#In honor of the fact I keep forgetting her glasses

[araneadillydally]

DillyDally 130

[nevertheless-moving]

I wrote it. They ask.

"So you're essentially an expert on honor, right?"

Kaladin blinked at Shallan, unsure what to make of the question. The three of them had finished eating, and had moved to a smaller, shared table for drinks, secluded from the rest of the building by a hazy curtain. The conversation had been drifting lazily from the city's latest scandals to squire hijinks.

"What?" Kaladin finally said, slightly confused at the abrupt change of topic.

"Of course you are, you're the first person chosen by an honorspren in thousands of years!" Adolin said enthusiastically.

"I mean—"

"And you always figure out the right thing to do!" Shallan said.

"That's definitely not—"

Adolin nodded. "Never murder anyone in cold blood, even when they deserve it."

Kaladin sighed heavily. "Where are you two going with this?"

Shallan coughed into her freehand. "Well, you see, we've been having a little debate about...honor."

"And we were hoping you could settle it. Impartially," Adolin said, tone serious.

Kaladin squinted at him. There was something off about his expression. "Can't you ask Syl?"

Syl was meeting with some of the honorspren with newer bonds tonight; she had insisted that she could handle it on her own, and that he should take the night off, but he was sure she would be happy to switch places to come by and give her opinion on other people's business; that was practically a hobby for her. He wasn't sure sure where pattern was, come to think of it; he hadn't heard him buzz in a while.

"Actually we did!" Shallan said brightly.

"She was our first choice, no offense," Adolin said. "I don't think she entirely understood the dilemma."

"It's a bit too, well, human." Shallan took a large sip of her wine, emptying the glass, but didn't waive over a server for more.

Kaladin felt dread start to coil low in his stomach, the fragile relaxation of the evening starting to slip away. "...I'm going to regret hearing about this, aren't I?"

Adolin leaned towards him, turning wide, pleading eyes his direction. "Please, Kaladin?"

Shallan matched him. Stormfather. Not so long ago ago, lighteyes looking at him like that would have filled him with derision at most. What had happened to him.

"Fine." Kaladin leaned back in his seat, giving in. He was a little curious, even though he knew he wasn't going to be happy with whatever he was about to hear. "What is it?"

Shallan straightened, as if to give a presentation before the Queen. Storms, I have a really bad feeling about this.

"Well, as you know, I'm a lightweaver, and can change mine or someone else's appearance, such that they exactly resemble another. I can also create an illusion, so that it appears that an individual is present, when in fact, they are not."

"...Yes?" Was Shallan nervous? Adolin didn't kill another highprince, did he?

"Now, obviously, practicing lightweaving by pretending to be someone else, when done entirely in private, I mean just me, myself, and I, practicing my radiant abilities, can't possibly be dishonorable."

"I guess?"

Adolin leaned forward now, one hand gesturing sharply. "But what if I'm there? I mean, no ones suggesting that it would be acceptable for Shallan to assume a specific private individual's form in public."

"Unless it's to save lives," Shallan said.

Adolin nodded. "Unless of course it's to save lives."

"Or as part of my crown assigned radiant duties."

"Or that, can't forget to mention that."

"Or with said individual's consent."

"Naturally, consent makes all the difference."

"Quite a few shades of grey."

"Truly, once you think about it. Infinite nuance."

Kaladin pinched the bridge of his nose, scowling to keep from laughing. "Did you rehearse this?"

Shallan waved her hand in his face, forestalling any other objections. "In any case! Would we be disrespecting an individual, let's call this person 'Lin' for short, would we be behaving dishonorably towards Lin, were I to assume Lin's form, or have Adolin assume Lin's form, or have Lin appear while both of us are present, soley within the privacy of our chambers?"

Kaladin waited a few seconds for Adolin to chime in, but he just continued staring intently at Kaladin.

"...This is about Lyn?"

"No, not Lyn, Lin," Shallan corrected primly. He could just barely make out a difference. "Neutral born unto. Just, we don't want to say her — say their name specifically, but I thought saying 'the individual' would get unwieldy."

Ok, probably not about Lyn. Unless they're using a confusing fake name to make me think that. He started to feel a throbbing at the base of his skull.

"Is there some specific reason you want to look like... Lin?" He dropped his voice slightly, rubbing his temples. "Is it for a practical reason? Or do you want to make fun of her — them?"

"Definitely not to make fun of them!" Adolin said, voice dropping to match Kaladin's.

"Many people would consider it flattering," Shallan whispered. "For their form to be assumed in this specific context!"

"We're just not certain if Lin would think that, and we're worried that it would be worse to ask."

"So we decided to ask you instead, since again, you're —"

Kaladin waved a hand at her before they could jump into another bizarre routine. "Honorable, yes, whatever, fine. I get it."

Adolin put a hand on his arm, expression earnest. "Look. If you think we should just directly talk to Lin then we'll do it. We just...don't want to embarrass them, or hurt their feelings in someway. We genuinely aren't sure how they would react, and I mean. You don't have to ask someone's permission for thinking about them, but this is a step up from that, and it's not like there's many people who have had the option, so...hence the uncertainty, and asking for a neutral, completely unconnected, third party opinion."

"Alright, I...guess that makes sense? In an extremely weird way." Kaladin looked between the two of them. Shallan's expression was open and honest, but unfortunately that didn't mean much. Adolin was earnest, but there was something weird about his posture. Guilty? Excited? "But why do you want to see a lightweaving of Lin in private so much?"

Shallan pretended to take a sip out of her empty glass. "I assume you can guess, bridgeboy. Is it really necessary for us to say it aloud?" She had just a hint of red staining the tops of ears, but she colored easily. It could just be the alcohol.

"I really don't know," Kaladin said, baffled. "Is this a lighteyes thing? Like you want to, I don't know...model fashion on them?"

"Ooh." Adolin suddenly looked far too eager. "That's actually not what we were thinking."

"I didn't think it was a lighteyes thing," Shallan said. "But I suppose it could be. I don't have a significant enough sample size to presume." That was clearly a joke there that Kaladin didn't get.

Adolin cleared his throat. "Well." He made another sharp motion with his hands, letting Kaladin go. "As you know, Shallan and I are married."

"Yes, I was at your wedding," Kaladin said dryly.

"We are married," Adolin repeated, talking over him. "And that comes with certain... duties and privileges."

"Among which—" Shallan was definitely blushing now. "—and I suppose this could be considered an, ah, 'lighteyes thing,' is well. The need to create an heir."

They can't possibly be asking me this. Kaladin looked desperately to Adolin, but the man just gave him a sheepish, apologetic grin.

A small part of Kaladin curled up and died.

Blood Of My Fathers.

"No," Kaladin said. "Absolutely not. You are not asking me about something to do with your sex lives."

"You see," Adolin said. "I know you've said you don't have interest in, well, any of that. But for many the process of creating an heir is not just—"

"ARGH." Kaladin threw his arms up, crossing them over his head.

"— a responsibility but a pleasure which—"

"Almighty's Tenth name!"

"—can be performed creatively—"

Kaladin pressed his head to the table, burying himself in his arms to hide his too warm face and probably disgusted expression.

"Stop. Please. Stop." He knew he was whining in a way ill befitting a Windrunner of his Ideal, but the booth they were in was private, and Adolin and Shallan had seen him in far less dignified circumstances.

"Sorry," Adolin said, patting him on the shoulder. "Just wanted to make sure you understood."

"Well I don't!" Kaladin said, looking up but not lifting his chin from his arms. "And I don't storming want to! Why can't you just look like yourselves! I thought you liked how each other looked! I've literally caught you drooling!"

Adolin frowned. "I don't drool, bridgeboy."

Shallan's face was nearly as red as his face felt, but her expression was significantly more gleeful. "I…there may have been one sparring session I observed…that may have generated a small amount of moisture."

Adolin cocked an eyebrow, and smirked. "Moisture, huh?"

"I hate you two," Kaladin lied emphatically.

"Sorry, Sorry." Adolin patted him on the shoulder again. "So? What do you think?"

"I think Rlain is right and its a storming miracle humans have managed to accomplish anything when most of us are permanently stuck in mateform."

Adolin heaved a dramatic sigh. "About our question, Kal, come on. We know you don't like talking about this stuff but that's exactly why we needed your opinion! You're unbiased!"

"And honorable, yes you said. Have I mentioned before that the rewards for being honorable blow?"

They turned twin pleading expressions toward him and he caved immediately. Storms, he had gotten weak. "Battar and Shallash, fine," he snapped. "Fine, give me a minute, alright. Just stop talking. "

The two waited, Shallan only opening her mouth to make a joke twice, Adolin successfully nudgeing her quiet each time; Kaladin lifted himself up, elbows on the table and head in his hands as he looked down, forcing himself to actually give it serious consideration. Wait, I thought Veil was the one who was attracted to women. Oh. Right.

"Alright," he finally said. "I get that people can't always help what they...think about. That's fine. And I also know that trying not to think about something sometimes makes people think about it more, so."

Adolin and Shallan nodded. "You have no idea," Adolin said. "Seriously, I love Shallan, I've absolutely tried not looking at other women's — anyway. It's so much easier to just forgive eachother the occasional wayward glance or errant thought." They squeezed each others hands.

Kaladin sighed. "Right. Sorry if I came off as judgemental."

"No, no, you've made it very clear that you don't like talking about such things, it's completely reasonable to be unhappy. We are sorry for the times we...overshare in front of you."

"It's fine," Kaladin said curtly. "Really. I know you try. Anyway. I also understand that people sometimes, er, fantasize. That way. About things or people they don't actually want in real life. And. Uh. Sometimes people... act that out."

Kaladin stared determinedly at the table, face hot. There was a swirling pattern in the marble that he hadn't noticed before.

"You do?" Adolin said, sounding surprised.

Kaladin coughed. The swirling pattern kind of looked like a river, viewed from above. "There. Might have been an incident, early on in the army, when I heard a couple and, er, overreacted slightly. They took the time to explain things in... painful detail. It's fine. None of my business."

"That's. Very open minded of you," Shallan said, sounding slightly strangled. "Tell me, when the couple was explaining things — oof." Kaladin didn't look, but he was fairly sure Adolin just stepped on her foot, something he was infinitely grateful for. It had been an extremely mortifying lesson. The pair had said they weren't mad about being interrupted, but he was fairly sure they were lying, considering how much detail they went into in their explanation.

"Honestly, the whole...dressing weird, or calling eachother names or using ropes or whatever—"

Adolin made a choking noise. Kaladin kept looking at the little river pattern in the table. If he squinted there were mountains and farms too.

"—all that stuff isn't more or less...unappealing. To think about. Then just regular sex." Kaladin paused. "That is not permission to talk about that sort of thing with me. Please don't share anything about your sex life with me, ok?"

"Of course!"

"We know."

"So," Kaladin continued, rubbing his cheeks to try and get rid of the blush. "Wanting someone isn't breaking your vows. Neither is thinking about them. Probably talking about them is fine too."

He ran his finger along the small river in the polished stone. He could practically feel two sets of light eyes drilling a hole in him.

"My concern, of course, would be for Lin. If playing around with their image would affect the real person. My main concern is it will impact the way you two interact with them."

"If we thought it did then we'd stop immediately," Adolin swore without prompting. "The real person matters far more than our...baser feelings."

"Absolutely," Shallan agreed softly. "We truly don't want to hurt them. That's why we've been struggling with this."

"I believe you," Kaladin said, scrubbing a hand over his face. "Alright, so you've already been...thinking about them, while together, and it hasn't impacted your interactions with the real person."

"No!"

"Trying not to think of them that way was worse," Adolin said ruefully. "I am...fairly sure they have not noticed any feelings on my part, and even if they had they've ignored them very politely so...like I said, if messing with lightweaveing changes that, we'll stop right away, but I don't think it will. We know who they are."

Kaladin studied the marble some more. He was pretty sure he had flown over somewhere in Alethkar that looked a bit like that riverbend, but he couldn't remember where.

"You cannot do this anywhere someone could possibly see or overhear," Kaladin said, looking up to make brief, serious eye contact with each of them. "Not visiting another city. Not where guards or servants could overhear, even trusted ones. Not in the duelist preparation chamber — yes I know about that. Not while exploring the less used parts of the city — yes, I heard about that too. Not in your sitting room or against the door, where someone passing by could overhear. Just in your own bedchamber, door locked."

"That sounds reasonable," Shallan said, flushing but solemn.

"Very reasonable," Adolin agreed, nodding sharply.

Kaladin grimaced, looking back down at the table. "I think...while part of me says you should ask Lin directly...that also sounds somewhat humiliating for everyone involved. I mean, again, it's more similar to thinking about someone than anyone else, and even if they were, er, flattered... It's not like you would actually be able to sleep together anyway, with your marriage oaths, so it would be a moot point."

"...Right," Adolin said unconvincingly. Kaladin decided not to think about that.

"So... it's alright?" Shallan said hopefully. "With those conditions? Not dishonorable?"

Kaladin forced himself to look up again, and immediately regretted it. They both looked far too eager.

"Not dishonorable," he sighed, closing his eyes and leaning back.

"Thank you!" Adolin said, with way too much passion.

"Thank me by never speaking to me of this again, and never asking me anything like this for the rest of our lives."

"Yes to the first one, no promises to the second," Shallan said gleefully. "Well. Now that we've discussed that matter, how about we get back to talking about—"

"Leave. For the love of all that is good, please leave," Kaladin begged, not opening his eyes. Shallan took advantage of this by kissing him lightly on the cheek. Adolin hugged him from the other side.

There was the sound of spheres tossed on the table and rapid movements, and then they were gone.

Kaladin opened his eyes, shaking his head. One of them had knocked over a glass in their haste to leave. They had, of course, left a small fortune to pay the bill.

He left the winehouse feeling...bemused mostly. Maybe he'd go find Rlain and they could gripe about humans and mateforms together. He would probably not make eye contact for Lyn for the next week, even though he was fairly sure they were talking about Isnah or Beryl. Best not to guess. He kicked off from the ground, the rush of wind immediately clearing away discomforting thoughts or lingering stress of the day.

He smiled, speeding up and feeling his heart race with the exhilaration that only the sky could bring, with no pressing meetings or appointments to get to. Syl had been right. It was good to take a night off every now and again.

[catwithyellowwings]

Topper Thornton x Reader

Please be gentle. English is not my native language. I'm still learning it, so there's probably a bunch of mistakes 🙈

Word count: almost 1700

Warnings: alcohol, fem!reader, curse words, timeline end of season 3 I think, I dunno

Y/N could not be called a fan of lavish receptions, which were periodically arranged at the figure eight by one of the representatives of the Kooks. However, the position of the sole heiress of her father's company obliged her to come on holidays and have small talk with adults. Periodically, she heard that very soon it would be time for her to choose her husband; some dared to remind the girl about this personally. Mentally, Y/N rolled her eyes at the mere mention of marriage, but all she had on her face was the embarrassed mask she put on at such moments. Most considered her a gentle and kind girl, and only a few were honored to get to know Y/N better. They knew for sure that she would not offend either herself or her loved ones and would not reach into her pocket for a word. It seemed that she always had a sharp phrase up her sleeve that could put any upstart in his place. One of those who knew both sides of her was Sarah Cameron, whom she had befriended since elementary school. Over the years, the friendship grew stronger and led to Sarah introducing Y/N to Topper Thornton.

At first, their communication did not work out, as Topper was strongly influenced by Rafe, who did not like that his younger sister and her friend were constantly trying to get into his company. However, with age, the gap between Topper, Sarah, and Y/N began to decrease, which led to the fact that the first two even began to date. This action hurt Y/N, as she was secretly in love with Top, although he sometimes behaved like a complete asshole. She is not very pleased to admit this, but she was even glad when Sarah finally abandoned Topper for the sake of John B.

"Finally, at least one familiar face," Y/N sighed, seeing Rafe in the shade of the gazebo in Tannyhill. "Why do you need so many people here? Do you know them all?".

"This is my house, and I invite whoever I want." Rafe waved her away after taking another sip from a glass of amber liquid. He's obviously been out of his mind ever since what happened to his family. However, Ward somehow controlled him before, now after their dad dead the guy seemed to have completely lost his mind. "If you don't like it, then get out! I'm not keeping anyone here."

"Asshole," Y/N muttered, rolling her eyes, deciding to end this useless conversation. And how could she have liked him a few years ago? It was a short-term interest that passed as abruptly as it began. If there had been such an opportunity, the girl would have returned to that time and given herself a good slap on the head even for the slightest sympathy towards her best friend's brother.

After leaving him to make out with some unknown tourist girl, who was clearly flattered by the attention of the local rich boy, Y/N decided to forget about Rafe and still hang out. She has only a year of study left before she is sent to some prestigious college away from the temptations of the Outer Banks. Her father clearly had his grandiose plans for her, so she had to take everything from the freedom she still had. Grabbing a low-alcohol cocktail from the bar, she sat down on the edge of the pool, putting her feet in the water. The pleasant coolness refreshed the muscles tired after a workout in the gym. Putting the glass next to her, the girl leaned back slightly in her arms, exposing her face to the evening sun, and closed her eyes. But she couldn't relax like that for a long time; someone stopped in front of her, blocking the sunlight.

"Hey! Don't you see that people are trying to sunbathe here?!" Y/N protested, realizing that she was now in someone's shadow. However, she heard a short laugh in response, which she immediately acknowledged. Holding up one palm as a visor, Y/N looked up, involuntarily looking at the man standing next to her from head to toe. "Oh, it's you, Top." Trying not to be nervous, she greeted him, feeling her cheeks begin to blush and now not from the sun. He towered over her, making her feel small in spite of herself. And his half-naked body with still-not-dried drops on the skin and hair wet from water only aggravated her condition, but the girl tried to quickly pull herself together. "Do you need something?"

"Nothing," he grinned and lazily waved his hand. "Do you mind the company?"

"No problem," shrugging her shoulders, Y/N moved slightly away, giving way to a place next to her. Although it wasn't necessary to do this, she just needed to keep the distance between her and the Topper for her own peace of mind.

"I didn't expect to meet you here," Thornton began the dialogue, squinting slightly from the evening but still bright sun. "I thought you were out there with Sarah and her new friends."

"I hate to climb half-abandoned houses in search of another treasure," Y/N replied, recalling her friend's story about where they found their first gold. "Why look for unnecessary problems when we have our whole life ahead of us?"

"Well, your friend clearly has a different opinion," Topper muttered discontentedly, involuntarily clenching his fists. "She probably didn't have enough of what we have now."

"I'm sorry, but did you come up to me to discuss Sarah and her actions?" deciding to immediately clarify the likely topic of their conversation, Y/N asked. "If so, then, alas, I am not your assistant in this. Although Sarah and I remain friends, I am far from all her adventures."

"No." Realizing his mistake, Topper shook his head. "I'm sorry, forget about Sarah." A smile appeared on his face, not the most sincere, but still. "Tell me about yourself. We seem to have known for so long, but we know absolutely nothing about each other."

"It's not a surprise; your attention has always been more given to Sarah," Y/N reminded casually, shrugging her shoulders.

"But she's not here right now, and I want to get to know you better."

Gradually, the awkwardness between them began to disappear. It is not clear whether the time spent together was to blame for everything or the amount of alcohol consumed. However, by the end of the party, when only the most persistent of the guests remained and the lighting turned on around the perimeter of the house in the form of a dimly glowing garland, the two were clearly busy with each other. Sitting on a swing in the shade of a low palm tree, they kissed slowly, carefully checking the boundaries of what was allowed. None of them wanted to pay attention to others, being completely immersed in caresses. Part of Y/N kept saying that maybe tomorrow morning she would regret what was happening now and would happen a little later, but at the moment she didn't care. She was happy, and nothing else mattered. 

"Topper, wait," interrupting their kiss, Y/N moved away a little and put her hand on the guy's chest. It took her a few seconds to get her breathing back to normal and formulate the right phrase. Thornton had been waiting patiently for her all this time, reaching out only once to tuck a stray strand of Y/H/C hair behind her ear. "Please answer honestly, okay?" He nodded back, trying to figure out the reason for the sudden stop. "What's going on between us right now..." Y/N licked her lips, meeting Top's gaze. "It's not because Sarah dumped you, is it? Understand, I just don't want to be your distraction from her. I want to know that you paid attention to me because of me, not in revenge for Sarah or as a way to forget her."

Such words stirred something inside Topper. He was aware that Sarah's act had hurt him, and it was still difficult for him to let go of this situation. How could one exchange the secure and peaceful life of Kooks for the uncertainty and danger of the existence of live Pouge? What did John B give her that Topper, who was ready to fulfill her every wish, could not give? These kinds of questions had been flashing through his mind since the breakup, and Thornton had no answers to them. But he couldn't admit all this, looking into Y/N's hopeful Y/E/C eyes. The guy didn't realize it himself, but over the past evening, this girl managed to catch his attention, which made him wonder why he hadn't noticed her all these years. Who knows what would have happened if Top had initially started dating her and not Sarah?

"I really like you," he began with the most obvious fact for him, but he clearly did not satisfy Y/N's curiosity, and she waited for him to continue. "And this is not because of revenge on Sarah or anything else." Taking her hand in his, Thornton wanted to prove his confidence in these words in this way. "You're beautiful on your own, and I was a complete idiot for not noticing it before. You're smart, funny, and damn beautiful." The compliments to her made Y/N look down in shyness. She really wanted to believe the words she had heard and finally get out of Cameron's shadow. "Any person will be lucky to be with you. And if you'll permit me, I'd like to be that lucky guy."

"Was that an official offer to date just now?" Y/N grinned and decided to clarify, looking back into the blue eyes she had known for a long time.

"Yes," Topper said more confidently. "Will you, Y/N be my girlfriend?"

"I do" finally allowing herself to exhale calmly, she answered with a smile on her face. "Yes."

"Cool," smiling back at her, Top reached for a kiss again, and now nothing could come between them.

[hippolotamus]

Seven Sentence Sunday 🥂

tagged by @weewootruck @eddiebabygirldiaz (definitely go check their snippets!)

Still in the rework phase. Please take this snippet of come close (let me be home) (prev snippets here) under the cut for the sake of your dash 😘

“I know it’s tough, kid. I’m sure this isn’t easy for you,” Bobby says, leading them through the crowd to a table near the back. “Athena won’t steer her wrong, though.” “I don’t doubt it, Lor- Bobby. I just didn’t think it would be this difficult, honestly. I want her to be happy, but–” “You want to keep her safe.”  “Exactly!” Evan accepts a champagne flute, noticing Bobby takes a lemonade for himself. “I guess I always felt like I had no say before, even though I knew Lord Kendall was a terrible choice. It’s difficult not to want to be more involved this time.” “That’s understandable. Commendable even.” Bobby pauses to take a sip of his drink before cryptically adding, “Sometimes no matter how much we try to protect the people we love, it’s never enough.”  Evan thinks there might be a story there, but doesn’t press for more information. He’s not going to ruin any trust being built by prying into his host’s past. He also tries not to think too hard about how true Bobby’s statement has been in his own life. Instead he shifts his focus back to where Maddie is talking with Athena, smiling at all the right times and looking like she’s genuinely enjoying herself. He walks with Bobby to rejoin their small group, handing a glass to Maddie.  “Anyone promising?” He asks, when suddenly a familiar face catches his eye across the room. It’s the man from the park, surrounded by a mob of enthusiastic socialites not so subtly shoving their dance cards at him.   “I know him,” Evan murmurs without thinking.  “Viscount Diaz?” Bobby questions.  Athena cuts in before Evan can answer. “I didn’t realize you had met. I know I certainly didn’t make the introduction. Bobby, did you?” “Not that I recall, my love.” “I, uh-” Evan gulps down the last of his champagne, feeling his cheeks flush. Apparently his etiquette has slipped his mind, causing him to forget how important it is that any introductions are made through Athena or Bobby. “I must be mistaken then.”  “He is handsome,” Maddie whispers, leaning in close.  “Y-yes, I suppose he is,” Evan mumbles, feeling his cheeks flush.  His sister’s observation isn’t wrong. Still, something about her acknowledging the obvious fact, coupled with the man – Viscount Diaz – being here at all doesn’t sit right under his skin.  “Your sister could do much worse than the Viscount,” Athena comments, looking quite pleased with herself. “He’s an honorable man with plenty of land and income. I daresay he would make an admirable choice. In fact, I’m not sure why I didn’t consider it before.”  “May I have this dance?” A gentleman – thankfully not the Marquis or the Viscount – approaches Maddie, extending his hand. He’s of average height and build with mousy brown hair and a forgettable face. As far as Evan can tell there is absolutely nothing noteworthy about him. Nevertheless, Maddie smiles and accepts his hand, letting him lead her to the floor as the music begins.

so many of you have recently posted so absolutely no pressure tagging @shortsighted-owl @stereopticons @elvensorceress @disasterbuckdiaz LOML @lizzie-bennetdarcy @vanillahigh00 @rmd-writes @welcometololaland @apothecarose @jesuisici33 @daffi-990 @callmenewbie @giddyupbuck @wikiangela @jamespearce9-1-1 @spotsandsocks @exhuastedpigeon @lemonzestywrites @thewolvesof1998 @steadfastsaturnsrings @loserdiaz @heartshapedvows @underwater-ninja-13 @fortheloveofbuddie @eowon @watchyourbuck @monsterrae1 @spagheddiediaz @chaosandwolves @wildlife4life @buddierights @911onabc @the-likesofus @spaceprincessem @fionaswhvre @barbiediaz @honestlydarkprincess @pirrusstuff @gayedmundodiaz @theplaceyoustillrememberdreaming @maygrantgf @statueinthestone @indestructibleheart and anyone else who wants to share 💖

[rikiflowers]

lost times

chapter 2, words: 2884

chapter 1

The next day was uneventful. In the evening you do some paperwork that you have been pushing aside for quite some time and now have to do reluctantly. You also never learn to simply starting earlier to save yourself the stress. Now you're sitting here with rising stress levels and the next coffee, which only intensifies the whole thing. Unfortunately, there is no other way to get through the paperwork. As Beldaruit's dear daughter, you have the 'honorable' task of processing all the applications your father so often 'forgets'.

Actually, you could do with a glass of wine right now. It's a good thing you still have some in your pantry after Beldaruit helped himself to them one evening. Since then, you've been using intricate locking spells to keep the thief away from your cabinet.

That could be a longer night.

A knock on the door makes you pause. You fervently hope that the person is not your father. There is another knock. "Come in," you call to the impatient visitor.

You open the door and immediately Qifrey's face jumps into your vision. You didn't expect that now. "Huh?" you just exclaim, realizing that he's not at all pleased to be at your door. "Qifrey... What are you doing here?" You've managed to ask a coherent question even though your heart is racing uncomfortably right now.

"If you let me in, I'm welcome to discuss it," he says pressed, and you feel incredibly small at that moment. He's angry and you don't know why. "Okay?"

You step aside so that he can enter. You close the door behind you and lean against the solid wood. Here he is now, in the middle of your premises. Right in front of your chaotic desk, where you were working until just now.

"Would you like to have a drink?"

He shakes his head. "But I," you murmur as you walk to your cupboard to finally decide on a wine. You need something stronger.

The unpleasant silence literally presses itself into you. "Why are you here?" you try again while pouring yourself a glass and drinking from it a little too hastily.  You’re very nervous. You feel it in your sweaty palms already.

"What did you do to Coco?" The threatening tone of his voice makes you freeze to ice. That's why he's here? To ask you such a threatening, ill question? After all these years, you've been hoping for something. Anything. But not this.

"What should I have done?" you ask as a counter-question. This insinuation alone makes your veins pulsate. Qifrey looks at you with hatred in his eye. You are frightened by the coldness in his features. He leaves the question unanswered. Just the fact that he is alone with you in your chambers makes you feel uncomfortable. You lean against the closet in a nightgown while Qifrey takes his anger out on you. Of course, he doesn’t answer you. Just bore you with his anger.

"Qifrey... I thanked Coco for helping you. I gave her a Danish pastry. A very sweet girl," you try to clarify, while your gaze turns away and you feel your eyes start to burn. You won't cry here in front of him now. After all these years, he shows up here just to blame you for something. You just drink from the bottle. It doesn't make sense anymore anyway. Why is he back on his feet at all? Shouldn't he continue to stay in bed?

He remains silent. "What's the point of this damn insinuation now? I thought you knew me?" You can’t keep quiet. You want clarification on what the hell he’s thinking.

"I never really knew you."

Almost everything falls out of your face when he makes this statement. "That's the lowest level right now... even for you," you literally spit at him. Another big gulp travels down your throat.

"Oh, we're talking about level now? I didn't even know you knew that word" His tone is hissing, which only makes you more effervescent. What's his damn problem? You laugh. Despite its seriousness, the situation is just amusing right now, because you don't even know why he's poisoning you so much.

"Would you move to explain to me, ignorant being, why you show up at my door late in the evening and argue with me for no apparent reason? Especially while I'm standing in front of you in my nightgown."

With the latter, you see him briefly take a look at your body and have to suppress a nasty grin. Horny bastard.

"You really have no idea or are you just pretending?" His gaze suddenly seems tortured.

"Qifrey... I have absolutely no idea what you want from me." You have to convince him that you know absolutely nothing about what he wants to accuse you of.

"Why didn't you answer my letter?"

You look at him questioningly. "What kind of letter?"

You see how his eye widened. He seems incredibly dismayed. "Qifrey... what kind of letter?" you repeat more urgently and bridge the distance to him so that he finally answers you. The witch avoids you and leans against the door. You look at him almost imploringly.

"The letter in which I wanted to ask you to follow me on the day of my departure."

-

Several years earlier

Loving Qifrey is like a small river. Steadily and gently, your feelings for him grow bigger and more powerful. After the first kiss, many more kisses follow. Stealthy, behind dark corners; Gentle when you are alone; More intense if he sneaks up on you in the middle of the night. No one suspects anything. You are getting older. The feelings more urgent, more demanding, more consuming. Love is a scary thing. Sometimes it fleets like a leaf, sometimes it grows over so many years.

You're afraid. Letting a person get so close to you for the first time is exciting and scary at the same time. Qifrey and you are inexperienced. It hurts at first, but when Qifrey wants to stop to spare you this pain, you want to continue. You want to feel it. On a hot summer night, you make love for the first time.  Sheets mingling, hearts beating in the same rhythm.

This goes on for quite a while, until it becomes more and more difficult to keep it a secret. You don't really want to hide it anymore. But one afternoon it happened. You thought you were undisturbed in the garden for a moment. Qifrey teasingly presses his lips to yours as you smile into the kiss. Your heart flutters away like a butterfly, brushing his tousled white curls out of his face. You are in your own world until someone rips Qifrey away from you. You can't look so fast, the stranger has already pushed the white-haired man to the ground and hits him full of anger.

Easthies.

You scream his name, and try to pull on the black-haired man to get him off Qifrey. Without success. You watch helplessly as he beats him. You scream for help before you see the white-haired man fight back and knock Easthies to the ground. His nose bleeds as he hits the black-haired man. "You damn bastard don't touch her again."

"And what if? Is she your property?" Qifrey replied imperiously. "You don't deserve it!" Another blow. "Neither do you." The next kick. You could tear your hair out. The two seem to be just fighting for dominance right now. Barely moments later, the two are pulled apart and taken away by members of the assembly, while you are asked somewhat perplexed what triggered it. You stay still. You don't know if Easthies or Qifrey will speak, but you can't imagine. Easthies seems to feel something for you too. Your best friend was right and you didn't want to believe her. You feel nauseous. Since the incident happened during the group task, you have avoided Easthies as much as possible. It was also quite convenient for you that he resigned from the service of being your protector. Well, now this. You will be guided to your chambers by the staff. You'd love to be with Qifrey and make sure he's okay. But it is your father's order that you be guided.

You learn that the two have been given punitive labor and house arrest. You can find Qifrey in the large garden for the next few days, while he has to do the work in the blazing sun. Your heart jumps when you see him. It's been a few days, but your longing for him is immense.

"Hey."

He immediately turns to you, and looks down at you lovingly. "Did somebody miss me?" His Cheekiness is written on his face.

"like crazy," you reply, resisting the urge to kiss him here and now. The white-haired man is being watched. That's why you keep some distance from him. "How is your nose?"

"Will be again... The bastard can really hit hard, though," Qifrey grumbles as you scrutinize the bandage. "I didn't know anything about his feelings."

"But he is very obvious. Everyone knows that they have some affection for you."

You look at him in dismay. "Why didn't you say anything?"

"I thought you knew that," he says with a shrug of his shoulders. "He literally kills me with his looks if I even dare to look in your direction."

You just sigh. "I should have stopped that right away," you say apologetically, but Qifrey just waves it off. He reaches for his T-shirt to wipe his sweaty forehead. You have a direct view of his defined upper body. Sensual thoughts immediately spring into your head. The last time was a little longer ago.

Qifrey noticed your looks right away. "I'd like to look inside your head now," he says suggestively and you push him slightly. He laughs.

"I miss you," whispers the white-haired man.

“... and I you." God, how much you miss him. "When is your house arrest over?"

"In two weeks..." Qifrey sighs and leans against his shovel. "You can do it," you answer tenderly. "I'll see you in my room at the end of your house arrest," you whisper to him with a knowing smile that makes him blush in his ears.

"I can't wait"

…

Two weeks have passed and you are sitting in your chambers with fluttering hearts. His house arrest is finally lifted for today and you are expecting Qifrey. The last few weeks have been difficult for you. You have hardly seen the white-haired man, as his punishment has completely taken over him. You count the seconds you wait for him.

Your heart leaps as the door opens carefully and the witch’s white hair comes into your field of vision. "Qifrey..." you greet him, literally jumping up to fall into the arms of the older ones. The white-haired man closes the door behind him and literally pulls you close to him.  His hands wrap around your body, pushing you further against him. His face hides in your hair and you feel him sucking in your scent.

"Finally..." he breathes against your hair and you literally collapse in his arms. Long weeks... in which I could hardly see you."

You only hum affirmatively. Far too long.

"I've missed you so much" His hand reaches for your chin, forcing you to look at him. He looks tired. Incredibly exhausted, but the sparkle in his eye shows you that he's been longing for you.

"Kiss me Qifrey"

He doesn't wait a second before his lips press against yours and you reach out to him. Tongues crowd together and you suck on his tongue. He moans into the dirty kiss as his fingers reach into the flesh of your hip. "Is anyone impatient?" he asks breathlessly against your lips. "Can you blame me?"

He grins before his tongue brushes your lower lip. Teeth press against his lips so that he gasps. Your fingers wander to his white shirt, pulling on the linen fabric much rougher. You want it, you need it. He smiles to himself, pushes you towards the bed and you feel the edge of the bed at the back of your knees before you let yourself fall. You look up at him. Full of expectation, it meets your gaze. "Finally I have you back" He slips his shirt off his body and bends over you, his hair tickling your cheeks as he steals another kiss from you.

"Would you ever want to live far away from the Assembly?"

The question suddenly comes out of nowhere. You look into his eye, stroke his neck with your fingertips. "I honestly never thought about that, why? Would you?"

Something is wrong with him. You can feel it. He seems to be struggling with something inside that he is withholding from you. "I just wonder what life would be like outside the strict rules..."

"Strict rules?"

"You are Beldaruit's daughter. You certainly don't know anything like that."

"Oh...", you murmur embarrassed.

Qifrey kisses you again. "Just forget it again." The white-haired guy starts kissing down your neck to successfully distract you from another discussion. But discussions like that wouldn’t wait for long.

-

Everything that you desperately tried to build up as a wall collapsed in you. "I never received this letter...", you breathe overwhelmed. If I had read this letter... I..."

The words get stuck in your throat. All these years. All the years you've closed yourself off. There was a letter. He wanted you to accompany him. Did he really love you? What would you have done then? Would you have followed him, letting go of your life?

You come up to him. He suddenly seems completely lost in your chambers. All anger seems to have disappeared from his features. The dismay is written all over your faces. "You've hated me all these years because I didn't respond to your letter in your eyes?"

"That was an answer"

You tear your hair out. "An answer that was not wanted!"

"That was easy for you, huh?" you accuse him. You're furious. Your heart almost jumps out of your chest in anger. "Just thinking a letter would be enough? Cowardly to ask me directly? I'm extremely angry right now."

The white-haired man withstands your scolding. "I put the letter on your desk."

You look at him. "I didn't find a letter on my desk." He looks at you knowingly. "You think someone made this one disappear?"

Qifrey nods. "You seem to have someone on your mind..." Powerless, you let yourself fall into your chair. "Easthies?"

"I bet he has what he wanted now."

"And that would be what?" you murmur exhaustedly, drinking another big sip from the almost empty wine bottle.

"You"

You just laugh.

He swallowed. "I thought I wasn't good enough for you. Everyone said that to me."

Your hissing sound is answer enough. The tension hangs heavy in the room, which not even the best wine can hide.

"and to ask me, didn't you consider it for a second?"

He is embarrassedly silent. Your heart beats unnaturally. He is now a grown man. So many years have passed in which they have both grown. But you still feel the little spark inside you that would soon rekindle if you didn't defend yourself against it. "I...", he broke off and cleared his throat. I thought they were right. Always have."

"I'm not playing through the same discussion that we had years ago. You know my view. You know how I think."

It's a funny feeling how much your heart contracts as you look at him. These adult facial features. The same expression in them as the 16-year-old boy you loved.

"Qifrey... I'm tired." This is supposed to be the sign for him to leave. He stops as if rooted to the ground. What might be going on in his head right now, you ask yourself.

"I'm glad you're doing well. Please say hello to Coco from me," you speak like on an assembly line and stroll past him so that you open the doors for him to make it easier for him.

The white-haired man suddenly reaches for your wine bottle with a flowing movement. "Excuse me?" You look up at him irritably. "This is MY bottle."

"Since when have you been drinking so excessively?"

"Somehow I have to forget that I have too many privileges."

Qifrey clicks his tongue, visibly dissatisfied with the answer. "As always, very resentful"

"As always, an asshole," you reply hissing. You didn't notice how the two of you have unconsciously come closer and you can now feel his breath on you.

Your body knows what closeness to Qifrey feels like. It's like a home. Your body knows the warmth, the love. But this home is no longer what it used to be. Painful memories overlay the warmth and you’ll lose your way.

Unable to deny you these feelings, his lips press against yours and you immediately become weak. The familiar pressure of his soft lips invites you to meet him. Did you even live before that kiss? Right now it feels like it's being tossed back and forth, everything inside you explodes. The bottle finds itself on the floor. There was only a blob in it anyway. It doesn't seem to matter to you. Fingers claw at his neck, pushing him even closer to you. He felt his hands along your back, grabbing your hips harder than expected. The growl from his mouth as you reach into his hair spurs you on even more. Almost desperately, he grabs your face with both hands and literally grabs you. You look at him breathlessly. He meets your gaze, looking for a doubt in your eyes. Doubts are for later.

"Kiss me. Kiss me again and hope I forget what an asshole you are," you breathe against his lips. That's consent enough for him.

"That should take a while" You grin against his lips until you forget all these years between you and him.

[canonicallyanxious]

"be that as it may."

Dimension 20: A Court of Fey and Flowers | Rue/Hob | 1.9k words

i've been holding onto this take on a ruehob arranged marriage au for a while now with grand (and perhaps misguided lol) ambitions of turning it into a proper fic with, like, a plot or something. idk if they will ever come to fruition, probably not tbqh skdjfnskdfnsd but even if I'm not able to continue with this idea I like this first scene well enough that i wanted to share! The thought process behind this is an arranged marriage au that takes place pre-canon (so well before the Bloom and well before they have the opportunity to meet the other PCs), bringing Captain Hob to the Court of Wonder for at least part of the duration of their engagement. Pls enjoy!

On a beautiful summer evening in a land where it was always summer, the endless sky veiled with sunset-kissed blue and fireflies already dancing high and bright in the gossamer air, you stood in a garden with a half-full wine glass in one hand and your composure tucked carefully in the other. A light breeze rustled through your diaphanous skirts and the distant music settled easily above the rolling chatter, all deeply familiar stimuli to your keenly tuned senses. If you closed your eyes for but a moment, it was almost easy to forget the party sprawled in front of you was ostensibly being held in your honor.

Well. Half in your honor, if you wanted to be pedantic. And a night like this one made you uncharacteristically inclined to it.

Not that you could ever truly forget a thing like that. It settled over your skin like an ill-fitting gown, the vague itch of something that didn’t feel quite right - people’s eyes that lingered on you rather than sliding away, perhaps, or the cool weight of the glass in your hand when usually you were perfectly content to let others enjoy the fruits of the night themselves. Working day and night to pull together an occasion for the ages and stepping deftly to the fringes of it to watch it all unfold, effortless-seeming as a flower in bloom - that was how things usually were, and you liked it that way. Had, in fact, worked very hard for a very long time to make it so.

But there would be no lingering on the fringes tonight. This was true regardless of the things that lived in your little heart. And when it came to living with truths you wouldn’t choose for yourself, you’d had more than a lifetime of practice.

The Blue Fairy glided to a stop in front of you, a crown of tiny stars twinkling merrily on her brow. “My warmest congratulations to you for such a lovely night, Mx. Rue,” she said with a polite incline of her head. “It has been many a moon since the Court has celebrated such a… singular engagement.”

You answered with a practiced smile, and if it was a little stiff, well, no one would blame you after the week you’d had, would they? “Thank you, your Grace,” you said dutifully, and you were careful to keep your expression in place even at how quickly she stepped away after murmuring a brief farewell, just polite enough to scrape by the barest minimum standards of respectability.

Such an interaction probably served as a fair indication of how the rest of the evening might play out. You took a perfunctory sip of your wine, barely tasting it as it went down. The night was young, practically newborn, and a faint headache was already unfurling treacherously between your temples.

From across the lavishly appointed garden Wuvvy caught your eye, and smiled. It was brief, her eyes already darting away toward whatever fire she was probably having to put out in your stead, but she’d always seemed to have a near preternatural sense for the kind of reassurance you needed, and this moment was no exception. A reminder that this, all of this, was not something you would have to bear alone - that was all it took to steady your stance, tension rolling easily off your shoulders. You took another sip of your wine, long and deliberate, and this time it was sweetly fortifying in the back of your throat.

A few more hours, for propriety’s sake. You could do a few more hours. In the grand scheme of an immortal life, a few hours were practically nothing. And then tomorrow - tomorrow, the real work could begin.

There. Standing close to the flowering archway that led to the rest of the gardens, surrounded by a small throng of courtesans he towered easily over and looking loathe to relinquish access to the exit at his back, was the other fey this evening owed its honor to.

He’d been rather studiously avoiding your gaze for the better part of the evening. You didn’t take it personally. If you were the one who’d been swiftly and unceremoniously spirited away to a court far from your home for the sole purpose of saving face, you would probably feel some type of way about it, too. Especially if such a move was accompanied by an engagement you had never asked for to a person you had never met.

But if this whole farce was in service of appearances, it would not do to be seen apart from your betrothed for long, would it?

He didn’t seem particularly surprised when a moment later you moved to his side, nor when you didn’t take his arm. “The Captain must be regaling you with tales of his thrilling exploits,” you said smoothly to the crowd of tittering fairies he’d gathered, careful not to skip a beat, even more so to make it seem effortless. “I can tell from how impressed you all look, as is only right.”

“Not as such,” Captain Hob said, gruff in his countenance. “Hardly thrilling, in any case.”

“Oh, nonsense,” you said warmly, and then to the courtesans: “they don’t hand out medals of courage for just any old act of service, you know. This one was for saving a whole village from near-certain ruin - at great risk to his own life, mind you.”

A chorus of appropriately awed ooh’s and ah’s floated into the night as you pointed at the gleaming badge pinned just above his left breastbone. A minute shift in his stance caused you to glance up, and you were surprised to find his eyes already on you. Your gazes met, for a heartbeat. He looked - taken aback, almost. He blinked.

And then, turning back to his rapt audience with an easy grace that nearly caught you off guard, the moment over so quickly you wondered if you’d imagined the expression on his face -

“Village is overselling it, honestly,” Captain Hob said, lowering his voice in a theatrically confiding whisper. “Everyone knows it was more of a large hamlet.”

After the giggles subsided, you smiled indulgently. “If I may have a word with my fiance,” you said, and deftly drew him away.

One might expect someone of his station to relax at least a bit once out from under the harsh glare of the limelight, but if anything he stood a little straighter now that you were relatively alone, arms folding neatly behind his back as if on instinct.

“Mx. Rue,” he said, low and deep in a way that would have made you lean in to catch the words if you didn’t know any better.

You inclined your head. “Captain.”

He regarded you for a moment. In your line of work, being able to intuit others’ feelings and desires was a skill you’d painstakingly developed over long centuries, at first out of necessity and then out of sheer habit. But it was one that required scrupulous practice, and his was a face you had only first seen a matter of days ago. You could not - should not - begin to guess at the things it might hide.

“You must forgive me my clumsiness, Mx. Rue,” he said, after another beat of silence. His ears twitched. “I’m afraid I do not possess even half your social graces.”

“On the contrary, Captain,” you said lightly. “You clearly didn’t need my help in keeping our guests enthralled. They were already practically speechless by the time I came on the scene, and you must understand how difficult a feat like that is to accomplish in a court such as this.”

There was a low and rumbling sound; you recognized it a second too late as laughter. “Be that as it may,” he said. “Any help willingly given on your part is gladly and wholeheartedly accepted on mine.”

You might have rolled your eyes - subtly, of course - had the words, so formal in their cadence, come from someone else. From him, his voice as even and steadfast as it had been since you’d first appeared at his side, they sounded entirely genuine.

Which was - not something you frequently encountered. Not in a court such as this.

“Of course,” you said, trying for your usual lilting tone of voice. And if it came out a touch softer than you’d anticipated, such a thing was hardly worthy of notice from yourself or anyone else.

“If I may,” he began, and as he trailed off seemed to falter in his resolve, as if in another moment he might attempt to change the subject.

You had never been the kind of fey who let go of things so easily, for better or for worse. “Yes, Captain?”

“How did you know about Muckwurst’s Bluff?” he said, quietly.

His eyes on your eyes, now. New eyes in a new face. And he was from a court you had never stepped foot in, entrenched in a culture you had no familiarity with. You shouldn’t be quick to draw conclusions.

And yet you couldn’t shake the feeling that there was no mystery to be found in that warm, golden gaze. Still as ancient amber.

“Why wouldn’t I?” you said. “You deserve to be known for it.”

You hadn’t meant to say that out loud. Not like that, anyway. As if he was someone you knew, or someone you wanted to know. As if he was a friend - or even someone who could be.

“Ah,” he said.

“Anyway,” you said, pulling your gaze away, “I like to do my research, Captain.”

If you couldn’t see his face, there was no point in reading anything into his silence. You didn’t bother trying.

“Of course,” he said. “I would hate to imply anything but your utmost attention to detail, Mx. Rue.”

Something in his tone made your heart skip a beat, which made the back of your neck prickle almost indignantly. Impossible to say what. It was an unexpected instinct, and perhaps unfair, given the circumstances. Or perhaps not. 

Abruptly you decided you were done with this conversation. In a restless fit of impulse, you brought your glass to your mouth and downed the last of your wine. Thankfully there wasn’t much of it left.

“Care for another drink, Captain?” You tilted your empty glass in his direction. “It seems I’m due for a refill of my own.”

Captain Hob wasn’t holding a glass. Stupid, embarrassingly amateurish on your part, really; regardless of what he’d claimed about his social graces the opening you’d left was so appallingly wide that anyone with half a working brain cell would be at full liberty to take offense if they wished to. 

And yet. He lowered his eyes, the perfect image of humility, and bowed his head graciously. “Please, don’t feel obligated to linger on my account, Mx. Rue,” he said. “I have no doubt that there are many libations and revelries ahead of us yet.”

There was nothing for it, then, but to take your leave as you’d so desired just a moment prior. “Captain,” you murmured, and turned away.

You had expected - hoped, really - that moving away from him would help you find your balance, return you to your usual level-headed form. But as it turned out, the mere thought of the crowd neatly swallowing him up behind you had rather the opposite effect. Your heart was beating fast and hard, irritatingly enough. Not that that was any cause for real concern. It had been some time since you’d last imbibed fey spirits in earnest. Yes, that must be it.

And maybe that would also explain why your headache was nearly gone. Or maybe it wouldn’t. What did it really matter, in the end?

The night would be over soon enough.

[winterreigned]

“Do I have any chances with you?” @scndor

𝗽𝗼𝗹𝗶𝘁𝗶𝗰𝘀 𝘄𝗮𝘀 𝗮 𝘃𝗶𝗰𝗶𝗼𝘂𝘀 𝗴𝗮𝗺𝗲 , certainly not meant for the faint of heart. it required claws , teeth , grit ──── you had to get dirty to get anywhere. this had been the hardest lesson for sansa. her father had been the governor of winterfell for as long as she could remember. ned stark ruled honorably , he won fairly , every thing was bound by a moral code he instilled in all of his children. when sansa herself expressed an interest in politics , she quickly learned how vicious the world was. interning with petyr baelish , the grimiest ( though most successful ) political mind of their time , she learned how to play the game herself. sansa found her own success , though much unlike her mentor , she had found a way to use her father's righteousness along with the savvy manipulations of the others to cultivate the ultimate political craft. thus , sansa stark : campaign manager , was born.

her father's integrity was needed to unite the realm. president robert baratheon ( a dear friend of ned stark's ) was terming out , and he had come out and endorsed the governor of winterfell. after great contemplation , he joined the fray , determined to save the country from the potential of a tywin lannister presidency. the thought of this makes sansa's skin crawl , a true tyrant , hides behind riches to manipulate and twist society to his every will. if left unattended , westeros would dive into chaos. the heavy weight she bares upon shoulders has not left since her father had tasked her to be his campaign manager. sansa was good at her job , in fact she was excellent at it , but rivaling a dirty campaign run by her own former mentor , as well as a candidate dirtier than that of aerys targaryen , would prove to be her biggest challenge yet. the guilt of not just her father losing , but the entire country losing , would eat her alive. sansa simply had no choice but to win.

a televised debate occurred tonight , sansa full of anxiety as it had truly been too close to call. even the political analysts on television struggle to declare a clear winner. her father's honesty had won many over , but tywin lannister had a way with word's that made ned stark sound like he knew nothing. it truly was any man's race. wbc network hosted an after debate party , though these usually went the same. candidates went to bed , campaign staff left to mingle with one another , seeing as many have worked together ( as well as with the media in the past ). she told her father she'd attend to keep a low ear , see if she could figure any of these lannister campaign people out. try to hear if the media was favoring one candidate or not. her hands are wrapped around a glass of wine , blue eyes taking in the mingling , trying so desperately to find a weak link in the crowd. who could be of benefit to her?

the sudden words spoken to her by a stranger bring her back down to earth. red hair whips towards the sound of a man's voice , sansa pausing as she takes him in. she couldn't quite place him , was he a part of the lannister campaign , the media , the press? it was not clear , though she cannot help but smirk slightly at his words. at times , she forgets she is young , this is what the young do. flirt , forget , rinse , repeat. he had a good few years on her , yet even he too seemed young enough to enjoy such games still. when she threw herself into her work , sansa could only focus on such. dates were a thing of a past , though an opportunity such as this presents a unique chance for her to have her cake at work and eat it too. perhaps it's riding a political high , the charm of the compliment , or the glass of wine in her hand , but she embraces this. eyes very openly check out the man before her , traveling slowly bottom to top. he was handsome , extremely , though burns and scars hid much of it. yet , imperfect flesh seemed to add a rugged sort of beauty to him. she's not shy in showing that she likes what she sees.

❝ that depends , ❞ sansa begins , a coy smile as she raises her wine glass to her lips. icy eyes never leave his own , watching him from behind the stemmed cup. lowering it , she continues , though doesn't break eye contact. ❝ tell me who you think won the debate tonight. ❞ perhaps his answer really would depend if she offered him the time of day , perhaps she was simply willing to look past it for a night of fun. either way , his bait has hooked her. she tilts her head , red locks cascading down a singular shoulder blade , all while a teasing smirk glides onto wine stained lips.

[aprillikesthings]

waiting for a pizza to arrive and for a cake to cool enough to frost in honor of @malafight's birfday

SO gonna start the next episode

s2 ep7 reunion! (last ep of the second season by Netflix's numbering)

she still sleeps on a hard cot, just a pretty one ;_;

but also don't sleep with your hair up like that you will ruin your hair and your hairline omg

but also why do you sleep with A KNIFE

I mean yay this is the episode where we meet Bow's dads but also, again, trans!Bow headcanons stay winning

THE SOCKS WITH SANDALS LOLOL

aahaha

bless the animators for this one aaaaahahah (she thought she spotted Shadow Weaver)

omg he has a First Ones tattoo that's like us having a tattoo in like cuneiform. Or maybe Latin.

THIRTEEN??????

he says, in front of two princesses who are currently involved in a war

plot plot one of his dads fought in the original war and came back to his village destroyed and vowed to never get mixed up "princesses and their war" ever again

look I know Bow's giving a little speech about his dads but my brain saw this and went "...communion wafers?!"

(my church doesn't even DO wafers we do home-made gluten free bread)

OKAY so I remember when I saw this episode the first time, it occurred to me that in any other show, Bow pretending to go to a boarding school only to ACTUALLY be a rebel fighter would be an obvious analogy for being gay! Oh wait I found that post.

...why does Bow call his dads by their first names

also Adora keeps pronouncing everything in something weirdly close to a bad French accent--like putting the emphasize on the wrong syllables of any given word or phrase on a misguided attempt at sounding smart

another one for the "never pause she-ra" subreddit

also the SOUNDS Catra makes, the voice actor must've really had a good time with this one ahahaha

FANGIE (it took multiple tries to get this one)

but yeah Scorpia's attempt at comfort/cuddling did lead to Catra shouting her actual problem so it kinda worked

but yeah Hordak's little recorder baby heard the whole thing

BACK TO BOW'S DADS

cackling at them correcting "She-Ra." "We think it was 'Her-Ra'"

....i'm gonna have to edit the reddit post to add this one

Watching Bow's dads argue about whether Serenia was a real person sounds like people arguing over whether people from the Bible were real lol (for the record: in some cases we have outside evidence they existed and in some cases we do not)

DON'T GET TATTOOS IN LANGUAGES YOU CAN'T READ, FOLKS (without multiple people confirming the meaning)

also WHY can she read this stuff? did Shadow Weaver teach her? I forget

Bow's dads have a First Ones artifact, they ask Adora what it says, turns out it's a password (Eternia!) and it OPENS and--

whoops!

can we just enjoy the fact that three men are hiding behind a table while two women kick this monster's ass???

the monster just wanted the gem runestone shard they had sitting on display in the library and now it's a nice chill orb again

As someone who, again, was a child in the 1980's, the subversion of some tropes is just very, very pleasing.

That, and the sheer degree to which this is a HUGE analogy for coming out. Like. They hit all the narrative beats of people who are scared to come out only to find out their parents are actually fine with it.

On a personal note: when I was 25 and told my mom I had a girlfriend, her response was, and I quote, "Ew!" To which I responded: "Why are you picturing it, mom?!"

My dad figured out I wasn't straight before I told him, the same way a lot of people did, which was that I was (am) completely unsubtle about checking people out. (My brothers told me about this, side note; they'd overheard him trying to convince my mom I was bisexual and my mom kept saying "but she's had so many boyfriends" and my dad and brothers were like "do you know what bisexual means???")

That said when I realized I was gay and not into men anymore, I told my dad in the kitchen on Christmas after a couple glasses of wine by just blurting out completely apropos of nothing, "I think I'm just gay," to which he responded with a shrug and "Yeah, alright." Like, sure it could've gone better but also tbqfh it could've gone worse, so I'll take it.

(As mentioned on previous posts my dad is dead. My mom is completely chill about my partners.)

on a related note:

oh right this is when we lean Etheria doesn't have stars--up to that point I know I'd just interpreted the lack of stars in the night sky shots as like, an artistic choice

plot plot Serenia is a constellation that only appears over the Crimson Waste in the summer (oh they DO have seasons) and Bow's dads beg them not to go

Catra's just really cute here

anyway the little recorder critter plays Catra admitting to losing Shadow Weaver, Hordak uses a fancy magical device to suck all the air out of the space Catra's standing in and berates her for losing Shadow Weaver and lying about it until Catra passes out.

DUN DUN DUNNNNNN

END OF SEASON TWOOOO

Also I'm full of pizza and cake :D

[call-sign-shark]

Brummie, sorry for the delaaaay!

You can't imagine how happy I am to know that my prose and descriptions were well-built enough to make you feel such a sample group of emotions. I've only experienced sleep paralysis once and it is indeed similar to her odd condition. Before digging a bit more into your comment let me just tell you that... Yes, I wrote the line about the leather gloves partly for you teehee. Since we have unlocked a common kink with Yandere!Arthur? 😇

The fact you're feeling conflicted about him, almost finding comfort in the way he treats reader/Bunny is what I tried to convey. Despite the slightly creepy details such as him being far too touchy, one can almost believe he is not that bad. Somehow, he believes these affectionate moments are mutual and genuine, but it's only feeding his obsession. In truth, I'm slightly enamored with him too but it's because we both like fucked up fictional characters.😳 But let's be real, it's not pleasant for Bunny. As you said, she might find comfort in Arthur 'cause he's the only one she has, but deep inside she knows something is wrong. No matter the drug he gave her 'cause, yeah you sensed it right: he put his meds in her drink daily to keep her all nice and lovey-dovey. Isn't that awful?

I am just so grateful for your compliments, especially about the little details you could almost feel 'cause the whole scene of her awakening was quite hard to write. Joke aside, I was inspired by the many true crime docs I watched. That being said, the allegory of the limp bunny in a wolf's jaw is an idea by our wonderful @zablife and I had to honor it in some way. 🖤 It definitely highlights his possessiveness and relentless hold over her.

Are you sure you don't have people locked up in your room tho? 'Cause we might doubt it after reading Killing Me Softly teehee.

Joke aside, part from the blood-stained mouth, his fit his truly rendered more terrifying because he's high as fuck. You're the only one that picked up this info, which is essential 'cause drug pushes his mad love further in madness. It's a vicious circle. I just love your reference to a hellhound: this is such a PERFECT metaphor! Also for the very... Graphic way he tells us what we could have done...  🤭 Arthur please, don't.

Arthur: *puppy face* But...

Honestly, I just love your analysis of mad characters because they are always on point. In his delusion, he sincerely believes Bunny is just confused. Somehow, he understands that the kidnapping was a bit too much but, for him, she'll end up forgiving him when she'll understand it was only for them to be a happy little couple. In the meantime, Bunny is well-aware that if she wants to survive she has to play his game and keep him quiet, 'cause maybe she wouldn't be lucky enough to survive another fit of rage...

Thank you again my little Brummie, your support and comment are my dopamine shots you know? I'm glad the queen of dark characters like this series. Stay tuned in for next chapter hehe. And don't forget: no glass of milk anymore, honey. 🖤

Hey Bunny pt. 2 || Yandere!Arthur Shelby x Reader

Summary: You try to escape. Arthur is clearly unhappy with that: don't you understand that you're made for each other?

Words: 5k

TW: Drugs use, unreliable narrator, unrequited love, graphic depictions of violence, blood, domestic violence, allusions to non-consensual sex, stalking, depiction of obsessive behavior, horror, psychological manipulation, — this is dark, experimental, and out of character.

Notes: Italicized+bold are quotes from the show said by Arthur.

PART 1. || Masterlist

How many days went by since Arthur Shelby brought you home?

Such information was impossible for you to tell, especially because of the throbbing headache that was still hammering your skull. What you knew though was that you could not help feeling exhausted and slightly ill. The sensation was quite hard to describe, but it mainly manifested itself with a general weakness; to the extent you had trouble standing for too long, on top of being the unlucky owner of a constant dizziness that left you disoriented. Gathering all your feeble strength, you tried to open the bedroom window for more air but nothing happened when you pulled its handle. You frowned, confused, but you hadn’t enough energy to insist nor to investigate further — your legs were threatening to give up at any moment. It was with drawling steps that you came back to bed, your flickering frame collapsing on the mattress. Then, you sunk your face into the pillow and whined.

“How’s me little Bunny doing today?”

You raised your face from the comfortable pillow at the sound of Arthur’s hoarse and low voice, looking at him above your shoulder. His tall silhouette was standing in front of the door, holding a plate: he came to bring your dinner. “I still feel exhausted, Arthur. It’s really unpleasant…” You replied with a little voice, for even speaking seemed to require too much effort. At this point, your fatigue was becoming a real nuisance — which was odd considering how full of energy you usually were. You rolled on the bed to lie on your back, your beautiful but so-tired eyes looking at the ceiling with tears dawning at their corner, “I don’t think it’s normal. Maybe we should call a doctor?” You suggested, bringing your trembling hands to your forehead to wipe the thin layer of sweat that was covering it. Arthur remained silent and stared at you for a little while, his steel blue eyes slightly squinted as if he was actively thinking about his answer. Finally, he let out a little sigh and walked to the bed, first putting the plate he had in his hands on the nightstand before sitting on the edge of the bed. Once he did so, he gently grazed your cheek with his fingertips as if he had been afraid to break you with his simple touch. The physical contact with the leather of his gloves had the immediate effect to make you relax. Surprisingly enough, the infamous Arthur Shelby had been a real sweetheart with you these past few days. Indeed, the man was at your bedside, constantly spoiling you with care, good food, and company. The moments you appreciated the most were certainly when he held you in his long arms and fondled your hair, telling you about his favorite childhood memories or the many mischiefs he did with his little brothers. The more you talked, the more the emotional facet of Arthur you discovered, and the more your tiny soft spot for him grew. During this loving moment, you’d always end up dozing off, lulled by the warmth of his gravel voice. Such kindness definitely unsettled you though, when thinking about the Hell you’ve been through for months because of him. But when you thought about that it seemed too anchored in the past for you to really hate him. Moreover, people changed — or at least that was what you liked to believe.

“S’alright, love.”  He whispered in a tone so soft, so loving, that you could not help but offer him a tiny and genuine smile; which made the gangster’s heart flutter — he bit the inside of his cheek. Fuck, you were so cute, lying in his bed, depending on him. Arthur stopped his caresses only to lay down next to you. He uplifted his body with one arm to lean over your frame,  “The doctor came when ye were asleep eh. ‘Told me you caught a little something but it’s nothing serious. All ye need is rest and someone to take care of ye. Which is exactly what your Arthur does hmm.” He almost purred. The gangster had brought his face closer — so close that his nose was grazing your ear and his lips, hungry for you, were ghosting over your jaw.  A deep shiver ran down your body at the caress of his scorching breath against your freezing skin. Despite his care and the comfort he gave you these last few days, you still turned your head to the other side to deny him access to your mouth. It did not seem to bother him though.  His feverish sigh brushed the sensitive skin of your neck. “I brought ye dinner. It’s me Aunt who cooked it, yer going to like it. It’s yer favorite meal…”  He let his sentence hang for his lips and pressed a delicate kiss right on your throat— A surge of electricity crossed through your body and died between your legs, leaving you a bit confused. Your brows slightly furrowed in response as one of his calloused hands languidly ran down your ribs, right above the fabric of the shirt he had lent you, “Me clothes suit you well, y’know.” The sight of you wearing nothing but your lace panties and one of his far-too-large shirts gave his stomach butterflies. 

Something wasn’t coherent. How could a doctor came and diagnosed you without you even noticed it? Even asleep, you’d have heard something. 

“Arthur— please…” You called him, your weak little hands trying to gently push him away, “Can you— can you tell me what happened again? I’m trying so hard to remember but everything is foggy. I feel like my mind has erased everything of this awful party…”  Which was ultimately true. At your request, Arthur hummed and pulled his face back from your neck only to lock you in an intense stare, the proximity between you small enough for your noses to still touch. 

“Of course, love.” The fingers of his free hands stopped fondling your body and reached your face in order to trap your chin between his thumb and his index,  “Ye were partying at the Garrison when a bastard bothered you. Ye spent a bit of time with him outside, wearing light clothes.  The doc’ said it was prolly why you caught somethin’ eh.” Listening attentively, you swallowed the lump in your throat. Arthur was clingy, so clingy that it stirred conflicting feelings In you. A part of you tensed at the thought of this criminal you barely knew being so lovey-dovey with you, with his hands and lips roaming freely on your frail body. The other part, lost and tired, was looking for any kind of comfort it could find, and the comfort of his arms outmatched everything you had ever experienced. “At some point, I checked if everything was okay but I overheard your conversation and he wanted to bring ye home. I heard you yelling so… I beat the shit out of this cunt and brought ye here safe.”  

“You did?” Your voice was merely an exhausted meowing as you offered him another smile; He nodded in reply. Very timidly, you put your hand on the back of his head and pressed your forehead against his at the realization that he probably saved you from getting abused.

Something is wrong, that was what your instinct whispered to your ear.

Yet, your lonely heart was tamed by his softness. Could it be possible that you’ve misjudged him? Sure, what he did to Gaspard was unforgivable and he had sincerely creeped you out, but… Maybe he didn’t mean to do harm? After all, he protected you, so he could not be that bad right? Stuck in this suspended moment of utter tenderness, you observed the very details of his face as if it was the first time you saw him. Your heart missed a very small beat at his adorable freckles and the way his dark lashes fluttered when your breath melted with his — the oldest Shelby brother was definitely good-looking and charming. A kind of wild and raw charm.

Arthur could have stayed like this forever, lost in the beauty of your gaze and locked up in this room with you, but unfortunately, Tommy wanted to see him tonight and he could not say no to Shelby’s business. His lips parted and the words left his mouth reluctantly. “I’ll have to go right? Eat your dinner. Drink your nightly glass of milk and try to sleep hmm.” He hummed against the corner of your mouth . The vibration of his voice combined with the sensation of his facial hair melted your core and sent a wave of warmth in your belly. Finally, he kissed you there one last time before forcing himself to get up. This was at the moment he was about to leave the bed that Arthur felt the feeble grip of your little fingers closing on the fabric of his vest’s sleeve, trying to hold him back.

“Stay with me, please.” You sniffed, for his presence and the devoted way he took care of you made you feel safe. Something you hadn’t experienced in years. Your hazel eyes, whose color reminded him of sunlight going through a pool of honey, shone with a beseeching look, “Art’… Pretty please.”

“Oh… Bunny.” Arthur clenched his jaws — he felt his heart’s pace quicken in his chest at your intoxicating words and at the submissive way you were looking at him. At this very moment, keeping the thought of ruining you out of his mind was the most difficult struggle he had always faced. War in France was nothing compared to the restless battle that was happening in his soul. Arthur bit the inside of his cheek harder until the metallic taste of blood flooded his tastebuds and soothed his violent desire. His whole being had lit up with such an indescribable euphoria that you almost saw the flames dancing in the frozen desert of his eyes, “I’ll be back soon and stay with ye forever,” He let out a long and shaky exhale from his nostrils in an attempt to keep his brutal emotions in line. For sure he didn’t want to burst into hysterical laughter in front of you and scare you away. Not after everything he did, everything he sacrificed to make this moment happen. Once he managed to alleviate his inner turmoil, the gangster gently took your little hand in his and kissed each of your knuckles with indescribable tenderness.  “Sleep tight and wait for me, I’ll come back soon, slip under your bedsheet and keep ye warm eh.”

You did not wait long after Arthur left the house to eat what he had brought. Despite your poor health condition, you surprisingly felt like you were starving. Eating the last slice of bread, your lips stretched in a faint smile: he didn’t lie when he said you were going to love it. His aunt truly cooked like a chief, and you mentally noted down that you’d had to compliment her for her cooking skills the day you’ll meet her. Following this pleasant meal, your general fatigue caught up with you and you decided to go back to sleep rather quickly. A little yawn escaped from your lips — never mind the glass of milk. You left it on the nightstand, untouched, because you were already dozing off. Ready to sleep, you snuggled in the good-smelling sheet, made yourself comfortable in the large bed, and even found the best position… But Morpheus didn’t want you anymore. Worst than not sleeping, you emerged from your torpor only twenty minutes later, with an insufferable aching feeling that twisted your stomach. The pain had been so sudden, so vivid, that you sat up straight on the mattress, your eyes wide-opened and cold sweat running down your spine. The room started to spin around you for what seemed to be an eternity — and it spin so bad your nails dug into the bedsheet in a desperate attempt not to faint. Your heart was beating so fast that you could feel it pulsing in your throat, ready to be thrown up and run away by itself. But despite these sudden symptoms, all the indescribable and odd fatigue you went through for the last couple of days had entirely vanished, leaving you well-awake. The only reminder of your weak condition was the bitter taste that remained on your tongue. 

“Hell…” You exhaled slowly, the heavy nausea and dizziness you just experienced finally decreasing, but the relief was short. Indeed, it was at the very moment you started to feel better than the musky and masculine perfume that was floating in the room struck you. To these peculiar fragrances, your body reacted with another fit of panic: you could recognize this cologne among thousands of others, for its owner had been the bane of your existence since the night you met at the Garrison. Arthur Shelby’s scent was all around you. It impregnated the bedsheets and stuck to your own body and hair so strongly you even wondered if he hadn’t crawled under your skin in your sleep. With renewed energy, you jumped from the bed like a cat that had just touched water, and looked all around you with quick and erratic movements: this was not your bedroom.

“No,  no…” You repeated, slipping one moist palm in your fire hair, and slicking it back, all the while your mind began swirling in a whirlwind of utter panic. However, you knew you had to stay the calmest you could if you wanted to understand what was happening and if you wanted to find a solution. Hence, you focused on the cold sensation of the wooden floor to keep track of reality. After wiggling your toes a few times, the realization that you were almost naked slowly crept into your mind, “No…” A gasp escaped from your lips when you looked down and discovered that you were only dressed in your panties and a man’s shirt that was running too large for you. The same shirt you saw Arthur wore sometimes. That damn white shirt with thin dark stripes. Panic settled in your bones again, making your breath hitched and your throat tightened as if an invisible hand was trying to choke you, “Calm down Y/N, calm down!” You scolded yourself. In an ultimate attempt to remain stoic, you focused on your shaking hands — as your mother had taught you before your very first day of school. However, it wasn’t the way your fingers shook that grabbed your attention but rather the burns and scars of ropes that were engraved in your wrists. The marks, still a bit reddened, showed how harsh Arthur had been. You took a few steps back as if you had just been stricken, and wobbled under the violence of the chaotic flashbacks that suddenly assaulted your mind.

The bottle of whiskey shattering on the ground.

The ropes hanging from a gloved hand.

Arthur’s lanky body pressed against yours, trapping you against the wall. Oh Bunny… I won’t hurt ye.

Ropes biting on your skin?

In search of the truth, your eyes quickly traveled on any visible parts of your body. Then, you saw them: similar marks on your thighs and ankles. The sole sight of them triggered a stream of uncontrollable tears to overflow from your eyes, and helped you reconstitute what happened during your odd blackout: Arthur Shelby had kidnapped you. The disgusting epiphany made you feel sick in your stomach all of a sudden. Yet, many questions still remained, buzzing in your head like a hive of furious hornets: how did he manage to abduct you? Why couldn’t you remember anything? And why were you so docile these past few days? In truth, all these interrogations would have been left without answer if your gaze did not fall upon the still-full glass of milk that was on the nightstand. Water had beaded over the surface as the beverage warmed up due to the room temperature, trickling down the glass just like your crystal tears did down your cheeks.

“He drugged the fucking milk…”  You whispered with a broken voice. It was all becoming clear. Yes, your excruciating fatigue and dizziness suddenly made sense. Arthur had purposefully drugged your daily glass of milk to keep you all nice and quiet, hence finding another use for the meds the doctor had prescribed him. Consequent to this last information, your self-control broke down — it was too much to handle.

 “FUCKING SICK BASTARD!!!” You yelled, for your repressed panic exploded in a fit of anger and sadness. The feeling of betrayal was so excruciating and your hopelessness so crushing that all you could do was grabbed the glass of milk and smashed it against the floor. The white liquid splattered all over the parquet and filled the small space between each board. Then, not relieved by this violent gesture, you pulled your hair and screamed louder, eyes squeezed tight and lungs burning. Never in your life you had felt so close to losing your goddamn mind — and it was awfully One sole rational thought crossed your mind at that moment: you had to get the fuck out of here before he came back. Without further waiting, you rushed to the door like a chased rabbit and tried to open it — but of course, it was locked. What were you expecting? “SON OF A BITCH!!” You screamed, shaking the handle as fiercely as you could, but the door remained shut and only the only thing that replied to your desperate shrieks was the dull silence of an empty house.

Truth was, the most logical part of you knew that no matter what you attempted, it would not work. And this last conclusion killed the last bit of control that remained in your soul. Slipping into a temporary fit of fear-induced insanity, you slammed your tiny body against the heavy wooden door one first time. Your being shook at the collision with the hard surface but it didn’t stop you. Quite the contrary, adrenaline had numbed your nerves and you were more than ready to destroy your bones in bits if it was the price to pay for freedom. “OPEN IT!!” You roared, crashing yourself against the door a second time. A big thud resonated in the house. “FUCKING OPEN IT!” Another impact. And another. And another until all your strength left your body, exhausted by useless efforts. Silence fell again in Arthur’s bedroom: the only sound that could be heard was your erratic and whistling breath.  You might as well face if: you were trapped for good, with no way out of this hell. All you did after your fit was to let your back slide along the door until you ended up sitting on the floor, hopeless. As your eyes aimlessly wandered around you, you noticed a sheet of paper floating in the puddle of milk. Curious, you frowned and tilted your head to the side to look at the drawing that was on it. The sketchy and dark lines were forming the shapes of a bunny, lying limp into the fangs-filled jaws of a creepy-looking wolf. You started crying again. And so did the bunny, for the milk had made the ink that composed the drawing run down the animal’s face in tar-black tears.

 

Arthur had been looking forwards to coming back home.

During the whole mission, his mind kept obsessing over the sight of you, peacefully sleeping in his bed with your doll face relaxed and your long fiery mane spread out on the immaculate white sheets. He had nervously moistened his lips with the tip of his tongue at the maddening memory of your feeble voice begging him to stay by your side — a sentence that was playing on repeat in his mind like a broken record. The way you had looked at him, with teary eyes and lips parted, got him on his knees. With spiraling thoughts all revolving around you, Arthur didn’t even reply to Tommy when the latter talked to him about the Epsom Derby and the Eden’s Club. All he did was stare blankly at the wall facing him, lost in the meanders of his own sick brain. The club, the races, the money, the pretty dancers, he didn’t care anymore. All that mattered was your frail arms around his body and the intoxicating way your lips grazed his burning skin when you nestled your face in the crook of his neck. 

Tommy and John quickly glanced at each other after witnessing one too many of their older brother’s absences, but still, they did not ask any questions. Masculinity obliged. Moreover, it was not unusual for Arthur’s gaze to turn into the thousand-yard stare, especially after the war. Somehow he had never fully returned from France, like many other veterans. Like John and Tommy themselves — it was just more frequent in Arthur’s case. When Tommy told him they were done for tonight, Arthur simply mumbled a gruff “Alright, see ye brothers” before leaving with hastened steps, his tall silhouette disappearing in the dark veil of the nights with the walk of a preying wolf.

“Something’s wrong with Arthur lately.” Thomas Shelby’s husky and quiet voice stated as his mesmerizing turquoise eyes still remained fixed to the horizon, even after the darkness of Birmingham’s streets had swallowed his brother’s frame.

“Something’s always wrong with Arthur anyway.” John shrugged.

They never talked about it ever again.

As soon as he came home, the gangster hung up his long black coat stained with dried blood behind the door and threw his cap on the living room’s coffee table. Before heading upstairs, he stopped in front of the corridor’s mirror to slick his hair back, smooth his mustache and rearrange his bow tie: he had to be perfect for you. After a very short while of dolling himself up, Arthur finally grabbed the red carnation he had brought earlier and went up without wasting any more time. So late in the night you were certainly sleeping, but still, he had promised you to crawl in the bed, and, to be honest, he didn’t want to miss an opportunity to feel your dainty body against his. So strong, rough, and scarred. Stealthily, he walked to the bedroom, careful not to make any loud noise that would disturb your well-deserved rest. Yet, he stopped at the door and hesitated once he arrived – his heart went wild at the simple thought of seeing you. Arthur clenched his jaws, his mind spinning round and round to the point he had to grip the handle to keep himself from slipping into madness. That was because of this unpleasant feeling of being overwhelmed by his love that he took a blue little vial out of his trouser’s pocket and poured the white powder it contained on the back of his hand. Blocking one nostril with his index, Arthur snorted the cocaine line in one row, coughed a little bit, and then threw his head back, letting out a long and raspy moan. His lips parted as a sweet cocktail of euphoria and energy spread in him in a warm wave. Now he felt better, now he felt invincible. After that little boost, Arthur entered the room with a smile etched on his lips and closed the door behind him. What an unpleasant surprise it was for him when he saw you sitting on the edge of the bed, staring at him with your face distorted by both anger and disgust. His smirk soon vanished when he noticed your eyes, swollen and bloodshot from hours of crying.

“Bunny?” He asked with a tinge of worry in his voice.

“You’ve kidnapped me.” You replied, biting down your enraged sobs. The gangster opened his mouth to reply to your cutting remark, but no sound came out: you had taken him aback. Instead, his steel-blue eyes quickly searched for the glass of milk, which he found smashed on the floor. It didn’t take much more for him to understand what had happened.

“It’s not what ye think, love.” He tried to remain quiet but panic was already setting in him. The red carnation slipped from his fingertips and fell on the wooden floor.

“You’ve locked me up in your bloody bedroom, almost naked…” Even you barely believed the words you were speaking, for they sounded almost surreal. It surely was a nightmare. An awful, awful nightmare.

“Fuck me.” Arthur grunted when he noticed the damaged door handle, undeniable proof that you had done everything in your power to escape. He swallowed the lump that had formed in his throat… You had tried to escape. In a matter of seconds, Arthur’s heart rate increased, and his mouth dried at the escalating anger he was experiencing. Why? Why would you want to escape? The first flicker of irritation manifested itself with the way his body tensed and the long inhale he took.

“I—I want to leave.” You said as firmly as you could, standing up in front of the bed.

“Leave?” His forehead creased above his frowning brows, “Nah, you ain’t leaving.” He straight off replied. All the softness and the honey with which he usually talked to you had disappeared, handing over a corrosive hostility. You batted your eyes, not recognizing him anymore. But despite everything, Arthur did try his best not to let the destructive rage that was burning within overcome him. Gathering all his willpower, he gave a dismissive wave of his hand and went on “Yer going to come back to bed eh. And yer going to let me take care of you, right? We’ll talk about it after a good night of sleep ‘cause you’re not thinking straight at the moment.” He talked slowly, making several short pauses in between words for he was fighting against the urge to let the switch in his brain flip. But the way he handled the situation, dismissing the problem and ordering you to go back to bed as if everything was normal made you lose your temper.

“Are you fucking serious? You think I’m going to obey and go back to bed? So what, Arthur? Do you want me to spread my legs for you and then thank you for fucking abducting me?” Now you were yelling, fear temporarily replaced by a blinding hatred you had never felt in your whole life, “You’re a maniac, a fucking sick bastard!” Tears flooded your vision as you spoke, "You've been ruining my life for months!"

“Stop it.” He said, as calmly as he could, his eyes flickering between you and his boots. Blood was boiling in his veins.

“The fuck is wrong with you ey?! You’ve tied me with ropes… You kept drugging me to use me as your puppet and satisfy your fucking twisted urges… Christ, Arthur!” Your voice boomed in the room. Carried on by your hatred, confidence grew in you and you approached him step by step, " Wake the fuck up!"

“Stop it.” Arthur had trouble breathing, his anger nearly suffocating him as seconds passed. He clenched his fist until his scarred knuckles whitened – God knew he didn’t want to hurt you, but a vortex of rage swirled inside him, and he knew he was about to reach his breaking point in a minute or another. Trying hard to suppress his caustic wrath, he slowly broke the distance between you and brushed your hips with his trembling fingers in a seemingly soft gesture, “Stop it, Bunny.”

But his touch felt like he had stabbed you with a knife.

“STOP CALLING ME BUNNY! MY NAME’S Y/N FOR FUCK’ SAKE. I’m not your bloody bunny! I’m nothing, and so you are!”  You almost choked with your screams, pushing him with a surprising strength – At least, it had been enough to make him take a few steps back. “Get fucked, Arthur Shelby.” That being said, you pushed him again and rushed to the door in an attempt to run away from him. But Arthur’s reflexes were sharp, enhanced by cocaine, and he managed to catch you by the arm before you could reach the exit. Surely you didn't mean it, you were just a bit... Confused. But soon you'd understand that you loved him too.

“Y/N.” He scolded but you weren’t listening anymore. You didn’t want to listen, you wanted to leave this damn place and you wanted it now. Guided by panic, you threw a nasty punch right at his chin -- your knuckles aching from the shock with his jawbone. When you realized what you had just done, it was already too late. Arthur’s face turned to the side at the violence of your blow, making him bite his tongue so hard he felt the metallic taste of blood exploding in his mouth. Then, silence fell in the room. The threatening and chilling silence which follows the blast of a bomb, right before the screams and cries start to echo. “What the hell did ye…” He muttered, bringing his trembling free hand to his bleeding mouth. The other was still firmly holding your arm, keeping you from escaping so firmly that he almost broke your bone. His fair eyes, adorned with pretty lashes and charming crow feet, suddenly darkened like a predator that had just smelt the distress of a wounded prey.

“Let me go!” You whined, pulling on your arm as fiercely as you can and clawing his hand with your nails to try to break from his grip.

“ALRIGHT THEN!” He burst out, definitely losing control. With brutal movements, Arthur pounced on you with the strength of a rabid wolf, and trapped your wrists with one of his hands before pushing you against the nearby wall to pin them above your head, “Al-fucking-right! Are we hitting each other now? That’s what ye want?!”  He barked loudly with blood dripping from his mouth, only a few inches away from your face. “Did I laid a fookin’ finger on you? Nah, so the least you can do is be FOOKIN’ civilized!” A cry of pain escaped from your lips as he shoved you a second time against the wall, the collision between it and your frail body making all your bones shake.

“You’re hurting me!” You lamented, wriggling under his grip. The gangster was holding your wrists so tight that your fingertips were starting to tingle.

“Am I?” He replied in a low growl – Arthur’s lips stretched into a carnivorous smile, showcasing blood-stained teeth whose canines were pointy. His face was red, his rage highlighted with the pumping vein on his forehead, “Listen to me. I don’t bloody know what the hell yer implying, but I didn’t satisfy my urges, as you said. If it had been the case, you would have woken up every day with cum dripping down yer tight pussy.” All you could see now was the white of his eyes. “I would have ruined ye until ye could not walk anymore, filled every fookin’ hole of your body,” He pressed you harder against the wall, his words stirring desire in him, “Marked every inch of your skin,” He licked the blood off his lips with the tip of his tongue, the taste only arousing his more, "Made you fookin' choke on my cock ‘til you’d look at me with teary eyes and drool running down your bratty mouth." The sparkle that lit up his steel-blue eyes betrayed how he enjoyed keeping you restrained -- and probably how the darkest side of his obsessive love would love to make such things to you, "So don’t make me fookin’ regret being a gentleman with ye.”

“Please Arthur, stop! I—I wanna go home please…” You begged him, despair and terror overcoming you.

“Now ye say please, ey! Now you ain’t callin’ me a maniac anymore, are ye?!” He let out a hoarse and menacing chuckle, spitting a few droplets of blood at your face as he did, “That’s not how ye should talk to your bloody man, sweetheart.” With ragged breath and bare teeth, you knew Arthur was at the very edge of going for your throat.

Yet, you looked at him straight in the eyes through your tears and spat at his face, disgusted by all he had said. “You’re not my man and you’ll never be!”

“YOU FUCKING BITCH!” Trembling with rage, and fury shining in his eyes, Arthur grabbed you fiercely and threw you on the floor, right where the glass shards were scattered. You had barely understood what had just happened when the piercing and excruciating sensation of the glass cutting your flesh awoke in your body. You yelled in pain, your voice so loud that it did not seem human anymore – you sounded like prey screaming with agony. Terrified and in utter panic, you wanted to move but didn’t, for the sight of your own blood suddenly made you feel sick. You were bleeding. Fucking bleeding.

“Oh God, oh God…” You sobbed.

“Why don’t ye understand that I fookin’ love you eh?!” Arthur brawled even louder, standing in front of you and towering over you with all his height as you were crying in crimson stains of fresh blood and shattered glass, “We're made for each other, Bunny. I know it. I knew it from the moment ye smiled at me at the Garrison: you wanted me to come for you... And here I am, love! All fookin' yours!" He said, opening up his arms and tilting his head slightly to the side, his lips stretched in a blood-stained and frightening grin. As your eyes watched him with horror, you understood the extent of his madness. Then, Arthur leaned over you and grabbed you by the neck to bring you closer again. In a reflex, you shut your eyes tight at the sensation of his calloused hand tightening around your throat, “I won’t let you leave me, hm?” He groaned. His breath – erratic and panting – crashed on your face, “I’ll tell you…” He started with his low and gruff voice, whose gravel tones broke the last will of fighting that remained in you, “All you’re gonna do now is be a good fuckin’ wife,” He breathed heavily, while his free hand roamed over your face in a soft caress. In the violence of your fight, some strands of his hair had come loose and were now hanging down his sharp face, “Yeah, like the perfect couple. We’ll go in the bathroom hm.” Arthur strangle you a tiny bit harder to feel your heartbeat against his palm, which resulted in you moaning in pain. “ We’ll go in the bathroom. We’ll get you all clean yeah.” His lips crashed against yours without searching for your consent, stealing a few pecks from your plump lips before his voice turned into a whisper, “Yeah. We’ll make love, hmm?” He kissed you again and again until his light pecks weren't enough for him and he decided to let his tongue force its way into your mouth. The taste of whisky and blood overwhelmed you. Desperate, you tried to move away, for you were suffocating as he moaned softly and low in your mouth, but he was too strong.

“Please…” You begged against his lips, sobbing — but he remained unmoved by your cries. The room was spinning all around you as you realized how stupid you had been thinking you could have escaped. How suicidal it was to underestimate his obsession with you.

With trembling fingers, you cautiously touched the back of the hand that was choking you. Despite your thoughts crashing into each other in your skull and the despair that was beating you down, you still managed to understand one essential thing: you had to calm him down. You had to do it if you didn’t want him to kill you out of anger – especially since his brutal and crazy fit was enhanced by the fact he was high.  Yes, you definitely had to find a way to lure him into a more stable mood…Because you just knew that if he couldn’t have you, no one else would. With everything it implied. Gathering your courage, you looked up and hold his gaze even though pure terror shone in your hazel iris, “I’m… I’m sorry Arthur…” You gritted your teeth, black dots dancing in front of your eyes. Air. You needed some air.

“Hmm?” He replied, his lips still grazing yours. Nevertheless, the tender sensation of your skin against his made him loosen his grip around your neck.

“You’re—You’re right. We’ll do that.”

“Are we?” He groaned, rubbing his cheek against yours like a wildcat. If he could have purred at this moment, he would have certainly do so.

You forced a smile, but tears still ran down uncontrollably from your honey eyes, “Yes Arthur.” You finally said, letting his void swallow you whole. Why would you fight? Your fate was sealed, and you just knew you would never leave. Your future was to be with him and nothing would ever change that. Even if you managed to escape one day, you knew he would track you down until you were either his or dead and cold. All you could do now was just do your best not to get yourself killed.

A few days ago you were Y/N. A young and joyful student, whose excellent grades and good nature made your mother proud. Now you were just Bunny. Fucked up and enslaved Bunny. And Bunny belonged to Arthur Shelby.

For the best.

But particularly the worst.

Any comment, review, reblog, or constructive criticism is welcome. Your reactions really motivate me and keep me alive, so please don't be shy. English is not my first language.

Tagging some of Arthur’s bunnies: @helen06dreamer @zablife @brummiereader @peakyltd @peakyswritings @dearshelby @raincoffeeandfandoms @kissforvoid @psychadelichues @shelbydelrey

Gif by Ria (@alicent-targaryen)

[kiiiiiim]

2. Secret

Supercorptober 2021 - 1

Kara is horrible at keeping secrets anymore. It’s ironic - Lena realizes this all too well, having been kept from Kara’s biggest truth for more years than she’s been in the know… so far, at least. She plans on remedying that particular ratio, chooses to look towards the future rather than dwell on the past. In turn, they have each vowed to be nothing but honest with one another, no matter what.

But there are some… gray areas. Not lies, not even secrets, per say. You could call them quirks, little errors, at worst. Harmless. Things like...

Kara gets overly excited about sharing beloved Disney classics with her girlfriend, and spoils the endings of movies sometimes - only realizing her mistake a solid five minutes later, popcorn falling from an open mouth as her jaw hangs slack with horror.

Or fifteen minutes...

Or half an hour.

She gets there eventually, which is the most important part.

And maybe she isn’t great at keeping certain… events… under wraps. Like accidentally informing Nia of her Pulitzer ceremony before the poor girl even knew she’d won the honor. Or completely forgetting that the surprise baby shower being held next week for Alex and Kelly was, in fact… a surprise.

It’s not her fault. Not even a fault at all, if Lena is being completely honest. Sure, Kara isn’t a great secret-keeper anymore - but Lena would rather have all her surprises spoiled for the rest of her life than go back to what they’d been before. She never wants to be anything except this, the woman Kara tells everything to, the one who holds every dark thought and overwhelming fear, the one who keeps the girl of steel safe in the most breakable of arms.

Which is why Lena doesn’t understand why Kara has been acting strangely all week.

Kara never drops things. Her reflexes are too good, her coordination too agile for human error. And yet she’s broken at least four different coffee mugs and shattered a delicate (quite expensive) crystal wine glass right between clenched fingers. She’s taken to stuttering, stumbling over her words, as if the well-worded journalist in her had suddenly vacated from the entirety of her brainspace.

Most worrying of all, Kara won’t meet her eyes. For the last three days she’s directed all attention to the floor, hardly spoken to her at all, spent hours at a time patrolling the city and only crawling into bed long after the sun has set. Lena has been trying very hard not to pry, to be patient, and not to take this behavior personally - but it’s starting to wear on her nerves.

It feels too familiar, and Lena is terrified of what it all means. She’s been standing outside their apartment door for almost ten minutes, trying to muster up the courage to face the woman she loves more than life itself. Lena isn’t sure which is worse - walking into what turns out is the end, or the prolonging of her very terrifying, uncertain fears.

She opens the door.

And is met with the most beautiful of visions staring back at her.

Candles fill the space, a warm, soft glow that flickers intermittently across every wall. Dozens of flowers litter the apartment, their heady scent almost overwhelming. It takes half a second for Lena to recognize their shape and perfume: Plumerias. Her breath catches in her throat, eyes prick with realization, and then she watches Kara bend on one knee.

She’s the strongest woman on this planet, unbreakable, and yet Kara quivers like a newborn foal as she lifts her hand. A ring, sparkling in the candlelight, but nothing like the tears in Kara’s eyes.

“I wanted to do this at the Fortress. Next month, on our anniversary. It was going to be a secret. A surprise. I knew I would ruin it, give it away, and I just…” Kara exhales, shaky, “I couldn’t wait anymore. I didn’t want to. I just want to be with you, Lena.”

Lena rushes towards her, kneecaps colliding painfully with the tile floor. She doesn’t feel a thing. “Yes.” She whispers harshly, fervently, cups Kara’s cheeks in both hands. “Yes.”

“I haven’t asked you yet.” Kara laughs, tears spilling over into the grooves of Lena’s fingertips.

“Then hurry up and ask,” Lena says, her voice low and strained with a combination of pure love and utter joy. “Ask.”

“Marry me?”

Lena crashes into her, kisses the trail of tears away, buries her hands in thick blonde hair. “Yes. Yes.” She hardly feels the ring slip on her finger, hardly feels anything except Kara, Kara, Kara everywhere. Kara forever.

It’s her last secret. Of that, Lena is sure.

[dienamights]

Ex’s and O’s | K.Bakugou

» Pairing: Katsuki Bakugou x Fem!Reader.

» Word count: 6.7K

» Genre: hurt/comfort, Smut MDNI, Prohero!au

» Summary: Its bad enough that you’re spending your ex-boyfriend’s birthday curled up in bed, wearing his merch, drinking away your sorrows, but what’s even worse is having your eardrums pierced by the blaring music upstairs at the party thrown just for him.

» Warning(s):  Smut 18+ MDNI please, hurt/comfort, mentions of alcohol, dubcon since reader is under the influence while getting dicked down, drunk sex, oral sex and fingering (female receiving, we getting fed tonight), one pussy slap lol, manipulation, unprotected sex (don’t be silly, wrap your willy)

» Author’s notes: Hello! aaaah I’m actually pretty excited about posting this fic! First of all, its Bakuhoe’s birthday! and what better way to honor it than to feed you all some good ol angst sprinkled in with some good dickin’ down. Its been years since I’ve written smut and I’m actually really fuckin proud of it, yet real nervous but I hope you enjoy! Secondly, this fic is a part of Bakugous Birthday Bash! I’m so excited to read everyone’s work, thank you everyone for holding this event and allowing my ass participate to create this with you all ♡ be sure to read everyone’s contributions, I know it’ll be more than amazing since everyone worked so hard!

Happy Birthday to our favorite King Explosion Murder♡♡

Lastly, I wanna thank everyone for their support and helping me reach 200 followers already! You guys are the cutest thing ever and I promise I’ll update more frequent the minute I’m out of uni late june fml, thank you @tteokdoroki for giggling with me when i wrote cock for the first time lol

» Masterlist | Requests

Rolling out of bed and flailing onto the floor as a start of your day ensures you that the following 24 hours will ultimately suck ass. Getting up and readying yourself for the day by looking through one of your cardboard boxes for your favorite Dynamight hoodie, the back of your mind keeps nagging you, trying to remind you of something buried deep in your subconsciousness, and you have half a heart to try and remember, because for some odd reason, you feel so fucking weary, as if the few steps from your bed to your bathroom are somehow now endless miles, almost making you breathe out in relief after finally reaching it.

And as you are making your coffee, that odd feeling keeps annoying you again, prodding at your brain to remember something, something. And ultimately, that's when your eyes fall to the counter. You knew this day was coming and you were dreading it for months, so as you look at the calendar on your kitchen counter, you frown, the quote of the day you always love reading so much long forgotten when your eyes fall on the date. 

“You’ve gotta be kiddin' me.” You mumble at the calendar on your counter hatefully with furrowed eyebrows, as if it would either reply or change its date, it doesn’t do either, and your lips curl downwards even further. As in immediate response, you pick up your phone, your coffee pot tossed aside as you dial the number of the only person you could think might help you right now.

“G’morning y/n -” you hear Kendo’s voice through your phone, and you honestly want to sob right then and there, but you hold yourself, barely and speak over her overly cheery voice first thing in the goddamn morning. “It's Kats- Bakugou’s birthday” you whimper at the slip up, being so used to the first name basis you were in with your now ex-boyfriend.

“Yeah, was kinda hoping you would’ve forgotten.” She sighs, tugging at her bangs and pulling back her phone to check the time. “Tell you what, I get off work in an hour, then I’m spending the day with you. I’ll get tequila, I know you love your shots.” 

“Ken, it's like 10 right now..” you can’t help but pout, having alcohol in your system as an escape to help you forget about the entire day still sounding better than the urge to cry and crawl into a hole, even if it's at the start of your day. “Y'know what? Get those gummy worms I like too.” “Bet.” you hang up with a sigh, moving back to the kitchen to sift through your bubble wrapped kitchen utensils, barely forcing yourself to prepare breakfast as to not have your liquor on an empty stomach.

You loathe the fact that you remembered his birthday, always reminded of him no matter how long ago since you’ve last seen him, being the center of the media’s attention for years as the number 6 hero in japan has its perks, well, in his case, but to you? Nothing but trouble and heartache as every channel you flip through plasters his face, whether it be about some big rescue mission he partook in or a new rumor about a potential lover to the explosive hero, followed by him almost attacking a reporter, yelling to them about ‘needing to mind yer goddamn business and keep my fuckin’ name outta your mouths’. Therefore, you opted long ago to stay away from the TV to avoid seeing him, his captivating rubies for eyes, covered by that goddamn mask you like to push up to his forehead, sweeping his bangs away and exposing his sweaty forehead that he bumps against yours as he makes love to you, still in his hero costume, all battered and dusty and so incredibly hot you have to- 

You grip your coffee mug tighter, almost to the point of breaking the handle off of it, placing it rather roughly onto the table before pushing your food away, appetite gone with the thought of whatever paradise you were thinking you were in before now long gone and never coming back, all because of you, of your action, of your mistake.

Kendo walks in with a bright smile on her face, as if her overly cheerful attitude will balance out the void you’re slowly but surely falling in. She shakes the bag of snacks in your face as you blink your eyes back into focus. Dragging your heavy feet across the floor to get to your kitchen to retrieve the shot glasses. Only kissing her cheek in thanks when you snatch away whatever it is she brought with her to lift your mood.

She eyes the boxes by your kitchen, the four placed haphazardly in your living room and the one you're using as a stool while filling your shot glasses, tongue sticking out to try and fill each one to the brim without spilling any on the new coffee table that she failed to notice before is still wrapped in bubble wrap that prevent any damage during the moving process.

“y/n…” you hum in response, a frown falling on your lips as the third glass spills a bit and the liquid pools on the plastic.

“Don't you think that you should’ve probably unpacked a while ago? Hasn't it been, what, five months?” 

“I didn't know you were gonna come here to harass me about my life choices, Kendo”

She flinches away, your tone venomous, almost feeling it as a slap to her face, before leaning in when she sees your eyes start to water.

“If I did, that just means it's true… that just means it happened, and I did the stupidest thing- you know what,” you wipe the few tears that managed to escape away with the sleeve of your sweater, looking down at the shots in front of you. “It, it doesn't matter anymore just- can I just drink and try to forget about how my life has gotten nothing but fucking worse since the day I left him?”

You questioned your worth that one time, that one time all those months ago. Thinking that by doing what you did and leaving, he’d drop everything and run behind you, chase after you and win you back, but he didn't, and as you sit surrounded by the evidence of how much of a failure you find out you are without him, you regret ever questioning it, ever questioning him. Because to you, living in denial was so much better than whatever hell this is.

So all you could think of is to just drown yourself in alcohol until your mind is too numb to think of the possibilities of how you could have avoided this, how you could’ve been a less of shitty person, and stop imagining how your life would be now if you just swallowed all your insecurities and just stayed. Despite the neglect, despite not being prioritized, because in some weird twisted way, those lies held you with warmth that you were never able to find after uncovering the ugly truth you’re living in right now. 

You lay on your living room floor, the alcohol swirling in your system and clouding your vision as you trace imaginary shapes in your ceiling, the voice of Kendo muffled as she rambles on and on about her day, the amount of outlaws she bitch slapped - a term she uses to get a laugh from you - and how she considers herself the unluckiest being in the whole world for having Monoma as a partner of all people, seriously contemplating who she should beat up first between him and the villains.

“Must be nice,” you voice, low and slow, scared of how Kendo would react to what you’re about to say, yet your intoxicated self unable to stop your mouth from uttering the words. “To have a purpose in life, to not be quirkless and lost like us.” your face twists in an ugly scowl at your ceiling, but mostly to yourself for putting a downer on whatever mood your friend is trying so hard to build, proven by the hitch of her breath before she enters your peripheral vision when she leans over you, all upside down and pouty.

“What’re you talki-” the shrill ringtone of her phone breaks you away from each other as she leaps to fetch it and silence the god forsaken thing by answering the call. “Battle Fist here, yes sir, I was partnered up with Phantom Thief for the patrol at area B, n-no sir I wasn’t informed.” Kendo breaths out in irritation, pinching the bridge of her nose as she starts tapping her feet aggressively on the floor, eyes falling onto yours when you look up at her all weary and sad, knowing what she would tell you once she hangs up. “That dumbass is gonna be the end of me I swear.” She crouches down to your level and kisses your forehead, promising to be back in the morning with hangover food, before she leaves and locks the door behind her. 

Now you’re left all alone, back aching from laying on the hardwood floor and eyes watering as you feel your loneliness eating you up inside, the god awful music thumbing loudly in your ears followed by the cheer of people as you-

Music?

You sit up abruptly, groaning at the dizziness of the swift movement as your hands fly to cover your ears, a failed attempt of ensuring your brain doesn’t begin to spill out from them, because of the loud voices, the bass shaking your entire fucking apartment by how strong it is, and you curse yourself for falling for the scheme the landlord pulled you in, paying half of the rent everyone did, just because you lived right below the penthouse that hosted the loudest parties in the area, 4 days out of the fucking week. 

The money hungry shameless bastard praised the apartment the minute it spiked your interest all those months ago, selling it so well you actually moved in the next week, anything to stop feeling like a burden to Kendo as you couch-surfed her apartment. Only to realize within that first week from your downstairs neighbors that he rents the penthouse to host parties of all sorts, and due to its location in the city, it was pretty popular, yet you didn’t have the money to move out again, nor the heart to concern your friend with your problems, as she was a hero with other responsibilities aside from taking care of your hopeless self.

So you get up, barely gathering yourself onto that elevator to tell off whoever the fuck will answer the door first to turn the music down. You pound the door with your fist repeatedly the minute you reach it, the door opening so suddenly you almost punch the man standing in front of you in the chest, the cool air created from the door cooling your warm cheeks as you squint at your victim for the day.

“Welcome!”

“Listen here, you buttfaced moron” you start to chew the person’s ear out, your sight blurring yet still able to notice how bright his hair is, how fiery and familiar it looks, and you’re certain you’ve seen it somewhere before. “I’m trying to drink away my regrettable life choices and cry over my ex-boyfriend, so if you would just turn down the-”

“y/n?” oh, that’s where. Your stomach drops as Kirishima looks down on you, the bright smile he flashed to whoever he was welcoming now dropped with his eyes almost bulging out at your presence, you both stand in silence, the boy unbuttoning the collar that suddenly feels like it has a chokehold on him while you cross your arms and hope the floor would swallow you a floor down back into the comfort of your home.

Kirishima basically is shutting down the second his eyes lay on you, breaking a sweat as your eyes never waver, despite how you fail to stay standing straight, what was he supposed to say? ‘Hey we’re throwing a birthday party for your ex-boyfriend because he's been feeling depressed from the day you dumped his ass’ ? No!  He wouldn’t do that to his friend, but what was he gonna say now?

Well, he didn’t have to really think about what to say to you, because his other friend didn’t hesitate to push him forward, slurring something along the lines of ‘lettin the hot ladies in so they can take a look at the prettier blond, aka moi’. In his moment of panic, the redhead stumbles forward, his cup slipping from the tips of his fingers and meeting its doom by the floor, whatever was filling it now staining your pants as you both look at the mess between you.

“Woah bro, we said you gotta get’er wet but not- '' Denki's cackle stops him from continuing whatever filth he was gonna spew out - thankfully - before his eyes drop down to your chest, or more like what was covering it. “Hey! You a Dynamight fan? Hey Bakuhoe, comere for a sec.” 

Dear God, move, for the love of all that's pure in this god forsaken world, move! Run!

All you could do is shake and breathe in short segments as your widened eyes meet his unamused ones, the garnets in his eyes glistening at your sight, he stands straight and so tall, suited up in his usual attire. Dressed for the occasion, words aren't able to describe his beauty. You try not to let your brain be dazzled by how incredibly handsome he looks. He is wearing a dress shirt, in the deep color of wine that complements his eyes, dress pants hugging his long legs, not to mention the open collar, and no tie. He looks like a long, lean Lothario. 

At that your eyes drop down to the floor, specifically the now stained carpet, your hands wrenching the end of your hoodie to distract yourself from the piercing rubies that haunts your dreams.

You build up some courage, enough of it to lift your head to continue what you came here to do, so you open your mouth, and drop a few IQs while you’re at it. “The m-music is loud and m’tryin’ to sleep,'' you mumble, noting how Kirishima leans down to make up the words you are saying over the sound of the blaring music while Bakugou narrows his eyes at you as if disregarding his sight will make him hear you better. “So, if you could turn down the heat, that’d be,” 

“You squiffed?” The blond grunts, leaning his face close to yours to inspect it, and he catches a whiff of alcohol in your breath, his eyebrows furrowing at your response. “No I'm not squinting-” 

“Yeah you’re drunk alright,” he huffs at your less than intelligent reply, pushing his glass of whiskey - you figure since it's always been his drink of choice - against Kirishima’s chest, telling him to lower the fucking volume and grabs you by your bicep. “C’mon, I’ll take you home.” you stumble at the force used against you, no matter how weak it actually is, before you barely straighten yourself to push his hand away. “I can walk down all by myself, thank you.” Of course you’d expose where you live, you dumbass.

He doesn’t question your integrity, just continues to basically drag you to the elevator before pushing your apartment door open when you choose your floor, irked to find your misplaced trust in the people of the complex by not locking your door after leaving. He barges into your bedroom and tells you to change out of your fucked up pants and proceeds to saunter to your kitchen to get you water, eyeing the boxes that he comes across during that small trip.

He stands awkwardly by the door when he sees you standing in the middle of the bedroom, sifting through countless moving boxes with your pants on the floor, thrown next to a pile of clothes that he can only assume that its supposed to be your laundry ‘basket’, until you opt against wearing any since you can't seem to find anything to replace them. And when he asks you if you just moved in, his expression sours when you shake your head no and explain to him that you’ve been living for months in this space, after chugging that cup of water like you’ve been parched for days.

“Birthday party?” You ask out of the blue as you play with the strings of your hoodie, your ears perking up at the confirmation hum you receive. “Hmm, thas’cool… I-I guess.” 

Bakugou’s impassive as he gently pushes you onto your bed, eyes meeting yours as he covers you up with your blanket. “Get some rest, I’m leaving.” He said, slowly stalking away from you and barely reaching your door as your big mouth talks on its own. Your body sitting up and facing his retreating back.

“That's what you always do, you always leave”, you utter and you see him stiffen his shoulders before he spins to face you, so fast you almost want to check up on him about getting a whiplash.

“Hah?” it's one syllable, but it shakes your very core, that one sound making you almost shake, overwhelmed by the amount of emotions, the amount of pain that one sound has. He steps closer to your bed, the stomps of his feet sounding like gun shots in your ear, and you pathetically lift up the blanket to cover yourself up, cowering behind it like it's some pseudo shield that might protect you from him.

“I’m the one that leaves?” he growls at you, his eyes sizing you up when you react to his forceful approach, leaning back to look down on you, but his lips are still curled in a frown, he tries to hold himself from blowing up at you, his feelings oddly enough still raw in his chest the moment he lay eyes on you the first time since you left, threw him away and walked away, probably finding someone better, probably finding someone who you tolerated, unlike himself, but when he sees you straighten up your back to rebuttal him, an automatic response to whenever he raised his voice at you from all those years ago, he knows he is in for a fight. 

He snarls when you nod at him, your eyes hard and glaring up at him, not knowing that your silence is by your better judgement since you don't trust your voice, knowing it’ll fail you, probably crack and show him how much he actually is affecting you by his closed off posture and demeaning look down at your frame.

“Real fuckin’ rich of ya, y/n.” He snaps back, his hands brought up to his hair, tugging at it. “As if you didn’t pack your shit,” he kicks at yet another cardboard box fucking spewed in your room, noting its heavy weight when it didn't move but an inch by his action. “Dropped your keys by the fuckin’ door,” as an emphasis, he throws your apartment key at you, making sure it doesn’t actually hit you, but falls onto your lap. “And left. Without a single fuckin’ word, like I'm some lowlife who didn't deserve an explanation, like I didn't deserve anything! And-” that hurt, goddamn it. 

Exhaling deeply, he focuses on how your eyes look a little less glossed over, a little more sober, but holding fear, and he almost steps back and out when he looks at how you’re fighting tears, almost wanting to bust his own kneecaps than to see you like this, always wanting nothing for you but to be happy, to never upset about anything no matter how small it might be.

Then why did you leave him? Left him to drown by his lonesome self, waves of his insecurities and sorrow crashing into him, pulling him even further down to his inevitable doom.

Despite the fact that you both yearn for each other, long to feel one another, engulf yourselves in the others presence. You both stand your ground, eyes glaring despite the emotions hidden behind them, mouths shut and curled into ugly scowls regardless of the words you wish to speak to each other, whispers of promises into each other's ears about being together forever, in spite of not knowing what the future holds.

Bakugou breathes out again, recalling all those months worth of coping mechanisms to exercise when placed in anger inducing situations like this one, the time in therapy spent to better himself, to control himself, to be the best version of himself, for you, hoping that one day you’ll pity him enough to want to come back, knowing full well he would never hold a grudge against you and welcome you back with open arms, intending to never repeat whatever it is he did that made you think of him as so unbearable you couldn't spent another day with him.

You on the other hand, are barely holding in the tears, wanting him to just leave your sight, so you can go back to the world of denial where he didn't look like straight out of a magazine, looking as captivating as always, as if your absence did not have an effect on the hero, of course it wouldn't, why would a quirkless extra have an effect on the great Katsuki Bakugou, that's what he used to call them, right?

“Just leave, Bakugou-” his ears pick up the way your voice breaks at his name, the way you utter it sounds so horrendous, because you aren’t meant to call him Bakugou, you’re meant to call him Katsuki, Katsu, Suki, your Suki. Not- “I hate you.”

The room suddenly spirals. The floor panels misalign themselves into zigzags. Bakugo’s eyes shatter like a glass window. He tries to hold himself against the tears that threaten to fall, stomach wrenching as if reaching from inside of his body, but it’s useless. He brings his hand up close to his chest and sinks his head, letting the words overtake him.

Oblivious to his internal struggle, you pile whatever courage you have left in another attempt to ask him to leave, aware that your body wouldn’t aid you in pushing him away physically, you open your mouth, only to gasp after a moment of silence when he pounces on you and grabs you by the neck, sliding a hand behind your head and leaning your face impossibly closer to his “you fuckin’ hate me? show me you hate me then,”

Then he's pressing his lips against yours, your half foggy mind all too surprised by the flow of motion you can only try to keep up with his feverish kisses, you try to pull away, to push him away, to no avail, Bakugou only stopping his assault on your lips to growl at them again “Show me then, hah?” 

But he wouldn't even let you, his grasp on your neck loosening to circle around your back to push you to him even more. His kisses get more and more aggressive, trying his best to show you how much he was hurt by what you said, by what you did, after all this time, almost begging you to not let him have to voice out whatever he’s feeling because he would do so much of a worse job than he is doing now.

The hands you placed on his chest in a failed attempt to push him away are now just placed over his pecs, welcoming their warmth and the way they flex under your touch, your right hand clenching over where his thumping heart is, and he almost sighs in relief, the movement feeling like it holds together all the broken pieces of his heart to make it whole again.

Almost like that gesture calmed him down, Bakugou’s rough touches start to soften, very caring as they glide to your hips before sliding underneath your - oh my God it's your special edition Dynamight hoodie! His amused chuckle tickles your lips as he pulls away when he feels you stiffen at the realization, barely letting you breathe in ease until he places his lips against your ear. “Love how m’still the only one sprawled over yer tits.”

“But I still want the real thing, lemme see ‘em, hm?” And just before throwing a dumb retort and embarrasing yourself even further, the article is tugged eagerly off of your body and thrown haphazardly on the floor. Earning yourself a low whistle when he realises you’re wearing nothing underneath. Bakugou all but shoves you onto the bed, spreading your legs when you try to rub them against each other for any friction, wedging his body neatly between them as his teeth gently bite your soft buds, pulling them slightly before captivating the nipple entirely.

His tongue flicks against your hardening nipple while keeping a watchful eye at the sinful expressions your face makes, his one hand toying with and twisting the other nipple while the other slides down to tease your needy cunt, pressing his fingers against your -fucking soaked- panties, swearing under his breath at the feeling of your walls trying to clench around his fingers just from that one movement. Sitting on his haunches, he lifts your hips with ease to pull your panties right off, eyes travelling between your heaving chest and your exposed pussy. Before lowering himself and finding comfort in biting and sucking your nipples again.

Bakugou’s smirk grows with your moans as his tongue dances over your sensitive nipples, he presses his finger against your walls, and you immediately keen at the prodding feeling that almost feels foreign after all this time apart. His thumb pushing your pussy lip to the side to see you suck his finger in like the good girl he knew you always were.

“Ba-ba-ba,” you struggle to talk, your drool collecting at your lips, stopping you from forming any words as you feel a breeze hit your spit covered tits, whining at the feeling and wanting him to pull your nipples in the warm cavern of his mouth again. Bakugou’s eyes focus on the spit line connecting his bottom lip to your nipple before disconnecting it to smash his lips against yours in an effort to shut your blabbering up.

“Ba-ba, what? y’better not be callin’ me Bakugou with my fingers deep in yer pussy baby, its Katsuki for you, yeah?” he taunts with a fake pout that immediately turns into a grin at the way you hold your pathetic sobs, pressing another finger in your tight cunt, reveling in the wet sounds your pussy makes as he thrusts his fingers in and out of it, soaking his fingers in your slick as he curls them, eager to hear the squelching sounds it would make when his cock is shoved deep inside you. “Or better yet, lemme hear you say Suki, hmm?”

“Suki- p-please, eat me out” you throw your head back and bring your hands down to play with your clit, showing him where you want his lips to be, as if the blond doesn't already know where it is, and he scoffs at the thought, slapping your hand away and giving another slap to your clit, earning a moan from you from the sharp pleasurable pain.

“Yea, yea I fuckin’ know already, needy slut,” he growls, keeping eye contact as he circles your clit with his tongue before sloppily eating out your cunt, making a mess of both drool and your arousal, mumbling “my needy slut.” to himself, and you do hear it, yet you brush it off with the thought that your lust must be messing with your brain.

Your chest still flutters at his words and your walls clench in on his fingers as he curls them again in a way you didn’t know would make you yelp like it did. He thrives off of how your body responses so easily to him, your back arching and the squelching getting louder as his fingers pick up speed, his tongue so skillful in drawing circles around your clit before sucking it again. A whine escapes you when he draws his head away from you, only for you to see the way his eyes darkens, his chin glistening from your arousal when it catches the light.

“Let go for me princess,” he whispers uncharacteristically, making you question if the glint in his eyes is from his desire for you or something else. “Lemme see you fall apart for me, alright?” the way he’s almost begging you to come undone for him takes you by surprise, and your body curls in on itself so fast, not realizing your orgasm was creeping up on you until it hits you. The knot in your stomach breaks as you gush around his fingers, white crossing your vision as he slows his pace to help you come down from your high. 

Your shuddering body lays on your bed, eyes unwavering as they meet Katsuki’s, his fingers stuffed in his mouth as he moans around them at your taste. It's all a blur after seeing that unravel, and you’re so woozy that you don’t register him discarding his clothes until he lays above you. Placing himself between your legs as he pumps his cock, hardened from seeing you fall apart on his tongue and fingers, his tip leaking precum and burning a bright red.

His movement is almost too quick for you as he dips his head into your leaking hole before pulling right back, a breathless chuckle escaping him when you whine and roll your hips and try to suck him in again, wanting to feel the stretch of him inside of you.

“Didja wanna say somethin’ princess?” he taunts you, one of his hands holding you down by your stomach while the other is wrapped around his length, teasing you in the ways that he knows drive you crazy, he leans in, using the tip of his cock to spread your pussy lips open and running it along your slit to coat it with your arousal.

“Katshu, p-please I-” you hiccup, your fists tightening on your bed sheet as you try to rock your hips up get more than just his leaking tip, but your begging is always interrupted when he isn't hearing what he wants you to say.

“Say you love me.”

You freeze at his demand, your widening eyes looking up at him before you pout your lips, not thinking about surrendering to him, no matter how much you want your cunt stuffed full of him right now.

“I don’love yooou-” you gasp as katsuki’s grip onto your waist tightens and you feel as he gives a thrust into your sopping cunt, arching your back at the burning stretch of being filled up by his thick cock. Katsuki’s hand traces down your left thigh before cupping behind your knee, hiking your leg up and out, close to your chest to expose more of yourself to him, wanting nothing more than to see his dick seething in and out of your tight pretty pussy, and by almost muscle memory, you did the same thing with your right leg, replacing his hands with your own, presenting yourself to him.

“Y’see that? Fuckin’ know you like the back of m’hand, y’think someones gonna- ah, take the fucking time to work you like I did?” he's right, absolutely right, he ruined you for any other potential lovers and he loved it with every fiber in his being, knowing this means you’re always going to be wrapped around his finger. You moan as he pushes more of himself into you, bottoming out and holding one of your tits and squeezing when he feels your walls do the same to his cock.

You hate it, after all this time, you’re still a blubbering mess the second he was one fucking inch deep in your pussy, sucking him in and clawing at his back begging for more. No self respect, no dignity, you hate it, how come after all this time he gets to come here and fuck you like you belong to him, like you’ve belonged to him despite everything that has happened.

You only realize that your eyes are closed when Katsuki’s breath hits your face, and you open them wide, noting how wet your lashes have gotten from your tears, only for him to kiss at the tears gliding along your right temple and licking the ones on your left. He breathes out a chuckle and when he leans to look at your eyes, the humor and menace you expect to see in his eyes are nowhere to be found, clouded by a solemn look instead.

“What? Yer cryin on me now, huh? Y’think a few tears are stoppin’ me?” His voice is masked so well, because he sounds like he was simply enjoying a game, like an imp that had branched from a demon. “C’mon, not gonna tell the birthday boy you love’em?”

“I don't love you, I hate you, h-hate you-” you keen as drool pools at your lips, your body betraying you as it shakes from pleasure, letting go of your legs to wrap them around his slim waist, to bring him in closer, if that was even possible, stopping his deep thrusts that were brushing up against your cervix, it feels pathetic, denying him the pleasure of telling him you love him while clinging onto him like he's your last breath of fresh air, because in a way, you feel like he is, like him leaving would just collapse your lungs and stop your heart from beating, you know that he’s gonna leave you. While your spent body would lay on your bed and you'd cry because you didn't tell him you love him, yet you wouldn’t ask him to stay, knowing deep down that you don't deserve it, you don't deserve him.

You feel his weight on top of you as he rests his elbows by your head, his lips brushing against your ear as he repeats again with every shallow thrust into your warm insides, his cock twitching from time to time in your walls. “You love me.” he says it once, twice, thrice. Every time his voice lowers more and more to a broken whisper, almost a plea instead of the cocky taunt he started off with.

Your legs are starting to ache from the grip they have around him, so you loosen up, your mind easy since his thrusts haven’t been rough nor painful. And when you do, you notice two things immediately, first, your thighs are so soaked from how he's making you feel, probably ruining your bedsheet at this point, second, he pushed his chest away from yours to look you directly in the eyes, one hand molding around your thigh to keep it from wrapping around him again while the other is placed on your stomach, his thumb inching closer and closer to your clit, wanting to toy with it, toy with you, but not ready to give you any satisfaction until you admit to him, please just tell him, that you do still love him. All insecurities, all battle scars, all emotional constipation as layers he covers himself with, that no one gives a fuck to peel off, to see who he really was, except you.

His red eyes lock onto yours as your chest heaves with breathless sobs at the lost of his warmth, and when you think he's lowering himself back down, he pulls out suddenly, sending a  shiver down your spine as you gasp, now feeling like you're frozen over, your tears coming from lack of both pleasure and warmth.

Suddenly your face is met with the pillow and you feel his hands on your hips as he lifts them up and off the bed, your half intoxicated, half aroused mind barely registering that you’ve been flipped over on your stomach until you feel his cock prodding at your cunt, easily sliding in like they’ve been made to be warmed up in there, when you know Katsuki would argue that your pussy was made just for him and to warm his dick.

He presses his chest against your back, pushing you onto the bed as he thrusts his hips roughly, pulling out fully before seething himself right back in, your moans and whimpers muffled by your pillow from being pushed down by his hand as his other holds your hips firmly. 

Then what happened next probably shocked him more than you, despite how delirious you’ve become due to his relentless thrusting, his dripping tears feel cool on your bare warm shoulder, one by one as his groans and moans turn into strangled sobs, before Katsuki digs his teeth into that shoulder, to both hear you scream and to muffle his cries from you. 

“because I love you” he sobs, detaching his teeth from their grip and kissing the bite marks before resting his forehead against it, but his thrusts never cease, getting sloppier, as if the confession is pushing him off the edge. Dragging the tip of his nose from your bitten and bleeding shoulder to the back of your ear, his own face flush and warm against you as he breathes harshly against your ear and kisses along it.

“So-” he moans again, the hand behind your neck now turning your face so he could see your fucked out expression, the tears streaming down your face and the drool that pools under your cheeks, with your tongue lolled out and your eyes barely focusing on his form.

“You better say you do too, becau-”

“I love you.” you gush, like saying it is a breath of fresh air, your eyes never leaving his teary ones, your gaze so intense and fixated on him with no regards to the way the snapping of his hips against yours is shaking your entire body against the bed. 

With new found vigor from your confession, Katsuki grabs onto the meat of your ass, hammering into you from behind with force that pushes you against the bed even further, your pulled hair jerking your head back so he can listen to the lewd noises you are making, long forgotten the will to cover your pleasure and hiding your moans.

Your ass heavily slaps against his thighs as he grabs your hips with both hands and pounds into your sopping wet cunt, relishing in the way you’re begging for him. “Y’like it when I fuck you baby, hmm? Like it when I stuff you so fuckin’ full of me?” He growls, feeling you push your ass back every time you repeat ‘yes’ to his questions. “Yes, yes love it, love you, please please don’t stop, please ‘Suki. Yes, gonna cum ‘Suki please” you weep, your head pounding from the grip he had on your hair and your eyes crossing as you feel his thrusts stutter, getting sloppier when you bounce your ass against him, his hand coming down and slapping it.

“That's fuckin’ right, cum on this cock, c’mon baby” he brings four of his fingers to rub your clit with urgency, and you can’t help but arch your back as your orgasm hits you again, screeching as you feel your walls tightening on him, squeezing him for what he’s worth. “F-fuck ah, y-you’re so- Fuck” his heavy weight falls on you as he fills you to the brim with his milky seed, forehead pressed against your shoulder as he rocks his hips against you, pushing more of his load inside before slowly pulling out, gaze flutters down to where your bodies were once joined, seeing your mixed arousal seeping out of your hole and he has half a mind to push it back in with his fingers.

But he flips you over effortlessly, the sight of your crossed out eyes and wet cheeks squeezing his chest at the realization he might’ve been too rough on you, so he wipes your cheek with the palm of his hands and revels in the way you lean towards him, turning your face to kiss his palm. “Say it again.” barely a whisper, as you flip his hand and kiss the back of it as well, and he almost repeats himself, thinking you didn’t hear him, but your hands reach up and cup his face, bringing him towards you. “I love you Katsuki” and goddamn if that wasn’t the most beautiful thing you’ve ever spoken. “Again,” “I love you, Katsuki” “Again,” you giggle, and he knows that's probably what angels sound like.

Your thumb brushes over his warm cheeks, red from showing vulnerability, and you pull him even closer, “Happy birthday, ‘Suki.”

“Yea,” He breaths out, his lips barely brushing against your bitten and bruised ones. “It really fuckin’ is.”

aaaaaaaaah! Hope you enjoyed it! Lemme know what you think of the smut, I also changed my writing style from past tenses to present tenses or tried to at least

Borrowers (taglist):

if you want to be tagged with for any of my fics let me know ♡

[tenebristhequeen]

Oh, thank you darling..If you like my singing, I'll be glad to sing for you whenever you like.

And, don't worry, despite my reaction I'm a being who quite likes surprises! In fact, I'll hardly forget your visit.

[ Replies Tenebris with a tender look in her eyes, for a being this old and powerful, instead of dedicating her life to destruction, she chose to care for others. ]

Fear not, The White Roses just need to respected, and I'm sure you'll do it, this is a fair warning I give to everyone, it would be cruel to not warn people.

But if handled with care, they can even be used to call me, no matter how far or in which universe a being may be.

[ As the other freezes like that, Tenebris tilts her head, only to look tenderly amused at her explanation ]

Do not worry, I make sure to keep the flavor but isolate what could harm others when I kill an angel during one of our battles...those damn "warriors" come here and try to kill our younglings too often, and me and my subjects are not fond of it.

But if course I wouldn't dare to waste some fresh and delicate meat.

But if you wish to be more safe, I can serve you some of my blood so that, if you don't feel well, you can drink that to heal.

[ The Queen waves a hand, gently calling a white soul that floats near her, smiling and bowing down]

The honor will be mine..

Darling.. [ She says as her heads turns towards the soul]

May you prepare a couple of Archangel Steaks? And, please, also bring two glass and some bottles of blood, I trust you with the selection.

[ The soul then nods happily, floating towards the kitchen after calling a few more souls to help]

Tell me, do you think you'll stay for a few days? I wouldn't dare to let you rest on a couch, I would prepare a room for you in such case.

[ Upon realizing that her guest got startled, Tenebris attention goes all towards her, listening to Leonora as she tilts her head, carefully sitting next to her]

What? Waiting outside? Nosense! You are a guest here.. I'm so sorry, I was busy judging some souls and taking care of some red souls that tried to escape..when I finished, I was..well... singing to myself as a "celebration".

I had no idea you were here.. and I apologize for yelling.

[ The 14'2 feet woman smiles gently at the other]

But I'm glad you came here, seeing you again is truly wonderful, and this comes from someone who can't lie.

[ The Queen then looks at the bowl of cereal and then back at Leonora, blinking a few times.]

As a welcome guest, feel free to enter the castle as you please, just be careful about the White Roses, they mean a lot to me and my people.

Now... would you like something else to eat? Or drink? I have some liquyor that Lucifer made for me, despite me not drinking, it could go quite well with some Archangel steaks.

[ Spoiling her guests is something Tenebris seems to love a lot, especially when it's someone so welcome]

[ssaeri]

crushing popcorn beneath my feet ii

☆ tags: mammon x gn!reader, y/n is a carnival booth worker, mammon keeps spending money on their booth to spend time with them, excessive usage of “pretty boy” starting now and i’m not sorry about it, mini-series, ft. lucifer ☆

☆ taglist: @my-perfect-machine ☆

The first time Mammon saw you was in passing. Thought you were cute as he headed towards the underground casino run by the circus’s ringmaster, but by the time he left, Grimm gone as he kept losing round after round of some stupid new card game, he was in too awful of a mood to notice you again.

The second time he saw you was by chance. He was looking for some Ruri-chan doll that Levi had begged him to get. If only I wasn’t sick…! Levi’s hands on Mammon’s shoulders had shaken, fingers digging into skin harder than either of them liked. Instead, I have to bequeath this honor to a normie like you. Don’t sully her with your dirty hands, you got it? You noticed his confused surveying, called out to him, and pointed to the right direction. Once he finally got the stupid toy, he realized that he never thanked you.

The third time he saw you was an embarrassment. With Lucifer hot on his tail, he skidded to a stop in front of your booth. Not crowded enough to lose the damn demon, but really, no crowd could stop his brother from getting what he wanted. Especially not when Diavolo’s name was on the line.

“Hey, pretty boy!”

His head jerked up. You again, the cute one working the rigged stand. You called him that last time, too. You smiled and beckoned him closer.

“There’s space underneath the counter if you want to hide.”

No time for questions or complaints now. He could feel Lucifer’s rumbling aura not too far away. He dove into the booth and rolled to the empty spot. It was tight, but it’d have to do for now; besides, he’d been in worse places. He covered his mouth with one hand, willing his chest to stop heaving. He’s athletic — not as athletic as Beel, sure, but fit all the same. Still, running away from an enraged Lucifer could be a Devil-ympic sport. Heavy steps got closer and then stopped mere inches from his face. Striped fabric stretched across wooden posts made up your booth’s facade, and through the gaps between fabric and dirt, he could see familiar black shoes face the opposite direction and take a step. Alright, he’d be in the clear soon—

Mammon’s heart dropped when you called out to Lucifer.

“Are ya lost?” you ask the demon, unfazed by his undoubtedly bitter expression. “You look a little angry there, buddy. Why don’t you play a few rounds of this to cool down?”

You weren’t seriously trying to make a quick buck from this situation, were you? And did you just refer to the Avatar of Pride as buddy?

“I am not lost,” Lucifer responded, voice stiff. “Nor am I angry. I am merely…looking for someone. Have you seen someone with white hair around here? Yellow-tinted glasses and a leather jacket.” He sniffed the air. Sniffed it. “He smells close.”

But you gave an easy laugh, teasing, “Maybe someone had one too many spiked slushies. I totally get it; the bartender has a way of making you forget how many you had. You can smell this guy?” You paused and then snapped your fingers. “I was wondering why you looked familiar. You’re Diavolo’s right hand man, right? Lucifer.” You leaned forward to whisper conspiratorially, “Are you supposed to be drinking on the job?”

The air chilled. Mammon wondered if you had a death wish.

“I have not had any drinks,” he said.

You straightened with another laugh. “Could’ve fooled me. Thought I almost had to snitch on you to the prince. Anyway, the person you're looking for isn't here, so if you’re not going to make my boss happy and spend some Grimm, I’ll have to shoo you. Sorry.”

And he actually turned around with a clean Thank you and left you alone. One minute passed. Two. Three. Mammon was all too aware of the fact that he was breathing down your leg, but he couldn’t risk it until the coast was clear.

It felt like forever before you stepped back and poked your head down. “So why are you on the run, pretty boy?” you asked, eyes sparkling in amusement, and he swore he never saw anything brighter.

The fourth time he saw you was intentional. You tossed the baseballs between your hands as he approached, giving a nod once he was close enough.

“Are you my next challenger?” you asked.

He frowned. This thing was rigged. Everyone knew that half the stands on the carnival grounds were. Still, he hadn’t properly thanked you for the previous incidents, so he figured he’d drop some Grimm. It'd make your boss pretty happy, and if it gave him some time to talk to you...

The first ball hit air. You whistled.

“Missed that one real bad, pretty boy,” you said, squatting in your corner with your elbows on your knees. Your smile grew. “Missed that one, too. You’re kind of bad at this, huh?”

“Sh-shut it.” His fingers closed around the last ball. “And the name’s Mammon, alright? The great Mammon!”

You hummed, considering him. “Well, why don’t we make a bet? If you knock over one of these, I’ll call you the great Mammon. If you miss again, I’m never calling you that.”

A bet? You knew how to get him going. He pointed towards the big one right in the middle.

.

.

You snorted. “Alright, pretty boy, why don’t I give you consolation stickers?”

Three star stickers formed a triangle — consolation constellation, you called them — on the back of his hand. Maybe he should’ve learned his lesson. Should’ve realized that no amount of ego would win him the Hell Challenge level, but that was the thing with Mammon, wasn’t it? He never learned his lesson.

PT. 3: here

[inkyblinders]

Dancing with the Devil: Part II

Part 1

Pairing: Luca Changretta x Reader

Author’s note: This was so embarrassing to write not because of smut...but because I’m crushing hard on Adrien Brody right now. And I can’t even share this obsession with anyone because… he’s kinda niche? Someone please reassure me that I’m just going through a phase because dear God why can’t I stop watching Darjeeling Limited just to see him ahhh.

The story picks up right after the end of Part 1, so I recommend reading that first. Comments, likes, and reblogs are always appreciated, let me know what you think!

Summary: Following your meeting with Luca Changretta, you face the Shelby family and Tommy's reaction. (2.6k words)

Warnings: Smut, angst, swearing

Tag: Let me know if you would like to be added or removed

@anythingwriter, @rrtxcmt, @shut-chan

_____________________________________________________________

You barely make it into your bedroom before he is all over you. The buttons of his crisp, tailored shirt fall like marbles. He moans when you nip the skin of his neck, right over his tattoo of the black cross, legs tangled together like a depraved waltz.

When he grinds into you, you shudder deliciously at the hardness that meets between your bare thighs.

How easy would it be for him to kill you after he fucks you, leaving your corpse twisted in the bedsheets. You know Tommy would find it when he eventually remembers that he has not seen you for days.

“Signorita, you know I come to you with the most honorable of intentions.” He murmurs, as if sensing your thoughts.

“You're not a very honorable man then.” A laugh that turns into a gasp as he trails his hand lower and strokes between your legs. No, not very honorable at all. And pretty soon all thoughts of honor are forgotten as he coaxes a moan from your throat.

His fingers are magic. The cold outline of his onyx rings scald your skin each time he crooks a finger inside you. Knowing exactly what you need, seeking your depths, swirling, rising to rub the clit, all the while exploring the flushed expanse of your body with his other hand.

Shoulder to breasts to hips and back again.

Without meaning to, you’ve let this stranger take control of your entire being. But God, do you crave this pure ecstasy.

It’s as if he wants to know precisely how much you can take before you're undone. So when you clench around his hand and feel the familiar ache he is right there, helping you ride the wave of pleasure, never breaking the rhythm of his thrusting fingers even as you curse, rake your nails down his back.

You almost cry out his name when you come. But you bite into his shoulder instead.

“Sweetheart, I’m gonna have to hear you next time.” He growls.

His words barely register as you come down from the high. Aftershocks spark like tiny flames. Now you are wearing his scent as much as he is wearing yours.

“Be inside me,” You whimper, tugging at his soft hair, urging him for more.

He rasps an empty warning, “What's my name, sweetheart?”

Of course. All this time you've never acknowledged you know of his identity. There was no use in trying to hide it now.

“Luca,” you breathe. And his eyes gleam with approval.

With a snap of his hips, he plunges into silky warmth. The fullness stretches you to your limit, head thrown back. It’s good, so good. Every withdrawal of his thrust is a blessing because you know what follows next. It’s him inside you again, wrapping you with his touch and the scent of tobacco and roses.

“Does your Tommy fuck you like this? Like the way I do?”

“He’s not mine.” You choke out, punishing Luca with a bite on the neck that elicits a chuckle rather than a yelp of pain.

He kisses you, your foreheads pressed together. “A damn shame for him.” Soon he starts to quicken his pace, going faster, more erratic, his breathing heavy upon your ears.

Yes, you urge him, come on, now.

And this is your chance. In a flash you roll on top of him, pinning down his shoulders with your hands. He tries to arch up but you stop him with a knee.

“How many men did you bring, Changretta?” You ask, making your voice rough to mask the lust, pressing your hands around his jugular.

It's a pleasure to see him like this. Shocked at your actions, maybe even scared. Naked with want but unable to do anything to relieve it. Unless he tells the truth.

“Fifteen. Why baby, am I not enough for you?” He laughs breathlessly, hands trailing goosebumps along your hips, tracing the contour of your breasts. The jib doesn't hurt you. After all, men have said worse. He tries to surge into you again, and his hot member pulses on your thighs.

“Do you swear on your honor? That you’re telling the truth?” You insist, squeezing him harder. The touch brands his skin as much as it brands yours.

In a voice full of self-mockery he says, “Yes I swear on my honor. Now let me in, clever Isabel.”

You take him in you, the sensations amplify a thousandfold. You try teasing him, going slowly in and out, but soon you are caught up in the sensation of him completely at your mercy and you ride him, faster, until you keen his name, until he too is undone.

****

Through the haze of dawn, he stumbles out of bed and gets dressed. Before he dons his hat once more, Luca leans down to whisper in your ear, as soft as sin.

“You tell Tommy Shelby he may expect a visitor in the night. I'm coming for him as the angel of death. The vendetta has begun…” He kisses your hair.

“I’ll see you soon, sweetheart.”

The door clicks shut. You rise from your pillow, and a small, hard lump rolls next to your hand.

It is a signet ring of onyx and gold.

****

“So we all get a death letter from the mafia, but Izzy gets jewelry?” Ada huffs as the family filters into the betting shop. As usual, Tommy holds court at the front of the table, brooding over a glass of whiskey. You roll your eyes as Arthur and John try to cover their snort of laughter with a cough.

“If you want it, you can have it, Ada. He’s probably planning on killing me too.”

“Doubt it. You’re not a Shelby, and we’re the ones who killed his father. Well, someone did, to be precise.” She shoots a bitter look at Tommy, who doesn’t even have the decency to look ashamed.

Despite Ada’s matter-of-fact tone, the words cut to your heart. Not a Shelby.

It’s not her fault. No one knows you’ve been sleeping with Tommy, not even your dearest friend. It’s a lonely secret to keep, but at least you can look at the family square in the eye and not have to worry about the things they say behind your back. Or worse, pity you.

You can handle the violence and moral ambiguity of Tommy’s business. But to lose the love and respect of the Shelbys would break your heart.

“What was the mafia man like, Izzy?” Finn asks eagerly. It’s obvious the boy is thinking of the dashing, gun-wielding gangsters he’s seen in the pictures.

“He was a wrinkly old brute. Kind of like your arsehole brother Tommy.” A smile to take the edge off the insult. But Tommy only looks off into space. As if he hasn't paid attention to this entire conversation.

Arthur clears his throat. “Now, let’s get one thing straight. It was me who pulled the trigger on his dad, so the blame falls on me.” He pats Linda’s hand even as his voice is heavy with guilt.

“No one’s blaming you Arthur, you weren’t the brains behind the operation, no offense.” Ada says. He is about to say something when Polly cuts in.

“Stop squabbling like children. We’ve all voted for truce, despite everything Tommy’s done to us—” The words nearly having us hanged hover pointedly in the air. “—So let’s focus on the matter at hand." She fixes Tommy with a sharp look.

“What’s the news from Camden Town? Will Solomons help us?”

“No.” He says tiredly. And all of a sudden you feel sorry for teasing him. He look gaunt. There are shadows under his eyes, even more so than usual. Without you to remind him to eat, you can imagine his diet for the past few days consisted more of alcohol and cigarettes than anything substantial.

“Spent three hours on a fucking tour of his bakery and another pretending to drink his piss-poor rum. I think he was trying to get me sloshed so I’d forget what I came for.” Tommy rubs his head.

“He’s refusing to send his men to help. Said he’s not going to go after another oppressed people.”

“Did you tell him the Italians are rounding up Jews in their country as we speak?” Polly asks incredulously.

“Wouldn’t make a difference to Alfie. Besides, that’s just an excuse. He’s really just a fucking coward.”

Polly looks troubled at this, as does the rest of the family. Everyone had been counting on Alfie’s friendship with Tommy, however peculiar, to help them with the vendetta. What they hadn’t expected was his extreme sense of self-perseverance. How are they going to protect themselves now?

“Before everyone panics, I’d like to say something.” Tommy clears his throat, setting down the whisky.

“As you may all know, two nights ago our Izzy encountered Mr. Changretta in the Garrison. He bought her a drink and asked her to deliver an official beginning of the vendetta.” He chooses this time to finally look at you. You hold his gaze until he looks shiftily away.

“We can also assume that he has been scoping out Small Heath, looking for any weaknesses on our turf. Now, Izzy has something to share with you all.”

You stand up uncertainly. The last time a woman other than Polly tried to speak her mind at the table it had been Esme, who still refuses to come to the betting shop unless Tommy is not here.

“While Mr. Changretta was, er, indisposed at the Garrison, I found some items in his coat that I think could be useful.” You fish out a passport and a stack of papers from your skirt pockets.

“Good job, Izzy! Oh, I knew we could count on you more than my idiot brother.” Ada beams.

“Becoming a right little spy, eh?” John ruffles your hair good-naturedly. As everyone gathers around, Polly gives a low whistle.

“Goodness, if this is your definition of an ugly brute, I wonder who’ll really catch your fancy, darling.”

You flush. The documents were obtained shortly after Luca had fallen asleep. It was an exercise in agility, trying to extricate yourself from his tangle of limbs, especially when you wanted nothing more than to stay in bed, encased in his warmth.

To your own credit, the papers were highly useful indeed. Some were maps of Birmingham, circles drawn in places where the Shelbys are known to frequent. The Garrison. Charlie’s Yard. The Arrow House. There was also stationary from The Stanton, a hotel just outside of the city.

There had been another piece of paper in the stack, a letter. But you kept that for yourself.

“We all have Izzy to thank for bringing us this valuable information.” Tommy’s voice rises above the chatter. “I will be personally examining all the documents and think of a plan. In the meantime, everyone stay alert, stay armed, and stay together.”

“Now if no one has any further questions, I need to have a private word with her. Alone.”

*****

You twirl the onyx ring around your finger as everyone filters out. It’s much too big but you still wear it anyways. The thick band of gold is comforting in its own way. And despite what you told Ada earlier, you don’t want to give it to anyone else.

Tommy’s curt voice snaps you from your reverie.

“Was it good, then?”

A small muscle tics on the underside of his jaw. His previously blank expression is now cold. The coward in you compels you to feign ignorance.

“What do you mean, Tommy?” You ask lightly.

“Did it feel good to have that fucking wop inside you?”

You burst out laughing. “Christ, Tommy. Did you pick up that word from Alfie? You sound bloody ridiculous when you’re trying to be crass, you know.”

“Don’t fucking change the subject, Isabel.” Tommy snaps.

“Oh, so I’m Isabel, now? You only call me that when you’re trying to get me in bed. Is that what you want? A bit early in the evening if you ask me.”

“What I want for you is to tell me how it felt having that man inside you, inside---”

You blaze with anger. “My sex life is none of your business, even if you are an occasional participant. I did what you would have wanted, and now I’ve got intel on the Changrettas that could save your arse!”

“Do you know how dangerous it could have been? Fraternizing with the enemy is exactly what got us into trouble with the Changrettas!”

“And fraternizing with them again has given us an advantage. We know how many associates he’s brought with him, and where they are staying. Good God,” Your eyes widen as you see the mutinous look on Tommy’s face. “Are you jealous?”

The silence of the room presses in until it's almost palpable. Finally he rubs a hand over his eyes, looking utterly defeated.

“I have no right to.” He says, pained. “But I am, just the same.”

The admission of his feelings would have made your heart soar a few days ago, before you met a man who enchanted you in the Garrison. You only laugh bitterly.

“What makes this different from all those other times you made me seduce the men you wanted to spy on?”

He says nothing. But what else is there to say? The past is in the past, and so many hurts have been caused by the both of you, it would be impossible to untangle it all.

You soften your voice, laying a hand on Tommy's arm.

“Let me continue seeing him. He wants me, and we can use that. You know it will be help, you know it might save us all.”

A breath flutters in your chest as you wait for his decision. If Tommy allows it, you’ll do it in a heartbeat. The Shelbys are your family, whether you're one in name or not.

But if he refuses, then perhaps… Perhaps he might actually care for you, deeper than jealousy, deeper than he admits.

“Very well.” Tommy says finally, and something in your heart shatters. The corners of your mouth curve up in a wobbly smile.

“Thank you for trusting me, Tommy. I won’t let you down.”

“You would never let me down, no matter what you do. Just…Be careful, Izzy.”

He closes the distance between you and enfolds you in a hug. You enjoy this quiet warmth, as fragile as spider's silk. With a small laugh, you pull away, patting his arm before turning to the door.

You don't look back to see if he follows.

[toiletwipes]

and i'd give up forever to touch you

chapter seven. opening up, inside and out.

Summary: Wilbur joins you on a late drive and knows you better, finding out just how fast he is becoming attached to you.

ao3 link. ~2.1k words. masterlist.

---

he’s sitting outside, on the curb when you pull up in a compact car, music pulsing through the speakers and when you roll down the window, the volume too, and smile at him with half-awake eyes, he’s up in an instant, heart racing when he thinks back to just moments before.

to the moments when he doubted the continuity of your friendship, where he was so resolute that you would abandon him once he would become comfortable, once he showed himself to you completely.

you don’t give him a chance to think that again as you leaned over and gestured for him to get in, “it’s cold wilbur, get in,” you chortled as he scrambled to his feet, as if he forgot to move for a second. giving the door a solid shut, he rolled the window up and moved the seat back a little, feeling more awkward than the cold you had warned him about outside.

“thanks for coming with me, will, i was going nuts with how quiet it is.” you offered little more than turning up the music as you pulled into the street.

“is there something... troubling you?” he asks, keeping on the dim light on the road, the sparse cars that pass them by.

you exhale deeply, eyes trained on staying in the painted lines on the road. “doing this cover and its responsibilities have dawned on me, and trying to figure out if this will be worth it- worth scheduling weeks, maybe months of time to even reach maybe the first two minutes, with our own two parts. maybe we should think about making it simpler, narrow it down to a piano and vocal duet, or a single guitar and-” you cut yourself off, pulling into the lot of a closed-down store, one of the few in this college-centric town.

“is that what you want to do?” you turn to him, your face sullen and eyes wandering over his figure, like he didn’t need to show himself at all, and that you saw him as he is already. and you had no qualms about what you saw.

“no, i don’t want just a simple cover, done in three sessions and- and have not a single drop of substance behind it. i want to feel the love sewn into frequencies every time i listen to it, i want to feel-”

you cut yourself off before smiling at him, “i want to feel alive when i hear it, because i know that’s how good it could be.” you trail off, looking out towards the windshield. “and i’ve only felt truly alive when making music, alive in a way that is beyond the pulse of my beating heart, you understand that, don’t you?” he stares into your face and finds it.

he sees you, bearing your true intentions behind this project. he wonders if you’re trying to share this intimate experience you feel with music with him.

he wonders how special you find him to want to share such a thing with him only.

“i don’t think i’ve ever felt it.” he admits.

“not even when you wrote your songs?” you question, head tilting to lie against the headrest.

he shakes his head, “i wrote those songs to help me cope with my life, something i didn’t understand at the time.” he wonders if you’re trying to do the same.

“i could show you, if you want, but fair warning, you’ll get addicted to the feeling.” you joke, and he smiles, but he knows you’re serious in the offer. with this cover, you’ll probably show him something he won’t forget for as long as he lives. it’s curious to see if he’ll survive it. “well- now that’s off my chest, how about some early morning mcdonald’s?” you say, as if trying to cut the thick layer of intimate honesty about oneself into diced cubes.

he blinks but you’re already driving to the closest mcdonald’s before he has a chance to respond. and you’re reaching into the cup holders, holding out your phone to him and telling him a pass-code. “play some music, it’s connected to the bluetooth already. or a podcast, though you don’t seem like the guy to listen to podcasts to me,” you speak and you’re giving him a quick grin before turning back to the road.

his heartbeat quickens when holding your phone, knowing your pass-code and knowing you have this solid trust in him to have given both to him. even if you didn’t know he has had thoughts that are dark in nature, it was.. exciting to say the least, he would almost say heartwarming.

but he does what you’ve asked of him, opening up the green music app and typing in the name of a song he thinks you might like.

though, when it plays out in the speakers, you spare him a glance. “you like sleeping at last?” speaking as though you were leaning towards dislike.

“is it- is it bad?”

you clicked your tongue, “not bad, just-” you hum, giving a soft laugh, “-just curious, didn’t think you’d like them, is all. we’re still new to each other, and yet, it feels like we’re old friends reconnecting.”

“you’re a big part of that, to be fair.” he folds his arms and tucked his back adjacent to the window and seat, turning to look at you fully.

you shrug, pulling into the parking lot and into the drive-thru. turning the music down as you rolled the window down, you give him a short look and he is turning his eyes on the painstakingly bright menu.

telling you what he wanted, you nod, and talk to the exhausted employee over the speaker about y’all’s order, pulling up into the second window.

reaching towards the back you are surprised to see will holding out a card towards you, you meant to deny it but he nudges it in your hands, and you just hand it towards the employee. the next few minutes are quiet, waiting for the food and handling both it and the drinks towards the passenger, passing the receipt and card back to the owner, and you drive off.

finding another empty lot, with a little less buildings in the area, you two begin to eat in the quiet of the night, sleeping at last smoothing out the edges.

when you crumple the wrapper in a ball, and toss it in the bag, you turn to face will yourself.

he faces you too when he’s done, trying not to show how the intensity of your stare is affecting him. “can i help you?” he asks, turning his gaze to the time. 2:47.

“this is the longest time we’ve spent talking to each other, and i realize you have a nice voice speaking as well as singing.” his mouth opens a little bit and his skin heats up more than any properly working heater.

“thank you- i guess?” he’s confused, he knows that, it’s on what he’s flustered about is the confusing part. is it the fact no one told him he has a nice voice, generally? is it the fact that it’s late and you must be focusing hard on his voice to stay awake? or is it the fact that you’re looking past his defenses once more and seeing him as he is? your honor, he’ll say it’s probably all three.

“you’re welcome.” and that’s when he focuses on you. you’re wearing his beanie, his jacket, and some shorts that ride up your thighs. and as you turn your gaze to your phone, turning it on to change the song probably, he glances at your collarbone. bare, save for his jacket. were you only wearing his jacket on your torso?

picturing you without it was already a bad idea, but imagining what he’d do to you like that- he moves his head forcibly, staring out into the darkness.

“do you want to go home or do you want to come over? rosie won’t mind you being there as long as we’re quiet because i don’t know what it is about you but-” you yawn, covering your face, “-i’m getting too tired to drive but you’ve only just gotten here, so, whatever you decide is pretty good with me.”

he thinks about going home alone, and slipping under the cold and unkind covers, shivering till the blankets warmed. and then he thinks about going home with you, and possibly sleeping on the too small of a couch for him and you there with your comfortable, soft ambiance. thinks about rosie waking the two of you up in the morning in her pajamas, making or picking breakfast up.

and he offers to drive for you, leaving you to doze off in the passenger side with piano notes trailing off in your ear.

~~~

parking in front of the dorm building, he leans over to shake your shoulder only to falter in his movements, your hunched over figure leaning against the window and your breath fogs the glass.

then you’re stirring awake, and you’re blinking the sleep away from your eyes and you’re looking right at him, for the third time, and he doesn’t know if he should be endeared by it or frustrated on how you can see him so easily.

but he’s turning the car off and walking around your car to open the door, helping you out and letting you lean on him for a second, never mind his skin itching to burn. you two walk to your dorm, unlocking it in the silent hallway.

the door creaks slightly as you push it open and aside, “you can have the couch or the bed, i’m too tired to care,” you walk to the kitchen and you open the doors to find something to drink, will recognizes it as an apple juice container. “though, you should try my bed, it’s too good to be true,” seeing will’s face you wave at him to follow you, though your movements sluggish, you prove you’re still conscious.

pushing your bedroom door open, he finds the papers from earlier stacked and he finds you hopping up onto your bed, with the apple juice between your legs and you patting the space next to you. he doesn’t make nearly the amount of effort you put in to sit beside you, and he begins to regulate his breathing to calm down, being near anybody really would put someone like him in a tizzy, he rationalizes.

“after i finish this, i’m going to pass out, you can do the same wherever.” and in a much more alarming speed, you chug the half-full container and cover your mouth when you’re done, giving a slight burp. “and i won’t say i told you so,” your lips lift up as if you meant to smile briefly but you were too tired to commit to the action.

leaning over to put the jug on the desk, you are left with shuffling in your spot until you’re covered by your blanket with your feet underneath will’s legs.

“night, wilbur, see ya in the morning,” you mumble to yourself mostly, but he hears you and he mumbles something similar, leaning his head against your wall and arguing with himself internally.

he has a chance, now.

when he looks straight at the dresser, he can see the camera, almost tauntingly.

though what sends chills down his spine isn’t your cold, uncovered feet touching him, no it’s the fact that the things he moved to cover the device, they’re gone and it’s almost noticeable.

it wouldn’t be hard to miss and it’s the fact that if he does take his chance and move it, you’ll know it was him. know that he was the one to put it there and take it away.

and then you’ll hate him, cut him off, take him away from the project, keep rosie away from him, and so much more. and nights like these won’t happen ever again. he won’t get these quiet moments with you, won’t get to appreciate a person like you.

so as he leaves to grab a blanket from the linen closet, and pads his way to your room, he decides that he’ll leave the cameras there, and he’ll take his chances.

maybe in a few months he can take it and put this whole thing behind you two, maybe you never even noticed it.

whatever happens later, he thinks, at least he had this night with you, tucking himself under the blanket and curling just nearly against you, and he feels at home next to you.

is that what you are, though? home? he wonders as he listens to your breathing for a few minutes, thinking that’s what you’d had to be. so open, so warm, and so comfortable to be around.

even if you hadn’t meant for it to happen, wilbur was swiftly becoming dependent, some would say addicted, to you and everything you’ve offered him.

but that would be a problem for a future will.

for now, he would sleep. and he would do it next to you. his worries can set themselves aside for a few hours.

...

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[savethelastdan]

First time and unexpected virgin for sesshomaru x kagura please!

CW: brief mentions of sexual violence/rape culture

Virginity, as a concept, is both more and less complicated for Kagura than it may be for other women.

Naraku bore her to serve him; thus there is no expectation that she should love and marry. As a weapon of violence, she has no inherent virtue to protect; so she has no chaperones. (Not that she’d need one, what with her heart’s imprisonment.) As long as his thirst for the jewel remains first priority, Naraku should care less what she would do or who she’d do it with.

However.

Kagura knows Naraku’s heart almost as well as her own. It’s a fact that the roots of his evil spring from a being who violated others’ freedom in all ways. She’s watched from dark corners, nauseated, as he barters with greedy, powerful creatures. Witnessed him stare into Kanna’s mirror and draw fantasies of ruining Kikyo, solely because she is pure. In shards of broken glass, she has stared at her own face and noted the similarities between his obsession’s visage and her own - as well as how she differs, from all the other incarnations he’s created.

So the idea - that she must not lose a single opportunity to make a choice of her own, before he can steal it from her - takes seed early on.

-

“Yo,” She says to Sesshomaru, shivering from the chilly night air and the wet grass underfoot. “Do me a favor.”

He glances towards the thicket of bushes where she knows his companions have collapsed to rest, then back to the fan pointed at his chest. “Rely on yourself, if you want something.”

“Ah, but this is something I can’t do by myself.” She lowers the weapon and waves her other hand, fingers splayed, to show she has no shards for him to reject this time. “Come on, you can’t help me out one time before I die?”

That gets his attention; his nostrils flare, as though searching for the scent of her blood. The thought that he might know the scent beneath that of her master’s sends the wind witch’s stomach into knots.

“I know you have no intentions to help me escape Naraku,” she says, trying and failing to keep the words free of bitterness. “But you can help me gain a small piece of freedom in the meantime.”

He swallows and says nothing. Which, in her eyes, isn’t a rejection yet. Hopeful, Kagura continues, “He has my heart, not my entire body. I want to see what I can experience with it. What I’d be able to feel, with somebody else.”

His eyes narrow as her meaning becomes clear. Kagura braces herself to be brushed off, perhaps even hit with a whip of poison, for her boldness.

“Why me,” he says instead.

Once she is over her surprise that he is actually considering it, Kagura realizes she doesn’t know how to answer that question. Is it because he allows weaker creatures to wander along after him, which could be considered honorable as it is useless? Because she envies his pride and self-sufficiency, despite how annoying it is to be on the receiving end of it?

Or is it simply that, because he cares so little for her circumstances, that there is no chance he would take advantage of them?

“You’re handsome enough,” is what finally makes it out.

Clouds in the sky shift, sending shadows crossing his face like scars. Sesshomaru sighs, so deep it seems to come from the mud beneath his boots.

“I do not think you will find what you are looking for in me.”

It’s such a normal, almost gentle response that she forgets to be wary of arguing with him. “Why’s that?”

“I have no experience with such things.” His jaw tenses, perhaps thinking he has revealed too much to someone he must not remotely consider an ally. The tip of Kagura’s fan hits her bottom lip, as she processes that.

While it wasn’t what she expected him to say, it’s also not entirely shocking. Despite the inherent beauty of his face (and probably everything south of it), his poor attitude certainly would chase any potential suitors away. Due to the circumstances of her own existence, she cannot fathom what expectations have been placed on him, and whether this is a failure or simply a fact in his eyes.

“It’s not like I have any either,” she says finally. “Who else could I ask, anyway?”

Which is how, despite all common sense, Kagura finds herself with a plan to meet him in two days time. Weird as it is, she hasn’t been this excited since liberating the shards from that wolf prince’s legs.

-

Of course, once the situation is at hand she realizes that she’s made a mistake.

It’s awkward, almost unbearably awkward, precisely because Sesshomaru himself is so fucking awkward.

For one thing, it doesn’t occur to him that she might not want to have her first (and presumably only) time outside in the damn dirt; luckily, the humans of a nearby castle are properly frightened when she blows in through their ceiling and demands they vacate the premises for the night. Even then, she has to wait until he stops moping around and comes indoors.

It takes so much more time than she thought it would to take off three layers of her outfit. By the time she’s found a place to put everything he hasn’t even started to undress for some fucking reason. And of course, there’s the fact that he will barely look at her (even though it’s hardly anything he hasn’t seen before when he yanked her out of that river).

“You know,” she snaps, as he paces circles around the room, “I didn’t think you were going to be quite this useless.”

“Don’t act as though you were not warned.” He studies the triptych mounted to the wall with a distasteful expression. Grumbling, Kagura falls back on a futon so thin, she can practically feel the wooden floor beneath it. What does she have to do, snap her fingers and whistle?!

Somewhere far away, Kagura’s stolen heart thuds. A faint, painful echo rumbles through her chest. When she winces sharply, Sesshomaru finally deigns to glance in her direction, and that only pisses her off more.

“What a waste of time. If you can’t bear the sight of me for more than a few seconds at a time, then what was the point of agreeing, you son of a -”

Clawed hands land on either side of her head; the weight of one knee settles between her thighs. The rest of her complaint falls away into nothing. She blinks up at him, stunned.

“You are annoyed,” he says quietly, “because you are nervous.”

“What the - I am not.”

“You are.”

“I am not.” Gripping his face with both hands, she digs her thumbnails into the demon marks. Gold eyes narrow, but he doesn’t wrench his head away. “I’m annoyed because you keep annoying me.”

“Then tell me how not to do so.”

“How not to - what?” Her thoughts dissipate like a body in miasma for a second time, as his head dips slightly closer. She wants to say something along the lines of it’s not my job to teach you how to be normal but also maybe is this your way of flirting because it’s dumb and somehow even kiss me already you bastard, this won’t last forever.

“It is clear now that I can bear the sight of you.” He keeps their gaze locked, as if to prove his point. “You will have to decide what is next.”

Kagura swallows. If this is to go forward, then she will have to take the lead. It all rests on her choices - hers, which have hardly mattered up until now.

Perhaps he’s not as useless as she thought.