

She picked up her clothes and scuttled back into the bathroom and you sighed. Trying to not make the first move was going to be extremely difficult for you. 

Your thoughts began to wash over one another as sleep loomed over you. You were completely passed out by the time Wanda was out of the bathroom. You were lying on your side in fetal position on top of your sheets. Wanda quietly walked towards you and gently pulled the folded blanket over you and made sure it covered your whole body. She watched as you nuzzled your head deeper into your pillow and let out a sigh when you cuddled the blanket for warmth. 

Wanda ingrained this moment in her mind and quietly left the room in search of the motel’s telephone which she spotted near the stairs that led to the first floor. She dialed a phone number and stood patiently until she heard the line connect.

“Hello?” a groggy voice answered. “Vision, let me speak to the boys,” Wanda requested with a hushed voice. “They’re already in bed, Wanda. It’s nearly 11 pm,” he replied with annoyance. Wanda bit her lip, she just wanted to talk to her children and wish them a Merry Christmas since she didn’t get the chance to in the morning.

“Vision, please,” Wanda didn’t want to beg, but she missed her boys. She wanted to see their faces lit up as they unwrapped the train set she had ordered. The train set you recommended. 

She heard Vision sigh as he stepped away from the phone. “Hello?” a high-pitched tired voice answered. “Merry Christmas, Tommy! Is Billy with you, too?” Wanda’s heart warmed hearing the voice of her child. She yearned to hug them and kiss the tops of their heads.

“Yeah, I’m right here, Mom,” Billy replied also with a tired voice. Wanda smiled to herself listening to them, she imagined them standing there half asleep rubbing their eyes.

“How was your Christmas? Did you enjoy the train set?” Wanda asked. She knew they would love it because they were into building things and using their imaginations, just as she and Pietro would also do as children.

“It was so cool! We played with it all day, thank you, mom!” The two of them responded at the same time, making Wanda chuckle. The cool wind outside began to pick up causing Wanda to shiver.

“Okay boys, go to bed. I’m sorry I woke you. Be nice to your dad and grandparents and I’ll see you both when you get back,” she said sternly trying not to let her voice break. The twins said their ‘I love you’s’ and hung up the phone. 

Wanda sighed as she went back to your room and silently shut the door once again. She turned off the lamps that lit the room and got into her own bed facing you. She stared at you as she dozed off as well, your peaceful expression being the last thing on her mind as she fell into a deep slumber once her exhaustion hit her.

The morning sunlight seeped through the cheap curtains of the hotel room and shined directly into your face. As you became aware of your surroundings, you could hear the birds singing outside filling the atmosphere with their beautiful tunes. You opened your eyes facing away from the window so you wouldn’t blind yourself.

A faint rhythmic snoring caught your attention, so you turned around seeing Wanda sprawled out on her bed still sleeping soundly. One could easily disregard it, but the room was so quiet that you couldn’t help but take in this moment. You didn’t find it to be obnoxious, unlike Steve’s. His snores would start deep in his throat and wake you even when you’re blacked out. You eventually convinced him to get diagnosed with sleep apnea and he had to learn some breathing exercises to lessen them, but they still persisted and now you could proudly say you can sleep through a train passing by.

You figured you should get up and take a shower now before Wanda does so that you guys could hit the road as soon as you could. You stretched your back once you sat up on your bed and saw your towel draped on a chair sitting in the corner of the room. You were reminded of Wanda’s after shower figure: wrapped up in your towel, red hair dripping wet, body shining from the condensation of the steamy shower, and now you were going to use that same towel.

You picked out a casual outfit to wear so you could be comfortable on the drive and you quietly slipped into the shower as to not wake up Wanda. You let the shower run for a minute so the hot water would come through, and it relaxed your body as it hit your skin. Wanda left her shampoo and soap sitting on the side of the tub, so you figured it would be okay to use it for yourself. The smell of peaches was pleasant, you could only imagine how it would smell on Wanda. As you finished up, you rubbed lotion on yourself before putting on your clothes.

The cooler air of the room was a punch to the face, but you received another punch when you saw Wanda’s backside completely bare, only wearing her undergarments. Thankfully she didn’t notice you come out of the bathroom drooling at her appearance, so you stumbled back into the bathroom making sure you gave no indication you exited in the first place. 

Wanda heard the click of the bathroom door and quickly turned around only to see no one there. She briskly put on her black slacks, a blue blazer over a white blouse, and tied a red ribbon around her neck, and knocked on the bathroom door to let you know that it’s okay to come out. 

“Don’t worry I didn’t see anything,” you stammered as you walked out of the bathroom trying to be nonchalant about the situation. “Are you saying I look bad with no clothes?” Wanda faked being hurt with an exaggerated gasp, but you took it literally.

“What?! Of course not! I didn’t say that! You look grea- I mean, you look perfectly fine,” you replied defensively but bit down on your tongue to try not to embarrass yourself more. “I’m just teasing you, darling. Enough of that, we need to hit the road if we want to get to Chicago by tomorrow tonight,” she exclaimed, resuming packing up her clothes.

You decided to leave your towel out and laid it across the back seat of the car to let it dry. The old man from last night was replaced by a younger-looking man who seemed to be much nicer. He was happy to assist you in taking your broken luggage into the car without any hesitation. He insisted that the two of you try out the breakfast that the motel provided to their ‘esteemed guests’ in the dining hall. 

“I felt so esteemed last night by Mr. Baldyhead,” you muttered under your breath as you and Wanda walked to the breakfast bar. Wanda snorted when attempting to suppress her laughter at your comment. There were more people than you had expected. 

You gathered eggs, a couple of pancakes, and strawberries onto your plate and took a seat at an empty table towards the center of the room. Wanda was still eyeing the bar, so you waited to begin eating until she came. A man with sleek combed back hair in a suit gave a sly smile at you from the table seated at the table next to you. You reciprocated by giving a shy smile back and he proceeded to get up to introduce himself. 

“The name is Loki Odinson, lovely to meet you two ladies,” he held out his hand in front of you and you brought up yours to shake it. “Nice to meet you as well, my name is y/n, '' you replied with a timid voice.

“What is a beautiful young woman like you sitting here all alone?” he inquired as he turned his head to see if anyone was with you. “I’m not alone, my friend is still gathering some food,” you pointed at Wanda who was now on her way. She had a confused look when she noticed the mysterious tall man, and he looked over at her and nodded in understanding.

“Hello?” Wanda said to the man with her eyebrow raised, “Do you need anything, sir?” He took a few steps back over to his table, “No, no, I just was making small talk with y/n over here. What brought the two of you here?” he asked, obviously wanting to continue the conversation. He must be alone and bored, so he’s just trying to keep himself busy, that’s what you told yourself at least.

“We are actually heading to Chicago, this is just a pit stop for us,” Wanda explained as she relaxed once she realized the man was harmless. She took notice that you had been waiting for her before beginning to eat, so she lightly kicked your foot to get your attention to tell you to eat. 

“I’m headed there, too! I’m actually a traveling salesman so this is my daily life to go from one place to another,” he exclaimed with excitement. He continued to explain how he first acquired his job and what he’s doing now as you and Wanda listened intently to him, finding his outlandish stories entertaining.

“So when my dad kicked me out of the house, I went down a really dark path and got roped up in some illegal schemes. The big boss guy of this cartel wanted me to go undercover and infiltrate their rival to steal this gem that originally belonged to him, and since I was new, no one would suspect me of being a double agent. Anyways, it didn’t go over well because my brother, who works for the authorities, caught both cartels and, me being his brother, he let me go. That led me to discover my passion for sales marketing and exploring cities, so here I am now!” He concluded his very long story.

“You were part of a drug cartel?” you asked in disbelief. This guy definitely talked way too much to be a part of a cartel, somebody would surely shoot him in the face to get him to shut up. “I know it may seem crazy at first, but I assure you it’s no lie,” he laughed, but you and Wanda looked at each other with wide eyes. 

After talking to the man for another twenty minutes, and him attempting to sell you some magazines, the two of you finally got up from the dining hall. 

“I need to make a phone call to Monica, why don’t you go get settled in the car and I’ll meet you there,” Wanda touched your shoulder and you nodded, trying to ignore the tingling feeling of her hand on you. 

“Hello Monica, how’s it going?” Wanda spoke into the phone. 

“Vision came by my house looking for you. He was drunk and I told him off. I also might have told him you were going to Chicago with y/n,” she said hesitantly. “Don’t worry, I’m sure he won’t do anything, Wands,” Monica tried lightening the mood, but the pit in Wanda’s stomach said something otherwise. “He’s trying to take full custody of the boys, Mon. He’s gonna poke and prod through any little misgivings of mine he can find to make sure of it. And I don’t want him getting his hands anywhere near y/n. I’ll call you when we reach the next stop, thank you for everything Monica,” Wanda hung up the phone and took a few deep breaths to collect herself.

There was no way he could find anything that could sway the judge in his favor. She was their mother for the love of god. What kind of monster takes a mother away from her children? 

Wanda entered the car and forced a smile at you which you didn’t think much of. You two finally left the small Ohio motel and were back on the road. This time you wanted to ask Wanda more about her life story since you spilled all of yours leading up to the first pit stop.

“Oh well, my parents were quite well off thanks to my grandparents. Their marriage was arranged so all of my life my twin brother, Pietro, and I had to endure their bickering on a daily basis. He was and still is, one of my best friends. We would run off into the woods to this little pond that was so clear that you could almost see the bottom where the crabs would crawl. We’d spend most of our time creating imaginary worlds and pretending we were in the old wild west or flappers in the 1920s or knights in the renaissance. Those are the memories that outshine the terribles of my childhood,” she smiled as she reminisced, you were leaning the back of your head against the window watching her while listening intently.

Her smile faltered, a sad one replacing it. “When my parents tragically died in a freak accident when we were 10, Pietro and I had to move in with my mother’s parents. Living with them was nice, but they couldn’t handle us so we were shipped off to separate boarding schools. Pietro went to an all-boys one while I attended an all-girls one. Being without him really… sucked. My first few months there were miserable until I met Monica. She became my bestest friend and we still are to this day,” she let out a slight chuckle and you smiled with her.

Wanda glanced at you for a moment as she contemplated her next statement. “She was also my first love,” you raised your eyebrows and bit the insides of your cheeks. Your assumptions from earlier were correct then, but it still hurt to hear it out loud. 

“Interesting,” you replied and turned away to look out the window, making Wanda furrow her eyes at your sudden change in demeanor. You knew you had no right in being mad at her, they obviously weren’t together anymore. But you couldn’t hide your slight jealousy, and Wanda thought it was a bit endearing that you cared so much.

“Anyways, so the two of us were together for a few years until we realized it wasn’t meant to be, but we stayed very close friends. My grandparents arranged for me to marry Vision because it would be a good step for our family businesses since his family was a rival to mine, but we went on a few dates before we settled on the engagement. Being married to him was nice at first, and then we had the twins, and then things went downhill from there I suppose,” Wanda shrugged her shoulders and sighed. 

You were now feeling guilty for your rude behavior, so you put your hand on her leg to show your sympathy. “Sorry for being rude right there,” you apologized and Wanda assured you that it was okay. 

Wanda knew you might be wary of answering her next question, but she figured after spending over twelve hours with you on the road the two of you had grown quite close. You already had ripped out a fart which signified you were already pretty comfortable around her.

“How did you meet Steve?” she pressed her lips together when she felt you tense up against her even though your side was barely touching her. 

“We met through a mutual friend and we hit it off pretty well. My friend set us up on a date after seeing us connect so well the first time we met, and then it just blossomed from there. He and I worked well for the first year we were together, the honeymoon phase is what people call it I hear. We were two people madly in love, but he just never matured as time went on. He always expected me to make breakfast or do his laundry out of my love for him,” you explained while pulling at your fingers. You felt fine speaking about him for once, you didn’t feel guilty anymore for breaking up. That was all thanks to Wanda and her assurances.

Wanda nodded in agreement, she knew by how you were that you loved being independent and striving to meet your dreams without anything or anyone weighing you down. Steve was dead weight to you achieving your aspiration of being a photographer. He didn’t even have the decency to get you a good camera.

“Well, I’m glad you broke things off with him because he obviously didn’t know how to treat you right. You are a lovable person, don’t think twice about that,” Wanda gestured for you to come closer to her, so you pressed your side up against hers and relaxed your posture.

Wanda placed her right hand on her lap trying to get you to place yours on top, and you took the hint and inched yours slowly but surely up to it. Wanda smiled when feeling your grip tighten around her hand. You felt safe with her, that you could trust her words. As the car ride went on, you fell asleep, your head resting on Wanda’s shoulder and she didn’t make an attempt to shrug it off. She enjoyed the feeling of you on her. 

The next motel was much nicer than the last one, even the workers were much nicer than the bald guy. It was late in the afternoon when the two of you arrived, the both of you starving only having had breakfast in the morning. Once you both had settled, you suggested you go to a nicer restaurant for dinner which Wanda immediately agreed to, both deciding to wear fancy dresses to blend in. The two of you snuck into the fancy five-star hotel across the street and nonchalantly chatted to not draw attention.

The waitress asked for your room number and name, “Maximoff, room 623,” you answered without hesitation and Wanda gave you a knowing look. “Right this way, Mrs. Maximoff,” the waitress gestured and led the two of you to a table with two chairs.

You were in the mood to really satisfy your tastebuds, so you chose to order lobster. Wanda looked at you wide-eyed, but you gave her a cheeky smile with a wink, so she ordered filet mignon. As the two of you waited for the food, the conversation came so easily between the two of you. Effortless. 

“You sang very nicely in the shower this morning,” Wanda commented while taking a sip of her red wine. You raised your eyebrows, “I didn’t know you were awake. I would’ve shut up if I had known I was too loud.”

Wanda waved you off, “Oh please, I enjoyed it. It was almost as good as the first time you sang to me.” You blushed, but the wine in your system gave you a newfound sense of confidence that urged you to continue the banter. 

“If you liked it so much then why don’t I sing you to sleep tonight?” you suggested seductively with a smirk. Wanda was a bit thrown back that you countered back, but she wasn’t complaining. She liked this side of you. 

“I wouldn’t mind that,” she replied with a low tone, biting her lip at the thought. 

When the bill came, you told them to place it on the tab and the waitress nodded quickly. Wanda laughed so hard to the point she snorted which caused you to laugh at her. It was a nice moment, one you wish could last forever. 

The two of you were buzzed, giggling all the way back to your motel room and it only continued once you were there. Wanda pulled out a bottle of champagne from her bag and popped it open, the cork leaving a small dent on the wall. This caused you to roll on the floor with laughter, you each took swigs straight out of the bottle which only added to your drunken state.

You were both sitting on the floor right next to each other leaning your backs against one of the beds. “Are you going to sing to me now?” Wanda inquired with her champagne bottle pointed at you. “Well if you insist, M'lady,” you replied as you cleared your throat. 

The only lyrics you could remember at the moment were the song you had sung to her while playing the piano. This time as you sang, you stared into her enchanting emerald eyes, your gaze never wavering from them so she knew every word was directed at her. 

“Everybody loves somebody sometime. And though my dreams were overdue, your love made it all worth waiting for someone like you,” as you finished the song, you noticed Wanda leaning forward, so you did as well. Her lips slightly puckered out and her eyes were closed, so as you neared her, you closed yours and anticipated for the moment your lips were in contact with hers.

Even though you were expecting it, the feeling was completely different than what you had expected. She was the light at the end of a very long and dark tunnel you had been lost in your entire life. You always thought Steve was meant to be it, but no, he wasn’t. You were completely wrong and now you had your answer.

Wanda’s lips were soft but also overwhelmingly persistent at trying to savor every little bit of you. Your hands were gripping her waist, slowly massaging it as her hands rubbed your neck. The alcohol made your actions clumsy and less methodical, it was more about rushing to get to what you had been craving for quite some time.

One of her hands caressed your bare legs and slowly made its way up to your dress. You shuddered, but you wanted more. You tugged her arms to get her up onto the bed, unzipping her dress from behind and allowing it to fall to the ground when you had her stand up. 

Your eyes met with Wanda’s hungry eyes as she turned around, she launched at you crashing your lips together once again as if she was a breath of fresh air after drowning at sea for so long. She pulled down the straps of your dress, allowing it to fall as well, both of your chests now bare. The back of her legs felt the bed behind her, and so she allowed herself to lie back onto it.

You climbed on top of her, your legs straddling her torso, and you continued to kiss her lips passionately. You trailed kisses down her jaw to her neck before settling on a point of her neck that caused her to sigh deeply. She guided your hands to feel her chest, and you obeyed, allowing your hands to sensually massage them. 

“Please touch me,” she pleaded, letting out another sigh. You trailed your mouth and latched onto her nipple and your tongue circled around them. You allowed your hands to glide on her stomach and down to the band of her underwear, tugging them down. You gave the same attention to her other nipple and Wanda couldn’t hold the moan she was trying so hard to suppress.

Your tongue made her feel like she was jelly, each kiss you gave held so much passion and love that she had been craving from the first time she had spoken to you. The glint in your eyes told her all of the potential you had hidden within you, and now you were expressing it to her. 

You continued your kisses down her stomach, her back arching with each one from the sensitivity building up inside of her. You kneeled at the edge of the bed and pulled her towards you by her legs. You kissed her inner thighs up until you were met with her core which was radiating heat. You gave a languid lick on her sensitive center and she tried squeezing her legs together at the feelings, but you forced them apart by putting them over your shoulders.

“I’m not done with you yet,” you retorted with a smirk and Wanda grabbed the sheets into her hands to brace herself for what was going to come next. You latched your mouth onto her clit, giving slow circles with your tongue to tease her. Her moans were soft, but you knew she wanted more, so you then slipped one finger inside of her causing her to gasp. 

You pumped your finger in and out slowly while continuing to lick her clit, and the feeling was becoming all too much for Wanda, but you persisted. You felt her grinding her hip to create more friction and her hands were pushing the back of your head into her more. You added in a second finger making Wanda whimper, but she hadn’t asked you to stop yet.

You felt her walls clenching against your fingers, so you went faster. She cursed obscenities which only motivated you more, you curled your fingers making Wanda let out one last moan originating from her gut. You slowed down and took your fingers out of her, licking up the juices she released making sure not to add to her sensitivity.

Her legs were shaking and you knew she was exhausted already from the car ride. You crawled up onto the bed next to her and she cuddled up to you, her head tucked into the crook of your neck. She leaned in and kissed you, tasting herself in your mouth. “All I asked was for you to sing to me, but you really outdid yourself with that,” she whispered against your lips.

“Maybe I just wanted to listen to you sing to me,” you chuckled as you pecked her lips and pulled the sheets over the two of you. Wanda furrowed her eyebrows, “Hey we’re not sleeping yet, I still haven’t gotten my turn with you.”

She seductively bit her lip as she threw the sheets off of you and straddled you. “I’m not gonna stop you,” you smirked and she leaned down and kissed your neck, not even attempting to stop the sigh that escaped your lips. You knew this was going to be one long night that you were going to never forget.

When the two of you woke up in each other’s arms, you dreaded getting up, you just wanted to lie in that position forever, but it was time to hit the road again. You freshened up in the bathroom while Wanda said she was going to go check out in the lobby. 

“Mrs. Maximoff, right?” the woman behind the counter confirmed. Wanda nodded her head and the lady gave an envelope with her name written on it. “It came by this morning for you,” she explained and Wanda frowned as she tore it open.

Wanda’s heart dropped, letting out an audible gasp as she marched her way to the car where you were putting in the last of your things. You saw Wanda’s face and you furrowed your eyebrows at her. “Wanda? What’s wrong?” you questioned, but she was completely frantic at the moment.

“Where’s my suitcase? Where’s my fucking suitcase?” Wanda kept shouting as she dug through the trunk. She found it and pulled out a revolver and your heart literally stopped. “Wanda, you’re scaring me,” you said, but she continued to march over to the room that was right next to yours from the night before it and slammed it open. You trailed behind her.

That’s when you saw Loki standing in his sleepwear with a set up of cameras and audio recorders located right at the shared wall with your room. Wanda was furious and pointed the gun at him. “Where is the tape?” she demanded and Loki gulped the frog in his throat.

[ashiemochi]

aphrotitty - xxxvi

✠ Aphrotitty ↳ Don’t do anything stupid ↳↳ does something stupid

~~ pairing: OC x Leon S(exy) Kennedy. ~~ genre: fluff, a slice of life, angst, gore at some point, smut/suggestive themes ~~ word count: no

NOTE: ✠ = time skip ✠✠ = switching povs/characters

prev -> next

The thirty-sixth time Leon saw her, it was a Tuesday noon; about five days since that video call. It was windy and gloomy, but no rain which he found comfort in – and he knew it would be temporary as it would rain later tonight. His microwave dinged, vocally announcing that his food had finished reheating; it was leftover pizza from yesterday.

Leon took his plate, not even bothered by the heat of it and sat down by the window with an apple beer. As he started eating, his eyes glossed over to her kitchen window. He was a bit surprised at not seeing her waltzing in her kitchen and cooking something he had never seen nor tasted at this time of day.

“Wonder what she’s up to today...”

✠✠

The culprit was sitting in her living room, fingers pressed to her head at the faint ringing in her ears.

“Fuck...” A hiss left through her teeth, eyes shut tightly as the tips of her fingers massaged her temples, hoping the ringing would subside.

It’s been around a week since So Ah had last taken any of her medicine and she was sure she’d get a refill by the end of this month too.

The withdrawal effects were shit; constantly waking up to faint annoying screeching in her ears, micro-sleep where she’d blink and suddenly find herself on the ground with aching knees, and the worse of all; night terrors.

They don’t even make any sense but she’d always wake up with a huge sense of dread and fear then would breakdown at how everything about her body was disgustingly weak.

A knock at the door brought her to reality and her eyes snapped open. She wasn’t expecting any visitors. She stood up and went to answer the door, trying to ignore the ringing in her head. Swinging the door open, she blinked at the lady in cardigan in front of her who held a nervous smile.

“Hi, So Ah.” Diane’s voice came out hesitant and her hands were wringing with one another, “Are you free for some coffee? At my place?”

✠

So Ah shifted against the soft couch, keeping her eyes wandering around unlike someone else whose eyes are dead set on hers; it was the little kid she had always seen in Diane’s yard.

It was her first time in Diane’s place, finding it completely furnished and polished despite having two kids living in the same space as their mother’s; not to mention, a bunch of medals, trophies and certificates were either hanging on the wall or displayed on the shelves.

“I’m sorry for the unannounced coffee invitation.” Diane’s voice came back as she walked into the room and sat the tray of two coffee mugs down on the table. She then took her seat next to So Ah on a different couch and smiled a small one at the girl.

“It's fine.” So Ah replied, glancing at the staring kid once again then looked at Diane, “It’s never too late for coffee.”

Diane let out a breathily giggle, nodding then looked at her three-year-old son.

“Marcus, go play with your sister, okay?” She suggested and her kid, Marcus, nodded animatedly as he walked up to her side.

“Can we play tag?”

A soft smile reached So Ah’s lips at that.

“Sure, sweetie, just be careful, alright?” Diane pressed a sweet kiss on his head and he ran off, leaving Diane and So Ah alone.

So Ah stayed silent, watching Marcus pick up a stray toy off the floor then disappear. He reminded her of her nieces and she realized how much she missed seeing them.

“Being a mom is a blessing,” Diane sighed contentedly then smiled, “It has its tough times but seeing them growing and nurturing makes up for it.”

“I agree.” So Ah said then turned her attention to her coffee, taking a small sip; unintentionally leaving Diane a bit more tensed up at the small responses.

“So Ah, I...” Diane trailed away just as she started and So Ah looked over at her, “I deeply apologize for my behaviour last time.”

Diane’s eyes looked down at her mug in shame, “It wasn’t in my intentions to hurt you or hurt... Leon, it’s just...”

Words stopped forming and she sighed then made eye contact, “Ever since I was a child, my folks pushed me to become better; to stand out. They signed me up in these out-of-your-league courses, put me in scouts and made me participate in many extracurricular activities...”

Diane’s parents were perfectionists with such high egos that every little slip-up Diane would do, she’d be grounded and or punished. Growing up in such a religious and overly-ambitious household, she was forced to become one of them.

She had trophies in playing numerous instruments, medals for running track, certificates for exceeding in all of her classes, and of course, badges upon badges from being in the girl scouts.

With such treatment, Diane grew up thinking she deserved everything and anything all the time; wanting to know all things about anyone new and assuming the worse when she doesn’t get what she wants.

Hence why she was the self-proclaimed neighbourhood lady, but little did she know, everyone around her in said neighbourhood could see how passionate she was about wanting to keep things under control; even trash raccoons stopped showing up as much.

So Ah felt bad for Diane having to go through such rough childhood to get where she was now and she was still having a hard time letting go of the past; going to her weekly therapy sessions to assist her in her journey.

“... And for that, I’m sorry.” Diane apologized and held her breath as So Ah’s silence was deafening. Her fingers curled around her mug at the tension in the air, taking in a shaky breath.

“You don’t have to acc–”

“I forgive you.” So Ah interrupted and Diane’s glassy eyes widened at the soft smile that So Ah offered, “I know how strict parents can be, so I’m glad you’re trying to break off that ‘tradition’.”

Diane let out a breathily chuckle, wiping away her fallen tears, “Yeah, it’s – it’s tough.”

“I can only imagine.” So Ah set her hand onto Diane’s to comfort her, “Are you... Are you still on talking terms with your parents?”

Diane shook her head, “Not as much. I still talk to my siblings and from what I’ve been told, they haven’t changed one bit.”

So Ah frowned at this, giving her a reassuring squeeze.

Diane smiled at that, setting her hand on top of hers, “I’m thankful that you’ve forgiven me, I’ll try my best from now on to not project my ideas onto anyone.”

So Ah gave her a toothy smile before an idea popped in her head, “Well, there is one thing you could do...”

“What is it?” Diane tilted her head in confusion.

“You could invite Leon sometime and actually get to know him,” So Ah suggested, noticing Diane tense up just the slightest, “He may look intimidating but he’s actually pretty nice,”

Diane went quiet for a second before humming, “Alright, I’ll figure something out.”

✠✠

Leon was heading out to throw his trash when he caught a glimpse of So Ah leaving Diane’s house, talking with a smile while Diane nodded with the same smile. He raised an eyebrow as they both said their goodbyes and So Ah began making her way across the street. His eyes landed on Diane who looked nervous at his gaze then she disappeared inside her house.

“Oh, hi, Leon.” Her voice took his attention with ease and he returned the smile, throwing his trash into its bin.

“Hey,” Leon greeted, “You guys friends again?”

So Ah giggled before nodding, “You could say that.”

Her smile seemed more content than ever but her eyes were a bit dull than the usual shimmering soft ones. He didn’t say anything though, thinking she was just under the weather. It was a gloomy one after all.

“Well, neighbour,” She broke the staring contest with blazing cheeks, “I’ve got a project I need to finish, so,” She made her way towards her door, “I’ll talk to you later.”

Man, was he whipped.

[hargrove-mayfields]

Day one of the Horror on Cherry Lane Challenge! I’ll be participating this month as a writer! The prompt for today is Knife!

warnings for mentions of suicidal ideation and attempts, death, child abuse, and blood.

Billy met Steve in the psych ward.

Well, they met officially at Tina’s party, but that wasn’t the real Steve. That was the King Steve. Deeper than that though, even the Steve Harrington everyone else saw even after the breakup and the fall from grace still wasn’t the real thing.

That was fake smiles, overdone nonchalance to cover up the wound from his fallen status. Now he was stripped down to himself, all bloody bandages and tired eyes, the boy he was pretending to be finally broken down to reveal this.

Apparently, Ruthie Harrington found her son with his grandfather's switchblade- all the other objects in the house sharper than a spoon and with less sentimental value had already been tossed -bleeding all over her freshly polished linoleum floors. She dropped him off at the hospital a night ago and nobody’s been by to see him since.

Now, it’s by pure coincidence that Billy’s already in on the same day Steve’s admitted.

He’s been locked up the past three days compared to Steve’s one. These small town hicks are jumpier (ha) than he thought, and don’t think doing the walk and turn test on the edge of the quarry after downing a bottle and a half of fireball is as funny as he does. Whatever. Cid would’ve thought that was badass as hell.

So he was admitted, on suicide watch for a stupid joke that wasn’t really worth it, or even really a joke. Max came to visit once. She punched him in the chest as hard as she could and cursed him out for an hour. She’d never done that before. By the time she left they were both in tears, and maybe Billy realized a thing or too about his carelessness. Realized for the first time that someone cared.

But he’s still in here for another week and a half by law, so. He’s not going to mope about it. And while Steve Harrington showing up is about the last thing he’s expecting, he decides that’s at least something he can work with. Definitely brings a little life to the place.

He waits until Steve’s intense watch period is over to bug him, once they’re out of their cramped little rooms for a couple of hours to “socialize” (see, the more sound of mind keep an eye on the other patients while the nurses take their smoke breaks) Billy goes straight to Steve. Him and Harrington are far from friends, but that’s pretty much irrelevant when the only other choices for company are kids younger than them too scared to approach them and people too deep in their midlife crises to bother with teenage drama.

Throwing himself down in the blue plastic chair across from where Steve settled in, Billy kicks his feet up on the table,, “What’s up Harrington? Didn’t expect to see a familiar face in here.”

But Steve, poor Steve, takes one look at Billy with those haunted brown eyes, and his face just falls completely apart. There are tears on his way too pale cheeks before Billy even has a chance to breathe.

The smile drops off of Billy’s face, “Jesus Harrington, I know m’not looking my best surviving on hospital food and cigarettes without a hairbrush, but that’s a little unwarranted.”

“Shut up. Not everything’s about you, Hargrove.”

“Oh I disagree with that. But I get the point. I’ll let ya be.” Billy hums, scooting his chair back and getting up. He stops when Steve starts to speak, “Y-You outta be careful saying that kinda stuff in here.”

“What?”

“That the world revolves around you. They’ll come up with a diagnosis for that and keep you here forever. Drug you ‘til you forget your own name, let alone your status.” Steve tells him with humor, wiping the tears off his face.

Billy nods in understanding, sits back down with an interested smirk, “This ain’t your first time here, is it?”

“Is it yours?”

“Nah. I’ve done some shit on purpose, some on accident. Once it wasn’t even me. But s’never done anything to help so far.”

Steve puffs out a sigh, “Don’t I know it.. I’ve been in and outta this place since I was like, ten. Clearly nothing’s changed.”

“Why? What’s your dirty little secret, Harrington?”

“I cut myself, dumbass.” He deadpans, looking at Billy with a bluntness in his expression that reads more concerning, more like indifference to what he just said than matter-of-fact.

“No shit. But that ain’t the secret.” Billy probes further, can tell he’s getting under that mask Steve wears, “Why do you do it?”

“Legally, I can't tell you. And I don’t think I would anyways.”

“What about if I tell you all about me first? I got no reservations ‘cept the one that got me a bed here.”

“It’s not a hotel, Hargrove.”

“Eh, might as well be. Feels like the damn hotel California.”

“Is that why?”

“Huh? Oh no, I been pullin’ stunts like this long before we left Cali.”

“Like what?”

“Like downing two full bottles of my mother’s meds after she left. Not at the same time obviously, or I wouldn’t be here. Mostly ‘cause my dad didn’t even wanna take me to the hospital either time.” Billy doesn’t look at Steve while he elaborates. Not because he cares, he’s an open book, if a random old woman at the grocery store asked about his last attempt, he’d tell her.

But. He doesn’t like watching people’s faces. Seeing sympathy and concern there. It makes him feel all stupid and guilty. It’s usually not like that with other kids like him, but Steve’s different. He’s got a big heart. Even if there’s no room for himself.

And Billy hurt Steve before. He doesn’t want to see someone he caused pain caring so much about him. He already cracked when Max came to see him. This could be what splits him open, spills out all the things he’s covered up.

So he keeps going, “And like runnin’ out in front of traffic with my friends. They thought we were just playin’ chicken ‘til I stopped dead in front of a station wagon. Metal rims’d done me in for sure if one ‘a the older boys hadn’t pulled me outta the way. Damn near ripped my shirt in half how fast he grabbed me.”

“I’m guessing your parents are the reason why then?”

“Yessir.” Billy deflects, not good at getting deeper into it, “You wanna tell me yours then?”

“I started cutting because Tommy Hagan told me about it. He thought it was freaky, but when he ran his mouth about how they found the neighbor kid in his room, drained of all his blood from his wrists, I wanted to try it. I’ve tried liquor and drugs and all kinds ‘a shit I shouldn’t, but nothin’ stuck like cutting.” Steve pauses for a long time, his eyes going blank, staring right past Billy, “When my mom found out she.. she.. Forget it.”

“Hey, you seen my skeletons. Can’t I see yours?”

“No. I don’t wanna fucking talk about it anymore.” Steve answers, despite his assuredness, his tone wobbling with some unidentifiable emotion.

Talk about mood swings. Billy doesn’t get how nobody would’ve noticed something was up before Steve started carving into himself. Really, he knows someone would have seen it and just ignored it.

It only gets worse though, the reservedness turning to sadness and frustration. None of the words are coming out, but he can tell Steve’s thinking of the stories, reliving all that got him to the here and now. Billy can also tell there’s nothing he can do no to stop him from doomsdaying.

So when Steve is inevitably in the thralls of a panic attack, he tries to hug him tight, to try to get it to stop maybe, that always worked for him at least, but Steve swats him away. Judging from the way he winces, it’s not easy for him to do either, with those thick ass bandages constricting his wrists, but the tears and the pain on his face are buried behind his resolution.

He’s hiding something from Billy.

In hindsight, talking to a new patient about past attempts probably wasn’t his brightest idea anyways, so he switches the subject while Steve works on coming down from his panic attack. He brings up Max and her little nerds, trying to bridge the healthier connections between him and Steve that they’d both been ignoring since the fight. He mentions basketball too, another something they have in common other than trying to kill themselves.

It doesn’t really work, though Steve does stop shaking as bad, just curling up in his little chair and sniffling, pretending not to listen while Billy rambles on and on. But he doesn’t talk. It’s probably better for him not to anyway. Billy himself has been known to say some dumb shit when he’s in distress.

Ultimately, even once the conversation runs out, he stays with Steve until dark. He can tell from the way his gaze sticks to the floor that Steve recovered from his fit a while ago, but he’s embarrassed by having a breakdown in front of him, as if he isn’t in here for the same reason. It helps that he gets it though, and they sit in a comfortable, albeit very prolonged, silence.

Long after Steve gets xanned up and knocked out though, while Billy is still free to wander until the midnight curfew as a low risk patient, he decides to stick with him in his room. Billy’ll never admit it, but he gets nightmares, and he doesn’t want to face that just yet, so with a new friend as an excuse, he’s up half the night watching Steve sleep.

He remembers what happened earlier, how focused Steve was on keeping him away from him, despite his panic, and decides, with a glance at how deeply Steve is sleeping, his greasy hair all strewn about on stiff pillows, that he’s going to figure out what it was.

He snoops around in his bedside drawers, in the bathroom, in the locker in the corner. It’s there he notices the knitted jacket Steve was wearing before, hanging heavy to one side, like there’s something in its pocket. He touches it and feels the outline of something small, so he pulls it out.

He regrets checking though, because it’s a knife. Judging from the old looking engravings on its handle, and the coppery stains within the grooves, it’s specifically the very same one that got Steve hospitalized.

He shoves it in his own back pocket and keeps looking, with a quick glance at Steve, finding a note tucked where the knife had been. Written in perfect scrawl on bond paper that’s been folded a dozen times and stained with tears,

“Do it right next time, why don’t you? Your mother is too soft on you. I’m not paying for this again.

- J.Harrington.”

Billy doesn’t know what to do but throw the note in the trash. Not really in shock, but definitely more than a little fucked up from reading that, he sits on the end of Steve’s bed. His own dad, who'd more than once been the one putting him in the hospital, had never even said anything like that to him.

He didn’t get to talk to Steve much today, but they’ve got as long as Billy’s stuck in here together to fix that. Longer if he just pulls something in front of a nurse. And he wants to, really really wants to.

Because he knows he just met the real Steve, can recognize another broken boy when he sees one, and he knows too, that he never wants to meet a pretty boy like this again.

And if that’s his declaration to get clean, then so fucking be it.

But. He never promised not to hurt anyone. Ultimately he’d still need that outlet.

He keeps the knife. To make sure his pretty boy doesn’t get hurt again.

[hello-everyfandom]

“You’ll get frown lines if you continue that,”

Warnings: Light making out/Light smut (very very very light)

Pairing: Draco Malfoy x Hufflepuff!Reader

Words: 2.5k

Summary: Draco’s Hufflepuff girlfriend is nothing but a delight and the exact opposite of him.

(I really really tried. I hope Draco’s character isn’t too ooc, but I thought it’d be so sweet to see cold stone Draco with a soft, cute girlfriend)

One of the things Draco loved most about you was your extreme compassion and empathy. You were, undoubtedly, one of the sweetest people at Hogwarts. Not just to your own house, but all, even Slytherins. Perhaps that is what drew him to you, your innate ability to look past house stereotypes and befriend even the snarkiest of Slytherins. If you were to see Draco and his lovely girlfriend walking the corridors, hand in hand, you’d assume they were holding hands accidentally. Your face always had a beaming, positive smile placed on it. You waved and greeted your friends kindly and exuded an aura of friendliness. Draco, however, was the exact opposite. He scowled, maybe not on purpose, but sneered at the poor souls who happen to look at him. You were light, he was dark. Not that you minded. Whenever you caught him in a glare, you’d squeeze his hand and softly tug.

“You’ll get frown lines if you continue that,” 

Draco looked down at your smiling face and couldn’t help but send a small smile back, “And what is ‘that?’” he asked.

“This,” you pointed to your face and pulled an exaggerated scowl, pushing your eyebrows together and pointed the corner of your lips down, “See? Unattractive,”

Draco chuckled softly under his breath and tugged his bag closer on his shoulder, “So now you think I’m unattractive?” 

“No no, darling, not at all. I’m calling your face unattractive,” you leaned closer to him, inhaling his sweet cologne before waving at another friend in the corridor.

“My face is unattractive?” Draco said, feigning hurt.

“Oh, you know what I mean,” you laughed and slapped his arm gently. “But, would it kill you to smile a little?” You reached you and tried to drag his cheek up with your finger to form a smile.

“I smile when I’m with you, that’s enough smiling for my life.”

“Draco, while that is quite adorable and does, in fact, flutter my heart, I mean smiling and saying hello to people, maybe greeting your friends in a nicer way?”

Draco stopped walking and pulled you into a more secluded part of the corridors where you were visible but not quite as seen. His eyes were playful and a smirk printed itself on his lips. Draco’s eyes were mesmerizing, you nearly forgot what you were talking about before raising your eyebrows,

“I don’t have to speak sweetly to anyone but you,” Draco bent his head and placed a peck on your lips. You rolled your eyes with a grin on your face, giving him another small kiss and spun sharply on your heel. “Where are you going?” he called, holding the strap of his bag.

“I’m going to Herbology. See you later, handsome!” 

Draco’s cheeks flushed a light pink as he watched you skip down the hall, giving nods and small ‘hellos’ to the people around you who were making their way to class. Draco shook his head to rid himself of the embarrassing colour that fully displayed his love for you and paced to his next class. 

By the time supper had come around, Draco searched the Great Hall for you. Usually, you were perched on the Hufflepuff bench, chatting happily away with your friends and even turning to talk to some of the Gryffindor’s behind you. However, you were nowhere to be seen. Dinner had started and Draco tapped his foot anxiously. It was only until you had run into the Great Hall, screeching to a stop and searched wildly until you found Draco’s blonde hair amidst the sea of students. You sighed in relief and started towards his table. Draco’s eyes widened as you reached him, pressing a kiss to his cheek and sitting next to him, and across from Pansy.

“Pardon me, I don’t believe you are a Slytherin, are you?” he jokingly whispered in your ear as you started to scoop helpings of food onto your plate.

“Slytherin Blitherin,” you waved your hand, “ ‘s it so wrong to want to sit with my boyfriend?” Your boyfriend shrugged and handed you a roll of bread before asking,

“Where were you anyway? Fighting demons? No, too mean. Were you making daisy chains with the house elves?” His elbow prodded you softly.

“What? No, but actually, thank you for reminding me. I need to have a little visit to the house-elves soon, they really are quite sweet. You really should come with me Draco, they really enjoy stories and absolutely are thrilled if you sit with them for a bit. But, I just woke up too late from a nap, thas’ all.” You smiled and sipped from the goblet in front of you.

“Of course you did,” Draco rolled his eyes and settled into his dinner bench, feeling happy you were beside him.

“Pansy, by the way,” Pansy’s back straightened, she didn’t hate you but she didn’t particularly like you either, nevertheless you continued, “My mother sent me a bottle of that muggle nail polish I told you about. It’s quite cute, I could do your nails later if you’d like,” You offered kindly. Pansy’s eyes widened as she glanced from you to Draco, he shrugged.

“It’s a muggle thing?” Pansy asked curiously,

“Oh yes, but it’s so much easier than doing it with spells, surprisingly. I think it’s quite genius actually, I did mine yesterday night.” you flashed Pansy your fingernails that were delicately painted a light shade of blue. Draco studied you as you began to converse energetically with Pansy, your yellow tie laid nicely on your chest whilst your hair was messily pulled back. He couldn’t help but fall further in love with you as you laughed and even spoke to Blaise a bit about the quidditch teams you were interested in. You were just so simply kind and generous that he even felt a bit guilty. He was worried he would scare you off or even worse, transform your kindness and friendliness to something cold and more like him. However, you seemed to be unchanged and remained the same front the first day he met you. 

“Draco?” His focus was blinked out of his eyes as you peered at you,

“Yes?”

“Is there something on my face?” You ask, wiping your lips insecurely.

“Only beauty,” Draco said. The moment he uttered those words, he regretted it immediately. Blaise howled with laughter whilst Pansy began to tease him. He scowled at them and sent his friends dirty daggers. You beamed at him with a delighted gleam in your eye, 

“Aw, Draco. You’re so sweet, isn’t he sweet?” you turned to Blaise after pressing a quick kiss on Draco’s cheek.

“Oh, the sweetest.” Blaise cooed sarcastically whilst catching his breath. Underneath the table, you squeeze Draco’s hand reassuringly and leaning your head on his shoulder. Draco would never admit this to anyone, except maybe you, but he was changing. He didn’t push first years, nor spend his free periods mocking the stutters and stance of the third years. In fact, he can’t even pin the last snarky comment he made towards Potter.

“Malfoy, maybe you should rethink having a blood traitor sit at our table. It’s quite despicable if you ask me, disgusting even,” A hateful voice sounded from behind you. A few Slytherin boys who you had sadly not friended yet sneered at you. Before Draco could respond angrily and tell him to piss right the fuck off, you chimed up.

“You’re Earl Elmer, right?” You turned and rummaged through your school bag frantically before removing a crumbled piece of parchment and smoothing it down on the table. “‘m sorry if it’s a little torn, I overheard you in Charms the other day. You said you were having trouble, so I took some extra notes for you. I hope they help.” The boy looked nervously at his friends and glared at the parchment before scoffing leaving the Great Hall. You frowned, “I know it’s a little crumpled, but I didn’t think it was that bad,”

Your boyfriend rolled his eyes and rubbed your shoulders comfortingly, “He’s a bloody twat, don’t bother with Elmer.” 

“I don’t want him to be upset. If I made him angry or something of the sort I’d be gutted.”

“You’re too kind sometimes,” Draco mumbled over the chatter of the Great Hall, “you barely notice when someone’s being a right arse to you.”

“I think he has the potential to be actually quite kind,”

“Don’t count on it. Now, eat your dessert or you’ll be cranky later.” You sniffed before nodding and reaching for a cup of pudding. Draco’s heart thumped, even after being treated awfully, you still went out of your way to be kindhearted to someone. You were too good for him, and he knew it.

“If you want me to, I’ll hex him,” Pansy offered, biting into her cupcake. 

“That’s nice, Pansy, but I think I’ll pass.” You said, leaning on Draco’s shoulder again, humming contently.

In your room, you laid on your stomach with your textbook. You groaned loudly making Draco look up from his spot on your bed. 

“What’s the matter?” He asked, pulling you lay back so your back was on his chest.

“I hate Transfiguration,” you grumbled, “I can barely make out the words anymore.”

“Oh? Hate? I wasn’t sure that word was in your dictionary,” Draco teased, combing his fingers through your hair.

“It’s not, maybe I’ve been spending too much time with you,” you teased back.

“Maybe,” he bent his neck to kiss your cheek, “Transfiguration can’t be that hard.” 

“It is, you don’t even understand, my brain is exhausted, it’s simply too hard,” you said dramatically,

“I’m in your class, Love.”

“But still! You’re a smarty smarty pants. And I’m just a dumb dumb.”

“You’re a Prefect,” He pointed out. “And, not to mention, one of the smartest witches in our year.”

“You know what, you are the loveliest boyfriend ever,” you switched positions so you were in his lap and cradled his face. You pecked kisses on his face affectionately, his hands sliding on your hips and down your thighs. 

“What’s with all the kisses?” Draco wasn’t complaining, but he didn’t want to turn your head from studying either. 

“You just look so cute sitting there, I couldn’t help it. Thought you deserved some kisses!” you smiled and kissed his neck lightly and then locking your lips with his. Everything about your kisses made his head swoon, he forgot about the war, the darkness his family that engulfed his family and even his own battles with anxiety and sadness. He melted instantly into your touch, moving his hands tentatively to hug your waist. You tasted of berries and the muggle chapstick you insisted on wearing in the winters to prevent chapped lips. You felt his hands wander softly, almost scared as you nipped at his bottom lip leaving him breathless. For someone so sweet, you kissed like a woman on a mission. Your hips slowly grinding into his and the top buttons of his shirt coming undone. His lips trailed down your neck and above your collar bone, focusing on the soft skin that begged him to bite. Draco felt as though his heart would plummet into the ground as you pulled your shirt off. 

“I-” he stuttered,

“Yes?” You asked innocently,

Draco raised so he was leaning on his elbows whilst you straddled him. Your fingers quicker to unbutton his shirt, as he ran his fingers through your hair, gripping it softly. You moaned as he slipped his tongue in your mouth. A sudden knock at the door made you bolt upright. Your hair a mess from Draco’s pulling and your lips swollen from Draco’s kisses. You gasped, realizing your shirt had been thrown across the room and Draco’s was mostly unbuttoned. Draco whined at the lack of contact but you shot him a warning look before shoving a sweater over your head. You swung open the door looking for who had knocked only to lower your eyes and see a young Hufflepuff from first year.

“I’m sorry to interrupt!” She squeaked, “I just had a, uh, a question on my Transfiguration homework but I can go,” as she turned you caught her shoulder and sent her a soft look,

“No worries! Transfiguration can be tricky, can’t it?” You looked over your shoulder at Draco who looked up at the ceiling with annoyance, tapped his wrist to signal to hurry up. Obviously, he wanted to get back to kissing his gentle girlfriend. You shooshed him and twirled to speak to the Hufflepuff, “Maisie, right?” She nodded, “Will you just hold on one second, then my brain and my skills are all yours.”

You closed the door and rushed around your dorm, throwing clothes into your chest and frantically tidying up. Draco watched amused, legs stretched out on the bed with his arms under his head and his back against the headboard.

“Can’t you just tell her to bugger off?” he asked, motioning for you to come closer,

“Absolutely not. One, that’s rude. And two, it may seem foreign to you, but I do actually want to help her.”

“But we were... doing stuff,” Draco whined, it was unlike his character to beg but he had just gotten a taste of you and was starving for more.

“Were we?” You joked and pointed at his shirt, “You better button-up, buttercup!” Draco grumbled and complied as you threw the door open. 

“Come in, come in!” You motioned her forwards, she stepped cautiously into your dorm, observing the nice moss plants you had hanging as well as the cozy rug you had placed on the floor. Her eyes wandered to Draco’s figure and instantly froze in fear,

“If-if you have guests, Y/N, I can always come later,” She stuttered, fiddling with her textbook.

“What him? Don’t worry, he’s nothing but a big ole bloke who just so happens to be dating me. Plus, what are Prefects for? Now, take a seat, you can sit on the bed or on the desk,”

Draco sent her a glare making her respond quickly, “I’ll sit at the desk.” You mentally scolded Draco before helping your first-year friend with her homework.

As you bid her goodbye after helping her with her homework and sending her off with a lolly, you shut the door and sighed with happiness. Draco’s arms opened, motioning for you to fall into them and lay comfortably on his chest.

“I’m so happy,” you mumbled into his shirt,

“Is that so?”

“I love helping people,”

“I noticed.” Draco rubbed soothing circles on your back,

“‘m tired,” you yawned.

“How is it that you have so much energy to help people and care for them when you’re just a small little thing?” Draco’s voice was low, nearly lulling you to sleep. He truly was amazed at your capabilities to be so good-hearted and pure.

“I love helping people,” your eyes drooped, “just as much as I love you,”

“I love you as well,” Draco soothingly petted your hair and placed a kiss on your forehead, allowing you to drift into a lovely and blissful sleep.