#anyway i find this prompt particularly interesting

[silhouettecrow]

365 Days of Writing Prompts: Day 343

Adjective: Modern

Noun: Street

Definitions for those who need/want them:

Modern: relating to the present or recent times as opposed to the remote past; characterized by or using the most up-to-date techniques, ideas, or equipment; denoting the form of a language that is currently used, as opposed to any earlier form; denoting a current or recent style or trend in art, architecture, or other cultural activity marked by a significant departure from traditional styles and values

Street: a public road in a city or town, typically with houses and buildings on one or both sides; (US) used to refer to the financial markets and activities on Wall Street; the roads or public areas of a city or town; relating to the outlook, values, or lifestyle of those young people who are perceived as composing a fashionable urban subculture; denoting someone who is homeless; performing or being performed on the street

[solarmorrigan]

The Witch and The Carpenter

For the @steddie-spooktober day 23 prompt: Witch Rated: T | Words: 2862 | CW: None | Tags: fantasy AU, witch!Eddie Munson, carpenter!Steve Harrington, Steve Harrington gets migraines, Eddie Munson needs a hug, Steve Harrington needs a hug, they're perfect for each other hugs all around Divider credit: @saradika

Eddie hears about the new carpenter within hours of his rolling into town – of course he does; any witch worth their salt knows exactly what’s going on in their town at all times (it’s hard not to, when you’re the one providing the potions and charms that help everyone else keep their secrets).

His name is Steve, and he’s come with hopes of filling the hole left when Benny, the previous town carpenter, had died without an heir to his business. People say that he seems hardworking and capable, that he’s strong and handsome, that he’s friendly enough, but that there’s something a little distant about him – a little lonely (though the older ladies who give Eddie gossip do tend to romanticize at times).

Eddie doesn’t expect to meet him as soon as he does, but before even his first week in town is out, Steve turns up on Eddie’s doorstep, looking at once earnest and wary, and just as handsome as the gossip had said.

(Not that that last bit has any bearing on anything.)

“People in town say you’re the one to see for remedies,” Steve says when Eddie gets the door open.

“People in town say a lot of things,” Eddie replies. “But in this case, they’re right. Come on in.”

Inside, Eddie finds out that Steve is seeking a remedy for headaches. But not just any headaches; these seem to be full-body affairs that can keep Steve down for days at a time. He gets dizzy, nauseous, is bothered by any noise, and even candlelight can be too bright for his eyes.

Eddie mixes him up something strong, gives him strict instructions on how it’s to be taken, and then moves on to the matter of payment.

At that, Steve begins to look sheepish.

“I’ve only just set up my business. I… don’t have much money yet,” he admits. “I was hoping you might be willing to do a trade.”

Eddie cocks an eyebrow at him. “And what do you have to trade that you think might interest me?”

“Your door?” Steve offers.

“…what about my door?” Eddie asks after a long moment of confused silence.

“It sticks. You were having trouble getting it closed earlier. I could fix that,” Steve says.

And it’s true – Eddie’s front door does stick. So does the back door. The shutters often refuse to open or shut properly, and the porch sags a little, and there’s a leak in the roof when it rains hard enough. While Eddie is the best in the business when it comes to working magic, he’s not so handy with home repairs.

(It doesn’t particularly help that witches exist in an odd sort of social limbo. Every town needs one—this is generally acknowledged as truth—but no one particularly wants them around. Eddie lives a little ways away from town, up against the forest line, where it’s easy to ignore him and his shabby house unless someone needs something from him. No one has ever exactly been chomping at the bit to come help him fix the place up.)

Eddie shouldn’t say yes. He often trades goods and services, but he doesn’t know this man. He doesn’t know if he’s reliable, doesn’t even know if his work is any good – but something in him wants to agree, anyway.

Maybe it’s the earnestness of his offer, or the hope in his expression that he’s clearly trying to quash, or maybe Eddie’s just a sucker for a pretty face, but eventually he finds he can’t say anything but, “Okay, sure.”

“Thank you,” Steve sighs as he accepts the potion. “How would tomorrow work for you?”

Still not entirely sure he expects Steve to show up, Eddie says that tomorrow is fine. If he doesn’t show, if he thinks he can fleece a witch and continue living peacefully in town, he’ll quickly find out otherwise. And if he does come back – well, it would be nice to have a door that doesn’t stick anymore.

“What’s your favorite color?” Steve asks before he leaves.

“Red,” Eddie answers, one brow raised in a question that Steve doesn’t answer.

“Red.” Steve nods. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

The next day, Steve is back bright and early with a bag of tools and a pot of paint. He tells Eddie not to mind him, he’ll just get to work and try to stay out of Eddie’s way, but Eddie can’t help but watch as Steve inspects the door hinges, the frame, and then not only trims the door down, but sands and paints it, too.

Red: Eddie’s favorite color.

Anyway, it isn’t Eddie’s fault for getting distracted. There’s an unfairly attractive man doing manual labor in front of his house, what’s he supposed to do?

Eventually, though, Eddie does force himself to look away. He shouldn’t get attached to things he knows he can’t have. He’s the witch; he’s in the background of everyone else’s story, he doesn’t get to have one of his own – especially not with someone like Steve.

And that’s fine, Eddie had accepted that long ago. He likes being able to help people, and it’s sort of the only thing he’s any good at. He won’t deny that it stings sometimes, the way people talk about witches—about him—but what should he care about what other people think?

In any case, it doesn’t matter, because once Steve finishes with the door, it’s unlikely the two of them will cross paths again any time soon.

Steve finishes the door (it now opens and closes smooth as butter) and goes home.

And comes back the next week.

“Finished what I gave you already?” Eddie asks.

Steve shrugs. “Stress always makes the headaches worse, and with travelling and setting up shop…”

Eddie nods, pursing his lips in thought. “I could make you a bigger batch, but it would cost you more.”

“I can fix those shutters.” Steve nods towards the windows. “And you mentioned something about the back door?”

“You’re going to neglect your real customers, spending all your time fixing up my house,” Eddie teases.

“I can make the time,” Steve says, smiling at Eddie. “I think it’s worth it.”

Eddie has to turn away again, reminding himself that Steve is talking about the medicine, not him.

He fixes up a bigger batch of that same strong potion he’d made the previous week (“I’ve never had anything work so well,” Steve had practically gushed. “It was more than worth my work.”) and Steve comes back the next afternoon to start work on the back door.

They talk more this time, when Steve takes breaks, when Eddie is between tasks and brings him cool water to drink, and Eddie finds that Steve is funny and sweet, and catty and sharp, and a bigger gossip than even Eddie himself. And he reminds himself, again and again, that Steve is not for him. This isn’t how the story goes.

Witches don’t get nice things.

(And that’s fine. Eddie is fine with it. He’s fine.)

They do, however, get increasingly nice houses, apparently. Or at least Eddie does. Steve paints the back door red, too, and then gets to work fixing the shutters. Those, to Eddie’s bemusement, he paints a buttery, golden yellow.

“They don’t exactly scream ‘witch’s cottage’,” Eddie points out.

Steve only shrugs. “It’s my favorite color,” he says, flashing a grin at Eddie. “Besides, I think they go with the doors.”

Eddie doesn’t argue.

It goes on like this. Eddie brews medicine for Steve’s headaches, and Steve finds things around the house to work on. He fixes the leak in the roof, the creaky porch steps, the drawer in the kitchen that will never stay closed; his business picks up in town, but he always makes time for Eddie.

As much as he can, at least.

“I’ve got a few big orders built up,” he says apologetically one afternoon as he collects his medicine from Eddie. “I’m not sure when I’ll have time to get to the cabinets like I said I would, but I can pay you–”

“Nah.” Eddie waves Steve’s offer away before he can pull out any coins. “I’ll just put it on your tab.”

Eddie doesn’t do tabs.

Steve looks skeptical. “If you’re sure…”

“Of course I am. And if, for some reason, you welch on our deal,” Eddie gives Steve a sharp grin, “I do know where you live.”

“You should come visit, then,” Steve says.

Eddie falters. “What?”

“If you want to, I mean.” Steve shrugs, avoiding Eddie’s gaze. “Just– if I can’t make it out here, maybe you could come see me, instead.”

And again, he’s so earnest, trying so hard not to look too hopeful, that Eddie can’t say anything but, “Alright, I will.”

The way Steve lights up at that is worth just about anything he could have Eddie do.

Eddie tries to remind himself of this as he ventures into town the next week.

He doesn’t go into the town proper very often; he grows a lot of what he needs and trades for a lot of the rest of it with customers; he’s a rare enough sight that some people stare, and whisper, and Eddie does his best to hold his head up high and walk without a care.

And if he pulls faces at some of the more egregious offenders, causing them to gasp and scurry away, scandalized, well – Eddie is allowed his simple pleasures.

Anyway, Steve is all smiles when he finds Eddie at his door, and that’s the most important thing. He ushers him through the shop (a large, warm space that smells of wood shavings and sweet smoke, just as Eddie’s come to associate with Steve) and into the living space above. He serves Eddie tea and cake with a studied nonchalance that says he doesn’t want Eddie to realize how excited he is.

How excited he is to see Eddie.

Eddie searches for anything else to focus on before he does something ridiculous, like act on the rising warm feeling in his chest. He finds it, oddly, in Steve’s eyes.

“Have you been sleeping?” Eddie asks him; the shadows beneath his eyes look almost like bruises.

Steve shrugs. “I’ve been busy.”

His hands are shaking, Eddie realizes, as he pours the tea for the both of them. Steve must notice Eddie noticing, because he folds his hands back into his lap with a little huff.

“Happens sometimes,” he says brusquely. “More annoying than anything. Carpenters are supposed to have steady hands.”

(Eddie wonders sometimes what must have happened to Steve, but he’s seen some of the scars that adorn his body, has seen the faraway look that gets into his eyes from time to time, and he thinks he knows. Steve has the bearing of a soldier, and the eyes of a man too kind to have ever been made to fight for a king who doesn’t give a damn about him.)

Taking the hint, Eddie changes the subject, but the thought of Steve’s shaking hands follows him home. All those tools, all those sharp things he works with – maybe Steve isn’t his, not his to worry over or to care of, but Eddie decides he’s damn well going to do it anyway.

The next time Steve comes by, Eddie slips him an extra packet along with his usual potion.

“You brew it like tea,” Eddie says to Steve’s confused glance. “Should help steady your hands, when you need it.”

Steve stares down at the packet for several silent seconds. “You didn’t have to–”

“But I wanted to.”

Shaking his head, Steve looks back up at Eddie. “How can I–”

Eddie waves him off before the question is fully formed. “Let’s say it’s on the house, for my best customer.”

“I’m not sure that’s a compliment,” Steve says, not without amusement.

“Then how about my favorite customer?” Eddie offers.

Steve is smiling now. “Are you allowed to have favorites?”

“I’m the witch,” Eddie reminds him with a smirk. “I can do whatever I want.”

And so it goes.

And so it might have continued going, if it hadn’t been for the night Steve turns up at Eddie’s door well after dark, looking grey and haggard and haunted.

Eddie ushers him in, sits him down, makes him some tea, and tries to get some words out of him.

“Do you make anything to help people sleep?” is what Steve finally asks.

“I can,” Eddie says slowly, watching Steve carefully.

Steve drops his face into his hands, rubbing harshly at his eyes. “I just– I just want to sleep. I don’t want to dream, just for one night,” he says, so low that Eddie has to strain to catch all the words. “Just once.”

Eddie weighs his options. He knows how to make an elixir for a deep, dreamless sleep; he won’t deny that he’s used it himself, when certain memories had become too much, but that’s exactly how he knows that it hits hard and fast. It can be disorienting – maybe even a little dangerous, if you don’t know what you’re doing.

“I can make something for you,” Eddie says, “but only if you stay here tonight. I don’t want you walking back home in the dark, it isn’t safe.”

“I don’t… I don’t want to impose,” Steve says, as if he could ever be an imposition to Eddie.

“I’d feel better knowing you’re here,” Eddie says, and that seems to break Steve’s resolve.

By the time Eddie finishes the elixir, Steve is barely awake in his seat. He doesn’t even argue when Eddie leads him to his own bed, lays him down, and tells him to drink.

He’s out like a light in minutes.

Eddie closes the bedroom door and sets himself up in a chair by the fire, but he doesn’t sleep for a long time.

He wakes in the morning to the sound of someone moving around in the kitchen. He follows the smell and coffee and sizzling bacon to find Steve there, flitting around the room, cooking.

“Hey.” Steve smiles, broad and true, when he sees Eddie in the doorway. “I was going to come wake you soon, breakfast is almost ready.”

Eddie blinks at him, wondering if maybe he’s the one who took the sleeping elixir, because he can’t quite fathom what he’s seeing: Steve, happy and sleep-rumpled, using his kitchen to cook breakfast like it’s familiar to him, like it’s something he does every day, smiling at Eddie like he’s the final piece missing from the morning.

“I don’t know how I’m going to repay you for what you did last night,” Steve says, determinedly poking at the bacon in the pan. “I can’t– I can’t tell you how much I needed that. How much it helped. But I figured I could at least start by making you breakfast.”

Eddie watches him cook, and feels like his heart is about to crack, because for some reason he’s getting this taste of what life could be like, but he doesn’t get to keep it.

This isn’t for him.

(And Eddie wants to be fine, but he isn’t. He isn’t.)

Something must show on his face, because when Steve looks up at him, his own expression falls into a concerned frown. He forgets all about the bacon and moves over to Eddie, arms outstretched to place his hands on Eddie’s shoulders.

“What’s wrong?” he asks, so invested, so concerned, that Eddie feels like he might lose his mind.

“This isn’t right,” Eddie manages, and Steve only looks more upset.

“Should I– should I not have done this? Did you want me to go, or–”

“I never want you to go!” Eddie blurts. “I always want you here, but this—this morning, breakfast, you—I don’t get to have this. It’s – it’s not right.”

Steve’s expression softens, eyes warming with understanding. “You can have it, if you want,” he says softly. “You can have me. You always could have. Since the beginning.”

Eddie shakes his head. “This isn’t… this isn’t how the story goes.”

“Then let’s write a new one,” Steve says.

There isn’t anything Eddie can think to say to that, but that’s alright, because that means his mouth is unoccupied when Steve leans in to kiss him.

Steve never has to trade anything for his medicine ever again, after that, nor does he have to come over to fetch it – he’s already there. Eddie’s house becomes the nicest in town, what with his live-in carpenter, and all. It’s painted in bright colors, and it draws people in, and makes them want to stay just a little longer, exchange pleasantries just a little more, and get to know Eddie just a little bit better.

Steve keeps his workshop in town, goes there every morning, and returns to Eddie at night. They start their days with breakfast together, and they end them in bed, pressed together like spoons in a drawer, and with every day that passes by, Eddie believes, more and more, that maybe this is something he gets to have.

Maybe this is something he gets to keep.

[simplyreveries]

when they're pining; dorm leaders!

riddle rosehearts

becomes an absolute sucker and hates it but loves it at the same time. like he's wondering why he's doing all these things and going out of his way for your approval he'll be frustrated with himself but once he sees you smiling the slightest at him, he's a fool and forgets what he was ever upset about in the first place.

you get the best treatment whenever you're at his dorm, heartslabyul. the dormmates hate seeing it, the only perks they get is that riddle will be somewhat lenient with them whenever you're around. his attention will usually be strictly focused on you anyway.

whenever he catches you walking to school or just around campus, he'll try to always find some sort of opportunity to stick around you. He doesn't even actively plan on how it just happens and ends up finding something to do with you. He loves making small attempts to tidy your uniform, so he can graze your shoulder something. he'll always scold you and claim he's helping you be more presentable and proper.

trey and cater 100% know about his little (big) infatuation with you and think its sweet. with cater he hates because he's always teasing riddle in front of you and making oh-so obvious attempts at getting you two together whereas trey is more subtle about it.

whenever he has a class with you, he tries to impress you with his knowledge and intelligence. He feels so proud and smug whenever he answers a difficult question with ease. But he just looks like a total nerd.

he reads books upon books of love and romance, trying to figure out what would charm and woo you. but he ends up only making himself a flushed embarrassed mess while reading nevertheless he continues.

leona kingscholar

sigh

this guy... would be way too stubborn to admit to himself that he's caught feelings for you. At the same time, I think he's so not used to anything romantic that he doesn't even fully realize he does. Like sure he thinks you're annoying as hell and tell you not to bother him but if you actually do end up leaving him alone, he'll be like?? tf?

he prompts to just silently listening to you as you talk or observe what you're doing. it may seem like he's not paying attention, his eyes are usually closed or he's looking down inspecting the chess board as you two play but trust me he really is. Like actually remembers everything. a little frightening.

lowkey lurks around you a lot of the time, also no one really want to come around you when he's right there and he's perfectly content with that since leonas such a little bastard when it comes to jealousy.

ruggie asks you a lot to come to magishift practice so that there's a high chance that leona will actually participate if he finds out you'll be there.

he enjoys it when you show interest in his homelands. though he resents his brother and struggles with his royal family-- the culture and history are something he's very keen on and will share if you ask.

azul ashengrotto

this man's attempt at pulling you are so bad its funny. He thinks he's mr smooth know it all but he's a total mess. he keeps a good facade ill give him that but he's dying inside around you because he doesn't want to look bad. it's upsetting but his own insecurities really do make it hard for him when it comes to his feelings.

he really doesn't know what to do when he feels so intensely about someone at first, he would just prompt to doing what he always does by trying to find some way to get you into a contract... despite knowing at this point you know way better and give him this confused deadpanned look.

He didn't really want the twins particularly knowing how he feels but they could tell right away and think it's the funniest thing ever as he turns into a mess around you. azul did make a mistake of asking jade and floyd to try getting more information on you subtly but that ended up backfiring awfully when floyd went up to you saying stuff like "shrimpy~ whatcha doing after school today? azul wanted to know." he never fails to out azul EVERY time and thinks its so funny he'll be like "what? i did what you asked."

whenever hes alone in his office or something writing stuff he accidentally writes your name all the time. he also would write letters to you-- ones he'd never send and would die if someone read but its a way of getting out his thoughts and feelings. he becomes all smiley and sighing blissfully as he does. he really thinks about you all the time. he could be doing a scummy deal with some poor heartslabyul student and be smiling and thinking about what kind of necklace would look the prettiest on you.

growing up in the sea his whole life, human-land courting and navigating romance out of the ocean is difficult as he sometimes accidently may revert to his own kinds ways. though he does make sure to do his own personal research on what to do.

kalim al-asim

everyone including yourself knows just how much he's in love with you. he has zero qualms expressing it to you the moment he realizes that he does. kalim literally talks about you all the time, im sure jamil is positively tired of it by now. hes always like "oh! (name) said something so funny earlier-" or "that reminds me of when (name)...." you constantly live in his brain. jamil could be trying to help him study and do his schoolwork and he's laying on his stomach,,, head in hands,, kicking his legs and talking about you.

gives you so much... he wants to give you so many gifts and spoil you abundantly all the time and gets confused when you tell him that you don't really need most of them. he really cant help it he swears.

invites you to so many of his parties and feasts. he also finds any excuse to throw you one, like genuinely you could tell him that you passed a test by like 2 points and he'll immediately think that this is something thats needed to be celebrated right away.

of course, he takes you out on his magic carpet for rides all the time, it's a little nerve-wracking for the first couple of times but you get used to it and besides though he is energetic you can still feel relaxed enough around him because of how sweet and caring he is. he always tells you hes got you and means it!!

vil schoenheit

vil adores putting makeup or skincare on you obviously. he finds it so endearingly intimate, it's very calming too considering how soft he is, and you get free access to the best brands. he always smiles softly, and you may here faint humming from him from time to time as he does.

like riddle, he does make sure to smooth or fix your uniform for you whenever you're out at school, you could be talking to him, and he'll just adjust your ribbon for you and be like okay go on. honestly, it may be hard not to get nervous around him when even doing something as simple as having a conversation, the way he intently looks at you and slightly tilts his head in amusement. you have his attention always.

invites you to stay at pomefiore a lot, stay for some tea at least but that can turn into a long time since he intends to make it that way to be around you longer.

would actually be so flattered and would love it if you went out of your way to watch any sort of media he's been in. he pays attention to characters you liked the most out of him, just maybe so he could figure out your type more.

idia shroud

im sorry but he just reminds me of this audio

i feel like he lowkey stalks your socials because hes too awkward to talk to you. he definitely has some fake account though because he learned it the hard way when he liked an old photo of yours by accident and didn't leave his room for almost 3 days

during the beginning stages of his feelings for you at least, whenever he talked to you it's a quick mumble of something and he leaves, leaving you like ??? ortho comes up to you later and tells you what he said on his brother's behalf.

ortho is a big wingman for Idia, he's so supportive of you two it's so sweet. you genuinely bring out a not so gloomy side in his big brother and he loves you for that. he has to try less to convince him to stay in class! what if he misses a chance to look at you for five seconds in the hallway?

when does end up getting a little more comfortable around you, he does get very smug and even pretty overconfident if you were to compliment his tech skills, if you ever need something fixed or even specifically designed and made for you, he'd do it in a heartbeat. he loves it when you watch him do it too in curiosity, he feels so cool and smart, he just prays you don't see his hands shaking.

when you give him the slightest praise or validation, he'll be thinking about that for DAYS. he'll have this cheeky grin on his face too as he thinks about it.

malleus draconia

You're perfect to him and as soon as he mentions your name in the diasomnia dorm you better be prepared to be invited by Lilia all the time dorm as he sets you and malleus on totally-not obvious dates planned with him. But he really just enjoys your time together when walking outside at night, he enjoys sharing with you facts about nightly creatures and watching you as you look in awe.

malleus adores showing off a little with his magic, is it too hot? don't like all the heat?? boom he'll make it rain. make some pretty flowers bloom out of nowhere? easy. he does it literally all the time and finds your reactions amusing. you had to stop him though when he got caught up and almost did large thorns when he was talking about briar valley history.

wants to give you so many jewels and adorn you with so many necklaces and rings and such, it's a problem haha. malleus loves nothing more than seeing you wear any of them despite your claims of not needing them, he insists.

he never fails to refer to you most of the time as "child of man" barely even your own name. I mean you gave him a nickname so he may as well return it.

[suzukiblu]

If you feel up for it, for the writing meme prompt, Clark Kent/Lex Luthor, with the song You And Me by Lifehouse? If it's not your thing I totally get it though and hope you have a great time and fun writing the things that do catch your fancy!

I think we ALL knew that I was gonna do baby Kon for this, lbr. Also ngl, this came out way more cracky than the prompt would suggest it should've but it is absolutely my favorite thing I’ve written for this meme so far, as the necessity for the following cut should help attest, haha.

Unfortunately, Lex takes one look at Cadmus’s progress report on the newly-crafted Experiment Thirteen and realizes he has paternal instincts. 

Well, that’s inconvenient. And a little disgusting, honestly. Certainly a disappointment. 

He supposes it could be worse. He could be Lionel about this. 

Anyway, that’s how he has a physiological four year-old on his lap when he hears the news about Superman coming back to life and fistfighting an evil cyborg with his own face about it, because of course the man didn’t have the decency to just stay dead. Why would he, after all? 

Lex needs a drink. That would be a bad example for the physiological four year-old, though. 

Then again, Experiment Thirteen should be completely immune to the effects of Earth-based alcohol in about another four to six months of consistent yellow sun exposure, so . . . 

Lex is halfway through his second brandy when Superman shows up on his balcony at super-speed wearing a very pretentiously dramatic black suit and looking both winded and bewildered. And still alive, unfortunately. 

“Don’t you have a murderous cyborg to be ensuring is in custody?” Lex asks dryly, deciding to just not acknowledge the presence of the physiological four year-old who’s moved on to messily but methodically coloring on the floor underneath his desk. Lex didn’t actually give Experiment Thirteen either a coloring book or crayons, mind, but he appreciates the clone’s resourcefulness in breaking into the office supplies. Anyway, it’s useful for developing its hand-eye coordination and fine motor control. 

Superman’s pupils are pin-pricks, barely even there at all. Which is an unusual reaction from him, and Lex notes that fact reflexively but doesn’t particularly care about it. Meant-to-be-dead people do unusual things, especially the alien ones. And it isn’t as if–

“Baby,” Superman blurts, his eyes wide. 

Lex . . . pauses. Takes a slow sip of his brandy. 

Alright then. 

“Yes, I’ve noticed,” he settles on eventually, raising an eyebrow at him. Experiment Thirteen peers out from under the desk, immediately decides Superman isn’t an interesting presence, and then goes back to coloring all over Lex’s floor. It seems to be drawing either a puppy or a chain of complex genetic sequencing, but judging by the kinds of things it’s been drawing so far, it’s fifty-fifty. Lex has been getting the impression the clone actually likes art, which is a baffling interest to find in his own progeny, but how does that quote go . . . “I am a warrior, so that my son may be a merchant, so that his son may be a poet”? 

Or something like that, anyway. 

“No, I–baby,” Superman stresses, looking bewildered as he floats down a little closer to the open balcony door. 

“. . . yes, I’ve noticed,” Lex repeats, raising his eyebrow again and taking another sip of brandy. Superman looks frazzled, bobbing up a little higher in the air again to get a better view of Experiment Thirteen under the desk. Experiment Thirteen keeps ignoring him in favor of its coloring, displaying no apparent interest in the most powerful uninvited guest in the history of illegal immigration. Lex experiences a moment of overwhelming paternal pride, which is such a bizarre and unanticipated experience that he doesn’t even know what to do with it. 

“Where’d he come from?” Superman asks with a wondering expression. Ugh.

“A cloning lab,” Lex replies dismissively, setting his near-empty glass down on the desk. It’s hardly worth lying about Experiment Thirteen’s origins at this point. He didn’t want to murder everyone in Cadmus to keep the secret. He might need them if there’s an issue with Experiment Thirteen’s genetics later, after all. “We mixed it up a couple weeks ago while you were off wasting everyone’s time being dead."

“You had my baby?” Superman says, tilting in the air and still staring at Experiment Thirteen, as if he's somehow forgotten both how much kryptonite Lex owns and how much kryptonite he keeps specifically in this office. “While I was dead. You had my baby while I was dead.” 

. . . alright then, Lex thinks again, both eyebrows raising this time. 

“I really wouldn’t put it that way, personally,” he says. “Also, I don’t recall saying it was in any way yours.”

“Baby,” Superman repeats inanely, then lands on the floor and ducks down into a crouch to peer under the desk better, his pupils still reduced to barely-there pinpricks. Lex is so mystified he doesn't even activate the security system or the weaponized red sun lamps. Experiment Thirteen frowns at Superman–Lex, again, basks in unanticipated paternal pride–and then turns its back on him and hides all its drawings from him as seriously and carefully as if they were under NDA. 

It's almost adorable, frankly. 

Not that Lex finds things adorable, of course. 

“His heartbeat's so cute,” Superman says, looking absolutely fascinated. Which is surprisingly useful of him to mention, actually, since Lex had previously been vaguely concerned that Experiment Thirteen's odd thrumming heartbeat might be a sign of a heart defect, but apparently it’s just a Kryptonian thing. A . . . “cute” Kryptonian thing, according to Superman. 

Lex is increasingly mystified by this interaction. 

“Can’t say I’ve spent much time listening to it, personally,” he lies, because he has in fact obsessed over that heartbeat’s health and stability since first finding out about its unusualness and has done a truly aggravating amount of research into heart murmurs and conditions and the like. But that’s hardly Superman’s business, now is it. 

“. . . what’s his name?” Superman asks hesitantly. Lex is possibly having an out of body experience. 

“Experiment Thirteen,” he says. Superman immediately looks offended. 

“We need to give him a name, Lex,” he says. Lex, again, has an out of body experience. 

“‘We’?” he repeats incredulously. “I made it, I get to decide what it’s called.” 

“He’s got my DNA!” Superman protests, looking indignant. Lex has absolutely no idea how to process that expression. 

“It has both our DNA, in fact, yours was too irritating to stabilize alone,” Lex informs him dubiously. More accurately it was literally impossible to stabilize alone, but he’s not mentioning that to Superman. “So it has my DNA, and I made it. And also put eight point two billion dollars into its production, as a lowball estimate. Therefore I’m the one who decides what its name is, thank you very much.” 

“Lex,” Superman says disapprovingly. “You can’t call a baby Experiment Thirteen.” 

“It’s physiologically developed enough to complain if it doesn’t like it,” Lex retorts, narrowing his eyes at him. Superman frowns at him. Lex has never had a more ridiculous conversation with the man, including all the times Superman’s tried to appeal to his nonexistent “better nature”. “Well it is.” 

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Superman says, then ducks back down and peers at Experiment Thirteen again, gentling his voice to address it while Lex is still incredulously mouthing “ridiculous”? to himself. “Would you like a real name, kiddo?” 

Experiment Thirteen sticks its tongue out at him. 

Lex is finding parenthood to be a very rewarding experience, actually. 

[mothwingwritings]

Can we have Ren/Fox (TPOF) and Mc with a child?Long after Fox decided to stay with MC, they both had a daughter (probably not something with consent and a bit of Stockholm syndrome).The daughter asks her mother how she got the scars and this makes MC have memories of post-traumatic stress.

I was so tickled by this ask that I started manically typing out a response for it nearly as soon as I saw it in my ask box (which at this point, was quite some time ago. Forgive me, I am a mess lul). I wrote the whole damn thing in a fit of passion, excited to release it into the world… But ultimately hated it and thought it was garbo, so I scrapped it and tried again. Wrote a second iteration and thought ‘hell yeah, this is it!!! Sick!’, but then I read it AND HATED THAT ONE TOO AAAHHH!!!

I rewrote this… so much…

But I never give up on my dreams, and you shouldn’t either! Persevere! Don’t give up on yourself! Here’s your daily motivation for the day! Keep writing even it makes you cry!!! :D

Anyway, so I wrote this third one, comprised of new stuff and the stuff I actually did like from the first two stabs, and it ended up being the one. Truly it is a Frankenstein of a fic lol. Regardless of all the reworking, I had a lot of fun writing this and enjoyed the prompt very much!!! I I hope you enjoy reading it just as much. :)

I’m sorry if the writing seems a tad too mature for the reader’s daughter in this, writing children isn’t my forte. ^^;

Due to the nature of this fic, IT IS 18+ ONLY!!! Thank you!

WARNINGS: Incessant mentions of abuse of all kinds for reader and mentions of physical abuse for her child!!! Reader is heavily scarred from said abuse and that’s a main theme in this fic so please avoid if that is upsetting to you. Also, though not the main focus, there are multiple mentions of child abuse in this fic, as well a part where reader goes off verbally on her child, so please be mindful of that as well! Other things of note: reader is a parent in this (which you can probably tell by the prev warning lol), reader getting hurt, blood, manipulation, Stockholm syndrome, being held against your will/isolation, mentions of noncon, sad family stuff :(

Diminishing rays of afternoon light splayed through the open window of your quaint living room, casting a comforting orange glow over everything they touched. The light gave the environment an ethereal and nostalgic feel, wrapping you in peaceful warmth as the sun sunk lower and lower. The loveseat you occupied was plush and inviting, and a mug of your favorite tea stood at the ready on the small coffee table beside you, steadily cooling with help from the last hurrah of winter blowing in gently from the outside. Besides the slight chill, the wind brought with it the heavy scent of freshly bloomed flowers, a delightful precursor to the oncoming spring.

Relishing the rare moment of serenity, you couldn’t help but wish that all your days could be this lovely.

You smiled down at your daughter who sat perched in your lap, happily flipping through the newest gift she had acquired from her Father- a thick picture book full of bright illustrations highlighting various exotic animals. As it lay sprawled across her tiny lap, her chubby finger pointed out each animal she took an interest in, her high pitched voice chirping away as she explained what she liked about the creatures. She got particularly excited when she spotted the page full of foxes, jabbing at the red one feverishly as she exclaimed “its daddy!”

Spotting the foxes began her down a path of assigning an animal to not just herself, but you as well. She didn’t find it fair that only her father had kin in the animal world, even though you pointed out that she technically did as well by sharing half the man’s blood. Your revelation did little to deter her, she wanted something new, something just for herself, and she wasn’t going to stop until she found her perfect soul animal. So she continued on, scanning each page in earnest until she found a creature that suited her.

She ended up picking a bunny for herself, supplying you with a comprehensive reason as to why she chose it. As she explained in great length, skimping no details, you couldn’t help but hold back laughter. She spoke as if she were a professor teaching a class, and you did your best to keep a straight face as she yammered on with her shoddy reasoning, deep down knowing she only picked a rabbit because of how cute they are.

After she was done waxing poetic about bunnies, she continued scouring the book, coming to a halt once she reached the wild cat section. She stopped with a gasp, beaming up at you as she pressed her finger firmly against one of the images on the page.

“Mommy this one is you!”

Your eyes traveled to the picture she was rapidly tapping, “An African Wildcat, huh?” You smirked down at the little girl in amusement, “Why did you pick that one for me?”

“Because it looks just like you!”

You chuckled at her enthusiasm, “It looks like me? How so?”

“It has marks just like you do!”

Her innocuous words sent a chill up your spine. Eying the stripes that crossed the cat’s legs, you felt a great unease begin to overtake your body. Her reasoning was not lost on you, the cats coat did quite resemble the jagged scars that covered nearly every inch of your body, and just like the feline in her book, your limbs were the most prominent location of said ‘markings’. You quickly shook your head, not wanting to dwell on it further. In hopes of moving on from the subject, the outpouring of words that flew from your mouth were jumbled and messy.

“O-oh, I see,” you stuttered, clearing your throat to steady your voice, “well you certainly picked a cute animal for me! Thank you baby, it was a good choice.”

She smiled at you innocently, a gesture that usually made your heart melt with affection. But as her tiny hands moved from the book to your arms, that smile did nothing but fill you with dread, the realization that you wouldn’t be getting out of this sticky situation hitting you like a brick to the face. 

“Yeah mommy, the kitty’s marks are just like these ones,” her stubby fingers gently traced the old wounds, a look of reverence reflected on her cherubic features. “They make you look like that kitty mommy,” her little voice cooed, “I like them a lot!”

Your muscles constricted at her words, a slight tremor coursing through you as you involuntarily tightened your grip on her. She took note of this, looking up at your strained features with a puzzled expression on her face.

“Don’t be sad mommy,” she spoke assuredly, “I really do like them! I think they are pretty!”

Her words burned you, scorching the inside of your frozen shell of a body, leaving you feeling sickly and discombobulated. The room around you started to spin in a hazy blur, a wave of nausea making you nearly wretch. Your breathing grew erratic as you tried to calm yourself, inwardly repeating that your daughter was just a child, a little girl barely four years of age who had an incredibly limited view of the world. Her words were not meant to upset you. Her opinions were coming from a place of total naivety.

Yet still, the mental assurance did little to help with the extremely uncomfortable position you now founds yourself in. It wasn’t as if this was her first time noticing your scars. She had mentioned them before, her curious mind trying to piece together the reason that her arms appeared different from your own. Each time she brought your old wounds up you couldn’t help but feel flustered, responding with weak explanations and misdirection to try and quickly brush off her questioning.

The marks came from a silly mistake, or a childhood accident, or from a careless moment when mommy should have been paying more attention. It was always excuses on repeat. How many lies had you told her on this topic alone?

But even if they were lies, it beat telling her the truth. You didn’t want to have to explain where the scars on your body actually came from to anyone, let alone a child, and especially not to your own daughter. How could you possibly word it gently, or in a way that she would understand, when you barely understood why you had them yourself? How could you look her in the eye and tell her that these markings were a permanent sign that you had been very, very hurt and that it was her own fathers hands that inflicted the pain?

Reliving the horrific moments that left your body in such a state was overwhelming enough on its own, but to also have to lay bare her father’s sins, relay to her the unsavory proclivities of a man who she idolized and adored, was not something you were keen on doing.

She didn’t know her daddy like you knew him. She was ignorant to the constant state of concern you lived in, unaware of the worries that plagued your mind and kept you up each night. All the troubles of the hell she had been born into were completely lost on the small, carefree girl.

But honestly that was for the best. You had made an unspoken promise the moment she entered your life that you would protect her no matter what. From the day of her birth onward it became your mission to keep her as happy and healthy as possible.

Ren had broken you, but she did not have to suffer the same fate.

At this point in her life, your daughter knew nothing of her daddy’s profession or ‘hobbies’, and you wanted it to remain that way for as long as possible, if not for the rest of her life. You dreaded each time Ren came home from an auction, terrified he may let casually slip too many details about his ‘lively client’ or that he would carelessly step through the door with the stains of his liaisons still littering his clothes. Your daughter was at an age where she was brimming with questions, and she was relentless in getting answers to each question she asked. Everything had to be explained in complete detail for her to be satisfied, drop the subject, and move on. She was a smart little thing, possibly too smart for her own good. You highly doubted a silly joke or wave of the hand would assuage her whirring mind should Ren grow too impetuous in her presence.

And should her questioning become too pesky, you fretted over what Ren’s reaction to it may be. The more you tried to avoid thinking about it the more you seemed to fixate on the topic, pondering just how much goading it would take from your daughter before his temper would rear its ugly head.  You, above anyone, had firsthand experience in just how volatile the man could be, the scars that littered your body a testament to his turbulent emotions and violent outbursts.

Looking back on it now, it’s a wonder you survived any of it at all.

Ren often told you he loved you, each confession spoken through honeyed words that spilled from his lips easily and often.  And while you didn’t doubt those words (you knew better than to, at this point), you also knew his sweet nothings weren’t merely a term of endearment, they also served as your curse. He loved you, but he also loved your fealty to him, your adoration and worship of him and only him. Should you not reciprocate his feelings as quickly or ardently as he expected, the mere thought of whatever punishment he would concoct was enough to send you into a debilitating panic attack.

There were few things he loathed more than when you flinched from his affection or if you exhibited any sign of distress towards his presence, especially after he had spent so many years going above and beyond to provide for you, devote himself to you. You had learned early on to keel any feelings of aversion you had to his advances, several of your more prominent scars a brutal reminder of that misstep alone.

 If your daughter uncovered the truth and saw her father for who he truly was, if she began to fear him the way you feared him, how would he respond?  If not only his partner, but his own daughter started shying away from him, what length would he go to to correct this behavior?

Dwelling on it made your skin crawl.

But perhaps all of your worries were asinine. Despite his inclination for cruelty, Ren had never so much as raised a hand towards your daughter, even when she did act up. If anything, he was overprotective of her, barely letting her move faster than a brisk jog lest she fall and hurt herself. He hated seeing his little girl experience even a modicum of physical pain, mentioning to you previously that were he able, he’d keep her locked up in a padded room all day and night to prevent any foreseeable accidents or injuries. Surely it was just his idea of a joke, but the insinuation still made you cringe.

It was almost comical, just how greatly the manifestation of his affection for her differed from how he showed his love for you.

His domineering nature shielded her from experiencing any true pain. Every scrape, bruise, and cut she ever received was superficial, nothing that caused major bleeding or left a lasting impression. She had no way of knowing what had been done to you to cause the scars that marred your form, the torment and hell you experienced with each slash, smack, burn. Hell, she probably didn’t even really understand what a scar actually was. All she knew was that her mommy and daddy had strange marks on their skin that didn’t follow any kind of set pattern, weird jagged lines and indents that her soft skin was curiously free from. The mystery of it all was as puzzling to her young mind as it was enticing.

However, some mysteries were best left unsolved, and just as with each other time she brought up this hot topic, you found yourself unable to look into her clear, bright eyes and tell her any semblance of the truth. She may have been forced upon you, but she was your daughter. You loved her, and you refused to be the one to shatter her innocence. You would keep her ignorant for as long as possible, shielding her to the endless nightmare of your daily lives, even if it cost you your sanity.

“Mommy,” her voice jarred you, dragging you from your thoughts, “mommy did you hear me? I said I think they are pretty!”

“T-that’s… I…” You stuttered, struggling to find the right words to say, your voice coming out much smaller than you intended it to. The room felt like it had dropped thirty degrees, your body twitching in response to the sudden chill.

“Daddy told me he gave some of them to you, like this one,” her pudgy, cold finger pressed into the faded heart that resided on your chest, the first of many indelible sins he had etched onto your form. Only the top half of the carved symbol was viewable above the collar of your shirt, so she tugged at the loose hem until she could see it in its horrible entirety.

“Daddy said he gave you this one because he loves you so much,” her voice grew quiet, a thoughtful look in her eye as they drank in wounds you wished you could forget, “Daddy loves me too, right mommy? You think he’ll give me a cute heart someday too?”

You felt as if you had been hit by a train.

“S-top,” the words were forced from your throat, airy and breathless, as if someone was wringing your neck to make them come out, “p-please, just stop talking.”

“What did you say mama,” your daughters sing-song voice responded as her fingers continued to trace and prod your scars, “You are whispering, is it a secret?”

“I told you to SHUT UP!”

As if following your command, your booming voice instantly silenced the small girl. Unused to such a violent outburst from her mother, her happy-go-lucky nature quickly shifted to one of alert, her tiny body going rigid as she stared up at you with fearful eyes.

Seeing her in such a state and knowing that you were the cause of it would normally have killed you inside, making you fall to your knees to beg for the child’s forgiveness. But right now, the thin thread that had been holding you together had snapped, and your words rushed out in a torrent you couldn’t begin to quell.

“Shut up, shut up, shut UP!” You seethed, clasping your hands to your ears to try and block out your own intrusive voice, “Just STOP TALKING about it! What are you even saying? Why would you ever want to look like this?!”

Tears started to flood your eyes, blurring the image of the girl who had quickly jumped from your lap and was now cowering before you. Through your bleary vision, you could see tears were brimming her eyes as well.

“You… You have no idea,” your voice warbled, shaking in equal parts grief and frustration, “You have no clue what you are saying, so just STOP IT. KEEP YOUR MOUTH SHUT AND DON’T YOU DARE SPEAK OF IT AGAIN!”

You slunk from the chair down to the floor, burying your face in your cold, stiff hands. The soft blubbering of your daughter could be heard through your own sobbing.

“I-I’m sorry mommy. I didn’t mean to make you cry.”

Hearing her broken voice began to shatter the spell you had been under, instant regret jerking you roughly back to reality. Your head sunk lower, your body scrunching itself up as tightly as possible to hide from this cruel reality.

Your screams were born from deeply buried feelings of hatred, tucked far, far away as a means of self-preservation. For a moment, you felt as if you despised your daughter, her existence tethering you to this wretched excuse of a life, binding you irrevocably to Ren. But as you lifted your heavy head, glancing up to stare into her young face, a face so very similar to your own, a face contorted in panic and sadness over her mother’s abrupt descent into madness… you realized it wasn’t her that you hated.

It was yourself.

Your daughter didn’t deserve this. She deserved normalcy. She deserved a father that didn’t pose a threat to her. She deserved a mother that wasn’t ruined by his hands. She deserved a happy and untroubled life, not to be stuck being raised in a barbed cage, navigating her way through life with nothing but the shattered remains of a battered woman to guide her.

“I’m so sorry,” you choked under the weight of your overwhelming emotions, snot and tears running freely down your ruddy cheeks and chin, “I’m so, so sorry baby…”

“What the hell is going on?”

You hadn’t heard the front door open, nor had you heard Ren’s jubilant greeting as he entered your home. He had no doubt been upset by the lack of welcome-it was one thing to be ignored by a child, but his doting wife? That was not something he was not apt to look past.

But surely any feelings of annoyance or frustration fled from his mind the moment he entered the room, his eyes falling upon your crumpled, messy form collapsed on the floor. You cursed his arrival, upset that he entered the scene at such a compromising time, right as you were struggling to regain an ounce of composure and properly apologize to the little girl who had done nothing wrong.

“D-daddy,” your daughter’s voice warbled as she barreled towards him, colliding into his waiting embrace. You wiped at your face in a desperate attempt to hide your previous outpouring of emotions, doing your best to avoid eye contact with Ren as his sharp gaze quickly flicked from you, to his daughter.

This had already become enough of a scene without Ren’s interference, it was best to try and begin damage control now. 

“Daddy I-I made mommy cry!” Tears continued to pour from your daughter’s eyes, her face twisting into a look of pure dismay. Her misguided admission of guilt made you recoil, knowing full well it would grant her no favors with the person she seeking comfort from. “I’m really sorry daddy! I didn’t mean to!”

After several endless seconds of silence, Ren spoke.

“… You made her cry?”

His voice was far sharper than it needed to be, further agitating the precarious state of affairs. In most cases he would have offered your daughter leniency, letting her get away with far more than she probably should. However that leniency was null and void if you ended up suffering in the process.  Ren could not forgive anyone that caused you any duress (himself, of course, being the exemption) even if that person was his own flesh and blood.

“What do you mean you made her cry? What the hell did you do to her?”

“I-I don’t know,” she wailed, a fresh wave of tears spurred on by the accusatory tone of her father’s voice, “I just told mommy I thought her marks were pretty and then she started crying! I wasn’t lying daddy, I like them! I think they make mommy look really pretty!”

“Her marks…?” Ren’s look of vexation began to dissipate as the meaning of her words donned on him. He lifted his arm, rolling up his sleeve to reveal his own scars to the little girl. Pointing a clawed finger to them, he leaned down until he was looking her in the eye, “You mean like these?”

As she nodded her head vigorously in confirmation, Ren tutted, “That’s the reason for all the water works? An innocent compliment started all this fussing?” He scoffed, shaking his head, “Isn’t that a little bit… silly?

You tensed at the sound of his barking laugh, your frown deepening as an amused grin spread wider across his lips. You wished that you could say it was shocking for him to have such disregard after finding the two of you in such an agitated state, but it was painfully in character of him to shrug off your misery and suffering as inconsequential.  How he could so nonchalantly normalize this hellish situation he kept you and your child ensnared in, you would never understand.

Your daughter was apparently sharing similar thoughts, as her face began to once more morph into a pre-sobbing scowl. She was no doubt wounded that her father was not offering her the comfort she was seeking, her emotional state already greatly weakened by her mother’s venomous tantrum.

To help quell another round of tears, Ren pulled the child closer, wrapping her up in his arms so that her tiny form was nearly enveloped by him.  “Shhh, no more tears angel,” he cooed sweetly, patting her head gently to appease her, “There isn’t any reason to cry, especially because… Well, you’re right! Mommy’s whole body is pretty, isn’t it? Her marks just compliment the beauty that’s already there.”

Slowly but surely, her tears began to dissipate. Hunched over shoulders loosened, and sniffles and hiccups gave way to even breathing. Like clockwork, her father’s gentle handling soothed her, the same touch that destroyed you offering her salvation.

As if under a spell, the turmoil that had overcome your daughter quickly began to vanish, her sobbing fading into quiet sniffles. Once she was fully calmed, Ren continued speaking, “That’s all you meant to say to mommy, right angel? I’m sorry she took it the wrong way, she’s probably just tired or hungry, you know how mommy gets. She’ll get over it in no time flat!”

Heat spread through your body at his flippant dismissal of your feelings, an indignant blush lighting your cheeks as you gripped your hands tightly at your side. Your previous emotional episode left you all but drained, but your will to fight back against his callous commentary could never truly be contained.

“In fact, I bet she is already over it now,” Ren’s voice took on a jovial tone as he directed his focus solely on you, “Aren’t you, pumpkin?”

With the ball suddenly in your court, you flinched as both sets of expectant eyes fell on you. Your own eyes darted from Ren’s piercing glare, down to your daughter’s wide-eyed look of unbridled hope. You felt much like the rabbit that had been caught by the fox, stuck in a lose-lose situation. Seeing him hunched over her small body as she clutched to him as a life line, openly concerned that her mother may once more reject her while her father remained a bastion of strength and understanding, left you reeling. Either you would get heated again and stay the villain, but possibly hold on to an ounce of your dignity, or concede to Ren and have yet another piece of your soul wither away and die-the price to pay so that your daughter could remain in blissful ignorance for another day.

“Aren’t you, pumpkin?” He repeated himself slowly, enunciating each word. The kindness in his voice serving only as a mask for the threat buried beneath.

“Y-yes,” you responded quickly, shooting them both a smile you hoped was convincing, “I am very sorry, baby. Daddy is right. Mommy is just… tired.”

A serene smile lit her face, your words placating her. Seeing her happy once more helped relieve a bit of the ache in your own heart, making the lie worth it.

“Good, good,” Ren affirmed with a nod, carefully detaching himself from your daughter as he stood, “but you know little one, mommy deserves some love too, don’t you think? She may have been in the wrong, but it’s not nice to make her cry like that. Why don’t you go give her a hug, hm?”

With no further persuading necessary, she quickly padded over to you, hopping on your lap with so much enthusiasm that it nearly knocked the wind from you. Her arms tightly latched around your torso as she smushed her face into your chest, rubbing it back and forth like she was trying to burrow beneath your skin.

“I love you mommy,” her voice spoke clearly, any hint of previous sadness long gone. You sighed, relieved that this dramatic chapter was over as you pulled your daughter closer to you.

“I love you too.”

During this show of affection, Ren had made his way behind you, slinking so deftly you hadn’t even known he had moved until you heard him chuckle softly behind you.

“This is what I like to see,” he spoke with a sickeningly dreamy sigh, “nothing makes me happier than when my two girls are happy.”

He placed his hands gingerly atop your shoulders, trailing them down until they rested on your arms. His thumbs pressed gently against the marred skin, rubbing in a small circular motion in an attempt to subdue you. His claws grazed your flesh, uncomfortably scratching against you as they snagged against your skin.

He planted a firm and lingering kiss to the side of your head, pulling away just enough that his lips grazed the shell of your ear. “There really was nothing to cry about,” he whispered breathily, his words quiet enough that despite your daughters’ proximity, she would have no chance of hearing them. “It’s almost unfair how gorgeous you are, scars and all. But you must know that, right my sweet pet? I tell you all the time.”

Ren took in a deep breath, releasing it in a shaky sigh, “Seeing these scars reminds me of all we have been through, all that we share. They are a symbol of our bond.”

One of his claws pressed down sharply, a small bead of blood pooling around the piercing. Leisurely he began to drag his finger up your arm, a thin red line following in its wake. You shivered at the burning sensation, but deigned to give him any reaction further than that.

“Don’t forget pumpkin, these pretty marks are a reminder of my constant love for you.” He chuckled softly, peppering a few kisses to the back of your neck while his claws slowly sunk deeper, “And right now I am feeling  terribly sentimental, so for old times’ sake, why don’t I add a few more to remind you just how precious to me you are~?”

[astraaa3]

Hello ! You can request Valentino X Reader. where Valentino adores the reader's breasts.

Thanks in advance and good luck.

A/N: I had a lot of fun with this one, I'll admit. My Hazbin Hotel brainrot is just getting worse. *giggles in: I am going to hell for my degeneracy*. ANYWAY, here is the request. Don't forget to keep them coming~

I kept the reader gn since I believe all chests need to be appreciated, from girl tiddies, to man tiddies, to enby tiddies, etc. In whatever size they come in.

Feedback is much appreciated and welcomed. <33

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Valentino x Gn!Reader Headcanons (+small prompt)

Given Valentino's line of work the sight of tits, ass, and/or any other explicit body part doesn't particularly excite him.

That said, he didn't particularly find anything interesting about your chest at first either

It was a few months into your relationship when he realized how much he adored your chest

One night, after the two of you were done with your 'nightly activities' he dropped his head onto your chest while he was still inside of you with your legs wrapped around his waist

You waited for him to move, but to your surprise he fell asleep his head on your chest

Since that day he took every opportunity he could grab your chest or lay his head on it

And well, Valentino being Valentino, the opportunity was whenever he saw you.

It didn't matter if you were working or if you were chatting with someone

You didn't even dare to complain since he threatened to kill the last person who 'kept' him from fondling your chest

It was even more embarrassing when this happened in front of the other Vees

Velvette found this quirk of your relationship with Valentino to be particularly annoying and unsightly; it also increased the number of time she called Valentino a piss baby

All in all, while your relationship did have ups and (a lot of) downs due to Valentino's possessive and short temper, the one thing that remained constant was the cuddling at the end of a long day, his head pressed against your chest as you hugged him (seeing him so vulnerable and open almost made you forget how afraid you were of him when he got furious at something random that you did)

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Small prompt:

You were laying on the couch, your head supported by the armrest and your legs strewn out in whatever weird position you found comfortable at that moment. You were scrolling to Voxstragram while some random show was playing on the TV, serving as white noise.

Your moment of peace didn't last long however as you could hear from the hallway that Valentino was coming, aaand he was yelling on the phone. You sighed rolling your eyes at your significant other's short temper. Your shoulders jump up startled as Valentino slams the door open throwing his phone into the wall before quickly walking over to you and doing the same thing with your phone. You look at him incredulous and slightly indignant, as he huffs sitting down on the couch. He lights a cigarette rambling about whatever stupid shit one of his actors did as he grabs you by the arm pulling you into his lap. He buries his head into your chest out of frustration, his shoulder relaxing soon after, as he makes content clicking noises (which you found completely adorable; to be fair, you found everything about his moth anatomy and habits to be adorable, even if you would never tell him that out of fear of him throwing a tantrum over being called that out of all things).

You sighed laying your head on top of Valentino's closing your eyes as you half listen to the TV still playing in the background. "My knees are gonna be sore from staying like... Just another day with Valentino." you think smiling softly as you fall asleep in the less than comfortable position.

[miasmaghoul]

do you have any thoughts about mountains first time? doesnt have to be a whole ass prompt fill lol but who gets big boy?

(anon I regret to inform you that you sent this while i was disastrously high so you get a Weird One - warnings for terato/monsterfucking, mentions of blood (nonsexual), inhuman anatomy, scent kink, agendered character referred to as "it", use of cunt/clit to describe its anatomy, and some lore at the end)

I still have to finish that fic about his first time bottoming, that's with Omega. But his first time in general?

Well, technically...

Mountain was more feral than most when he was summoned, took a long time to settle into his vessel. He cost a number of siblings their lives before the higher ups decided it was a better idea to let him loose in a warded-off section of the forest. Let him work out the more animalistic traits in an environment better suited to his elemental nature.

He wanders the trees completely unglamoured, with furry, back-bent hooved legs and patches of moss, lichen and bark coating his limbs and torso. His antlers, still budding, grow faster like this and the trees in his path bear fresh gouges as a result. He hunts everything he can, tearing in with claws and elongated jaws alike. The scruffy mane of hair he sports lies matted with days worth of blood, sweat and grime, and it's the fourth night before Mountain finds his appetite sated.

Well, one of his appetites at least.

This new hunger is similar, but very different. He knows lust, of course - no being in Hell wouldn't - but ghouls don't have corporeal forms Downstairs. They feel things, sure, but in the way you "feel" and intense thought, or a specific fantasy. Like this, though, anchored to a physical being he's still learning the ins and outs of, the pressure sitting heavy between his thighs feels foreign. Foreign, but also hot and urgent and fuck he needs.

Mountain paws at himself with rough, inexperienced hands until the sheath between his legs starts to swell. The ghoul watches as it grows, chest heaving when the flared head reveals itself. Already slick and throbbing, Mountain's stomach clenches when every inch is finally exposed and the length of it pulses.

It's then that a certain scent makes his nostrils flare, his eyes go wide, and something deep inside Mountain goes achingly tight. It's not the first time he's smelled it since he woke in the forest, naked and groggy, but it's the first time he's felt the urge to find its source. Now that he does, though?

He needs.

Mountain crashes through the trees on instinct alone, panting and drooling down his chin no matter how many times his hooves catch a root or a row of thorns tears at his flesh. The scent grows thicker the deeper he gets into the dense wood; it's something raw, something syrupy sweet yet intoxicatingly bitter. Like burning leaves on a hot autumn day, rich and earthen but undercut with a sharpness that could only mean desire.

The closer he gets, the more he recalls smelling it before. He remembers catching it when he was savoring the spoils of a hunt, one he'd spent melting into the trees to stalk a particularly jumpy buck. Remembers waking up once, in a small clearing he'd thoroughly marked, only to find a second scent joining his own. Not covering his, not a challenge - though Mountain took great pleasure in...reclaiming his territory anyway. More like an invitation, one Mountain had had no interest in following at the time. That wasn't what he had needed.

Now that he's close to drowning in that scent, though, his cock dripping as it wags between his thighs, Mountain has no idea how he's gone so long without it.

He crashes through the branches of an overgrown willow, blood pounding in his ears and groin in equal measure, and the shiver that wracks him is one shared with the source of this intoxicating scent.

It sits in a nest at the base of the willow, one tucked into its roots and flanked by flowering bushes. There are enough gaps in the tree's limbs to let patches of sunlight filter through, dappling the creature before him.

The one currently on all fours, presenting its flushed, swollen cunt and staring over its shoulder and directly into the center of his brain.

It must be another ghoul, something distant tells him. He only has flashes of the time before the forest, but he can faintly recall a pair of...humans, were they called? They shifted before his eyes, one into a being of black fur and unnatural smoke and the other into scales and fins. They spoke the language of the Pit, and that's the only reason Mountain remembers them.

This one, this creature, looks similar to him, he thinks. He only has a few interrupted reflections in brooks and streams to go by, but it's legs are like his. Back-bent, hooved, but the hair coating them is jet black instead of his own sun-stained auburn. Their torsos differ too - where Mountain could blend in with the bark of any tree, it is instead coated in a combination of thicker fur and sleek black feathers that rustle like the leaves above. No antlers atop it's head, but instead a pair of segmented horns that curl against its skull. It's smaller than he is, more angular, and the few facial features Mountain can see are just as sharp as the talons it has dug into the soft earth.

It makes a sound then, a rattling hiss of a thing, and Mountain growls in response. It's automatic, as is the way he drops to all fours for his final approach. It watches his every move, unnatural eyes wide and growing blacker by the second, and Mountain flinches when it tips it's head and a scratchy voice fills his skull.

New, it rasps in a familiar but broken dialect, forked tongue flicking between it's lips. Maybe a ghoul? It's speech is odd. You're new. New smell. Different.

Mountain watches it's cunt pulse, a thick trail of slick dripping from its hole straight down the fat nub of its clit. That shiny length flexes, and Mountain's cock responds in kind. He snarls as he crawls up to the creature, licking his jaws. That incredible scent, so thick he can taste it, would be enough to drive anyone mad.

Could feel you coming. Could...in the roots and stones...

Mountain barely registers the words floating through his head, but he really likes the way they fade into an audible sharp trill when he buries his nose into the source of his torment.

The taste of it is beyond compare, and Mountain can't help but drag his face through its copious slick while he wriggles his long, thick tongue inside. Desperate to coat himself in it, ears filled with the unearthly sounds of the creature offering itself to him on a silver platter. His hips work in useless, uncoordinated humps, cock jabbing at thin air as that tight hole clamps down around his tongue, and the overwhelming desire he feels to be inside the being before him hits him like a punch to the gut.

You....watching me...

Mountain manages the message as he moves to bracket that smaller figure. It nods, shudders when he settles against its back, snuffling at the crook of its neck. Using his snout to nudge its head, force it to expose its throat so he can feel it thrum under his tongue.

Watched...hunt. Watched me...kill...

It gives a chirrup, and Mountain feels its short, raised tail twitching against his stomach. His cock jumps, the broad head smacking against its clit, and Mountain's growl shakes the earth itself. Those same stupid humps take over, and Mountain stretches his jaws to wrap around the back of its neck to force it still. He uses the last of his brainpower to throw a final thought into its mind.

Why...bring me...to you?

Mountain sinks his fangs into its throat just enough to get a taste of what lives beneath its skin, and as his eyes roll back the creature moans.

Different, it whispers back, canting its hips when Mountain mindlessly tries to line himself up. So long...since something was different...

Mountain's grunting like a disobedient dog, every thrust bumping his cock against its thighs, its tail, it's mound. So focused on getting it inside without releasing the creature from the cage of his limbs that the frustration only builds, his snarls becoming more and more bestial until -

The body beneath him arches as best it can, and as Mountain's aching cock finally squeezes between swollen lips to pop inside there's no way to know which of them is louder.

Mountain doesn't remember much after that.

One day, though, he'll learn the story of the feral ghoul who haunts these woods. The product of a botched summoning, it was always destined to become a creature of instinct. Tied to the realm Above only because its summoner still lives, left to its own devices where it won't pose a threat.

One day Mountain will learn the story of what used to be Cowbell, and when he does nothing will keep him from going back to those woods.

[evielmostdefinitely]

I would love see the first time that “excentric” aspect of they relationship started. Like how Coryo punishment her for the first time, She know what will happened? They talk about? And how she feel with that? Afraid ? Turn on ? Jealousy in think that probaly he did this with someone else ? Sorry if i wrote something wrong, english is not my first language

closer to the darkness |young!coriolanus snow x capitol!reader|

prompt: as requested, the dark backstory that led to you and coriolanus' exciting sex life.

contains: very very VERY DARK undertones. mentions prostitution and the exploitation that occurs in the capitol. public sex with undertones of slight humiliation. very very dark coriolanus. slightly manipulative and obsessive coriolanus. bdsm themes. dom!coryo x sub!reader. spanking. spanking with implement. oral (fem receiving). overall very dark smut. minors dni.

A simple invite, passed to him by the sly smirk of a classmate. “Snow,” Dennis hissed lowly, pencil tapping on the page of a book, eyes cutting to watch for the librarian. “A couple of us are going to The Underground tonight. Are you coming?” 

Coriolanus blinked, face staying stoic, unreadable. He didn’t particularly like the boys in his class, not now anymore than years before. He found the civilness of their polite conversation to be useless now- now that he had you. 

“I’m busy.” Coriolanus dismissed. He had no interest in going to their gambling billiards room or whatever this club was. 

“Oh, come on.” Dennis grinned, head ducking low. “You can leave the Duke girl for a night. She won’t mind anyways. Her brothers are always there. You’ll be in kept company.” 

Coriolanus perked at the mention. Your brothers, the two elder Duke boys that he hadn’t yet charmed the way he had your father and mother. A necessity to secure their approval. He knew they’d run the family business, already high up in the family ranks. If he planned to go forth with his game ideas, he’d need their investment. 

That drove him to cancel his plans with you, a half-hearted excuse about studying, offering to spend the weekend with you instead. He joined the boys of his class, socialites and aristocrats alike, all wearing their family’s name like a badge of honor. Coriolanus followed them towards the luxury end of the Capitol, secluded and reserved for only the best of the Capitol goers, exclusion even in the highest class. 

Coriolanus twisted the wad of cash in his pocket, hoping he could remember enough to pass at the roulette tables. “Here,” Dennis hummed, passing the small, black mask to Coriolanus when the doorman let them in. 

“What’s this?” Coriolanus muttered, twisting the mask in his hands. 

“Just part of it. I’m sure it helps the others feel their identity is well protected.” Dennis shrugged, tying the silk ends to the back of his head, eyes accentuated with the harsh black contrast of the material. 

They gamble openly during the games, but are worried here? Coriolanus thought, fighting back an eye roll. Instead, he fastened the material, following the string of people through the darkened hallways. It felt far from luxurious, more like the burrows and halls he’d sneak with Lucy Gray back in District Twelve. 

His mind wandered back to hers, furiously shaking her from his thoughts. He needed to be sharp, alert. Coryo had already decided he’d stumble into your brothers, hopeful he could still find them with the masks, that he’d sit at the right roulette table. 

Coriolanus stilled when there was no table. No green velvet lined table with dice and cigar smoke, no liquor or Avoxes roaming about. No, instead, there was a small, circular stage with a single row of chairs surrounding it. 

“Snow,” Dennis nudged his arm, pulling him from his thoughts. “We’re over here.” 

Coryo followed him, thankful for the mask, hoping it would conceal his wandering eyes. What was this place? A stage in the middle, nothing else. Coriolanus’ chest tightened with fear, grim curiosity perhaps as he settled into his seat. All around him, men with masks, chatting with each other, all nearly identical in the dim light of the room. 

“I heard they found her from Eleven.” The boy, Lucios, beside Dennis grinned. 

“I’m quite bored of the homely looking girls. They always look frightened, like caged animals being led to slaughter.” Dennis rolled his eyes in boredom. “I wish they’d bring in another girl from One. They always know how to put on the best shows.” 

“I’d even settle for Two.” Lucios cackled in a droning posh tone, waving over for his drink. “Maybe Three.” 

“It wouldn’t even be a real girl from Three. A hologram.” Dennis laughed. “As long as it isn’t Twelve or Ten, they always have the worst smell.” He snarled, eyes cutting to Coriolanus, who was rigidly watching the interaction. 

Dennis frowned, lips parting with a question, the trilling of a bell silencing him and everyone around them. All settling into their seats, quiet and still. Coryo’s heart beat so loudly it was deafening in his ears. Eyes scanning the room, he caught a glimpse of your brothers on the other side, eyes meeting only for a moment before the room fell dark. Completely pitch black, Coriolanus swallowed his rising panic, fists balling. 

It was a set up, a conspiracy to get him here, kill him. Of course they’d want to, they wanted you all for their own. Dennis had commented on you weeks ago, congratulated him behind bared teeth. How could he be so stupid? How could he not see?

A single light blinded him, body tensing at the sudden intrusion of light spilling above the stage. Underneath the beam, a man stood. His face was concealed entirely by a red mask that covered all his features, dressed in appropriate but dark wear, but with gloves that matched his mask. Next to him, a girl kneeling in a collar, and just a collar. Her face not covered, oh no, Coriolanus could see every line of fear, shine of terror though she tried to hide it. 

“Gentlemen,” The man’s voice was loud, even through the muffling of the mask it rang through the silent room. “Tonight our guest from Nine.” His gloved hand ran over her tied hair, and Coriolanus didn’t miss the way she shivered, biting her lip in fear. 

Coriolanus watched in eerie intrigue as the man brought her to a small bench like contraption, making a large show of securing her arms and legs, so she was left spread, vulnerable to the audience to see the most intimate parts of her. 

Coriolanus’ chest burned, maybe with fear, maybe with something else. Your brothers were here, here. He hoped they hadn’t seen him, stomach turning with the fear of what you’d do if you found out- fear that you’d leave him. The man on stage’s droning words fell deaf on his ears, mind racing with a plan, a plan to leave before they’d see you. He couldn’t see the row on the other side because of the light, so he hoped they couldn’t see him. 

His thoughts were stopped by a single cutting whistle of wood through the air, walloping onto skin with a resounding smack! followed by a muffled cry. 

“In the dark times, far before the dark times, since nearly the beginning of time, there have been many forms of debauchery that have been used to cause excitement.” The man droned dramatically, twisting a leather paddle in his hand. 

He tapped the girl’s left bottom cheek, before bringing his arm back, sending the paddle soaring onto her ass again. Coriolanus jumped slightly at the impact, mind dumbly blank of the worries from before. Nearly trance-like, watching the man paddle the girl, how she cried pathetically, how her flesh turned, blossoming with marks. 

“There has always been a power imbalance.” The man continued, letting the paddle rub teasingly over her body. “There have always been the powerful, the helpless. Those who are in charge, those who are submissive- completely at the mercy of your cruelness, of your control.” 

Coriolanus felt his pants tent, blood rushing from his head down to his throbbing cock. The man stalked, heavy footsteps that echoed in the room, back between the girl's legs. “There is a need for order. Even in intimacy.” He hummed, bringing the paddle down twice, two snapping flicks of his wrist. 

Coriolanus swallowed, spit pooling in his mouth at the cries the girl gave. The man scanned the room, setting the paddle on her backside, slowly taking off a glove. Coriolanus leant forward, watching the man with intense intrigue. 

“Because as we all know, there is pleasure in power.” The man boomed, his hand disappearing between the girl’s legs. A gasp ghosting on the edge of pleasure filled the room, her back arching at the sensation that was hidden from Coriolanus’ view, his eyes narrowing for a better view. 

Coryo’s face blushed deeply, burning with excitement when the man’s fingers lifted, covered in sticky arousal from the girl that webbed his fingers. “And as you can see, there is pleasure in pain as well.” Though his face was hidden, Coriolanus could hear the smug smirk of his voice. 

“My darling guest here is one who enjoys such pain, which is why she’s chosen to serve the Capitol and offer her services.” The man continued, wiping her release on his pants. “For the night, the rates bidding starts at a high price since she can only be shared once.” 

Coriolanus slipped out when the bidding started, the lights dimming enough for him to see the exit. He walked furiously down the streets of the Capitol, throwing the mask furiously on the ground. Still, his cock throbbed, stirred to life, not at the girl but at the idea. The idea that you would be tied up, tilt that power to him entirely, be at his mercy and command. 

He’d brain his throbbing cock as the reason his thoughts were scattered, why he showed up at your penthouse. 

“I thought you were studying- oh!” You squeaked, letting the door fall with a snap shut, Coriolanus’ hands on your waist, kissing you with feverish hunger. 

“I missed you.” Coriolanus rasped, your heart swelling at the words. “I couldn’t wait until this weekend. I had to see you. Had to taste you.” 

Your knees wobbled at the words, tensing with excitement. You could feel his stiff cock on your hip, ignoring the way he rubbed himself into your hip, letting him settle between your legs. You were surprised when his plush lips pressed to the inside of your thighs, hot breath ghosting over your clothed pussy. Your fingers tangled through his hair when his lips wrapped around your sensitive clit, lapping and suckling. 

Coriolanus knew what to do, what he needed to do to get you brainless, pliant before he’d suggest such a proposal. So he let you pull at his hair, let you tug at the roots while you whined and cried out, bucking beneath him as his tongue worked you open. 

“I want to try something.” Coriolanus hovered above your sprawled out frame, slack and limp against the rustled sheets. His eyes were dark, looking down at you from the slope of his nose- it sent a shiver right through your already trembling frame. “If you’re willing.” 

Brain still foggy from the previous orgasms, you nodded lazily. Of course you did, it was like clockwork to Coryo, all a part of his plan. “You always enjoy it so much when I’m rough with you,” Coryo began, biting back a smirk at how you blushed, body folding shyly into itself at his words. “I want to try something a little… more.” 

“I don’t much care for torture.” You frowned, lips pulling in a scowl. 

“I would never torture you, darling.” Coryo smiled softly, a small shake of his head that had you relaxing. “I think you’ll find this more pleasurable than painful.” 

He had you over his thigh after a short amount of coaxing. Legs on either side of his thigh, body resting on the silk sheets behind him. He alternated sharp smacks to your ass that left you squealing, lifting in tense alert at the sensation only for his hand to slip back between your thighs, tease and pleasure you until you melted back onto his thigh. Until his spanks were met with pathetic whimpers of pleasure, rubbing yourself shamelessly on his thigh. 

It was only the beginning. The very start of the shift in power for the two of you. First in the bedroom, then out in the world.

[shangsclaws]

Hello! May I ask for letters F and G for Bihan and Raiden. From the alphabet prompt.

— Thank you Hun ♡.

already did F for bihan right here!

also, unintentional raiden angst incoming… oops

𝑩𝑰 𝑯𝑨𝑵

G - Green: What are they like when they're jealous?

On his own, Bi Han is already no fun and games, a stick in the mud within reason (Lin Kuei reason, that is). Now, though? Bi Han’s jealousy seemingly rears its head at anyone but the one he’s jealous over, and with little explanation to those he lashes out at. It's not as if his subordinates can get an explanation anyway, given how quick he is to shoot down their concerns over his callous behaviour. The grandmaster knows damn well why he's irritated though, it's simply that he doesn't realize he's terrible at keeping his jealousy to himself.

The only behaviour he has to show for his jealousy is the frigid silence that washes over him whenever you are in the vicinity. It’s even worse when catching you and the person he thinks is vying for your attention in the same room -- his jaw clenches, fists curling at his sides, and he leaves the room seemingly in a rush.

"Bi Han," you eye the grandmaster carefully, noting the unusually absent look in his eyes, "is something the matter?" He does not immediately respond, looking at you once with those cold eyes, before turning his back to you. "I am completely fine,” he huffs, “thank you."

𝑹𝑨𝑰𝑫𝑬𝑵

F - Flirting: How do they flirt?

Raiden's flirting feels more like harmless compliments than romantic banter. He's terribly afraid his tame attempts at flattery will come off as Johnny Cage kind of direct, and if there's one thing he was taught as a child, it's to practice modesty. It frustrates him to no end, then, when he notices the contents of his 'advances' get him little to nowhere.

Raiden's interest is instead betrayed by the sheer quantity of his compliments, not the quality. He'll find every excuse to lightly praise you for something, so much so that anyone can tell you're the only thing on his mind. Kung Lao, the cheeky bastard he is, will tease and say he'll compliment you for breathing in his direction next.

G - Green: What are they like when they're jealous?

Raiden's jealousy shows in the form of heightened competition. He'll ask anyone he can to spar, train to an almost alarming degree with Liu Kang and the rest of Earthrealm's champions -- anything to be better than he already is. Even his humble habits he'll forget to practice, asking, at times, if you saw him 'best one of the monks the other day'. It's not particularly alarming, but for a man as unassuming as himself, it's definitely a sight to see.

Raiden knows that this comes from a place of anxiety. His eyes always dart to your face whenever he pulls a clever trick, needing to be sure you’re witness to his prowess. He’s worried about his Outworld competition, and most of all his humble roots — he believes that in the end, without his amulet, he is only as good as a lowly farmer.

“Do you think they saw it?” Asked the thunder champion eagerly, still huffing for air after pulling a rather impressive move with his amulet. Kung Lao chuckled at his friend, shaking his head. “You just tore up the sky, Raiden. We all saw that.”

➴  𝑴𝑨𝑺𝑻𝑬𝑹𝑳𝑰𝑺𝑻

[moonchildstyles]

feathery

y/n is a cupid and harry might be her soulmate. if that's even possible anyway.

wordcount: 3.5k+

——————

"Excuse me? Are y'okay?" 

(Y/N) froze at the sound of an accented voice speaking from behind her. She could feel eyes on her back, spying the shimmer covered skin left bare from the draping of the tulle-esque cloud weaved fabric that made her dress. He wasn't supposed to be able to see her. 

"You... You can see me?" When did her voice get so breathless? (Y/N) didn't dare to turn around just yet. Maybe, this man was talking to someone else. 

A beat passed.

"Yes?" his tentative response came, sounding more like a question than a definitive statement. "I-I just want to know if you're alright. It's a little cold out, so..." 

Was it? (Y/N) didn't really notice things like that any more, temperature and changes in the weather. It all felt the same to her at this point. The goosebumps rising on her skin were a new reaction. 

Turning on her heel, her bare feet left a divot in the snow beneath them. That's never happened before. Facing whoever it was that caught her, (Y/N) felt her voice freeze like the air around her that she was beginning to become conscious of. 

He was pretty. Very pretty.

Split down the middle, his hair fell in brown curls with blonde speckles touching at his temples from time in the sun. She wished she could tell the shade of his eyes, but the way he was backlit by his porch light kept her from seeing that detail. Instead she was left with the impression of a pair of big eyes, squinting to see her to see her through the space. Pillow lips, a pretty shade of pink that was muted through the lack of light, were pursed as he looked at her, concern tugging at the corners. Freckles dotted the bridge of his nose and decorated his otherwise clear, slightly tanned skin. 

No one had ever been able to see her before, but she figured she was at least a little lucky that the first one who did was someone as pretty as him. But, that might have just been the romantic in her talking. 

This man responded to her silence by talking a careful step over the threshold of his door, creaking floorboards groaning under his feet as he walked over his porch. A hand lingered on the knob to the door, not allowing it to swing completely shut after him. 

"Can I call someone for you? I know Jack's parties get a little out of hand sometimes, so if you need to wait for someone to drive y'home or need to call an Uber, I can help." This man spoke to her as if she were a wounded animal: careful and delicately. 

While she'd never really been able to garner a lot of reaction to her appearance given the fact she was supposed to be invisible, she didn't think she looked particularly creatureish. At least not enough to be taken for a limping dog. Maybe she wasn't so lucky to be seen by someone as pretty as him. 

Her silence stretched on, prompting him to take another step towards her. The door behind him shuttered closed, leaving him out in the cold with her despite the fact she didn't think she could feel it as intensely as he did. "At least let me grab you a jacket, or-or some shoes if you want to walk. I don't know how you've made it this far out anyway, Jack's property is miles down the road," he continued, brows knotting together in the middle when he dragged his eyes over her bare legs. 

Jack, he mentioned again. Was that whoever was in charge of the party she had fluttered through before finding herself out here and seen by this man? She'd done her work there, bringing more than a few couples together before she flittered on her way. Valentine's day was busy enough as is, she couldn't linger longer than needed. Besides, that party was a lot more stressful and wild than she had any interest in hanging out at, even if no one would interact with her. That was where he thought she'd come from? 

Clouds had must have filled her head, and by the time they cleared out and she focused once more on the man, he was much closer than she remembered. Despite the stretch of yard still between them, his lessened proximity gave her a startle.

Green. His eyes were green. 

She could tell when he jumped back, eyes widening as his breathing stopped. 

It was (Y/N)'s turn to feel concern warp her heart. She couldn't help herself before she took a careful step towards him, reaching a hand out. "Is everything okay? Are you hurt?" Noticing now, he didn't have shoes on either and the ground could be littered with anything that gave him a shock when he walked. 

"Th-Those are real?" he breathed out, pointing with a shaky finger. His pretty green eyes weren't even looking at her she realized. He was looking behind her. 

Right at the fluffy pair of wings peeking over the slopes of her shoulders, the feathers laying down now that the start he gave to her heart was settling. 

While she planned on trying to explain away what he saw (obviously, he'd thought she was in costume, like she'd seen on a few of the participants at Jack's party), especially with the way he'd gone pale and his hand was shaking a lot more than she figured was safe, she didn't get very far before the sound of something skittering away behind her had her jumping in place. Turning to look at the field behind her, a white cottontail could be seen running to the cover of a shrub, prints left in the crunchy snow to account for the crackling sound that scared her out of her skin. It was an involuntary response, the way her wings fluttered behind her, feathers raised to ready her for flight in case of emergency. 

But that response seemed to be the last straw for her new friend as he dropped to the ground, eyes fluttering closed. 

—————

Once getting him safe inside, draped across his couch with a roaring fire alive in the hearth, (Y/N) only felt a little guilty snooping around. When he didn't wake right away, she figured he might need a little bit of a nap, if only to get his blood pressure under control before she would be on her way and keep him from experiencing another panic. 

In his kitchen sat a plate of untouched food on the counter, a pair of slippers by the back door from where he had approached her, and a knocked over glass of water with droplets still dripping down the cabinets to the tiled floor. He dropped everything to help the girl he'd found wandering through his property it seemed. She must have really been an unusual sight for him to have forgone his own shoes. 

His home was cozy, she thought fondly, as she wandered down the hallways and traipsed up the stairs. The walls were lined with photos of her friend and two other women who both had similar dimples and sparkling eyes. Others included people who looked nothing like him, but he still held a happy grin on his face. Always his arms were draped around their shoulders, nails painted as he clutched them close in a pose for the camera. Books about fashion, philosophy, and happiness were littered throughout the home, occupying shelves and the space on his nightstand. His shoes were stuffed under the edge of his bed, his most favorite pair appearing to be a set of beat up white tennis shoes, threaded through with baby pink laces. The whole place smelled warm and sweet—lavender and spice, vanilla and cinnamon, and the underlying base of whatever it was she'd smelled when she had to lean him against her side as she lugged him into safety. That part must just be him, then. 

Seeing all of this made her feel even more guilty for spooking him so terribly. She hadn't meant to, of course—he wasn't even supposed to see her—but maybe she could have been a little bit more aware of her wings when she realized he had spotted her. Hopefully, he would be alright and take her ensuring his safety as her apology. 

Cupids had famously tender hearts, so she didn't know what she'd do if he held a grudge against her for this whole accident.

The least she could do was clean up some for him before he woke, she decided. That way, he might be able to convince himself it was nothing but a silly dream he had while waiting for his dinner to be ready. 

Fluttering with the tips of her toes dancing across the hardwood of his floor, (Y/N) made it to his kitchen. She made quiet work of cleaning up the cup and water marring his clean floor. The now chipped crystal of his glass caught the light from the dining room just perfectly, casting shimmering rainbows across the kitchen. Hopefully he wouldn't notice that too much. Rag in hand, (Y/N) dropped to her hands and knees to mop up the water spilled across the tiles, the hem of her short dress grazing the floor as she worked. 

Standing to her feet, damp rag in hand and a clean floor before her, (Y/N) felt the warmth of eyes on her back. Jeez, if this being seen thing was going to start to be a regular thing, she was going to have to be a little bit better about hiding. 

Turning on her toes like she'd seen a ceramic ballerina in a music box do once, she braced herself for a repeat of what happened in the yard. Maybe this time she could catch him. 

Behind her stood her new friend (no matter how much she searched around his house, she couldn't find anything with his name on it), eyes wide but decidedly much more color in his cheeks. 

"I thought you were a dream," was all that fell from his lips, voice graveled and quiet. 

(Y/N) watched him, hoping to catch the signs before he'd drop to the floor. "A-Are you going to faint again?" 

"I don't think so, but..." he trailed off, eyes never leaving the fluffs of wings over her shoulder. "What are you?" 

Twisting the damp rag in her hands, (Y/N) worried her bottom lip between her teeth. She'd never had to explain herself to anyone before. No one other than those like her had ever seen her before. 

"Do you know who Cupid is?" 

The man seemed to take her in slowly then. She was aware of the heat of his gaze as he skimmed over the breezy dress on her form, the sheen of shimmer that permanently covered her skin, and, of course, the wings pinned to her back. "Like the baby with the arrows?" 

A slight smile touched at the corners of (Y/N)'s lips. "Kind of. We're not really babies or have actual arrows, but close enough." 

A beat of silence filled the space between them, the plush green of his eyes keeping her attention as he couldn't seem to pull his eyes away from her. 

"This isn't a joke, is it?" he murmured, finally landing on her face with his eyes softening. 

"No," was her simple answer, but (Y/N) had the feeling he wasn't listening. 

Looking at this man with pretty green eyes and sleep mussed curls crowning his head, she watched a look come across his face that she'd seen thousands of times before. Only it had never directed at her before. The softening of his jaw, the small parting of his lips, something just a hair behind his pupils turning into hearts as he looked at her. She'd seen all of those adjustments happen to those she helped fall in love with their right person; it was true love the first time they looked their beloved in the eyes. 

And he was looking at her. 

While arrows weren't the preferred method to infect someone with the love bug, there still was a process Cupids had to go through to ensure their target had those butterflies in their stomach and thoughts questioning if love at first sight really was possible. (Y/N)'s favorite was the deliberate touch of her fingertips over their heart to get it racing or purposeful flick of her wrist with a brush through their hair to get love on the brain, but she didn't do either of those things to her friend right? She had been very careful when carting him inside to not touch him too much where it could impair him, but it wasn't even possible for people to fall in love with her anyway. 

Cupids weren't meant to be the objects of love; they were only there bring those who were meant to be, together. Except for a single story she had heard a long time ago...

"I'm awake, right?" the man said, a dreamy cast over his gaze, "Y'promise this isn't a dream or a joke?" 

He thought she was a dream. (Y/N)'s heart stuttered at the thought. She'd never been someone's dream before. 

"You're awake, I promise," she smiled, nails digging into the rag as she tried to keep herself from reaching out to brush back the curl that flopped over his forehead. "Are you feeling okay? You fell kind of hard outside." 

"Yeah, yeah, 'm fine," he mumbled, shrugging off her questions as he took a careful step towards her, "You're really Cupid?"

"Kind of," she started, the volume of her voice matching his, "I'm a Cupid, but my name is (Y/N). What's your name?" 

"'M Harry," he rushed out, a dimpled smile perching itself on his lips as he allowed his gaze to take her in once more. 

The fact he wasn't running for the hills or reaching for a pitchfork or a straitjacket to tie her up in was a miracle in and of itself, (Y/N) thought. She never thought of such a lovely reaction to someone finding her out. No matter how lovely it was, though, it wasn't supposed to happen. No one was ever supposed to see her. 

Harry must have picked up on the direction her thoughts had taken as he reached a tentative hand out, soft fingertips brushing the back of her hand that was still worrying her cleaning rag. "Are you okay?" 

Swallowing, (Y/N) took a slow step back, her bare feet on the cold tile causing a shiver to rocket up her back. "You're not supposed to be able to see me. I don't know why you can." 

"Oh," he sounded, gaze dropping to the floor. "Do you think something's wrong? With me?" 

Her heart strings were pulled taut at the sound of his voice, dejection an undercurrent to his words. "No, no, there's nothing wrong with you," she rushed out, dropping the rag to take her turn reaching for him with a carful hand. Unlike her, he didn't hesitate to reciprocate her touch as he turned his palm towards her and curled his fingers around hers in a loose hold. Never had (Y/N) actually experienced the butterflies she induced in other people's stomachs or the rollercoaster drop feeling that surged through her veins. Not until now. 

She swallowed before speaking, forcing her eyes to fixate on their joined hands instead of his eyes so she didn't forget what she was saying. "I've just only ever heard of this happening once before for a Cupid, but I guess I didn't really believe the story until now." 

"What was the story?" he asked her, taking another calculated step towards her with his hand shifting to hold her own better, "Was it bad?" 

"No," she started, chancing a look up at him where he still looked like the star of a campaign for the validity of love at first sight. God, he really was so gorgeous. "It was about a Cupid, he—uh—he was working and suddenly there was someone who could see him. It turns out the man that could see him was the Cupid's soulmate. No one else in the world was supposed to see him except for this man because that was the only way he was going to fall in love like the Cupid was supposed to help him with." 

Harry's gaze never shifted from her as she spoke, only draping itself over her features to catch every flutter of her lashes and molding of her lips around her words. "Soulmate?" he uttered, the only thing falling from his tongue when his eyes refocused on hers. (Y/N) only hummed a confirmation in response, her voice a little stuck as she tried to keep from seeing just how many lashes he had bordering his eyes. "Is that what you think I am? Y-Your soulmate." 

(Y/N)'s wings fluffed out at the sound of his voice wrapping around the words your soulmate. If not for the fact she could feel the solid ground beneath her feet, she would have suspected she was flying with the way her heart soared. 

"Maybe," she peeped, feeling a warmth bubble under her skin when he squeezed at her hand in his, "Do you feel any different?" 

Those softened eyes met hers in a heartbeat, tearing away from her lips when he processed her question. "I feel everything," he told her in a rush, the words seemingly coming out before he knew he wanted them to, "Everything good. Is that normal?" 

"When someone falls in love, yes," she told him, voice small as if the truth would break everything if she uttered it too loudly.

The L-word sat between them in the silence of his kitchen while she gauged his reaction. (Y/N) watched as he shifted on his feet only to grow closer to her, his fingers lacing between hers in a proper hold, and his pulse thrummed at the base of his throat. He didn't resemble at all the pale man that had dropped to the ground in fright at finding out her wings were real. He looked like a man in love. 

"'M falling in love?" he rasped, his voice dropping with the way he'd grown close enough she had to crane her neck to look up at him, "With Cupid?" 

"Maybe." She'd correct him later that she was only a Cupid, not the Cupid, himself. 

"How will I know for sure?" This close, she could make out just how many tiny freckles dotted the strong line of his nose. Her favorite might be the one just off to the side of his mouth, though. 

"K-Kissing, usually makes it pretty clear." (Y/N)'s heart jumped to her throat when she uttered the K-word. 

He wouldn't actually kiss her, though, right? He didn't even know her, and these things typically took a bit longer than this. But, she guessed, she'd never really heard about what the effects of being in love with the embodiment of love could do to a person. 

"Kissing?" Harry mused under his breath, as if she weren't meant to hear him despite the proximity. The hand that had been hanging limply by his side carefully reached out and cupped the curve of her waist over the cloud-light dress that curled around her form. While it covered what it needed, (Y/N) could clearly feel the ridges and lines of his palm through the fabric, warm and soft as she tried not to hug him closer. Instead, (Y/N) settled with a gentle hand on his chest. She wondered if he could feel her warmth through his shirt. 

When Harry dipped his head down, his exhale sweeping across her skin, (Y/N) held her own breath. As much as she wanted to catalogue just what shade of pink his lips were tinted, how many lashes were fluttered around his eyes, and the gradient of the blonde hairs on his temples into the deep chocolate of his curls, there was nowhere else she could look but at his eyes. A spring day right in the middle of winter, that was the only description she could think of for the shade of his irises. The perfect green stems to blooming roses, wrapped up and gifted to a lover on Valentine's Day. 

"Kissing," she confirmed, answering the question she wasn't even sure he knew he was asking. 

That seemed to be all he needed to hear before he nudged his nose against hers, eyes fluttering closed. He paused a breath away from her lips, giving her an out if she wanted to step out of his hold. When she didn't make any more to push him away or back out of his warmth, Harry surged forward and closed the gap between their lips. 

(Y/N) had never been kissed before, but she had a feeling this was how it was supposed to be done. His lips were soft, softer than she could think of any rose petal ever being. He was careful as he slotted their lips together, lingering in an affectionate kiss against her top lip. It was innocent and slow, nothing like the kissing she'd seen at Jack's party a property over. This felt more akin to the kind of kiss she'd peeked on at weddings, or private moments between lovers who knew there was no one else out there but the one in their arms. 

True love's kiss.

Harry pulled away first, (Y/N) stopping herself from following after him as if she was the one that needed to confirm she was in love with Cupid. He didn't immediately open his eyes once he gained the space, leaving (Y/N) to gaze up at his lidded eyes with his pretty pink lips parted to let out an airy sigh. 

"Are you okay?" she broached after a beat, Harry's eyes still shuttered. 

A slow smile took over his mouth. Dimples thumbed themselves deep into his cheeks, the skin growing pink with a blush bubbling to the surface. He blinked his eyes open only for his smile to widen when he found hers.

"I think I'm in love." 

—————

ahhh! this is super different for me!! ive never written something and posted same day along with no editing shfushfuhs an most of the time I don't really write my y/ns as the supernatural/fun characters so lots of nw things for me on this one!!! anyway im SO sorry for any mistakes nad thank you sm for reading! if you have any ideas or requests of your own please send them in!

[ikinremu]

|| Nsfw || R U mine? || Tommy Shelby

Tommy Shelby x Fem!Reader

A jealous Tommy smut oneshot! Please feel free to request oneshots/drabbles/blurbs on my page :)

The glare of Tommy's eyes punctured your chest, shooting through you like the spear of a dart. Usually this gaze you'd been subjected to would set your heart racing - but today was rather different. You peered across the well-lit hall, an idea suddenly sparking in your mind. Your relationship with Thomas Shelby was exceptionally complicated - that was no secret, though earlier that morning, said relationship had crossed a bump in the road. It was a simple situation - he'd pissed you off. And in this moment, you knew exactly how to return the favour.

If there was one thing to note about Thomas Shelby - it was that with a substantial amount of provoking, his jealousy could defy the scale. You knew that like the back of your hand, and had no shame in using it for your own petty games.

You ambled through the throngs of people, passing figures adorning silk dresses, waistcoats and suits as you approached the bar. To your delight, a familiar face loomed behind the polished, wooden island, bottles arranged on the collection of shelves behind the man. You took it upon yourself to perch atop one of the vacant bar stools, swivelling the copper plating slightly as you adjusted yourself to a suitable position.

"Frankie?!" You lifted your lips into a graceful smile, the barman flickering his gaze away from the stained cloth bunched between the hooking of his knuckles - looking to inspect who had called for him.

"Oh, hello!" He chuckled, his thick, untamed brows raising ever so slightly, "Fancy seeing you 'ere"

"Tommy brought me." You spoke, the mention of his name prompting you to send a swift glance in his direction. And as you'd suspected - more so planned - his focus was completely set on you. "And.. you too, I thought you strictly worked at the Garrison?"

As Frankie began spluttering out a rather tedious monologue about how he 'wouldn't miss an event like this..', you allowed a wave of smugness to wash over you.

Tommy hated Frankie, he utterly detested the man. You were unsure as to why, always had been, but you certainly knew it was a long lasting affair. You'd never cared to get involved in what you viewed as such a minor situation - this very moment finding you particularly grateful for your lack of interest.

"But anyway, can I get you somethin?" The barman's voice suddenly snapped you back into the room, dark eyes briskly wandering across your person.

"I'll just have a French seventy-five please." You requested, sporting a sweet smile as Frankie nodded in response.

"Coming right up."

As your view alternated from the front of his waistcoat to the back, you turned your head to scan for Tommy's whereabouts - though this time it wasn't so simple. All you could truly see was some rather eloquent looking groups making small talk beneath the hall's chandelier.

Before you knew it, the man responsible for completely baffling you was stood directly to your right.

"Tommy." You beamed, presenting a weak attempt at concealing your self-acclaimed victory.

"We best be off." He spoke, the low tones of his voice snaking into your ear, "Something needs takin care of at the Garrison."

Internally, you called very obvious bullshit - however, externally you found yourself willingly demounting the copper plated stool.

"Bye Frankie, we've gotta leave!" You exclaimed, briefly eyeing the sight of the man turning to face you - looking somewhat disheartened. He offered a rather idle wave, granting himself a sip of what would've been your beverage.

The sound of Tommy's muffled disapproval lingered aside your ear as the two of you exited the hall - his fingers still tightly clutching your lower arm. The pair of you took a sharp turn, a sleek door swinging open, soon clanking against the doorframe as it trapped you inside.

It wasn't so much a room you'd arrived in, more so an ill-lit cupboard.

"Garrisons had a redo, has it?" You mimicked curiosity, apparently nowhere close to amusing the man stood before you.

Tommy's piercing eyes returned to you, shooting a warm buzz down your body.

Mere seconds passed of you awaiting the gruff tone of his voice, but instead you met a significantly different form of response from his lips.

His callous hands went to cup your jaw, lips intertwining with your own in a deep, messy kiss. In a rather instinctive sense, you melted into the embrace, his tongue snaking a path between your lips.

Without breaking contact, Tommy stepped forward, surrendering you to a fairly harsh bump against the wall. His left palm weaved it's way down your silk-clad stomach, sneaking it beneath the gentle ruffles of the dress he'd treated you to. He reached the now sodden fabric of your underwear as his lips pressed further against your own, his nimble fingers beginning to trace supple circles around your pulsing clit.

"This what you wanted, eh?" He grunted, softly nibbling the skin of your ear.

You nodded, an arch hollowing out between your back and the wall supporting it. A whimper escaped your throat as you helplessly sank into the feeling of your panties being dragged down your legs.

"Off." Tommy huffed, pitch pupils sending a clear signal in the direction of your black dress.

Before you knew it, any previous cover of yours had been wholly discarded, leaving your body shamelessly bare - Tommy being a single garment away from matching your state. His underwear was shortly hauled down and tossed away, releasing the sight of his erect cock.

"On your fuckin knees." He grumbled, gently tilting his chin towards the polished flooring. 

His words alone had the power to intoxicate you - and weren't afraid to do precisely that. A roaring flame couldn't help but ignite in your lower abdomen, tantalising your growing arousal as you kneeled before him.

The intense wetness of the earlier kiss transferred from the plumpness of your lips to Tommy's tip with a single connection. Pushing your lips further, his cock slid down your throat with one swift motion, the sweet warmth of your mouth wrapping his length.

"Such a good cocksucker, int' that right?" He taunted, words parted by the vibrations of his low groans.

You began sliding your now dripping mouth up and down his shaft, finding the perfect rhythm as his throbbing tip slapped the damp surface of your tongue. Now presented with enough slickness, your soft hands began trailing teasing strokes over his erection.

"Get up." He instructed, watching as your brows contorted into a rather notable furrow. "Up."

At the repetition, you complied - taking a puzzled stand.

The familiarity of Tommy's large hands gripped your behind, beginning to grope the smooth flesh as the two of you took a collective fall against one of the chipping walls.

"Spread your legs for me." The heat of his breath tickled your neck, his mouth trailing sloppy, open-mouth kisses down your clavicle. The split second of your legs parting, Tommy somehow bridged the minute gap between you.

His cock pushed into you, your own drool serving as a lubricant as he filled your tight hole in the most pleasing way - the pair of you slipping sharp moans at the sensation.

As he marked his first thrust, a burning desire seeping through you, Tommy suddenly buried his now reddened face between your exposed breasts. His hips began relentlessly bucking, increasing in several factors as his hot tongue flicked at your hardening, left nipple.

"Fuck!" A breathy whine fled your mouth. It took no longer than a second for his leaking tip to locate the importance of your sweet spots, hard length slamming deeper into the mess of your dripping arousal. His moistened lips nibbled at your pebbling nipple, licking tender circles around the areola.

"Frankie couldn't have you like this, could he? Eh?" Tommy grumbled, detaching his assault on your left nipple.

And there was the jealousy.

"He couldn't fuck you like I do." He punctuated his words with a gloriously deep buck of his hips. "You're mine, mm?"

"Shit!" You moaned, the next words reducing to the simplicity of panting. "I'm yours, only yours. I only want you Tommy.."

A familiar sensation possessed the very pit of your stomach, the beginning of a euphoric release winding itself up.

"I'm getting close." You whimpered, pearly teeth digging into the thin layer coating your bottom lip. Your tight hole pulsed at a rigorous pace, soaking walls clenching around him.

"Fuck, with the way you're squeezing me, so am I." Tommy groaned, pounding deeper into your sopping cunt.

The alluring knot within your stomach expanded, winding tighter and tighter until you felt your arousal peak. The orgasm tore through you, the heavenly sensations transporting you to a whole different realm as you called out - the volume of it taking yourself aback.

"You gonna let everyone know how good i'm fuckin you?" Tommy's pinkish lips curved into that ever so familiar cocky smirk, delivering one final thrust as you felt a warm inflation spread within you.

Your head lolloped atop Tommy's shoulder, strands of your now completely disgruntled hair flopping over with a sense of accompaniment. Placing a gentle peck on your lips, Tommy slid out of you - a rare smile on his face.

You return the soft nature of his expression, "Oh and I think everyone got the message."

Thank you for reading and hope you enjoyed! As I said, please feel free to use the requests/asks feature on my page - it’d be greatly appreciated <3

[ot3]

I do not understand your love for image genAI bc apart from the rampant theft from artists most of its uses are just. Not good like. Some people are capable of making interesting things with it but 90% of what it's being used for is like. Terrible anyways.

i don't really have any particular love for image gen AI. for starters, the styles its primarily designed to emulate are completely outside of my taste bracket and i find those types of work exactly as hollow and soulless when produced by human hands. there's a reason you don't see me going out there using gen ai for a bunch of stuff. i've never even touched midjourney. i like to draw! i dont want something to draw For me!

but here's the thing. if '90 percent of stuff made this way is crap' was a valid reason for something not existing we would have to get rid of every single art form on the planet. it's the same argument people make about booktok books - Stuff Used To Be Better But Now We Have This Sludge Factory Turning Out Fine-Tuned Consumer Slop With Reckless Abandon And It's a Threat To The Fabric Of Society

buddy ! that sludge factory is the Human Race! what you're witnessing is the lowering of barriers! the more people are capable of producing a specific type of creative work, the overall less quality there will be, because most people are not particularly skilled in creative work, or lack the taste you need to make something compelling when unskilled. that's a good thing. i would rather 99,999 people get the chance to make something i hate if it means 1 person gets the chance to make something i love that they wouldn't have otherwise been able to.

i think that the question of art theft as is done in the training of AI image generation models is a sticky one. i hate the fact that tech companies have made boatloads of money that wouldn't have been possible without a truly countless number of man hours by artists that will never see a penny of that wealth in their lifetime. but i also think the more time i spend sitting down and thinking about it and the more conversations i read on the subject, i can't view the output of these generative models as theft. at least, not without conceding a ton of ground to ideas about intellectual property that i think have been overall much more harmful to the health of the art world than AI image generation will be in the longterm.

gen AI models do not store images. they are not churning out recombination of images that have been fed into them. they were trained to analyze visual patterns in these images, associate those patterns with specific concepts, and produce new images following these patterns when prompted with the specific concept. it is fundamentally not dissimilar to how human artists learn and for me i can't in good faith view it as morally wrong on its own merits. i think where plagiarism/theft/fraud-adjacent concerns come in is 1. attempts to disguise how a piece was created and 2. attempting to create stuff that pass muster as a specific other artist's work.

but neither of these are problems unique to AI. people have been arguing about lying about how you make your art and copying other peoples styles for ages. what AI does is it VASTLY increase the scale this can happen at, because it's removing an insane skill barrier from the whole process. and yeah ultimately at the end of the day that's annoying. there are absolutely going to be repercussions on the art world the same way the digital camera impacted portraiture and the printing press impacted scribing. but ai image generation... isn't going to go away. it's just not. so i feel like developing standards for how we engage with this insane, objectively cutting edge and impressive tech, is going to make the art world much safer than starting what boils down to a fucking culture war about it.

[spiteless-xo]

Oml those nsfw promps?? 👀

Would you be interested in any one of the following:

Zeke with 72 “That is kinky even by my standards…”

Levi with 207 “Don’t give me that look”

Geto with 38 “I think you deserve a treat.” …Because maybe you deserve a treat ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

oooo, options!!

i'm going to attempt levi because i've never really written him before and hey, what better time to try than a sunday evening when i'm resting in bed w a tummyache? 🙈 apologies in advance if it's horrible

list of prompts ⋆ masterlist

╰┈➤ smut prompts - 207. “Don’t give me that look.”

ft. levi/gn!reader cw. unedited, not proofread, explicit sexual content (handjob, mention of masturbation, sexual fantasies), explicit language. 1,759 words.

Levi pinches the space between his brows, sighing heavily as Hange speaks -- trying to give some sort of pathetic excuse for their mistake.

"There's only one bed?" Levi grumbles in frustration.

"Well, no, there are three, Levi -- if you had been listening to me, you would've heard that."

"I heard you, four eyes," he says with a sigh before gesturing between himself and you. "But there's only one bed, for us."

Hange nods, pushing their glasses up the bridge of their nose. "Commander Erwin needs his own room -- for privacy reasons, of course -- and I'm staying in Eren's room for observational purposes so --"

"So, that leaves one bed," Levi repeats, glancing over at you, standing nervously to the side, "for us."

"It'll be fine, you don't even need a full bed, anyway," Hange snickers. "Get it, because you're short?"

"I get it," he hisses, pushing past Hange into the bedroom.

Hange offers you a sympathetic shrug before walking off to their shared bedroom with Eren, whistling a cheerful tune.

Swallowing thickly, you follow Levi into the bedroom and shut the door behind you. "I can find somewhere else to sleep, Captain."

"That won't be necessary."

Levi is already searching through the dressers and closets for extra bedding. He finds some quickly, pulling out blankets and pillows and then throwing them onto the ground.

"I'll just sleep on the floor."

"Captain, I --"

"That's an order."

You furrow your brows at him in confusion and he responds by quickly turning away from you to hide the blush as it grows across his face. It's bad enough that he's stuck sharing a bed on this mission -- but did it have to be with you of all people?

Levi found himself flustered around you more often than not. Misspeaking during drills... dropping things... stupid little mistakes that he had never been guilty of before.

Not until you joined his squad.

"We have to be up early for tomorrow's mission," he says, kneeling down on the ground as he makes himself a place to sleep. "You should get some rest."

Even with his back turned toward you, he can tell you're fidgeting -- unsure of what to do.

"Relax," he insists. "Go to bed."

You hum in response and he hears you start to work on unbuckling the straps of your ODM gear. Levi swallows thickly and keeps his head low, fluffing up his pillow needlessly as he hears you undoing belts and straps -- his face burning hot.

He starts to work on his own straps quietly, still respectfully keeping his back to you as he pulls off his ODM gear. He sets it down next to his bed before pulling off his boots and then crawling into his makeshift sleeping bag.

You walk across the room, still dressed in your clothes from today, and blow out the candles in the room. Levi watches you carefully through narrowed eyes as you blow out each candle with a soft puff of your breath -- stepping up onto your toes to reach a particularly high candle -- Levi bites his lip just as the two of you are submerged in darkness.

"Goodnight, Captain."

"Goodnight."

---

Levi wakes to the sound of his own teeth chattering.

He pulls the blanket tighter around his shoulders and breathes out a slow sigh. Even as his eyes adjust to the darkness, he can see his breath and he realizes that the temperature must have dipped drastically overnight.

He curls into himself and cups his hands around his face, breathing steam into his palms in an effort to keep himself warm. He looks around the room from his position on the floor for some kind of heater or fireplace -- but there's nothing.

"Captain Levi?" you whisper from above him. He hums in response, clenching his jaw hard to prevent his teeth from knocking into each other. "Are you ok? It's gotten really cold."

"I'm fine," he says, but the trembling of his jaw betrays his true feelings.

He can hear you moving on the bed beside him and although his back is still turned toward you, he can tell you're leaning by the edge of the bed, now.

"Do you... want to come up here?"

"That wouldn't be appropriate."

"You're... really cold."

The concern in your voice makes his face burn hot and despite his pride, his toes are going numb and he knows he won't be able to get back to sleep when he's shivering like this.

"Move aside," is all he says when he sits up, before crawling into your bed from the ground like some kind of animal.

Instantly, he feels much warmer, whether due to being off the floor or the heat radiating from your body. But he's still trembling.

"Should we, um..."

Levi already knows what you're about to suggest and the thought has blood rushing down between his legs.

No, no -- he cannot allow himself to get hard next to you right now.

"Should we --"

"I'm fine," he snaps, and it's harsher than he had intended but he needs you to stop because now his body is shaking from how tightly wound-up he is and he needs to just go to sleep before he embarrasses himself.

But then Levi feels you shuffling closer to him in the bed until your chest is pressed against his back. His breath catches in his throat when your arm slides around his front, pressing firmly into his stomach.

"Captain, you're shivering," you say, whispering into his ear and sending jolts of electricity down his spine. "Commander Erwin will kill me if you die of frostbite tonight."

Despite himself, he snorts, melting back against the warmth of your chest. His heart thunders in his chest at the same time that his cock throbs painfully in his slacks -- did you even realize what kind of an effect you had on him?

You rub your palm across his stomach -- a warming gesture, Levi thinks -- but it only serves to build the growing ache between his thighs. He releases a shuddered breath, squirming slightly to subtly adjust himself, but then you slide one of your legs between his, bringing your thigh up between his legs.

"Captain, I --" your hand seems to dip lower, fingertips brushing against the waistband of his slacks and Levi feels his mouth go dry. "I hope this is not too forward... but I've always admired you."

Levi says nothing in response -- he can't. He's too busy hyper-focusing on the way your hand seems to be gently working open the button of his pants.

Was this a dream?

"I begged to be put on your squad," you admit, breath hot against the shell of his ear as you drag his zipper down. "But you never even look at me."

"I look at you," he hisses when your palm presses against his hardened bulge. "I look at you -- all the time."

It feels like you're smiling against his neck, lips pressing softly into his skin as your hand moves, sliding back up to the waistband of his briefs, only to dip inside.

"Is that true?"

When your fingers wrap around him, he can only groan in response. His body shudders at the feeling of your warm, soft palm grasping his cock and giving him a firm squeeze.

"You do so much for us, Captain," you whisper, as if you already know he's about to protest. "Let me do this for you."

Levi trembles forward, every inch of his body lighting up at once when you start to stroke along his length. It's embarrassing how quickly you're able to bring him to the edge with just your hand on his cock and your mouth on his neck.

You run your hand up his length, swiping your thumb across his tip to smear the spilt precum and he moans at the feeling, hips bucking forward. You kiss him softly behind the ear and he shudders -- you hold your hand steady as he fucks your fist, breathing quickly growing erratic as his gut tightens.

"Feels good," he groans when you squeeze him a little tighter. Levi throws his head back against your shoulder as your mouth latches onto his neck, licking and sucking the sensitive spot where his shoulder meets his neck.

He's fantasized about this moment -- about having you touch him like this -- for longer than he's willing to admit. Hunched over in the showers, hand fisting his own cock to thoughts of you. The way the sweat glistens on your face after a day in the sun, how you smile around mouthfuls of food when the others joke around during dinner.

He wants to ruin you -- cover every inch of your skin with his cum, marking you as his. He's fantasized about having you wait for him in his office after each mission, down on your knees with your mouth hanging open -- ready to please him. He's pictured bending you over his desk and sinking inside of you, plunging his cock into your warm, wet hole, and using you until you're just babbling his name out in ecstasy.

Levi cums with a guttural moan, body tensing as his cock shoots ropes of cum across your hand. He gasps as you keep stroking him through it, milking his cock for every drop until he's just a whimpering, trembling mess in your arms.

The two of you lay there for a moment, wrapped up in each other with Levi's cock softening in your hand, until you pull away -- reaching behind you for a cloth to clean up the mess on your hand and the front of Levi's pants.

He relaxes into you with a sigh, still never once turning to face you throughout the night, and the two of you fall asleep in the warmth of each other's bodies.

--

"How was your sleep, Levi?" Hange asks cheerfully when the two of you exit the bedroom. Levi is still adjusting the tightness of his straps as he looks over at them, brows furrowed in annoyance.

"Fine," he says and Hange's smile grows.

"Did the bed feel good, last night?"

"I slept on the floor," he insists, but his face burns in embarrassment and there's a sinister glint in Hange's eyes.

"The walls are pretty thin," they knock on a nearby wall for emphasis. Levi tries to push past them but they stand firmly in the way, waggling their eyebrows at Levi in delight.

"Don't look at me like that," he snaps, swallowing thickly to hide his shame as Hange cackles.

"Oh, but Levi, I'm always looking at you."

"Shut up!"

[reve-writes]

—come running; kaz brekker.

ʚ kaz brekker x reader | grishaverse | 1k words. ʚ slightly inspired by this prompt. | after your payout, you decided to leave everything behind. the gang, the jobs. until your old crew is in a bit of a pickle and you come running back. ʚ set roughly in crooked kingdom; mild spoilers; light angst. ʚ a/n this is a short one and i wasn't sure how to end it.

“You should not be here.” Kaz rasped, visibly confused that you were standing at the Black Veil instead of being at Ketterdam University. You should be in your cramped dormitory room, perusing thick textbooks to cram for your tests. You shouldn't be with them—the most wanted people of Ketterdam.

The rest of the Crows were running errands, taking their gondels off of the island. Aside from a sleeping Kuwei, Kaz was the only other living person there.

You swallowed. “I heard that you're forced into hiding from Rotty.”

“He shouldn't run his mouth to anyone.”

You winced. You were just anyone now. “He didn't tell me where, Kaz. You did, back then. Remember?”

He did. Before a particularly risky job, if anything went wrong, he told you to come to the Black Veil. No one ever went there anyway. An island housing the tombs of the wealthy wasn't a point of interest to both locals and tourists.

“You shouldn't be here.”

His name fell from your lips pleadingly, simultaneously familiar and foreign. It had been seven months since your last job with the Crows. Seven months since you left and enrolled at the University. The payout was abundant—it would support you until your graduation and then some. You had even taken a job. An actual part-time, away from the Barrell and the pubs and the scams. Kaz had pulled a lot of strings, getting fake documents for your application, creating a whole new persona for you to be.

He made you promise to stay away from the Barrell. For seven long months, you did. Jesper would swing by occasionally. He was supposed to be a student here anyway, before the gambling and the sharpshooting. You usually got the news about the Crows' happenings from him. Until Jesper stopped coming, so you had to ask Rotty.

Once a liar, always a liar. You had lied through your life in the Barrell. You lied to get into the University. It didn't seem far-fetched that eventually you would break your promise to come back here.

“What happened, Kaz? Rotty only said something about Van Eck. I thought we were supposed to stay off of Van Eck.”

Kaz clicked his tongue in annoyance. “Again, I should tell Rotty to shut his trap. Leave, ___. Go back. This doesn't concern you.”

“Is there anything I can do to help?”

Kaz recognised your stubborn quality. He had always found it endearing, your relentless approach to life. The two of you were alike in that sense. What he disliked was that you didn't know when to step back.

“No. Why are you here, ___? You can't have forgotten already. Stay away from the Barrell.”

You picked at your cuticles. “I don't know. I just—”

“You don't know?” He asked incredulously. “You know that I'm a wanted man. We all are. Do you not find University to your tastes anymore? Are you trying to be a criminal, again?”

He was being unfair. “What was I supposed to do then? Go and study my textbooks, not knowing if any of you would still be alive tomorrow? Should I wait for the newspapers everyday to see whether or not you had kicked the bucket?”

“Yes! You should. You should've kept your word and stayed away.”

Kaz was at the edge of telling you everything, despite everything logical in his being telling him no. Ghezen knew he was at his limit, especially after Inej had been taken and everything else. What if you were spotted when you came? What if someone found the two of you right now? What if Van Eck took you as well?

You were supposed to get out. He got you out of this Ghezen-forsaken place. You gave him your word that you would stay out. Why were you so eager to return?

“I don't know, Kaz,” you admitted. Your voice was quiet. “Old habits die hard. When I heard that you were in trouble, I wanted to immediately come running. The way we used to have each other' s backs. It was foolish of me, but you can't seriously expect me to turn back and continue on as if everything is alright.”

He pursed his lips. “You chose to leave.”

It was as much your choice as it was his. “You encouraged it. I said that I wanted to go to Ketterdam University in passing, and you got me enrollment forms. You made me a whole new identity."

The inside of the tomb was hollow, your voice echoed through the chamber. Kaz leaned back against the mossy stone wall, closing his eyes and taking a frustrated breath. He slid down to sit, and then patted the empty space beside him.

“How's university? Is everything to your liking?”

You sat down, not close enough for him to be uncomfortable. “It's a routine. Repetitive weeks. It's funny how the only thing everyone is excited for is the weekends.”

It was definitely all the death in the air on the Black Veil Island. He swore he didn't mean to say anything. He had a thousand thoughts going through his brain, but instead he said, “I can feel the lack of your presence.”

You wanted him to say it. “Feel what, Kaz?”

He turned his head to look at you. “You know.”

This was what it always came down to, wasn't it? You were picking up breadcrumbs that he left, treating them as if they were a feast. Then, he would vanish, leaving you yearning for more until eventually—as always—he would do it all over again.

“Say it, Kaz,” you pleaded. “Say you want me to stay or leave forever and never come back.”

It should've been easy. Leave. Leave and don't look back, but his hand twitched and his heart leaped at the word stay.

“Stay,” he rasped out, tasting it in his mouth tentatively. “Stay in this dump. Stay with me.”

“I will stay.”

His eyes widened. He was envious of how easy it was for you to say things that you really meant and held your heart out in the open. For the first time in months, the constant weight in his chest was lifted, the worry lines in his forehead whenever he thought about you were smoothed out.

“For as long as you like,” he whispered.

You nodded vehemently. “For as long as you want me to.”

[ ]

[deadbydangit]

Hi! Welcome back :) Can I please request how Nurse, Plague, and Mastermind would act when they're desperate for attention/affection? I saw this prompt for some of the other killers and thought it was a great idea.

I believe I can. Please enjoy.

When they want your attention

Nurse, Plague, Mastermind

Nurse

Sally isn't a needy person.

Sure, she'll want affection.

But she's not clingy.

She knows when to give space, and she knows when to get close.

She's also very good at communication.

You always know when something's wrong.

So it's very rare when she acts up for attention.

And it's not really acting up.

Usually, she'll just ask you.

But there are times when she's feeling particularly sensitive and doesn't want to say that out loud.

Times when she's remembering her husband, his death, or her time working at the asylum.

Those were all particularly traumatic times for her.

During those times she's more likely to seclude herself than to come find you.

Romantic or platonic, Sally has a very mother-like personality.

She wants to be the one taking care of you, not the other way around.

Rather, she doesn't want to burden you with her problems.

Therefore, so isolate herself.

And she'll get very quiet.

Oftentimes, you'll see her staring out at the sky blankly.

Maybe even crying.

But she tries to hide that.

Although it's not a way of begging for attention, it's her way of saying she needs somebody.

Needs you.

First, make sure she knows you're there.

She's not someone you want to startle.

After, just bring her in for a tight hug.

No words need to be said.

Just you, holding her.

That's all she needs.

Plague

Adria is the complete opposite of clingy.

She actually prefers her space.

That's not to say she dislikes receiving affection.

But she's definitely not as touchy feely as some may be.

While she likes to be around you, she doesn't like you to be close to her.

She really doesn't want to get you sick.

And, occasionally, she'll vomit without warning.

And you really, really, don't want to get hit with that vomit.

When she's having a better health day, she's more likely to indulge you with some hugs.

Maybe a kiss on the head.

It's her way of protecting you.

When she has bad health days it's pretty obvious.

She'll be bedridden or stuck over a trash can of some sorts.

It's not exactly asking for attention.

But, it's certainly a time where she'll need more attention.

She prides herself on being able to take care of you, to look after you, to make sure you're safe.

Not being able to do so?

It makes her feel inadequate and pathetic.

If you ask her if she needs help she'll adamantly say no.

But she's really hoping you will anyways.

She doesn't like to ask you for help.

Again, it just makes her feel like she's failing as a partner and a protector.

Make sure she has access to water at all times, and make sure there's a trash can by her.

She couldn't ask for anything else, even if it's the bare minimum.

If you really want to make her happy though, start reading a book and sit beside her.

If you pick something out that you know she enjoys, she'll practically feel better right away.

Adris is particularly interested in poetry about nature and the ocean.

It may not be the ideal way of asking for attention, but you're all she needs.

Mastermind

Wesker says he's not a needy person.

Keyword being says.

He may act all cool and aloof.

But underneath his cold exterior?

A real softy.

Don't tell him that though.

He's as needy as they come.

But he's so subtle about it that it makes you think you're the needy one.

And he does that entirely on purpose.

He's trying to maintain his whole tough guy demeanor.

One of the most annoying things he does is hide your things.

But he's so quick about it that you merely think you misplace them.

That's all part of his plan.

You'll go crazy looking for it before finally asking him for help.

Why does he do this?

Because he knows you'll give him attention if he finds the item for you.

And he always does. That's because he's hiding it behind his back.

Other times, he'll pretend to be heavily invested in work. So much so that he forgets you around.

Only for you to go up and give him a hug.

He'll pretend to be annoyed, but he secretly overjoyed.

If none of that works, he'll simply just pick you up and take you away.

Where?

Anywhere he can safely be alone with you.

[lilacxquartz]

Those Late Summer Nights | Chapter 9

satoru gojo x f!reader × suguru geto

plot: you moved to tokyo over the summer to take a teaching job. as you get settled in, you find yourself entangled in a toxic dynamic.

chapter summary: The balance is restored again as the four of you reunite, however, some tension still brews.

< Previous Chapter • Next Chapter >

9. Plum Wine

Arriving back to your chosen home admittedly felt surreal. When you woke up a little disoriented in the passenger seat, you could tell that you were from home and back in the city without even needing to take in your surroundings.

Satoru parked in a vacant spot just outside Shoko’s apartment and gave you instructions to take your things into the building, reassuring you that he just needed to set up parking with the machine nearby.

Albeit groggily, you made your way up through the complex and carried yourself back inside to Shoko’s unit, dragging your things inside. Both the wine and your bag weren’t particularly heavy but you still felt sluggish from the journey.

The last couple of days were nothing more than a distant fever dream already in your mind as you longed to do nothing more than to relax, so being back to your new home felt incredibly freeing.

And upon entering, seeing Shoko reminded you of the wine so in the midst of your half asleep state, you drew the bottle towards her as she quickly got up to investigate your offering.

“Ah, [name],” she sang as she took the bottle out of your hands, seemingly genuinely pleased, “you’re back and you remembered.”

“Yeah, um, it’s a dessert wine I think,” you yawned as you warned her, letting go of the bottle, “so take it slowly.”

Satoru finally caught up to everyone and gently brushed by you as he entered the area, his ears perking up at the mention of something to do with dessert, “Wait, did you say it’s sweet?”

“Absolutely not, stay back,” Shoko frowned as she hugged the bottle to her chest and attempted to retreat, finding him suddenly a little too interested for her liking.

In the meantime, your eyes glanced around the apartment, feeling relieved to finally be back. You noticed that Suguru was also present within the apartment; leaning himself back against the sofa with his arms around the frame appearing to be relaxed and back to his usual self. Hopefully whatever was going on in his mind had come to pass but you couldn’t be too sure.

Shoko joined him on the other side of the sofa, hoping that you would take the spot next to her so that she could keep Satoru’s hands far away from the wine but he ended up sitting next to her anyway, leaving you nestled between him and Suguru instead.

This prompted her to draw out an annoyed sigh as she reluctantly got up to get some glasses. One big one for herself and three noticeably smaller ones for everyone else, pouring everyone just enough worthy of a sampling amount—just enough to taste.

The wine tasted tart against your lips with a smooth consistency, almost a little like syrup, but you still found it to be quite nice even if it had some sour notes. Satoru seemed to be enjoying his portion more than anyone else even though Shoko seemed to be almost done with her portion already. Suguru meanwhile took just one whiff of the stuff before pouring his sample into your glass instead.

As you drank however, your stomach growled noticeably loud, finding that you were pretty hungry from skipping breakfast due to Satoru’s rushed exit from your town. Even before then, you couldn’t quite eat properly due to your relentless nerves causing both your body and mind to stir.

Getting up with the glass in hand, you drifted towards the open kitchenette instead. Shoko’s apartment was designed in a very open way leaving the kitchen only separated by a counter bar, leaving you freely able to talk to whoever remained in the living room. Not that you’d take too long, you mostly just wanted something simple to sate your hunger then you’d be right back.

While your culinary knowledge wasn’t excellent, you were always able to whip up a simple bowl of tamago kake gohan to soothe your hunger. It was a simple enough concept and generated very little of a mess; you’d crack an egg over some hot rice and let it cook in the heat.

Shoko followed you over as she set out a small bowl for herself while you washed the rice, her fingertips tracing along your arm as she grabbed another drink from the fridge before sitting back down. She didn’t have to say much as you simply just nodded to acknowledge her request, finding it to be no problem at all.

Taking a moment to process just how loud your stomach was just now, Suguru leaned forward slightly as he spoke up with some concern, “They didn’t feed you in town or what?”

Just as you were about to respond however, Satoru did so on your behalf, cutting you off completely.

“They did, just not a lot. Her parents both cooked and ate small portions,” he said in your place instead.

“Still, were there no convenience stores so you could at least go and pick up something quick?” Shoko asked, tilting her head as she pressed the glass against her lips.

“We passed by maybe one supermarket on a walk before but it was closed quite early, maybe 9 in the evening,” Satoru continued to speak, reciting his time spent there, “maybe it would have had cheap ramen or something similar, but…”

“Wouldn’t have happened either way,” you replied at last, finally contributing to the conversation, “if my parents were upstairs, then there’s a rule to not use the kitchen.”

“That’s odd,” Shoko furrowed her brows, “a bit too strict, no?”

“I-I mean yeah, but I’m back now, so it’s not an issue anymore,” you replied as you awkwardly tried to laugh off the building discomfort, knowing that if you were the one who had to initiate it then it was probably a bad sign.

As the silence continued, Suguru picked himself up after a while and walked up to you while you were fluffing the rice out of the cooker. He then took a close step right behind you, leaning his hips into your back as he reached for the overhead cabinet right above you.

As you gulped away the sudden discomfort from what you were feeling, Satoru watched this whole thing unfold with intense curiosity while Shoko invested her focus on what she was seeing. She didn’t pay it too much mind though as she didn’t care to police what went on behind closed doors but to Satoru it felt different.

It didn’t quite seem to him like something was going on, but it didn’t seem like it was nothing either.

“Here you go,” Suguru said, placing a couple of glass seasoning bottles over you onto the counter, “I’m not letting you eat plain rice, so...”

You tensely nodded as you did as he suggested, packing the now seasoned rice off into two individual bowls, cracking open an egg to mix the contents together while the smell continued to tempt your empty stomach.

Shoko reached for her bowl as you sat back down along with Suguru, the two of you scarfing down your food while Suguru continued to spread his leg out closer towards yours as Satoru couldn’t help but notice that something was off in the air.

Soon enough the tension dispersed again as Shoko led the course of the conversation as Satoru followed; another drunken evening hatched from the result of talkative company. The four of you passively weaved through all sorts of topics until somehow the subject of intimacy popped up, leaving you starkly quiet.

You simply just listened along as you sank into the sofa, quietly pouring yourself more and more to drink as you felt left out yet again, finding that while you were all adults and that it wasn’t an issue—that you rather felt left behind once again, knowing that everyone was different but it just felt different when it was you.

Was this something friends disclosed with each other so casually? Was this normal? Or was it just them?

Shoko, noticing your lack of participation, tried to ease you in with an easy prompt, trying to involve you so that she could stop listening to a second more of Satoru’s past encounters.

“So, [name], I take it that you haven’t really done much?” she asked you, her voice curious and her tone kind. However when you’re insecure, even kindness feels like mockery.

“Well, n-not really…” you admitted, trying to stare off into the glass.

Shoko’s voice softened, “Not even a little kiss?”

“I mean… technically not really,” you considered, “unless you count—oh, ah-“

Your heart dropped as you realised exactly what you were about to reveal as you froze dead in your tracks. The kiss didn’t really count in your mind as it was shared under fabricated circumstances but it was still a kiss either way.

“—Oh yeah,” Satoru piped up as he poured himself a final glass.

Shoko remained silent for a moment as she connected the dots at a record speed; her eyes widening as a wide smile formed bordering equal parts disgust as well as fascination formed on her face. Suddenly, this was her business to pry.

“No! No, [name]! Really?” she teased, trying to hold back violent laughter that she couldn’t contain for a second longer, “why did you do that to yourself?”

While you scrambled for a response, Suguru listened in complete silence as he took in the information in complete and utter sobriety, sinking his back further off into the sofa, spreading his legs out even further—forcing himself to relax, leaving you with absolutely zero space to put your own legs. As a result, you were forced to swing them over his own which in the peak of the intoxicated moment.

Just as he wanted for you to do.

“Ah, but [name],” Shoko continued to tease, “tell me why—why did you put yourself through such a thing?”

“H-he said it w-was to sell the whole fake boyfriend thing b-better,” you stuttered as you struggled to put your words together, leaving behind a complete mess of your explanations.

“Satoru, you ass!” Shoko scolded him as she jokingly hit him with a sofa pillow, laughing at the whole situation, “Listen, I’m so sorry that he was your first kiss, [name].”

“Hey, I was just helping her out, right?” Satoru laughed as he dramatically tried to shield himself from her wrath.

As this happened, you nervously laughed along as well, quickly finding that in being able to do so that you were actually doing wonders for your own crucial self development. Slowly but surely, the fear of being perceived by others would begin to disappear and then you could finally-

“—So, this probably means you’re still a virgin, right?” Suguru interrupted, causing the laughter to quickly fall flat.

The silence lasted especially long for you as you struggled to even answer the question. Your continued lack of response confirmed to the men that it was a yes, even though Satoru already had his suspicions given how you received his kiss back in the town.

Upon noticing your immediate discomfort, Shoko then stood up and clapped her hands, “Okay anyway, it’s getting pretty late and I’m sure we��re all very tired here, so we’re going to sleep. Got it?”

Before Satoru could say anything, she dragged him away off to the front door and then returned to do the same for Suguru who was quickly reunited with his friend.

“Yeah, I mean… I’ll be going back now anyway,” Satoru nodded as he finally snapped back to his senses, “it was a long drive and I have to be up early tomorrow.”

“Yup, me too,” Suguru mumbled under his own breath, retreating off into the stairwell following Satoru.

Shoko sat by your side and leaned you into a comforting side hug as she noticed just how much tension you still seemed to carry, understanding that it might have been a bit too much for you.

Rubbing your arms, she leaned her head against your shoulder, “Don’t let those idiots get to you. If they bring it up ever again, just tell me and I’ll shut ‘em up for you.”

You nodded as you continued to try and thaw yourself from being frozen into place, eventually relaxing as she slowly peeled herself off of you.

After a while, you then went back to your bedroom to hopefully forget about this whole thing.

~~~

The next day seemed to arrive suspiciously quickly as you awoke to a pounding knock on your bedroom door. You knew that it was very unlikely to have been Shoko as she wouldn’t rattle your door the same way, so it must have been someone else.

You groaned as you set up feeling the remaining hangover hit. You were technically fine but the sweet wine from the night before settled into a strange feeling that anchored within your gut.

You didn’t really remember all that much of what you talked about as the details were fuzzy likely due to both the exhaustion from the trip as well as the booze hitting you.

You just hoped that it was nothing too embarrassing.

Sitting yourself up and forcing yourself to your feet, you opened up the door to see Suguru waiting right outside. For a moment he didn’t say anything as he locked his eyes on you and took in exactly what you were wearing before clearing his throat and reaching into his pocket.

He shoved a piece of paper into your hands as you reacted slowly to keep up, “Your first payslip.”

You yawned as you unfolded the paper, attempting to focus your eyes to read the it, finding that it was indeed from the college.

“Oh, they didn’t mail it here?” you asked.

“Jujutsu Tech is criminally slow with keeping their records properly updated,” Suguru said as he leaned into the doorway, not quite entering just yet, “it’ll take a while before they even notice you’ve updated your address, so you’ll have to keep collecting it from the dorms until they finally get around to fixing it.”

“Oh, that’s annoying,” you yawned in response as you set the paper on the dresser nearby.

“Yeah…” he nodded, pausing to watch you yawn.

Suguru watched intently as you did so, finding something strangely endearing about your half asleep state. There was something about your messy unbrushed hair and sleepy eyes in combination with the slightly stained oversized t-shirt you wore. He liked seeing you looking comfortable, finding that it turned him on, even.

It left him wondering just how much you showed off to Satoru, if you even did so at all. To think that you spent a whole weekend away with the guy left him with feelings that he didn’t like. He simply didn’t want Satoru to have you—feeling a little territorial as he finally began to understand his own feelings.

Not that he was making much of an effort to communicate them at all.

(But that would soon change.)

“So, do you have any plans for today?” he asked you, attempting to keep a warm tone.

“Sleeping more?” you yawned.

Suguru hummed as he stared at your weary state, “How about a movie instead? There’s something I want to see and Satoru is busy, so…”

“I mean, I guess I could…?” you replied thinking that because it wasn’t a particularly strenuous task that it should be completely fine.

“The airing is this afternoon, maybe we could make it?” he asked you, using the most polite tone that he could possibly muster, wanting to get you used to spending time with him.

“Yeah,” you replied as you talked yourself into it, “y-yeah, um, let me just shower.”

He nodded as he accepted your response, watching you slip away into the shower as you locked the door, feeling a little disappointed as he watched you carry off a change of clothes with you.

Suguru then stiffened a little as he imagined you fully naked with just a mere door separating the two of you, damp and reddened skin, softened from steam. The water that would cling against your body, the droplets that would refuse to roll away… just everything about it slowly drove him insane.

His imagination ran wild as he then closed the door to your bedroom, knowing that he shouldn’t be snooping around when Shoko was so close by, but his curiosity kept getting the better of him.

His eyes scanned around the room, finding himself judging your room for looking a little too messy for his liking but not half bad. Things like clothes on the floor were apparent but he also noticed that you didn’t really have a wardrobe, so a chair had to tank the responsibility.

Guiltily, his eyes drifted off towards a pair of discarded underwear off to the side of the bed and he couldn’t help but wonder exactly how you smelled. He stared at the pair for a long time before opening up the door to confirm that the water was still running in the bathroom, before taking a risk and grabbing the pair.

He fumbled with the fabric to find the crotch section of the pair, pressing it up against his nose to collect a deep inhale, closing his eyes to even just savour the smell, adjusting the problem in his sweatpants as he did so. He then pocketed the pair, thinking you wouldn’t even notice that anything was missing.

And as soon as he heard the bathroom door open up, he quickly sat himself down on the bed and pretended to be doing something on his phone instead.

You didn’t suspect a single thing as you walked inside fully dressed, ready to blowdry your hair. As far as you understood, he was on good behaviour and that’s when you started to let your guard down.

Knowing that it was probably unwise to do so.

He watched as you got ready in front of him, stealing glimpses of you when you didn’t notice. You were fully clothed at this point but even just the little things like brushing your hair and putting on moisturiser was enough for him to enjoy the sight of.

“So, what are we watching?” you asked as you both walked out of the bedroom door.

“Some type of horror film, hope you don’t mind?”

“Uh, sure, why not?” you nervously replied.

Shoko emerged from her room looking a little exhausted but wearing a look of determination on her face, pulling you both off to the side as she searched her mind for what to say.

“I have a friend coming over at four-ish,” she finally spoke as she turned to face you, her voice sounding a little raw, “I think you’re both quite similar and I’d like for you to meet—think you’ll be around?”

You were about to say something but then Suguru replied on your own behalf.

“The movie won’t run for six hours,” he assured Shoko, “I’ll have her back to you by then.”

“Oh, well in that case, have fun,” Shoko nodded with a faint smile as she yawned, going back to her bedroom to catch a few extra hours of sleep.

You half envied her, still feeling tired yourself.

~~~

The cinema itself was quite full despite it being a random weekday, but you supposed that’s just what summer break entailed around these parts. Back home, summer break was a hit or miss and was entirely dependent on whether or not your parents had money if you were a teen.

Most people your age back then would loiter around the town and the ones who could afford it, would be long gone on the train off to the nearby city instead.

Those even better off would be overseas with their families.

It left you feeling a little envious bad you considered it all, wondering how it must have been to spend your most critical years in such a vibrant city.

Would you have been a different person if you had that freedom?

Or would you have just made a different excuse?

Suguru somehow had managed to choose a film that wasn’t so populated, with maybe a handful of other people inside. You supposed that was the fault of the age restrictions, as this particular movie was rated quite mature.

Watching the film also left you feeling a little afraid surprisingly as you thought it to be quite scary, at least for your tastes. Even if you were used to the everyday grotesque side of life with cursed spirits shadowing your vision, it was still a little unsettling to witness what non-sorcerers were capable of coming up with.

During a particular scene, maybe halfway through the movie, you noticed that his hand crept up your thigh again as it slowly moved up your skirt and squeezed against your leg. In response, you shifted away a little and found that he didn’t mind for a change, moving his hand away and seeming completely unphased.

Come the end of the movie, he never once mentioned that particular moment and instead just quietly took you back to your apartment without saying that much at all other than what your option was for the movie and whether you had enjoyed it or not.

Maybe if you continued to quietly ignore his expressed interest, then he would eventually back away for good.

Maybe that’s all it took.

(But it wouldn’t do a single thing.)

(It just made him want you even more.)

(And tonight he’s going to show you exactly how he feels.)