#and can sense if someone takes revenge in their name too

[satancopilotsmytardis]

Shape of You

Pairing: Shigadabi

Rating: Explicit, 18+ only

Summary: Commissioned by @zehei. Dabi is a shapeshifter who has spent nearly a decade on the run. Each time he moves it’s to try to find a place for himself and gather the resources he needs to survive and eventually get his revenge on his father. He wears a lot of different faces so he never has to suffer looking at the one he was born with and he certainly wasn’t expecting to be seen as an illusionist by the owner of the Shattered Hand tavern. He thought being clocked as an illusionist wouldn’t be too much of a problem, but unfortunately for him, it turns out that Tomura Shigaraki’s eyes are sharper than he’d thought. 

Contents: Fantasy AU, Changeling!Dabi, magic, size kink, edging, anal sex, oral sex, (brief) spanking, rough sex, tender sex, praise kink, non-human anatomy, multiple orgasms, prostate milking, piercings, vomiting/chronic illness. 

Word Count: 22,785

Music is interspersed with the sounds of conversation at this point in the night. The raucous banter of travelers and the celebration of the work week ending for most has come and gone. Now all that's left are people like him who are looking for work of their own. Dabi is wearing the face of an elf today. His hair is black and drooping down instead of spiked in the style he usually prefers. This body is one of his more regular ones, an elf, the long ears leaving him more room to decorate himself with piercings and an additional two going up either side of his cheeks. His skin is pale but not pasty and he has opted for clothing that will make him look more buttoned-up and polished than he would have picked for himself. The Shattered Hand, so named because the owner's magic is apparently quite destructive if he manages to hold onto something for long enough, takes clientele of all kinds, but Dabi needs a bigger job to make it through the month, and that means that he wants to attract the types who want their business dealt with by a professional. Elves, because of their longevity and ability to shape public perspective around those long lives, are often immediately misconstrued as being wiser than others. He wants someone who will buy into that stereotype and book him for a job because they will believe him when he says he has seventy years of experience in this field even if he only looks to be in his mid-twenties. 

It takes the better part of three hours for him to find the appropriate work that he wanted, but the assassination he's been paid to carry out will be exceedingly simple for someone with his skillset, even if he keeps that tight to his chest. 

When he has his advance and is ready to go back to his current abode for the night, he moves up to the bar to settle his tab. The bartender, he believes, is also the owner of the establishment based on the fact he is wearing black gloves that only cover three of his fingers on each hand. His long white hair is half tied up in a bun, handsome features framed by the fringe that is still falling free, his magic seeming to leave cracks over his eyes and lips where scars mingle with them and dip down his neck to the open collar of his white shirt, a dark leather vest overtop that is secured with thick straps down the front. His build is more than that of someone who might only claim to know arcana, muscle corded along his arms where his sleeves are pushed up. 

"Two gold," The man tells him as he reaches for his coin purse. 

Dabi hesitates, "I only had two drinks." Two cheap pints, he shouldn't be spending more than eight silver. 

"You booked a job in my establishment." The man tells him. "House takes a fee to help keep the guards out of this place so people like you can do your business." He doesn't have eyebrows, the cracks around his eyes seem to have chased away the hair, but Dabi gets the sense that both of them would be up expectantly. 

This is apparently the best place to book his kind of work in the city and Dabi isn't in the position to leave town so soon after arriving, so he huffs softly and hands over the gold. It is barely two percent of the advance that he was given for this job anyway. If that helps to make sure he doesn't get caught and his target doesn't catch wind of his impending end, then that is a fair fee. 

"Thank you." He slides the coins into his pouch, "Tomura Shigaraki. You're new." 

Definitely the owner, "I travel a lot." Dabi says without blinking. "Any other rules I should know about before I keep conducting my business?" 

"Don't bring trouble here and trouble won't find you." Is all the man says, looking him up and down. Dabi doesn't bristle. He's spent all of his adult life being sized up by different criminals. He knows that posturing is simply something that he has to put up with to ensure that he's making the impression that he wants. "Welcome to Zogas, mister..?" 

"Just 'Dabi'." 

"Dabi. Will you be looking for work often?" 

"Will that be a problem?" 

"No, but if you'd like to make a charitable donation to the tavern, I might be inclined to keep my ear to the ground for you." 

"How charitable?" Normally he wouldn't bother. He can make his own connections and find work, but establishing himself in the city as a new person will take time and energy that he just doesn't feel ready to give right now. He hasn't been able to scrape together enough to survive comfortably in months now, and he just wants to be able to get an apartment of his own for a little while instead of camping or living out of hostels the way he has been since he had to leave Threlkell. 

"Ten percent finder's fee on any jobs you book with my referral." 

It's more that Dabi is happy about giving, but if it means that he has more work then it may be worth it. If Shigaraki can't deliver, he can always go elsewhere. "Fine." 

The bartender pours him a fresh pint, "Sit down. I need to know what skills you can offer if I'm going to find jobs that suit your abilities." 

Dabi drops into the seat and asks, "How old are you?" Because he looks young. He can't see the tips of his ears behind his hair, but they're not poking out so that means he definitely isn't a full-blooded elf, though he could be a half-elf he supposes. 

"Twenty. And you?" 

"Two-hundred and twenty-four." 

"No you're not. It's a very good illusion, but elves who are actually that old tend to have vocal tics from their centuries of living." Shigaraki tells him. "Are illusions something that I can rely on you being able to provide your clients?" 

"...Only pertaining to my appearance." He doesn't tell people the type of magic he uses for that. "I'm good with a blade and skilled with pyromancy." 

He sees that spark interest in the other's eyes. "How good?" 

"I could burn every inch of this bar and still have a cold pint sitting right here." He taps the edge of his stein. 

"Well, I think I can work with that. Is this the face that you'll be wearing to do your business with clients?" 

"I'll change it to suit my needs." He says flatly. 

"Then I won't tell them to expect an elf when I have someone to send your way. Will you have any identifying features that I will be able to tell them to look out for?" 

Dabi didn't expect to get clocked as an illusionist so quickly, nor did he expect the other man to be so nonchalant about it. Normally he hides his abilities well, trying to ensure that no one knows what he is lest he get run out of another town. Even though it's a useful skill and criminals tend to give more leniency for it because of its usefulness, they also grow wary of it after a bit of time. People don't like to think that he could be anyone around them, paranoia spiking higher and higher until they believe they have to get rid of him to protect themselves. Hopefully he can make enough money while Shigaraki is brokering him some work before that paranoia sets in again. "Tell them I have a lot of facial piercings." He usually doesn't feel quite like himself unless he has some kind of them on his person, so he supposes that will be as good a marker as any. 

"Alright. And how long do you think you'll be in town for?" 

"As long as I can find work." 

"Well then, I better find you plenty." 

"Why? That desperate for your finder's fee? Seems like this place is already doing well enough." 

"No, I just want to see more of you. Maybe if you hang around here long enough," the other man gives him a slow, easy smile, "I'll get to see what you really look like." 

Dabi snorts. He hasn't shown anyone that in eight years. "Don't count on that." He tells the other, finishing the drink. 

"A man can hope. How old are you actually?"  

He pushes up from the bar and turns to leave, "Twenty-four." 

"Human then?" 

Dabi doesn't deign to answer. Curious is better than paranoid. Maybe he can keep Shigaraki on the hook long enough to actually save up his money for a while. Maybe he can get enough to move elsewhere and live comfortably for a little while. It would be a nice change of pace. Maybe this could be a place he comes back for work when he needs it instead of one of nearly two dozen cities he knows he can never walk again without fearing someone will step behind him and slip a knife between his ribs. 

///

Dabi has a variety of faces he keeps to during his daily life. His white-haired elf, a black haired Sanguine-born with blue horns, a cat-kin with big blue eyes and sooty salt and pepper fur, a rabbit-kin with dense white fur that makes him look soft and small, a blue-scaled dragon-kin with jewelry hanging off of the holes he's had carved into his horns-- but the one that he only wears while he's working is that of an elemental-born. His skin is black cracked lava rock, those portions of his body always shifting as the blue fire flows beneath the surface and erupts like a candle flame from the top of his head. He doesn't want anyone who might see him to actually place him as a person, and this more extreme elemental-born appearance makes him look like a will-o'-wisp or a summoned fire elemental from a distance. He would rather people think he's conjuring spirits or elementals for his jobs, that means they will be looking for signatures of conjuration instead of evocation magic. 

He takes care of the first job that he booked at the Shattered Hand, making sure to execute it perfectly. He receives the rest of his pay for the work, and it's a relief that within the next few days, other people start looking to book him as well. Zogas is a major city with a population in the hundreds of thousands-- but it is a waypoint. The coast is another half a day's travel and the next major port city three. This is the only city on the main road between the capital and that port, forcing most people to pass through it as they go on their way to bigger things in this country or as they are trying to flee for the open sea, hoping to send someone to cut off anyone who might be pursuing them. It makes for a lot of people and a lot of changing faces that have nothing to do with his abilities, but that makes it so much easier for him to find work without anyone seeming to notice that he's the same person unless one of his specific personas is asked after 

Tomura Shigaraki asks after him each time he comes into his establishment though. The human isn't always working at the bar. Some nights, when he seems to have enough staff on hand to take care of whatever he needs them to,  he will mingle with the people there. Sometimes Dabi sees him holding court in the back of the bar and he'll leave surreptitiously and return in his rabbit-kin form so he can hear what he's saying from across the room. He seems to be as composed as he is doing business with others as he was speaking to him. There is a strangeness to some of the things he says, things that tell Dabi that he has learned to socialize from holding this post rather than creating this bar because he had the connections and enjoyed the work first. He also must be highly educated, though he can't tell if he's a scholar, healer, or some other combination of mage and warrior. All he knows is that the other can't be a witch like him without the metal sunk into his skin to keep his magic grounded. He's a strange man, but one who is clearly well-loved by the criminals he surrounds himself with. When he isn't working, his table is open for people to come and play games at and the other man doesn't seem to have a gambling problem, never betting anything that he can't do without, but he does love the games. He will play, and he plays such a wide variety of games that it doesn't surprise Dabi that he is often teaching people the rules of games from different prefectures or different countries entirely, able to go behind the bar and bring out game pieces, cards, and boards whenever anyone expresses an interest in learning.

Dabi doesn't think he's done that while he's hanging around the bar not doing much that night. No new contracts came his way and no one seemed to be looking to do business with him. But Shigaraki comes over to the table he's been haunting for an hour or so and sits down. Dabi is wearing his Sanguine-born appearance today, dark hair, bright eyes, blue horns, and a thin blue tail with a spade at the end, but the metal in his skin still a clear indicator to the other man of who he is. 

"Do you know how to play Visitor's Rumors?" The human asks as he approaches the table. His hair is half tied back again today, but he's wearing his long-sleeved white tunic underneath a deep red coat that, from the way the scales seem to shimmer with an internal glow, tell Dabi that it is made of actual red dragon scales. He seems so young, but maybe he was a successful adventurer before he settled down in this life. Or maybe he just has the money to buy expensive things. Must be nice. 

"No, and I'm not looking to give you even more money losing at gambling with you as I learn." 

"Visitor's Rumors isn't played by betting money." Shigaraki slips into the chair across from him. "It's a game of deception and the winner of each round is able to ask the other person a question and, ideally, get an honest answer from the person they're playing with. It's a popular game in Sostra." Dabi snorts and that gets the other man to smile a bit. The collection of islands that make up Sostra are well-known to be pirate and crime infested because the territory has been caught in skirmishes between countries and trade routes dozens of times throughout the past three centuries. Without a stable government able to control what happens there, between those skirmishes, pirates swooped in and carved up territories there for themselves. It's no surprise that Sostra would create a game like this, not when it's a common refrain that only honest men hang on those islands. "I would love to get to know you a little more." 

Dabi doesn't usually let people get that close to him, but right now Shigaraki has the power to bring him more work, and that could be worth the minor annoyance of spilling some harmless truths about himself. "If you ask me something I don't want to answer, I'm not going to." 

"That's fair. I hope you'll extend me the same courtesy." Shigaraki says with a smile as he passes Dabi a wooden cup with a collection of dice inside. 

///

The game itself isn't that different from Ship, Captain, Crew with the two of them apparently supposed to be doing all their lying around the dice throws and open themselves for honesty at the end of the rounds, the winner of each asking their question and their bets being for topics rather than coin. Shigaraki lets him start first with that, and Dabi would like to avoid the other man going for his throat so he starts with innocuous things. When was the Shattered Hand founded? Does Shigaraki have a favorite drink served at the bar? If he had to be trapped in a caravan with one of his employees which one would he rather it be? Simple things that the other answers very straight-forwardly. The tavern has existed for twenty years, but he only bought it and renamed it about three years ago after his father passed away and he wanted a fresh start with his inheritance. He prefers a mid-tier scotch but he usually says something a little more expensive because if he vouches for it, it sells better. His best friend, a green dragon-kin man, works in the kitchen and he has happily taken trips with him out of town when they have to go talk to the tavern's suppliers in person. He is also a big fan of collecting different games from anywhere he travels and the two of them are quite close. Shigaraki tells him these things with that easy smile as they play a few rounds and Dabi gets the hang of it. 

He was expecting the hustle when all of the sudden he finds himself losing, and losing badly as their play continues. Shigaraki starts off with easy questions too; how long is he planning on staying in town? How did he get into this line of work? Is he a witch and, if so, what kind of magic is he a practitioner of. He answers those vaguely, but honestly. He is here for as long as the work is good. He didn't have any other pursuits when he reached adulthood and fell into this to make ends meet like so many others. He is a witch and he practices all kinds of magic. And then Shigaraki starts asking harder questions. "Where are you from?" 

"No." 

"Alright. Are you actually human?" 

"I'm not answering questions about my race." 

"Why not?" 

"Why does it matter?" 

"I would like to get to know you. Faux pas between races can vary wildly. I'd prefer not to offend." 

Dabi snorts slightly. He has no idea how in-depth those can be for his kin. "Treat me like you would any other stranger. I don't care. As long as you're bringing me drinks or finding me work, it doesn't matter." 

"Do any of the forms you take look anything like your real body?"

Dabi considers that question for a long moment, but he has already admitted to being a witch, it tells him nothing to acknowledge, "I always have iron in my skin." Shigaraki doesn't look impressed by that, knowing it gives him nothing he couldn't have extrapolated for himself. Dabi balances a die on top of another. "...I usually maintain my height. It makes fighting easier." 

Satisfied he's finally gotten a real answer for this round, Shigaraki picks up his cup and puts his dice back into it and they both shake and roll their dice. They play another four rounds, Dabi just barely letting the other man have any knowledge about who he is before he clams up. He doesn't think that anyone he used to know will find him here, but he doesn't want to tempt fate either. He wants to stay here long enough to earn the money he needs to disappear again. Maybe go to port and cross the sea to a new land to make certain that his father won't ever see him coming before he returns to kill him. 

He thinks, maybe, it's how completely he's been dodging the other man's questions that makes it such a sharp surprise when Shigaraki decides to stop trying to ask him things that one might to get to know someone new, to asking if, "Are you interested in men?" 

Dabi fumbles his dice, his tail flicking, and his face going hot. "Wh-- What?" There aren't that many people left in the bar anymore. Just the bartender, a few stragglers being shooed outside, and one of the servers who is wiping down tables, so it's not like he could have misheard him. But Dabi thinks he must have. 

Shigaraki's eyes are crinkled with mirth as he asks again, "Are you interested in men? Ideally sexually, but romantically as well would be a bonus." When Dabi can't get his brain rebooted enough to actually find his words after a minute, Shigaraki rests his elbow against the table and his cheek against his knuckles, still smiling at him. "See? If I had known your race, I would have known how direct I could be with that question without offending." 

Dabi wants to protest that, but unfortunately he's right. Even though so many of the races intermingle here, each one has their own culture around courtships of any kind. If he were really an elf, he would likely have been highly offended to be propositioned if it wasn't a celestial event like a full or new moon, equinox, solstice, or eclipse. If he were a dragon-kin then he probably would have thrown his drink in his face if he had tried without offering him a piece of jewelry or other form of tribute. Being propositioned like this is still an insult to his race, but Dabi has spent a very, very long time fighting every part of what he is, so he avoids giving him that kind of reaction. 

"You're the one who controls how much work gets sent my way, there isn't a direct or indirect manner in which you could ask this and not make it slightly offensive." Dabi tells the other man as dryly as he can. 

Shigaraki's smile finally falls and it leaves him looking as serious as he had when he overheard him discussing a potential reform of the guard that would have put his interests at risk. "I was hoping that what you've observed of my character when you've been eavesdropping on me would have assuaged some of those concerns. You're welcome to tell me 'no', for this, for any job that I offer you that you don't want, without fear of retaliation. The only thing that could cause me to hurt you is if you ask for it very sweetly and we discuss your limits first, or if you do something to put my business here at risk." 

Dabi eyes him. He doesn't really know Shigaraki that well and isn't entirely sure how much he can trust the other man's words. But it has been a while, he is attractive, and Dabi thinks that the reputation he's started to make for his various forms will be enough for him to try and get work in other venues around the city if this one becomes a problem. "I can be whatever you want-- as long as you don't want a woman." He can be if he needs to, plenty of his race switch their genders and sex as fluidly as they do their forms, but that doesn't feel right for him when he tries it. He thinks that if he were forced to try to maintain that while trying to have sex, he would probably not be able to enjoy a single second of it. 

"I just want you." 

"Boring." Dabi tells him dryly. "Don't tell me a guy who starts with asking about safe words is going to be so bland in bed." 

Shigaraki's eyes are bright again, amused, full of challenge, as he stands up from the table, letting Dabi follow his lead. "I'll need to know those safe words before we get adventurous." 

"'Stop' means 'stop', 'slow down' means 'slow down', 'harder'," Dabi intones dryly, "means 'fuck me better or I'm gonna tell the whole world your dick is awful'." 

"You won't have to ask for it harder, pretty boy." He offers a hand to help Dabi up from the booth, and instead Dabi makes sure that he's finished his drink before pushing up from the table himself. Shigaraki is pretty and he is interested enough to actually go through with this. But he's not the one who went asking for it. He's sure that the other man has had people kissing his ass for years now, he isn't going to simper for him in bed just because he's the one sending work his way. 

The bartender doesn't seem to mind the attitude at all, and brings him up the side staircase. Dabi knows that the other side of the building has the small inn that's attached to it, but to his understanding, all of the rooms for public rent are over there. Which must make this the other man's apartment that is housed over the bar. Shigaraki doesn't even have to unlock the door when he goes into the room, clearly feeling secure enough, even running a bar full of criminals, to not feel the need to guard his space. The apartment itself is fairly bare bones. They enter a room with a small table set up to one side where the other man can take his meals, the kitchen off to the other side, and a short hallway opposite the front door that appears to have three doors. Shigaraki lets him inside and shuts the door behind him, opening his mouth like he is going to offer him a drink, say something about the barren emptiness of his space even though he's been here for years, and Dabi doesn't really care about making small talk. If he's going to get fucked, he would rather get started now and figure out if this is worth his time or if he's going to be getting out of here before his skin is sticky with cum. 

So he curls his tail around Shigaraki's ankle and starts to move it up higher as he moves in closer. "You're sure you don't want something else?" He asks on a purr. Some people don't want to take Sanguine-born people to bed, worried that they'll damn themselves to the lake of blood if they associate with the devil-blooded folk. Some people just worry about getting gored on horns and rended with claws and fangs. But Shigaraki doesn't look cowed at all as Dabi rests his clawed hand over his chest. He definitely feels as muscled as he expected from the cut of his clothes, though his skin has a natural chill to it. Hmm, he does use magic. Maybe elemental like himself? Ice? Or, he supposes as his tail moves up to his thigh, it could be necromantic. He certainly is as pale as a corpse, though the strong heartbeat under his palm at least tells him that he's not a vampire or something. 

Shigaraki curls his hands around Dabi's hips and pulls him closer. "I want whatever makes you the most comfortable, Dabi." He reiterates. "All that matters to me is that you're able to enjoy this as much as I'm going to enjoy having you." 

"How many times has a cheesy fucking line like that actually worked?" 

"As long as I mean it? Every time, though normally I'm not contending with a mysterious shape-shifter who can't answer a direct question to save his life." 

Dabi wants to retort but Shigaraki brushes their noses together, giving him the option of mouthing off or actually getting this started. He wants to get onto the parts about this that he's hoping feel good, so he gives up having the final word at this moment and presses his lips to the other's. Shigaraki doesn't rush the kiss, but he does shift Dabi's body, turning them and backing him up against the door so he knows that the human is in charge right now. He isn't going to complain. He wasn't looking for this when he decided to come out tonight, so if he can just let the other have his way with him while he leans back and enjoys the ride, then that would be a pretty good way to end this encounter. 

Lips moving against each other doesn't immediately tell him that this is going to be completely worth his time, but at least the kiss isn't bad. His mouth has to warm Shigaraki's as it moves against him, his lips chapped and broken with the strange texture that covers them and sits around his eyes. Dabi doesn't know what that is and he doesn't want to ask. If he starts asking questions about things like that, then that could spell the end of whatever this entanglement is as the other man might want him to reciprocate by telling him more about his own body. What matters now, anyway, is that Shigaraki's tongue is slick and cool as it teases along the seam of his lips, and that when he lets him inside, it only takes a few seconds for him to be sighing softly. The tension leaves his body a little more because Shigaraki's mouth tastes like the drinks they've been sharing and his tongue knows how to curl against his own to make the kiss hotter and start to stir pleasure in his veins. He moves his tail up to feel along his crotch, wanting to tell the other that he isn't going to need too much to warm up. He doesn't like to go slowly when he hooks up with people. Normally, he doesn't have any trouble holding any form that he takes, but when he goes slowly and lets himself soak in the pleasure of what's happening to his body, it gets harder. His skin sometimes starts to blotch with white and purple, his eyes flicker, and Shigaraki is already so curious about what exactly he is that Dabi doesn't want to invite more scrutiny by going slowly and giving him more opportunities for the other man to see anything that he's been trying to hide. 

It just so happens that as his tail presses against the front of the human's pants, that Dabi forgets that he has a very good reason for wanting to move quickly that is grounded in logic, because it is all lust that floods it away as he feels the shape of the other man against his tail. He's not hard yet, but he's solid. Thick, long, tucked into his pants comfortably, but now that his tail is pressed against him, he can feel the shape of his cock and he knows, before he's gotten his pants open, that he is big. Dabi presses himself more tightly against his front, his hand going down Shigaraki's chest to try and confirm what he felt with his tail. He loves getting fucked on big cocks. It's not something that he gets as often as he wishes he would, but it is a delight whenever it happens. Nothing feels better than to be so stretched open that he can hardly breathe. It's grounding in the same way the iron pierced through his skin tethers his magic together. 

Shigaraki catches his wrist though and stops him, parting their lips for long enough to chuckle, "Slow down, pretty boy. We have all night." 

"Who said I was staying the night?" Dabi's mouth runs before he can even consider it a bad idea. He might if Shigaraki is as big as he felt and can get it up enough to give him a few rounds of being fucked full. But he can't resist the urge to be contrary. Shigaraki doesn't seem to mind that though, still seeming amused before he's got his mouth back on Dabi's and a hand around his wrists. He holds them both tightly and pins them to the door above Dabi's head and that puts a pulse of heat through him as well. It's been a while since anyone tried to dominate him. He isn't incredibly tall or masculine in any of his forms, just averagely so, but especially in his dragon-kin, sanguine-born, and human forms, people tend to see the metal pierced through nearly every inch of his skin and think that he must be the kind who wants to take them apart. He'll do that, not a problem really, but he never has to worry about his form slipping when he does that because it never feels as good as it does when he lets someone else take him apart instead. He moans softly into the other's mouth as he's caged against the door, his tail moving up to Shigaraki's waist and tightening, doing his best to pull him into his body so he can get more of him. 

"Stay," Shigaraki murmurs as his mouth moves from his so he can nip along his jaw. "So I can make sure that every inch of you is feeling good before you go." 

Hard to argue with that but Dabi probably would have tried to find a way if he weren't biting his lip to keep the immediate sound of his need from slipping out when Shigaraki's teeth are moving along his neck, licking and sucking at his skin with the determination of leaving a mark. Dabi doesn't let him. He makes his skin go from pink to unblemished right before his eyes. He watches the other's eyes light up with challenge, and he's very glad to see that means whatever intentions he had of going so slowly and being so doting seem to be thrown away. Dabi doesn't need slow and doting. If he's going to have a good time tonight, he wants to do it by being absolutely wrecked on the other's cock. 

Shigaraki's teeth bite harder, his other hand moving over Dabi's body, feeling the many bumps of metal through his clothes, and finding the man straps, buckles, and belts that Dabi is wearing today. Long leather coat that he has to let go of his wrists to make him shed to the floor. Dabi uses the opportunity to try and move away from the door, and Shigaraki lets him dance out of his reach once before he catches him by one of the straps of his leather vest and pulls him back in for another searing kiss as he starts to work those open to make him shrug it off. He keeps trying to move away, but Shigaraki seems to be happy to play this game with him. He pulls him back in, pulls at his clothes roughly so that his dagger is falling from his thigh and thudding heavily against the floor. The tie of his shirt is pulled roughly until it's open and falling off of his shoulders, but he can't take it off of him because Dabi moves each time he tries to get his wrists. Shigaraki nearly growls at him over that, settling for shoving a hand underneath the fabric instead and finding the piercing set into his sternum and the ones through his nipples, teasing those roughly as he traps Dabi's hips against his kitchen counter with his own. The rough touches are heating his blood far more quickly than the softer ones were. His tail shoves itself into Shigaraki's belt in turn, pulling the strap loose, but he has to use his hands to fumble to actually get the buckle open.

He can't help moaning loudly when he has Shigaraki's mouth moving down across his collar bone so he can replace the fingers on his nipple with his lips and tongue. He gets the belt open and goes straight for the ties on Shigaraki's pants. He's allowed to, allowed to make himself breathless with his want when he feels that the other is half hard now and that he really is as big as he thought he would be when he first reached for him. 

"Fuck me," he demands immediately as he palms his length through his undergarments. 

"So impatient, baby." Shigaraki's voice is amused and warm as he nips at his skin. "Spend the night." His breath is just barely warm as he runs his nose up the side of his neck so he can nibble along the shell of his ear. 

"Show me you're worth losing sleep over." 

It earns him another laugh and hands moving to the laces of his pants. He pulls them open and Dabi lets the other man lift him onto the counter, sitting on the edge as he kicks his boots off and lets the human pull his pants down his thighs, exposing his half-hard cock to the cool air. Shigaraki sees the line of piercing along the underside of his cock and huffs another laugh. "Even here?" 

"Magic has to be grounded everywhere." For people like him. For people who want it so badly and can't get it through prayer, study, or natural talent. They have to forcibly open their magic channels and then keep them open and grounded with the iron in their bodies. 

Shig hums in the back of his throat and strokes his hand along his cock and Dabi is very glad that he doesn't seem all that interested in making any other small talk about that. Instead he seems to be trying to find out if those piercings make him more or less sensitive and Dabi is showing him the answer as he rapidly hardens the rest of the way in his hand. He hisses out a spell, short and a low-level conjuration, that has oil pooling on the other's palm so that the next touch has his toes curling as it slides smoothly over him. 

"What a good boy," Shigaraki teases him as he keeps moving his hand over him, lips trailing over his skin. "Lean back, baby. Going to give you what you want. Make you crave getting into my bed." 

Dabi opens his mouth to take another shot at his ego, aiming to get those hands on him more roughly again, but when he doesn't comply immediately, Shigaraki is pushing him back with his other hand, his wrist twisting around his head on the upstroke, and taking his breath away as his back hits the counter and his hips are dragged forward so his lower body is hanging off of the surface. Shigaraki shrugs out of his red coat, letting the expensive fabric fall to the floor like it's worthless, and losing his shirt in a similar fashion before he's moving back between Dabi's legs. He wraps them over the other's hips. At this angle, his tail can't press up along his back to make him open for his partner's cock, so instead it flicks out and grabs hold of his thigh, trying to pull him in tighter so he can get him inside as quickly as possible and make sure he stays there until he feels like he's been bred full. 

Shigaraki's hand moves from his cock over his balls, cupping and stroking there too which has him moaning, his cock drooling pre against his stomach and the muscles in his thighs jumping, as his other hand pushes Dabi's shirt up under his arms so he can dip his head to lavish his chest with more attention. But his hand doesn't linger there long either, trailing lower to find his hole and whispering that same spell against his skin to bring more oil to his palm so he can slick his skin as his fingers trail around the tight ring of muscles there. Normally Dabi doesn't take very much prep. He prefers to have his partners fuck into him slowly enough to make him stretch on their cocks alone, but it has been a while and if Shigaraki is as big as he thinks he is, then he probably needs a little prep first this time. He still shows how impatient he is for more, though, as he immediately tries to rub against his fingers, rocking against them and tangling his fingers in Shigaraki's hair as he pulls him up for another kiss. The tie slips free from his hair and curtains them in as the other man pushes his first finger inside as their mouths meet again. 

The probing touches inside of him feel so good, putting more of that sweet, sickening heat in his veins, the piercings on his skin going a little hotter as they try to keep his magic in check as he gets more worked up. The oil wets his walls as Shigaraki strokes inside of him with a practiced ease that tells Dabi that he's definitely had plenty of other people up here and pinned just the same way. Good, maybe that means that he'll actually be worth it when he finally gets inside. But he doesn't want to wait for that, and he has sharp teeth and talons that he uses to prick at Shigaraki's skin as he hisses, 

"Hurry up." 

"I'm going to have to teach you some patience, baby boy." He reprimands him by shoving another finger inside and crooking them roughly up against his prostate as his other hand goes to the base of Dabi's tail and he presses his thumb against the underside where it connects to his spine. The pressure there sends stars exploding across his vision as a loud moan tears out of his chest, his cock aching from how hard he finds himself from the sensation of that pressure. He doesn't normally have people touch his tail when he's like this, but Shigaraki's hand fists around the part as close to his spine as possible and he starts to move his hand over him like he's stroking his cock, and it feels almost as good. The pressure around that appendage, so close to his hole, that it's tightening his muscles and making him feel even fuller even just on his fingers. "But not tonight. Tonight I'm going to show you why I'll make it worth the wait next time." 

"'Next time'? Getting awfully full of yourself." 

But Shigaraki just smiles and presses against his sweet spot as he strokes the base of his tail again and Dabi is losing any other snarky comments on a moan. 

It doesn't take much longer for Dabi's sharp claws to catch on the other's wrist to force his fingers out. He doesn't want to be fully stretched open. He wants to feel every inch of how big Shigaraki is as he fucks him open. The other lets go of him and takes his fingers out for long enough to pull himself free from his pants and Dabi chitters, a sound that is entirely Sanguine as he spreads his legs wider because Shigaraki is absolutely huge and he wants nothing more than to have him inside. He barely wants to wait for the human to slick his cock with oil, his tail almost a vice around his thigh with how hard he's trying to pull him back in. When his blunt head rubs over his hole, he goes completely breathless with how thick he feels even just giving him the tease of being inside. 

The second that Shigaraki starts to stretch him open so wide on his cock, Dabi knows that he's going to be trying to celebrate every good job with his cock sunk inside of him like this. Dabi thinks that Shigaraki might be the biggest he's ever had and the purrs that start to leave his throat involuntarily are from the race he's wearing now. He can't help it though. It feels so good to be stretched so wide. He is nearly limp against the counter, his body trembling slightly from how much his nerves are making this feel like. He isn't sure how he's going to keep it together when the other man starts to thrust, already having to fumble for his control over this form just from how very full he is. 

When Shigaraki draws his hips back just enough to rock into him slowly, Dabi has to choke out, "Wait--" as the pleasure wracks through him. 

He stills immediately, "What's wrong, baby? Too much?" 

It is, but that's not his gripe. He wants more, still wants it hard, but he can't have it like this. At least he already has black hair right now. He can let that part of his illusion slip, can let his eyes go white, can let his fangs recede so all he has to focus on maintaining is his tail, horns, and healthy skin color-- but not in this position. "On my stomach?" He begs. He needs that if he's going to be able to let himself enjoy this when his whole body feels like it's about to shatter apart. 

Shigaraki's expression warms from the worry that was pressing in at the edges before and he leans down to give Dabi another soft kiss. "Okay, baby boy, whatever makes you more comfortable." He pulls out and Dabi forces his tail to let go of his leg so he can turn over, fingers gripping the edge of the counter and holding on tight as his tail curves up along his spine and he spreads his legs wide, his toes just brushing the floor. Shigaraki doesn't waste time then, sinking back into his body and Dabi loses control over his teeth and eyes as he moans so loudly as he's filled again. 

"Hard," he demands, his voice already thready just from the pressure inside of him and from his own cock being pressed against the countertop. 

"Demanding, " the reprimand is light, but the hand that comes down against his ass isn't. The sound of flesh against flesh rings through the air before Dabi feels the sting of it and humiliates himself by not only clenching down on his cock harder, but moaning even louder as his hips jump back to get more. Shigaraki doesn't hit him again, but he does give him more. He rolls his hips again and fists his hand around the base of Dabi's tail. Dabi loses his claws. It's just his blunt natural nails biting into the edge of the counter as the other man draws his hips back and fucks him so full that he sees stars. 

///

He still managed not to stay the whole night. Shigaraki fucked him on the counter and when he had rolled him over at the end of the first round, Dabi had to shift to a human too so that he wouldn't have to focus on the extra appendages that had been distracting him before. The other man hadn't seemed bothered by that at all and had just picked him up and carried him into the bedroom, putting him down on his plush mattress and had moved down his body to swallow his cock until he was ready to fill his hole again. 

Dabi might have passed out after his third orgasm, but he needs far less sleep than a human does, and he'd been able to slip out of the bed after a few hours, gathered his clothes, and head out. He almost wishes that he'd chanced bathing at Shigaraki's place because his own cheap apartment only has about five minutes worth of hot water. Still. It was a better fuck than he was expecting, and the next time he goes to the bar to do business, Shigaraki doesn't treat him any differently. None of the contacts he speaks to treat him strangely either, which Dabi hopes means that they haven't heard that he fucked the kingpin. 

When he's flush with cash from his next job, he buys a bottle of the scotch Shigaraki said was actually his favorite and waits for a lull in the crowd before he catches the bartender's eye and moves towards that back stairwell that leads up to his apartment. Shig's eyes are hot on him as he turns to say something to his staff before waving him on. Dabi has only just managed to find what cabinet he keeps his glasses in before Shigaraki enters the apartment and pulls him in for a kiss. 

///

Things have been so good in Zogas that it really shouldn't surprise him when one day he wakes up and it's bad again. Dabi barely manages to roll over before he is vomiting out a stream of bile, blood, and the remnants of his meal from the night before. Fuck. He can't keep his shape and Dabi watches his skin bleed the mottled purple of his burns all along it that he wishes he didn't have to see. He stumbles up out of bed, the apartment thankfully so small that he doesn't have to go far before he can get to the kitchen cabinet. He wasn't able to buy much honey, being worried that someone would see him getting a fair amount of it and put together too much about the strange witch that rolled into town, but he does have a jar. He doesn't have an enchanted ice box in this apartment though, so he doesn't keep any milk on hand. That would sustain him more than just the honey and figs that he does have, but he hopes some of the heavy, creamy cheese he'd splurged on will help as well. 

He cuts open the rind on the cheese and splits the figs down the center before upending the honey on all of it. He doesn't want to eat after just being so sick, but he will have to if he doesn't want it to get any worse. So he starts to shove the food into his mouth, the sweetness and richness filling him and making it easier for him to breathe past the agony that is screaming through his skin at every single point of connection in his body. It's been so long since he's felt this terribly, but he's been using his magic more than he's had to in months of travel and work. It's really no surprise. Iron is poisonous to fey after all. 

///

It takes hours after his meal for him to feel slightly better and when he is, he has to clean up the sick on the floor by hand to avoid chancing hurting himself by pushing his magic right now. He cleans up and then goes and takes a freezing shower, actually enjoying the chill when he feels like each piercing is a brand that is trying to further mar his skin. Dabi lets the water rush over him and does his best not to curse the life he was given. No use in doing that. All he needs is to work towards strengthening his body enough to withstand the magic he'll need to curse Enji's. 

He wonders sometimes, who the fey who sired him really was. Why his mother was so desperate to stay married to a man like Enji Todoroki that she went to a faerie ring and struck a deal with the one who granted her wish. She and Enji were married three years before he was born and she hadn't been able to have a child. So she found a fey who said he would give her the ability if she carried his first. Dabi thinks his mother might be the only woman in the world to have willingly carried a changeling to term without even a thread of deception in the mix. Probably the last too, because the stress of seeing him when he was born, too soon for a human pregnancy, his skin white as paper and eyes just as stark, had frightened her. When she had tried to nurse him he would sink his inhuman needle-like baby teeth into her skin and suck out blood and milk until she started to put honey on her skin instead. That had made him start to look more human most of the time, and when Enji came back from his duties as a warrior, she had presented him with his premature son. It was instinctive and not something he'd had any control over, but Dabi had immediately taken on his 'father's' features to ensure he wasn't rejected. Rei was able to have three more children after him, but each pregnancy drained away more and more of her vitality until her skin was nearly as pale as Dabi's was untransformed, and she seemed one strong wind away from snapping. 

Enji was that wind but it was Dabi's fault. He wasn't actually born of the other man, a warrior mage who had command over flames that had not been seen even in great scholars in generations-- but still not as powerful as one of the others in his guild who had been selected as the next head of it. Dabi tried and tried, but the magic that humans wield and the magic that fey do is different. He was a changeling. Illusions and transmutation of his own flesh were easy, but everything else was impossible. He kept pushing, Enji kept pushing. Beat him black and blue, had gone after Fuyumi and Natsuo next, but she only had weak magic, and he'd had the aptitude to be a healer instead of a warrior. Shoto was the only one of them who seemed to have gotten it right, but his birth sapped the last of her strength. She had clawed at her hair, had confessed to him what he was when he kept trying to push his body to do the magic he couldn't over and over again, and he had spit barbs at her, called her a whore that should rot away to nothing for bringing him into this world and letting him be raised with the hope of a future that was being torn away from him. She'd lost her mind after that. Had used her own weaker magic to try and freeze Enji's blue eye out of Shoto's skull and had been sent away. With her gone and Enji still away most days to do his work, and spending the ones he had at home training Shoto, Dabi had been able to comb their home library until he read about witches. 

He knew salt and iron could do damage to fey, but he had hoped that he would be able to endure the iron with the magic that would be forced into his body from the ritual. It took him a year or two after his mother was sent away to get the resources he needed to do the ritual himself, and he had gone to the mountain where his mother had made her deal, hoping to draw on whatever threads of power might linger there, and he had pierced the metal into his skin. He hid those piercings as they healed, though that took such a long time and was agony all throughout it, but when they had, he was able to cast the way Enji had always wanted him to. He was so excited. He made his father come to the mountain and showed him how strong his fire conjuration was now. Enji's expression hadn't lit up, he hadn't told him that he was proud. He looked at him with rage and horror and Dabi only realized as he suddenly collapsed, bloody vomit spilling from his lips, that his skin was paper white again. That at some point as he overexerted himself through the casting, he had shown his father his true form. 

Enji had raged at him, demanding to know what he'd done to his son, and when Dabi choked out that he never had a son before him, he was told that he wasn't any son of his. That he wasn't a Todoroki, that he was nothing but a bastard and he would not care for him any longer. Dabi tried to show him again. He'd tried to tell him that he made himself everything that he could have wanted, but he was left alone on the mountain as his magic thinned and the poison spread through him. He couldn't control the fire enough to put it out and he had burned. 

Dabi thinks, maybe, his biological father had come through from Fayundell and took him out of the flames, because when he woke many years later, it was in a hospital that was half a continent away from the mountain and he was wearing a talisman that kept him in the form of a human for the time it took for him to wake. Large sections of his body were warped with purple burns, but he was alive and he was able to cast still. He had to start smaller, had to start doing things that keep fey healthy instead of doing things that humans and other races need. Milk and honey is practically a healing potion for him. It revitalizes him and staves off the effects of the iron in his skin. Figs, berries, cheese, some mushrooms, bread, all of that helps too. Cured meats can be a special indulgence, but they don't give him nearly as much sustenance as he gets from other things. 

When he gets out of the shower, he realizes it's only barely nine in the morning. He only needs two or three hours of sleep each night, and he must have woken at before four for it to be so early after how long he spent sitting on his kitchen floor feeling so awful after his meal. He needs more fey food. It's agony to get dressed in his leathers. He has iron sunk into his cheeks, chin, tongue, ears, in seven points down his spine, through his nipples, his sternum, over each hip, through his belly button, on the backs of each wrist, and a row of three down the backs of each of his calves. Each one helps to keep the magic he's forced into his body from tearing him into pieces, and they're all too hot and tender from how his fey-born body is trying to reject them. He really doesn't want to go walk to the market when he's gotten dressed, already exhausted again, but he has to.

He goes slowly, but he walks to market and finds a shop that has everything he needs. He buys himself a large sack of flour, yeast, a gallon of milk, a pint of honey, butter, more fruit and cheese, and a few jars of local jams. When the woman at the stall asks him what he's making, he tells her that it's his mother's honey bread recipe. Honey bread is a common staple that he could just buy from a baker, but saying it's his mother's recipe gives him the guise of nostalgia to hide how his purchases give him everything he needs to help him feel better. 

As soon as he's back in the privacy of his home, he pours a full glass of milk and dollops in two hefty spoonfuls of honey. Drinking that down settles away the last of the fatigue and sickness in his stomach and he considers the massive amount of flour that he has now. Bread can help and it will keep longer than the milk will. He might not bake often, but this is something that he can manage. 

///

It takes a few hours for the bread to be done and he ends up making three loaves of it and he still ends up drinking another two cups of the milk and honey to finish off the milk. The overindulgence has made him feel much better though, his clothes no longer a stark and uncomfortable reminder that he is killing himself slowly with every spell that he uses. It doesn't matter. Going that low and recovering each time allows him to call up more and more magic each time afterwards. He just needs to give his magic channels time to adjust to how much use they've gotten over the past few weeks and then he'll be fine. But for the next couple, he needs to slow it down. So he wraps up one of the loaves of bread in a clean towel that he chances a tiny burst of power to enchant to keep it warm and fresh for the walk over, before he heads back out at around three in the afternoon. 

The Shattered hand doesn't actually open until six in the evening, but Dabi goes around to the back entrance and takes the stairs up to Shigaraki's side-door. He knocks lightly, a little worried that a human who keeps the late hours that he does might still be sleeping even though it's well past morning, but there's only a momentary pause before this lock is sliding open and Shigaraki is pulling open the door. He's wearing leather breeches in the same deep red as his favorite coat and a white shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. 

"Dabi," he doesn't sound or look upset by the surprise visit, and before Dabi can open his mouth, he's stepping out of the doorway, opening it wide for him, "Come in." 

He supposes that this is a conversation he would rather have somewhere that no one else will be able to overhear, so he moves into the now-familiar apartment. Shig shuts the door behind him.

"What brings you here so early?" 

"Wanted to talk to you about the jobs you've been sending my way." He says, making his way down the hall past the bedroom and bathroom and into his living area. He absolutely won't be able to hold it together if Shigaraki were to pin him down and fuck him as well as he normally does right now so he doesn't want to give either of them that temptation by staying in the narrow hallway or having this conversation in the bedroom. 

"Have there been any issues?" Shigaraki's voice shifts slightly as he follows after him. It doesn't become hostile, just focused on their work and Dabi appreciates that. No matter how many times he's found his way into Shigaraki's bed, he never slips with his professionalism when Dabi needs to talk business instead of pleasure. 

"No, I like the work, I've been completing my jobs as asked. But I've been taking on a lot of them." He explains. He barely has to lie about this part. Witches can combust if they use their magic too much too quickly, not like scholars or healers who can simply fall into a coma. When a witch pushes too far, they burn, Dabi has done that once-- not that Shigaraki knows that-- and he doesn't want to do it again. "I think for at least the next couple of weeks, I only want to take on one or two of the higher paying jobs. Since you've been screening most of them for me, can you--" 

"Of course." Shigaraki says so easily. "You can make your own schedule and set how much work you want to take, firefly." He's been calling him that more often now, once he caught wind that Dabi really does burn all of his clients' problems to cinders. "I'm just here to help make that easier."

"Good. Consider this a 'thanks' instead of a bribe." He pushes the loaf of bread across the counter to him and prepares to stand. 

"Did you make this?" He isn't expecting Shigaraki's voice to sound so... softly astounded. 

"Yeah? It's no big deal. I ended up having too much milk." An easy lie to keep up so no one wonders about this. 

"I can't cook to save my life." Shigaraki tells him. "It's impressive to me." 

"You have low standards." Dabi tells him. "It's a recipe that's more common up north."

"From your home?" 

He hesitates. It's been months, but he hasn't told Shigaraki almost anything about where he's from or who he was before this. But he supposed that 'north' is thousands of miles of land. It won't give the other man too much to work with if he doesn't tell him anything else. "Yeah. Family recipe." 

"Eat with me?" 

Dabi considers protesting, but Shigaraki turns to his cabinets and takes out some honey before he turns to his ice box and takes out some jam, butter, and an apple. He sets it on the counter with the bread before he retrieves some knives and a plate. It's practically a compulsion to not pass up food when it's been offered to him. Something fey inside that keeps him rooted to his stool. "Okay." 

Shigaraki smiles at him and Dabi takes one of the knives and cuts the bread as Shigaraki cores and slices the apple. He drizzles honey over it and lets Dabi smear butter and even more honey over the slices of bread that he eats. By the time they're finished, Dabi is very glad that he didn't wear the face of the cat-kin or he might have started purring. Shig catches a drop of honey on the plate and lets Dabi lick it off of his finger and his lips are sweet too when they seal over his. It's probably from the overindulgence in fey food and the fact everything but the bread became an offering that Dabi even has the energy to stay human after the other carries him into his bed again. 

///

The next job that he takes is supposed to be a relatively simple one: One of the competitors to a local industrial smith has opened a new factory that has already been getting in trouble for not being safe for workers yet, but the moment it is, the new factory will take over all of the business that the other smiths have been relying on. They might have emptied their savings for this job, but if the factory burns, their competitor won't have the funds either to try this again. Dabi is just supposed to go to the factory at night and set a fire from the inside. The forge is already having problems. The idea of it sending out a stray spark after cooling incorrectly isn't that unlikely. He just has to set a fire. That's easy and his specialty and he isn't worried about doing it. 

Not until he gets there and breaks in to find that the bastard hired security to make sure that something like this doesn't happen. Dabi doesn't usually have a problem killing people, but he doesn't necessarily want the scrutiny that this job will get him if it comes up with a body count. So he has to be very strategic with how he starts the fires to make them believable and make it so that he doesn't get caught. That takes much greater command of his magic than his fire usually does, and as he's crouched between machines, disguised as a cat-kin for his darker fur and sharper ears, he is desperately trying to bring the embers in the forge back to life without letting the flames creep blue. It takes so long to manage, and when he does, he is trembling from the overexertion and there is sweat on the beans across the palms of his hands. But the forge relights, and then it's a much easier manner of putting a container of machine oil in the way of one of the guards who calls out about it and rushes over to try to figure out how to put out the flames. He stumbles over the container and sends its contents spilling across the floor and Dabi lets a spark jump from the forge. The man all but skitters back as the flames lick over the floor quickly and decisively, others calling out to make sure that the other is alright and to try to coordinate efforts to put the flames out. But Dabi keeps the fire spreading, a little faster than it should, the smoke starting to fill the area thick and black as chemicals burn too. 

It's not long before they are all fleeing, deciding their lives are more important than their jobs. Dabi stays for a bit longer though, turning into his elemental-born form to ensure the fire won't be able to lick at his skin, before he makes sure to bring the flames hotter and hotter, ensuring the metal of every machine is badly warped and that there will be nothing salvageable of even the foundations of this building. He's still ensuring that when all of the sudden, pain spikes through his body again and he's doubling over, lava spilling past his lips and dimming the fire beneath his skin as his magic subjects him to a burning that he can't make himself impervious to. Fuck. Too much magic, too much focus. He needs to get out of here. 

He flows through the fire and smoke and slips out into the night, hearing people calling for casters and anyone who can carry a bucket to try to put out the flames before they can spread to the other buildings. Dabi gets far enough away to stumble into an alley to change to his human form before he starts to walk deeper into the city. He needs his pay for this job and then he needs a week of rest. 

He goes straight towards the Shattered Hand, but he doesn't bother to enter the brightly lit tavern. He is weak and exhausted, something that even his human visage won't be able to hide, and he doesn't want anyone to see how much that took out of him and start to believe that he can't be trusted to handle work like this. He needs more work like this to get the money he needs to grow his funds, he just needs to space out the jobs. Dabi goes up the back staircase and digs out the lockpicking kit that he hasn't had to make use of in nearly four years. But Shigaraki's door is warded, of course it is, against using spellwork to unlock it. He isn't surprised that it also shimmers when he manages to pick the lock and push it open, a silent alarm that the bartender will hear in the back of his mind and will alert him that someone is in his space. That's fine. He can apologize for entering the apartment unannounced when he comes upstairs. 

Dabi's legs feel weak and he pulls the door shut before he lets himself slide down it, sitting on the other's floor so he can try to catch his breath and stop trembling from the overexertion of his muscles and magic. He isn't in danger of burning himself up right now, but he is absolutely not going to have a good time if he doesn't feed his real body again soon. 

Maybe he's more out of it than he thought he was, because the next thing he knows, Shigaraki is kneeling in front of him, bringing a cup to his lips. Dabi means to push it away, not wanting water or any liquor, but he smells the honey a second later and lets out a soft sound of surprise before he's getting his hand around the cup and greedily drinking down the mixture of milk and honey. There's too much honey in it, but Dabi can't complain. For one blissful moment, all he knows is that his body is getting what it needs to feel better. And then the cup is empty and he's gasping for breath as his mind catches back up to him. As he looks up and sees red eyes staring back unwaveringly and he realizes that the human knows. 

Dabi waits for the punch. Waits to have salt and iron shavings poured over his skin, waits to be threatened, to be hurt, for the human to demand a deal with him that he can't give, but Shigaraki's hand just comes up to his cheek and he strokes his thumb very gently around the piercing sunk into his cheek to check their temperature. "Do you need more? I've been keeping it on hand since you visited last. I have some figs and cheese too." 

The terror of discovery has closed up his throat so completely that Dabi is surprised that breath can make it into his lungs. It's really no wonder that words can't make it out. When he doesn't say anything, when the human must be able to see every fearful shadow that is dancing over his features and behind his eyes, his eyes soften and he gives him a soft, tentative smile. 

"Stay here. I have an offering for you." He says. Shigaraki takes the cup and stands, and Dabi tries to get his legs under him. He needs to leave. He has to get back to his apartment and get what he can, get out of town on what little he's managed to save up because if he doesn't now, he's not going to take anything with him when Shigaraki sends people after him or lets it slip that a Changeling has come into Zogas. People are too afraid of him. Husbands and wives terrified that he'll slip into their homes and take their children to replace them with ones of his own. Workers and bosses afraid that he'll become them and sneak into businesses to rob them blind. Even if he hadn't been the cause of the fire tonight, Dabi knows that would still be blamed on him. All bad things, every fight that anyone has gotten into with a loved one since he arrived, he will be blamed for it all and they'll come after him with pitchforks and torches and the city guards will come after him with loaded crossbows, darts soaked in saltwater, and iron blades so they'll know every cut they land on him will poison him more and more until they've weakened him enough to pin him down and cut his head from his neck. He won't be given a trial. He won't be arrested. Fey are too wild and too dangerous. He will be killed for the crime of existing--

Dabi pushes himself up and fumbles for the doorknob, but as soon as it opens, he hears Shigaraki's voice and the spell slams it shut again, locking it in place as the other man comes back down the hall with a bowl of the fruit and another glass of the milk and honey. "Please," he begs immediately, his chest aching so sharply. He's had to run so many times before, but this hurts more than the others. He hasn't spent so long in one place for such a long time, has never taken a partner throughout that either. He doesn't want to turn and see the blackness that he's sure is marring Shigaraki's features now that he's confirmed what the human must have suspected. He doesn't know how long he's suspected. It could have been since the first night he asked him about his illusions, it could have been one of the many nights they've spent in bed together. "You can keep all of the money from this job. Just let me leave." 

"Dabi," he hears the sound of the ceramic clicking against the floor as the bowl and cup are set aside. "I'm not going to take your money and you can leave as soon as you don't look like you're going to collapse. But your apartment is a long walk. You already had one tonight. I have plenty of food for you, eat whatever you need to feel better and then you can leave." His hand catches his shoulder and Dabi can't help the tiny, fearful sound he makes as he shifts forms abruptly to his elemental-born body, the patches of skin that he has lava rock and so hot that he immediately sears Shigaraki's flesh and causes him to rear back with a hiss. Dabi tries to focus his magic enough to undo the ward the other man placed on the door, but he's too weak, the potential of flame too close to the surface of his skin. 

It's only half a threat when he says, "Let me leave, or I'm going to burn your entire building to the ground." He would burn with it. He's too close to combusting. 

There's a long pause and then the ward falls. Dabi immediately turns the handle and stumbles out into the night, tuning into his cat-kin form so he can run as fast as possible to get home. He has more resources than he's ever had available to him before, he doesn't want to have to run away from the city without those. 

Dabi has only just stepped into his apartment when the strain his body has been under sends another wave of sick streaked with blood and ash up from his throat, expelling all of the milk and honey that the other man gave him. The loss makes him even weaker and he's still fumbling with the jar of honey in his kitchen when black rushes in through his vision and the world falls away from him. 

///

When he wakes next, it's in his bed with a little glass being tipped to his lips. The mixture is a little less overwhelmingly sweet with honey this time, and he manages to take small sips. It takes a few before he can manage to open his eyes, seeing that it's very bright in his room. Daylight. No. He was supposed to run under the cover of night. He wasn't supposed to rest. He tries to push himself up from the bed, but a gentle hand pushes him back down so easily. He whimpers and the touch retreats and brings the glass back to his lips instead. 

"Rest, firefly. You're safe." 

Dabi feels his eyes burn and a few bitter tears slip over his cheeks. He's never been safe in his life. But he's too weak to even lift a hand from the bed. He doesn't have a choice but to subject himself to whatever happens to him next. 

///

When he wakes again it's dark outside of his window, but someone has lit a couple of his oil lamps that Dabi barely bothers with from how strong his eyes are in the dark. His whole apartment smells like warm milk and honey, fresh bread, ripe fruit, and a thin smell of stress and sweat. The sweat smell is coming from him, the odor acrid and unpleasant as it is tinged with fear and the sulfur of his magic that tried so desperately to burn through him the night before. But the stress smell is coming from Shigaraki. He's sitting over on the windowsill, looking out over the edge of the city that is visible from there. He is wearing the same clothes as the night before, but there are dark circles under his eyes that Dabi hasn't ever seen him with before, freshly scabbed scratches over his neck from where his nails must have bitten into the skin, and his hair is more wild than he's ever seen it, like he couldn't keep his hands out of it when he wasn't too busy clawing at his skin. 

Dabi's chest feels tight when he manages to speak, "Why are you here?" 

"Dabi," Shigaraki's voice is too relieved. He moves quickly off of the sill and crosses the room to the stove, moving past the counter that Dabi now sees is covered in food that he most certainly didn't have in his apartment before. Custard tarts heaped with berries and drizzled with honey, fresh bread, flower buds, mushrooms, and nuts, and a warm pot of milk simmering on his stove that Shigaraki picks up with a cloth wrapped around his bandaged hand before he pours half of it into Dabi's only mug before he takes a small bottle of what Dabi immediately smells is cow's blood before he fills it the rest of the way with that, mixing the two together with a spoon before he brings the steaming contents over to him. It smells so good, but he doesn't want to take it until he knows the catch. 

"I won't make a deal with you, mortal." He hasn't had to reach for this persona in a very long time, but pretending to be a fey who knows what they're doing tends to give him a better reaction than just bluntly telling the humans that he genuinely can't actually do the things that get demanded of him. 

"I don't want to make a deal," Shigaraki frowns. "I didn't think changelings could do that anyway." 

Dabi stares at him, his mouth dry. He hasn't said what he is... ever. His mother called him that, Enji called him a monster, other people have hurled that word at him like an accusation, but he hasn't ever used it for himself outside of his own head. He still can't claim it now when he manages hoarsely, "What do you know about changelings?" 

Shigaraki sits on the edge of the bed and offers him the mug of milk, honey, and blood and Dabi's stomach tightens sharply with his need. Shigaraki must have cleaned up the sick on the floor because there's no puddle of it that he has to move around to get to him. "Not too much," he says gently, offering him the mug again, "My father did business with some Threadwalkers when he was alive. They had interests in Feyundell and traveled there somewhat infrequently. A few of their clients were changelings who went there to escape the prejudice here." His expression tries not to pinch, but there is something unhappy in the set of it when he asks, "Is that why you've been focusing on taking bigger jobs? To get the money to hire a Threadwalker to take you there?" 

"No." Dabi has never been interested in traveling to any of the other planes let alone Feyundell which is home to the kingdom of elves and courts of fairies that survive an environment so harsh and ruthless that even their plants sometimes try to devour them. Dabi would not survive there when he is already slowly dying to the poison he has in his skin. He turns his eyes away from Shigaraki's before he answers again, "I have things to do here before I consider anything else." 

"Okay," there's no mistaking the relief that comes from the other's voice. "...Are you really a witch?" Shigaraki asks, reaching one hand for his face. Dabi realizes that, despite how horrible and exhausted he feels, he somehow managed to keep his human form intact even unconscious, this one so common and used from such a young age that he was able to cling to it with the barest scrap of his natural abilities. 

He manages a slight nod. 

"... I thought iron was poisonous?" 

Dabi doesn't respond to that at all and Shigaraki's thumb rubs over the grounding iron again. 

"I won't tell anyone," Shigaraki promises him. "This is your secret, your life, you can wear whatever forms you choose, come to me for work, for--" he hesitates, his voice softer when he continues, "anything. I won't tell anyone else what you are." 

"...How long have you known?" He's tried so hard--

"I suspected after the first night," Shigaraki tells him, "After you shifted from a sanguine-born to human so effortlessly. I have a friend who is a master illusionist and even he can't cast without using a word or gesture to do so. You were nearly naked, I knew you couldn't be wearing a talisman for the effect either. When you brought me the bread and got more drunk off of honey than any drink we've shared before, I knew for certain then." 

"Just because I can't steal away your child doesn't mean I couldn't take your place if I so choose." He snaps, trying to make himself seem more threatening when he is so weak now that he thinks reaching for even the barest thread of his magic will have his body burning on the sheets. 

"You don't want that." Shigaraki tells him. "You want to live your life freely. That's why you use a dozen different names with everyone else in town, why you barely let yourself eat the way you need to to keep from drawing attention to yourself. You are deadly when it comes to your work," his hand is still so gentle as it cups his cheek. "But you are not a threat to the identities of any person in this city. You won't even take espionage work even though it would be such a simple matter for you." 

Dabi doesn't know if he's felt so achingly small and seen since Enji Todoroki was condemning him to burn on that mountain top, but any other words that he might have tried to find are lost to him. Discovered and being offered the chance to continue existing? Oh, if ever there were a fairytale for his kind. But if Shigaraki doesn't intend to show his viciousness yet, he needs to take the opportunity that he can to get stronger now. He takes the concoction and brings it to his lips. He doesn't think he's imagining that the smell of relief in the air is coming off of them both when he finally begins to drink deeply. 

///

He's bedridden for days for the first time in years. But Shigaraki comes to his apartment each day in the early afternoon. He brings him fresh milk, more cow's blood, more of the tarts, custards, and fruits. He makes sure that all of it is drizzled in honey and makes sure that Dabi is eating a lot more than he normally would allow himself. Shigaraki brings his payment for his last job, he makes sure to open the window to let in fresh air, even brings him some books from his own collection to keep him company if he needs the entertainment. It takes days for him to recover, but when he has, he knows that his magic is stronger than it was before because the skin all around each of his grounding points feels tight. He has to dig out his kit and stand in the bathroom, looking at his body, trying to find a new place to help keep the magic settled. He ends up placing a row of three dermals along the inner side of each forearm. The iron sinks in, burning slightly as it does, but the new magic swells around the fresh groundings and takes away some of the feverish heat living under his skin. That, at least, leaves him more comfortable and feeling like he can actually move. Shigaraki already left for the day, and he goes to the counter and makes himself pack away the leftovers from the abundant meal he'd brought him today. If he's going to leave now, then he won't be able to go to market to get supplies before he goes. This will last him a while, especially if he turns to an earth elemental-born. His stomach will take longer to feel empty. Long enough to make this portion last him to the coast. It's not much money that he has saved away, but he can get on a boat, maybe he'll even be able to convince one of the crews to take him on as an extra worker in exchange of cutting some of his cost of being there. 

He packs up the few things in his apartment and leaves the books that Shigaraki brought for him neatly on his bed. He could have gotten him killed at any point since he came to Zogas. The least he can do to show gratitude that he hadn't is by not stealing from him. 

It's been a very, very long time since Dabi has ever felt saddened to leave somewhere. The little places that he's carved out for himself as he's traveled never feel quite like homes. But he... likes Zogas. He liked going to the Shattered Hand and soaking in the atmosphere. He liked that his many personas were all starting to gather good reputations and to be recognized on the street as someone to greet with a smile or nod. He liked... the way it felt to celebrate a job gone right with a drink and then as much pleasure as he could get while he was laying in Shigaraki's bed. He always planned on moving on, but he thought that this time he would have more of a choice about when that would happen. He didn't expect that he would have to run again. Didn't expect that this time it would hurt without the pulse of adrenaline through his veins that made him run harder and faster to avoid the mob that was on his heels. 

There is no mob this time. Just Shigaraki. Just one person. If it were anyone else, Dabi thinks that he would be able to slip into his house, would go to bed with him again and slit his throat as he slept. A murderer would be looked for, but he could ensure that it wasn't any of his faces that they were seeking. But Shigaraki is a master criminal with half of the guard and the entire underground on his side. Not only would it be foolish to assume that he would be able to kill him without a fight, but it would be even worse to do so thinking that he might not have a backup plan in place that will get him caught. 

Dabi sits on the edge of his bed, looking at his pack, looking at this apartment that was a shithole, but belonged to him, would still belong to him for another six months because he chose to sign a long-term lease instead of living month-to-month for the first time in years. Dabi reaches into the purse that Shigaraki left him with the rest of his payment and he does something that he hasn't since he was a very small child and his mother and father made him-- he prays. There is a wide pantheon of gods, none of which, he thinks, have ever turned a kind eye towards him. He selects Gidona, goddess of good fortune, and asks for guidance, before he flips the coin. He holds it cupped in his hand. Heads and he may have gotten her blessing. Heads and maybe for once in his life some greater power might let something work out in his favor. Tails and Zedos the god of misfortune might have turned his eye to him again. Dabi stands, holding the coin against his skin for a long time before he lets it fall to the floor. He grabs his bag and the coin purse and moves swiftly to the door. The gods may have cursed him from his first breath, but he is not beholden to their whims now. 

The evening air is cool and fresh as he wears his elven visage as he makes his way towards the Shattered Hand.

///

He makes sure his bag is hidden on the landing of the back door behind a planter, and then he uses his lockpicks to break in again. He can hear the music coming up from below, but he has no doubts that Shigaraki will find a way to leave the bar to come see what's going on in his apartment. It only takes a few minutes for the front door to swing open and let him in. As soon as he sees him sitting at his table, he sighs softly and flicks his fingers, a strange dull shimmer of energy dissipating as he does so. 

"If you're going to keep doing this, then I'm going to have to key you into my wards." Not 'stop breaking into my house'. 'Stop pulling me away from my work by breaking into my house and making me think that there's a threat in my space'. 

"What do you want from me?" Dabi asks, his chest tight. "I can't make deals, but you must want something. If anyone found out I was here and you knew-- even all of your contacts wouldn't protect you from the backlash. No one would trust you again." His bar is entirely built on the trust that he has with his clients. If he loses that, then he won't have anything anymore. 

"I want you," Shigaraki says, closing the door behind him and moving slowly over to the table, "To believe me when I say that I want you to stay here. I want you to feel comfortable enough to build a life here because I want to stay in your life. I enjoy your company, Dabi. I don't want to lose that." 

"Why? All I've done since we met was lie to you." 

"You've hardly ever told me a lie," Shigaraki says. "You omit things," he concedes, "but you never hide it when you are. You make it perfectly clear that you don't want to talk about that subject. I never push because if you ever do want to talk to me, then I want you to do it of your own accord. You never have to tell me anything about your past or how you got here, Dabi. I'm just happy that I've gotten to know you now." 

Dabi's eyes search his face for any ounce of deceit, but it's hard to find anything but the sincerity that Shigaraki has treated him with for all of the time they've known each other. He should still leave. He should go right now before the human realizes how bad this will be for him if someone else finds out about this. 

He's never noticed how tired he is of running until he tries to get his legs under him again. "You'll change your mind." 

"Even if I do," and Shigaraki doesn't sound convinced that he will, "I won't tell anyone what you are. I've been able to make a name for myself by keeping my client's secrets and never wavering. You won't be the person I start with." He promises. 

Dabi doesn't say anything as he turns to leave the way he came. He doesn't know if he'll be back. 

But he only makes it about an hour out of the city limits before he's letting a few desperate, frustrated tears slip over his cheeks as he turns around and makes his way back home. 

///

Shigaraki knocked on his door tentatively the next afternoon, and when Dabi opened it, his expression had gone from worn and worried to elated in a second. He had curled his hands around Dabi's hips and pulled him in to kiss him so sweetly. He offered Dabi two more jobs and he had declined both and sent him away. Shigaraki came back the next day with a fresh offering instead, whipped cream filled pastries with fresh strawberries that Dabi had wanted to take so badly, but that he had rejected as well. And the day after that Shigaraki brought him new books. Dabi gave back the ones he already loaned him and told him, 

"Don't come back." He watched his face fall, watched Shigaraki swallow down whatever words were caught in his throat, and the human had just nodded stiffly and left. He didn't come back for a week after that, and Dabi kept waiting for the scorned man to lash out. To reveal his secret or come to his home to force himself on him or kill him himself. But nothing happened. He got letters, ones encoded with the language of criminals that were other job offers, but those weren't written in Shigaraki's hand save for his address. Proposals for jobs that clients were still looking to book and that Shigaraki was making sure made it to the right address even though each of his personas pretended to live elsewhere. He took a few of those, telling his clients to send the kickback to the Shattered Hand, but never going to the bar himself. He stayed away. He waited. 

After two months, he heard someone bragging about being bedded by the owner. They were in for a rude awakening when Shigaraki didn't give them any kind of special treatment afterward and Dabi's chest had been sharp with his spite. He has no right to jealousy, but he feels it anyway. The person he'd bedded was a man nearer to Shigaraki's age. He had freckles, tan skin, curly bronze hair, flecks of gold in his eyes, and the small point to his ears that spoke of sun elf blood in his veins. Dabi always favored moon elves for the basis of his look. He always leaned pale because pale mortal flesh was closer to his real skin that was the color of curdled cream. He tried not to think of it too hard, but he found himself standing in front of his bathroom mirror. He tried to make himself younger, prettier, softer. Gave himself skin that was kissed by the sun and eyes bright green instead of blue. He gave himself birthmarks and freckles to give his skin more life. He made his hair warm brown instead of stark white or black, orange, pink, lavender, blue, the colors of the sky as the sun moves across it as he flickered through every race that he's always been able to make himself so effortlessly. He gave himself a fuller figure that wouldn't look so gaunt and starved as he went back to eating so little of what he needed to avoid drawing attention to his diet. He practiced and practiced until he thought that all of the new forms he could make for himself were more beautiful than the ones that he'd been showing Shigaraki up to this point and he ached with hatred for himself when he glimpsed bits of his real form slipping through as he exhausted his abilities. 

He doesn't know why he's doing this. He's been trying so hard to keep Shigaraki away from him. To make sure that he wouldn't break his promise of keeping his secret safe even if Dabi slipped out of his life. He hasn't. It's been months and he hasn't. He hasn't come to his home again, he's kept all of his jobs coming to his home for him. He hasn't ever once gone back on his word. But Dabi wasn't asking him to wait for him, to prove himself before he would crawl back into his bed. He doesn't have any right to jealousy. He doesn't have any right to ask him for his attentiveness and care back. Why would he even want to give it to him-- he turns into the man who he slept with before and touches the pretty features that don't belong to him-- when he could have someone like this? When he could have someone better? Dabi's stomach sours sharply and he changes his face again. Thicker lashes, prettier features, softer hair. He could have anyone he wants, but Dabi can be anyone he does. He can at least make it a fraction more appealing to let him slip back into his bed now if he can use his abilities to show the other man that he can be worth the trouble.

///

Dabi goes back to the Shattered hand the next night, wearing one of his new forms, but allowing the metal of his piercings to glitter in the light. He wears a tunic that is open across his chest and a coat that hangs off of his shoulders artfully. His legs are encased in tight pants that cling to the more defined and softer curves of his legs, trailing up to a fuller ass that he hopes the other man will find appealing. He thinks other people are finding this form appealing, plenty of them coming over to introduce themselves and offer to buy him drinks. He puts on an accent. That's not that hard to do, he can mimic voices very easily and taking on the lilting tones of further east makes his requests for whisky mixed with milk, a Snow Drift as it's called there, allows him to drink the alcohol in a way that makes it actually able to sustain his body as well. It will still take him far more of these to get to the point of overindulgence than it would one of the mortal races, but he can drink and give his body the fuel it needs to wear this form for as long as he needs or to change it to whatever else Shigaraki might want. He lets people flirt with him as he makes his way around the room until he is finally passing by Shigaraki's table. He isn't working tonight, he's sitting in his favorite booth, his favorite red coat hanging off of his shoulders. He hasn't cut his hair since Dabi saw him last, the white locks even more wild, even with a portion of it tied back again. And those intense red eyes are tracking him around the room. 

He makes his way closer and closer until one of the people at his table takes notice of him too and invites him to sit. 

"There are no more chairs," He says in his thick accent. 

"That's alright, you can sit on my lap, doll." The man speaking must have orcish blood in his veins-- it's the only explanation for his size. Dabi glances at Shigaraki and the other man is doing a very good job of keeping his expression neutral. But he's given Dabi so many offerings at this point. He can smell him much more clearly than he's ever been able to pick up on anyone else's scent before. He can smell the jealousy, the bitterness as he watches his companion ease him down into his lap, his large hand cupping Dabi's ass as he does, which he doesn't call out. "Never seen you around before, you new in town?" 

"Yes," he surrenders himself to small talk, letting the other man ask him who he is, where he's from, what he wants to drink-- that is what pushes Shigaraki's smell from bitter jealousy to anger and he tells the two companions that he wants the table to himself for a moment. 

"Oh come on, Shigaraki, you always steal the cute ones--" 

"If--" He sees the other man almost slip with his name, "Cyran wants to court your company further after our conversation, then he'll be welcome to do so." But his tone is hard enough for the other men to move away from the table and let Dabi slip into the booth alongside Shigaraki. 

"Should I sit in your lap, sir?" He asks sweetly with his accent still firmly in place. But Shigaraki is having none of that and he moves the cards and chips that were on the table, but haven't been played since he sat down, aside so he can hit the rune at the center of the table which closes off the booth in a bubble of silence that no one else will be able to hear past. 

"What are you doing?" 

"...Reintegrating myself into the city." He says, dropping the accent, but nothing of the ditzy persona that he's been cultivating since he first entered the bar. 

Shigaraki takes a slow breath and seems to try to get a hold of his emotions. "Right." 

"Am I not welcome to do so here anymore?" Maybe he should have appeared as one of his other forms first. Maybe he underestimated how bitter his abandonment of the other man would make him even if it never got to the point of him wanting to reveal his secret. 

"You're welcome to do business or make merriment here however you see fit. I was just surprised. It's been... months." 

Dabi reaches for one of the curls falling around his face, but doesn't meet his eyes. "And you didn't go back on your word." 

Shigaraki stiffens slightly beside him. "If this was a test," he says waspishly. "All you've done is tested my patience-- not my word. Nothing short of you betraying me or my other clientele will make me betray your secret, Dabi-- Cyran, fuck--" he tries to regain his composure and that makes that place in his chest ache again. Dabi pushes in close, pressing his chest to Shigaraki's arm and tangling his fingers in the other man's coat. 

"You can call me whatever you want." He says, hating how quickly the desperation comes into his voice. He sees Shigaraki's hand clench against the table out of the corner of his eye and then he loosens it so he can reach for Dabi's face again like he's done so many times before. His thumb rubs over the piercing through his cheek and then he's pulling him in. Dabi goes readily. His lips are softer than his mouth was before, but he doesn't know if it's that change or how long it's been since they did this that has Shigaraki's tongue pushing so hungrily into his mouth. He just knows that he wants the other hungry for him. 

"Take me upstairs," he demands against his lips when it seems like the human is tempted to have him right here in the bar. "Or I'll just break in again." 

Shigaraki doesn't have to be tempted further, pulling him up from the table and bringing him back towards the side stairwell. He heard a heavy thump against the bar and glances back to see the orcish man's head against the surface and his friend patting his back and ordering them another round as they pass on the way to the stairs. They stumble into the apartment and Dabi finds that not much has changed since he was here last. But he doesn't care about that. He's too busy shrugging out of his coat and kicking out of his boots. 

"Dabi," Shigaraki catches him again, pulls him back in and kisses him like he's been starving for the taste of his lips. He is more than happy to throw himself into this kiss. He made himself shorter, to make himself even more cute, and it's different to have to stand on his tiptoes to get the other's kiss comfortably against his lips, but he isn't going to complain. Shigaraki doesn't seem to like it as much though because he pulls back, red eyes searching his new face. "Let me see you." 

"Which one?" He shifts to one of the other new ones he's made for himself, a sanctuary-born with olive skin an opalescent sheen to it, and natural coily black hair a halo around his head. "I have so many." 

"You," Shigaraki insists, his hands moving over the new body, touching him like he's scared that if he lets go, Dabi might disappear forever. "I just want you, Dabi." 

That's... a little disappointing. He spent so much time practicing all of these different bodies. "I can be anything you want," he insists. "I can make myself perfect for you. Anything you could ever want. An ex? An unrequited love? A famous courtesan? I can be it all. You'll never have to pick," Dabi insists. "I can be all of them." He turns himself into the man he heard bragging and Shigaraki's expression pinches, the hands on his hips not holding him as tightly as he was before. 

"That's not what I want, Dabi." He tells him, his hands shifting to his face again, rubbing his thumbs over his piercings like those are the only things grounding him in the moment instead of the things that are keeping Dabi together. "I don't want you to change your appearance to suit my tastes. I want you to be comfortable showing me who you really are. I want to see you, firefly, what you really look like." 

Dabi's stomach sours and he shifts, instinctively, back to one of his more practiced human forms. The one that he's been interacting with Shigaraki with for months. "... I can be beautiful for you." His voice is too small, too weak, but there are only a small number of people who have ever seen what he looks like. His mother, Enji, presumably his biological father if he really was the one who pulled his body from the ashes. All of them had condemned him or abandoned him. He'd never even let Natsuo know what he was or see him plain. He didn't think he would be able to stand the way he would look at him when he saw his sibling-- not even his real sibling-- was so different from him. 

"I already think you're beautiful," Shigaraki tells him, "And it doesn't matter if you're a human, cat, sanguine, or anything in between. It's your company that I want to indulge in. How you look when it happens doesn't matter to me." 

Dabi has to bite back the bitter tears that he feels trying to well behind his eyes. "If that doesn't matter then why do I have to be anything else to get you to touch me?" 

Shigaraki looks at him in a way that Dabi can't make sense of. It's something heavy and sad, but he does draw him closer. He kisses him softer and slower. For one minute, Dabi thinks that he's going to be turned away. That he got it all wrong when he offered Shigaraki everything, that he waited too long, and that he'll be sent away, but Shigaraki keeps kissing him. He reaches down to the backs of Dabi's thighs and he knows the way he grips him now. He hops up, wrapping his legs around the other's waist, his arms around his neck and tangling his hands in his hair so he can angle their heads to make the kiss desperately hotter again. Shigaraki lets him as he carries him to the bedroom. 

Dabi is warming again, able to put away some of his trepidation as he is placed so gently on the familiar bed. Shigaraki shrugs out of his coat, kicks off his own boots, and then has his hands back on Dabi's clothes. He unthreads the few ties that are keeping his shirt in place and pulls the fabric away, kissing across each inch of the revealed skin as he does. 

"I'll touch you, firefly. I'll never turn you away. I'll never tell your secret." His hands move over his skin, and his mouth gets distracted as he licks over his nipple piercings. Pleasure stirs through his body even as he feels a slight trepidation. He threads his fingers through the human's hair. It's soft and wild, and he sets it free of its tie so it can tickle his skin as the other presses their bodies closer together. He tried to make his hair as soft as Shigaraki's when he mimicked so many of his different forms. "I'll make sure that you have all of the milk and honey that you could ever want and that no one ever looks at you strangely for demanding it. I'll let the entire city think I'm bankrupting myself so I can bathe my beautiful witch in it every night to make your skin even softer--" 

Dabi whimpers slightly as he feels a blush rise to his cheeks. He's never had anyone talk to him like this. Never had anyone know what he is and try to take care of him without resenting him on some level as well. But Shigaraki's voice and touches are so sweet as he gives them. 

He moves his hands down his waist, over his hips so his thumbs can rub against the barbells pierced through his skin there as red eyes meet his, so aching and earnest that Dabi forgets how to breathe. "I'll love you for as long as you let me-- even if you never show me your true form." 

He promises this to him. He's never gone back on his promises before, but Dabi's whole body is a horrible tangle of desperate arousal and aching sadness. He wants to believe him so badly, wants to be loved for once in his life, "It's ugly," He says, and his voice cracks as tears slip over his temples. 

Shigaraki leans down and kisses away a track of his tears. "No part of you will ever be ugly to me, Dabi." 

"It's broken," he tries to tell him, a fresh sob working out of his chest. "I-- I already burned once. That body-- it's horrible," it's his. It's the one that he was born with, the only one that doesn't cost him effort to exist in, and he won't even live in it in the privacy of his own home so he can avoid looking at it. He hates it. Hates himself. "You won't want it. You'll change your mind." 

Shigaraki pulls him closer, cradling him against his chest as he strokes his hand through his hair. "I would have hoped," he says softly, his breath tickling his hair, "That after all that you've observed of my character in the past few months, that you would know by now that I never go back on my word, Dabi. I couldn't stop loving you after months of being told that you didn't want anything to do with me. Nothing about your appearance could change that." He holds Dabi as he tries desperately to make the frustrated, bitter tears stop slipping across his cheeks. "Show me once," he says, "and if you want, you'll never have to show me again. I won't ever ask. You'll be able to be anyone else you want to be while you're in my bed, firefly." 

He lets Dabi think that over for a few minutes, his hands so gentle over his skin. But he doesn't rush him. Once. Just once. He can show him how awful it is one time, and then he can spend the rest of his days in this warm embrace, can have his offerings and sweet words. He can have one person in the whole world who cares for him as deeply as he wants to care about someone else. He didn't know that was something that he wanted, but he can't stop wanting it now that the thought has been dangled in front of him like a carrot. He has been alone his whole life, even when he was a child. Even when he didn't understand why he was different from his siblings, he knew that he was. He knew there was a distance that he couldn’t cross between them no matter how hard he and Natsuo used to try. He just didn't understand people the way he should, just didn't know how to behave correctly unless he was mimicking others which they always found alien and insincere. Shigaraki is the only person who has reached with hands that knew what he was and that wanted to grasp him anyway. 

"...Once." 

"Once, baby." He promises. "Unless you get comfortable enough to be like that around me more afterward. I'm never going to resent seeing you in any of your bodies, firefly." 

Shifting forms is supposed to be natural, supposed to be easy, but as Dabi tries to let his form go, he finds himself flickering instead. Too many nerves, his fear instinctively trying its absolute hardest to keep him looking like one of the other visages he's used for years. He needs to do this to keep himself safe. He has to, his instincts scream, and more frustrated tears slip over his cheeks as he is made to be so impossibly weak. 

"You don't have to force it, baby." Tomura tells him. "Lay down," he tells him, lowering him back to the bed from his embrace. He cups his cheek in his hand and doesn't flinch even though Dabi's appearance is flickering between all of the ones he's worn before and all of the new ones he's been practicing. "I know it's hard to hold when you're feeling so good, let me help make it easier?" 

Dabi will take whatever he can get from the other man before he sees him and decides that this is one promise that he just can't keep, so he nods weakly and Shigaraki sighs softly. He smells soft too. Warm even though his magic makes his skin perpetually chilled. Affectionate, Dabi realizes distantly as his hands start to move over his skin again, trying to soothe him into holding one form, even if that's not his real one. He's never had someone smell like affection for him before. 

Tomura's mouth moves gently over his skin, lavishing every spot he knows is sensitive on Dabi's body. When his tongue moves over his belly button, licking at the stud there as his fingers move to the ties of his pants, Dabi gasps softly and his body shudders as he unintentionally grounds himself in the form of the moon elf he wore the first night they spoke. Tomura kisses across to his hip, his teeth tugging teasingly at the grounding iron and then licking around the sensitive point as he lifts Dabi's hips enough to let him peel the leather from his legs and expose him to the cooler air of the room. His emotions are still such a mess that he's still soft, but he reaches down to thread a hand in the human's hair so he knows that he doesn't want him to stop.  

The other man understands, but doesn't push for him to find words. He sucks a bruise over his hip as his hands stroke over the tops of his thighs and then up along the inside, spreading them wide so that he can settle more comfortably between his legs. He kisses and nibbles at his skin there too, making sure that each one leaves a little mark against this form's skin as he moves up. Dabi is starting to harden when his cool breath ghosts over his skin, his lips following immediately as red eyes flick up to look at him as he does. It's such a light touch, but it has him squirming and biting his lip all the same. Always so embarrassing when Tomura watches his face so closely as he puts his mouth on the most intimate parts of his body. It's part of the reason that he always insists the other man fuck him on his knees or stomach. He never faces him, always too scared of something bleeding through across his facial features when he's lost to the pleasure that the other man is able to give him so easily. But Tomura is trying to let him find that peak so he can slip and let the other see. 

His mouth is cool, soft, and wet as he takes his cock between his lips, licking around his head before he is moving his tongue further down so he can tease each point of his ladder as well. It's been months since he's been touched-- he hasn't even touched himself since he was last in Tomura's bed, and he can't help but harden rapidly as he's reminded how good this can be. The suction and softness of his mouth moving down him, feeding him deeper and deeper each time as one of his hands shifts from his thigh to cup his balls instead makes him breathless. His fingers massage him, pulling just enough to make his toes curl against the sheets, in time with each soft suck and flick of his tongue over his head, and soon Dabi is biting his lip, trying to ground himself with that little spike of pain but knowing it's no use. It's been long enough, and his emotions are so thin, that he feels especially sensitive now. He doesn't think he'll be able to hold on for much longer and his balls give that away as they tense in the other's hand the closer he gets to his orgasm. 

But just before he crests that edge, Tomura pulls off of his cock, watching as he, so hard now, immediately is pressing up against his stomach and leaking pre as he whines. "Tomura--" Never called him that aloud before and it earns red eyes going even hotter on him as he pulses out the smell of his arousal as his mouth moves back to the skin of his thighs. 

"Not yet, pretty boy. Not until you show me." 

That earns him another pitiful sound. It's so hard to concentrate, and when he tries to switch forms again, he instinctively tries to avoid the one he knows will get him hurt. His tail sprouts from his back and wraps around Tomura's wrist instead as he goes sanguine-born, the appendage trying to get the other to bring his hand to his cock to pump him through to his completion. But Tomura won't. He just chuckles softly before he moves his mouth against him again, tongue laving along his balls in such a teasing lick that Dabi is growling and cursing as his hips try to jump up to get more anything as such a sharp ache centers itself on his groin as his orgasm starts to slip completely back from the edge he was so close to. 

Tomura's hand shifts to his hips as he kisses down over his balls and to his hole. Dabi keens as his breath tickles him there before he's laving his tongue over him. Dabi can't help throwing his head back as he moans and he hears fabric tear on his horns as it catches and sends feathers spilling across the bed. His tongue flicks around him, teasing the nerves that haven't gotten to feel like this in mouths, getting him slick and wet, but not nearly enough to take the thing he's been missing so badly. As masterful as the human can be with his tongue, it is nothing compared to the ecstasy that comes when he's so achingly full of the other's cock. But this is still good, still more than he's had in so long and making it even harder for him to focus as his tongue presses into his body and licks along his walls like he's been starving for him as one hand goes to the base of his tail to stroke it the way he always does. Doesn't miss a beat when his forms change and he never has. Always tries to find the things that each of his bodies crave. 

His tongue moves inside of him, one hand over his tail, and Dabi is aching and leaking again so soon. He keeps one hand in Tomura's hair, trying to keep him as occupied as he can with his mouth, so that he won't notice as he unclenches his other hand from the sheets. He reaches down to his cock and starts to stroke himself. He was so close before and the movements of the other's tongue inside of him are only bringing him there even faster. He is going to fall apart and he needs to do so before the other realizes what he's doing and stops him. 

But he can't make it before Tomura's other hand reaches and catches his wrist, pulling it away from his body and leaving him thrusting up into nothing, and withdrawing his tongue when he tries to grind down on that instead with a sob. "Please, please, please--" he normally gets as many orgasms as he wants when he's in the human's bed. He's the most indulgent partner that he's ever had in his life. His body doesn't know how to handle it now that he's not being allowed to get them. 

His breath cools the spit that's dripping out of his hole as he speaks, "No, baby. Not until you show me." He won't stroke his tail anymore, won't lick him again, doesn't touch his cock at all as it is flushed and aching against his stomach. Instead he kisses his skin so gently and sweetly. "It's okay, firefly," he promises. You can let go. I'll make sure that you keep feeling so good. You just have to let yourself relax. Don't you think it will feel even better if you give yourself over to the pleasure completely?" 

Dabi whimpers, but he can't find any real words as his whole body is left vibrating, so desperate for a relief to the ache in his cock, and unable to let go of the fear that keeps him rooted in one of his false bodies as he turns to a human instead. 

Tomura sighs softly. "That's okay, baby boy. I know what helps to make you even hotter." He strips away his shirt and moves off of the bed for long enough to grab the bottle of oil he has in the nightstand and slip out of his boots and pants. Dabi doesn't know if he's ever been so desperate for pleasure that just the sight of the other's body and his thick, perfect cock, could bring him so close to the edge that his balls visibly tighten as a fresh gush of pre brings him closer to his orgasm without actually giving him the satisfaction. But that just means that Tomura doesn't immediately move back between his legs. Instead he presses soft, sweet kisses to each of the new grounding irons that are set into his forearms, to the one in his sternum, the ones at his wrists. Little touches places that won't bring Dabi over, but make it hard for him to settle too. 

But he must know how desperately Dabi likes to be stuffed full of him, because he decides that isn't enough to cool him down and keep him from coming right away if he tries to get him wetter with lube. Instead he chills his palm further with his magic and makes Dabi keen brokenly when he cups the cold flesh around his balls. It makes his erection flag sharply enough that he thinks that he'll be able to hold on until he shatters, and the hand goes away and is a more moderate temperature when the slick fingers make sure to wet him in a way his saliva never could. Dabi is near full hardness again, his lips swollen and sore from the kisses that Tomura has been giving him as he makes sure he's open enough to take his cock. 

It takes so much effort to make his heavy limbs move enough to wrap his legs around his waist, his heels biting into the small of his back to try to get his body full faster. "Tomura," he whines. 

"I know, firefly. Never happier than when I'm filling you up," the human's voice is also thick with his desire as he moves his hand over himself enough to ensure that he's soaked with oil too. Dabi moans so loudly he wouldn't be surprised if the people downstairs could hear him through the ceiling as Shigaraki's cock presses inside, stretching him open so wide that Dabi's control starts to tremble. Instinctive to want to roll on his back so he can hide, but this is what Tomura wants. He wants to see. But Dabi is still fighting the transformation as he's made so full. Tomura's cock presses in along every inch of him in that perfect symphony of pressure that makes him see stars and has him aching again. Never fucked Tomura on his back before. His cock is rubbing up against the cut lines of muscle across his stomach and smearing both of their skin with more pre as he goes breathlessly needy for his release. He needs it so badly. He just has to let go and he'll get it. 

But he's fighting it still as Tomura starts to fuck him so slowly. The sounds of his pleasure spill out between them and he is so breathless with his want. And once again, this time barely a few thrusts in, as his muscles tighten around the human's cock, he pulls out until only his head is inside, letting most of Dabi's walls clench down hard on nothing as he steals away his orgasm again and Dabi sobs like he might die without it. 

It takes him smelling blood in the air and hearing the sharper intake of Tomura's breath for him to realize that his form has fallen. He is a changeling, the unburned portions of his skin white as bleached bone, and eyes damaged so badly from the fire that ate away at his skin that he can only cry crimson now. He is scared that means that he's not going to get anything else because Tomura will surely be too disgusted to keep wanting to touch him, but in the next second he is being filled to the brim again. 

"That's it, firefly. There. I'm so proud of you. I'm so happy that you let me see. You're still beautiful, baby boy." He says the words and they are sweeter than any offering of honey he's given him. Dabi is crying harder, sounds of his pleasure mixed in with everything else. Tomura kisses the blood from his face as readily as he kissed away his tears. "Not going to love you any less if you look like this all of the time. It's all just you, Dabi. I just want you." He tells him again as he rolls his hips in that same, slow, agonizing rhythm that isn't bringing his pleasure high enough fast enough to give him his release. 

"Please, please, please," he showed him. He wants to feel good at least one more time before Tomura really does change his mind. He's going to have to. No one could ever want a changeling. That's why his kind have to sneak their babies into cribs or disguise themselves to take partners. Smart people don't even want full-blooded fey and they, at least, are beautiful. 

"You're so sweet, precious." Tomura tells him as he shifts to make sure that his cock is putting pressure on his prostate each time it brushes over it as he sinks in deeper. "You can cum now. Let me see. I've wanted to watch how your face twists with pleasure since the first night I took you to bed, firefly." But he won't touch his cock. He even shifts between his legs so that he is only bouncing with each thrust, but can't grind against his stomach like he did before. Not going to give him friction. Only going to make him cum from how good it feels to be stuffed so full of his thick cock the way he's been craving for so many months. That lack of friction is the thing that makes him last longer than he wants to. He's aching so badly, his cock convinced that he's going to have all of the good sensation in his body taken away just like it was the first time. Each movement inside has his nails biting harder into Shigaraki's back, and he answers that needy desperation by moving harder, but never faster. He makes Dabi creep up to his orgasm. Makes him hurt so much that the pain loops back around to the sharpest, sweetest pleasure he's ever felt in his life as he sobs and moans as his cock finally, finally kicks and gushes his cum up over his chest and stomach. His mind whites out entirely and for a second he wonders very distantly if he was wrong about this being his real body, because he thinks he's going to melt apart completely against the sheets. Maybe he wasn't made to have any physical body at all because he doesn't think that this one will last as he's brought sharply up against the edge of a second orgasm from his prostate impossibly fast as he savors how full he is as Tomura focuses on finding his own completion in his body too. 

Dabi is crying so hard, another very thin stream of milky cum forced out of his limp cock as he's fucked completely full as Tomura peppers his skin with kisses. His mouth doesn't hesitate over the unnatural pale sections or the warped, ugly burns. The smell of his arousal never wavers. Red eyes don't shut to pretend he's something else as he moves so deeply inside of him until his hips sink in one more time and he floods his insides with his release. Then it's just his soft, trembling sobs in the dark of the room and Tomura's sweeter breaths as he pulls out.

A keen ache goes through his chest, so scared that the human will pull away completely and tell him to get his things and go-- but he doesn't. Doesn't go back on his word. His eyes are still too soft and warm as he pulls him close to his chest again and goes right back to kissing his lips and kissing his tears away. 

"Shh, it's alright, firefly. You did such a good job. So perfect for me, baby. I'm so proud of you." He murmurs as his hands stroke over his skin. He holds onto him as the tears come harder and faster now that they're not muted by the pleasure the other was putting into his body. He can't stop them from coming, but it takes him a long, long time to realize that he's not just crying because he was scared of losing this completely, but because he's weeping for all of the years of his life he's spent being utterly convinced that he would never be allowed to have this at all. 

///

"Welcome back!" 

Dabi's head snaps up from the drink he was pouring, a little furious that Himiko spotted his lover returning before he did. He and Iguchi are still making their way through the crowded bar, but the dragon-kin is already having his attention pulled by some of the other regulars. Everyone else knows better than to stop Tomura on his way to the bar, on his way straight to him. Dabi passes off the drink and immediately moves out from behind the bar, abandoning Himiko to keep up with demand as he moves to meet his lover halfway. 

Three weeks. It's the longest they've been apart since Dabi came back into his life a year and a half ago. Since he showed him what he was and Tomura carved out a place in his life and used every ounce of influence he had in Zogas itself so that he would never have to hide that again. Three weeks since, to pay one of those debts he took on to make a life for them, he had to travel like an adventurer again to slay some monster that was wreaking havoc in the countryside. He promised he would come home and this time when Dabi had been scared, when he'd doubted, it was because he knew that the world might conspire to keep his lover away, not any worry over the sincerity of Tomura's words. 

"Dabi," he doesn't have to ask. Dabi is letting the form of the elf fall away as he presses himself into the other's chest. If anyone else cares what he looks like, they've learned to hold their tongues or risk his lover's wrath. "There's my firefly." He says, eyes warm and lips twisted into a smile that he borrowed a few times when he was missing him so badly while he was gone. Tomura lets him taste it fresh when he tangles his hands in the mess of hair that he still refuses to cut and pulls him to his mouth. 

"I missed you," He says against his skin when he has to part lest the jeering and peanuts being thrown at them turn into Himiko or one of the other staff throwing a pitcher of ice water on them. 

"I missed you too, precious. Brought you something," he says as he lets his bag down from his shoulder so he can get a hand in it. He pulls out a jar of honey that is a deeper, darker amber than anything he's seen sold in the city. "Buckwheat honey, the seller said that it's malty and spicy." 

Dabi would purr if he had the right parts for it now. "Come feed it to me?" 

"Absolutely, pretty boy." Threads his fingers through the strap that holds his swords to his back and pulls him towards the stairs, towards their apartment. 

"Wha-- hey! He's working!" Magne cries out. 

"Not anymore." Tomura says with finality. "Have Jin make a shade. " 

He doesn't ever take his eyes off of him as he pulls him up the stairs, not even as his clients, employees, and friends jeer at them as they leave. 

Thank you so much for reading! If you enjoyed consider dropping an ask/reply!

[rinhaler]

so my ex just used me to get better and then dated someone else once he was okay, so i’m requesting a toji fucking megumi’s ex gf to teach his son a lesson, or megumi’s gf ends up taking “Break my heart? i’ll be your step mom.” too seriously 🫶

fuck ur ex fuck him i hate him idek know him but i hate him!!!! enjoy the filth <3

warnings: 18+ MDNI, age gap, implied cheating, vaginal sex, revenge sex, clit rubbing, pet names, praise, slight cucking, creampie.

words: .8k

“Oh. God, T-Toji—!” you cry out as his cock buries deeper and deeper inside of you.

The prominent veins stimulate your walls with every thrust while his cockhead pummels against your g-spot with perfect precision. He doesn’t miss a beat, either, he possesses an endless supply of stamina and he’s using it to his advantage.

He silences you with a nasty, drool infused kiss as your tongues tangle effortlessly. It’s hard to feel guilty about letting your ex’s dad rail you when it feels this good. It was a messy breakup, and yet, you didn’t feel the need to cut off Toji. You broke up with Megumi, after all. Not his dad.

Though you didn’t expect to be lifted onto his chest of drawers when you came over and fucked within an inch of your life. You decided to come over and collect the last of your things and ended up staying a little longer than planned when Toji offered you a glass of wine. In hindsight, you’ve realised that he offered and spilled it on you just to get you upstairs.

“Kid’s a fuckin’ idiot,” he snarls, resting his forehead against yours. “Perfect little pussy, baby, so fucking perfect.”

You watch him as he pulls his head away from yours and licks his thumb, lowering it to rub your puffy clit without slowing his thrusts. Your head falls back against the wall behind you, feeling lighter than air and losing all sense of control as he fucks into you slow and deep.

He smiles at you as you place your hands on his shoulders, moving his lips to softly kiss each of them.

“Knew he’d fuck things up eventually,” he announces, confidently, “The minute I saw ya, I knew Megumi wasn’t gonna be able to handle you, darlin’.”

“Fuck, Toji, h-have you been waiting for this?” you ask him, already knowing the answer by the way he smirks.

“You think too much.” he tells you, leaning forwards to make out with you again. He’s right, of course, but the harder he ploughs into you the muddier your thoughts become. All you can think about is him. There’s inklings of regret as Megumi flashes through your mind. He sees it behind your eyes, he must do. Because soon after he grabs your face in one large hand until your cheeks pucker. “Stop thinkin’ about the piece of shit, he’s not thinking about you.”

“Oh my God…” you huff, knowing he’s right. You wrap your arms around his neck and pull him closer again, moaning into his mouth as your walls begin to tighten. “Make me— wanna cum—” you tell him, earning another passion induced kiss and faster thrusts.

“Yeah? Wanna cum, baby?” he asks, and you nod in turn. “Can I cum in this pretty cunt?”

“P-Please, yes please!”

The moaning from both of you is raucous as he chases his own high and forces you into yours. You cream around him beautifully. He still can’t believe what an idiot Megumi was to let you go. But he won’t complain, not when he’s emptying his balls into your gorgeous little pussy.

You pant and move the hair out of his face being stuck down by his sweaty forehead. He laughs, softly, and you can’t help but join him when the reality sinks in. Though he helps you down and picks up your underwear from the floor. He grabs his shirt while you slip into them, feeling particularly vile when you feel his warm seed seep into the gusset of your panties.

He watches you as you pick up your jacket and your phone.

“You’re on your phone already?” he laughs. “Don’t tell me I was just a cheap fuck.” he teases you, and you smile.

“No, sorry.” you smile back as you let the intrusive thoughts whirring through your mind win. You were going to delete his number, though you’re glad you didn’t as you hit dial on Megumi’s number. You’re pleased Toji doesn’t hear the faint ringing sound, and you’re even happier when you see the time going up on your screen, seeing that Megumi actually answered.

“hello?” you hear him say a few times, muffling the sound as you put it in your jacket pocket.

“I can’t believe we had sex, Toji.” you speak, doing all you can to not smirk as you’re sure Megumi’s heart just dropped. “You won’t tell Megumi, will you? I’m so mad at him… I hate him… but I don’t want to hurt him.”

“Don’t worry, I’m not telling him.” Toji nods, agreeing. “Can’t lie though, I wouldn’t mind fucking you again.” he chuckles.

“Then…” you approach him again, kissing him. “Fuck me again, Toji. Wan’ your cock again. Want you t’cum in me again. Need you… s’bad.” you moan quietly as his hands begin exploring your body. He lifts you up and throws you down onto the bed, pulling his jeans down again.

“Fuck me, princess, thought you’d never ask.”

You begin kissing again, unsure how much of that Megumi heard. But you make sure to keep your volume sufficiently high as you make out with his dad.

It’s the least he deserves for cheating.

© 2023 rinhaler

[dreamsteddie]

AITA Steddie Au Part Three

Part Two

Hello! Sorry for the delay! This week was very busy with student conferences and my own midterms so I haven't had a lot of time to work on this. This is more of an interlude building up to bigger things, but I hope you enjoy it!

Also! Get in the comments if you have any ideas of an actual name for this series so I can stop calling it AITA Steeddie Au. I can't think of anything good 😓

------

Eddie takes Steve on that second date.

And then a third and a fourth and eventually he stops counting because he's seeing Steve as often as he can between their jobs and other responsibilities. He feels high off it, giddy with possibility and hope for this new thing that he's never had before.

Eddie has done relationships before, a couple of times. A small handful of boys and girls he took out on dates and tried his best to woo all went up in flames one way or another, but none of those relationships left him feeling so gone so fast. He felt like he was always holding himself back from giving himself up completely, too afraid of falling without a safety net to reach for that deep devotion he's always craved.

Steve makes him feel like they're plunging into that unknown together.

Still, no matter how much he's been trying to avoid it, the looming specter of what the hell to do about his friends is looming over his head.

------

"Are you fucking serious right now dude?" Eddie asks, a complicated mix of righteous anger, humiliation for himself and Steve, and complete disbelief at Gareth's unwillingness to back down from this making it increasingly difficult to keep his cool.

"Look man, all I'm saying is that Steve is like, the complete antithesis of literally everything we stand for. He's a nepo baby business major who's never had an original thought in his life! I would know! I've read one of his papers." Gareth says, forced nonchalance coloring his tone and riling Eddie up even more.

He rears up, shoulders pushing back and hands grasping at the air like he could pull down his frustration from the either and condense it into a solid ball he could lob at Garteth's head to finally knock some goddamn sense into his brain.

"Hey, hey, hey. Okay, Eddie, I'm really sorry about this. It was a fucked up idea, I don't know what we were thinking." Jeff interveins before the frustrated banshy noises Eddie is letting out turn into another yelling match that won't get anyone anywhere.

"I think we just got too caught up wanting to help you get out of this rut and it all turned into something completely insane. You don't gotta forgive us Eddie, but if there's anything we can do to try and make up for it, we'll do it. Isn't that right Gareth?" Jeff pointedly asked with a look that says agree with me right now or else.

Gareth doesn't say anything.

The thing about all of this that Eddie just can't wrap his head around is the why. Why would his friends, his sheepies, do something so cruel? He knows none of them have ever looked kindly at people like Steve. Too many traumatizing high school humiliations behind them all to trust when someone who looks so much like all the guys who bullied them in high school tries to reach out, but Gareth and Jeff have never tried something like this. In fact, it's used to be Eddie doing most of the anti-jock revenge planning back in the day, even if nothing ever actually came from it.

He thought, incorrectly it seems, that they had grown out of the worst of it by now. It's been three years since Garteth graduated, and five since Eddie made his final attempt, and leaving their hometown behind did a lot to heal old hurts.

So why this? Why now?

"Is this seriously how it's going to be man? You won't tell me what the fuck any of this was really about and you're not even going to try and apologize? Seriously?" The righteous anger is starting to seep out of him, leaving behind a bone-deep exhaustion.

Gareth just continues to stare at him defiantly, not saying a word.

Eddie pinches his nose and takes a deep breath, "You know what? Fine. Whatever. If this is how it's going to be then I'm out. Jeff, I'll talk to you later, probably not for a little bit though. Gareth?" The other man lifts his head from where he'd been looking down at his shoes. There were tears in his eyes, just a little bit but enough for Eddie to clock it. Face red from some unnamed cocktail of emotions Eddie doesn't have the energy or desire to interrogate right now. "Call me when you're ready to grow the fuck up. I've got a second date to plan."

With that, Eddie turned on his heel and made for the open garage door.

"What about the band, man?!" Gareth called.

Eddie kept walking.

-------

That was over four weeks ago.

He hasn't spoken to Gareth for most of that time. The first couple of days he blew up his phone with angry to half-apologizing texts that Eddie promptly ignored. After the second day, he sent a single text back letting him know he didn't want to talk unless he had a real explanation and apology to give both him and Steve and that he was going to block his number for a little while. He could let Freak know if he was ever ready to talk like adults. Eddie trusted him to tell if Gareth was being genuine.

In other news.

Waking up to strong arms secured around his naked waist is fast becoming Eddie's favorite way to start the day. He and Steve slept together for the first time last week, and since then it's like neither of them can get enough of each other.

"Hey, baby." Steve rasps in his ear, tilting his head down to smear sleepy kisses onto his shoulder. The hand that was resting against his ribs meanders its way down to the trail of hair under his navel, scratching just a little and making Eddie feel like a contented mutt. He's not sure if he should feel horny or like he could sink into the mattress and sleep for another full 8 if Steve keeps holding him like his.

"Mornin' sweetheart." he says deciding that a couple more hours of sleep is definitely the way to go. Steve, it seems, has other idead.

"What you thinkin' about this early in the morning?" He asks, hand continuing to scratch lazily at Eddie's stomach like he's not completely destroying Eddie's will and ability to focus on anything but the warm body behind him.

But it's been a long time coming, and as much as he doesn't want to, Eddie needs to start thinking about what he wants to do about his friends? former friends? estranged family? band and Steve deserves to be a part of the conversation.

Eddie sits up, bringing Steve up with him to rest against the headboard. "I've been thinking about the band. Gareth and Jeff, that is." He pauses, waits for some kind of reaction that doesn't come. Steve looks concerned, but not in the way he thought he would.

"Ok." Steve responds, waiting for more.

"I guess I just don't know what to do." He looks out into the middle distance of Steve's bedroom. Takes in the display of swim, basketball, and baseball trophies displayed proudly on a shelf, catching the early morning light. "I'm still so fucking mad. It's honestly kind of irritating how mad it makes me to think of what they did. It was so fucking stupid."

Steve hums a little, letting Eddie get it out.

"But at the same time I can't help but fucking miss them. Miss the music and the campaigns and everything else." It's honestly been eating him alive, the mix of anger and longing he's been feeling for his friends. The constant longing to go back in time and stop them from concocting this shit show but also, like, stalk Gareth to his 8 AM Business class so he can run into Steve and they can fall in love at first sight or some shit.

Silence.

Steve shifts. Moves so he can look Eddie right in the face. He looks thoughtful in a way that Eddie had to get used to. Sometimes when Steve is thinking hard about something, he scrunches his face in such a way that it makes him look like he's judging you. He isn't, it's just an unfortunate fact of life that his baby has a resting Judgemental Face™.

Steve heaves out a big breath, bringing Eddie back down to earth. "I mean, I don't want to, like, cloud your judgement or whatever but maybe you should try and talk to them one more time. Jeff appologized right?"

And, ok that's definetly not what Eddie was expecting to hear. It must show on his face because Steve is suddenly looking away, embaraced.

"I just..." He trails off, taking his own turn staring out at the dull shine of his old acomplishments. Eddie watches as his face once again turns pensive as he stares harder at the remnents of his high school acheivements.

"I used to be a pretty shitty guy. Did the same kind of shit your buddies did a couple of times." This isn't necessarily news to Eddie. They've talked a little about who Steve was in high school and how much work he put into himself before he decided to go back to college. It's still a bit of a shock to hear, though.

"So I get how someone can make a mistake like that, y'know? So if you want to try and talk it out, I won't be offended. I know we're in this together, now." Peace said, Steve reaches for Eddie's hand and gives it a squeeze.

It hits Eddie again, just how good Steve Harrington is. It hasn't been long, not really, since they got together but they've fallen together so completley, so easily, that it's easy to forget that there's still so much they have to learn, so many layers for Eddie to peal back. Behind every judgemental remark and complaint about the frequent phone calls he gets from chuldren he used to babysit in his hometown is a man who cares deeply and is capable of great forgiveness, even if it hasn't been earned yet.

Eddie squeezes his hand back.

"Are you sure?" Eddie asks.

"Yeah, it's not we have to totally forgive them, right? But I think you need to get a real answer from both of them about why it happened. Maybe you can find a way past it, maybe they'll say something that puts the nail in the coffin." He responds.

Eddie takes a deep breath, and thinks.

Steve is right. Eddie isn't satisfied with any of the answers he got last time, and he knows that there has to be more to the story than "trying to get Eddie out of a rut" and he's not going to be able to put any of this to rest until he understands.

"Ok, yeah. I'll call them." Steve gives him an encouraging smile at that, rubbing the back of Eddie's hand where they haven't let go yet.

"Good, I'm glad. And I can come with you if you want. Hit em from both sides." he says. Eddie think's he'll take him up on that offer, but right now he had more imporant things to do. Namely, tackling his sweet boyfriend onto the mattress and having a mid morning tousle.

"We'll see. Right now I've got more imporant things to do." He says in his best aproximation of a sultry voice. He doesn't know how good it really is, but it seems to work based on the way Steve's eyes get hooded and he looks down at Eddie's mouth.

Gotcha.

Before Steve can lean down and kiss him, Eddie snaps his hands down to his boyfriend's sides in a well executed tickle atack. Steve immedietly jolts and starts howling with laughter, yelling between breaths that Eddie is "a fucking asshole" as he continues his relentless atacks.

Eventually, Steve manages to regain his bearings and go on the offence, turning them over and trapping his boyfriend's hands beneath his knees so he can atack Eddie's equally ticklish sides.

Once the late morning has passes into early noon and they've both settled back into Steve's signifigantly more rumpled be, Eddie takes one more moment to think about the furute to come before he shelves it. He knows that whatever conversation is to come, it won't be easy, and even if things go as smoothly as possible with Gareth and Jeff, things will never be the same between them all.

Looking down at Steve, who is sporting the most outrageous bedhead in human history, laughing at the stream of reals Robin sent him in the middle of the night, he thinks he'll be okay either way.

Tag List

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[teddy06writes]

Whumptober Day 20 - Dallas Winston

Dallas Winston x gn!reader

Prompt: "Who did this to you?"

Trigger Warnings: Canon typical violence, swearing

Summary: You get jumped, Dally plots revenge.

You should have been paying better attention. If you'd been paying attention, you would've seen the socs coming from a mile away. And if you had seen them coming then surely you would have had the good sense enough to take a shortcut home, or to the Curtis house, or at least to the DX station where Steve and Sodapop could've scared them off.

Your thoughts raced in these circles as you limped down the street, back in the direction of home.

They hadn't even given you time to fight back before they had dragged you off into an alley, to give you one hell of a soaking. One smart comment in earshot of the wrong person had given you a swollen eye, a busted lip, and some number of other bruises littering the rest of your body.

"Holy shit, (y/n), is that you?"

"You don't look so good."

You turned, finding Ponyboy and Johnny leaning against the side of a corner store, smoking. Before you could even open your mouth, Ponyboy was pulling you out of foot traffic, and Johnny was lighting a cigarette to place between your still shaking fingers.

"What the hell happened?"

"Don't ask 'em that, ain't it obvious? It was the damn socs!" Ponyboy exclaimed.

You nodded, taking a drag of the cigarette, "Shoulda seen it coming. I slagged off that damn Chet what's his name in fifth period and someone musta heard me."

"Christ! wait till Dallas hears!" Ponyboy exclaimed.

"Wait till Dallas hears what?"

At the sudden sound of your boyfriends voice, the boys jumped, turning to Dally and beginning to stutter out that they found you like that. Of course, Dallas heard none of that as soon as he caught sight of your busted up face.

He was pushing them aside and taking the sides of your face in his hands, "Who did this to you?"

"Dal-"

"Who did this?" He asked again, barely holding back his anger.

You glanced away before meeting his eyes again, "Chet something or other- he runs with Gregg Parkers gang."

Dally nodded, releasing you, and running a hand over his face, thinking for a moment.

"It's fine Dal, I was practically asking for it-"

"No, no, no, none of that shit, doll. That little slime ball, is going to pay for messing with what's mine," There was something hard in his tone, in his protectiveness that tugged at your chest, as he turned to Pony and Johnny, "Listen, you two get them back to the house, see if Darry's got that first aid kit of his stocked up, alright?"

Ponyboy and Johnny nodded duitifly as he continued, "Then I want you to get Two-Bit, and Steve, hell, anyone you can find, and send 'em to meet me over at Buck's. I gotta go find Shepard."

"What about us?" Pony asked.

"You stay with (y/n), alright? I don't need Darry hounding me about dragging you into this, too." He looked around the street, before turning back to you.

"Dallas..." You tried to protest again.

"C'mere," Dally pulled you into his arms, briefly, and pressing an uncharacteristically chaste, gentle kiss to your temple, "Let me do this."

Without another word he was heading off down the street, and Johnny and Ponyboy began to corral you back towards the Curtis house, so that Darry could patch you up.

Eventually, Dally, Two-Bit and Steve would return to the Curtis house, and with bloody knuckles, Dally would join you on the couch, holding you close, happy in knowing that you were safe.

[ak319]

Dark A.M x fem!reader

-- ★ The Word of Claim ┃ ─𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝟏─

Syno: Word of claim, a tradition where a man fires his weapon outside a woman's home and speaks her name, and in that moment, she becomes his wife. Though deemed unlawful, a taboo… who cares? Outlaws never follow laws, do they? Warnings/MDNI: none. ✰ 8.8K tag list: @shackspossum @whalecage @nayykura

─concept m.list

Dutch and Hosea cackled as they stepped out of the saloon, the warm glow of lamplight catching the edges of their grins.

“That was so easy,” Dutch said, his voice carrying the smooth satisfaction of a man who always believed he was one step ahead.

Hosea nodded, slapping Dutch on the back. “Didn’t I tell you? Weekend nights are a gold mine.” He jingled the coins in his hand, counting quickly before slipping the money securely into his pocket. The night was brisk, the sounds of drunken chatter and distant music blending into the background as the two made their way to the horses.

But Dutch’s steps slowed, his attention snagging on something, or someone, further down the street.

“Hosea... you see that?”

Hosea followed Dutch’s gaze, his amusement dimming. A young girl, no older than nine or ten, stood motionless on the wooden sidewalk. Her wide eyes darted around, her expression a mix of terror and confusion. She was dressed too neatly for the dusty town, her clothes crisp and well-tailored, the kind of outfit only a wealthy family could afford.

“Hmm,” Hosea muttered, a note of unease creeping into his tone. “Poor kid looks lost.”

“Lost,” Dutch repeated, a contemplative edge in his voice. His sharp eyes studied her, taking in every detail, the way her hands nervously twisted the fabric of her clothes, the tear tracks streaked across her flushed cheeks, the way she shrank against the lamppost as if the world were too big and too dangerous.

“Dutch,” Hosea said quietly, sensing where this might be heading.

But Dutch had already started forward, his expression shifting into something softer, something almost kind. “Well, hello there, darlin’,” he called out, his voice warm and honeyed, the tone he used when reeling someone into his plans.

The girl flinched, her small hands clutching her skirt tighter. She didn’t respond, her eyes locked on Dutch as if trying to decide whether he was a threat or a savior.

Hosea sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. “Dutch, maybe we oughta-”

“She’s scared, Hosea,” Dutch interrupted, his gaze never leaving the girl. He crouched slightly, his tone coaxing. “Ain’t no need to be frightened, sweetheart. What’s your name?”

"I am not te-lling."

"Okay, no problem. Ain' prying. Where are you parents? We can take you to them , help you find em'"

“I--they’re gone... on a trip,” you mumbled, your voice breaking as tears welled up in your eyes.

“A trip?. Where to?”

“I--I don’t know!. I just wanna go home!” you cried, your small body trembling with the effort to hold back sobs.

Dutch’s expression flickered, something unspoken passing between him and Hosea. With a heavy sigh, Hosea stepped forward, his tone calm and measured. “Alright now, missy, let’s sit down for a bit. You tell us what you can, and we’ll see if we can figure this out, eh?”

It took some coaxing and the promise of something to eat, but soon you found yourself sitting on a park bench between the two men. Hosea handed you a crumpled handkerchief to wipe your tears while Dutch leaned forward, listening intently as your words spilled out in fits and starts.

Your parents, you explained, had left for a business trip to France. You had been left in the care of your uncle and aunt. But things had taken a dark turn. They had kicked you out of your own home, their jealousy of your parents’ wealth and status boiling over into spiteful revenge.

Dutch leaned back, his brow furrowing as he processed your story. This is some next-level low, even for him. Kicking out a little kid, from her own house? Over some family feud? But his brain conjured some good out of this too...

"So, she knows when her parents are gonna be back," Dutch began, a sly smile creeping across his face. "And I know they’re rich as hell, Hosea. So let’s help her, wait for their grand return, even better when they hang those posters and when we bring their little girl back..."

“We get rewarded?” Hosea deadpanned as he shot a glance at you, sitting a few feet away on the bench, quietly sniffing into the handkerchief. Mhm, not completely a bad idea...

Dutch’s grin widened. “Exactly.”

“I'm in.”

As they turned back toward you, Dutch crouched again, his voice soft but firm. “Alright, darlin’, here’s the deal. You come with us, and we’ll take care of you till your folks get back. Safe and sound. How’s that sound?”

You hesitated, your eyes flickering between the two men. “I don’t know... I don’t want to.”

Dutch’s expression hardened, the softness giving way to a sharper edge. “Well, let me tell you somethin’. Ain’t nobody else out here gonna take pity on you. You’re a kid alone on these streets. If someone don’t snatch you up to sell or worse, they’ll leave you to starve. That what you want?”

Your breath hitched, the weight of his words sinking in. You shook your head slowly, clutching the handkerchief tighter.

“Then come on,” Dutch urged, standing and offering his hand. “You don’t have to trust us, but right now, we’re all you’ve got. And I promise, we’ll get you home.”

With no other choice, you let yourself believe him, just enough. You reached out hesitantly, placing your small hand in his larger one. Somehow, it felt like a lifeline.

❀˖°

That's how you ended up living with a gang, although you never imagined it would be for a whole two months. You understood the concept of outlaws...that they were terrible people. But these folks? They weren’t so bad… Well, most of them.

"HEY! IT'S MINE!"

"Not anymore." With that, John devoured your entire chocolate bar in one bite.

"AUNTY SUSAN GAVE IT TO ME!"

"Well, too bad. It’s gone. Now what? You gonna cry, little princess?-OW! OW! HEY-"

"Why can’t you leave her alone, huh?!" Arthur’s voice boomed as he stepped in, giving John a few solid smacks before pushing him away. "Idiot..."

You watched as Arthur turned to you, his expression softening. You immediately sat down in silence, instinctively becoming still. He could be kind of scary when he wanted to be, even at 15.

"Um... sorry for him," Arthur muttered, looking at you with an awkward smile. "Here, you can have mine." He pulled out another chocolate bar, but you shook your head, rejecting it.

"Please...take it."

You nodded and took it muttering a small thank you, still feeling too embarrassed to have accepted the gesture.

He gave you a small, understanding nod. "Just call me...if he bothers again. Alright?" Then, with a half-smile, he wandered off.

That's how you and Arthur began interacting. He was genuinely interested in learning about your life, curious about how others lived. At first, you were intimidated by him, but slowly, you began to share bits of your life when he asked, and over time, the two of you became friends.

He taught you things you didn’t know, how to clean a gun, the different parts, even use it, and how to properly care for a horse. You were fascinated by his patience, as he showed you step by step, making it seem so simple and easy. It was a peaceful and surprisingly enjoyable activity for both of you.

Arthur found a sense of home in the camp, a rare calm amidst the chaos. And for you, it became a momentary escape from the pain of missing your parents and the anger you felt toward your relatives.

He never had a female friend close to his age in this life, and it was refreshing for him to find someone who wasn’t afraid to speak their mind or laugh at the little things.

But then the time came, the time for your parents' arrival. Dutch decided it was appropriate enough to take you back, and so he, Hosea, and Arthur went along, though the boy wasn't entirely sure why he did. Maybe he just wanted to see where you came from, see your house.

When your parents saw you return, safe and happy, it was like they’d been revived. They were grateful to Dutch and the gang for taking care of you. You told them how these people had saved you, and, true to their word, they paid Dutch a generous amount for the trouble. All in all, it was a weary, yet friendly encounter. Dutch didn’t rob them, and your parents never suspected the gang's true intentions.

Your aunt and uncle had long been thrown out, so that was one relief. Of course, your father wouldn’t ever let go of the anger, but for now, everything seemed calm.

Arthur, however, was feeling something else. As much as he didn’t want to admit it, he’d grown used to your presence in the camp. A new, refreshing friend in a world that had so little of that to offer. He couldn’t help but feel a little sad as you said your goodbyes to the three of them. He threw one last glance at your form, watching as you walked inside, safe and sound, where you truly belonged

But one day, Arthur decided to stop being afraid of something as simple as a friendship. He figured he'd visit you, and see how you were doing, but when he arrived, he found out you were gone. You had moved somewhere else, and no one seemed to know where.

With a heavy sigh, he turned and returned to camp. Perhaps it was for the better. What had he been thinking? What would the others have thought, your parents, especially? What was he even expecting? He couldn’t quite put it into words.

A nagging thought lingered in his mind. But he shook it off. Maybe it was just a momentary lapse that didn’t need to be dwelled on. After all, what did it matter?

❀˖°

The years passed by, and both of you were busy with your own lives. More than most, Arthur immersed himself in the gang’s work, the constant pull of jobs, and the weight of other matters. Matters like heartbreaks. Like Mary...

The twenty-six-year-old sighed as he shut his journal, his mind drifting back to simpler days. He leaned back and closed his eyes for a moment, allowing the silence to settle around him, but just a few minutes later, Ms. Grimshaw’s voice cut through the quiet.

"Mr. Morgan, got a minute?" she called from the doorway. Arthur groaned internally, but he sat up, rubbing his face.

"What is it, Ms. Grimshaw?"

"Got to head to the town for supplies. You up for it? Shouldn’t take long."

Arthur thought for a moment. He could use a few things himself, some ammunition, maybe a new hat.

"Yeah, I guess. Let's go."

The dusty road to the town was a familiar one, the wooden buildings of Sable Creek rising ahead as they crested a hill. The town had a certain charm to it, despite the ever-present stench of horse manure and the occasional storms that rolled through. It was a regular stop for the gang. Supplies, people to talk to, and if you were lucky, a drink at the saloon.

Arthur and Ms. Grimshaw made their way into town, picking up what they needed without much fuss. She was quick and efficient, always knowing exactly where to find the best goods for the gang’s needs.

After they'd gathered what they came for, Arthur’s eyes fell on a poster pinned to a wall, the ink stark against the old wood. The name on it stopped him dead in his tracks.

It was your father's name, (F/N) (L/N). The same name that had once meant nothing more to him than a fleeting memory. But now, there it was, emblazoned across the poster, paired with an unfamiliar slogan about (L/N)'s Manor and Mercantile Services. Arthur’s heart skipped. He stared at it, his pulse quickening.

He approached the poster and ran his fingers across the faded paper. "What the hell...?" he muttered to himself.

Your father, he couldn’t believe it. That name, your name… it had come back to him in an unexpected way

He was about to walk away when he noticed a man leaning against the nearby post, whittling a stick. A typical town local, rugged and weathered, the kind who might know something about the area. Arthur walked over, his steps fueled with curiosity, the urge to know more, tipping his hat to the man.

"Hey. You know anything 'bout (L/N)’s...residence?

The man glanced up at him, eyeing Arthur with a mix of suspicion and indifference. "(L/N)'s? Sure, I know 'em. Big uh estate...just a few miles north of here. Fancy place. Always got something going on, business deals, functions, you name it. Real high-falutin'. You lookin’ to pay 'em a visit?"

"Just curious. Never been out there. Figured... I might check it out."

The man gave a short laugh, scratching his chin. "Not many folks 'round here who want to go there. But if you do, take the road north by the old mill. You can’t miss it."

Arthur nodded, thanks on the tip of his tongue. Before he could say more, Ms. Grimshaw called from a distance, waving her hand impatiently.

"Arthur, let's go! We're burnin' daylight!"

He turned to the man once more. "Appreciate it."

As he walked away, his mind was a swirl of thoughts. He hadn’t expected to find out anything like this today. He glanced back at the poster one more time before putting it in his pocket, his thoughts drifting to you and what had happened since he last saw you.

For now, he’d finish the supply run.

❀˖°

"Kay' wait here and I'll go ask."

Arthur stood still, watching as the guard disappeared inside the large, grand estate, his eyes scanning the surroundings. The estate was even bigger than he'd imagined, its iron gates tall and imposing, with carefully manicured gardens on either side. He couldn’t help but feel out of place, a simple outlaw in a world of opulence.

Minutes passed before the guard emerged again, walking toward him. Arthur’s gaze flicked over the scene, but something about the figure approaching him made his heart skip. He blinked in confusion, unsure of what he was seeing. And then, from the distance, he saw you.

You were walking toward him, your pace steady and sure, your eyes narrowing as you took in his figure. Arthur’s mind raced, this couldn’t be real, could it? It had been so long since that day he left you, since the gang had dropped you off at your parent's estate. And now, here you were, standing before him, looking different, yet somehow still the same.

"(Y/N)?" Arthur asked, his voice coming out almost as a whisper, unsure whether this was just a trick of the light or something else entirely.

You stopped in front of him, a small smirk playing at the corner of your lips. "Yeah... it’s me. Arthur?"

He took off his hat, his hands feeling awkward as he shifted his weight from one foot to the other. "You remember me?"

You stifled a laugh, your gaze sharp and assessing. "Of course, oh my God! I remember every one of you. How could I forget that time?" You paused for a beat, eyes softening just a fraction as if the memory made you nostalgic, or maybe something more. "How did you even find me!?"

Arthur shifted uncomfortably, scratching the back of his neck as he avoided your gaze for a moment. "Saw a poster in town. Your father’s name. Thought it was a coincidence, but..." He shrugged, unsure how to explain. "Guess it wasn’t."

"A poster, huh? Guess that’s one way of tracking someone down." Your tone was playful, yet there was an edge to it, like you weren’t sure whether to welcome him or not.

Arthur took a moment to really look at you, your appearance had changed and matured...beautifully. You carried yourself differently, more poised, more... put together than he remembered. He looked away embarrassed praying you didn't notice him observing you.

“I didn’t...expect to see you here,” Arthur finally said, his voice quieter now, almost hesitant.

You smiled, a soft, knowing smile that made his heart stutter. "And I didn’t expect you to be looking for me." there was a faintest trace of amusement in your voice.

“I… I didn’t know what to expect. Thought I’d just see how you’re doing. Been a long time. So...how’s everything? Your folks?”

You sighed, your shoulders relaxing a little. “My folks are fine. Busy with their business. Nothing really changes, you know? And you? What’s the real story? You look… different, Arthur."

He chuckled softly, shaking his head. "I’ve had a lot of time to change, I guess. Been around, and seen some things. I didn’t mean to disrupt anything. Just… curious. Wanted to know if you were alright.”

With a small sigh, you uncrossed your arms and nodded. “Well, I’m fine. I’m… alright. But what about you? How’s life for a man like you now?”

Arthur’s smile faltered, the weight of his own life pressing down on him. "It ain't easy," he admitted, scratching his jaw. "But it's life, you know? Just trying to keep my head above water."

You looked at him again, the faintest flicker of something in your eyes, pity, maybe, or understanding. It was hard to tell. "Anyway, come on in."

Arthur blinked, still processing the invitation. “I--inside? I mean... you do know who I am, right?” His words faltered, and he glanced nervously at the manor around him, feeling out of place. “And I’m sure your parents-”

You cut him off with a dismissive wave. “No, no, they won’t mind. My parents aren’t that strict, you know?” You gave him a quick, mock assessing look, one eyebrow quirking up. “And you sure aren't here to rob us, are you?”

Arthur let out a short laugh. “Of course not! I just-” He stopped, fumbling for the right words. “I didn’t expect this. But... uh, okay. I’ll come in.”

You grinned and waved him inside. “Then come on, I can’t stand out here in the heat any longer. We don't send guests away just like that.. Especially old friends!”

With a slight chuckle of his own, Arthur followed you toward the door. He handed the reins of his horse to a nearby stable hand, still bewildered by the whole situation.

As you led him inside, Arthur couldn’t help but glance around, eyes wide as he took in the lavish surroundings. The grand staircase, the polished floors, and the meticulously arranged furniture. It was a far cry from the dusty campsites and rundown cabins he was used to.

"Do you know I have a little brother now? (B/N). He's 10, but he's taking a nap right now. My father is actually gone for a few days, but mum is home - MAMA! Look who's here! Let's hope she remembers you." Before Arthur could protest, your mother's voice startled him, and he, despite being clearly visible, stood behind you, making you snort at the way he reacted. "Relax, she not gonna eat you."

"Who is this, (Y/N)?" your mother asked, her voice a mix of polite curiosity and a hint of panic. She stepped into the room, her gaze sweeping over Arthur, who had awkwardly remained behind you, practically peeking from over your shoulder.

"Um--Hi...Mrs. (L/N)..."

You quickly stepped forward, giving her a reassuring smile. "Mama, it's Arthur, Arthur Morgan. From back then, you know, from the camp. He was one of the ones who... helped me when I was lost."

Your mother's expression softened immediately as the recognition clicked. She paused for a moment, her eyes scanning Arthur once more as if confirming it for herself. “Ahh, yes... I remember now. I thought you looked familiar.” She gave him a small, polite smile, her shoulders relaxing. “I hope you’re well, son.”

Arthur nodded, his usual stoic demeanor now softened by the fact that your mother seemed to remember him. Your mother's warm reaction put him at ease, and he began to feel less like an intruder and more like... someone who had once been part of your life.

"I hope you are well too...Mrs. (L/N)."

"Well, make yourself at home, Arthur," your mother said with a slight bow of her head before disappearing back into the other room, leaving you and Arthur alone to continue your impromptu tour.

You immediately began ushering Arthur through the house. "Alright, let me show you around!" Your voice was light and almost giddy, as you led him from one room to another, more like dragging.

"This is the study!"

"This is the sunroom!"

"This is the snooker room! Nice right?."

You quickly moved on. “And this is my favorite piece.” You pointed at an ornate, vintage mirror on the wall, its frame carved in intricate patterns. “It was a gift from my aunt. She said it’s been in the family for years.”

Finally, you stopped in front of a door, and your grin widened. “And this is my room!” you said, throwing the door open with a flourish.

Arthur stepped inside your room cautiously, his hat gripped tightly in his hands, his gaze darting around the space as though he were intruding on something sacred. The room was spacious yet inviting, with soft, muted colors that seemed to reflect your personality. Plush furniture filled the space with warmth, while delicate paintings adorned the walls, their subjects peaceful and idyllic. A large window bathed the room in sunlight, framing a picturesque view of the garden outside. The books on the shelves and the papers piled neatly on your desk hinted at a thoughtful and busy life.

Arthur shifted awkwardly, his boots scuffing lightly against the polished floor as he lingered near the door. He had never so casually entered a woman’s room before, and the intimacy of it caught him off guard. His world was one of dirt and danger, rough edges and fleeting comforts. Here, in this quiet, cozy room, he felt like an intruder in a place far too refined for someone like him.

“It’s... uh, real nice,” he mumbled, his voice low as his fingers toyed nervously with the brim of his hat. His eyes flitted to the soft throw draped over the chair, the pastel tones of the walls, the delicate lace curtains framing the window. He couldn’t help but feel a little overwhelmed. It was a glimpse into a life he could only dream of, a life so far removed from the rugged chaos he was used to.

You laughed softly, your voice breaking the quiet spell. "It’s just a room, Arthur. You can come in properly, y’know. I don't have a pet snake here or something that's gonna jump on you. Well, I do have a cat, Suki, I'll introduce you to her too."

He glanced at you, a faint flush creeping up his neck."Didn’t mean to...well, just never been in a...in a lady’s room before. Feels kinda...uh, different."

You grinned, leaning casually against the desk. "Awkward? Mhm. I can understand." you teased, watching his unease grow in the way he avoided looking directly at you.

Arthur chuckled nervously, rubbing the back of his neck. "Maybe a little…but it’s nice. Real nice. It’s refreshing. Seein’ how you live, all the pretty colors and…just feels peaceful.

There was something almost boyish about the way he avoided meeting your eyes for too long, his shyness making him look as though he were caught somewhere he shouldn’t be. His eyes wandered again, lingering on the colors, the soft curtains swaying in the breeze, and the little personal touches, things he wouldn’t have noticed in passing but now couldn’t seem to look away from. It wasn’t just a room; it was a glimpse into your world, one he found himself inexplicably drawn to.

“Real beautiful though” he added, his voice a little gruffer, as if trying to mask the sincerity behind his words.

Just like you.

As you gave him your usual fast-paced rundown, commenting on the things you loved most, Arthur couldn’t help but chuckle softly. You hadn’t changed much since he last saw you, just as animated as he remembered.

He stood by the window, watching the light play across the room. “You’ve got a nice place,” he remarked quietly, turning to look at you as you animatedly continued your tour.

You gave him a cheeky grin. “Well, someone has to live the high life, right?”

Arthur smiled softly, the gap between your worlds feeling just a little smaller, a little less daunting. He was beginning to realize that maybe you hadn't changed as much as he'd thought. The girl he remembered from the camp, the one who'd walked into his life and captured his attention, was still there, but now surrounded by all of this...comfort, privilege, and light. A world that felt so far from his own. Yet, here he was, standing in the middle of it, feeling like maybe, just maybe, he could fit into your life again.

"Oh, my apologies, I didn’t even offer you any refreshments! Let’s go eat lunch in the garden. And while we’re at it, you have to tell me stories of what you've been doing all these years, alright?"

"Alright, alright. You are too kind."

He shared stories of the gang, of the jobs (he chose to tell about the less gory ones in fear of your reaction and didn’t want you to listen to his darker deeds), and of the things he had seen. You listened intently, your laughter filling the air when he mimicked some of the gang members' eccentricities. The sound of your familiar voice made his heart feel light, even if it was brief. Suki purred softly in his lap, his fingers instinctively stroking her fur as he listened to you speak. The knowledge you shared astounded him, whether it was answering business queries with sharp wit or the rise and fall of empires. you seemed to hold a wealth of understanding that captivated him.

But as the lunch came to an end and the moment of departure loomed closer, a quiet thought began to settle in his chest, heavier than any of the words exchanged between you both. When your mother came by to check on the two of you, everything seemed... easy. She was warm, welcoming even, in a way that made Arthur feel comfortable, almost at home. He expected some resistance, or at least for her to be a little wary of him, an outlaw, being here with her unmarried daughter nonetheless...maybe she's just good at hiding it.

Your mother’s voice interrupted the quiet moment as she stepped outside, her tone light but loaded with something Arthur couldn’t place. "Thank you, Arthur. It’s been good to see you again."

Arthur nodded, about to say something polite when your mother’s next words stopped him in his tracks.

"You know, it’s nice that (Y/N) has someone like you as a friend. She talked about you all so fondly and missed you guys. I always hoped she’d have someone like a brother in her life."

Arthur’s heart sank, the words cutting through the air like a sudden chill. He tried to mask the shift in his expression, tried to keep the smile on his face, but the cold truth settled heavily in his chest.

You , she, saw him as just a friend, someone like a brother, just another part of the past. And when you agreed with your mother’s sentiment, confirming it with your usual lighthearted chuckle and nod, something inside him broke.

He had convinced himself, for a moment, that maybe there was more to this reunion than just memories. Maybe there was something between the two of you, something that had never quite been given a chance before, something he could explore now, in this new life. But it wasn’t like that. Not at all. You were still the girl from the camp, the one who had felt lost and scared, but now you were a woman with your own life, your own world, and Arthur was just a piece of that world, a passing memory that would never be more than that.

The realization stung. It hurt more than he cared to admit.

"Take care, Arthur," you said, a soft smile tugging at your lips as you watched him. "It was really good to see you again. And you can send a letter anytime you want. I would love to chat and hear your stories."

Arthur paused, his hand on the reins, a lump forming in his throat at your words. It wasn’t the farewell he had imagined, nor the one he’d hoped for.

Send a letter anytime you want.

The kindness in your voice, the way you spoke so naturally, as if this was just a casual goodbye between old friends, felt like both a balm and a wound.

He took a deep breath, willing himself to keep his composure. A letter. It should have been enough, he told himself. It should have been. But it wasn't.

He turned back toward you, the distance between you suddenly feeling impossibly wide. He wanted to say something---anything---to ease the weight of the moment, but the words caught in his throat.

Instead, he tipped his hat to you, giving you a tight smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. "I- I will. Take care, (Y/N)."

Just like with Mary...

The thought lingered, gnawing at him as the miles stretched out between him and your home. He had convinced himself that it would be different. That you were different. But he had been wrong.

The way your family had treated him, with that polite kindness, it had all felt so genuine, so warm. But now, with the weight of your casual farewell still heavy on his heart, Arthur realized it wasn’t warmth for him. It was warmth for the person they saw him as.

He had imagined so many different scenarios in his head, each one more foolish than the last, each one filled with hope he should have known better than to entertain. He wasn’t fool enough to believe there could be more between you two, not now, not ever.

With a bitter chuckle, Arthur let his horse trot faster, trying to outrun the feeling settling in his chest.

Just like with Mary.

The damn haunting comparison. But this one felt worse. Mary had been a distant dream, someone whose absence was long understood, a love that was never truly his, to begin with. But you... you were real. You were there, so close, yet just....out of reach. Your kindness, your warmth, your family’s welcoming nature, it had made him believe for a moment that maybe, just maybe, he wasn’t the same old Arthur Morgan to you. He felt accepted...but he had been wrong. Maybe your parents were just nice to him out of fear and gratitude...and harbored the same resentment behind closed doors. Perhaps...you too? No...no you are not fake, he can tell that for sure. Right? You trust him...he sees it in your gentle eyes. Those beautiful eyes...

❀˖°

The evening was quiet, save for the occasional creak of the house settling. You were curled up in the armchair by the window, a book open in your lap, the golden lamplight casting a cozy glow over the room. The story had drawn you in, its words painting vivid pictures in your mind, though the sound of your mother’s sewing needle punctuated the quiet like a gentle metronome.

“Darling,” your mother said, her voice cutting softly through the silence. She didn’t look up from her work, but you felt her gaze flicker in your direction.

“Hm?”

“About earlier, Arthur’s visit.”

The mention of his name drew you out of the book. You glanced up, tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear. “Hm? What about it, Mama?”

She set her sewing aside and folded her hands neatly in her lap, a gesture that told you she was about to say something serious. “It’s not… proper, you know. A man visiting when your father isn’t home. Especially someone like him. You shouldn't have dragged him inside like that...and given him a tour. Use your senses dear.

You frowned, closing your book but keeping your finger tucked inside to save your place. “He wasn’t here long, and it wasn’t like that. He’s just… Arthur. He won't do something heinous like that. He's like a brother. You said so yourself."

“Arthur or not,” she continued, her voice calm but firm, “a young woman inviting...a man, much less an outlaw into her home, without her father here, will have people talking. And not kindly. I swear you are too naive at times. And the reason I said it , well, it was to make things clear. You understand?"

You looked down at the book, the words blurring on the page. "How can you even suggest me and him--God, look --I didn’t mean to cause any trouble, Mama. He’s kind of my friend, and I didn’t think it’d be right to send him away.”

“I’m not questioning his or your kindness, sweetheart. I’m questioning the situation. You’re a young lady now. People notice things, and they talk. Even if we live in a bit secluded area, there are still eyes. Our own servants for God's sake, dear. And having a man like him visiting when your father’s away… it just doesn’t look right. Also letters? I don't like the sound of that all. You better not respond."

You swallowed the knot forming in your throat and decided to ignore the comment about the letters, at least for now.

“Arthur didn’t mean anything by it. He just wanted to check in, that’s all. And I didn’t mean to drag him in, I just… didn’t think it was wrong. I mean I told you how they live...I just thought him being here would give him temporary comfort...y'know."

Her gaze softened slightly at your sincerity, but her concern didn’t waver. “I know you didn’t mean any harm. But next time, think twice. The world isn’t as forgiving as you might hope. And with a man like Arthur… well, his profession might bring more trouble than you realize. Be careful alright?"

You folded your hands in your lap, unsure how to respond. “I’ll be careful, Mama,” you murmured finally.

She nodded, though the worry in her eyes remained. “I just want what’s best for you, darling. That’s all. Also some reports just arrived from the office so why don't you go and check them. I had them put in your study."

“Right,” you replied, rising to your feet and stretching. “I’ll have some tea and snacks sent for.”

"Right away, darling."

❀˖°

Despite the sting of reality, Arthur couldn’t help himself. He couldn’t entirely silence the part of him that longed for more, more of you, more of the conversations, the stories, the friendship that had begun to feel like something deeper, something he wasn’t ready to admit to himself.

He started writing letters, even though he told himself he wouldn’t. At first, it was simple. A few words to pass the time. His handwriting was rough, not elegant like the letters of men who had been raised with the luxury of formal education. But somehow, it didn’t matter. He wrote about the mundane things that filled his days, the gang’s latest escapades, the horses he had worked with, and even the weather. He wrote about how much the work had been piling up, how his days felt long and endless. He wrote because, in some twisted way, it felt like he could still stay close to you, even if only in ink and paper.

He never expected a response, but he received one all the same.

A week later, came a simple reply, neatly written, not too long but full of warmth. You told him about your life, your family's health, and the weather at your home. You mentioned the garden, the books you’d been reading, and the gentle rhythm of your everyday life. Even sent gifts, not just for him but for others too, which he felt a bit spineless to accept but did so to not make you sad. He did love the coat. There were no big confessions, no declarations of longing.

Then, every Sunday became your day, a ritual of sorts. You would meet in a little café if both of you were free, which he tried his best to be, tucked away on the edge of town. A neutral place, quiet enough for conversation, warm enough to forget the world outside for just a few hours. Just eating and walking around the town really did more than he imagined. The peace...the comforting silence...your presence and most importantly the acceptance he felt.

The first meeting had been hesitant, a little awkward even. Arthur wasn’t used to sitting down with someone in such a relaxed setting, too used to the harshness of life in the gang, too used to avoiding anything that could resemble softness. But when you greeted him with that smile, with your gentle words, something inside him shifted. It wasn’t much, but it was enough. He began to crave the day. It felt like the beginning of something. Something fragile, something fleeting, but something nonetheless. If this damned friendship is all he gonna get, he might just live in the moment for now...

Arthur sat across from you, nursing his tea, while you picked at the slice of cake he’d ordered for you.

“Go on, eat it,” Arthur said, his tone gruff but amused as he watched you push the fork around the plate. “It’s not going to bite you.”

You shot him a glare, not at all deterred. “Yeah...I just...I’m just not that hungry y'know, I think I had a heavy breakfast,” you muttered, not looking up from your cake, still taking small nibbles rather than finishing the whole thing.

Arthur let out a huff, leaning back in his chair. “You’ve been at it for ten minutes now. The cake’s gonna go stale if you keep that up. You better eat it."

“It’s my cake, I’ll eat it when I feel like it.”

His lips quirked up slightly, though his gaze remained firm. “You’re actin’ like a child. It’s cake, not poison. Trust me, you’ll feel better once you’ve had it.”

“Pft. Right, right. You act as if you know everything.”

“It’s called common sense. Something you might want to try now and then.”

"Yeah well, I can perhaps get a bad stomach too, dumbass."

You made a face but finally picked up the fork and took a bigger bite, much to his satisfaction. "Mhm. Yum." Then your eyes lit up mischievously as a thought crossed your mind.

"Arthurrrrr, so you’re… what? In your late twenties, now? And still no girl in your life? That can’t be right." Your grin widened as you teased him. "Surely you’ve found someone by now. Or is there a special someone I don’t know about?"

Arthur froze for a moment, his hand hovering over his mug, and you caught the flicker of unease that passed over his face. He quickly recovered, though, leaning back in his chair with a slight scowl. "You think I’m just waitin’ around for some...woman to fall into my lap?"

You snickered, tapping the fork against your plate thoughtfully. "Well, I don’t know. You’ve never really said anything about anyone," you said, clearly enjoying the effect you were having on him. "You must’ve had a few crushes over the years, huh? Someone in the gang’s kept you company while you’re off doin’ your thing."

"Maybe.." he muttered, taking a slow sip of his tea. "But I don’t need you makin’ jokes about it."

Your grin only grew wider, leaning forward just a little. "Oh, come on, Arthur. If I won't then who will? Stop being lame. You can’t tell me that no one in your life has caught your eye. You're too... well, you know," you gestured vaguely with your fork, unable to find the right words but clearly referring to his ruggedness and that quiet charm he sometimes tried to hide.

He snorted, shaking his head. "I'm not exactly the type most women want to be around. Not with all the trouble I got goin’ on in my life."

"Well. Mhm, true. But. I’ve seen the way you care for your horses. That’s more than enough of a ‘gentleman’ for some girls, some even I know. All you need is a little push. I’ll give you the perfect match, just wait. Want me to...kickstart your romantic journey, mhmmm?"

He couldn’t help but laugh, shaking his head in disbelief. “I don’t know if I want you playing matchmaker. Couldn’t trust your judgment.”

“Oh, come on. What’s the worst that could happen? At least I’d be picking someone who’d treat you right. Also, I'd have some fun doing it! I did it for a cousin of mine, when I was like 18 and he's still grateful to me for finding him the perfect match. They are both so happy. HAHA! So take that."

Arthur chuckled, the moment's warmth easing the tension in his chest, even as something else, a strange ache, settled there. Why can't it be you then? He wanted to say but.... He pushed the thought away, focusing instead on the quiet joy of your company. Whatever it was, it was worth savoring for now.

Arthur finally broke the silence with a half-smile, leaning back in his chair once more. "Yeah, well, maybe. But for now, I’ll take my cake. And you’re too gonna finish that."

He hesitated for a moment before asking, his voice quieter. “What about you? You… got someone?” His grip tightened around the saucer in his lap, betraying his casual tone.

“Me?” You scoffed, almost offended by the mere thought. “Nah. I’m perfectly content with life, helping my parents with the business, going out with friends… and, of course, Suki." You petted the cat perched on the seat beside yours, causing the golden fluffball to purr."Don’t need anything or anyone else. My parents might have other ideas, though. Y'know, the usual talk about ‘finding a companion to grow old with’, all that sentimental crap. But you know what game I play with them?

Arthur raised an eyebrow, intrigued despite pushing the pang of jealousy aside. “Yeah? What? First off, finish laughing before you talk.”

His lips twitched as he watched your laughter bubble over, infectious as always. God, he loved the sound of it.

“Well...sometimes I let them think I’m ready. You know, like I’m open to meeting someone. So they get all excited and invite someone over for one of those discussions…”

Arthur tilted his head, already bracing for the punchline.

“And then I reject them. Every. Single. Time.”

Arthur couldn’t help it, he burst out laughing, shaking his head. “That’s downright cruel, you know.”

“Cruel?” you repeated with mock offense, leaning forward. “They’ll survive. It's a fun way to pass time you know. Besides, it keeps my parents off my back though. But I don't know for how long....”

How long....

How long....

Forget it Arthur, just get the thought of it out of your head.

Though he knew, it was easier said than done...

❀˖°

And just like that, a quiet, peaceful year passed, marked by letters and rare, cherished meetings. Arthur had moved farther from where you lived, making those moments together even more fleeting but no less meaningful.

But when the day of your usual meeting came again, you didn’t show. Arthur sat by the window in the café, watching the street for any sign of you. As the minutes stretched into hours, he tried to stay calm, telling himself you were likely sick or busy. He just hoped you were alright.

When you finally met again a few weeks later, Arthur couldn’t hold back. “You okay?” he asked, his tone casual but his blue eyes serious. “I mean, you missed our last meetin’, and your letters… They’ve been fewer.”

You smiled, but it was different now, thinner, softer. “Oh, I’ve just been busy with work and family,” you said lightly, waving a hand as though to brush his concern aside. “Nothing to worry about.”

Something was off.

What are you hiding from me?

He wouldn’t let this go. Not when it came to you.

Arthur nodded, but the unease stayed with him. Something about you was different, something he couldn’t quite name. You spoke less, and though your smile lingered, it didn’t carry the same warmth. And your laugh, he’d always loved your laugh, was quieter, restrained, to not draw attention.

Then there was the chaperone. Arthur noticed the older woman sitting nearby, her sharp gaze darting to the two of you now and then. You’d always come alone before, laughing off the need for an escort, but now she was here, a quiet, rigid presence that spoke volumes.

And it wasn’t just her. Arthur’s sharp eyes caught other subtle changes. Your gloves were gone, your hands bare even in the crisp autumn chill. He’d heard somewhere that unmarried women in polite society were expected to wear gloves when out in public. Then there was how you wore your shawl, which you always adjusted modestly as if to conform to someone else’s propriety.

But what struck him most was the absence of your laughter. The way your spirit seemed subdued. As if someone, or something, was pulling you further away.

“You sure it’s just work keepin’ you busy?”

“Of course. Just a lot going on, that’s all.”

Every small, unspoken detail gnawed at him. The chaperone. The clothes. The gloves. You hadn’t said anything, but your silence screamed louder than words. You talked less than usual, your words measured and cautious, lacking the easy rhythm he’d come to know.

Arthur’s jaw tightened, his hands curling into fists at his sides. He wasn’t one to jump to conclusions, but something was wrong. You weren’t just hiding something....you were slipping away.

So, instead, he did what he was best at, watching, waiting, and gathering the truth without words. He’d heard whispers about a function at your estate, a gathering.

The shadows were his allies as he lingered at the edges of the grand manor. The soft glow of lanterns and the gentle hum of conversation drifted through the night, and there you were, standing in the center of it all, radiant in a way that both drew him closer and crushed him inside.

Then he saw him.

The man by your side. The one who stood too close dared to touch your arm and waist s if it was his right. Arthur’s eyes locked onto the ring, glinting on your finger, catching the light like a cruel, deliberate taunt.

His chest tightened, his breath hitched. The air felt heavier, colder. His worst fear had materialized before him, and yet he couldn’t look away.

The man smiled at you, and you smiled back, polite and radiant enough to send a wave of heat through his veins, a fire that burned hotter with every passing second.

The gardener, a man with a weathered face and rough hands, had just stubbed out his cigarette, the glow of the ember fading into the night. He turned to head inside the gates, but before he could take another step, a firm hand shot out from the shadows. The gardener’s back slammed against the stone wall with a grunt, his breath knocked out of him.

Arthur’s face was inches from his now, his cold blue eyes burning with a fierce intensity.

“You know about the marriage,” Arthur growled, his voice low but dripping with menace. “When? Hm?”

The gardener blinked rapidly, panic flickering across his face as he stammered, his words tripping over each other. “I-I... I didn’t mean- I--don’t--don’t know anythin’ about no marriage…you can't do this-"

He shoved the gardener harder against the wall, his voice growing more dangerous with every syllable. That's when the man felt a cold metal touch the side of his stomach and when he saw it, he nearly had a heart attack. “Tell. Me. The. Fucking. Date. When is it? When is she marrying him?”

The gardener's face turned pale as he struggled to find his voice, his eyes darting nervously around as if looking for an escape. His breath ragged as he stammered, “It--it’s... next month. The fifth. H-here...at the estate.. that's all I k-know-"

Arthur released the gardener with one final shove, sending him stumbling back a few steps. His gaze remained icy, his anger simmering just below the surface.

“You better keep your mouth shut,” he warned, his voice deadly calm now. The gardener nodded frantically, swallowing hard as Arthur turned away, his mind racing.

Fifth.

Arthur sat in the dim light of his tent, the revolver spinning slowly between his fingers as his thoughts churned in relentless, punishing circles. Outside, the camp buzzed with life, the crackle of the fire, the faint strains of a harmonica, the murmur of laughter. It all grated on him, every sound digging deeper into the raw wound festering inside his chest.

He knew this would happen. He’d always known. You weren’t his to lose, not really. People like you didn’t end up with men like him, men who carried blood on their hands, who belonged to a world of running and killing and stealing just to survive. He should’ve been prepared. He thought he’d been prepared. But he wasn’t. He couldn’t be.

It felt like a betrayal. Like some unspoken promise had been broken. But no, there was no promise. That was the sick part of it. You’d smiled at him, written him letters, laughed with him, and somewhere along the way, he’d let himself believe that maybe, just maybe, he could keep you. That you could be something different. Someone who wouldn’t leave. But now…

Now, you were slipping away, and there wasn’t a damn thing he could do about it.

His grip on the revolver tightened as memories of Mary surged up, unbidden and cruel. Her soft voice echoed in his head, her face painted in regret. "It’s not you, Arthur. It’s just… my life. It’s not the life you lead."

He’d tried to believe her back then, to take her words at face value. But deep down, they’d festered like an open wound. What if it was him? What if it was always him, his life, his choices, his very existence, that made people leave?

The laughter outside grew louder, Dutch’s booming voice cutting through the night. Arthur’s gaze flicked to the tent flap, to the flickering shadows of the others moving in the firelight. Dutch, carefree as ever, with Molly by his side. Dutch always had someone. Dutch always had a plan. And Arthur? Arthur had nothing. He was nothing.

Why is he mad?

Fucking why?

This was what he expected, wasn’t it? The inevitable. The part where you, the one thing he couldn’t let go of, moved on and married another man. He knew you’d do it, he’d always known. Still, he couldn’t stop himself from showing up every damn time, shaved and clean, trying to look better than he felt, holding onto some pathetic sliver of hope. As if you’d suddenly look at him and say, "Let’s run away" or, "Y’know what, Arthur? I think I want to live with the gang. With you..." The idea was ridiculous, but it had kept him going.

But now that it had happened… why did it feel so fucking wrong? Why was his chest tightening with rage that felt almost like betrayal?

Because it happened a second time, that’s why. His own mind was a whirlwind of confusion, torn between the brutal truth of his life, running, looting, killing, and the desperate, hollow yearning inside him. Was this all he was? Was this what he deserved? The endless violence, the life without peace? He couldn’t even stomach the thought of it anymore.

And because he thought, no, he hoped, you might’ve been different. That you’d be the exception to the pain. Almost like compensation for what he’d endured with Mary. A balm to soothe the wounds she’d left behind. Almost as if fate owed him this one kindness, this gift...

"Is something wrong with...me?" The question tore through his mind, louder than the laughter, louder than the harmonica, louder than the blood pounding in his ears. It clawed at him, relentless and merciless. Why couldn’t he hold on to anything? Why couldn’t he have even a sliver of peace? A family? A future?

The world outside continued without him, Dutch and Molly spinning around in their reckless dance, but Arthur felt a chasm of isolation opening between him and everyone else. His heart thundered in his chest, the silence suffocating.

He replayed the vision of you and your man. A respectable man that wasn't him. His chest burned. It wasn’t just jealousy, not entirely. It was something darker, something heavier. Something that made him slam the revolver on the table.

Take it then.

Take her then.

Arthur froze, shocked at his own brain for voicing that out. He knew what it meant. He’d heard it before, and discussed it with you, in the past.

The Word.

He had dismissed it then, condemned it as if it were beneath him. You had both laughed about it, saying it was barbaric, unfair and a criminal practice. But now? Now, the idea didn’t sound so foreign.

Do the word.

Do it.

People still do it.

Why do you always gotta suffer? Get played like a fiddle?

Man up.

The voice inside him urged, persistent and dark, pulling at something primal in his gut. Why did it feel so right, so necessary, now? Why did the thought of it no longer seem like madness but like the only thing that made sense in this Godforsaken world?

Why didn’t it sound so bad now?

Arthur’s grip on the revolver tightened, his thoughts swirling into dangerous territory. The thought of you slipping away from him, and marrying another man, of losing you forever, made his blood run cold. But if he.....could make you his by this brutal, tradition, would he finally have peace? Would that give him the warmth he so desperately needed?

─AN: To be in this fic's tag list, u can always comment below. The comments are always appreciated ^_^

[21teapot]

Caitvi rant - "Cupcake" is not as sweet as you think

**SPOILERS FOR S2 ARCANE**

Many see the caitvi reunion in S2E6 as "oh, she called her by her nickname and thats all it took to sway her" but I actually have a different take on Vi calling Caitlyn "cupcake".

In S1 we see Vi first use that nickname when she barely knows Cait and just wants to get under her skin to essentially get rid of her in the brothel. The second time is right after Caitlyn saves Vi from Sevika. In both of these cases Vi not only uses this nickname to emotionally distance herself from Caitlyn, but also to, in a sense, dehumanize her. This is a form of protection from having to engage with someone on a deeper level than surface observations. By calling her "cupcake", Vi basically establishes her view of Caitlyn as just that and nothing more: sweet and pretty. Why would she want to empathize with an enforcer she just met?

This is also contrasted by the fact that Vi calls Caitlyn "Cait" instead of any nickname in S2E3 while they confront Jinx. They have spent more time together, learned to trust and share things with each other and given the gravity of the situation it only make sense that Vi would call her by her name. "Cait" implies seriousness, but also mutual trust that was slowly established over the weeks after the ending of S1.

So, by Vi calling Caitlyn "cupcake" again when they meet after months of absence, after being feeling betrayed and terribly hurt by her, she reverts back to trusting Caitlyn less and having her walls up again and I think the closeup shot of Cait right after conveys that she notices this too. What we see in Caitlyns face isn't (just) yearning, its shock and remorse too.

Even the leadup to this scene is dripping with unspoken anger and hurt feelings from both sides. The manhandling, the namecalling the roughness of it all.

And the subsequent scene in the tent with Ambessa just underlines this chasm between them even more. Caitlyn hitting Vi with her rifle, handcuffing her and putting a bag over her head. Vi snarling and spitting in her face. Of course there's the obvious inuendo of the tension they have going on, which is a whole other point worth discussing, but it especially highlights the emotional (and physical, poor Vi...) wounds they have inflicted on each other. They both feel betrayed and hurt. Caitlyn, because she thinks Vi chose to protect Jinx again (but really only Isha) and thus not backing her up on finally ending her. Vi, because Caitlyn would risk killing a child just to exact her revenge when she specifically asked her not to change (from a compassionate and empathetic detective that shoots for justice and peace to a hateful ghost of vengeance full of prejudice and spite) 10 minutes earlier and leaving her in a ditch after.

In a sense, Vi calling Caitlyn "cupcake", is the catalyst and wake up call for them to start working through their hurt feelings. It is very clear for both of them.

The scene in the tent just emphazises how bad they need to fuck much they have to unpack and talk about before cupcake can become an actual term of endearment without all that baggage.

[artsninspo]

FORGIVELESS - III - GIVE A FUCK 'BOUT WHAT YOU PREFER🥀

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➨ rio's library - good girl nbc

「 ✦ full library & archive ✦ 」

II - GIVE A FUCK 'BOUT WHAT YOU PREFER🥀

Pairing: Rio (Good Girls) X Reader

Word Count: ~2.6K

Warning: NSFW, mature themes & 🌶️ 🌶️

Summary: Confronted with the realities of your actions you have to deal with the aftermath of your choices, what you want and what will be.

You breathe fresh air for what feels like the first time and smile as you have a reverie of the time you had with Rio last night and the kiss you shared before getting out of his car and into yours. You can still feel the effects of Rio all over you. Your husband had never done anything like that. It was your first time being fucked. It had started as a bid for revenge and ended in delirium. No guilt creeped into your consciousness. It felt like that was a drop in the bucket. Your phone reads that it's 10:00 am, sighing as you look up at the door leading into your home.  It's the last place you want to be right now. A reminder of your joke of a marriage and your lying piece of shit husband. You feel a headache coming in when you mull over your options. Your reluctance to blow up the relationship is caused by a variety of reasons. First you’d have to tell your family and admit it to someone apart from Rio. They’d pity you and you'd be the topic of too many discussions. You’d have to move back in with your mom for a while and deal with a few months of counselling before a divorce.

You're in the middle of your decision when the door connecting the house to the garage swings open. Your mouth gapes at the sight of a visibly upset James.

“Where the hell have you been?” He snaps coming to the car. “I called you about fifty fucking times!” he snaps glaring at you as you walk out of the car. He scans you looking for a clue to what's up.

You sigh heading into the house “Relax James, I spent the night at the Spa.”

He frowns now even more peeved. He didn’t remember a time where it was James and not babe, baby, bae, love, honey or all the other plethora of pet names you used as endearment. “James?”

You look over at him.“That’s your name isn't it?”

“You never call me that!” He snaps.

“Well then don't curse at me when I pull into the garage!” you shout heading up the stairs.

“I was about to call the police. If you decide to stay the night at the spa you call it the decent thing to do so I know where my WIFE is” he says making the hair on the back of your neck stand up. How dare he throw around the word WIFE so carelessly when he treated you as an afterthought regularly. You cast him a disgusted look over your shoulder.

“I’m here now, so relax!” you shout heading to your office. Your patience for him and his inquisition is wearing thin.

“I called a few times,” he continues.

“My phone was on DND. I didn't think you’d be calling. You usually don't when you're on the job. I figured you wouldn't even be home before me. How was work?” you comment throwing the ball back in his court.

“Good, you know, same old same old” he shrugs.

“More late nights? What about that retreat you were supposed to go on?” you ask hoping he’ll be out of your hair long enough for you to make a decision.

“The trip is likely, want to come with me?” His offer is a surprise. After months of pleading for attention the day after you step out he concedes.

“I don’t think so, it’s going to be winter soon and the changing climates back and forth confuses my immune system” you shrug, declining the opportunity. You're done with chasing him around. The sound of metal on granite gets your attention and you see your wedding and engagement bands. Now it makes sense. His demeanour, sudden interest and questions. When you left yesterday you hadn’t quite made up your mind. 

“Why weren’t you wearing your rings?” He asks with some audacity.

“Are you serious?” You scoff. “When you go to the spa they have all these oils and stuff and they have you take off your rings for a hand massage.” You lie.

“You shouldn’t be anywhere without them” he says with no reason to distrust you except for his own guilty conscience.

“Can you have them cleaned?” You ask not rushing to put them back on.

“Yeah I can. I’m off today, we should do something. Maybe look for that puppy you were talking about?” He offers on edge.

“I have to study for my certification, maybe we can go out for dinner?” You smile to appease him.

“I told you a million times you don’t need to work” he says. “When we have kids-” he says and your reaction is visceral. You regret not having someone fuck him up. How dare he step out and take part in an affair then talk to you about kids.

“What was that?” James asks.

“You’re never home but you want kids? And we haven’t discussed it in a few years” you snap.

“So now you don’t wear your rings or want to have my kids” He’s wounded by reality.

“I told you why I wasn’t wearing the rings. And no I don’t want to think about having kids with your schedule” or ever. You snap, omitting the final thoughts.

He scoffs. “Now I’m thinking you weren’t wearing your rings on purpose.” 

“James, think whatever you want and don’t talk to me about kids until you can commit to being home.” You snap walking away from him.

I’m gonna need round two with your 🐱

Rio

You smile at the message locking your phone and making the mental note to change his name in your contacts. You’re standing in front of the mirror in your bathroom when James emerges placing your rings on the vanity as he takes a seat in the corner of the bathroom. You put on the rings ignoring him.

“Didn’t realise you were so unhappy” he comments.

“That makes you a shitty husband” you remark.

“Now I’m shitty” he sits forward.

“Yeah, you’re never home and then you accuse me of not wearing my rings with other implications. Then try to talk about starting a family.” you double down.

“Babe,” he says. “You come in at 10 am, I see your rings on your nightstand and you’re not answering my calls” he states.

“I already told you the truth. There’s no logical reason for me to leave my rings or not answer your calls” you deflect giving him an opportunity to be honest. He pauses for a second, his guilt creeping in. His silence is affirming and you turn back to your computer.

“You haven’t greeted me or kissed me good morning” he adds.

“You’re implying I have something to hide. I don’t want to kiss you” you respond without looking away.

“Can we go out tonight?”

“No” you respond. It’s totally unlike you. It takes everything in you not to let the cat out of the bag. Not to explode about him screwing another woman for six months according to your calculations. Not to throw your indiscretions in his face, to scorn him further. You do your best to show restraint to keep your life intact at least for now.

 ….

You complete your stretches and sit up checking your phone only to see a goodmorning message from James, it’s a rarity as was the kiss he placed on your cheek in the morning. Scrolling past that notification you stop at the one notification from the person you want. Rio.

I’ll be there by the time the class ends.

Ria

You smile seeing the message from Rio although you've changed his name to something less conspicuous on your phone. It’s been almost a week since your last rendezvous. James has been breathing down your neck more attentively than ever since you left your rings at home and spent the night elsewhere. There’s been no time to talk or reconnect with Rio as much as you want to. James has been talking about the future more too and trying to initiate intimacy much to your disdain. After being ignored for so long you're not excited by his renewed interest isn’t exciting - it’s manipulative.

Finished freshening up from your yoga session you get a call and see it's James. Your heart wants to send him to voicemail but if you want more time before making a decision you know you have to answer. 

“Hey baby” you smile, sounding excited. It's a ruse, the same one you’ve been employing to buy back your invisibility.

“Hey baby, how was class?” James asks.

“Good, are you expecting a package or something?” You respond.

“I have to be expecting a package to call my wife?” he says like he has been the past few days.

“No, you're just usually busy. I don't get midday check ins so I was thinking something was wrong” you explain.

“That's gonna change, I love you and I want you to know I always have time for you” he says trying to be sweet, you gag internally.

“Mhm” you respond grabbing your bag only to turn to see Rio has slipped into the private change room facility.

“Mhm, what?” James asks, trying to elicit flirtation. You motion your on the phone to Rio but that doesn't make him hesitate he crowds your space taking two handfuls of ass and leaning down to kiss you.

“I’ll see you when you get home, we can talk then” you say.

“Alright, I love you” James says as you look into Rio's eyes.

“Love you” you respond, hanging up and Rio smiles.

“That’s messed up” Rio comments, deepening the kiss. You shrug your shoulders and Rio chuckles. “This is about to be more messed up,” he adds. “Why is he still calling and telling you he loves you” Rio probes.

“Because he doesn't know what I did” you respond.

“When are you gonna tell him?” Rio asks lifting your dress.

“I don’t know yet” you admit as he sets you on one of the changing room counters. You know what he's about to do and smile.

“Well I need some good pussy, don't let him keep you from me” Rio says getting a condom from his pocket. He takes no time at all lining up his manhood with your entrance. Youre ready to accept and he’s the perfect fit as he slides in. you moan in pleasure closing your eyes, thankful for what's to come. You keep quiet as much as possible holding Rio close as he drills you lustfully. His kiss is possessive and wanton, keeping you needy. “Like that?” he whispers in your ear.

“Mhhhm” you gasp trying to keep quiet while in public.

“Tell me you love this dick” he says as you switch positions and he drills you from behind.

“I love it” you say without question it's been too long. You’ve never been this spontaneous or reckless. 

“Fuck” he groans close. Holding onto the counter you brace for his thrust embracing every second. Being wanted to the point of no restraining is so sexy and so sensual after being deprived of that experience. Rio places a kiss on your shoulder and you turn to kiss him again, throwing it back to add to the impact. He groans and the slapping of skin gets a little loud. His body stiffens just as you feel the rush of an orgasm he gets his. He leaves it in for a few minutes as you allow him to catch his breath. Hardly stated he leaves you and you groan at the loss of contact. When you turn away he’s back in his pants looking at you like he needs more rounds. Wrapping your hands around his neck you bring his head down to yours happy for the genuine affection.

“Thank you” you mutter as he gives you another kiss. Rio couldn't think of a better deal, sex with no strings and with a woman that thanked him instead of blowing up his phone. What the fuck was James thinking cheating on this kind of a woman.

“No problem, call me anytime” he jokes with a smile as you readjust your clothes. You find him looking at you in the mirror as you review your appearance.

“What?” you ask.

“Come see me at the club tonight for round two” Rio says needing more of you. He couldn't stop thinking about you. You had him rubbing out orgasms, something he hadn't done in over a decade. He didn't need to. Women readily made themselves available to his needs.

“Can’t James’ has been all over me lately. I give it another week before he levels out.” you explain.

Rio shrugs. “Fuck James”

“Exactly, but I can't meet you tonight. I’ll figure something out” you promise.

“I don't like that shit” Rio comments ready for round two right now.

“Don't kill the high you just gave me.” You pout looking up at him.

“I need more than twenty minutes with you, basically fully dressed. I need you naked so I can enjoy you, and I need it more than once.” He states candidly giving you butterflies.

“I want that too, give me two days” you ask, rubbing his head.

“Two days or I pop up.” he warns.

“Deal” you agree.

You leave the yoga studio with everyone none the wiser of your indiscretions. Rio walks you to your car and watches you drive away. He didn't like having to wait on another man's timeline. It was a new experience and one he didn't particularly enjoy.

When James gets home he finds you dancing around to music with your headphones on. You're wearing a healthy glow and he puts his bag down getting behind you. You jump out of his reach terrified until you realise it's him. Hand to heart you catch your breath. It’s another hit to his ego when you don't come back to him.

“You're home early” you remark instead. “I haven't finished dinner”

“We can go out” he offers with a smile.

“I’m on a meal plan don't you remember?” you ask gaslighting him.

“So what can we do together?” he asks, frustrated.

“Is spending time with her here so bad?” you ask.

“We could have a bath together, you like that” he offers.

“James” you roll your eyes and he takes a deep breath.

“What?” he says and you know he’s worn thin.

“No, I just don't want to take a bath with you.” you refuse him again.

“Why not?!” he asks.

“We haven't been together in months” you remind him of his doing. “It’s had benefits with my yoga practice and I’m exploring it still” you lie to him like he’s been lying to you flagrant and apologetic. 

“How can you make that kind of decision without me?”

“James, you’ve been working and had no time to touch me before I found purpose in it”

“You're bullshitting me right now”

“Why is it that I respect you and you question me?” you ask and he sighs. His phone rings and he silences it only for the sequence to repeat a few more times. You check the time.

“It’s probably Japan” you suggest and his eyes bug out. Your eyes hold him without implication that you know and he loses his confidence answering as he walks away. His phone goes off for the remainder of the night and you sleep peacefully with dreams of Rio. James sleeps recklessly tossing and turning because his wife doesnt want to be touched and his sidepiece needs attention. He feels crazy and stressed exactly how he should feel while you sleep, still guilt free. Still going to do as you please, to hell with what James prefers.

» next part

Author's note: THX for reading, reblog, comment, vote. Let me know what you think James and Rio's next moves are 💖

NEXT CHAPTER

TAGS: @meadows5 @wnbweasley

[shaisuki]

CIGARETTE SMOKE

|| the third entry for the series “𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 𝐖𝐄 𝐃𝐎 𝐅𝐎𝐑 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄”

content warnings ─── yandere themes, implied kidnapping, hints of smut, jealousy.

is it bad that you want to take someone just to protect them from this world? aki regretted but doesn't feel bad about it.

we devil hunters don't have the long life to live.

there's a certain annoyance that has been creeping up on me since you joined the division. you clearly didn't belong here and sometimes i would ask myself why are you here? why are you wasting your life in this hellhole for no reason. you're alive. happy. you aren't here for revenge. to avenge your loved ones from the devils. you have no purpose here. you don't belong here.

however it's not my place to dictate someone's choice of being here but you infuriate me to no end that i wished for your demise. i didn't understand why i feel this way towards you. it doesn't make sense. you were a nobody to mine. not the one i should care for but sometimes i can't take my eyes off you.

the gnawing feeling of seeing you so friendly and close to someone like denji makes my blood boil and it's easy to ignore it but i can't not when you're starting to grow on me.

what casual moments between us, i have cherished it. not realizing what effect it could have on me. i started to see you on my dreams. started to crave your presence that i can no longer breath and it hurts me so much that i have started to feel this way to you more than i would like to admit.

then we started to lay on the same bed. where can i hear you breath. feel you under my fingertips. the softness and warmth you provided for simply existing. how it provided the intimacy of comfort and security. drown in the depths of the pools of your eyes that i can no longer swim and sink in to you.

is this what it feels to fall for someone who is close but is distant. how could it be when you're the one who initiated it. how cruel are you but i can't blame you. we simply comforted each other with our bodies and it's my fault that i let myself feel what i wanted to feel.

this would be our last night together. allow me to cherish you. let me feel you. let me sink my teeth unto your skin that you will feel me for days.

the gasps and moans that left your lips breathlessly is the air i breath. say my name the way i like it. say my name as i touch you in places where it brought you pleasure. the stretch marks and scars decorating your skin that i have memorized. the curves and every swell of your body where i have kissed and worshipped. allow me. allow me. allow me. allow me to savor all of it. you won't deprive me of it. i know of it since you're helplessly under me.

that's right. that's how things should be. you and me. nothing else in this world that can stop us. not even the devils.

why won't you be mine?

the thought occured to me. why? we have shared our thoughts. the touch that i came to miss. the kisses that i denied at first and learned to crave. i have touched you. we've exchanged sweet nothings. the string of salivas connecting our lips. my lips on yours and my spent deep inside you. painting your walls white as you came around me. isn't it enough that we belong to each other. you're mine. you're mine. you're mine. you are mine.

so forgive me. forgive me that the last thing you will ever see is the smoke coming from my cigarette as i lay claim on you. protecting you from this cruel world that took the people i loved and i won't let it happen to you. i don't understand myself why i am asking for your forgiveness when i know you won't forgive but it won't hurt to ask. you're too kind and that was your mistake for having me. for letting me in your world that I claimed to be mine.

my thoughts are muddled and the only thing that keeps me sane of my reality is the light coming from the end of my cigarette and your warm body resting beside me. warm. it is a good thing. you're still alive and you'll wake up with me beside you. that's better. is all i can think as i watch my cigarette smoke disappear in the thin air like you were.

[thedomesticanthropologist]

Astarions Agonies

Why WOULD you want to love someone after everything has been taken from you? Everything but your name. Everything but your name

Your sense of taste, the warmth of your skin, your own heartbeat. Your reflection in the mirror. Your home, your clothes, your friends, your family. Your history, memories, your life.

Stripped of all of this, left with only the ability to feel. Mentally. Physically. And then that, too, is broken. Because it cannot be taken, so it must be controlled.

Anyone you care for, murdered. And not just murdered, but you have to do it. You have to bring them to their death. Maybe you have to watch. So you protect yourself, you protect them- whoever they nay be, whoever they could have been. You cannot care. You cannot. The consequences are too high.

Your body, every touch you delight in is perverted by the same solemn end. How can you enjoy this, even as a distraction from the more violent touches you are forced to endure, when you are still being forced? You cannot choose the sweet, the kind, the gentle, for they meet the same fate as the cruel, the evil, the fools. Picking soft touches over harsh ones fades to picking at random, to grabbing whoever you can get. Because it doesn't matter. It doesn't matter. It all ends the same way.

And then there is the pain. The Punishments. At first, tastes of who you are- who you can be, are traded out; exchanged for physical torment and 'correction' of your behavior. But the punishments so hea ily outweigh the benefits of a snide remark, a night out too late, a prank, a room visited after being informed it is off limits. A victim you refused to hand over.

This life- no, this Un-death allows for a greater torment than any living person could survive. Hunger, thirst, pain, psychological abuse, sexual abuse. Never, ever ending. There is not a second in the day for two hundred years that you are not watched, used, handled, beaten, starved. Even in your rest there is no relief, for you cannot sleep but only enter reverie- a skill wherein your mind re-lives what you have been through, over and over.

So why would you choose to try to love someone? Why try to trust? Why, when you know what happens when you do?

Perhaps you've been allowed to believe you made it out before, only to have been captured and dragged back. Perhaps you've been allowed to believe a friend or a lover has escaped before, only to be called into a room and advised to clean up their corpse.

The only difference now is the sun on your skin.

The distance between you and that place.

The days, and days, and days that begin to pass with no retribution for your insolence, for your escape.

And these people, these idiots keep... not trying to kill you. Even when they find out what you are. One of them keeps looking at you like they might really care. You can use that, can't you?

Why would you love, when you could use their love to get your revenge?

But... in the wee hours of the morning, in the arms of a living, breathing person who has bedded you more than once and still is not gone forever, you think... maybe, maybe He didn't take it All from you.

Maybe even if he did, you could get it back.

Maybe you could love.

Maybe you could... try living, again.

[mcflymemes]

STAR WARS: EPISODE III - REVENGE OF THE SITH (2005) PROMPTS *  assorted dialogue from the film, adjust as necessary

it's over, [name]. i have the high ground.

you underestimate my power.

i hate you!

you were my brother! i loved you!

do it.

you've become the very thing you swore to destroy.

don't lecture me.

don't make me kill you.

if you're not with me, then you're my enemy.

i will do what i must.

all who gain power are afraid to lose it.

they think inwards, only about themselves.

they only care about others.

what happened to him?

you're under arrest.

are you threatening me, [name]?

goodbye old friend.

you have done that to yourself.

you will not take her from me.

i saw your ship! what are you doing out here?

i was so worried about you.

love won't save you.

you're a good person. don't do this.

i won't lose you the way i lost my mother.

i'm doing it for you, to protect you.

come away with me. help me raise our child.

leave everything else behind while we still can.

we don't have to run anymore.

you and i can rule the galaxy, make things the way we want them to be.

i don't believe what i'm hearing.

i don't know you anymore.

you're breaking my heart.

you're going down a path i can't follow.

you're with him!

you brought him here to kill me!

this is where the fun begins.

for reasons we can't explain, we are losing her.

she has lost the will to live.

we don't know why.

there are too many of them.

death is a natural part of life.

train yourself to let go of everything you fear to lose.

can you hear me?

in your anger, you killed her.

treat them well.

i have waited a long time for this moment.

you will not stop me.

i have failed you.

this is the end for you.

i expected someone with your reputation to be a little older.

we have a job to do. try not to upset him.

you're a little shorter than i expected.

i must talk to you.

i've just learned a terrible truth.

how do you know this?

our worst fears have been realized.

what was that all about?

i didn't say anything.

not to worry. we're still flying half a ship.

what have i done?

i will do whatever you ask.

i told you it would come to this!

army or not, you must realize you are doomed.

are you all right? you're trembling.

something wonderful has happened. i'm pregnant.

i need your help. he is in grave danger.

you're going to kill him, aren't you?

he has become a very great threat.

let's get a move on.

we've got a battle to win here.

love won't save you.

i sense a trap.

you owe me one, and not for saving your skin for the tenth time.

this is how liberty dies... with thunderous applause.

what did you say?

i sense great fear in you.

the plan has gone as you had promised.

you are a bold one.

i know what's been troubling you.

are you going to kill me?

i can feel your anger.

it's very dangerous, putting them together.

i am going to end this, once and for all.

i'm too weak. don't kill me, please.

that has nothing to do with this.

you are so beautiful.

love has blinded you?

i'm going to end this war.

who could have done this?

there is something i must know.

[theheartcollecter]

Chapter 1: Revival

Fem Ghoul reader x Monster 141

Warnings for this chapter: torture, blood, cannibalism (lemme know if I missed any.)

You were turned into a ghoul about 2 months ago. Battling with urges to carnivore humans and fight rival ghouls. Your life had changed drastically since then, no more university or jobs, hell, you can’t even talk to friends or family the same.

You don’t remember how exactly you got here, in a secluded room. The walls and floors bare exactly for a single chair and the pool of blood forming around it. You eyes can barely stay open, when they do you star at the only light source in this huge room. The white light shows your life before, the people you met and human foods you ate.

Many people don’t know when exact the influx of ghouls started to appear in England, they just remember the stories. Mother and kids found dead after father cannibalizes them. Except they didn’t know it wasn’t cannibalism at the time, no, something much worse, a new form of monster. Ghouls in England began running rogue, eating anyone they pleased, and turning whoever the thought fit.

That’s how you ended up here. Wrists and feet tied to a chair, restraints beyond tight. You stopped making sounds of agony a while ago, the pain now numbing. Squelch! Another toe being cut off, forcing your body to replace it. Since you’re a fairly new ghoul, your body hasn’t gotten a hold of the whole immortal thing. Your new ghoul body takes longer than most to heal itself, which only makes it more agonizing.

You can hear a man laughing, or ghoul laughing, the one who brought you here. You forgot his name; useless information now. But you’ll never forget what he did or is doing to you. He’s cut all of your toes off by now, all forced to regrow. By the 15th one you stopped feeling it, which he was clearly amused by.

You feel something touch your hair lightly, “It’s white,” the man says, English accent cutting through your head. You open your eyes, cold sweat running down your face. “Your hair has turned white.” You glance down and, yes, he’s right. Your hair has indeed turned white, another thing added along with your freakish new powers.

You can’t find the words to complain so you just stare into his eyes, revenge now corrupting your mind. His eyes, a pale yellow, hair blonde, and brown suit. Must be 6ft or taller, typical muscular build, maybe late 40s.

You don’t know if you’ll survive this, not sure how long it will take, how many more things he can cut until your body stops regrowing them.

It’s like god hearing your prayers, a guardian angel coming to save you as you hear someone kick at the door. It only takes a few kicks to get it to collapse onto the floor. The male ghoul in front of you is blocking your view, you can’t see who’s come to, hopefully, save you.

“Hmm, who are you?” The male ghoul says, amusement lacing his voice. You try to say something, anything, you open your mouth but no sound comes out.

“Task Force 141, remember the name.” An English man says, before you see them, rushing towards the ghoul. Four men, two with, is that wings? A wolf hybrid, and a giant with a mask on. They all wear protective gear, guns and knives, and the wolf is wearing a …choker?

The ghoul tenses, amusement gone. He steps back before his kagune, a ghouls predatory organ that functions as their weapon, comes out. You think he’s about to fight them before he rushes towards the side of the building, crashing through the wall into the night.

You turn back to your saviors, getting a good look at them, but not for long. The loss of blood must’ve got to you, your eyes slowly close and before you know it you’ve passed out. The last thing you feel is being untied and picked up into big, warm arms.

A/n: AHHH, this is my first time ever writing something like this, so don’t bash me too hard.🙈 I wrote this with the anime Tokyo Ghoul in mind, but I think I explained enough to make it make sense without knowing the anime. But please know this whole series (if it gets that far) will be heavily based on the anime. If you have a suggestions to make my writing better, please let me know!

[indigoire]

Someone else mentioned in the tag, but I love the foreshadowing we got in the first three episodes of tlovm, both for Glintshore and A Bard's Lament. Meet me under the cut.

First, Glintshore. We had teases in the previous season, namely Vex's "my heart is someone else's" as she turned on Saundor, with the sudden cut to Percy's face. Don't think I'll be forgetting that any time soon. This season will probably have the showdown between Percy and Anna, part two, lord knows how they're gonna fit it in between dragon fights but it makes sense to put it in this season. We have Vex getting frantic to save Percy, no matter what, and her throwing herself in front of him to take a shot for him. Her "what would you do without me" afterwards hits hard when, well, he'd probably die Vex. And Percy's no better of course, cradling her to his chest, and then taking her into his confidence about his thoughts on Anna and revenge and looking for a new purpose. The groundwork is laid. That resurrection ritual is gonna hit so hard after all of this.

All the same, I'm glad they broke a little of the sexual tension before killing Percy, even if the episode ended with Vex saying "it was fun but we can't do romance right now". She made it clear to the audience and Percy that she knows she cares for him and he cares for her, but they're too focused on the task ahead and too scared of the depths of their feelings to make a commitment. It almost makes perfect sense, if you didn't know that one of them was going to die and make the other one realize she can't go on without him. Again, that ritual is going to be delicious, I can practically see the tortuous flashbacks now.

Now, onto the bard. While Vex is frantic about Percy she definitely said something that cut Scanlan down. "Who cares [about your issues with Kaylie] we need to save Percy!" And in general the group being relieved to have Scanlan talk their way out of trouble, but not offering to help him with his daughter in return. He really did seem caught between two responsibilities: being a present father and helping his found family. It's very clear he cares about Vox Machina, but he's still trying to figure out how to keep Kaylie in his life. It seems like Pike is the only one who is willing to listen to him, but even she pushes him away after he tries to kiss her. She was well within her right (he was drinking, he was not in a good headspace, she was genuinely just trying to reach out as a friend and not making a move), but we know how Scanlan is gonna interpret that. In general I really appreciate that he's grown past being a joke, that we as an audience can still laugh at/with Scanlan but we're also forced to reckon with his pain and personhood. And soon Vox Machina will too. Possibly at the end of this season. Possibly.

[codename-adler]

musing about jeanaaron rn.... what are your thinkings about them tell me anything

an exception from my to-do list for u orpheus and my loves Jeanaaron <3

- the height difference is EXQUISITE. 5ft vs 6ft2 😍😍😍

- backliner duo backliner tension backliner sync backliner soul

- i understand and read Aaron as a very no bullshit guy, but like, that’s it. he’s not mean about it, not cruel, not condescending, not teasing, not fake, not anything. (unless u are Neil Josten) i think that it’s very refreshing and fascinating to Jean? to meet someone who really has no ulterior motives whatsoever, in life and with his person. very trust material in Jean’s eyes methinks. the very just middle between overly sweet positivity and stabbing despair? idk, i just think Aaron shared Andrew’s honesty, but in a more neutral, idgaf way. does that make sense?

- Aaron tends to Jean’s woundssssss like no one ever has before and there is so much less pain!!!

- Jean cracks Aaron open right down the middle where nobody ever bothered to lookkkkk and there is so much more understanding!!!

- i like the Kevaaron vibe of revenge, like: you took my forever partner, i’m stealing your twin! or; you chose that moldy ginger snap, i’m choosing the same brand of bastard but he is TALL! it’s funny to me :)

- the patience they have for one another is infinite; they feel no rush, no pressure, no resentment. they would wait eternities for just one smile from the other, even if that’s all they would ever get.

- the quiet is important. silence without anticipation? a reprieve of the noise inside and outside? freely? i think they’re both silent people, but with one another there’s no forcing words, no expectations, no waiting for the other shoe to drop. the safest place where everything just stops and all is okay.

- CUDDLES. they are both hardcore heavy duty octopi in bed. holding tight tight tight tight no space all warmth. intertwined like bonsai roots.

- they looooooove to judge people together!!! especially their teammates and classmates. but the grocery store and airport are fun places too.

- i think they should learn to play instruments together. it would be very sexy. and angsty.

- i imagine them taking turns cooking, always one manning the kitchen, and the other sitting on the countertop. the kicking-against-the-cupboard-or-island length varies, but not the domesticity and intimacy of it all.

- Jean is the best teacher Aaron has ever had. for studying AND Exy. Jean is the best backliner, yes, but has that je-ne-sais-quoi that just gets through to Aaron, that just gets Aaron

- Aaron is also suchhhh a sucker for validation and making Jean proud is his #1 kink

- i think Catalina is so much like Katelyn (and woah would u look at that, such similar names 👀) that she instantly takes a liking to Aaron too, and Aaron as well right back despite his best efforts, and Jean is so touched that his bestfriend has adopted Aaron like she did with him, like he truly can have everything 🥹

- Jean immensely appreciate that Aaron is among the very very few people who does not shit on Kevin, but doesn’t worship him either.

- for what Neil did for Jean, Aaron truly starts to resent him less and less thanks to Jean offering a less idealistic vision of Neil that Andrew and the Foxes all share, but showing him Neil’s true colors that can also be good despite their violence.

- Jeanaaron on the motorcycle??? tiny beefcake plastered to Jean’s muscly broad back??? HELLO???

- back to the honesty think, i think where Jeanaaron differs from Kevaaron and is instead more similar to Andreil, is that the walls have to be taken down very painstakingly; Kevin and Aaron already know each other and have seen each others worse, there’s no armour to go through; Jean and Aaron don’t know each other at first, but they understand each other like no one, so it’s a game of truth too, one at a time, tearing down those barriers and touching that soft true heart behind; what makes them panic, what makes them scream, what plagues their nights and days, what lures in their past… it’s a whole new process of dealing with your trauma when no one else could ever handle it, much less want to look at it and kiss it better anyway.

also dusting off me old old playlist i had made for them, just for you:

take me home + 100 bandaids are really my jeanaaron anthems

[sunflowersteves]

crazy || j.m.

chapter two of ain't no sunshine

pairing || joel miller x f!sunshine!reader

summary || you get injured during a patrol and Joel is too occupied to assist your wound. what happens when someone else has to take over?

author's note || i hope you all enjoy chapter two! since the second to last episode, all i could think about was that smirk joel gave. oop. i promise next chapter will be fluffy. now that it's spring beak, i'm hoping to write much more for this series. can be read as a stand alone but follows a series! 5.8k!

warnings || jealousy, injury, hurt/comfort, canon-typical violence, murder, blood, possessiveness, brad has his own warning (ifkyk), unrealistic recovery time, delirium, joel is self deprecating and self sabotaging, arguments, SMUT, rough sex, fingering, praise kink, taunting, degradation, dom joel, joel is a little mean, but don't worry because soft joel makes an appearance, soft sex, creampie, [18+ only!!]

series masterlist || part one || masterlist

Crazy for thinking that my love could hold you I'm crazy for trying and crazy for crying And I'm crazy for loving you

You weren’t sure when it happened—when the blade twisted into your gut, cutting your flesh and piercing your intestines. You could feel the pain. It was dull and throbbing as wet crimson seeped into your t-shirt. 

You heard a cried-out yell, and turning toward your side, you saw it. You saw the knife that was once in your stomach was now in your hand—lodged into your attacker’s skull. Your body had acted on instinct and perpetrated that familiar gut feeling of violence and revenge. 

You pause, just for a moment. You could feel the adrenaline kick into your system, and a numbing pain flushed out your senses. The blood felt warm and sticky—prompting the sleepiness to feel calming, and it urged you forward into its safe surroundings. 

But then you felt it. Panic. Panic rose in your neck as you looked around for someone. Your hand darted out to try and find them, but your mind was starting to become blank from the fuzzy warmth of pain. 

Joel.

You needed Joel.

But all you knew was that Joel wasn’t by your side. Joel wasn’t here. He wasn’t holding your hand. He wasn’t whispering into your ear about how everything was going to be okay. 

You didn’t know where he was. Then, you collapsed to the snowy ground, white dots fluttering around you. It was almost comforting the way the snow danced around you like soft wet pillows. You opened your mouth. You wanted to say something—you wanted Joel, but nothing could leave your lips.

It all happened too fast—too soon after just leaving the commune for a patrol. You and Joel had spotted someone walking too close to the river, but you and the rest of your party hadn’t seen the tracks behind you. You never noticed four men creeping their way to surround you. 

It almost felt astonishing, really. You, Joel, Tommy, Maria, and Brad were not new to the dangers of survival, especially you and Joel.

The two of you and Ellie have had your fair share of raiders and non-friendly people alike. You and Joel protected Ellie in every way possible, punching your way through cheekbones and splattering scarlet liquid. 

You and Joel weren’t new to picking out tracks and finding the smallest detail of other life. So how could you miss this?

“I’ve got you.”

Your brow crinkles. That doesn’t sound like Joel. You peek open one of your eyes to see a man—what was his name? Oh, yeah. Brad. 

You didn’t want Brad. You wanted Joel. You wanted the scruff of gray hair poking out loudly against the soft brunette ones. You wanted those honeyed brown eyes staring at you in concern and anguish. You wanted Joel to hold your hand as he gently took you into his arms and carried you all the way back. 

Finally, you speak. “Joel. N-Need Jo—”

“I know, but he’s not here.” He placed his hand on your abdomen and applied a great deal of pressure. Your breath hitches, but then your lips fall into a frown. 

“Joel isn’t here?” Tears start to water your lash line, but none of them fall. If you weren’t preoccupied with the open wound on your side, you would have noticed the twitch of a smirk on Brad’s lips. He was purposely attempting to make you feel alone like you've been abandoned by your partner. 

Your eyes start to sting, a fresh tear falling down the side of your face, right below your temple. Something was wrong. Something felt very wrong. You knew Joel would never ever abandon you, so why did Brad say that?

You could feel yourself become dizzy, and the white specs that fluttered around you started to become hazy. You opened your mouth, and your eyes felt so heavy. You could hear someone telling you to stay awake, and it didn’t feel like Brad this time. Maria? Tommy? 

You weren’t sure, but it was no use. You let the sweet lullaby of sleep take over you, and your eyes fluttered closed. 

You whispered Joel's name over and over. 

═ ∘◦❦◦∘ ═

Tommy hadn’t seen Joel act like this in quite some time. Everyone saw their fair share of grumpy glares and pissed off, snarling Joel, but never this—not since the very beginning of the outbreak.

Joel had just been so irate. He was so entirely impassioned with rage—furious and calculating as his fist connected with the raider's face, over and over. But there was something else, too. Fear and hurt swirled and ignited between his brown eyes at the sight of the blood that seeped into your clothing. 

He watched it all happen. He watched the knife lodge into your stomach. He saw your blood that almost became fluorescent in the white snow. He felt his chest seize as his eyes followed your fist that was puncturing the knife into the raider’s skull. 

He saw the way Brad flew to your side, the way that he yelled at you to stay awake. He watched as your eyes fluttered close, and desperation rose in his throat. He tried calling out your name, but he couldn’t get to you.

One of the raiders wrapped his arm around his neck and choked him—no doubt the raider using Joel’s vulnerability of pure agony to his advantage. 

He couldn’t get to you.

He repeated it over and over in his head. He grabbed the raider’s arm and used the weight of his body to fling the guy forward. Joel didn’t waste a single second. He grasped the gun that was flung out of his hands earlier to the raider’s face. 

The clock was ticking. He couldn’t get to you.

“Wait, wait, wait, I can help—”

Joel pulled the trigger, releasing the bullet and popping loudly against the barrel—shoving the nine millimeters of metal into the man’s head. He fell limp to the ground, and the hands that were clenching around Joel’s forearms slowly dropped. 

He looked over in an instant to see that Tommy had knocked out the last of the men that had surrounded all of you. His head snapped back over to you, feet crunching against the snow with each step. 

You weren’t moving—not even your eyes were fluttering—and Joel felt the whole world swallowing him whole. His heart thumped loudly against his chest as his knees hit the ground, no doubt bruising them in the process. 

Brad was on the other side of you, applying pressure to the wound still. “About time, old man.”

Joel ignored him—honestly, he was not even sure he really registered his presence at all. All Joel could do was hold your face, not caring about any of the blood that smeared onto your cheek. “Baby?”

His eyes skated across your face to see a sign—a twitch of your brow, a pull at your lips, anything. He could see the tears that started to gloss over his vision. “Sunshine, please.” 

He paused, desperately searching. “Please.” 

Tommy says Joel’s name softly as if he were going to snap at any moment. He flinched a little when Joel moved. The dark depths of memories from before rushed through his brain. His mind almost became blank—so did Joel’s. Was this going to be the same?

Maria was the one that snapped them out of it, holding her broken wrist to her chest. “We need to leave. We have to get her to the clinic.”

Joel's arm loops itself under your neck, and Tommy pulls your legs up to make it easier to lift you. He scoops you up into his arms, pressing a watery kiss to your forehead. He needed to get you home, and he needed to do it now. 

You murmur just barely under your breath and so quietly that he almost misses it. He wasn’t quite sure if you were even conscious. 

“Joel.”

═ ∘◦❦◦∘ ═

Worry, why do I let myself worry?

Wondering what in the world did I do?

Crazy for thinking that my love could hold you

The crackling, sultry voice of Patsy Cline flooded into your ears. Your eyes blinked open to see familiar plain white walls. You breathed in to smell fresh pine and some reminiscence of Joel’s cooking. 

Home. You were home. 

You could feel yourself groan as a dull pain spread from your abdomen to your chest. Your head felt a little fuzzy, and you tried to get your bearings, pushing yourself up from what felt like fluffy pillows. 

“Easy. Woah, slow down.” You smiled at the high-pitched voice. Ellie. 

She grabbed your hand, the other guiding the small of your back to sit up. While your wound had mostly healed by this point, there was still going to be a lot of internal discomfort. 

“How long was I out?” You rasped out, your vocal cords rubbing like sandpaper against your throat. You coughed out, and Ellie was quick to bring a glass of water to your lips. 

You gulped down heavily, the relief of the cold liquid soothing your aching throat. You cleared your throat and handed the water back to her. “How long?”

Ellie bit her lip, an uneasy expression lifting onto her face. “Six weeks.”

Your mouth gaped open. “Six weeks? Oh my god—”

She tried to quickly play it off as if she, Joel, Tommy, and Maria weren’t shitting their pants every day at the thought of you never waking up. “But Patsy Cline woke you up! I played all your favorites, especially the ones that you and Joel like to sing all the time, and I knew for sure that she was going to do the trick and—”

“Where’s Joel? Is he okay? Did they hurt him?”

Ellie winced at the mention of his name, but her heart also thumped against her chest. You were literally stabbed in the stomach and almost died multiple times, yet you still thought of someone else. You still thought about the safety and well-being of Joel.

His typical sunshine. Her typical mother. 

She gently squeezed your hand. “Joel is fine. He only had a couple of bruises.” She paused before answering your first question. “He’s, um, at Tommy’s.”

You just blinked, feeling the disappointment crash against your chest. “Oh.” 

Oh. That was okay. He didn’t need to be constantly by your side. Maybe he just needed some rest or comfort from his younger brother. That was okay, right?

Right?

“Is he sleeping?” You could tell by the way she avoided your eyes that something was wrong. What that was, you weren’t exactly sure. He wasn’t injured, so what else could it be? You gulped—suddenly feeling parched again. 

“No…He’s awake. I think so, anyway.” She winced again and knew that she wasn’t helping his case at all. “He hasn’t exactly left Tommy’s to come here.”

When Joel carried you all that way to the clinic in Jackson, he collapsed on the hard ground and cradled you in his arms. You felt cold. You felt unmoving. The entire walk back, he felt helpless—breaths of hopelessness crowded his brain, and all he could think about was that he lost you.

When they tried to take you into the operating room, Joel almost wouldn’t let them. He was clouded by fear and burning with uncleansed rage. 

He lost you, and he did nothing about it. He lost you, and he did nothing about it. It repeated through his head until he could no longer think, hear, see—anything at all—but those words. He couldn’t let them take you—he wouldn’t let them take you from him.

Finally, after realizing that he was wasting the precious time of your beating heart, he let them carry you into a back operating room. He never left the clinic that night, even after the ten-hour surgery. 

After that, though, Joel wasn’t the same. At least, he didn’t feel like it. 

While Tommy knew that and Maria knew that, you and Ellie didn’t. Ellie hadn’t seen Joel in six weeks—just Tommy checking in and bringing her the basics of food and water and helping you. Maria would come too, to bathe you and give you medicine. At first, Ellie thought that Joel had just been hurt or he was forced to go on another patrol.

But no. She realized Joel just hadn’t visited you at all. She was angry at first, stomping over to him and giving him a piece of her mind. As she calmed down, though, she knew Joel cared about you. Deeply. 

He was just…Joel. 

He was unemotional and brash. He was jarring and inanely grumpy all the time. He has violent tendencies and a very distant, dark past. He pushed everyone away from him—only gave affection within a ten-foot pole radius. God, he really, really pushes the people he loves away. 

She knew that she could handle that. She was stubborn and hardheaded like him, so it was a bit easier. She just was worried you wouldn’t be able to handle that.

Ellie and Joel were your worlds. You even told the two of them that when star-gazing one night on the roof of your cabin. You were sweet and doting. You were so calculating and headstrong when you needed to be. But if Joel wasn’t careful about this, she knew he could break your heart.

You go to stand, suddenly feeling a burst of anger rush through you. Ellie could tell by the way your eyebrow twitched and the hard thumps of your socked feet sauntered across the floor that you were very mad. 

“Look, please just—”

You hear a crashing noise outside of the guest bedroom door. Both of your heads whipped over to the loud sound. You would have almost let fear take hold of your chest if it weren’t for Joel bursting through the door not a second later.

His chest heaved up and down, rapidly, and eyes wide at the sight of you standing. You were in some sweatpants and one of his flannel button-ups. Your hair was a little damp. He had no doubt it was from Ellie washing it earlier this morning. 

“Joel.”

His eyes don’t even acknowledge Ellie’s presence. They’re just scanning your body over and over. You seem okay. You seem good. You seem alive.

His body carried itself forward before he was even thinking. His arm stretched out, and the pads of his fingers stroked your cheek. He takes a minute to look at the ways your eyes shone from the light of the window. 

He then retraced his hand so fast, as if your skin was a hot stove—sizzling and burning to the touch. He even took a few paces back. He could feel his eyes watering with each deep, dismal thought pulling him under. 

“You’re awake.”

He said it so softly that you weren’t even sure you heard him right. You just stood there, mouth opening in shock at his reaction. You weren’t really sure what to make of any of this. Shit, you weren’t even awake twenty minutes ago. 

Ellie cleared her throat at the awkwardness. “I’m gonna…go do things.” With that, she left the room, and a small ‘yikes’ escaped her lips. 

There was a long beat of silence before either of you spoke. Joel still looked at you, though. He couldn’t help himself. He still couldn’t believe that you were awake. You were the one to break it, your mind was wandering too aimlessly at all of the unknowns. 

“You didn’t visit me.” He opened his mouth, but you didn’t let him talk. “Ellie said I was in a coma for six weeks and you didn’t visit me.”

The cracking of your voice and the tears on your waterline broke his heart into two. It was split wide open and ached against his chest. “I-I couldn’t. I saw you layin’ there, darlin’, and I just couldn’t.”

You lightly scoffed. “Couldn’t or wouldn’t? I mean seriously Joel, who the fuck doesn’t visit their partner after they almost die and—”

“What do you want me to say, huh? That I wasn’t fuckin’ there for you? Is that what you want me to say?”

You purse your lips, your hands flying in the air. “No! I–I wanna know why, Joel. I wanna know why you couldn’t even see me.”

His nostrils flare at your tone—crackled and gloomy as it echoed across the room. “Why would you want to see someone like me? Huh? Brad was all over you, and—”

You couldn’t believe him right now. You almost didn’t, but the swirl of green that rested in between his eyes said otherwise. Joel didn’t visit you in your own shared home after being seriously injured because he was jealous? 

“Oh, my god.” You wanted to laugh, and you did. Laughter, the kind that was dark and fluid, bubbled through you. “You can’t be serious.”

You could tell there was something he wasn’t telling you. His hands were tight around the doorframe, and his eyes were glued to the ground. You wanted to pry a bit more, but as Joel always says, “You’re an absolute sunshine until that fire ignites inside of you.” 

“Maybe I should go to him, then.”

Yeah, that got his attention. His eyes flickered up towards yours, mouth opening slightly. “What?”

You crossed your arms over your chest. “You heard me. Maybe I should go see Brad. I should tell him to take me out to dinner at the bar. He seemed super interested a couple of weeks ago when he—”

“You shut your fuckin’ mouth.” Your mouth snapped closed as Joel towered over you. His nostrils flared, chest pulling up and down at a rate that was too calm—too calm while the red between his eyes burned a hole in your own chest. “You think Brad can please you? hmm?”

His fingers grip your jaw so that you’re forced to maintain eye contact. Not that you would give the satisfaction to Joel from the throb of your core anyway. “Yeah, Joel, I think he can.”

His eyes squinted, his face leaning even closer than before. “So if I shoved my hand down, your pussy wouldn’t be drippin’ for me?”

Yeah, okay. He’s got you there. “Huh? Gonna say anything, darlin’?” You defiantly squint your eyes back up into his. His tone was anything but sweet—it was snarling and patronizing as his brows furrowed even further.

Before you could even open your mouth to give a snarky comment back, Joel aggressively shoves the sweatpants you had on down to your ankles. “You’re a fuckin’ brat, you know that?”

He gets on his knees, fingers pushing between your folds. Sure enough, you’re wet. As if on cue, Joel smirks as his finger swirls to grab your sweet nectar. “F-Fuck you, Joel.”

“Yeah?” He groaned into your ear. His thumb presses deep into your clit, sparking your hips to jolt at the pressure. “I don’t think so, darlin’. I don’t think you deserve my cock.”

You gasped, “J-Joel–”

He slipped his index finger, pushing through your tight walls. His cock twitches at the whimper that left your lips. “All I’m doin' is fuckin’ you good with my fingers.” 

His torrid voice breaks you whole, sweet accent slurring his words together. “Can Brad do that? Could he make you dumb from just his fingers?”

He wants you to answer him, but he knows the pleasure is starting to blossom in your lower abdomen. His fingers always made you cum so fast and so hard. They always stretched your aching pussy so wide and scissored the perfect angle into you.

So, he was going to take his sweet time. 

He chuckled. “C’mon, you weren’t this shy earlier. I want you to answer me, sunshine.” Your head tilts back in a gasp, the nickname rolled off of his tongue, and it was so blissful. “Can Brad do this?”

You shake your head, mouth opening, but nothing comes out. You were sensitive—really sensitive. “You can do it, pretty girl.” God, he was enjoying this a bit too much, it was starting to drive you insane. “Answer me.”

The demanding tone struck through your chest, and you almost didn’t give in. All anger practically washed out of you when he inserted another finger—curling them with each thrust. “No! H-He can’t. B-Brad can’t fuck me like you do.”

A devilish smile sprouts from his lips at your affirmation. “That’s all you had to say, sunshine. I fuck you better, hmm?” The squelch of your juices running down his fingers sounded almost ethereal to his ears. “Look at you,” he coos, and you almost believed that it was sweet. “Fuckin’ dumb from just my hand.”

He pauses, almost taunting like. “Do you want my cock?”

Your fingernails dug deep into his shoulders, his name clouding over your mind, and it was all you seemed to think about. “Yes! Please, Joel! I-I want your cock. N-Need it, please.”

“Well, you can’t fuckin’ have it.” His fingers shove even deeper through your walls—finding that spongy spot that makes you mewl. “You don’t deserve it, sunshine.”

You weren’t sure how much more you could handle as the pressure builds, making your head feel a bit fuzzy. “Joel, please. I’m—” 

Oh.

Oh, you see it now. You almost say it. The apology almost rings through your ears. He wanted you to apologize for what you said to him, and it almost worked. Almost. 

You may be happy and considerate the majority of the time, but you were angry. Irritation still bubbled up between your chest, and you weren’t about to let Joel get away with something so easily. 

As if he knew, his eyes flared in anger. “Fuckin’ cum.” 

“I–I won’t—” You say defiantly, trying to make him more frustrated. He knew you better than that, though. He could feel the clench of your walls and the grip on his shoulders became increasingly tight.

“Fuckin’ cum right now, sunshine, or—” Your mouth hangs open as your orgasm breaks you whole. It flutters through you as he works you through it, thighs shaking and Joel’s name chanting from your lucid tongue. 

“Doing so good for me, yeah?” His hand thrusts into you, thumb still stroking your puffy clit. He groans at the gush of your juices dripping down to his wrist, and he leaned down, tongue swirling to just grab a little taste of you. “Y’taste so good, darlin’.”

Your head rolled over to nod. Your eyelids were heavy from the pure pleasure that rushed through your head and down to your toes. His fingers slip out of you easily, and plops them into his mouth, sucking every drop of your orgasm.

He takes his fingers out of his mouth and pulls himself up from the ground. Something sinks in between his stomach, though. He can feel the dread of confrontation unfolding in his eyes. 

The way you look up at him, Joel knows he doesn’t deserve this. You don’t deserve this. Your hand fluffs through the back of his hair, and he thought that your touch would bring him the comfort he needed. But it doesn’t.

He feels like he is going to be sick. He was mean to you. He degraded you. He acted like he didn’t trust you. You could see that he was pulling himself away from you with the way that his eyes snapped shut and his head shook back and forth. 

You tried to reel him back in, wanting him to know that you were just as angry as he was. You were just as turned on by his rage as he was by yours. But it was no use. Joel Miller had made up his mind already.

“I’m going for a walk.”

Your face fell as he bolted from the room. Pain swirled in your stomach, and a sob escaped your lips. You suddenly felt sick to your stomach, and everything just felt so wrong. There was a sunken feeling in your chest—a feeling of a hole burning through your heart. 

He left you.

Again.

═ ∘◦❦◦∘ ═

Tap, tap. Maria opened the door to your bedroom just a little, peeking her head in. “So the rumors are true. You are awake.”

You turned the pages of your favorite book, not even looking up at her just yet. “Awake as anyone can be.”

She smiled up at you before fully pushing the door open and entering the room. She had a glass of water and a handful of pill bottles—probably expired, but they have been probably keeping you alive. 

“Any pain?” 

You shook your head, but that was far from the truth. You just didn’t have any pain from the area you got stabbed. You just had lots of heart and head pain. 

“Good. Since you were out for quite some time, your body was able to mostly heal.” You noticed the small bag in her arm and figured it was most likely some more medical supplies.

You gave her a faint smile and turned another page—eyes skimming the small words. “Thank god. You know I can’t stay still for long.”

She chuckled, nodding in agreement. She gave you the pills you needed. You swallowed them down, gulping the fresh water. After handing the water back to her, you looked down at your book again.

She looked over at you, and a smile widened on her lips. “He read that to you every night, you know.”

You blinked, confused. “What?” You dog-eared the book and placed it on the bed next to you. You had somewhat of an idea, but the shock was still evident. “Who?”

Maria smiled and set down a couple of more pills on your bedside table. “It’s some pain medication if you need it.” After you nodded in acknowledgment, she sat down next to you on the bed. “Joel.”

Your eyes widened slightly. She continued, “After Ellie would go to sleep, he would sneak into the house. I told him he didn’t have to do that, but well, you know him.” She knocked her elbow with yours. “He just sat there all night reading that book to you, over and over. He’d come back to our place at around seven in the morning before Ellie woke up.”

She paused, looking right at you. “I know how he is. I know you know more than any of us, but that day? I hadn’t ever seen him like that. He was broken. He muttered under his breath the whole way back that you were gone, and it was his fault. I kept trying to tell him that you still had a steady heartbeat, but he was just—just fully convinced.”

She gave you a watery smile, noticing the tears streaming down your cheeks. You wiped them with the back of your palm and sniffled from a runny nose. 

“Oh, Joel.” You sighed, feeling slightly guilty, but you knew he would hate that. You didn’t know. He specifically chose not to tell you or Ellie anything because that was what he does. He pushes you away because he thinks he doesn’t deserve you or this life you have. Your silly, precious Joel. 

“I’ll leave you to it. Get better, okay? I need my movie-watching friend back.” She pats you lightly on the back before standing up from the bed.

You laughed, nodding in agreement. “Oh, I’m sure it was hell trying to watch Little Women with Tommy.”

She huffed, a hand on the doorknob. “You have no idea.” And with that, she left the room. You stayed there on the bed and tried to dry your tears. 

You felt an ache burst through you. You knew Joel wasn’t telling you everything. You knew it.

There was a part of you that still felt guilty, even though you know you shouldn’t. You just didn’t know what those six weeks felt like as he waited for you. He pleaded every night for you to wake up. Every ten hours after finishing the book, he would ask you all the same. 

You finally had enough of this. It was all his decision to wallow in his own darkness and sorrows—and you were going to put an end to it.

You took the duvet off of your lap and sauntered across the room. Your hand twisted the doorknob, and just as you whipped the door open, you were met with a hard chest. Joel’s hand was fisted, hanging in the middle of the air.

Your eyes widened as you looked up into his deep eyes. “Joel.” You whispered. Tears already started to water against your lash line from the sight of his creased brow and worried gleam in his eyes. 

“Darlin’.” He grunted. His hands clasp gently against your cheeks, and it pulls you forward. His eyes flickered across your face, and his thumb moved to wipe your tears. “I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have said any of that, okay? I-I just didn’t want to tell you the truth, and I just–I used Brad as an excuse—”

“Joel.” You bit your lip, trying to shake your head, but his hands stopped you. His other thumb moved back and forth in adoration on your cheek. 

“I just–I know I failed you. I know I failed Ellie too. I made you a promise that I would never do that again, and I broke it.” His voice cracked, and he let out a huff of air.

“Joel, you didn’t.” Your hand moved up to his chest, stroking back and forth, and he closed his eyes. “You didn’t fail anyone.”

He shook his head. “I did. I did fail you. When I saw the b-blood that—” He paused at the gut-wrenching memory, “I couldn’t get to you. I-I couldn’t help you, darlin’.”

Your breath hitched. Joel was worried about trying to help you. Not saved—like you were some damsel in distress. Not saved, as in pushing you aside and using his ego like others would. Not rescue you. Not recovering you. He wanted to help you. 

“Oh, Joel.” Your hand goes to cup his cheek, “Look at me. Joel—” His eyes snapped open, and he stared at your breath-takingingly beautiful, teary face. “You did help me.”

He opened his mouth to disagree, but you beat him to it. “You carried me all that way, and no one else could do that. Maria had a broken wrist, Tommy has noodle arms,” Joel lets out a snort, “And we can’t rely on a complete stranger to carry me back home. You did. You helped me more than anyone else in this damn world.”

A sob escaped his lips at your sweet affirmation. Tears cascaded down his cheeks, and he surged your cheeks forward to his, lips desperately pressing against your own.

They swallow you—burning a fire inside of you and your hands gripping his chest so tight that you were afraid he would vanish if you hadn’t. He licks into you, moaning.

“Sunshine.” He said, a smile turning up on his lips. He pressed his own back onto yours, so chaste and tender that it makes your knees buckle. “I’m sorry. I love you.”

His lips moved to your neck, and he whispered that against your skin.“I’m sorry. I love you.” His hands flittered down to your hips and gradually started to move you toward the bed. 

You whispered right back at him. “I’m sorry. I love you.” You could feel his lips curl into a smile on your skin, lips still pressing against the base of your neck and your collarbone. “I’m sorry. I love you.”

He gently laid you down on top of the bouncy mattress, hovering over you. He started to take off his jeans, and you do the same with your sweatpants. He gently unbuttoned his shirt, but his eyes never left yours. In fact, they were boring into you. They were glittering under the dimmed light. They were bursting full of love and worship for everything and everything you. 

He leans over on top of you, and one of his hands gently massages your breast. You wantonly sighed, pressing kisses onto his scruffy gray beard. A hand gently rests on your hip, sparking a hot sensation on your skin. His thumb swipes back and forth, and it takes everything in you not to let tears roll down your face once more. 

“I love you, sunshine.” He said it with such adoration and love that your heart seizes in your chest. His cock slipped into you easily, the arousal from earlier and the dripping now mixed and connected. 

“Joel, I love you—I love you.” He moaned at the clench of your walls. His lips lowered to press soft kisses to your chest. He thrust deep, the head of his cock piercing through you. The sweet contrast of Joel was making you feel dizzy.

He pulled back just a little. He wanted to look at you—he wanted to see you. Your mouth hangs wide open for him, whines and whimpers escaping your throat. “J-Joel! Feels so good, Joel.”

He smiled, “Yeah, Darlin’? Love my cock, don’t you?”

You gasped, preening into him. “Yes! Joel—” He thrusted into hard and his deep, hips brushed up against yours. “F-Fuck, baby—”

“Y’Pussy feels so fuckin’ tight, sunshine.” His lips pressed so gently against your skin, tasting the salt that seeped through. He groaned, hips slapping up and puncturing through you. 

“Joel, I love—love you.” You whined. His hand moved to swirl circles on your clit. You could feel the pressure build and burst through you. 

“Gonna cum, sunshine? Yeah, that’s it. Cum for me. Cum all over my cock.” 

You mewled, and he pushed into you a couple of times before you scream his name. “Joel! Joel, I—I love you, I love you.”

“Fuck, my sweet sunshine—” He grunts, coil snapping on his own and clashing against his abdomen. His cock twitched inside your walls, and he spilled inside of you. 

He pumps you full, while muttering under his breath. “I love you, sunshine. I—fuck—oh—I love you.” You whined his name over and again while he did the same. 

You clutched onto one another, desperate to be as close as possible. His lips pressed against your cheeks, leaving soft and gentle kisses in his path. He moaned as he felt your walls clench once more around him. 

You opened your eyes, flickering over his wrinkled lines and strong nose. You wanted to hold him forever, and he no doubt felt the same. 

After six weeks of pure agony, Joel finally felt whole again. He had you by his side, and he felt so loved by your presence. 

You were glad to be finally awake. The toll of being under for so long definitely affected you and your body. But, you couldn’t be happier than to share a little moment with Joel. Your Joel. 

Finally, after quite a while of enjoying each other's company—pressing soft kisses and caressing each other's skin—you break the silence. “We should probably go tell Ellie we’re okay.”

He nods in agreement, but he makes no sudden movements. “Jus’ five more minutes, darlin’?”

You gave him a big smile. “Yeah. Five more minutes, handsome.”

[ryuzakemo128]

Grim Reaper Part Nine

Pairing: Poly 141 x female reader / Female reader/ You x Her mental health x König

Content Warnings: Violence, bloodshed, injuries, Premeditated murder on the brain (Female Reader), swearing.

Words: 756

Note: Sorry for a short one. Wanted to get this one out. Next one will be longer I promise.

Masterlist - Prequel - Part One - Part Two - Part Three - Part Four - Part Five - Part Six - Part Seven - Part Eight - Part Nine

Supernatural AU — Poem

Credit for Dividers:@cafekitsune + @strangergraphics

Summary: Was I stupid to love you? Was I reckless to help? Was it obvious to anybody else? That I have fallen for a lie. You were never on my side.  Fool me once, fool me twice. Are you death or paradise?

Was I stupid to love you? Was I reckless to help? Was it obvious to anybody else? That I have fallen for a lie. You were never on my side.  Fool me once, fool me twice. Are you death or paradise?

Was I the problem? Did I do something to make you hate me so much? 

Why didn’t you just leave me instead of lying so many times to my face?

Was I stupid to love you? Was I reckless to help? Was it obvious to anybody else? 

I hope you rot in this hell you have made yourself. It’s my last gift I will give to you.

You knew how my life was before I met you. Yet you still did this to me. 

Cold. Calculated. That is all you will ever be.

If I had the power to curse you. I would have done it long ago. 

Once I leave this house, this country all over again. Do yourself a favour. Stay away from me.

Stay far, far away from me.

Otherwise, I can and most absolutely will kill you myself.

If you wish to keep your life.

Stay in your country and I will stay in mine.

I don’t want to be pushed into a corner. But you keep being adamant on doing so.

Don’t blame me when I bite you. Blame yourself for ignoring the warning signs.

You are the reason we are no longer married. Take accountability for your actions and shut the fuck up. 

König. You still don’t know if that’s his actual name or just simply a call sign. He never told you either way. 

But what does it matter? 

The man who had once been the epitome of comfort and support in your life had become a shadow of his former self. The trust that had once been as solid as steel between you had been shattered into a million pieces.

Leaving a gaping chasm of doubt and anger in its place. 

The coldness in his eyes, the way he looked at you now, it was like you were nothing but a stranger to him. 

Someone who had merely crossed his path at the wrong time.

"I will leave, and you won't see me again." you snarl, getting up to get your things.

König remains seated, his expression unreadable. "Reaper, I know you're upset, but we need to talk about this."

"There's nothing to talk about. You chose to cheat. You made that choice. Suffer the consequences. I'm not the one who needs to explain anything. You're the one who broke our vows.” 

“My life is in my hands. I will not become who you are.” You told him. Your knuckles turning white from the way you turned your hands into fists. You were so tired of the kind of excuses coming from the mouths of men who neither cared nor wanted you around. 

You weren’t going to let König know you again. To choose death than suffer through his presence a second time. It made so much sense to you. You do enough talk. What did you learn from your mistakes? Did you even learn from them at all? 

If he can’t see it. May he drown inside his endless well of pitiful tears. 

You are not his wife, his friend, his punching bag. The call sign ‘Grim Reaper’? You earned it for a reason. Too bad he’s too blind to see it. 

What has eyes but cannot see? 

Escape.

Escape and run faster than he can hope to catch up. 

If he can’t take the hint, then…..you would have to kill him yourself.

Can’t be too hard to kill a six-foot ten adult man, right?

You can hear the shouting between him and his girlfriend. A sickening, twisted grin spreads across your face. Sweet revenge for the child you lost years ago.  Weight began to lift from your shoulders. It wasn’t over by a long shot. But now you know how to twist the knife to get what you wanted in order to leave. 

To head back home where you felt like you belonged completely. 

Home. Your home. 

The one where you don’t have to hide from broken bottles, yelling, shouting, endless need to feel like you have to explain yourself. 

Could it still be there when you go back? Will it still be there now?

[eri-pl]

Silm reread 18: Tears Unnumbered ye shall shed

So, we got here. But first, B&L get an epilogue.

First, a tidbit about reembodiment: B&L take their physical forms again in Doriath. I guess they go from Mandos to there in spirit. (It's all "allegedly", anyway). Everyone is happy and afraid when seing them (very reasonable reaction I think) and Luthien heals Thingol from (depression, more or less).

Melian looks in Luhien's eyes and is sad. She "realized they will be apart till the end of the world and after" (huh?) and again, we have Pengolodh's favorite stylistic tool: "nobody ever suffered more from any loss than Melian suffered then".

Oh, I found the quote in original: “But Melian looked in her eyes and read the doom that was written there, and turned away; for she knew that a parting beyond the end of the world had come between them, and no grief of loss has been heavier than the grief of Melian the Maia in that hour."

B&L go to Ossiriand, it vaguelly feels like they don't neet to eat anymore? But unclear.

Anyway, back to the proper plot Feanorians. Maedhros gained hope, because he saw Morgoth is not untouchable. He starts creating the Union, but the wording about him doing it … even without knowing the story, if I read it carefully, I would probably be worried about how it will go.

And we have a clear reminder of the Oath and all that. Orodreth doesn't trust the Feanorians because C&C (makes sense I guess) (Finrod would probably join the Union but anyway). Gwindor joins Maedhros, going against his king's orders… we know how this will end for Gwindor.

doriath. Mae&co had sent brash letters to thingol along the lines of "you will be our enemy if you don't give the Silmaril back" and Melian advised Thingol to give it to them! But he is angry at their tone and at C&C, and also B&L have suffered so much for this jewel…

Sidenote: If your main claim to a piece of treasure is "but I/someone have sufferred so much", keeping it is probably going to end badly.

Also thingol wants to keep the Silmaril, because it is this jewel's power…. wait what? "And every day that he looked upon the Silmaril the more he desired to keep it for ever; for such was its power." [original] WHAT.

Ok, that is new. So, the Silmaril is canonically addictive? Or is it only because it has been in Morgoth's crown?

So, anyway, Thingol sends Maedhros a dissing answer and Maedhros leaves him be, because the Union is more important. Yay, Maedhros, great job, you are doing well! (For now :((( )

Unfortunately C&C threathen Thingol with genocide, after they win the wart. Which they assume they will. So thingol fortifies and doesn't go to the war. (Mablung and Beleg go, but Thingol allows them reluctantely, so they end up better than Gwindor)

Bór! :) and Ulfang :(

Maedhros plays his hand a bit too early :(

Also, another mention of Morgoth's spies (plural) and traitors. So, I guess the fallen Men, enslaved Elves and shapeshifting wannabe-Saurons sabotage the Union as much as they can.

Battle, Fingon doubtful, problems, suddenly: Turgon! First good surprise of this battle (it will be a whiplash…)

The Noldor want to charge too quickly, but Hurin stops them, because he is wise.

Morgoth wants to kill Fingon especially. Why? Probably to break Maedhros. (Also, revenge for the rescue, maybe.)

Gwindor gets unlucky chance (that's what happens when you go to war against your king's orders, I suppose)

The Noldor get really motivated and almost win. Morgoth is trembling of fear XD as they bang at his door. This is pretty cool of them. But then they all die. :(

Another turn: the Noldor might have won, but Ulfang. :( [Maglor kills him and it's probably the only named character that we are told is killed by Maglor, which is interesting]

Also, Glaurung is there.

Fingon dies. Also, his banner is silver and pale blue, which I did not remember.

Hurin, Turgon, foreshadowing for Earendil. Maeglin hears it all, but does not comment, and he remembers it and I have no idea why the book tells us that, this line feels so odd. "Maeglin, Turgon's sister-son, who stood by, heard these words, and did not forget them; but he said nothing" It's apparently odd to more people because there's a reddit thread about it. huh, ok, makes sense.

So, Hurin is brave and great and I will need to make a post about how the story is an ecosystem and the benefit of one character's heroics sometimes lands to another character's lap and it's painful but also quite real. So. Hurin. But we'll get back to him later.

Morgoth is happy, because divides and betrayal and stuff like that. :/

Also this (Ulfang) is why the Elves don't like Men anymore (except the Edain).

Cirdan is besieged, allo we learn that there are Orcs who can use explosives, and orkish engineers and what not. Interesting. they destroy the ports, Cirdan&co escape to the sea and to Balar.

Turgon again sends ships to Valinor, again it doesn't work (again I suppose he didn't ask Ulmo about his opinion or ignored it), and we are told who kills those sailors: not the Valar. "Only one, Voronwe, was saved by Ulmo from Osse's wrath". So yea, it's the "not rebel, but not not-rebel" sea guy. Don't blame the Valar for this.

Turgon is the rightful king of the Noldor (says the book), Morgoth hates him, because Fingolfin, and because he's a friend of Ulmo, and because Turgon's vibe scares him. We have a wonderful line about how even back in Valinor Morgoth was anxious every time he saw Turgon and tbh this is criminally underexplored in fics (this whole period is) and must have been quite hilarious.

Hurin disses Morgoth, Morgoth curses him and his wife and kids, takes him high up, and curses him again for a good measure.

Results of that: in the next chapter.