#because it just serves as a reminder to what she lost

[n0rmal-cat]

Farmer yan x reader- naming and claiming

[ok it gets kinda NSFW near the end]

It had been a long day, farmer come stumbling up the stairs to the bedrooms.

His shirt dirty and stained from work in the field, blisters and cuts mark his hands.

Once he got into the bedroom he started to undress. He took a deep breath flopped backwards onto the bed.

It had been one of the worst days he ever had, he consistently kept getting splinters from using his tool even with his gloves. His animals seeming wanted him to suffer as they kept pushing him in the mud.

"Rough day?” Reader sat on the bed next to him kitten in their lap.

Reader runs their hand through his hair

“I can’t tell if that’s sweat or your just turning into goo” they said jokingly

Farmer groaned and rolled over to look up at reader. “Ugh don’t remind me doll, I can already feel the mud drying” His eyes tired.

Farmer sat up quickly and narrowed his eyes at them “And why don’t you have mud all over you? Come to think of it, I didn't see you outside all day” he complained.

“Well…someone needed to look after them” they gestured to the kitten in their lap

“Why couldn’t I be the one to take care of them…” he muttered

“Because unlike you I’ve dealt with cats before” they raised her up to farmers face “but she’s glad that her dad is finally home” they smile.

The word ‘dad’ did not go unnoticed to him.

He grumbles a bit, before he can complain any more the kitten rubs its face against his.

Farmer sighs a little but his eyes also softened, it was true he knew a lot about animals, but mainly farm variety…

He gently held the kitten in his hands. “Have you named her yet?”

“I’ve come up with a few, but I didn’t want to name her without you being here” they explained

“Like what?” He asks looking back at them while he gently scratches the kitten's chin.

“Well there’s ’October’ for one, I’ve also come up with peekaboo on the count of her one eye, or hey farmer jr works to”

He chuckled “well aren’t you ridiculous one”

“October” he said thoughtfully “I like that one…”

He then picked up the kitten again and held her up in front of them “What do you think, little one? You like that name?”

It licked his with her rough tongue, “haha I knew that one would be your favourite, mostly because you know what October was and not ‘peekaboo’…” they trailed off

“I like the months of the year, October is a good harvest” he glared “if I could I would change your name, reader doesn’t make sense? Your name should be September”

He played with the cat in his lap, dangling his finger as she swatted them.

“Oh so I’m the weird one?” They as almost sounded offended “You eat people for every meal and I’m the weird one really?”

He gently set the kitten on the bed before wrapping his hands around readers' hips pulling them closer to him. “And if my memory serves me correctly, you like that I do” His face darkened as more eyes opened across his face

“I could rip and tear through that flesh of yours, would you like that dear” he guided their face in his direction.

Reader face immediately became hot as a stove top “shut up asshole!”

He chuckled, pulling them even closer so that they were almost sitting on his lap.

“Such a filthy mouth you have darling, and yet you’re so heated right now. I wonder what you’re thinking about hm?” He squinted his eyes playfully.

“A filthy mouth and a naughty mind no doubt, and in front of our daughter” he gasped “how vile”

Reader was speechless, “oh dear, looks like our poor little reader has lost their voice” he said sarcastically “Oh no~ that won’t do at all”

He leaned his face closer to theirs, their breath hitting each other’s lips. “I wonder if I can get those pretty sounds out of you another way~” he held list in his eyes

Reader could do nothing but stutter out a few words “w-what’s gotten into you today?!”

He smirked before biting their bottom lip. “Well let’s see, I don’t think I’ve gotten my daily dose of my little pest have I? Not my fault you decide to stay indoors all day”

He pressed his face into their neck, leaving light kisses then licking across it. “Plus I’ve had such an awful day today, won’t you help me make it better?”

He had never been so forward with them before, they kinda…liked this? “F-fine whatever…”

“Oh good.” He grabbed them and threw them down onto the bed he leaned over them, keeping them pinned in between their arms.

“I’m glad you’re so compliant today, you’re usually so mouthy sometimes, always running that pretty mouth of yours. “ he said before kissing their head gently.

“But before anything…” reader waited in anticipation “I need to get October out of the room and into her playpen, can’t let her see us can we?” He got off of them with a laugh.

Reader laid on the bed fist clenched, body stiff, face so hot you could see steam as they waited for farmer to come back into the room.

They knew it was probably going to be a long…eventful night.

[theotherrookie]

"Variety is good!" And Erica appreciated that she was being humored. Most people started questioning her logic and that was very much not the point.

"I have noticed that mistakes are sometimes necessary in order to learn." Willow replied, "I almost lost my brothers once and that served as a reminder that family can't simply be cast aside until your earliest convenience, or managed like another company asset."

It used to be easier to do so when it was still just the five of them. But even with the facility and the children to look after, they still tried to make time to be together even for just a meal.

The shadows were dispelled once the crane was gone, leaving Erica free to have a closer look at the scattered belongings in case there was something unsafe to handle. It turned out her hunch was right

"...Oh no." She raised her hands, motioning to keep a safe distance. "Don't touch these tools! There's Ratchet's smell on them."

It was only fair everybody would know. Erica then shoved some notes aside and snatched a car key off the table. Now they could steal Five's car in a funnier way than feeding it to the void.

Willow quietly retrieved a box to store the books they were taking. They were going to the same place as the car, but half of the entertainment for Rook was digging into the pile for anything of interest. Presentation did indeed matter.

Lucien gladly drew his baseball bat and joined Russell. He aimed for a row of vials still waiting to be filled, then took a moment to savor the feeling.

"I know he will buy another one, but this feels great."

He almost felt like he could breath a little better.

Rook made to climb off Bill's back once they reached the roof, moving carefully so her spikes would not ruin his outfit. She took a moment to check their surroundings, before looking back at him.

"It's not much. I just..." She let out a tired sigh, "I've always been worried of losing control and hurting those around me and it's been hard to even look at Five. He's all those things and he likes it. He made it too real."

Rook trailed off as the memories of her time under Five's influence threatened to resurface.

"...But at the same time, it made me feel better." she then added, "Because I know what went wrong with him and know what to watch out for and I... just needed to say it out loud. I might still not be nice to myself in the future, but I feel a bit better for now."

She didn't dare adding that she felt a bit bad for Five as well, not after everything he had done. For now, a promise that she would try not resenting herself for being what she was as much would suffice.

Veronica was glad to see Frosty wasn't trying to fight back as they tended to him. He didn't do as much as flinch when he was sprayed and raise a hand to shield his face. That alone was a struggle in his current state. The best he could hope for was to pass out and not have to endure for as long as he could whatever they were really planning for him.

"Well, a cup of my special tea is in order, but we should wait a few more hours for that. His abilities have been tampered with enough, we would risk causing permanent damage." Veronica replied, "The best we can do right now is tending to his physical injuries."

Toxins aside, Frosty was going to feel very sore from the beating he took before going berserk.

"For now, though, sleep is the best medicine for him. Would you mind tending to that, Antonio? Erika told me that's a specialty of yours."

"Yes! And maybe a telemarketer too!"

Willow decided not to question how Erica planned to recognize such a person in the wild. It was always wise not to get in the way of her vengeful plots.

"Well, I must treasure the experiences of my older siblings." Willow replied, before adding, "Or that of a twin."

It was nice to hear Simon speak fondly of Truman. The brothers trying to get along was especially heartwarming, considering the horrid adults they had to live with while growing up. Willow hoped the future would keep looking up for all of them.

Her train of thought was disturbed by Lucien's laugh when he was hugged again. She really couldn't recall him ever being that happy. But with someone like Russell as a partner, it wasn't surprising.

"You are forgiven." Lucien replied softly, "Let's go commit some property damage."

"We could do that! I missed out on a lot of movies, so it shouldn't be hard to pick one." Erica smiled as the crane started sinking into the abyss, "Well, I guess we'll just have to find the keys. I really hope it wasn't in his pockets though."

"It wouldn't be such a loss. Red muscle cars are statically a sign of the early onset of midlife crisis." Willow noted, following after Erica.

"Does it mean we should repaint it before we let Antonio drive it?"

"We should do so regardless." Willow replied, "Then I will fabricate the necessary documents."

While this hideout wasn't as organized as the previous one, there was still enough equipment lying around to confirm that Five and his thugs had been camping out there for a while. Other than his car, his brewing kit had been left behind, along with a modest collection of books. Some tomes were rather old, while others were most recent editions.

Either way, none of it really caught Erica's attention, who was more fond of shiny things. Lucien, on the other hand, knew where to start from with his task.

"I just know where we should start from." he said, while pointing at the kit. That accursed brewery of horrors had to go.

Rook made sure to hold on tight as well as they ascended. Without the adrenaline and the heat of the fight keeping her distracted, she was suddenly awfully aware of how high up they were.

The task at hand was simple enough, though. So she felt like that was a good time for a chat. "Hey, Bill. There's something I'd like to talk about..."

Frosty stopped his pitiful escape when he heard voices around him. He let out an annoyed grunt when he was grabbed, but otherwise didn't have enough fight left in him to make himself a problem. Not when he couldn't even stand upright without the room spinning around him.

Veronica's eyes turned red and she immediately took note of the ice mage's paleness, along with his rather absent look. Frosty was awake, but he was likely experiencing a major case of brain fog. They'd have to be gentle with him. Even the slightest stress could aggravate his conditions.

"Well, he mainly needs to rest, but I'd rather keep an eye on him for a few hours. There is no telling how his body will recoil from Five's drugs and the draining." the ghost lady said, before spraying Frosty with a potion that vaguely smelled like rosemary and thyme, "This is just to make him safe to handle, in case the snake's poison has some delayed effects we don't know about."

Frosty only briefly raised his head for a moment, mumbling a complain before he finally found his words. "...not going home. They don't want me."

[isaqlare]

L . A

— TASHI DUNCAN

Tashi had been many things in her life, cold, ruthless, untouchable, but none of that was always true. Once, she was a little girl who dreamed with wide, sparkling eyes and a heart full of hope. Before the world hardened her, before tennis hardened her.

she knew tennis would have a big impact on her life and that’s what she wanted, what she dreamed of and she got what she wanted. Just..not the right impact. She didn’t expect to always be staring at her husband, envious of him on the court.

A sudden injury. her knee, changed everything. The dreams she held so dearly slipped just out of reach. No longer could she run freely, no longer could she move with the grace and speed she had once possessed. The courts, once her sanctuary, became a reminder of what she lost.

It wasn’t just the physical pain. it was the quiet heartbreak of watching her dreams shatter, of feeling her identity unravel. She saw art move with effortless skill, embodying everything she once hoped to be. His ability to play, to excel, to chase the dreams she could no longer touch, stirred a complicated storm inside her.

She loved art in her own ways, but beneath that love lay envy, a quiet ache she could barely admit to herself. She admired him, yes, but she also longed for what he had, what she was denied.

She loved Art, not as a husband, but as a tether to the life she still wanted to hold on to. Her love was quiet, too quiet. layered with complexity, shaped by years of hope, loss, and acceptance.

so one thing she didn’t understand was why he felt exhausted or why he felt the need to retire, all she could think about when he mentioned he was tired, exhausted was that he was pathetic.

How could he? After all these years of fighting, of sacrifices, of endless hours on the court. how could he just… step away?

Tashi’s heart clenched with a sharp mix of anger and sorrow. It wasn’t just about the game. It was about them. Their shared world. Their dreams intertwined in every serve and volley, every late night of practice and early morning of strategy.

If he retired, what was left for them?

The envy that had quietly lived beneath her love for Art flared up suddenly, raw and painful. She envied his freedom to choose. She envied his ability to still run on the court, to feel the thrill she could no longer touch because of her injury. And now, even that thrill the very thing that had kept their bond alive was slipping through their fingers.

her life was so much more difficult and so much more different than she expected but it was her life now. What could she do?

atleast she was graced by her beautiful daughter.

maybe she’d be an amazing player when she grows. maybe she’d be the next Tashi Duncan, Who she was before everything went down.

maybe, just maybe.

uhh wanted to be apart of the tashi writing + because this was in my drafts nd I don’t have motivation.

[beesgav]

This is a very disorganized little ramble/analysis but it's really interesting to me how the '79 series introduces Natalie and Mayumi, two one-off characters who are ostensibly very similar (prior love interests for the character they're associated with who initially seem to want to rekindle some kind of connection, but events throughout the story push that connection to an irreversible turning point), but have practically opposite perspectives on the same issue- their respective character's status as a cyborg.

Specifically, Natalie (and the rest of the gang) reject Jet after he refuses to help Georgie, but he chooses not to reveal that it's because as a cyborg he physically can't. He's willing to let these relationships that mean a lot to him be destroyed because he'd rather that than get these people involved.

Mayumi, on the other hand, seeks out Joe's help because he's a cyborg, something that Joe himself doesn't realize she has known for a while, and it's her revealing that knowledge that pushes him to his breaking point. He thought she was relying on him because she trusted Joe, when in actuality she was relying on his strength.

Natalie was counting on Jet to behave like a human would, which he can't. Mayumi values Joe because she sees him as a machine, which he doesn't want. In both episodes there's a clash of irreconcilable differences which ultimately drive them apart from these people and remind them of how non-human they are despite their personal desires; Jet was prevented from helping his friend because he's a cyborg, and Joe was only sought after for help because he's a cyborg. Both of their human desires are overshadowed by their intrinsic physical state as non-humans. The conflict is caused in part by them acting human/as if nothing had changed- if they had both been forward with the facts of what they are, these specific conflicts would not have happened. Obviously, other things would have undoubtedly stemmed from that, but that's less important than the fact that the reason they didn't say anything was because because they didn't want to acknowledge how much things had changed.

In both cases, both cyborgs were hoping that reconnecting with this aspect of their lives outside of Being A Cyborg would work- either in Jet returning to his old gang out of anger at the team, or Joe trusting and wishing to help this person who he really cares about. Both ultimately are snapped back from this illusion of normalcy by the reality of what they are, and how they can never really go back and have normal "human" lives.

The tone of the endings differ, but fundamentally they reinforce the same core lesson - the only people they- and the rest of the team- can be fully open to are each other. It helps set the stage before the full reveal of Black Ghost's return as Neo Black Ghost, but man is it bleak. Which I suppose is only in-character for this franchise.

[withahappyrefrain]

Somebody to Love

Summary: Attending a cookout hosted by Penny seemed like the perfect way to kickstart summer. Meeting and falling in love there wasn't on yours or Bradley's bingo list.

Warnings: Language, Bradley being a loverboy, female reader

For @roosterforme's Rocktober event! I'm so sorry it took so long and hope you enjoy it!

The first time you saw Bradley was at the Hard Deck.  

He completely missed you, as much as it pains him to admit. 

In his defense, his eyes were on the ivory keys of the piano, only looking up briefly to revel in the cheers from guests of the Hard Deck as he played. 

You, in his defense, were just trying to get in and out. Considering it was barely seven, you thought you were coming in before things got rowdy.

You were mistaken. 

The show he was putting on was nice to watch while you waited for Penny to be free. But that's all it was, a show. And after a while, you couldn't help but scoff. Was being in the Navy not enough attention? 

The smile on Penny's face when her eyes met yours was worth the wait. You pulled out the coveted book from your bag, raising it in the air as if it were the golden ticket. 

"Amelia is going to be so excited," Penny beamed as she took the book from you, "She's been talking about it for weeks!"

The mention of your former student brought a smile to your face. 

Amelia was a student during your first year of teaching. You felt a kinship to the young girl, whose parents were going through a divorce at the time. You also saw that her love of reading was untapped, blocked by years of past teachers failing to help her learn how to read. 

So you worked with her the whole year, and the summer after that, helping the girl catch up. One summer, Penny offered a bartender job when she heard you were looking for extra money. Over time, the Benjamin women had become more like family than your own. 

It's why you stayed in touch. Why you took on extra shifts occasionally during the school year, when Penny truly needed help at the last minute. Why you made the trip out to the Hard Deck simply to give a book. 

"Stay for a drink? It's on the house," Penny held up an empty glass, hoping the way it gleamed in the light could entice you into staying. 

But you looked around, taking in how many people were there, how loud it was. How the man wearing aviators and a Hawaiian shirt was feeding the crowd with the piano rendition of a song that sounded familiar. 

And simply shook your head. 

"Should get going, it is a school night." The truth was, you'd rather be at home, in your bed reading than staying out late with a bunch of pilots. 

Before you could say goodbye, Penny placed a hand on yours.

"Before you go Birdie, I wanted to let you know that we're celebrating Amelia's middle school graduation two weeks from Saturday. We'd love to have you there." 

You smiled, sincerely flattered that they would want you present for such an event, "I'd love to. Will your man of the hour be there?" 

A giggle escaped from you when you saw Penny's cheeks begin to turn pink. 

Bradley swears if he had looked over at that moment, he wouldn't have let you leave the Hard Deck that night. 

—------------------------

Bradley Bradshaw was not anti-romance, despite what his friends claimed, despite the numerous times he's turned down someone wanting to set him up. 

The idea of romance did appeal to him. The idea of spending the rest of his life with one person, who loved him and wanted to grow a family with him, was very appealing in theory. 

He wasn't against it at all. Just cautious. 

Cautious as he witnessed first hand how dangerous his job was, how it tore families apart. Hesitant because he grew up with the aftermath- the support groups, the sympathetic looks, the empty dining chair that served as a loud, always present reminder of what he and his mother had lost. 

He had been on dates, had been in relationships. They never went anywhere and Bradley was fine with that. The possibility that he may not come back from his deployments lingered in his mind, as did the image of someone receiving a flag and maybe his dog tags. 

Why put someone through that? 

“It's hard, but I wouldn't change a thing about it. You'll understand when it happens to you.” 

His mother’s words rang in his ears. He knew she meant well. Bradley knew those words were true for her. 

But he couldn't see them being true for himself. 

So he came to Amelia’s graduation party with a vegetable tray and no date, despite Penny’s insistence that he could bring someone. 

It's why Bradley walked straight past the kitchen, ignoring the unfamiliar voices. It's why he kept to the people he knew, rather than mingle with strangers. 

And that was fine, enjoyable even. Things were going the way they always went, the way Bradley wanted it. 

Consistent. 

Bradley Bradshaw lived for consistency. Each morning, he'd get up and go to work. Work hard until his bones ache. Spend time with friends and the makeshift family he had found. Go to bed alone. Rinse and repeat. 

Consistent. 

Everything was just fine, until Bradley felt a hand grip his shoulder. When he turned around, he found Jake and his fiancé, Danica (or Venus, as everyone called her), looking at him. 

“Your future wife is in the kitchen. Get in there.” 

—-------------------------------

Bob saw her first. 

It was hard to miss the sound of classic rock blaring from her red Subaru. 

The sounds of eighties rock was a nice change from the Jerry Lewis and Sinatra music Bradley insisted on playing. 

Even nicer was her voice. Sweet, smooth, light. 

She was clearly in her own world, unaware she had an audience. 

Nor would she. Bob knew better than anyone the pains of people walking in on him. So he quietly got out of his car, leaving her to finish the song by herself. 

Reuben was the first one to speak to her. 

Or rather, his daughter was. 

Ava, always determined to explore, ran into the kitchen as soon as he set her on the ground. 

It was easy to find her. Despite being only two, Ava had quite the voice on her. 

Given her shouts about cookies, Reuben wasn’t surprised when he found his daughter in the kitchen, pointing excitedly to a plate of sugar cookies. 

He was a little surprised to see that the person kneeling down to talk to her wasn’t Penny, but rather a woman he had never seen before. 

“Is it okay if I give her a cookie?” She asked, motioning to the sugar cookie she was holding in her hand. 

“As long as you're able to cut her off after two,” Reuben chuckled, “I'm warning you now, she can be hard to convince.” 

You smiled, the corners of your eyes crinkling, the bridge of your nose scrunching up as you looked at Ava, “It'll be tough, but I think I can manage.” 

Javy was the first one to try to include her in the picnic festivities. 

“Hey, don't tell them this is what we’re calling them, but we’re playing beer pong against the old timers in the basement. You in?” He asked. 

“Oh I'm good, but don't worry, your secret is safe with me,” She said with a gentle smile and a wink. 

It was the fact that she sounded assured, content to stay in the kitchen and continue making small talk with some of the wives, away from the hubbub of the picnic, that made him not push. 

Natasha was the first one to have an actual conversation with her. 

In a sea full of testosterone, it was  hard not to notice another woman. Especially one who looked around her age. 

“So how do you know Penny?” You looked rather surprised by Nat’s question, surprised that another person had noticed you in the kitchen and decided to converse.

“Oh, I'm, well, I was Amelia’s third grade teacher. I tutored her for a couple of summers and have helped Penny bartend when she needs extra help,” you explained. 

Natasha recalls Penny mentioning you a few times, now able to put a face to the name. 

“So you're the teacher! Penny said we might see you at the Hard Deck this summer,” Nat grinned, hoping it would help her feel more at ease. 

“I am! I'm still figuring out how exactly I want to spend my summer. First time I won't be doing summer school or tutoring,” you explained, continuing to wash the dishes that had begun to pile up on the counter. 

“Any travel plans? Or family you plan to visit?” Nat asked. 

You shook your head, eyes appearing dismal for a brief moment, “I don't have much family to visit. But I have been meaning to explore the area more, so I might do that.” 

Natasha knew not to press. You didn't owe her any further explanation. 

But out of all people, Jake Seresin was the one to make the connection. 

“I’m sorry, but what did Penny just call you?” He asked, jamming a finger up his ear to clean it out, convinced he heard it wrong. 

“Oh, Birdie!” you explained, flustered, “It’s um….it’s always been a nickname that friends and family have called me, ever since I was a kid. When I told Penny, she started calling me that too.”

Jake recalls the other details he's learned; a love of classic rock, vintage clothes and children, how your face lit up when someone spoke to you, as though you had  been waiting an awfully long time to be noticed, to be acknowledged. 

Your nickname. 

It hits Jake like a fucking freight train. 

“Excuse me, I have to go uh, um, find my wife,” he said abruptly, practically running out of the kitchen. 

Jake quickly found his Venus, tapping her on the shoulder as he ignored the death glare Phoenix was giving him for interrupting. 

“What is-” 

“Birdie. Her nickname is Birdie.” 

Danica’s amber-glazed eyes widened as she shot Natasha a knowing look. 

“Where is she?” 

Which is how Bradley Bradshaw found himself being dragged away from the grill and into Penny's house. 

After all, Bradley didn't have too much common sense. He would insist he was alright, despite losing his beat as he watched his close friends fall in love and get married. 

So they were just helping, helping him find somebody to love. 

“Y'all are being ridiculous, just because she likes the same music-” 

“It's more than that. You just need to see for yourself,” Jake explained, pushing him towards the kitchen. Inside, a sweet voice was talking.

“Peekaboo! I see you!” He could hear a big smile through your voice, “Now it's Ava’s turn!” 

Bradley turned the corner to find you sitting cross legged on the kitchen floor, enabling you to be somewhat closer to eye level with Ava. You and the little toddler were both full of giggles as you continued your game. 

Ava’s small hands flew up to her face, covering her eyes. It was an adorable sight, how she was trying to say the words. A bright smile adorned your face, eyes shining as you played with her. 

“Where did Ava go?” You asked, pretending to look, “There she is!”

A warmth flooded Bradley’s heart as he watched this mysterious woman interact with Ava. It felt familiar,childhood memories of his mom flooding back. But this time, instead of feeling sorrow, a pleasantness surrounded him. 

Strange. 

Ava babbled, causing you to giggle once more. 

“My name is Birdie. Can you say Birdie?”

Oh. 

So that was why everyone thought this was his future wife. 

It was a cute coincidence, nothing more. Yes, it was beyond endearing to watch you interact with Ava, you were obviously great with kids. 

“Roo!” Ava’s coos of her special nickname for Bradley broke him out of his thoughts. 

“What's a Roo?” You asked, your eyebrows knitted together in confusion. The puzzled look on your face was adorable. 

“That would be me. Hey Ava girl,” Bradley kneeled down, his arms open wide, allowing Ava to run over and hug him. 

You instantly recognized him thanks to the memorable mustache. But his smile and eyes were much softer now. His whole demeanor is less cocky and more approachable in Penny’s kitchen. 

Bradley scooped the young toddler into his arms, grinning as Ava giggled. 

“You being good? Trying to persuade people to give you more cookies by being adorable?” Bradley asked the toddler. 

“I'm holding out strong. Don't want her dad to hate me for giving her a sugar rush,” You explained, a soft smile on your face as you watched him interact with Ava. 

“See, the key is to make sure the sugar rush happens when he takes her home,” Bradley grinned, “That way he can't do anything about it.” 

“I'm sure he can ask around regarding who gave her all that sugar though,” you retorted, facing the sink again to continue the dishes. 

“See, that's where you have the advantage; you're not in the group chat,” Bradley balanced Ava on a hip, walking over to the sink to join you. 

You were fun to talk to; able to hold your own with a soft, yet slightly mischievous smile adorning your face. 

“I'm Bradley,” he explained, the spirit of his mother probably screaming that it took him this long to introduce himself. 

“I take that's your actual name, considering that's way too normal to be your callsign,” normally you wouldn't tease a complete stranger like this. But he was easy to talk to and it helped that he was holding an adorable baby like a complete natural. 

“It is. My callsign is Rooster.” The information caused your hands to still. 

“Rooster?” It was too wild to be a coincidence. 

“Yeah, when I was part of my first squadron, I was always the first one to be up. But I also had a tendency to be well, louder than what they would have preferred, which is how I got my callsign Rooster.” Bradley smiled as he recalled the loud complaints of his squadron, which always seemed to die down once they learned he was making breakfast. 

“I, love that. Sorry, I, it's funny your callsign is that. Because it's like a nickname right? My nickname is Birdie,” your speech quickened as you realized you were rambling, “I know that nicknames aren't the same as callsigns. Well, in a way they are, they're both given to you for a reason, right? It's just funny how our nicknames are both-” 

“Excuse me?” You looked up to see your savior came in the form of a bespectacled man who was standing by the door. 

“I was threat-I mean, told by Danica and Phoenix that I needed to get Ava,” The man said, walking over to Bradley. 

“Bo!” Ava exclaimed, reaching for the man. 

“Sure thing Bob,” Bradley said, hanging over the toddler to his friend, unable to stop himself from rolling his eyes at his friends’ schemes. 

“C'mon Ava, let's leave the two soon to be lovebirds alone,” Bob whispered, out of the room before Bradley could say anything.

“Did he just… “

Bradley sighed, “Gotta watch out for that one. He's quiet but can be cheeky when he wants to be.” 

“As opposed to the others, who are just outright cheeky?” You asked. 

Bradley chuckled, “You're catching on. Here, I can dry while you wash?” 

He could be spending time with his squadron. Could be spending time joking with Mav’s old squad, making jokes and talking about the past that he was too young to remember. Could be anywhere but here in the kitchen, helping you do dishes. 

And yet, he didn't mind it at all. Bradley was finding himself enjoying his conversation with you, despite knowing it would earn him several eye rolls and shoulder shoves from Danica and Jake. 

You were surprised he was still here, that he hadn't found an excuse to leave. 

It was a nice change. 

“So you're the teacher Penny talks about?” 

You laughed, “Is that who I'm known as? You're like the third person to ask me that.” 

“Just shows how big of an impact you had.” Your cheeks warmed at the praise. 

“You know, you just try your best. Make sure to listen. Helps that I'm also a child of divorce, you know? Had a lot of pointers,”  you shrugged, but it was clear you were downplaying your efforts. 

“Have you always wanted to be a teacher?” Bradley asked, wanting to keep the conversation going, despite the dishes being done. 

You took your hands out of your pockets, fidgeting with the hem of your dress. Your shoulders shrug as a small smile spreads across your lips. 

“Yeah. I love helping folks, especially kids. I was a camp counselor all throughout high school and I just….felt at home when I was helping other people,” you explained. 

You leaned forward, the scent of jasmine flooding Bradley’s nostrils. 

“It makes sense that I became a teacher. But if you asked me as a kid what I wanted to do as a grown up, I wouldn't have said teaching.” 

Bradley leaned forward. With the sunlight hitting him, you could now see the lighter shades of brown that adorned his curls. 

“A mom. I’ve always wanted to be a mom.” 

“You'll understand when it happens to you.” 

Oh. Okay. 

That's when Bradley Bradley finally gets it. Because he's imagining life with you; moving in together, getting married, having kids. The risk is still there. But he'd rather live with that risk and you than not at all. 

“I know that's silly, but it's true. I mean, it's not even an occupation-” 

“I said I wanted to be a dad when I grew up.” 

Your eyes light up at his admission, feeling at ease and less like a rambling burden. 

“You must have had a really great Dad then.” There was a flash of sorrow in his eyes at the mention of his father. 

“From what I remember. I was only four when he died, but….from what I remember, he was great,” his voice was softer now, his eyes showing he was in another place. 

You inched closer to him, “I'm really sorry, I'm sure that was hard for you and your mom.” 

“It wasn't easy. But she always said she wouldn't change anything. Never really understood that until recently.” His shoulder is touching yours, his long fingers inches away from your thighs. You were hyper aware of the closeness, unsure if moving away would be proper or offensive. 

“Something helped you have that revelation?” 

“Moreso someone.” 

It's impossible to not notice the way his stare lingers on you, how his smile is warm and those whisky eyes are shining bright as he sends a wink your way. It makes your heart flutter; no one has ever looked at you that way before. 

Nerves begin to overtake your brain, causing you to look away from his intense gaze. 

“Should we um, get back to the picnic?” You all but mumbled. There's no desire to leave him, but you don't want to get your hopes up. 

“Can I at least get your number before we do that?” Bradley asks, eagerly getting out his phone. 

Bradley Bradshaw hates accidents, except for the one that led him to this kitchen, to you. 

His forwardness is uncharted territory. There's no wondering or second guessing; Bradley wants to stay in touch, wants to keep talking to you. 

It's nice. It's unfamiliar. It's exciting. It's sending your doubts and anxiety into a tailspin. 

Your fingers fumble for your phone, opening up a new contact for him to fill out. His fingers brush against yours when he hands you his phone, little sparks flying up your spine. 

Bradley simply smiles when your eyes look at the screen of his phone. Your brows knit together in confusion, the bridge of your nose scrunching up as you read over the words again and again, eyes surely playing tricks on you. 

“Um, I think you made a mistake Bradley?” you hold up his phone, “The name for this  contact is Mrs. Bradshaw?” It also has a heart emoji next to it, but that wasn't worth mentioning. 

“Oh, it's no mistake,” Bradley grins. 

The only sound you can let out is a confused huh. 

“You just gotta put your number right there, and then you're all set.” Bradley points to it, an assured smile remaining on his face. 

“Are you….are you going to change the name?” You asked, dumbfounded. 

Bradley shrugs, “Nah. I'll know it's you. But I can put the word ‘future’ in parentheses if you want it to be more accurate.” 

Your fingers have a mind of their own, typing in those desired ten numbers. Bradley takes his phone from your hands but not before placing a gentle kiss on your burning cheek. 

His lips feel soft, the hairs of his mustache gently tickling your skin. When you turn your head, your lips are now inches away from yours. 

You try to ground yourself, try to look away from his lips, try to ignore the warm, fuzzy feeling that's overtaking your body. 

“Sorry Birdie, but I'm old fashioned. First kiss shouldn't be until the first date,” He winks. 

What floors you more, his confidence or his bold desire for you? 

Raising an eyebrow, you ask, “And when will that be?” 

Bradley chuckles, “Whenever you want Birdie.” 

He can't be serious. But what would he gain from leading you on, other than Penny’s wrath? 

You straighten your shoulders, trying to hold your own against his large frame.

“Tomorrow at six,” You muster up all the confidence you can, preparing yourself for him to drop the act. 

“Done. Do you prefer Italian or French?” 

“Neither as I'm lactose intolerant.” This was it. Was he going to stop the act, once he knew it would require more effort. 

“How do you feel about Thai? I know a great spot. Never been but it's been praised by Jake and Danica and let me tell you, that woman does not give out praise easily.” 

You giggled, “I could tell. By the way, is there a reason he calls her Venus?” 

“Short version; he's obsessed with her. Been that way since they met in the parking lot of a coffee shop. You should ask them how they met; they give different answers and it's hilarious,” Bradley explains, a gleam in his eyes as he thinks about one of his favorite couples. 

“I'd like that. But if you go with me,” you asked, “Kinda random to just walk up to a couple you don't know and ask how they met.” 

Again, you expect Bradley to falter. He's clearly more outgoing than you, so why would he want someone whose first instinct wasn't to strike up a conversation with strangers? 

“I will, but only if you confirm we’re on for Thai tomorrow at six.” 

Surely, he couldn't be serious. But that sweet smile and shining brown eyes said otherwise. 

“You really gonna take me out?” you crossed your arms over your chest. 

“Of course! I mean, I'm more than happy to take you out tonight, but you said tomorrow, so I'm sticking to it. Plus, it gives me time to get you flowers. Speaking of which, what are your favorite? You seem like a sunflower gal,” his eyes reminded you of an eager puppy, absolutely endearingly adorable. 

“What makes you think that?” He was absolutely right, but you wouldn't let him know that yet. 

Bradley shrugged, “When you smile, it reminds me of sunshine. Also, if it want to get technical, birds also like sunflower seeds.” 

You couldn't help but throw your head back and laugh. Your laugh was sweet, bursting with joy. It calmed down Bradley’s racing heartbeat. 

 “And what should I get you, Rooster? Corn meal?”

His corniness almost made you forget that he literally compared you to the sun. 

Almost. 

His laugh was deep, bellowing deep from his stomach, making you feel warm all over. 

“You kill me Mrs. Bradshaw, now let's go get you that story,” He gently takes your hand into his, entwining his fingers with yours. 

The nickname makes you less confused and more certain Bradley would be sticking around.

[serpentandlily]

Now That We Don't Talk

Part I

Now That We Don’t Talk - Azriel x Reader

Summary: Dealing with the aftermath of your mate’s betrayal.

Warnings: major angst, mentions of grief and loss, mention of infidelity 

a/n: this has a happy ending, I promise! I’d also like to mention that I never usually blame the woman when a man cheats, but in this case, both parties knew of the existing relationship and bond so *death to all of them* lol jk…for now…I hope this lives up to your expectations!

────────────

“That’s it, Y/n,” Madja said, taking a step backwards as she carefully monitored you between two support beams. “Go slow.”

Your shoulders and arms were straining as you held yourself up using the two beams, slowly raising your foot to take another step forward. You groaned at the pain, feeling flustered and embarrassed that walking was taking you so much effort. 

Cassian and Nesta had turned one of the larger chambers in the House of Wind into a physical remedial room. You had sessions in here every day with Madja, Cassian almost always there with you and in times he couldn’t be, Rhys would fly up to be with you during these. 

You didn’t have the heart to tell your brother that you preferred when Rhys was here instead of him, only because he always magicked his wings away so you didn’t have to see them. Cassian’s were just a reminder of what you had lost. 

Relearning to walk has been one of the hardest parts of losing your wings.

Even now it was a struggle to simply stand. You were too used to the weight of having wings on your back and using them to balance. You felt their absence in more ways than one.

But this one was easier to deal with—the physical part. It was the mental and emotional part that still kept you up at night. The loss of freedom, having to know you’d never be able to fly again. The nightmares. The embarrassment. The shame. 

You had never been a particularly proud Illyrian, never agreeing with the way your people were raised and the culture they lived in. But still, having those wings made you a part of something bigger than yourself—a community, a tribe, a family. 

You weren’t like Rhys, not a half-breed like him. You didn’t have the pointy ears to make you fit in with the wingless High Fae. You’d always be other to them. And now you’d be other to your people as well. 

You tried to blink away the tears forming in your eyes but it didn’t matter. Your brother seemed to sense the change in your mood and rose from his chair in the corner where he had been monitoring the session.

“You’re doing great, kiddo,” Cassian said, trying to encourage you to keep trying. “One step at a time.”

“I can’t,” you choked out, your muscles straining from the effort to keep you upright. “I-I can’t.”

“You can and you will,” Cassian said, sternly. “Come on, I know you can do it.” 

“I can’t.”

You wobbled, letting out a long exhale. You had only made it halfway to the other side of the mat. Pain pierced through your still healing back, serving as another reminder of what you had lost. Your fractured hip had healed already but the bones still felt like they were being grinded together every time you moved your legs. 

“Thank you for your help today, Madja,” Cassian said, sharing a look with the older healer. “I can take it from here.”

Madja, as if also sensing the shift in the atmosphere, took her leave without argument to give you some privacy with your brother. 

“Just make sure she eats something after this. Her body needs more nourishment,” Madja said on her way out. The noise of the door shutting behind her was all it took for the hold on your emotions to completely crumble. 

You felt your legs give out as a cry escape from your throat. Cassian darted forward, catching you only just before you hit the ground. He slowly lowered you the rest of the way, going with you to hold you in a tight embrace as sobs racked your body. 

“I-I can’t do this, Cass,” you cried over and over again. “I can’t do this.”

He knew you weren’t just talking about walking.

Every intake of breath reminded you of the heavy weight of your heart in your chest. It was unbearable, all consuming. The heartache, the pain, the feeling of the mating bond still lingering in the background of it all. You wanted to rip your heart out, wanted to scream and scream but all that came out were inaudible words and sobs. 

“It’s going to be okay, sweetheart,” Cassian murmured, petting your hair on the back of your head. “I promise you.” 

“My wings, Cass, m-my wings are gone,” you choked out, tears streaming down your face.

Cassian cradled your head in his neck, pulling you tighter against him. His own body was tense and you knew he was holding back his own emotions, trying to be strong for you. “I know, kiddo, I know.” 

“M-my wings,” you cried. “My wings. I-I want them back, Cass. P-please, I want them back!”

“I would cut off my own wings and give them to you if I could, sweetheart,” Cassian whispered, his voice filled with despair. “I’m so sorry.”

He couldn’t understand this feeling, would never unless he too lost his wings. You remembered when he almost had after protecting Azriel in Hybern from the blast of the Cauldron. Azriel…Just thinking of his name was making you spiral further, choking on your own sobs. 

There had once been a time when Azriel had been the one to save your wings. And now he was part of the reason why you lost them. You weren’t even sure which hurt more at this point. His betrayal or the loss of your wings. 

Both felt so violating. 

A piece of you, of your body, ripped away along with your trust and heart. Your mate sleeping with another female and coming home to you. Looking you in the eyes and keeping that secret from you each and every day. Making love to you knowing he was sharing himself with another behind your back. How were you supposed to move on? 

It didn’t help that you weren’t fully rid of Azriel. The bond was still an unwelcomed presence inside of you, still sang his name–called for him–despite the hurt he had caused you. You wanted to tear it to shreds. 

“Why?” You cried, wrapping your arms around Cassian’s neck to fall into him further. Your brother held you as tight as he could, stroking your hair, whispering words of support in your ear. “Why wasn’t I g-good enough, Cass? W-why wasn’t I enough for him? What is wrong with m-me?”

The guttural wails that came from you caused Cassian to squeeze his eyes shut, trying to keep his own tears at bay. Your chest heaved as you struggled to even breath under the crushing anguish that was consuming you. He held you as you shook, held you as your tears soaked through his shirt, held you as he restrained himself from shooting off to go find Azriel and kill him. 

“There is nothing wrong with you, sweetheart. Nothing,” Cassian growled. “Azriel is a fool for losing you. He’s the fuck-up. Not you.”

“He is my mate, Cass, my mate. And he–he did this to me. Why?”

“Because he’s a miserable bastard who doesn’t know how to love,” Cassian growled. 

You couldn’t even register his words over the pounding of your own wailing heart. “What did I do to deserve this?”

You felt so violated, so vulnerable, so completely and utterly shattered. The pain of your broken heart seemed to echo in the depths of your very soul. Why hadn’t you been enough for him?

Was Elain just that much better? Was she prettier, smarter, a better female? Could she give him something you couldn’t?

“You didn’t deserve this. You did nothing wrong,” Cassian murmured into your hair, kissing the top of your head. “You are so much better than them, sweetheart.” 

“B-but then why wasn’t I enough?” Your cries met their crescendo, your hands shaking as you clung onto Cassian’s shirt with tight fists. “Why wasn’t I enough, Cass? Why?” 

Your voice was hoarse, your words cracking as you spoke. But there was nothing left to say. 

Nothing left to say at all. 

You weren’t good enough for Azriel, for your own mate. You weren’t good enough to keep his attention. Not good enough to keep his love. 

You were just simply not enough. 

Cassian held you there as you cried and cried, held you as the weight of everything you lost engulfed you. Held you through the raw grief that surged like a tempest within you. Held you until you had cried yourself into a fitful sleep, only then rising to carry you back to your room. 

────────────

As soon as Mor had gotten word about what had happened, she immediately started her journey home from the continent. She had gone to you the minute she landed in Velaris, but Cassian had turned her away because he didn’t want to interrupt your sleep, something you hadn’t gotten much of since the attack.

But that was okay because she had a few things she needed to take care of. 

“Where is she!”

Mor’s shout rang through the entire house, the ground quaking underneath her as she stormed into the dining room where a very morose dinner seemed to be taking place with Rhys, Feyre, Elain and Amren at the table. Rhys shot up from his seat. “Y/n is at the House of Wind with—”

“Not her,” Mor snarled before pointing a finger at Elain, who stared at her wide-eyed. “You.” 

Before anyone could stop her, Mor launched herself forward, grabbing Elain by the hair on the back of her head and slamming her face down on the wooden table she was sitting at. Rhys cursed while Feyre jumped up from her seat, thanking the Gods that Nesta wasn’t here for this. 

Rhys grabbed Feyre by the arm, shaking his head at her. “Some things need to be fought the fae way. Let her learn.” 

Amren leaned back in her chair, not so much as flinching at the display. 

Mor kept her fist wrapped in Elain’s hair, pressing her face against the hardwood as the other girl cried out, blood dripping down her nose.

“That was for Y/n because she’s up there learning how to fucking walk again because of you,” Mor hissed before yanking Elain up by her hair until she was standing. 

Elain cried out for Feyre but her sister just pressed her lips into a thin line, Rhys’s hand still around her arm. Feyre was disappointed in her sister for what she had done but she still bristled as Rhys’s amusement at the scene traveled down their bond.

Mor decked Elain in the face, the sound audible, causing Feyre to flinch. Elain’s head whipped to the side as she dropped to the floor with a loud sob. “And that was for Cassian because he would never lay his hands on a weak, pathetic female but I will. Remember that.” 

Elain’s cries rung out in the room, blood dripping from her now broken nose and a bruise already forming on her cheek. Mor ignored her as she looked to Rhysand.

“Where is the other one?” Her voice was full of anger. “I’m going to fucking kill him.” 

“I don’t know,” Rhys sighed, finally letting go of Feyre. She rushed to Elain’s side, helping her off the floor and out of the room, giving Mor a remorseful look, feeling guilty over what her sister had caused. 

“What do you mean you don’t know?”

“He disappeared once Y/n woke up and made it very clear she didn’t wish to see him. I have no idea where he went.”

“That fucking coward,” Mor grumbled. “Why is Elain still here? This is Y/n’s home, not hers. She shouldn’t have to be the one who leaves and you know she will if those two are still around. Cassian would leave with her too—I’m sure of it.”

“I know he would,” Rhys said, sitting back down and putting his head in his hands. “I don’t know what to do, Mor. If Elain wasn’t Feyre’s sister I would’ve had her banished in a second and Azriel…Gods, he’s my brother. I can’t believe he would do something like this. He loves Y/n. I don’t know why he would hurt her like this.” 

“Azriel has always been his worst enemy,” Mor sighed, sitting next to Rhys. “We’ve all tried to help him as much as we could but this just isn’t something we can help him with. Y/n is going to need our support. This could destroy her.” 

“It already has,” Rhys replied. “She might leave our court regardless of whether or not we send Azriel and Elain away. I wouldn’t blame her. I’ve already let her know that if she wants out, I’ll have everything set-up for her.” 

“What of the girl’s mate? The redhead,” Amren piped up, crossing her arms. “Does he know yet? You know how males are. He might call for a blood duel against Azriel.” 

“Lucien has already been informed about what happened,” Rhys spoke. “Cassian has been on a warpath and was all too eager to tell Lucien. I think part of him hoped he would duel Azriel. But Lucien wouldn’t.” 

“So what happens now?” Mor asked. 

Rhys looked at her and she took note of the heavy bags under his eyes. He hadn’t been sleeping. Neither had she. She was certain none of them had. Azriel had caused a giant rift in this family—one felt by them all. 

Rhys held back his tears, clearing his throat.

“I know what was to be done,” he breathed out. “But it’s going to be hard. He was…He was my brother for over five hundred years. Regardless of what he’s done, it’s going to be hard to say goodbye.” 

Mor rested a comforting hand on his shoulder. “I know, Rhys. Nothing about this is going to be easy.”

“He cannot be trusted anymore,” Amren added. “Anyone who could cheat on their mate cannot be trusted. He might as well have spit on the Mother’s face for what he did.”

“I just want to know why. Why would he do this?” 

Mor let out a long breath. “I’m not sure you’ll ever get an answer. I think Azriel, himself, can’t even answer that question.” 

“I failed her, Mor. I knew how dangerous that mission was. I should’ve never given it to her,” the quiet cry shook Rhys’s body. 

“Azriel was supposed to be with her, Rhys,” Mor said. “It’s not your fault. He failed her. This was his doing.” 

But Rhys just shook his head, the tears finally slipping free from both of their eyes. 

“Get it out now, Mor, before you see her,” Rhys choked out. “It’s…hard to see her in the state she’s in. Prepare yourself. We have to be strong for her.” 

“I know,” Mor whispered, wiping at her tears. “I know.” 

────────────

“Hey, kiddo,” Cassian’s voice pulled you from your sleep.

You blinked awake, groaning at the pounding in your head. It took you a second to realize you were in your room. Cassian must’ve carried you here after your breakdown yesterday. 

Cassian was sitting beside you, stroking your hair. “I brought you some breakfast and someone is here to see you.”

It was only then you noticed the other person sitting at the end of your bed. 

“Mor?” Your voice was hoarse, the word barely escaping. “You’re here?”

“I came back as soon as I heard,” Mor said, leaning forward to clutch your hand in hers. “How are you doing, babygirl?” 

Mor had always felt like an older sister to you. Her friendship with your brother had made the two of you close. 

“I’m…I’m not doing good,” you replied, honestly. “I can’t…I don’t know what to do, Mor. I don’t know how to move on from here. Part of me wishes I died in that alleyway. I wish I died the minute my wings were cut off.” 

“I know,” she said, sadly. “I wish I had an answer for you but I don’t. It’s going to be hard, but we’re going to be with you every step of the way.” 

“Come on, why don’t you sit up so you can eat,” Cassian murmured, putting a hand on your back to help you up. 

“I’m not hungry,” you protested.

“You have to eat something, sweetheart,” Cass said gently. “Madja’s orders.”

But you shook your head. You didn’t have an appetite. Everything still hurt so much. 

“Just give her a second, Cass,” Mor murmured. 

Cassian frowned but nodded. He brushed some of your hair away from your face again and the soothing motion started another round of tears. 

“Hey, hey,” Cassian whispered. “It’s okay.”

“It’s not okay, Cass! How will I ever be able to show my face again?” you cried. “I will be shamed, spit on, shunned because I lost my wings—because I couldn’t fight for them. I can never return to Illyria. I won’t be able to help train with the girls anymore.” 

“Emerie told me the girls are already awaiting your return. They miss you,” Mor reassured. “Who cares about what the stupid males are going to think? Most of those females have had their freedom of flight taken from them. They would never shun you for what happened.” 

Your eyes fell on the many bouquets of flowers and get well cards on your nightstand. Cassian had been bringing them to you. Your heart ached at the sight. 

“But I failed them, Mor,” you sobbed. “I failed them. I’m supposed to be strong. I’m supposed to be a warrior and all it took was one male to completely destroy me. I’m worthless to them now. How can I teach them to fight for themselves if I cannot even do that?” 

“You are not worthless,” Cassian said, sternly. “You are more of a fighter than half of those Illyrian males. You continue to fight each day knowing you have to live with the loss of your wings. Most of the males would’ve given up already, sweetheart. You are stronger than you think.” 

“I-I’m not. I’m weak and a failure,” you cried. “I couldn’t protect my wings. Couldn’t keep my mate’s love. Couldn’t…couldn’t–”

Your sobs overtook your words, your entire body shaking. 

“Listen to me, Y/n.” Mor demanded. “You are not weak. You are not a failure. You are a million times better than the two assholes who hurt you. You will survive this. You will survive him. I promise you, Y/n, I promise you.” 

She embraced you, holding you as you broke down into gut-wrenching sobs once again. 

────────────

The air was tense to say the least. Rhys was standing behind his desk, palms pressed flat against the surface as he stared at the two people sitting in front of him. Feyre stood next to him as both a pillar of support and the High Lady. 

Azriel’s eyes were downcast. He hadn’t even looked at Elain since he had been dragged into this office by Mor—a new black eye and a bruised jaw decorating his face. Elain stared and stared at him, her eyes pleading with him to look at her but he ignored her presence. 

Azriel looked rough. He hadn’t shaved, his eyes were bloodshot, but the most surprising thing was his lack of shadows swarming him. 

“Where are you shadows?” Rhys asked. “I swear, Azriel, if you sent them after Y/n, I will bring Cassian down here to do with you as he pleases.” 

Azriel looked up, shaking his head. “They won’t sing to me anymore. Not since…Not since the accident.” 

It was true. His shadows had hissed at him, recoiled in his presence before they dissipated as if they too had felt his betrayal. They had wailed in agony at the loss of Y/n. They had always skittered away in Elain’s presence, probably the only reason they never yelled at him when he was with her…but it seems this time, they had left for good. 

Despite his curiosity, Rhys decided to drop the subject. This was not the time or place for that discussion. 

“Feyre and I have come to a decision about what must happen due to the results of your actions,” Rhys said, his voice full of authority and resignation. 

“What? But we’ve done nothing wrong!” Elain exclaimed. “I know we shouldn’t have gone behind Y/n’s back but we’re in love!”

“I don’t care,” Rhys snarled, baring his teeth. “I don’t care how much you two claim to be in love! Azriel has caused irreparable damage to his own mate—a member of my court, of my family. And you were complicit in that.” 

“Are we not your family too? Feyre is my sister!”

“And Y/n is mine,” Rhys retorted. “And Cassian’s.”

Elain crossed her arms and leaned back in her chair. “So we’re being punished for falling in love? It’s not our fault the Cauldron decided to make someone else our mates. It was never our choice.” 

“You’re not being punished for falling in love, if that’s even what we can call this,” Feyre spat out, staring at her sister with disappointment. “You’re being punished for how you handled a sensitive situation. You’re being punished for lying to our whole family and for causing it to be torn apart.”

“You’re not being punished at all,” Rhys snapped. “If you were, both of you would be in a cell in Hewn City and I’d let Cassian decide what your punishment would be considering Y/n would never have the heart to hurt either of you. This is simply the consequence of your own stupid actions.” 

Azriel’s head shot up at the mention of your name. “How is Y/n? Is she doing okay?” 

Feyre went to answer but Rhys shook his head at her. 

“You don’t get the privilege of knowing anything about her at this point, Azriel,” he huffed. 

Azriel stood from his chair in anger. “She is my mate, Rhys.”

“Sit down,” Rhys commanded, his voice rising for the first time since the meeting started. “Funny how now you acknowledge her as a mate but not when you had your tongue down Elain’s throat.” 

“Fuck you, Rhys,” Azriel growled, but sat, unable to fight the power of a High Lord’s order. 

“No fuck you, Azriel! I thought you were my brother! How could you do this to Y/n? To our family? Both of you should be ashamed. You are already getting off easy, don’t make me rethink my choice. Lucien has every right to storm in right now and demand a blood duel against you. And even though it’s not a practice in my court, I’d even let Y/n declare one against Elain.”

Elain’s face paled but Azriel only scoffed in indignation. “As if Feyre would ever let anyone kill one of her sisters.” 

Feyre stepped forward, glaring at the shadowsinger and Elain. “I’m done protecting her. Nesta is done protecting her. We have spent our whole lives taking care of her thinking she was just too soft for this world—too naive and innocent. But I think we’re finally seeing the real you, Elain. And it is time for you to face the consequences of your own actions, make your own way in life.” 

“So what are you going to do? Are you going to force me to live in the House of Wind like you did Nesta?”

“No,” Feyre said, stone faced before looking at Rhys. They had decided together how they would handle this situation.

“You are both hereby banished from the Night Court,” Rhys declared. “I will not tolerate Y/n having to lose her own home after she just lost her wings and we are going to do what's best for her. Lucien has made it clear that you both will not be welcomed in Day either and Helion is standing by his son’s decision. Beyond that, we cannot help you. You will pack your things and leave immediately. If you step one foot in this court after you leave, I will be notified and you will face worse repercussions.” 

“What?” Elain exclaimed. “Feyre, you can’t be serious! Look, I’ll move out of the Riverhouse. We can live in Azriel’s apartment and avoid Y/n.”

“That apartment belongs to Y/n too, you know,” Feyre snapped. “We have already made our decision. We will not be negotiating any terms.” 

“Rhys, come on,” Azriel said. “I will leave but you don’t need to banish Elain too. She did nothing wrong.”

“Elain knew you were a mated male, knew you were together with Y/n. While I agree that what you have done is worse, she still knew what she was doing wasn’t right.” 

“Where are we supposed to go?” Elain cried. “I don’t have any money. I don’t have anywhere to go, Feyre. You can’t just toss me out like this.” 

“Azriel has money,” Feyre shrugged. “I guess you’re his problem now.” 

“You know none of the other High Lord’s will want me in their courts, Rhys,” Azriel snarled. “Not after the things I’ve done for you.” 

“Should of thought of that before you betrayed our whole family.” 

“I hear the old Manor is still abandoned in the human lands,” Feyre remarked. “Since Vassa had reclaimed her territory with Jurian at her side and Lucien had moved to Day to be with his father.” 

“We can’t survive there,” Elain sobbed. “Humans hate faeries.” 

“Not my problem, Elain,” Feyre said. “You’re not my problem anymore.” 

“Azriel, do something!” Elain cried, looking at the shadowsinger. 

“What do you expect him to do?” Rhys laughed humorlessly. “He no longer has his title, his place in my court. He has no sway here. You both don’t. You will not change our minds.” 

“Nesta won’t allow this!”

“Nesta,” Feyre said, “is packing up your things as we speak.” 

Elain fell back in her chair, crying. 

“I’d say I wish you two the best, but I don’t,” Rhys said. “You have two hours to sort out whatever you have to before I expect you both to be out of my court. Two hours. Do you understand?” 

“Please,” Elain begged. “Please don’t do this, Feyre.”

But Feyre only shook her head at her sister. “There’s no going back for either of you. Say your goodbyes, sort out your affairs, but you will leave in two hours.” 

Rhys took his leave after that, giving Azriel one last look that was full of disgust, guilt, regret, sadness. One last look at his brother before striding out of that room, never to see or speak to him again. 

────────────

Mor had just left when you heard the flapping of wings approaching your balcony. Thinking it was your brother, you pushed yourself to stand and hobbled over to the balcony doors using the walls of your room for support. You opened the door, expecting to see your brother, but your heart stopped when you came face to face with Azriel. 

Your eyes narrowed and you went to slam the door, but he grabbed it before you could. 

“Please, please just hear me out,” he pleaded. “I will leave, I promise, I just…I just—please.” 

“There is nothing you can say that will make me forgive you, Azriel.”

“I know, baby–”

“Don’t you dare call me that!”

Azriel looked down at his feet. “Okay, I’m sorry. I’m not here to try to earn your forgiveness, Y/n. I know I fucked up beyond repair. I know I failed you, failed us. Words will never be able to convey how much I regret everything.” 

You crossed your arms, leaning against the doorframe as your legs threatened to give out. You were debating screaming out for Cassian. 

Azriel reached into his pocket and pulled out a small stone that looked to be enchanted. He held it out towards you. 

“I can’t…I can’t hear the shadows anymore,” he murmured. “But I can’t just leave you without some way to contact me. In case you ever change your mind, in case there is ever a chance that we can be together again. You’ll be able to call for me with this.”

“That is never going to happen.”

“Please, just take it,” Azriel begged. “Even if you don’t want me, please. If you’re ever in danger again and need help, you can use it for that too. Just please, take it.” 

When you said nothing, didn’t so much as open your palm so he could place the stone in it, he knelt down and placed it at your feet instead. You stared at him, emotionless. You didn’t want to give him anything. He didn’t deserve your tears or your sadness. 

“I’m so sorry, Y/n. I’m so sorry for the way things ended,” Azriel said. “You deserve a better mate than me. If I never…If I never get to see you again after this, I promise I will find you in the next life and the one after that. I will do right by you. I will give us another chance.”

He stared at you, pleading with you to say anything. Anything. Even if you screamed at him, beat him, cried—anything was better than this utter silence. But you didn’t. You merely looked at him like he was nothing to you. Like he was a stranger. 

“Goodbye, Azriel,” you said. “I hope you find happiness in your life. Truly.”

And then you slammed the door shut and walked away. 

And he knew then that your words would haunt him for the rest of his life because he knew he had lost the one real thing that had brought him true happiness forever.

────────────

One Year Later ~ Winter Solstice 

“Get up, you lazy cow!”

The sheets were yanked off your sleeping body, exposing you to the cold morning air. You let out a shriek, cursing at your brother and trying to grab the sheets back.

“What the hell, Cassian!”

“It’s Winter Solstice!”

“It’s also six in the morning,” you retorted, falling back down on your bed. 

“Nope, you’re not going back to sleep,” Cassian said. “It’s time to get up!” 

Before you could even respond, Cassian grabbed you by the ankle and yanked you to the end of the bed. You squealed as he tossed you over his shoulder like a bag of potatoes, pounding on his back as he raced out of the room.

“Cassian! Let me down, you big brute!” 

But he only laughed at you, carrying you all the way to the kitchen where Nesta was sitting at the counter with a steaming cup of tea. She didn’t so much as blink as he dropped you into the chair next to her, already used to her mate’s antics. 

“Goodmorning, Y/n,” Nesta said, pushing an already prepared cup of tea your way.

“Oh, you are an absolute goddess,” you groaned, greedily accepting the mug. You curled your ice cold fingers around it, relishing in the warmth. 

“Hey! What about me?” Cassian yelled, swinging a wash cloth over his shoulder as he started to make breakfast for the two of you. “I’m the one making you guys food!”

“You’re also the one who woke us up, dingbat,” you scoffed, causing Nesta to snort.

It wasn’t long before Cassian was sliding a plate of pancakes your way. “Eat up. You have a long day ahead of you.”

You raised an eyebrow at him but accepted the food, scarfing it down. It was almost hilarious how out of the three of you it was Cassian who cooked the best. 

After breakfast, you retired to your room to get ready to go down to the River House for the real celebrations. Cassian had cryptically told you to wear pants, so you did. You had no idea why until hours later, when you were all lounging in the sitting room after lunch. 

A knock on the front door had you jumping up from your seat. “I’ll get it!” 

No one batted an eye as you raced for the door, pulling it open to see Lucien standing on the doorstep. You let out a noise of excitement, grabbing him in a hug.

“Lucien!” you exclaimed. “You’re here early!” 

A few weeks after the incident, Lucien had sent you a letter asking how you were faring and offering you support. He became a lifeline while you had dealt with the aftermath of saying goodbye to your mate and healing. You both leaned on each other during that time because you were simply the only two who understood the pain of having a mate who fell in love with another. 

“Happy Winter Solstice,” he said as you pulled away and opened the door wider so he could enter. “I’m actually here to retrieve you.”

Your brows furrowed in confusion. “What?”

“Is everything ready?” 

Your brother’s voice came from behind you and you whipped your head around to stare at him. He was wearing his flying leathers now only confusing you further. 

“Yes,” Lucien nodded. 

“What’s going on?” you asked, suspiciously. 

No one else followed Cassian out. Not even Nesta. You frowned as he shook Lucien’s hand, giving him a friendly whack on the back. 

“You’ll see,” your brother said with a grin. “Lucien is going to winnow us somewhere, kiddo, to your solstice gift.”

You looked between them with narrowed eyes but accepted Lucien’s outstretched hand. His grin was the last thing you saw before you were pulled away in a flurry of wind. A second later, you appeared in the middle of a clearing. 

The tall green grass, the slightly warm breeze, the lack of snow, told you that you were in the Spring Court. You whirled to face your brother who let out a sneeze as soon as he got his bearings. 

“What are we doing here?” 

“So, you know how when Feyre was brought back she was given a drop of power from every High Lord?” Cassian asked. 

You nodded, not understanding where this was going. Your hand slipped into your pocket, around a stone that was always kept there. The one Azriel had left you. You had never used it but for some reason, had never parted with it either. At some point, you had started holding it whenever you felt nervous or fell back into the heartache you had experienced last year. 

“Well, of course she inherited part of Tamlin’s shapeshifting powers. And we thought maybe she could shapeshift others the way he does, but after numerous tries, unfortunately it seems as though the sliver of power she received only allows her to transform herself.” 

“It was not fun being the guinea pig for those test runs,” Lucien laughed. “When Feyre was unable to do it, we had to turn to someone else.” 

“Okay, but what does that have to do with me? Or my solstice gift?” 

Before either of them could respond, a noise came from the shrubbery in the distance. Tamlin’s beast form pounced out from it, striding towards you. You gasped and backed away, right into your brother’s chest. He placed a hand on your shoulder.

“It’s okay,” he murmured. “He’s here as a favor to Lucien.”

“And Feyre and Rhys approved this?” you whispered up to him. 

He nodded his assurance.

You let out another gasp as Tamlin shifted back into his fae form. He looked well, better than the last time you had seen him at least. He seemed to have regained some weight and gotten a haircut. You knew he was still in the process of recovering his court. You wondered what sort of strings Lucien had to pull to get him to willingly let you and Cassian come here considering his history with your rulers.

He gave you and Cassian a polite, but bland, greeting which you reciprocated.

“Are any of you going to tell me what’s going on?” 

“Tam is going to help you shapeshift,” Lucien explained. “If you will allow him.”

“Shapeshift? But why would I–”

It clicked in your head, what they were implying, why they had brought you to this large clearing. You whipped around to look up at your brother who seemed to be holding back tears. He gave you a nod, already knowing what you were asking.

“W-wings,” you choked out. “He can give me wings.” 

“It won’t last forever,” Lucien said. “But yes, he can give you wings.”

Tears started slipping down your cheeks and you lurched towards Lucien, wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling him into a hug. You…you were going to have wings. You were going to be able to fly!

You didn’t care that it wouldn’t last forever. Just the chance to fly once more was a gift in itself.

“Thank you,” you whispered into his ear. “Thank you.” 

Lucien laughed, hugging you back before you slowly pulled away from him. You looked over your shoulder at your brother. “This was your idea?”

Cassian shook his head. “As much as I wish I could claim this, it was actually Lucien who thought of this first. I’m just here to supervise–and to offer you a flying partner if you’ll have me.” 

You smiled up at Lucien, unbelievably touched at the thoughtfulness. Lucien wiped your tears from your face, gently, before placing his hands on your shoulders. “Are you ready?”

You nodded with enthusiasm.

Lucien gestured at Tamlin to come closer.

“Thank you for doing this,” you said to him with a small bow of the head. 

“I once watched a faerie die after losing his wings,” Tamlin murmured. “Its…Its a horrific crime. One my family has a history with. I’d like this to be my first step towards making amends for their mistakes.” 

You weren’t sure what to say, so you just gave him a grateful nod of the head. He focused intently on you and you felt his magic surround you. It felt nice, like a crisp Spring breeze. And then you felt a familiar weight on your back. You stumbled for a second, readjusting to how it used to feel having wings. But it surprisingly came back to you quite easily.  

You looked at them over your shoulder, stretching them out and flapping them a few times. They looked just like your brother’s and you realized Tamlin must’ve used him as a guide. You grinned, facing Cassian. 

“Race you towards the end of the clearing,” you shouted before taking off into the sky. 

Your brother’s laughter followed after you as he too launched into the sky. 

+++

Hours after night had fallen, you found yourself behind the River House, leaning on the railing to watch the slow moving river. Your wings had since dissipated, but you hadn’t felt this light in a long time. Being able to fly today had healed you in some way.

You had spent a lot of time thinking while you flew amongst the clouds. Thinking of who you used to be. Sometimes you missed that girl, sometimes you wished more than anything to be her again. 

But you hadn’t felt that today…

Today, you had felt like a new person. Like a butterfly emerging from its cocoon. And perhaps in a way, you were. 

Life had never been predictable. Your whole life had been filled with tragedy and sorrow, challenges and hard work, happiness and joy, regret and insecurities. You had gone through so much, so much, but somehow, you were always able to come out on the other side.

It wasn’t easy. It involved many days of despair, awful thoughts, and soulless recovery. You had to fight to get up sometimes, had to fight just to feel something. Sometimes it seemed like you’d conquer one mountain only to be faced with another. 

If it wasn’t for your brother, you were certain you would’ve fallen back a dozen times. But he had been your pillar of strength, your rock to rest against when things got too hard. And Mor and Rhys had been there to help lift you back up. 

You had gained new friends, found a new life for yourself. Metamorphosed into a new person. 

That girl from a year ago? 

Well, you were finally going to let her die. 

You reached into your pocket and pulled out the stone Azriel had left you. You ran your thumb over its smooth surface. It didn’t hurt as much to look at it now, not like it had before. Before it had represented so many things.

The loss of love, the grief of losing your wings, the reminder that he had betrayed you. 

But now…now it just looked like a rock. 

You gripped it in your fist and tossed it into the Sidra, watching as it hit the water’s surface with a small thud before sinking down into the black water. Down and down, until it would find its way to the bottom. Perhaps then it would drift out into the sea. 

You heard the backdoor to the house open.

“Hey, Y/n, come on!” Mor shouted out to you. “We’re going to Ritas!” 

You took one last look at where the rock had disappeared in the water, letting out a long breath. 

“Goodbye,” you whispered into the cold air. “I’ll see you in our next lifetime. Maybe then you’ll deserve me.” 

With a new weight lifted off your shoulders, you turned and marched back to your new beginning. 

[prettyngeto]

your lips, my lips (apocalypse) - 18+

satoru gojo x f!reader

summary: if someone told you you'd be screaming out the name of notorious fratboy satoru gojo for a reason other than to berate him, you never would've agreed to come to this party.

content (mdni): nsfw, college au (reader and gojo are both twenty), fratboy!gojo, gojo is an annoying little shit but he's hot so it's okay, fingering, creampie, multiple orgasms, dom!gojo, sub fem!reader, praising, dumbification, unprotected sex (wrap it up kids!) inspired by this fanart by yunonoai

word count: 6.7k

playlist: fluent in bullshit

main masterlist || jjk masterlist || ao3

The air was thick with the smell of alcohol and sweat, bodies moving drunkenly against each other to the sound of the music blasting from the multiple speakers around the house. Multicoloured lights were dancing around every surface visible, your face scrunching in disgust as you caught sight of a half naked couple practically eating each others' faces off against a wall. All in all, it was a typical Saturday night for the infamous Jujutsu High frathouse. Red solo cups littered the floor as you manoeuvre your way through the crowd, eyes scanning around for your best friend. Your hand moved to fish your phone out of your pocket, immediately calling her for assistance, because if there was one thing you were good at - it was getting lost and right now you were most definitely lost. However, it seemed like luck was not on your side tonight because of course tonight is the one night she decides to not pick up. A small whine of frustration left you as you craned your head, going up on your tiptoes to continue your search in vain. 

“The hell ya cryin’ for?” The deep familiar voice of the living and breathing embodiment of irritation rang through your ears. 

Satoru Gojo.

Yeah, luck was most definitely not on your side tonight. 

Gojo had been a constant in your life since you were kids, and not in a good way, in fact he was like that pesky fly that kept buzzing around your room at night even though the window was wide open. On top of this he just happened to be the president of the Jujutsu High frat - something he never failed to remind others of, so although it came to no surprise to anyone that he was here, his presence always seemed to antagonise you. The vice president and one of your mutual friends, Suguru Geto on the other hand was much more tolerable compared to the devil's spawn that currently had his arm languidly thrown over your shoulder as he leaned down to talk into your ear. His smirk widens when you roughly shove his arm off your shoulder and he goes to hold his hands up in a show of faux surrender. "Woah easy there princess, what's got you all worked up huh?" You click your tongue in exasperation and turn away from him, "You ever learn to mind your own business Gojo or do you get off on annoying everyone around you?" 

The glare you send his way only serves to intensify the smirk on his face, his tongue reaching out to lick his lips before he answers. "Nah not everyone, I only get off on annoying you, get it right y/n." The cheeky tone in his voice makes you groan in annoyance before you spin on your heel and walk away from him, the sound of his grating laughter echoing behind you. 'Seriously what was his problem? Someone needs to teach him how to shut the fuck up.’ The dynamic between you and Gojo has always been an… interesting one. It mostly consisted of him doing everything humanly possible to get on your nerves, from pulling on your hair in kindergarten to throwing scrunched up paper to the back of your head in high school and in return, you used him to learn how to perfect your punches, (which admittedly always hurt him but he'd never let you know that). 

“Y/NNN THERE YOU AREEE!” The squeal of your name had you turning around only to become entangled in the long limbs of your best friend, Yuri, simultaneously catching the attention of several others in the room due to the volume of Yuri’s voice. Yuri was the other (more enjoyable) constant in your life, a ball of sunshine who always got a smile out of you since the both of you had met at the ripe age of five. But she could also be a bit… loud, ultimately making you two the centre of unwanted attention wherever you went. “Bitch I’ve been walking around trynna find you for so long. Ugh, I think this is the most exercise I’ve done this whole year.” Yuri pants out once you’ve finally managed to get out of her surprisingly strong hold. You huffed, a small pout forming on your lips. “Yu, don’t be dramatic, it’s your fault anyway. I called you but someone decided to not pick up and then I had to deal with that annoying piece of shit. By. My. Self.” 

“You talked to Gojo? Gojo Satoru? Alone? And the room is still intact? Who are you and what have you done to my violent best friend?” The glare you send her way has Yuri giggling, an arm hooking into yours as she drags you upstairs to the room in which the rest of your friend group were currently playing some stupid games. Excited smiles and waves greeted you as you walked through the door, Yuri pulling you down to sit in between her and Shoko. “You two are right on time, we were just about to start a riveting game of seven minutes in heaven.” The sarcasm in Shoko’s tone made you stifle your laughter, head falling onto Yuri’s shoulder, as she gave you a playful wink in response. “Seven minutes in heaven seriously? What, are we horny 13 year olds again or something?” Yuri groaned, her head tilting to rest on top of yours. You hummed in agreement, boredom already evident on your face, “Yeah who’s dumb idea was this anyway?”

Suguru has a cheeky smile playing on his lips as he answers you, "Google's. We didn't know what to do so we searched up 'fun games to play at a party.' " He was met with blank stares until Shoko nearly choked on the puff she was taking from her cigarette at his confession, the room now filled with the sound of laughter and Utahime frantically rubbing Shoko's back in an attempt to stop her from coughing up a lung. "Oh by the way did anyone see Satoru, we can't start without him or he'll start whining. Fucker said he went to the toilet, it's been like twenty minutes." Suguru's voice broke through the laughter as he leaned back onto his hands, head tilting in curiosity. Your mood immediately soured, letting an audible groan at the sound of his name and to make things worse, this was the moment Gojo decided to make an appearance. His presence was overwhelming to say the least, and the fact that he was aware of the effect he had when he walked into the room definitely did not help his exploding ego. Grey hoodie slung over his shoulder, and hands tucked in the pocket of his matching grey sweats, a lazy smirk made its way onto his face, "Hope you guys didn't miss me too much." His eyes caught yours as he sat down opposite you next to Suguru who smacked him up the head for taking his 'sweet fucking time,' resulting in Gojo readjusting the black baseball cap he was wearing backwards with a whine. 

His sky blue eyes were shining with mirth as he looked you up and down from across the circle you all had formed, arms crossing and an eyebrow raising up at you in challenge. Your eyes immediately narrowed into slits as you stared him down, unintentionally locking onto the way his biceps flexed across his chest in the black compression shirt he never seemed to take off. He followed your eyes down to his arms, smirk widening as he not so subtly flexed his arms even more, watching in amusement as you try to hide the flustered expression in your face by rolling your eyes and looking away with a scoff. 

Shoko cleared her throat impatiently, "Are you two done eye-fucking each other now or can we get this stupid game over and done with?" She asked with a bored expression, looking between you and Gojo with a raised brow. This only seemed to fuel Gojo's amusement, snickering as your jaw went slack at Shoko's words, face twisting in disgust.

"You two. Cut it out. Shoko - you're right and I love you but we don't need Satoru bleeding out on my carpet tonight okay?" Suguru Geto ladies and gentlemen, ever the peacemaker. 

Utahime shot up from her spot next to Shoko, hands clapping in excitement as she retrieved a small black bag. "Okay everyone put something in the bag so we can figure out pairings. And thennnn, all you gotta do is go to the storage room next door for seven minutes. Simpleee!" She announced this with way too much excitement for your liking. Once everyone had dropped one of their belongings into the bag, it was simultaneously decided that Utahime would choose her partner first. Eyes scrunched closed, she dipped her hand into the bag, pulling out what was unmistakably Shoko's lighter. Loud hollers and cheers filled the room all the while Utahime sat frozen, face painted a bright shade of red. Wordlessly, Shoko sat up walking towards the storage room next door. Upon noticing that Utahime still hadn't moved, she turned around, tilting her head, a small smirk appearing on her face, "Ya comin' or not?" Let's just say you had never seen Utahime move so quickly in your life.

Seven minutes later, the pair walked back in the room with flushed cheeks and equally red lips that were sporting matching smiles as they both sat back down. Unfortunately for you, it was your turn to pick from the bag. Your hand reached out tentatively, rummaging through the contents of the bag as your fingers latched onto something cold. Pulling your hand out and opening your eyes, you were met with the sight of Gojo’s infamous silver chain pooled into your palm. Silence. Complete and utter silence… that is until Suguru’s dumb ass started cackling like a possessed soul, slapping his knee with tears of laughter gathering at the corner of his crinkled eyes. “I fucking love this game,” His words came out as what could only be described as wheezes, one hand on his chest as he tried to calm his breathing down. Meanwhile, Gojo was still wearing that ridiculous smirk of his, once again eyeing you up and down as you stared daggers into his soul, cheeks puffed out in anger. 

“I refuse.” Your words were sharp and precise, arms crossing in defiance.

“That’s not how it works y/n…” Yuri’s defeated voice came out in a whisper next to you.

“Well too bad that’s how it’s gonna work now.”

“Says who.”

“Says ME.”

The sigh being let out next to you indicated Shoko’s clear irritation with your antics as she stands up, dragging you with her by the elbow as you splutter out excuse after excuse. Gojo on the other hand, has been uncharacteristically quiet this whole time. Your weak protests were interrupted when you were shoved into the empty storage room, followed by Gojo falling unceremoniously onto you, both of you crashing onto the floor. Before either of you could register your situation, the doors slammed shut encasing both of you in darkness. Gojo was still pressed against you, arms caging your head as a result of him trying to break his fall - and as far as he was concerned, he had no intention of getting away from you anytime soon. 

"Satoru Gojo get the fuck off me right now" you seethed through your teeth, your palms weakly pushing at his chest in an attempt to shove him off of you. 

"No can do sweetheart, I kinda like being this close, don't you?" You could practically hear the smirk in his voice, feeling his hot breath fan across the side of your face as he leaned impossibly closer to you to whisper in your ear. "Oh for fuck's sake Satoru are you fluent in bullshit or something? Get off meeee…" Your words trailed off into a small whine, clearly irritated by his antics but the teasing smile on his face only widened at your words, "Ooo first name basis already huh? This day just keeps getting better. You got a crush on me or something y/n?"

"Shut up Gojo, I hate you and you know it." You hissed out through burning cheeks, and you were struggling to figure out whether it was out of embarrassment or from the newfound fluttering in your heart. "You hate me huh?" His voice lowered, sending a shiver down your spine and you found yourself wishing his lips were closer to yours. 

“Yeah, I do. I hate you and your dumb voice and the way you always wear that stupid compression shirt to show off your stupid muscles and I hate your dumb attractive face and the way you're so stupidly tall and-” Your words catch in your throat when Gojo leans down to be face to face with you, his sapphire eyes darkening as they pierced into yours. 

“Oh yeah?” The husk in his voice paired with his proximity had you subconsciously squeezing your thighs together, breaths coming out in short pants from your ranting as you stared up at him wide-eyed. "Looks like it's you who's fluent in bullshit sweetheart cos this sounds more like a love confession to me," One of his hands reached up to grab your chin and tilt your face up towards his, thumb brushing teasingly over your bottom lip, making its way into your mouth and pressing lightly onto your bottom teeth - giving you no choice but to open your mouth, embarrassment coursing through you at the gesture. His smirk only widened at the action, his thumb pressing lightly onto your tongue, mind already racing with different scenarios, ‘Hm, maybe another time…’ he thought as he took his thumb away to grab the back of your neck to lessen the gap between you two.

You subconsciously lean into him, your body betraying you in every way. Eyes fluttering shut, heart beating impossibly fast, butterflies fluttering in your stomach. You feel the warmth of his palm as his hand rests on the back of your neck, pulling you close, - closer and closer until his lips meet yours in a tender kiss. Your hands travel up from his chest, knocking over his baseball cap in the process, nails grazing his undercut softly, drawing him impossibly closer to you. Fingers moving further into his hair, you pull the soft white strands in a show of desire, resulting in a deep groan being let out into your mouth by Gojo as he presses his hips into yours in retaliation. A soft whine leaves you and you swear you feel him smirk before gently prodding his tongue against your lips. You part them for him, his tongue intertwining with yours in a dance of passion, your own hips now greedily grinding up into him. The warmth from his mouth disappears, his hot breath hitting your neck bringing you back to reality as your eyes slowly open only to find him staring at you with that cheeky smile of his. “Someone was enjoying herself hm?” His voice was gravelly as he spoke, eyes flitting back to your lips every so often. “Shut up Gojo.” You whispered, still very obviously affected from what was possibly the best kiss of your life as you rolled your eyes. 

“Oh come onnn, I think we’re past this, say Satoru for me baby.” Twinkling cerulean eyes bored into yours, watching you become increasingly flustered at the pet name. You turned away from him defiantly, refusing to speak but that only urged him on further, voice like dripping honey as he leaned down to speak into your ear. “C’mon sweetheart, you can do it, I believe in you. Look at me and say my name with that sweet voice of yours for me hm?” Gulping, you look up at him with wide eyes and warm cheeks, mouth parting ready to speak, when there's a series of knocks against the closet door, Suguru's deep voice a mere echo in your ears. A loud groan was let out above you as Satoru threw his head back in annoyance, “Ugh, so close. It’s okay princess, I’ll make you scream it soon enough,” he said with a wink as he finally got off of you whilst picking up his forgotten cap from the floor and placing it backwards on his head. He looks down, a hand reaching out to help you up. You take his hand and he pulls you up, biting his lips when you look up at him with those pretty eyes and for some reason he can’t bring himself to look away, both of you forgetting the fact that you were supposed to be getting out of the room.

"Yo Satoru, time's up get outta there." Light floods in as Suguru flings the door open, and your throat gets dry once you notice the desperation darkening Satoru's eyes. With heavy breaths, heaving chests and faces flushed with passion, neither of you seem to be able to look away from the intensity emitting from each other. At this point, there isn't a single thought in your head other than the man standing in front of you, looking at you with so much passion that you fear you'd never be able to look at another man without being reminded of him. The sound of a throat clearing brings both of you back to reality, Surguru watching you with a knowing smirk and crossed arms. Satoru on the other hand, doesn’t even acknowledge his best friend, instead opting to reach for your wrist, practically dragging you away down the other end of the hallway to where his room is. “Fucking took them long enough my god…” Suguru mutters under his breath, making his way back to his room already excited to tell the others about your escapade. 

Meanwhile, Satoru has you pushed up against the door of his bedroom, lips impatiently clashing with yours, hands caressing each other frantically. His cold hands had slipped under your shirt making you hiss slightly. His hands continued to make their way up, his thumbs teasingly rubbing your nipples through your bra, your whimpers getting lost in his mouth. Your own hands were gripping the collar of his shirt, pulling him impossibly closer to you. You feel one of his hands moving down to unbutton your jeans, his pinky finger swiping the skin just above the waistband of your underwear, making you buck your hips needily into him. “Fuck baby, I can feel how wet you are through your panties. Messy girl aren’t you?” He mumbles, nipping your ear softly as his fingers start to tease your slit through your underwear. Your whimpers only encourage him further, pushing your panties to the side, tips of his fingers rubbing your clit. Your body was growing responsive to his touch, leaning further and further into him, face buried in his chest as you feel yourself get impossibly wetter. Soft pants left your mouth, one of your hands shyly reaching down to grab his bulge through his sweatpants making him moan into your neck, your eyes widening when you feel just how big he is. You let out a particular loud squeal when two of his long fingers entered you without warning, body squirming as you tried to adjust to their size. Satoru had resorted to biting and sucking your neck in order to hold back his moans as you continued palming him, your cute little whimpers making him harder underneath your hand. His voice comes out in a growl, eyes now boring into yours, fingers relentlessly going in and out of you, painting stars in your vision. “T-toru…” The whimper escaping you had his gaze softening slightly, “I know baby, I know. Be a good girl for me and take it, yeah?” Your eyes screwed shut as you nodded weakly at his words, the praise making your pussy clench around his fingers.

"Shit baby you're so fucking tight around my fingers, you sure ya can take my cock? I don't think it'll fit in that tight little pussy of yours" He leans down to playfully nip on your ear and there's a taunting smile playing on his lips when he meets your eyes again. A defiant look crosses your face, the need to prove him wrong still as strong as ever, even if he is currently turning you into a brainless mess. "I can take it…" your retaliation would've been much more believable to him if your words weren't beginning to slur, coming out in soft pants. So Satoru did what he knew how to do best.

He teased. Mercilessly. 

"Aw my pretty little baby thinks she can take it? Yeah well, you're gonna have to cum around my fingers first if we wanna fit my dick in you sweetheart. But I don't know how much I'm willing to let you cum." His taunts are followed by a cruel curl of his fingers, his knuckles bullying your inner walls, your juices dripping down onto his wrist from how wet you were. You were so so close, fingers clenching around the front of Satoru's shirt, your head buried in his chest as your eyes were scrunched closed in pleasure, small tears threatening to fall from your lash line. 

“You fucking dickhead let me cum please,” you mumble out into his shirt, his fingers relentless in their teasing turning your desperation into frustration. 

“Yeah? You wanna cum baby? Beg for it.” The words coming out of his mouth were nothing short of torture for you as he stopped his movements, fingertips now rubbing your clit in gentle circles, all the while looking down at you with that infuriating smirk of his. See, usually it would take more than those three words for you to listen to Satoru Gojo of all people, but considering the fact that his fingers alone were making you see stars, it was clear to all what your choice was. 

“Please…” you breathe out, face finally coming up from your hiding place in his chest to look up at him with blown pupils, tears still pooled in your eyes and wobbly lips. Gojo’s breath hitched when you made eye contact with him, his throat going dry at the mere sight of your already dishevelled appearance. Fuck, it made him want to ruin you even more so who was he to deny your pretty plea. “Only cos you asked so nicely”, he whispers into your ear, teeth scraping against your lobe, his fingers going in and out in the most toe-curling ways. You felt your eyes roll back as one of your hands clutched the front of his shirt, the other palming him through his sweats, mouth open, letting out what Satoru believed was the prettiest sound he’d ever heard as you squeezed around his fingers, thighs shaking ever so slightly as he continued rubbing soothing circles on your clit.

Satoru’s half-lidded eyes were stuck to you, the image of you cumming on his fingers now permanently etched into his mind. He sunk his teeth into his bottom lip, a groan emitting from the back of his throat, but of course he couldn’t help himself from muttering yet another cheeky remark. 

“You know, for someone who claims to ‘hate’ me so much, you seemed to enjoy cumming on my fingers a bit too much.” The glare you throw up at him would usually have more venom but seeing as you just had what could only be described as the best orgasm of your life (although you would never admit this to his face), all your ‘glare’ did was make Satoru’s smirk widen. 

"F-fuck you Gojo,” 

"That's the plan sweetheart."  

In a matter of seconds, you felt arms snaking under your thighs, lifting you up effortlessly and dropping you onto the middle of his bed, navy blue silk sheets rippling underneath you. Of course he would have fucking silk bedsheets, rich prick. Your thoughts were quickly interrupted when you see Satoru standing at the edge of the bed, staring down at you with nothing but lust in his eyes, his tongue coming out to swipe across his lips hungrily as he slowly starts taking that damn black compression shirt off, making a show out of it as he does so. Trust him to be able to turn into a stripper at will. You gulp, scanning him down whilst he makes his way over to you, eyes locking onto the outline of his cock through his grey tracksuits. He’s now on top of you, forearms on either side of your head caging you in, soft strands of white hair falling over his eyes; eyes which he hadn’t taken off you since he locked the door. 

“You’re awfully close,” The words leaving your mouth are barely louder than a whisper and he could feel your breath hitting his lips as you spoke. 

“Problem, sweetheart?” He whispers back, leaning his face down impossibly closer to yours, his fingers gently snaking in between yours at the sides of your head. You bite your lip in anticipation, “No but it will be if you don’t fucking do something,” the retort leaves you before you could think, impatience radiating off you as you look at him through your lashes.

“Knew you secretly had a thing for me this whole time.” He lets out a low chuckle and before you could snap back at him, his lips come crashing down onto yours, hands squeezing yours essentially pressing you down further into his annoyingly comfortable mattress. He grabs both of your wrists into one of his hands, the other making its way down your hips and into your jeans, tracing the waistband of your panties. Meanwhile, your lips have resorted to leaving small kisses across his jawline, sucking little marks down the side of his neck making Satoru let out a soft whine into your ear. And you decide very quickly that you like the noise he just made so, of course, you bite down onto the junction between his neck and his shoulder, one of your hands leaving his grip and sneaking into the waistband of his tracksuits, straight into his boxers stroking his (very hard) length, causing him to let out a quiet growl, his face buried in your neck. 

Evidently, this was his last straw. 

Here you were getting up close and personal with his neck and the next thing you know he’s flipped you over onto your stomach, hands dragging your jeans and panties down your legs, throwing them onto the floor carelessly. “Fuckkk I can’t wait to ruin you,” he practically growls the words out as his palm lands a loud smack onto your ass, a squeal of surprise escaping you, your head turning back to look at him with narrowed eyes and you swear you nearly came on the spot from seeing him kneeling behind you, toned abs on full display, that stupid baseball cap still backwards on his head as he admired your half-naked body sprawled on his bed.

“What? I’m only saying the truth” he shrugs whilst ridding himself of his tracksuits, dragging his boxers along, his hard cock springing up hitting the base of his stomach. His hand comes up to stroke it lazily, and you keep looking back at him, your pupils blown wide, almost mesmerised by his actions as he lets out a soft moan when his thumb swipes across his tip. Your body squirms at his actions, the need to feel him inside you growing by the second and he notices, of course he notices his gaze hasn’t been anywhere else but you this whole time. You feel his cold hands grip your hips, a shiver running down your spine as he manoeuvers your hips upwards, “Ass up for me sweetheart,” he mumbles, his knees pushing yours outwards and spreading your legs open in the process. 

“There we go, good girl. So wet for me hm?” His sweet mumbles went straight to your core, your pussy getting embarrassingly wetter with every word coming out of his mouth. You let out a staggered breath, feeling him get closer to where you needed him most, the tip of his cock teasingly rubbing up and down your slit, eyes fixated on how your pussy seemed to clench around nothing. “Satoru I swear to god if you don’t- ” your grumble was interrupted by a loud squeal as he finally inserted himself into you with one swift movement. 

“Fucckkk you’re so tight, this what you wanted princess?” he groaned, throwing his head back in pleasure, his hat falling off his head in the process. The hand that wasn’t gripping your hips reached back to retrieve his hat, placing it haphazardly on your head, a wide smirk gracing his lips as he admired you, your ass still squirming against him as you tried to adjust to his length with soft whimpers leaving your lips. He pulls out, leaving only his tip inside you before slamming himself back in as you whine out a loud “Toruuuu” into the pillow that was currently clutched to your chest, forearms pressed into the mattress to hold yourself up. He starts moving in and out, irritatingly slowly at first, just to antagonise you that little bit more, make you that little bit more needy for him. Because, fuck he would be lying if he said he didn’t enjoy seeing the mouthy brat that always had a snipy remark for everything he did be at a loss for words, going dumb on his cock when he hadn’t even started fucking her yet. 

“Is this what all the girls were raving about? Cos right now I’m incredibly unimpressed Satoru,” you breathe out, a cheeky smile playing on your lips as you turn your head back , eyes finding his behind you. His eyes narrow as they stare back at you, not amused by your taunts in the slightest - so he picks up the pace, hips slamming into you as your mouth falls open, fingers tightening around the pillow underneath you, head falling down to your chest as you try to muffle the sounds threatening to escape you from the sudden pleasure. One hand is gripping your hip so hard, you were sure there would be a mark there and the other is teasingly running up and down your clothed spine. 

“O-oh fuck why do you have to feel so gooddd” you pant out begrudgingly, the end of your sentence forming into a whine as your hips moving back in sync against him. “Yeah? Ya still unimpressed? Or should. I. Go. Harder.” Each word was accompanied by a particularly hard thrust, your moans getting too loud for your liking, and you lose all sense of control in your body as you feel yourself move up the mattress with each thrust. The hand teasing your spine bunches the back of your shirt in his fist as he pulls you back onto his cock, “Now where do you think you’re going sweetheart? God, you have no idea how fucking good you look right now.” he breathlessly mumbles out, his voice deeper as he watches you struggle underneath him, your hair splayed out on your back, his hat still on your head, knuckles turning white from clutching onto the pillow so hard and the sweetest sounds leaving your swollen lips. You don’t think you’ve ever been this wet in your life, feeling yourself leaking down your thighs and of course Satoru takes note of this, his free hand swiping the dripping wetness from the inside of your thigh with his nimble fingers, moving to circle your clit in slow movements, his thrusts getting faster. “S-so good holy fuck~” you whine out, eyes rolling back into your head. 

A snicker escapes Satoru as he watches you fall apart further, mouth open and drool threatening to drip down the corner of your mouth as your cheek is squished onto the pillow underneath your head, your soft whimpers and pants making him want to fuck you harder. He moves his hand from your clit to grab your jaw, making you twist your head to face him as he rudely shoves two of his fingers into your mouth and you instinctively start sucking on them, drool now freely dripping down your chin as he pushes his fingers deeper into your mouth, pressing down on your tongue in the process. He kisses his teeth in faux annoyance “Tch, messy girl aren’t you?” He taunts, leaning his body down onto yours, his other hand brushing back the hair sticking to your forehead in an almost sweet gesture in comparison to the way he was practically slamming into you, and the cute moment was effectively ruined when he bunches your hair into a makeshift ponytail pulling your head back, his hat falling off your head all while thrusting into you deeper. You let out a particularly loud squeal, muffled by his fingers in your mouth and his smirk widens, repeatedly hitting that same spot with the same vigour as he leans down to whisper in your ear, “Fuck you’re taking me so well, such a good girl for me.” He removes his fingers from your mouth, tilting your jaw to the side as his lips meet yours in a sloppy kiss, his tongue swirling around yours, his hips never seeming to falter in the cruel pace he’s set out for your pussy. All you could do was whine into his mouth, any semblance of speaking having already left you the second he had put his cock in you and with the way he was hitting that spot inside you, you don’t think you’d be able to speak again. He pulls away from the kiss, a string of saliva still connecting the two of you, spit dripping down your chin as you look at him with clouded eyes and a flushed face. 

“Look at you pretty girl, fucked you stupid haven’t I?” he mutters, looking at you with such awe, his hand still gripping onto your jaw as he leans his body down onto yours, his cock now reaching deeper into you as his thrusts start to become harder, your body jolting and your moans getting louder with every move. “T-toru, ‘m close,” I pant out, letting out small sniffles. “Yeah? You wanna come for me?” he taunts, his hips slowing down on purpose, the hand holding your hair pulling your head back further with a harsh tug for his lips to scatter soft kisses and nibbles on the sides of your neck as you nod impatiently, tears brimming in your eyes. Another whine escapes you as you look at him pitifully, pupils blown wide and lips trembling as you become desperate for release, grinding back onto his dick for in need of more friction. He tuts, his hands moving to grip your hips, stilling your movements. “Don’t you fucking dare,” he grits out, the hand on your jaw moving to the back of your neck and pinning you down, cheeks squished onto the mattress. “You wanna come, you beg for it like the good girl I know you are, understand?” Tears of frustration were now freely running down your cheeks, your face an absolute flushed mess of tears and drool and the sight of you was enough to make Satoru cum right there and then. He thought he should be getting an award for the amount of self control he’s shown so far. But he was quickly brought back to reality when he heard your precious, albeit muffled, voice whimper out a “Toruuu pleaseee~ please lemme cum”, paired with those pretty big eyes of yours and your pussy walls clenching almost teasingly around him, made him choke back a moan. And when you were begging so prettily, how could he say no to you? 

“That’s my girl” he groaned, pressing a soft kiss on the side of your head before his hips once again began snapping into you relentlessly, the warmth from his body almost lying on top of your back making your head spin. His thumb found its way back into your parted mouth once more, pressing into the back of your bottom teeth, forcing your mouth open further causing even more drool to spill from the corners of your mouth, rendering you a helpless mess underneath him. His free hand slithered its way down to your clit, fingertips rubbing it tantalisingly slowly, your legs were already shaking and his ministrations on your clit made you want to close your legs. Your actions were quickly stopped by Satoru, his hand gripping your thigh pushing your leg further out, your fingers gripping onto the sheets in front of you for dear life at this point. “Keep 'em open,” he hissed out, fingers going back to your clit once he felt your walls squeeze around his dick. “C-cumming Toru~” your words were muffled and barely comprehensible as you babbled around his spit-covered thumb in your mouth. “Yeah? Cum for me sweet girl, c’mon you can do it,” He purred out, the sound of your wet pussy and his hips snapping into yours filling the room. Your jaw went slack, his thumb leaving your mouth to now rub soothing circles onto your jawline as he watched you come undone beneath him, his breath staggering as his self-control was slowly disappearing. “There you gooo, such a good girl. You did such a good job for me baby~” He cooed into your ear, his other hand going gently up and down your spine. “Can you hold on a bit more f’me?” he asks, checking in on you with a soft look in his eyes, and you nod, still dazed from your orgasm. He lets out a small chuckle at the state of you, “Good, cos I’m not done,” he grits out, flipping you over onto your back and resuming his thrusts in you all while looking down at you, his chest glistening with sweat, the front strands of his hair sticking to his forehead slightly. You bite your lip, looking up at him with wide eyes and you bring your arms up tiredly looping one around his neck bringing him closer down to you as the other brushes away the hair from his forehead, mimicking his earlier actions.

“Fuck ‘m so close sweetheart” he whimpers out, his head falling into the crook of your neck as his steady rhythm wavered slightly. “Cum f’me Toru~” you breathe out sweetly into his ear, your hands tangled in his hair as you hold him close to you and Satoru swore he saw heaven when he heard those words in his ear as he lifts his head from his spot in your shoulder, panting out. “W-where do you w-” before he could even finish his question you looked him straight in the eyes and whimpered out your answer, wrapping your legs around his waist, locking your ankles behind his back, pulling him impossibly closer to you.. “Inside please…” A loud groan leaves Satoru’s lips as he throws his head back at your words. “You’re gonna be the fucking death of me sweetheart,” he grumbles out, his hips staggering as he cums, filling you up with his warm load and you stare up at him through wet lashes, clenching around him purposefully just to hear him whimper again. 

He collapses on top of you, sweaty chest sticking to your equally sweaty shirt, letting out a huff, mumbling in your ear, “Best. Fuck. Ever.” and you couldn’t help but stifle a giggle, running your fingers through his hair gently. “Shut it Gojo,” you retort, biting back a smile when his head whips out of his hiding place in your neck, face contorting into an expression which could only be described as complete disbelief and confusion. “Sweetheart I just fucked you speechless on my cock and you wanna go back to last name basis? Be so for real right now.” Although your face flushed at his words, you burst into giggles at his last statement. Trust Satoru Gojo to still have the audacity to be sassy after sex. 

“Sorry Toru~” you purr out, nails grazing up and down the back of his neck.

“Better.” he mumbles out, lips formed into a slight pout as his face plops back down onto your chest. 

“So like… you still hate me?”

“Ehhh, guess you’re not so bad after all.”

“Are you just saying that 'cos I made you cum?”

“Yeah.”

“Fucking brat.”

ミ★ notes from star: the ending was a bit rushed but i hope you enjoyed it lovelies!

prettyngeto © 2024. all rights reserved - please do not plagiarise, translate, steal and repost any of my works on any social platforms for whatever reason.

[mmirx]

AFTERTHOUGHT ⋆⑅˚₊

Who were you if not unremarkable? You had finally come into terms that you are someone who was meant to stay in everyone’s shadow, but not until you met Caleb, or so you thought.

cw/tags: PART 2 of this, university au, non-mc reader, frat guy caleb (but not really important), angst, jealousy, self-loathing (please just lmk if i missed more cw, i just cant identify more as of now)

note: i dont know what im writing but im enjoying it, so suffer (kidding). the guy that inspired me to write this recently posted smth, so I HAD TO. he looks good and i hate it. nway, this might be shorter than i originally planned bcs 1) i might cut some parts 2) univ is so demanding

word count: 865

Scrolling through your archives, you saw a picture you took a year ago—one in the range where the archery team in your university frequented. It reminded you of  the fact that it was around the same time when you started to orbit around Caleb's circle.

The first time you saw him was when you were thirty minutes late for orientation of the organization that you wanted to join. At first, you didn't notice him at all because you were too embarrassed to look around. I mean you were late and had to walk towards the front since there were no seats available near the entrance. Where's a catastrophe when you need one?

Anyway, after you introduced yourself as someone whose desire is to advocate for human rights, you finally had the chance to look around—you saw him immediately. Why?  Someone that tall couldn't go unnoticed. His looks alone could prove the existence of a divine creature; God probably pats himself to congratulate himself whenever he sees Caleb.

You thought that would be last time you'd see him. It wasn't. 

After gushing over him to your friend, you found that he's also in the archery team. They were literally teammates, so being the ever-supported she is, she devised a plan: you'd be tagging along during their training sessions.

And that started it all.

Initially, you started questioning why you even agreed to this since it wasn't like you were desperate to find someone right at the moment. However, after several attempts of your friend, Zan, urging you to push through, you accepted defeat. Plus, it wasn't that bad of an idea—you have a crush on him, so why not?

The plan was to present yourself as someone carefree and effortlessly cool. That was the plan. But fate is cruel—such a dramatic conclusion—because when Caleb arrived, you didn't even get to say ‘hi’ at him. Your reason? Nothing, you just happen to not be able to say anything because you froze. God forbid your mouth that seems to automatically work every inconvenient moment stops working the moment you needed to be social.

It was embarrassing, even for you. 

A voice suddenly came from your back knocking you off your little reminiscing moment. You looked around to see MC approaching with a frown. There she was again, looking like an angel sent in the world of mortals as an apology for every sin that everyone had committed. You pondered every day how someone can be your friend at all too.

“Lost your hearing?" she said laced with sarcasm and affection.“I missed you," she sighed dramatically as she tried to take away your supply of oxygen with her embrace.

“Oh, dear, I know." 

"Can we go get lunch together? I ditched Caleb for today.” 

Oh. They were supposed to eat together? You didn't know what to feel as your stomach formed a circus within its premises. It felt funny and unsettling. To be honest, you're a fool for even getting surprised with how they do the most mundane things with each other. You hated yourself for having such thoughts because you guys were perfect as friends. It's starting to feel as if you were the problem with all these negative thoughts that you concoct nonstop.

“Serves him right,” you laughed as if you didn't bear any thoughts you just had, "but I don't think I can join you today, MC.”

You had to decline her but not because of your self-loathing! It just happens that you have to finish a group presentation today with people you barely know. Another challenge for you.

You heard her sigh dramatically—it almost made you laugh. Her theatrics never seemed to be on a time out. Truthfully, you wanted to be with her, too, because it might remind you more of the reasons why you were in each other's lives.

“Trust me, if this shit wasn't so important, I'd choose to eat with you." You tried to defend yourself to not make it seem like it wasn't out of willingness that you won't join her.

“I know, it's just, you know you're too busy these days. I mean, I know why because you're such an exceptional woman but still!”

You? Exceptional? Those words being in a same sentence doesn't feel right at all. Was she blind?

“You’re trying to flatter me! But I'll call you once my schedule lets me. I promise, MC.”

She sighed defeatedly as she bid her goodbye. You really did feel bad for not having been with her for such a time. You missed the times when you didn't feel comparatively smaller to her.

You walked for minutes. Gosh, didn't know university was a field for you to battle with so much stairs. But as you neared towards the range, you heard a familiar voice.

“I mean, I don't even know how I managed to put up with her.”

Was that him?

“Didn't you approach her only because you were trying to recruit someone that time?" 

You knew that voice, a senior of yours and MC’s. They were laughing. You had a bad feeling brewing up. 

All was confirmed when the first voice spoke again.

It was him.

Caleb.

PART 3

tag(s): @justpassingdontworry

[nebulaafterdark]

The Iron Throne

Summary: Y/N is afraid that the Iron Throne will spurn her due to her parentage, Aegon disagrees. Aegon Targaryen x Velaryon(Strong)!Reader

18+ ONLY MDNI Targcest, Smut, Oral (F receiveing)

Y/N and Aegon speak freely when they are alone, about the weight of her duties and what he, as her husband, might do to help shoulder them. Lately the topic has been a simpler one, Y/N’s fear of the Iron Throne and how she dreads the day she must eventually sit it.

“What of it frightens you, sweet girl?” Aegon wonders, watching her pace at the foot of their bed.

“That it will spurn me, because I am unworthy.” Y/N admits.

Aegon hums. “You are worthy. Come, I will show you.”

“Now?” Y/N chokes out.

“Yes, my love there is no one there.” Not in the middle of the night.

She hesitates, wringing her hands. “You know what I am.”

“My wife,” Aegon reminds her, “my future Queen.”

Y/N sighs, holding out a hand. Allowing him to lead her down to the empty throne room, demanding the guards provide no one entrance until they are finished.

The throne looms, like a dark omen over the room. Though Aegon does not seem to notice, walking his wife towards it and turning her to face him.

“Gods, you are beautiful.” He remarks, brushing dark hair over her shoulders. “Made to be worshipped, made to be Queen.”

Y/N smiles, pressing a kiss to his lips, “you’re one to talk.”

Aegon rests a hand against the tiny swell of the abdomen. “That’s how we got here a fifth time, hmmm?”

“It’ll be an even six, no doubt.”

“Or seven,” Aegon’s eyes come alight with mischief. “Then of course, it’d have to be eight.”

“Why stop at eight when we could have ten?”

“You’re stalling,” Aegon wags a finger at her. “Sit down for me, nice and slow.”

Y/N stops breathing all together as she takes her place on the throne.

“Good girl,” he coos.

Y/N inhales, sharply.

“Just as I said, nothing has happened.”

“I want to get off now.”

“Not until you’re comfortable.”

“Please, Aegon.” She whines.

“I will never let anything or anyone hurt you,” Aegon leans forward, pressing a kiss to her lips. “I’m going to help you get over your fear of this silly chair.”

“How?” Y/N wonders.

“By feasting on your pretty cunt as you sit upon it, and each time you take to this throne, you will think of my mouth.”

She catches his face in her hands, “you cannot.”

“I must, my dearest love.” Aegon hushes her, “what kind of husband would I be if I allow you to walk around with such fear?”

Y/N swallows.

“Be good.” He affords her a reassuring smile before kneeling at her feet. Pressing a sweet kiss to the swell of her belly, the child has finally made their presence known. “Lift your hips for me.”

Y/N obeys, allowing him to slide her small clothes down to her ankles.

Her nightgown remains perfectly placed, with Aegon sliding up beneath her skirts. Applying gentle pressure to her knees until they part.

He groans, inhaling the familiar scent of her. “You are heavenly.” His tongue flicks over her cunt in practiced strokes.

His hair is hidden beneath her dress, nothing for her to cling to and the distance between them becomes too much to bear.

“I want your hand,” she chokes out.

“Yes, my Queen.” Aegon purrs, slightly muffled beneath the fabric. He slides one hand away from her trembling thigh to find hers, lacing their fingers together. “I live only to serve you.”

Her free hand curls around the arm rest, of its own volition. Her skin pristine and unscathed by the metal.

By then she’s relaxed enough that Aegon eases her legs farther apart, bending them up and over the arms of the chair. Slipping two fingers into her slick cunt.

“Aegon.”

He hums, in acknowledgement. Sometimes his sweet girl wishes to say his name just because she loves him. Because he’s pleasing her so well.

Lost in her passion, she scarcely notices the way her body is draped over the throne of swords with abandon. She is safe and loved…all she’s ever hoped to be.

Aegon redoubles his efforts, bringing her to peak. Covering his tongue and fingers with her slick, meeting her pearl with little kitten licks, until she squirms. Pushing against his head in protest, with one final kiss to her pulsing cunt, he pulls his mouth away. Curling his fingers against the spongy part of her inner walls as he stands, looming over her.

Her perfect lips agape, dark brows pulled together. “Fuck.”

“If you could see yourself now, my dearest love.” Aegon groans, “the smallfolk would line up at the foot of this throne, by the thousands for a chance to please you.”

“I only want you.”

Aegon’s eyes soften. He’s allowed one man to fuck her, so could hold her face in his hands and watch her features contort without distraction.

She took his cock well, for which Aegon praised her, though she could not find release until Aegon’s own fingers brushed her pearl. The same way he can cum for his ladies, but never as long or hard as he does for her.

Fucking is nice, something to do whilst he’s bored and craving excitement. Love making is more than that, something he only ever had the desire to do with her.

“How do you want me?”

“Inside me,” Y/N pants.

Aegon chuckles, “I meant to ask if you are comfortable? Or shall I bend you over the throne?”

“Over the throne,” she nods. “Or you could sit and I could ride your cock.”

Aegon mulls it over, “as much as I’d love you to sink down on me, I have no fear of this chair. You do, so up you go, turn around for me.” He withdraws his fingers, sucking them clean.

To his surprise she kneels, resting her cheek against the seat of the throne, with her arms folded over her head.

“I thought we might stand, my darling.”

“I cannot stand.” She whimpers, “I need your cock.”

“Needy thing.” Aegon kneels behind her, lifting her skirts once more and freeing himself from his sleep clothes. He slides into her with ease, he was made to be there. Leaning forward to place his arms beneath her, allowing her sweet face to rest against his skin rather than the cool metal swords. “I love you endlessly.”

She nods, “I love you.”

“You are worthy of this throne, you are worthy of the crown, and to rule.” Aegon feels her cunt flutter with the beginnings of her peak. “Y/N Targaryen, first of her name. Queen of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men. Lady of the Seven Kingdoms and protector of the realm.”

[bluemerakis]

❝ THE PILLOW WAS ALWAYS COLD ❞

─── BLUEMERAKIS

synopsis. joel mourns the loss of you.

─── warnings. joel miller x fem .ᐟ reader. pre-apocalypse. childless joel. established marriage. mentioned fluff. grief. angst.

word count. 1.1k

✉️ 𓏧 notes .ᐟ my first joel miller anything. & ofc it’s sad shit. pls go easy on me LMAO

THE FIRST HINT OF DAYBREAK poured in through the bedroom window, seeping through the slit of the worn, frilly curtains. The selfish sunlight settled over Joel’s face like a heavy blanket, but the reality woven into its touch was far from warm and comforting—it was cold, empty, cruel. Where a sunrise was meant to promise a new day, he couldn’t help but feel as though it was a taunt to every person who remained trapped in the muddy pits of the past.

Somebody like him—who, no matter how hard he waded through the mud, could never seem to escape the bottomless void your death had left him in.

He shifted beneath the comforter half-strewn across the mattress’ edge and rolled onto his back with a grunt, his eyes hazy as he blinked away the restless night. He brought up a hand to wipe a clumsy line down his face, coarse skin grating over the unkempt mass of his beard. His gaze flickered up to the room’s ceiling, the movement sluggish with the exhaustion lurking on the horizon of his eyelids like a heavy storm cloud.

But the feeling was no stranger to him. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d slept through the night uninterrupted.

That was a lie; he remembered perfectly.

Nights used to pass like a fleeting breeze when had his body curved around yours in a sensual spooning, one arm slung over the bare skin of your waist with his fingers tracing aimless lines over your stomach, while the other played pillow to the cosy nook of your neck. He’d rest his jaw against the crown of your head, nose nuzzled into your swath of hair until he drowned in the scent of your conditioner. It lulled him like the spell of lavender, easing him into a sleep so deep, he’d only wake up hours after you’d abandoned the sheets for work.

He never imagined the loss of your warmth would become so permanent.

It was easier to forget he’d ever known a good night’s rest than remember that you were the sole reason for it. To remember that there’d once been a time where he didn’t wish for an extra hour of sleep when losing it meant a late night conversation with you. It was easier to pretend that this had always been the way things were, because the cost of remembrance meant forgetting what purpose his existence still served outside of you.

Living for you.

‘Til deal do us apart—that had been the vow. Joel hadn’t realised just how selfish he’d been when he’d carefully slid that ring onto your finger. How selfish he’d been to claim the very hand that had held his through every hardship, guiding his lost voyage amongst the sea of life like a lighthouse in the distance. How selfish he’d been to strike you with a vow so foreboding and violent when you’d done nothing but nurture his wounds—the stings of wooden splinters left in the wake of a hard day’s work.

Maybe death—ever the vicious competitor of life—wouldn’t have claimed you if he hadn’t made the mistake of claiming you first.

Joel never thought he’d have lived to see the vow through.

He’d imagined you’d grow old together in matching rocking chairs, perched on the porch of the house he’d have built for you in the heart of the countryside. He’d have a beer to cool one palm and your hand to warm the other, frail fingers woven together while you watched the sun set on another day—tallying the long years of your marriage.

The sun and her daily treks was supposed to be a witness to your happy life together, not the lurking grim reaper dressed in light and warmth and trailing after Joel’s every move like a gloomy reminder of your fate, and his new reality. She came each day asking for you, knocking on a door she knew only he could answer.

It was cruel. Painful.

He turned a cheek to glimpse the bedroom window, teary eyes focusing on the curtains patterned with small, faded bees and swirled, dotted lines that were meant to represent their erratic flight path. He always thought it was a stupid choice of decor—a quaint thing that only quainter people would enjoy, but it made you happy, so he’d begrudgingly agreed to it. You’d loved bees so much, you’d needed to see them in everything you owned. And it was just as fitting that you were the type of sweet that honey would grow bitter over.

Now, the curtains had enough holes to mock beestings, letting in more light than it could manage to keep out. It was reason enough to finally rip the damn thing off the rails, but the mere thought of it felt like kicking dirt over your grave—like burying you deeper than you’d ever been before. Besides, he had this nagging feeling that it was by design—that the curtains were meant to let in all the light that would keep him from drowning in the darkness of his own mind. Like it was fulfilling your dying wish that he continue to live after you. In memory of you.

But he was no museum. He couldn’t have honoured you even if he’d tried.

He’d thought about it once—carving your face into a slab of wood he’d polish and hang as a memoir of you. But you were the type of beautiful that was difficult to capture, features too delicate for a pair of hardy, rough hands like his to recreate. And he couldn’t bear the idea of tracing every line of your face for one last time when it would be a feeling as lifeless as wood.

He wasn’t strong enough. It was a splinter he’d never heal from.

His gaze drifted from the window to focus on the pillow across from him, his heart staggering over a pang of pain before he hesitantly reached out a hand to grab it. He pulled it against his torso—a routine he’d frequently practiced on you—and gently cradled it between his arms. His eyes fluttered closed, chin dipping in the slightest movement to burrow his nose into the pillowcase.

It still smelled like you.

He heaved a deep breath, willing the sweet smell to overtake his every sense until he could picture that you were still alive and laid beside him. But even as he held the pillow against him, trying to fill the very space you’d left behind, no part of him felt comforted, fulfilled. If anything, he only felt more hollow.

Where the scent of you still lingered, your warmth no longer did. And no matter how many mornings he reached for your pillow, wishing to brush his knuckles against the warm skin of your cheek—

The pillow was always empty.

The pillow was always cold.

tagging some mooties that i know live for joel miller. @inbred-eater @bohemianblasphemy @violent-darkness @littlesoulshine @cherrygirlfriend <3

icons taken from gif by @bratmillers !

[misseviehyde]

BLAME HER, NOT ME

PART 1: ASCENSION

It was Jim's curse to always be used by other people because he was too nice. He was one of life's push-overs.

As his once loving ex-girlfriend threw his bags out into the street and laughed nastily as his former best-friend pushed past him with an arrogant grin to walk inside... he was left cold and empty on the street.

"You can keep your keys loser, we've changed the locks anyway," giggled Izzy as Liam slid an arm round her waist and gave her a deep sloppy kiss.

"Mmmmh, sorry dude. Your girl is mine now. Blame her... not me. She is such a good fuck and led me astray."

"Mmmh you know I am. Take me inside and do me right now. My pussy is dripping wet having finally dumped this loser. Fuck me doggy style in the bed he used to share with me."

Laughing the evil couple headed inside slamming the door and leaving Jim standing in the street, his keys still in his hand.

Jim felt a curious mix of helplessness and rage. He had always been resigned to being too nice for his own good, but for a while with Izzy he thought he'd finally met someone who loved him. She'd turned out to be cruel and evil, just using him whilst she rebounded from her last relationship. When she'd met Liam, his hot sporty friend, sparks had flown. Now he'd lost a friend and a lover.

Blame her, not me.

That reminded him of something. Something he'd tried to resist until now.

Jim looked down at the keys in his hand. His eyes were drawn to one key different to the rest. It was made of a dull black metal and was curiously fashioned. This key opened no lock, it was a different kind of key.

This key opened up potential. Evil potential. That was why he had never used it... and yet... here it still was on his key ring. He'd always told himself he kept it because it served as a temptation to resist, a challenge to overcome. The allure of easy power and revenge took character to overcome. It took grit... but maybe there were other darker reasons he had never thrown it away.

He had been given the key two years ago by a blonde girl he had helped out of a jam at great personal cost to himself. She'd used him just like everyone else, then mocked him and taking some form of pity on him given him the key, telling him when he was finally tired of being a loser he could use the key and change his life. The key would blacken his soul... give him a new life... unlock the evil potential within him.

All he had to do was hold it in his hands and say 'loser, loser, looooser,' in a mocking tone and he would be transformed. He'd sworn he would never use it.

My pussy is dripping wet dumping this loser.

Jim felt his teeth grind and a snarl appear on his face. He was tired of being a door mat. He wanted to hurt Izzy and Liam... but he knew he wasn't strong enough to do it.

"Loser," he spat, holding the key tightly, "loser... looooser!"

Jim regretted what he'd done almost instantly... but it was too late. The key in his hand glowed and he gasped as the world spun around him and changed. No... he was the one changing and it felt amazing.

The key floated out of his hand and leapt to his neck. Instantly a black choker formed and it hung there like a dominatrixes chastity key, bouncing as his bones popped and his body writhed.

"What's uhhhh happening to meee?" wailed Jim as his body shrank and grew slimmer and more feminine shaped. Wide hips popped out and a shapely ass slowly inflated as his boys clothes hung baggy on his now feminine frame.

"Fuckkkk I feel goooood."

Soft pink lips parted in a wicked pout as Jim ripped the glasses from his face and threw them to the ground. His sneakers became black stiletto boots and with a giggle he crushed his glasses beneath them, giggling in pleasure as he heard them crunch.

His vision was perfect now... dark, wicked, hypnotic eyes gazing out on the world. He wouldn't be needing to wear those again.

Jim's stance shifted and he adopted a confident feminine posture. His other clothing began to change as he shook free his hair and felt it cascade down his shoulders and back in a elegant femme-fatale style.

A tight black corset crushed in Jim's waist and long black gloves ran down his arms. Beneath the sheer material, his short fingernails became sharp and manicured... perfect lacquered tips extending into points.

Jim purred as his hands went to his chest and he sighed in satisfaction as his chest began to swell. It felt good to feel his womanly breasts growing on his chest even as his useless dick began to slither away to nothing between his legs.

"This feels soooo much better," sniggered Jim as he stretched and felt the pull of his perfect body, toned muscles and smooth skin. He felt like a Goddess.

No... SHE felt like a Goddess.

As perfect makeup shimmered into place and the smell of expensive perfume rose from her skin, the woman who had been Jim felt her face relax into an evil bitchy expression of dominance and power.

Cruel twisted thoughts flowed through her mind as useless emotions such as kindness and helpfulness were replaced with new ideas such as selfishness and narcissism.

Genevieve smiled as she admired herself in a nearby car mirror. She was perfection personified... the very model of the evil feminine trope that no man could resist. Slender, elegant, cruel and dominant she commanded attention just by existing.

She played with the key above her perfect breasts... it was now white and pure, polarised by the transformation. If she just said the phrase no doubt she'd turn back into Jim.

She took off the key and slid it safely into her handbag.

Mistress Genevieve or Lady Genevieve would suit her very well. She needed to be spoiled, she needed to have power. But most of all she needed revenge on those who had wronged her.

Not because she cared what had happened to Jim... not because it mattered... but simply because it would be so much fun to put Izzy and Liam in their place.

Just because she could.

Laughing a rich evil laugh and winking at an embarrassed older man who she caught staring at her in lust, Goddess Genevive turned and walked with a clop of heels into her new existence as an evil manipulative bitch.

***

PART 2: REVENGE

THREE MONTHS LATER

Liam yawned lazily, stroking Izzy's long blonde hair fondly as they lay together naked and entangled. They were both sheened with sweat after another marathon fuck session. Discarded condoms lay around the room.

Liam grinned. How the fuck had Jim ever kept this insatiable bitch satisfied?

"Ughhh I should get up and get ready for work," yawned Izzy.

"Really? I thought you could do whatever you wanted now you and the business manager are in cahoots."

"Shhhh. I wish I'd never told you about that. Fiddling the accounts is kind of illegal but luckily the idiot sent me pics of his dick after being drunk at a party so now I own his ass."

She picked up a Gucci handbag. "Which has its benefits. Still I better show up and make it look like I'm working."

Liam slapped her ass and she walked off giggling heading to the shower. He opened his phone and browsed social media. He'd catch up with some news and then maybe hit the gym.

Going into his secure folder, Liam checked his Tinder profile and other sex apps almost from habit. Izzy was currently making him very happy but he still liked to play the field. After all, she'd cheated on Jim so who was to say she wouldn't betray him too?

He sighed as he thought of Jim. The guy had gone missing months ago after the break up and no one had seen him. He hoped he was okay and hadn't thrown himself off a bridge or something.

As he scrolled, he noticed he had a push notification.

Goddess Genevive? Who was that?

Opening the app, he whistled appreciatively. Wow, she was hot. Hitting subscribe he began to scroll her page....

***

SIX MONTHS LATER

Knocking nervously on the door to the hotel room, Liam checked the address again and felt his heart hammering in his chest.

He'd never done anything like this before and yet he had never been so excited. He was beginning to wonder if he was a sex addict or was just seriously fucked up. It felt like for the last three months his life had begun to spin apart.

First he'd stolen Izzy from his best mate (who no one had seen in six months now) and then he'd found himself in thrall to a woman who he had only ever met online after a chance encounter.

"Come in."

Then again had it been chance? He sometimes felt like the Goddess had been the one who had chosen him!

After 3 months of messages, edging sessions, increasing findom control and growing subservience from Liam - he was no longer sure.

Entering the hotel room, Liam felt his breath catch as he saw the Goddess waiting for him on the bed.

"Welcome slave. I've been expecting you..."

***

NINE MONTHS LATER

Liam gasped and squirmed as the ropes bit deep into his wrists and ankles. The ball gag was deep in his mouth and he could hear the wet sound of lube being squirted as Goddess Genevive got her strap on ready.

"You're making such good progress slave. You hardly ever whimper when I peg your ass anymore."

Liam gurgled as his Mistress slid her giant dildo into his ass and tears of happiness leaked from his eyes.

"But you're still holding back from me... you still need to tell me EVERYTHING about Izzy. Be a good boy and tell Goddess everything."

Liam gasped, his eyes rolling back in pleasure as Genevive expertly massaged his balls and pounded his prostrate... he would do anything for Mistress. Anything.

****

ONE YEAR LATER

Izzy knew she was in the shit the moment she walked into her office to see the auditors.

Mr Smith - the useless bastard she had been milking for over a year now was already being led away in handcuffs.

A smart man in a suit walked over with a tight false smile.

"Ahhhh Miss Green. I'm Agent Knowles. I was wondering if we could ask you some questions about some financial irregularities we've found out about."

Izzy felt a shiver of fear up her back, yet she maintained her air of innocence. She'd taken care to shield herself from any financial trail so hopefully this wouldn't cause her any major difficulties.

She was just beginning to formulate an excuse in her mind when at that exact moment she got a message telling her to go to the ladies from an unknown number.

"Of course, but could I please just visit the restroom quickly?"

Agent Knowles hesitated... and then agreed swiftly. "I'll post an agent by the door but I guess we can allow it. You and I have a lot to discuss."

***

Walking into the washroom Izzy could feel the cold sweat of panic. How the fuck had these bastards tracked her down? She had been careful hadn't she?

"Hello Izzy."

Another woman, absolutely gorgeous and stylish was doing her makeup in the mirror. Izzy looked at her curiously.

"Sorry... do I know you?"

Genevive grinned like a predator as she regarded Izzy. "I guess not. Not anymore. Listen, we don't have much time. The only way out of this building is either in their custody... or by doing exactly what I say."

Izzy blinked in surprise.

"Sorry... I don't know what..."

Genevive grinned as she tossed a paper dossier onto the basin counter. It was thick and comprehensive.

"Take a look if you want. It's a copy of the one I sent to the authorities. Dates... times... places.... payments. You're fucked."

Izzy's mouth dropped open as she flicked through. How the fuck could this woman know any of this? Only Liam had known... what was going on?

"No... this is... you've got everything."

Genevive laughed. "That's right. I do. I know everything. You're finished. Unless..."

Genevive smirked as she tossed Izzy a white key. "There is one way you can leave here. One way you can escape prison... you just have to do exactly as I tell you..."

***

TWO YEARS LATER

Ian bowed his head as he presented Goddess Genevive with her dinner.

It was over a year since he'd used the key to escape punishment and transformed into a weak willed sub for Goddess. Since that day he had served his Goddess faithfully... alongside Liam. The two of them were broken slaves, and they would never be free.

Watching her two slave boys simp for her, Genevive felt a thrill of delicious power. She'd more than had her revenge on these losers and all was right with the word. Being an evi bitch felt delicious.

Dressed in exotic red lingerie like some Empress of old she lorded it over her slaves... her every wish for vengeance and dominance complete.

Goddess Genevive laughed as she thought of all she'd achieved. "Don't blame me... blame Jim..." she laughed as she began preparing to torture her two favourite slaves once again.

Why did it feel so good to be so fucking evil?

Genevive was never turning back into Jim. Her vengeance was complete and she had everything she could have ever wanted. The key was long gone and so was any chance of Jim returning.

Blame her.

Blame her for everything.

THE END

[nockstormbringer]

PLATONIC TELEMACHUS WITH TWIN SISTER READER!!!!!!!!!!!!!! SHES BASICALLY A COPY OF ODYSSEUS AND A MAMAS GIRL WHO TRIES TO KILL THE SUITORS REGULARY

Napping || Telemachus

Synopsis → Telemachus with a twinsister! Reader who is a mini-Odysseus.

Warning → The Suitors, Voilence, Abuse, Telemachus lowkey being a hypocrite, Mentions of Monsters

A/n → Oh my god, I'm finally able to post, currently in English finishing this request. These two girls in my English who are sitting right next to me are rough housing and laughing so loud, its embarrassing. 🤡

Word Count → 697

↳ Oh my god, Telemachus would absolutely dote on his sister. Doesn’t matter if she’s the elder or younger twin.

↳ Though if she is the younger twin, he’s absolutely gonna be that brother who constantly reminds her of it. Doesn’t matter place or time.

“Y/n/n, I’m just looking out for you. It’s my duty as your big brother to defend you.”

“You’ve never even been in a fight.”

“Don’t change the subject.”

↳ He’s so hypocritical too, like yeah, sure, you’ve fought monsters and won fights against men larger than you, BUT, he advises you that climbing that rock could get you hurt.

↳ He’s such a dork though, and gets excited every time he finds something he thinks you would love. Like a cool rock, maybe something that use to belong to your father before he left for the war of Troy.

↳ Telemachus no doubtably defends you against the suitors, even if you’ve proven to be able to handle them in a fight.

↳ He’s watched you fight many battles, and win majority of them, so when an altercation starts up between the suitors and/or himself, he knows you’ll be there to end the fight quickly and swiftly.

↳ He fears for the day you come of age, worried that Queen Penelope can no longer prevent you from marriage.

↳ Even so, he knows that suitors could absolutely kick his ass, so he tries to keep you away from them at all costs.

↳ Telemachus loves spending time with both you and your mother. At least once a week, there will be a day where you three just do whatever. From spa sessions, to long walks alongside the shoreline, the same one in which Odysseus promised to return from.

↳ You both are constantly told of how you both resemble Odysseus, whether with your fighting skills, personality, traits or just overall everything that made the King of Ithaca so him.

↳ More than once, have the servants been spooked, especially those who have been serving the castle from before you and Telemachus were born, because of how much you two look and even act like Odysseus.

↳ It’s one of the biggest things you two are praised for, and one of the biggest things the suitors hate about you both.

↳ After a particularly hard day, whether from a fight gone wrong, the suitors were somehow worse than usual or just feeling gloomy, you both just rest with each other.

↳ You two just sleep in either your own or Telemachus’ room, or even the garden. One time, Penelope found you two sleeping against Odysseus’ statue.

↳ Argos' so cute, he switches between sleeping in yours, Telemachus and Penelope room. Absolute cuddle bug of a dog, he's so loving.

↳ Telemachus would be torn between wanting you to accompany him to get Odysseus back. He doesn’t want you to get hurt on the journey, but he also worries for what the suitors will do.

↳ Obviously you go with him, but he was still hesitant.

↳ After that whole ordeal, big family reunion with Odysseus!!

↳ You all cried, like a lot. Penelope and Odysseus have their lovebirds moment and it sends both you and Telemachus into tears.

↳ But yay! No more suitors!

↳ Its sort of weird at first adjusting to Odysseus being home again, considering you and Telemachus hadn't actually known him before the war, but you all fall into a nice routine.

↳ Odysseus makes up for lost time and takes old man naps with both you and Telemachus, roughly 2-5 times a week. Penelope joins most days.

↳ Telemachus trains a lot, wanting to get stronger, to protect you, Penelope and even Odysseus. Your father tries telling him that he can protect all of you, but everyone can see he's getting older. Even he.

↳ But, nonetheless, Odysseus humours Telemachus, and trains with him, giving great pointers and teaching him new tricks. Most days, you join in, and Odysseus loves training with his kids.

↳ You've managed to hand their asses to both of them, leaving them with sore muscles and aching bones. Both Odysseus and Telemachus are incredibly proud of you.

↳ Overall, Telemachus tries his hardest to protect you, even if you or someone else kick his ass. <3

thank you!! ♡

[jtargaryen18]

The Arrangement ~ Chapter 3

Series Masterlist

Words: 9k

Pairing: Thomas Shelby (Peaky Blinders) x Reader F

Warnings: References to disappearances, kidnapping, threats, and emotional angst. Care. Comfort.

Tommy meets your brother when he shows up at the betting shop looking for you. You meet Ada looking for help with a little problem and find a champion in Polly. Tommy surprises you completely.

Disclaimer: The author of this work claims no ownership of characters aside from the reader, and original secondary characters mentioned. This work is not intended for those under the age of 18 due to explicit sexual content and darker themes. By reading this work or any works on my blog (jtargaryen18), you agree that you are at least 18 years of age. I do not consent to have my work hosted on any third party app or site.

The betting shop was unusually quiet when an unfamiliar young man walked in. He wasn't hesitant, like many who weren't regulars there, but he wasn't charging in like a fool either. His approach was measured, like he knew he didn’t belong but had decided to walk in anyway. He couldn’t have been more than twenty. Slim build, shoulders squared in a patched coat that had seen too many winters. The young man's eyes were sharp, locked on Arthur, who leaned back behind the counter, watching him like this was all a bit of theatre.

"You lost something, lad?" Arthur asked, grinning around his cigarette.

The young man’s jaw tensed. His voice was tight and controlled, but steady. “My sister.”

Arthur’s smile faded—not with guilt, but with interest.

“Ah. That one.” He stood, stretching like he’d been waiting all morning for something to liven the place up. “Bit late for all that, eh?”

The younger man didn’t flinch. He didn’t even blink. Tommy watched from the back office doorway, caught the way his hand hovered near the inside of his coat. He was armed. Brave but stupid.

Tommy stepped out then, made his presence known.

Arthur lit up. “This one’s yours, brother. Came to collect what’s left.”

Tommy said nothing at first, just studied the stranger. Young. Angry. Focused. But the lad wasn't reckless. He wasn’t here to posture, the way John Boy did more and more these days. No, he was here because someone he loved was gone, and nobody was giving him answers.

"Name?" Tommy asked quietly.

"Rory." The young man met and held Tommy's gaze. "Rory Flynn."

The surname matched the girl’s—his girl’s—file he’d already had drawn up. But now, standing in front of him, the boy wasn’t just a name on paper. He had her eyes—same shape, same quiet fire behind them. The sharp, observant way he took everything in was familiar too, saying very little but missing nothing.

But Rory Flynn reminded him of someone else. Tommy couldn't immediately place it.

Tilting his head, he studied him for a beat longer. "Who's your father?" he asked. 

Rory’s gaze dropped for just a moment. "He died in the way in France. 1916."

Their father had died in the war then. “Name?”

"Malachy Flynn." 

There it was.  Tommy’s expression didn’t change, but inside, recognition tightened his chest. He remembered Malachy Flynn. Their father had been older than him by at least a decade. They hadn’t served side by side. Flynn was in earlier, already a sergeant when Tommy was still green. The name Malachy Flynn meant something. Tommy had heard it in the trenches. Flynn died a hero, pulling two younger soldiers out of a crater after a shelling. He could’ve saved himself but chose not to. 

“I knew your father,” Tommy said in a lower tone as the boy blinked in surprise. “He was a good man.”

In that moment, the something shifted between them—something almost like understanding. He understood the boy in front of him better. He was his father’s son.

"My sister’s been gone two days," Rory said in a tight voice, cutting to the chase. "She was supposed to be… delivered to your brother. No one’s seen her since.”

Arthur gave a low whistle, but Tommy raised a hand. Quiet. Let him talk.

"Our mother’s worried sick," Rory added, his expression cracking just enough to show the truth of it. “She doesn’t know who to ask, who to trust. So I came here.”

Tommy stepped closer, arms loosely crossed. “And your stepfather?”

The boy's gaze hardened, but he didn't answer.

And that was answer enough. Tommy watched him try to control his emotions, mostly suceeding. The kid wasn’t just worried—he was plotting something. A pistol hidden in the lining of that patched coat or maybe a cheap folding knife meant for a throat that had made a deal no decent man would’ve dared. Tommy recognized that look. A young man with nothing left to lose, trying to change his world with a single, violent act. It was foolish, but he respected it.

“You plan on killing him?” Tommy asked bluntly.

Rory’s gaze returned to his. Some intense emotion flashed there before his expression was guarded again. “He deserves worse.”

"Why?"

"For wanting my sister out of his house," Rory said tightly. "She's a temptation to him, see. He wants her more than our mother."

Tommy filed that bit of information away. He recalled her telling him that their stepfather wanted her gone. Now he knew exactly why. She wasn't another mouth to feed and she helped the household earn money. No, the man just wanted her. While was a good, decent young woman, he couldn't do that without resorting to rape. No, now him offering her up made sense. Once the Shelbys soiled her, she was fair game to him.

As he returned his attention to her brother, he realized the boy wasn't bluffing. This was a brother who cared more about his sister than himself. And that meant something. The young man had more honor than many of the men Tommy had dealt with this week.

He exchanged a glance with Arthur, who shrugged, then grinned. “You’ve got your hands full now, don’t you?”

On the one hand, the boy let him know that, so far, his plan was working. No one outside the family knew where she was. Not the local blokes who’d heard about the wager and were sniffing around for gossip. Not the old women who watched from behind their curtains on Gray Street, waiting for her to come walking back home in shame.

She’d disappeared.

And in Small Heath, disappearing meant one of two things: death or Shelby. The right people were wondering. The wrong people were staying quiet. That was exactly what Tommy wanted. She wasn’t just gone—she was untouchable. Hidden. Held. And the longer she stayed out of sight, the louder the message would ring when Tommy was ready to speak it.

But the rest of the conversation? The situation was too delicate, too exposed, to continue it there. The last thing Tommy needed was a scene in the middle of the betting shop. Too many eyes and ears. Word about the girl couldn’t get out—not yet.

Tommy straightened, smoothing the front of his waistcoat with a slow, practiced motion. “Walk with me,” he said, already turning toward the hallway that led to the back office.

Rory didn’t move. “I came to speak to Arthur.”

Stopping mid-step and turning back, Tommy eyed him with a glint of steel behind his eyes. “You’re speaking to the man in charge.”

Arthur let out a small chuckle behind the counter, clearly enjoying the moment. Mostly because he was still pissed at Tommy for the entire affair. “He is, y’know. Always has been.”

Rory’s spine straightened, but Tommy saw the hesitation. He didn’t trust this. Didn’t like being led somewhere less public. Smart.

But Tommy didn’t ask twice. He met the boy’s eyes, voice low and final. “If you want answers about your sister, you’ll come with me. Now.”

There was a beat of silence, thick with challenge. Rory’s hand hovered near his coat again, and for a second Tommy wondered if the lad would actually try to be brave enough to draw on him. But then—a slow nod. Rory stepped forward, lips pressed into a grim line, eyes burning with controlled fury.

Tommy turned without another word, the sound of Rory’s boots following close behind. And just like that, the game moved behind closed doors—where Tommy always played best. 

Once the door was closed and it was just the two of them in the back office, Tommy voice was calm, final. “She’s safe.”

Rory's demeanor didn't change. He barely moved. When he spoke, it wasn’t with the blind deference most gave the name Shelby. “You say that like it’s supposed to mean something.”

Tommy’s eyes flicked to him, sharp.

But Rory didn’t flinch. “You’re a powerful man, Mr. Shelby. But I'm just supposed to take your word for it? That she’s safe, that she’s unharmed, that she’s not—” He cut himself off, swallowing the emotion before it could break the surface.

Tommy could see it—the fight between pride and fear, fury and helplessness all crashing together in someone too young to carry that much weight, and yet doing it anyway. This wasn’t about challenging authority. It wasn’t about standing up to the infamous Tommy Shelby just for the sake of pride. Here was a brother asking the only man who might know the truth if his sister was still the same girl who’d left their doorstep two nights ago. And now he couldn’t hold it in any longer.

“Why am I talking to you?” Rory asked, voice sharp but not disrespectful. “Why isn’t it Arthur telling me she’s safe?”

Tommy let him talk on.

“Arthur made the deal.” Rory’s hands twitched at his sides, as if even his body didn’t know what to do with the storm building in his chest. “And now she’s gone. You’ve got her then. And I’m supposed to believe she’s just… being looked after?” There was a beat of silence, heavy, still. Then he added—“You turning her out? Passing her around behind those big gates like she’s…” He couldn’t finish it. Couldn’t say it out loud.

Tommy’s face didn’t change, but inside, something coiled tight. The boy was bold, reckless, and about three seconds from pushing too far—but not wrong for asking or for being afraid. The lad knew how the world worked. And worse, he knew what the Shelbys were capable of. 

In a softer voice, he finished with, “You’ve got no reason to lie to me. But I’ve got every reason not to trust you.”

Rory Flynn wasn’t a fool, nor soft either. He’d walked into a lion’s den armed not just with a weapon, but with the kind of quiet conviction Tommy rarely saw in men twice his age.

Stepping away from the desk, Tommy crossed to the cabinet near the wall. He poured two fingers of whiskey into a short glass, then set it on the edge of the desk without pushing it forward. A gesture, not an invitation.

“She’s not being turned out," Tommy said. The boy's gaze searched his, looking for the lie. “And she’s not being passed around. Your sister’s not a message. She’s the punctuation at the end of one.”

Rory’s brow furrowed slightly, not getting the answer he expected.

“Your stepfather made a wager," Tommy continued. "That debt was collected. You know what she walked into—and who made it happen.”

Rory nodded stiffly.

“But I made sure she was protected,” Tommy added. “From Arthur. From your stepfather. From every bastard in Small Heath who now thinks she’s someone they can have a turn with.”

“Why though?" Rory's voice broke through the weight of it all. “You don't know us.”

Tommy looked at him for a long moment. “Because your sister deserves better than what the world would’ve given her.” Another beat. “And maybe... I wanted her for myself.”

Rory’s first reaction was a flash of anger, sharp and instinctive, the kind of response any brother would have when hearing a man like Tommy Shelby admit he’d taken something that wasn’t his to take. Disbelief, drawn across his brow as he blinked, probably had the lad wondering if this was a twisted test or a joke he wasn't in on. Neither lasted. Rory's mind was impressive for his age. Tommy could see it behind his eyes as the weight of the situation settled in. His sister had been plucked out of a world that treated her like currency and was now in the hands of the most dangerous man in Birmingham.

Rory visibly didn’t like it—not by a long shot— but he understood the value in that. In a world as ugly and unforgiving as theirs, maybe it wasn’t the worst place for her to be.

He straightened just slightly, holding Tommy’s gaze. “So then what?” he asked, voice rough. “You planning to keep her locked up forever?” The worry hadn’t left. But neither had the fight. Not for blood. Not for vengeance. But for his sister.

Tommy held Rory’s stare, unflinching. The lad wasn’t backing down. More than most men in Small Heath, this one had the guts to ask a question that would’ve earned others a bullet.

“No,” Tommy said finally, voice low but sure. “Not forever.” Stepping around the desk, slow and deliberate, he kept his tone measured. "She’s not my prisoner, Rory. But right now, she can’t be seen. Not until the people who gambled her away learn their lesson. And not until she understands she’s safe here. With me.”

Tommy watched more emotion cross his young face, the way he wanted to argue—but didn’t.

“When this is over,” Tommy said, choosing each word carefully, “she won’t go back to the life she had before. I won’t allow that.” A pause. “And she won’t want to.”

It wasn’t a threat. It was a promise.

“You came here today prepared to do something stupid if you didn’t like the answers," Tommy redirected their conversation back to Rory himself. “You're armed. But you didn’t. You asked questions instead. You listened. That’s more than most.” There was no mocking in his tone, no challenge—just an observation. A truth. Tommy would be truthful in turn. “She’s not your concern anymore. But she will be taken care of. You have my word.”

For a moment, Rory didn’t move. He stood there bravely, like he was trying to be a man in a room where boys didn’t last long. But something in him cracked, just slightly. He looked down—not in submission, but to keep himself from saying too much. Tommy admired the boy's control.

When he spoke, it was barely above a whisper. “She’s still my sister, sir.”

The words landed full of weight that didn’t need to be shouted. Fear, pride, and the guilt for not being able to stop any of it. She was still his sister. And no matter who claimed her now—that wouldn’t change. But there were conditions the boy needed to understand. 

Tommy looked him in the eye, the edge returning to his voice like a blade slipping back into a gloved hand. “You can’t say anything, Rory. To anyone.”

The younger man’s brows drew together, the fire in him flaring again.

“To anyone,” Tommy repeated, voice low, steady. “Not your mates, not your foreman at the factory, not the neighbor who always has something to say. And not your mother.”

Rory stiffened. “You can’t expect—”

“I do.” Tommy’s tone cut through the room like a gunshot. “Because the minute anyone knows where she is, the point of all this falls apart. The lesson ends."

The words hit hard—because they were true. And Rory knew it. But he wasn’t done. “Can I at least see her?” he asked, voice low now, more pleading than angry. “Or let my mum? Just to know she’s not… hurt. Scared.”

Tommy didn’t hesitate. “No.”

Rory’s mouth opened, protest rising, but Tommy cut him off before the words came. “She’s under my roof. That means she’s under my protection. And she stays hidden until I decide otherwise.”

Rory shook his head, frustration bubbling over. “And I'm supposed to what? Just give her up?”

Tommy’s voice lowered again. “No. But if you tell your mother, and she tells someone else—intentional or not—we’ve got a problem. And if this becomes a problem…” He let the sentence hang, unfinished but understood. “You’re a good brother, Rory. So be a smart one, too.”

Tommy turned slightly, as if the conversation was over—but then paused, glancing back at Rory with something like recognition. “Your stepfather isn’t worth the noose.”

Rory’s posture stiffened again. The flash in his eyes said it all—he’d been thinking about it. Planning something. 

“I’ve seen lads like you ruin their lives trying to settle scores that weren’t theirs to carry.”

Rory didn’t speak, but he was weighing Tommy's words.

“You want to punish him? Fine.” He held Rory’s gaze. “Make something of yourself. Become a man he’ll never be, like your father. Protect your mother. Look after your sister when the time comes.” He let that settle before adding, “But don’t end up in a grave over a man who already buried himself.”

Rory stared at him, the weight of it landing heavy—but not wasted.

Tommy stepped back behind the desk, nodding to the glass he hadn’t touched. “Drink that and go home.”

The boy's hand shook slightly. Still, he took pains to try and hide it. Knocking it back, he did as Tommy wanted and walked out the door. 

As the door clicked shut behind him, Tommy remained still for a moment, eyes lingering on the space where the boy had stood. 

Rory Flynn.

The boy was wasted on the factories. That kind of fire—controlled, not reckless—didn’t belong behind a grinding machine or buried under soot and orders. The boy had walked into a Shelby stronghold, armed and alone, and hadn't flinched. Had spoken with conviction, not desperation. He had the look of his father—Malachy’s grit, that quiet backbone. But more than that, he had the one thing Tommy valued most in a man: purpose. Even if it wasn’t quite shaped yet. And that made him valuable.

Loyalty born from blood is dangerous. But loyalty born from debt? From earned respect? That was something Tommy could build on.

Tommy reached for his cigarette case and lit one slowly, exhaling smoke toward the ceiling. He'd keep an eye on Rory Flynn. There were uses for a lad like that. It wouldn’t just be strategic for Tommy—it would be personal leverage cloaked as kindness. His girl might not trust him now—probably didn’t—but if her brother was safe, fed, and rising under the Shelby name, it would chip away at her resistance more effectively than any locked door or quiet threat. It would show her that he wasn't just keeping her—he was looking after her people. That meant something to a girl like her.

She was fiercely loyal, just like him. If she saw her brother being taken seriously, being respected, she’d start to question her own resentment for the man who took her. She might not forgive him—not yet—but she'd feel tethered in a way Tommy could work with. Bringing Rory in gave her a stake in the Shelby world. And if she had something to lose inside it, she’d stop thinking so hard about running from him.

Better still, it gave Tommy a way in. A reason to have her near without forcing it, to speak to her under the veil of family concern. It made him look like a protector—not just of her, but of the people she loved. And that kind of power was far more effective than fear.

Because eventually, fear fades. But debt? That lingers.

***

You heard the commotion before you saw it the next morning as you carried your breakfast tray downstairs, just to get out of that room. A baby fussing, a door swinging open, and the kind of voice that carried through hallways like it belonged there. It wasn’t Polly. And it wasn’t one of the house staff. No, the young woman stepped cautiously into the corridor just in time to see a you coming through the front hall, a babe perched on her hip, and confidence radiating from every inch of her like she’d never once been told no. The stranger stopped mid-step when she saw you, arching a brow as if she’d just walked into the most interesting scene in Birmingham. 

“Well,” the woman said, eyeing her with open curiosity. “You’re definitely not one of the housemaids.”

You panicked, unsure what to say. You were supposed to be hiding. Panic rose as you just stared at the lovely young woman.

She shifted the baby higher on her hip, adjusting the wool blanket around him. “I’m Ada. Arthur’s sister.”

Of course. The Ada. The one Polly mentioned with half pride, half exasperation. The one who’d married a communist and kept her spine straight about it. Ada tilted her head, looking you over with a keen eye—not cruelly, but thoughtfully. Then a devilish excitement flashed in her eyes. You'd seen Tommy react the exact same way.

“You’re the girl, then?” she asked casually, as if they were talking about nothing more serious than a new dress Polly had brought home. "The one from Gray Street?"

Heat crept up your neck. “I… suppose I am.”

Ada grinned. “Well, I’ve been dying to know who managed to stir up this much Shelby drama and still be breathing after two days. You're all anyone's talking about. The girl Arthur won... You’re not exactly his type.”

The baby gurgled in her arms, waving a tiny hand, and Ada bounced him gently with an ease that didn’t match the sharpness of her words. Her face softened as she looked down at him, and for a moment, the sharp edge of her Shelby wit dulled. The baby was beautiful—rosy-cheeked, dark lashes, that innocent glow untouched by everything swirling around him.

Ada looked back up at you. “You don’t have to look so terrified,” she said, with a kinder smile this time. “I’m not here to drag you off and parade you through Small Heath. I wouldn’t want to face down that lot either if that was done to me.”

Out of all the Shelbys you'd encountered so far, Ada seemed to be the kindest. And you were grateful for that. You woke up with a headache, an ache in your lower back. Sharp cramps signalled it was time for your monthly and your lack of supplies there left you somewhere between panic and despair. As if your situation wasn't bad enough. It had taken a little while but you'd finally talked yourself into seeking out Polly to let her know of your latest situation and begging for her help.

Her expression shifted, brow knitting slightly. “Truth be told, I came here to ask Polly what the hell was going on. Last thing I heard, you were delivered to Arthur for the night and then…” She made a vague motion with her hand. “Gone. Vanished. Like smoke. And now here you are—in our house. Looking like a ghost someone forgot to let out.”

Before you could answer—before you could even figure out what to say—Polly’s voice cut through the tension like a blade. “Ada.”

Ada turned, smirking over her shoulder as her aunt descended the stairs with that familiar tight-lipped look that warned of no-nonsense ahead. “I was just talking to your guest,” Ada said lightly. "Or should I say Arthur's guest?"

Polly shot her a glare as she reached the bottom step. “She doesn’t need your commentary. And you—” her sharp eyes flicked to you, then softened just a touch, “—shouldn’t be running around the house."

"I'm sorry," you told her, watching the older woman's knowing gaze drop to the tray in your hands. You'd hoped to avoid that. You'd barely eaten anything. 

Shaking her head, Polly took the tray and carried it just inside the kitchen.

Ada raised a brow. “So why is she here?"

Polly didn’t answer right away when she returned. She looked at you for a long moment—not coldly, but carefully, as if trying to decide whether to tell the truth in front of you or send you out of the room first. “She’s here because your brother made a decision,” Polly said finally, her voice clipped, measured. “And now we all have to live with it.”

Ada's gaze shifted from Polly to you and back, the baby shifting in her arms. “What does that even mean?”

Polly cut her niece a steely look. “It means Tommy stepped into something Arthur started and decided he could fix it by making it worse.”

Ada blinked. “Tommy?”

Polly nodded. “Tommy's the one who settled the debt.”

Heat crept up your neck again, but something colder lingered underneath—shame, confusion, and the terrifying sense of being spoken about like you weren’t standing right there.

Ada’s gaze landed on you again, but her amusement was gone. Just realization. She adjusted the baby gently, then said, softer now, “I didn’t know.”

“None of us did,” Polly replied, eyes never leaving Ada. “Not until it was already done. He's hiding her here.”

To Polly’s astonishment, Ada didn’t argue. She didn’t huff or scold or lecture the way Polly expected. Instead, she stood there in the middle of the hall, baby on her hip, brow furrowed as she actually thought it over. The silence stretched a beat too long before Ada finally said, “Well… from a certain point of view…”

Polly blinked. “Ada.”

“No, hear me out.” She gave you a small, sideways glance—not unkind, just curious again. “He didn't send her walking home in shame the next morning over a stupid wager she wasn't even a part of. He's hiding her here and there are worse places to hide. I should know.” She shrugged, bouncing the baby again gently. “I mean, it’s twisted. But it’s Tommy. And for him?” She gave a small, incredulous laugh. “It’s almost… romantic.”

Polly stared at her like she’d grown a second head. “Do you hear yourself?”

Ada's smile was impish. “I wouldn’t have expected it of him. That’s all I’m saying.” She turned her gaze back to you, a little spark of amusement in her eyes. “You’ve clearly shaken something loose in that cold, dead heart of his.”

You didn’t know what to say—was this a compliment? From the look on Polly’s face, even she wasn’t sure how to take it.

"Why does everyone think she’s missing then?" Ada asked.

"Because that’s what Tommy wants them to think," Polly said, and there was warning in her tone. “So you’re sworn to secrecy.”

Ada’s brows lifted slightly, but she nodded. “Of course. Shelby rules.” Then her gaze shifted back to you, her voice gentler. “What about her family?”

It was the same question you’d been asking yourself over and over again for the last two days. They must have been worried sick. Your mother probably hadn’t slept. Your brother… God, Rory. He could be doing anything right now. Searching the streets. Demanding answers from men more dangerous than he realized. The thought of him searching for you in vain cracked something open inside you. You tried to blink the tears away before they could fall, but it was too late. Both Shelby women saw.

Ada’s expression softened instantly, and even Polly’s sharpness dulled. “Oh, love…” Polly murmured, stepping closer.

Pressing your lips together, you tried to keep your voice steady. The wave of emotion hit you fast. The weight of being taken, hidden, claimed—and forgotten by the world you left behind—was suddenly too much to hold in. You were scared and angry now. You were grieving. And now, finally, someone realized it.

Polly didn’t say another word—she just gently placed a hand on your shoulder and turned you, guiding you down the hall like a mother ushering her child out of a storm. “Come on, love. Let’s not fall apart in the foyer.”

Ada followed without question, as Polly ushered you into the sitting room. She waved you toward the sofa while Ada settled into an armchair near the fireplace, the baby now babbling softly against her shoulder. 

Polly’s eyes narrowed slightly as she looked you over, her arms folding across her chest. “You didn’t eat this morning.”

“I’m not sick,” you murmured, a little embarrassed. “It’s just… it’s my time.”

Ada gave a soft “Ah,” nodding in understanding.

Polly, however, straightened slightly, her expression immediately shifting to one of disapproval bleeding on concern. She shook her head and you weren't sure who she disapproved of - you or Tommy.

“I'm sorry," you added quickly. "I wasn’t exactly… prepared.”

Ada snorted softly, adjusting the baby’s blanket. “Well, if there’s any silver lining, that’s it, isn’t it?” she said, almost too casually. “At least we know you’re not pregnant.” 

The words hit the air and settled there, a truth no one wanted to say but couldn’t ignore. And you were grateful for that considering the last two nights.

Polly’s jaw tightened, her mouth a thin line. “Same clothes since she got here. No proper supplies. No privacy. No explanation. Just dropped into this house like she’s one of the bloody spoils of war.”

You looked down at your lap, fingers curling in the fabric of the dress you'd been wearing since your ordeal started. You couldn't even bringing yourself to mention you had no draws on top of it all. You were ruining a small towel you found to use until you could ask for help.

Ada shook her head. “This isn’t how it should’ve been handled.”

"It shouldn't have happened at all." Polly’s voice softened then, but didn’t lose its edge. "All this so your brother could strike more fear in the hearts of all those in Small Heath."

Polly looked at you then—really looked. Not just as someone Tommy was hiding here, but as a young woman dropped into something too big, too fast, and too cruel.

And in that moment, you saw it clear as day: Polly Gray had just decided she was going to look after you.

Whether Tommy liked it or not.

***

Tommy stepped through the front door later than usual, the scent of rain and coal smoke clinging to his coat. His boots echoed in the hall, the kind of sound that announced his arrival. The low murmur of voices drifted in from deeper in the house—John Boy and Finn, unmistakably, and Polly holding court in that no-nonsense tone she saved for family. The scent of supper wasn't lingering in the air, letting him know just how late he was.

He shrugged out of his coat, and laid it across the chair by the entry—his movements automatic and his mind was elsewhere. 

Tonight, his thoughts weren't on the Garrison, nor on business. 

They were on her.

He didn’t like the feeling. It was a crack in the armor he wore every waking hour. But it was there all the same, threading through him like the last drag of a cigarette he hadn’t meant to enjoy.

His conversation with her brother made it worse. Rory Flynn walked into the betting shop, ready to draw blood if it meant finding his sister. He’d held his nerve, asked the right questions, listened when it counted. Seeing the boy’s loyalty—his quiet devotion to his sister—unsettled something in him. It reminded him of what he was holding onto. 

Exhaling through his nose, he started toward the stairs. The truth was simpler, but much harder to admit. He just wanted to see her. And he didn’t like how much that mattered.

Polly caught him before he could make it farther. “Ada’s been by,” she said without preamble, arms crossed like she was bracing for his reaction.

Tommy stopped. “What did she see?”

“Everything.”

He sighed. “She saw her?”

Polly gave him a sharp look. “She found her before I could stop her. Ada won’t say anything. She actually seemed charmed by the whole thing.”

Charmed. Christ.

He rubbed the bridge of his nose, his shoulders sore from a day spent putting out fires at the Garrison—men needing reminders, deals needing to be reinforced. From trying to keep his focus on business all day and failing.

“I’m going to wash up,” he muttered, brushing past her. "Have my supper brought up."

“Don’t stomp in like you own the place,” she said, her voice low and clipped. “I'll send something for her too. She's not eating.”

Tommy paused mid-step, one brow lifting. “What?”

Polly’s expression didn’t flinch. “She’s not eating. Said she's not feeling well today.”

The words hit harder than he expected. He didn’t show it to Polly, but the truth of it pressed in just beneath the surface. She wasn’t eating. And that meant this game he’d started—this lesson for Small Heath, this cold, calculated plan—was wearing her down more than he’d accounted for.

He set his cap on the sideboard, slow and deliberate. “Send supper up then, Pol," he said. "And laudanum. She'll eat. I'll talk to her."

“Then mind your tone, Tommy.”  Polly watched him for another beat, she could always see right through him. After a moment, she stepped aside to let him pass. 

He didn’t ask anything else. Didn’t need to. Because now, as he climbed the stairs toward his room, that single detail—she’s not eating—settled into him, heavy and unwanted, coiling in that quiet part of his chest where concern lived, the place he rarely let anyone touch.

Tommy had built an empire by knowing what men valued. He hadn’t stopped to consider how often women like her weren’t valued at all. And now here she was, pulled out of one world and into another, not asked—just taken. Her brother's visit, the details about her relationship with her stepfather, ran through his mind. His girl's life had been far from easy. And just so he could have her, just so he could impose his will on the people in Small Heath, he'd gone and thoughtlessly made her plight worse. What had he thought? That she’d be grateful? That she’d look at the Shelby name like it was a lifeline instead of a collar?

The tension in his head grew, a culmination of business, family, guilt, and the uncomfortable realization that he’d miscalculated the one thing he thought he’d handled precisely. 

When he reached his room, he opened the door quietly. She was already in bed. Not asleep—he could tell by the way her breathing changed, the slight tension in her shoulders. She was lying on her side, facing the wall, hands wrapped around her abdomen like she was holding herself together. 

Stepping inside, he closed the door gently behind him, and studied her in the dim light from the lamp on the bedside table and the fire the maid kept up in the fireplace. Polly had said she wasn’t eating. Said she wasn’t feeling well. And now that he really looked—the way her body curled in slightly, the faint clench of discomfort in her posture—it didn’t take him long to work it out. She wasn’t ill. She was in pain. 

Pain had been a companion to him many times in his life, particularly during the war. But this pain wasn't the kind she could explain to a man like him. A woman's pain. It hit him then—the silent panic she must’ve been living with, knowing what he might expect from her, unable to say a word without fear and shame burning her alive. Of course she wasn’t eating. Of course her anxiety was through the roof. She was miserable. And worse—she was bracing for something she didn’t have the means to refuse. 

Tommy stood there for a long moment, staring at the girl he’d dragged into his world, knowing full well he was the last person she could admit that kind of vulnerability to. And he hated that, more than anything. Because he hadn’t just made her his. He’d made her afraid.

She shifted slightly beneath the covers, just enough to catch him in the corner of her eye. Her gaze met his for a second—just a second—and that was all he needed. It was there. The tension. The guarded fear. The unmistakable flicker of dread. Not the kind that came from the threat of violence or cruelty. The kind that came from not knowing how to say something you shouldn’t have to say. From being a woman stuck in a man’s world, afraid he might ask something of her that her body simply couldn’t give tonight.

Tommy’s chest tightened. He was right. And that look in her eyes twisted something deeper than guilt. It was shame. And it didn’t belong to her.

He crossed the room slowly, keeping his movements careful. No swagger or sharpness. When he reached the edge of the bed, he didn’t touch her. Didn’t sit. Just stood there and kept his tone low and even. “You’re alright. I’m not here for that.”

He watched the emotions in her eyes shift—not into trust, not yet—but into something softer. Something closer to relief. 

As he turned to pull the armchair away from the corner, his hand brushed against soft fabric—a small bundle of Ada’s old dresses draped neatly over the backrest. Tommy paused, staring at them. They weren’t folded like someone had forgotten them. They’d been placed there with care. His jaw tightened as the realization sank in. She’d only had the one dress. Since she’d found herself in his world, she'd been used like a bargaining chip and told nothing, given nothing. He’d been so caught up in deals, territory, strategy, and her silence—he hadn’t noticed. She’d been wearing the same thing, day after day, too proud to say a word, too uncertain of her place to ask for more. 

Pulling the chair forward slowly, he sat down, and leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees. He didn’t like all this said about him. Didn’t like that she’d gone without because he hadn’t made time to think about her comfort. Only her presence. Only her usefulness. He was so used to having everything handled for him once he made decisions. He took for granted that the girl would request what she needed and that Polly and his house staff would provide it. Careless.

She'd been surviving, and he—the man who claimed to have rescued her—hadn’t even noticed she needed something as simple as a change of clothes. And now, here she was, in pain, curled up and too afraid to tell him. He exhaled slowly, voice low as he spoke—not to her exactly, but into the quiet. “This isn't going to happen again.”

And he meant it. Because if he was going to keep her, he’d damn well start acting like she was worth keeping right.

His voice, when it came, was low—steady but softer than she was used to hearing from him. “Supper’s on its way up.”

She shifted slightly under the covers, still not facing him, but he knew she was listening. 

“You need to eat,” he added. “Not because I said so.”

Quickly, he cleared his desk of the few items on it. It would work as a makeshift table. Moving the armchair next to the chair at the desk gave her a seat. It would work.

“After you’ve eaten, I’ll give you something for the pain. Laudanum,” he explained as he walked back to the bed, his tone even, steady. “I won’t hide it from you. You’ll see me pour it. You’ll know what it is. Can you sit up?”

She swallowed hard, taking a breath that trembled just slightly before she carefully rolled onto her back. Tommy’s eyes swept over her in the simple white nightgown she wore—a soft, modest thing Polly must’ve set aside for her. His gaze lingered only long enough to register what he needed to: no blood, no visible distress. It eased something in him.

She had what she needed, then. Polly had seen to that.

He moved closer to the bed, one hand extending toward her, the other already steadying her shoulder. “I’m going to carry you over to the desk,” he said quietly. “Supper’ll be easier that way.”

Her eyes widened just slightly—not in fear, but surprise. Like she couldn’t quite believe he would.

“Hang onto me,” he added.

Her arms wrapped gently around his neck, tentative at first, like she was still waiting for some trick or test. But she didn’t pull away from him. 

Tommy lifted her with ease, careful with every step as he crossed the room to the armchair he’d moved by the desk. She weighed nothing. And yet, somehow, he’d never carried anything that felt so significant. Easing her down gently into the chair, he adjusted the cushion behind her back before pulling the blanket from the foot of the bed and tucking it around her legs.

When she looked up at him, there was something in her eyes that hadn’t been there before. The beginning of trust mixed in with the surprise. "Thank you,” she whispered.

Tommy didn’t answer right away. He just nodded, smoothing the blanket one last time before stepping back.

The knock at the door came softly, and a moment later the maid stepped in, carrying a silver tray neatly arranged with two covered plates, a teapot, and a small glass bottle—the laudanum with a small empty glass. If she thought anything of Tommy Shelby taking supper at his desk, with a girl tucked gently into an armchair beside him, she didn’t show it. Not a flicker of surprise, not even the briefest glance between them. Shelby business was Shelby business. She moved efficiently, placing the tray on the desk and uncovering the plates—sliced roast, buttered potatoes, greens, a bread roll each.

But Tommy’s eyes weren’t on the food. He caught the subtle flicker in his girl’s gaze—the way it locked onto the small dropper bottle, amber glass glinting in the light. She didn’t say anything, but her hands tensed in her lap.

The maid finished setting the table, gave a small nod, and slipped out without a word. The silence that followed felt heavier than before. 

She stared down at the plate in front of her, then glanced sideways at him. “I don’t think I can eat.”

Tommy didn’t push the food toward her. Didn’t sigh or scold or tell her she needed to try harder. He just leaned forward, his voice low, calm. “You have to.”

She blinked, unsure, her fingers curling slightly around the edge of the blanket.

“Otherwise,” he continued, tipping his head toward the laudanum, “that’ll hit you like a punch to the gut and you'll feel worse than you do already.”

A pause.

“A little food first. Then the medicine.” Tommy watched her carefully, giving her the truth—not an order, not a demand.

And for a moment, he saw her shoulders drop, just a bit. He hoped she saw he wasn't trying to control her. He was offering help. And maybe—just maybe—she believed that now.

Tommy reached for his fork, slicing into the roast as if this were just another evening—ordinary, unremarkable. “It won’t be much,” he said, nodding toward the laudanum. “Just a little. No more than I gave Finn last summer when he broke his arm falling off the wall outside the Garrison.” He smiled at the memory. “Cried like a baby. The laudanum knocked him out cold after that. He slept like a prince.”

He felt her gaze on him as he took his first bite, still wary but not frozen anymore. Her fork inched toward the plate. Slowly, cautiously, she followed suit—a small bite at first, testing herself. Then another.

Tommy didn't react or try to praise her. He just kept eating, giving her time to do the same. Once her posture relaxed, he said, “Your brother came to see me today.”

Her fork paused mid-air. Her gaze met his—wide, searching.

“Rory,” he added. “Turned up at the betting shop.”

She swallowed, lips parting like she wanted to ask something, but the words didn’t come.

Tommy filled in the silence. “He wanted answers. He wanted you. He didn’t care who I was or what it might cost him.” He looked directly at her. “That’s loyalty.”

Her eyes began to shine, but she blinked quickly, holding herself together. She took another bite, listening with new hope shining in her eyes. 

“I told him you were safe. That you were being looked after. And I made sure he understood he’d see you again, just not yet.” He paused, then added—more quietly this time, “He reminded me a lot of someone I used to know.”

She looked up at him then, brows knitting faintly. He wasn’t looking at her. He was staring into the distance, one hand still loosely holding his fork.

“Your father,” he said, finally. The words came slower than the others, like he’d turned them over in his mouth before letting them go. “I didn’t put it together until today.”

Her breath caught.

He leaned back slightly, his gaze fixed on the edge of the desk, his voice quiet but firm. “Not until I saw your brother. The way he stood. The way he spoke. That edge in his voice when he talked about you—like there wasn’t anything in the world that mattered more. That’s when it hit me. He looked just like your father... Malachy Flynn was one of the few men I knew in France that I’d call decent. Quiet, steady, older than the rest of us. He wasn’t trying to be a hero, but he died like one,” Tommy continued, his voice rougher now. “I knew him. Not well—not in the way men know each other in peacetime. But well enough in France.”

He looked at her, and this time, there was no distance in his eyes. Only memory. She was making an attempt at eating something so he carried on. Maybe she thought if she kept eating he'd have more to say.

A pause, and then—“Your brother's got that same fire. That same kind of bravery that doesn’t need noise to be felt. That’s how I knew who I was looking at.” He continued, something like respect in his voice. “He’s his father’s son. I see his strength in you too.”

He didn’t say it for comfort. He said it because it was true. But as soon as the words left his mouth, Tommy saw the way she reacted—subtle, but real. Her eyes dropped, not in dismissal, but in disbelief. As if no one had ever told her she was strong before and meant it. 

Her fingers tightened slightly around the napkin in her lap, her shoulders rising with a slow breath that trembled just enough to give her away. He watched the flicker of emotion pass through her—a flash of something close to pain, maybe even grief—like the truth of who her father had been, and what she had lost, was only just settling in now. She blinked rapidly, lashes wet but holding back. No tears. Not yet. But her lips parted like she wanted to respond, say something—thank you, maybe. Or I didn’t know. Or I wish I remembered him better.

Instead, she gave the smallest nod.

And for Tommy, that said more than any words could. She’d heard him. And maybe—just maybe—she believed him.

Her voice, when it finally came, was soft. Fragile. “Is he okay? Rory?”

Tommy nodded. “He’s fine. Angry, worried. But fine. Taking care of your mother.” And then—just to make sure it sank in—he said, gently, “I just wanted you to know you haven't been forgotten."

He didn’t mention the stepfather. He didn’t have to. Because the way she looked at him in that moment—a flicker of trust blooming behind her tired eyes—told him she already knew.

“I’m worried about Rory,” she said after a moment, her voice quiet but steady as she dabbed at her mouth with the napkin from her lap.

Tommy looked up from his plate, knowing where this was going.

“I’m afraid he’s going to…” She trailed off, but she didn’t need to finish.

Tommy knew what she was going to say. The moment Rory stood in the betting shop, shoulders tense, hand hovering near his coat pocket—he knew. Just like he knew that fire wasn’t going to burn out on its own.

“Sean O’Grady,” Tommy said flatly.

She nodded, her fingers curling slightly in the napkin. “He’s not the type to just let things go. And Rory—he doesn’t care what it costs. Not if it means protecting Mum or me. He hates him.” Her voice cracked just a little on the last part.

Tommy leaned back in the chair, his gaze meeting hers. “He’s already planning something,” he muttered. “Even if he doesn’t know what yet.”

She held his gaze, fear creeping into her expression. “If he does something stupid—if he goes after Sean—”

“He’ll either get himself killed,” Tommy finished, “or arrested.”

The room fell quiet again, but this time it wasn’t a peaceful kind of silence. She looked to him, eyes searching. “I have no right to ask you for anything but... Can you stop him?”

Tommy didn’t answer right away. He didn’t make promises he couldn’t keep. “I’ll talk to him again. I’ll find a way to keep him from doing something that can’t be undone.”

She nodded slowly, but the worry didn’t vanish—it clung to her like fog. But, something in her eyes softened when she looked at him. Like she believed him. That he had the power to fix the world she'd been pulled from, and maybe even the one she’d been dragged into. It wasn’t worship or naïve. It was hope, shining just behind her tired eyes like a candle he hadn’t expected her to light again. And it had his heart squeezing in his chest.

A look like that was dangerous to a man. Not because of what it demanded, but because of the emotions it stirred. What wouldn’t a man do to have a woman look at him like that? Like he could work miracles. Like he might be something more than what the world had carved him into. Tommy held her gaze with an unfamiliar ache curling in his chest. He hadn’t set out to earn her trust.

But now that he had a glimpse of it, he’d do whatever it took to keep it.

Tommy shifted in his seat, glancing at their plates. They’d eaten most of the meal. It would do. The moment had grown too heavy, and she looked tired—like the weight of the day, the pain in her body, and the emotion in her chest had all fused together. So, he reached for the small medicine bottle, uncorking it with practiced care.

“Alright,” he said gently, pouring a measured dose into the small empty glass Polly sent along with the bottle. “Just a little. Enough to take the edge off and help you rest.”

She didn’t protest, just watched him in that same quiet way. He handed her the glass and waited, eyes on hers as she took it. No tricks. No pressure. In that moment, she trusted him, swallowing it down with a slight grimace because of the bitterness. She handed the empty glass back with a soft “Thank you.”

Setting it aside, he rose from his chair. “Let’s get you back to bed.”

Her eyes fluttered slightly, already dulled by the slow creep of laudanum, but she nodded.

He stepped toward her, careful and unhurried. “Arms around me, love,” he said softly.

She did. Lighter than she had been before, her body already relaxing, she melted into him as he lifted her—gently, like something precious. As he carried her across the room, he felt the faintest sigh against his neck, and for one brief moment, it felt less like an obligation and more like something sacred. He laid her down, pulled the blanket up over her with quiet precision, then stood there a moment longer, just watching. 

Still not knowing what to do with what she’d just given him. But knowing damn well he wouldn’t let anyone—especially himself—ruin it.

She was already fading on him by the time he finished at the washbasin, shrugging out of his shirt and unfastening the rest of his clothes. The laudanum had dulled the edge of her pain, and it showed—she wasn’t curled up anymore, wasn’t holding herself tight like she might break open. She lay on her side, eyes half-lidded, facing him. Watching him without fear or dread.

Just… watching. As if she didn’t quite know what he was yet—a threat, a protector, a man who’d claimed her or someone who might one day earn the right to be more. But there was no flinch in her gaze. No recoil.

He let out a slow breath as he crossed to the bed and stretched out beside her. The sheets were cool against his skin, the sound of rain whispering against the windows. It was a cold night and the air was heavy. It was one of those nights that settled into your bones if you let it. He looked at her once more—eyes barely open now, lashes brushing the tops of her cheeks—then reached out and pulled her gently toward him. She didn’t resist him.

She came easily, her body soft with sleep, her head resting near his collarbone, one hand tucked between them like she wasn’t sure it belonged. He held her close, his arm curved around her back, his other hand resting lightly against her hip. Not to claim or to control. But to keep her warm, close.

To keep her.

And as the rain deepened outside, and her breathing evened out against his chest, Tommy Shelby—a man who never slept easy—let himself rest.

@outlanderuniverse @alyssajunelle

[camille-plumb]

𝐎𝐍𝐂𝐄 𝐔𝐏𝐎𝐍 𝐀 𝐒𝐎𝐍𝐆|| ʙʟᴜᴇʟᴏᴄᴋᵒⁿᵉ ˢʰᵒᵗˢ

Nagi Seishiro x female reader

Title: •❈•❉•❊•₪₪🎮🐇✨𝐋𝐀𝐙𝐘✨🐇🎮₪₪•❃•❅•❆•

Song: Dolls by Bella Poarch

Warning: smut.🔞

Tags: Request, bunny clotles, plug, seduction

••••••••⇆ㅤ◁ㅤ ❚❚ㅤ ▷↻••••••••

Okay, now or never...

<<Reddit discussion: "My boyfriend doesn't pay attention to me. Ever since we met, he loves to play video games all the time, and I'm fine with that. The problem is that he's a streamer now and only goes out to eat. I'm on vacation and I want to spend more time with him. I try to kiss him and caress him, but it still doesn't work. He keeps staring at his damn screen. He just says, 'Dude, are you bored of me?' Should I expect the worst? Is he going to break up with me? Girls in a similar situation... help..."

(Y/N) frantically moved her fingers, typing on Reddit's discussion forums. She didn't know what to do anymore. This situation was driving her crazy. She posted on several forums hoping to at least find an answer in one of them.

When she finished, she slumped in her seat, waiting for an answer. But how did she end up in this situation? Well, it was a simple answer: she had a lazy boyfriend. Ever since they started dating, she didn't care that he didn't want to do anything at home; in fact, it was the best thing for her.

She loved to do everything her way, the decoration, the food, absolutely everything, in the past her old relationships ended because of that detail, they told her she was excessively controlling and that no one would stand her, and just when she thought she would be alone, that's when she met her beloved boyfriend, a 1.90 white-haired man who reminded her of a soft and fluffy sheep, she met him in a cafeteria, apparently he was lost or his friends left him, he only had his phone in his hand. and a carefree attitude that caught her attention and made her feel tenderness, when talking to him she realized that he was lazy enough to ask for help or directions, that's why he had been in that cafeteria for a long time, from the moment she helped him he was trapped in her heart and she couldn't get out of it, even more so when the white-haired man accepted everything she wanted, it was always a yes to everything no matter what it was, the only thing he asked for a change was to be served and play video games.

She loved the idea from the beginning of their relationship. She loved serving him, preparing his favorite dishes to see his satisfied face when he tasted them. Every moment they shared together was always accompanied by caresses and kisses.

Oh, and sex…

The white-haired man liked to bury his face in her tits while playing their games. He used to say they were very soft pillows and that they were his favorites. Sometimes he would casually suck on her nipples during their games. When they were together, he always kept her warm; he was her downfall. After long stimulation sessions, the day would end with her riding him hard in the room they shared.

Everything was perfect until she changed jobs and couldn't be home all day anymore. Now they only saw each other at night. Although at first the routine seemed the same, it gradually began to break down. The time they saw each other grew shorter and shorter, and when she tried to invade his space in the playroom they had at home, he completely ignored her. She heard his soft laugh in the hallway, the laugh he dedicated to his viewers during his live streams.

The laughter of his fans sickened her.

Her heart pounded with worry every time she felt the distance grow greater, and that's how she ended up on Reddit, on the discussion forums.

If she was lucky, she might find an answer, she thought, putting down her phone to take a shower. When she finished showering, she saw she had some notifications, unlocked her phone, and began reading the replies to her forum.

—"Oh wow, being ignored is ugly. If I were you, I'd break up with that idiot." 👊

— "Something similar happened to me. They did that to me before we ended our relationship 😞"

The first comments were discouraging. (Y/N) lost hope with each comment until two comments caught her attention.

—"I had a streamer boyfriend. I gave him a blowjob during a live stream, and he never ignored me again ☝️, cheers, honey~"

—"A bunny suit can save you🐇🔥"

The idea in the last comment and the message from the previous one gave her a fantastic idea. She just needed to go out and buy a few things.

She arrived home at night and, as usual, everything was dark except for her boyfriend's playroom. Usually, that situation would drive her crazy, but now she had a plan.

After getting everything ready, she went to the room with colorful lights at the end of the hallway. Upon entering, she saw her boyfriend's tall figure; he looked as handsome as ever.

She saw him move his head when he heard the noise she made when she entered, but he didn't turn around or pay attention to her like he had been doing lately. His indifferent attitude annoyed her and made her put her plan into action.

The webcam showing her boyfriend's face focused on the white wall with LED lights, which together served as a background for her streams.

(Y/N) was wearing the white-haired man's oversized white T-shirt; it was her favorite. She positioned herself at a perfect angle so the camera could focus on her. Her boyfriend remained oblivious, his attention on his game screen.

(Y/N) played the song "Dolls" by Bella Poarch, the sound filling the room as she began to take off her shirt, following the rhythm.

Cute, think I'm polite, stereotype, got your full attention

She moved her body calmly, enjoying the scent of her boyfriend impregnated on the shirt. She lifted the garment completely, taking it off. A sensual bunny lingerie appeared in front of the stream viewers' screens.

Think that you can play with me, you better watch your back

As she placed the white ears on her head, still with her eyes closed and moving to the rhythm of the music.

She realized that everything was silent.

Fuck, nothing prepared her for what was coming next.

"Ah….a….h~….Nagi ahhh~" she let out a loud moan as she felt her opponent's hard thrust. The sound of bodies colliding violently filled the room, only gasps and moans of pleasure could be heard.

"Couldn't you stay still, you spoiled little bunny?" The white-haired man's fingers dug tightly into her hips. "You had to show everyone who's mine." A spank on her white ass accompanied each movement. "Great, now I'll have to delete my account and create another, what a pain." He moved his hips faster as he felt her wet walls squeeze him tightly.

"Now you have my full attention…bunny," he bit her earlobe while, amid short, hard thrusts, he spilled his sperm, wetting her legs.

"All this time I tried to hold back with you," the white-haired man murmurs, still buried inside her, placing soft kisses on her back. "I thought my considerate and adorable girlfriend must be tired of dealing with a pain like me." Nagi's words echo in her chest. He wasn't ignoring her because he didn't love her; he was just trying to cope with his new routine.

"But you blew all my effort to hell, bunny." A resounding slap ended the reflection she was making in her mind. "Now I'm not going to share you with anyone, not even with your damn job. Why do we have so much money if I have to share you with the world?" She could feel the seriousness of her boyfriend's words. She knew his eyes shone with confidence and passion.

"You have a bunny suit, don't you?" he asks in a deep growl filled with desire. "I could see from my screen how you were waggling your white tail for me, inviting me to make you mine. Since we're animals now, I'll have to complete your heat cycle until I'm full of my babies."

Oh god, yes~

He moved the butt plug he had as a tail, eliciting a moan of pleasure from her and marking the start of a second round.

He still had something unfinished business…

"Thanks to all of you for your advice. I was able to save my relationship, and now I have my boyfriend's attention every day… remember, if you're in a situation like mine, A bunny suit can save you🐇🔥"

Reddit discussion closed, replies no longer accepted.

•••••━━━━━━━ •♬• ━━━━━━━••••••

•••••━━━━━━━ •♬• ━━━━━━━••••••

[on-a-lucky-tide]

Price is left melancholy after his soon to be ex-wife makes him feel worthless. Nik is there to make him see some home truths.

cw: Price is married but separated with divorce papers on his kitchen table; dirty talk, kissing, groping, handjob in the disabled cause they're bloody classy lads. Potentially Part 1 of 2 because the set up is good for Price's first gay romp.

Price watched the foam pop against the rim of his pint glass, thumb smearing up and down the condensation. He had selected a table in the far corner, closed in by the tall backs of the benches, so when Nik arrived he didn't immediately spot him. Price happened to glance up just as he started drifting with vodka glass in hand, and he lifted an arm to wave him over.

“Nik!”

The big Russian grinned and Price felt something in his chest pop loose. The anxious tension that had built in his shoulders eased away. Nik always had that effect, had for years.

“John, it is good to see you, comrade,” Nik said, stooping down to wrap an arm around Price's shoulders. Outside the formal setting of an operation, Nik abandoned the handshakes and claps on the back. Price found himself taking a deep breath as his nose pressed into Nik's shoulder, and his own relaxed. 

“‘Ow ya been?” Price asked as Nik flopped onto the bench opposite.

“Busy. There is something bubbling in China that may be of interest.”

“Oh yeah? Spill.”

Nik chuckled, took a sip of vodka, and proceeded to update John on the machinations of the Asian gangs he was working with, reminding Price that his best friend was pretty much a damn warlord and he was bloody lucky to be on his good side. 

As the story spun off into other stories, they knocked back their drinks, ordered a few more rounds, and John shared what he could of some recent missions. Unfortunately, the original question had to come back up eventually. “And you? How are things at home?”

Price swallowed, lips tugging down in a frown. Despite the warm glow of the alcohol, he felt a tight knot of icy tension in his gut. “The, uh… the missus ain't too happy wiv me at the moment. Glad you were free to meet, to be honest.”

Nik frowned. “Has something happened?”

This was the difficult part. It was embarrassing. Downright unmanly. But Nik was his longest serving friend, his closest, besides bloody Laswell and this wasn't something he could talk to her about. “She… uh, ya know she asked fer a baby.”

“Da,” Nik said, smiling gently. “And I said you would be an excellent father.”

Price managed a faint smile in return, but it faded as the weight of his situation pressed down on him. “‘m… uh, ‘m…” he scratched the back of his hand and rubbed at his beard. “‘m strugglin’ to give her one. So, she's uh… she's stayin’ wiv her parents ‘til I get my head sorted.”

“That seems a little drastic.”

“I, uh… she said some cruel fings, Nik, and I… uh, I said some fings back. Downright nasty, really. Lost my temper a bit. Not proud of it.”

The words ‘trial separation’ had been used because clearly Price didn't want what she did, and perhaps he needed to decide what he did want. It had felt overly dramatic, considering he'd only raised his voice and not a fist - he was a dickhead, not a thug - and Price had watched her drive away feeling deflated and lost. 

When the marriage had been arranged by his old man shortly before he died; daughter of another nco, needed a sturdy bloke with good breeding. They had hit it off fairly well; she was pretty, he was funny. Price had agreed because he was unlikely to ever meet someone with his work, and none of his previous relationships had blossomed into anything more than the odd shag. It had been difficult, but not entirely miserable, and she had been happy. Happy until it became clear he couldn't give her what she wanted. Two days later, the fuckin’ divorce papers had arrived with an ultimatum attached.

Price needed to fix this. And Nik was the best damn fixer in the business, right? The thought had been amusing at the time. Truth was, Price had reached out to one of the only sources of comfort he had. 

Nik leaned back and looked thoughtful. Price hadn't expected that reaction. Not the pause that followed, like Nik was mulling something over, nor the way Nik’s hand twitched on the table as if he wanted to reach out. “Have you been to a doctor?” he asked finally.

Price's cheeks reddened. “Yeah. Uh, ‘m fertile and ev'ryfin', healthy he said. I, uh… he reckons the issue’s in my head. I mean, I… ‘ve never really… but, she's always had a good time, right? I make sure of that, and…” Price couldn't look up from the table, which is why he saw and felt Nik's hand finally close around his, big fingers pushing into his palm to ease his fist loose. It was an odd gesture. No one ever really comforted Price in that way, or at all, really. And he found himself squeezing back a little, grateful for the anchor.

“It is okay, John. You do not have to be embarrassed with me,” Nik said, his voice soft. “Do you stay hard?”

Price swallowed, his ears burning. He looked up from the table because looking at their hands joined together, how… good they looked, was too much for some reason. “Yeah. For a decent amount of time. Rest of me gets tired first, an’ by then she's usually on her second or third, so… s’never been a problem.”

“Then it is the… end?”

“Yeah, it's… I don't, y’know, finish.”

“Have you tried foreplay?”

“O’ course, I always get her off first, you know, mouth, hands, an’ then–”

“Nyet, John,” Nik said, and Price could swear there was fond amusement in his voice. “Does she prepare you enough?”

Price sat there in silence for a moment, his damn face pulsing with heat. Nik's thumb was circling over the back of his hand and it felt bloody nice. Tender, like. “We kiss, an’ she gropes me a bit, wears cheeky lacy things sometimes, it gets things moving…”

“I see.” Nik didn't look impressed and Price felt like his sex life had just achieved a poor grade, despite his best efforts. He sat in silence for a moment, the rest of the world fading out as he watched Nik's hand. The rest of him felt… warm. A different kind of warmth to the burning embarrassment of his confession. More a low, gentle ebb at his core, a magnetism that made him want to sit closer to Nik's side. Nik hummed. “And you have never thought this was an issue before?”

“Well, there's sperm in pre, an’ I jus’... y’know, I sort myself out after while 'm in the shower and she's a’kip.”

“And she has never noticed?”

“She never really… well, she…” 

Price had nothing. She had commented on it once, giggling that he had the stamina of a Greek god, and he had taken it as a compliment. By the time he was finished, she was always wet and panting, her entire soft body flushed, shaking. He was good in bed. Had never disappointed any of the girls he'd been with. But the finishing thing had always been a… frustration. He’d just always assumed it was the job, the tiredness, the stress. Maybe an old wound. The doctor had put that last one to bed after a particularly in-depth physical.

“In the shower, what do you think of?” Nik asked.

“Nik, I… c’mon…”

“It is nothing to be ashamed of, John.”

“Her. Obviously. Ev’ryfin’ I just did.” 

“You are lying.”

Price was lying. Nik knew his tells even if no one else on the planet besides Laswell did. “It's not other women or porn,” Price said quickly. As if the truth was somehow better. The truth was… well, it was bloody worse.

“What do you think about? It is ok. No judgement.”

“I… uh…” John shifted in his seat, pulled his hand out of Nik's to grab his damn pint glass because the contact had suddenly become overwhelming. He took a slurp of beer, wiping the foam off his moustache with the back of his hands. “I… think of how good it would be to have a hand that… uh, that looked like mine tuggin’ me off.”

Truth was Price thought about other men. Not directly. He allowed his mind to glimpse flash images of them; not whole men, not with faces or names. Like opening a box and peeking inside for a split second, and then snapping it closed before the homosexual urges could escape. He focused on abstract things; a certain point on a muscular back, a hairy thigh, the shape and feel of his own hand as if it was someone else’s, the edge of a firm jawline. He had convinced himself that if he didn't ‘look directly at it’, then it wasn't… it wasn't anything.

“You think of men,” Nik said plainly. There was no judgement there. Why would there be? Nik liked men. He slept with them regularly. And there weren't nothing wrong with being gay; Laswell was gay too. That was all fine. Price loved them both, he… it was just…

“I don't fink of their cock and balls or nuffin’, you know, I… it's just their… just…”

Nik was watching him with a ponderous look. Price felt warm under his jacket, the fog of the alcohol making his mind a little loose. His gaze dropped down to Nik's hand again, the way it was so big, dwarfing the beer mat sat next to it. And then Nik was shifting, rolling to his feet and shuffling around the table. “Move over,” he murmured. And Price did, scooching over his bench to make room.

Nik slumped down, turned and tilted Price’s chin back up, because Price's gaze had dropped straight to the full chest now very close. He could smell Nik's cologne too and feel the warmth of his thigh against his. “I think you know what the problem is.”

Price’s whiskers twitched. “Lack of foreplay?”

“Nyet. You want to be touched by a man.” 

“Nik, ‘m not… ���ve never been…” 

“You have struggled to ejaculate because you are not properly satisfied or aroused.”

“Oi, I get ‘ard, I said…”

Nik sighed, resting his elbow on the table by their empty pint glasses so he could tilt his head to his knuckles. “If you had an orgasm with a man, would you accept that I am right?”

“Had an orga–you jus’... Come out with that shit like…”

“Answer the question. You are a man of action, practical, you believe in proof, and–”

“Yeah, olrigh’!” Price said, a little too bloody loudly. He cleared his throat and dropped his voice. “Olrigh’... Yeah, I'd… if I did, and it… happened, ‘d ‘ave t’ accept that I was… that women aren't… that I might be a bit… fruity.”

Nik nodded and reached for his phone. “Then we will find you a man tonight.”

“Whot? Nik, are ya touched in the–I can't sleep with a rentboy,” Price hissed. He could imagine the headline: ‘best of the worst: sas captain arrested for solicitation’.

“I meant we could use Grindr to find you a partner. No payment needed.”

Price blinked. “That's a… that's a real thing?” Bloody Tindr required three dates, a home visit, several hundred quids worth of gifts and then you'd be lucky to get a peck on the lips. 

“Da. And you are handsome, in excellent physical shape, you would have no problem finding an offer.”

Price flushed, squirming a little in his seat. He actually started bloody well considering it, only to grunt and shake his head. “Naw, Nik, I… I can't. Wouldn' know what t’ do, what t’... put where. It'd… ‘d embarrass meself, wouldn' be able to trust him, I...”

Nik tucked his phone away and watched Price for a long moment with lidded eyes. Price could smell him, feel the heat of him, and maybe it was the alcohol or maybe he just needed to feel close to someone, but he wanted to fold into Nik's arms. “Do you trust me?” Nik asked softly.

“Wiv me life, you know that. Don't ask stupid bloody questions.”

“With your body.”

Price looked up quickly from where his gaze had drifted down to Nik's hand again, big eyes blinking rapidly. “Ya mean, you… that is… you'd wanna… wiv me?”

“Da,” Nik sighed, dropping his hand to cover John's again, fingers sliding over the veins and grooves in the back to circle his wrist. “I must be honest. I would do anything for you, John. But this… this would be as much for me as it was for you.”

“Nik…” God, fuck, Nik was so close. Price adjusted in his seat, his thigh brushing closer to Nik's as he inhaled another deep lungful of his scent. Later, he could blame the alcohol, but the truth was he wasn't even that drunk; his inhibitions were lowered, his body relaxed thanks to Nik's proximity, and he was absolutely, achingly starved of affection. “I didn'... I never knew.”

“I love you as a close friend. I was not willing to sacrifice that for a foolish hope, but… I am a simple man, a weak man, and if there is even a chance of kissing you, then I–”

Price didn't let Nik finish. He closed that miniscule amount of distance between their lips and bloody kissed him. It sent a thrill down his spine, the chapped softness of Nik's mouth, the feel of his stubble so different to the smooth face he was used to. The warmth that had been coiling in his chest now ignited, building to a bonfire that made his skin light up, a tightness built in his groin that pressed against the fly of his jeans. 

When Nik kissed back, his tongue teasing past Price's teeth to caress over his, Price gasped. He reached out, hands scrambling blindly, and found purchase in Nik's shirt, knuckles against the firm wall of his chest as Nik pressed forward. 

They were hidden away from the rest of the pub back here, but Price wouldn't care either way, he wanted to get lost in Nik's mouth, pulled him closer. Nik’s hand curled behind John's head, while the other slid up the denim of his thigh. Price had to break the kiss as pressure built in his chest, and Nik nosed the side of his beard to kiss his neck. Price’s mouth fell open as Nik's hand slid higher, higher, until it cupped over the firm bulge over his crotch. His palm palpated in a slow ripple and Price pressed into it, biting back the moan sat in the back of his throat. It felt so fuckin’ good. The way Nik's palm was so big, so commanding, urging Price’s body to spread itself before him.

“Blyat, I need to touch you now…”

“We’re in the middle of a damn pub, Nik.” Price’s voice was tighter than his jeans, and he knew he should push Nik away, but damn his hand felt good and his lips were kissing just beneath Price's ear. His palm had left the back of his head to slide into his jacket, nails dragging over his ribs to trace circles up and down his spine. Price arched into him, pushing his shivering body into Nik's hand and mouth.

“Da. Come with me.”

Before he could protest, Nik was dragging him from the booth and towards the back of the pub. Price hoped everyone was too busy with their pints to notice his erection as it slid down his right trouser leg. The disabled toilet was empty and clean, and it was in there that Nik shoved Price before locking the door behind them. They waited briefly, both listening for a knock to protest, but when none came Nik pulled John to him by the collar of his jacket and kissed him again.

That same heat flooded his body instantly, hips drawn to Nik's by fingers threaded through his belt loops. This kiss was hungrier, deeper, and Price staggered as he was pushed towards the sink, boots squeaking on the tiled floor. When Nik pulled away, Price’s eyes dropped to Nik's lips, kissed red and glistening, and he leaned up to take the lower one gently between his teeth. Nik smiled, kissing him one last time before tilting his head back, and twisted Price to face the mirror. 

Those big hands swept beneath his shirt to stroke the firm plain of his stomach as he nuzzled kisses against his neck, working his way down to pick open Price’s belt and fly. Oh fuck, oh fuck, it was happening… this was happening. Price felt a sudden spike of panic and grabbed Nik's wrists. 

Nik stopped immediately. “Are you ok?” he asked softly, and Price felt the question against the hammering pulse in his neck.

“Yeah, I… are you sure? Y’ain’t jus’ doin’ this cause you… cause it's me.”

Nik chuckled, actually bloody chuckled. “Of course I am doing this because it is you,” he said, testing Price's grip by moving his wrists again. Price's zipper hissed as it slid down, his buckle clattering against his thighs, and then a big, warm hand was sliding over his cotton boxers to cup his balls. The heat and firmness of the touch was truly euphoric. “John, the things I want to do to you…”

“Yeah?” Price could barely breathe. Nik caressed over the cotton to the elastic of his waistband and slowly slid inside, grasping his cock at the base to lift it free of his underwear. Price got to watch the subject of his shower fantasies manifest in real time; a large, weathered hand, stroking slowly up and down his steel-hard prick, its veins pushing through velvet soft skin a slightly darker shade than the rest of him. His toes curled in his boots, his knees shaking, and Nik's arm curled around his chest just in time to keep him upright.

“Da,” Nik whispered, pressing a kiss into Price's hair. “How does it feel?”

“Mm, Nik, so good… fuckin’ ‘ell…” Price moaned, watching his cock leak precum over the edge of Nik's broad palm. Nik used it to ease the way, squeezing on the up stroke around Price's glans, letting his foreskin slide back and forth over his ruddy crown. “Tell me… tell me what ya wanna do to me, Nik.”

Nik massaged the side of Price's chest, sucking gently on his earlobe. “I will take you back to my hotel room and unwrap you like a gift. I will take you to shower where I will wash you, fuck your thighs, perhaps,” Nik teased his thumb through Price's slit and made his hips stutter.

“Nik, ahh…”

“Then I will spread you on my bed, make you hold your legs apart, and watch me work you open on my fingers.”

Price hadn't thought about what position he would take. Fuck, he'd never thought about what position Nik might want. Price’s default wouldn't have been to be penetrated, but apparently his body was keen on the idea, because his cock throbbed in Nik's grip, another long string of precum coating Nik's knuckles. The thought of Nik's thick fingers plunging into his body made him dizzy with want. “Fuck, ahh, fuck…”

“And when you are begging for release, I will stretch your virgin hole on my cock, John. You will take all of me, with your legs on my shoulders, or perhaps I will turn you on to your knees and make you present that pretty hole to me. Tell me you want that.”

“Oh god, fuck… yeah, mmph, yeah, Nik…” Nik's fist was pumping faster, his grip perfect, the smell of his cologne as intoxicating as the deep, husky growl making filthy promises in Price's ear and the filthy schlick of his palm up and down Price's cock. He wanted it. He wanted it all. The thought of Nik’s powerful body between his legs, his strong hands pressing him into the bed, or gripping his hips as Nik blanketed his back. Price's balls pulled tight and he latched onto Nik's jeans

“You will sob with pleasure, beg me to fuck you harder.”

“Nik, Nik!”

“And I will cum inside you, John. Leave you full of me after you have spent the night submitting your body to mine.”

It was enough. The imagery of Nik pressed balls deep inside him, thick body pressing Price to the mattress as he pumps him full, was enough. The orgasm licked up Price’s spine, locking his limbs as his cock pulsed in Nik's grip. Nik angled it down into the sink, Price's load painting the otherwise pristine porcelain in thick ropes. 

Nik milked him in slow, firm strokes until his cock stopped twitching, and then tilted his chin so that they could share a deep, possessive kiss that cradled Price perfectly in the afterglow. Nik’s hand vanished from Price’s sensitive flesh and Price heard the squeak of the tap, followed by the slosh of water. Several moments past, their kiss petered out to gentle, breathless pecks on sensitive lips, and then Price felt Nik return with a hand doused with warm water.

“Bloody ‘ell, full silver service,” Price whispered, glancing down to watch Nik tenderly rinse his cock and then the sink before turning the tap off. All while keeping Price pressed against his chest.

“There is a good shower at my hotel. If you will allow me, I will show you the real silver service.” 

“Ya mean ev’ryfin’ ya said… all of it.”

“I would take you against this wall, but I would want your first time to be less… casual.” 

Price swallowed. He tucked his cock away with fumbling hands and managed to do up his fly, and then he lifted both hands to Nik's forearm. This had escalated quickly and his name wasn't on the bloody divorce papers yet. But separated meant separated. She had even said she'd go and find a man who could do the job he couldn't. It might have been bravado and intended to hurt, but it had certainly done the job. He felt - had felt - completely worthless.

Nik made him feel… whole. Like he mattered. Like his pleasure, his body and his damn feelings mattered. Price had never experienced that in any intimate relationship. He craved more.

 “Yeah… yeah, ‘d… I want t’... I want it t’ be you, Nik.”

Nik's dark eyes crinkled at the corners as he grinned. “I will call us a taxi.”

They left the toilet and returned to the bar. Price managed to sneak in a quick half before the taxi arrived to take them back to Nik’s hotel. Some posh, exorbitantly expensive place on the other side of town. Nik's hand stayed on in Price's throughout the journey, his thumb circling gently across the back. Price knew he should feel nervous, but it was excited butterflies fluttering away in his gut, not anxious ones. His future was uncertain, but for one thing; Nik. He knew he wanted Nik more than anything else in the world.

[shevathegun]

I just read a post about how Palamedes began to understand that cavs mix with and imprint on the souls of their necros because of what Alecto got from John, and I like that post, but I don't agree with it's conclusions.

I don't agree that what John got from Alecto was rage. John had rage. He had it in abundance. Anyone who's ever cared about anything the way he and his acolytes cared understands that rage. One does not secure for themselves a suitcase nuke without a bit of wrathfulness in their heart, you see. Everything we hear from John paints him as deeply self righteous, and deeply angry.

And I don't agree that what Alecto got from John is love. Alecto had love. Alecto had great love and fascination for the Earth and its creatures, retains great love for those which living people no longer remember, regards human beings as one creature amongst many, but always with fascination and curiosity. In Nona we see that to love is not simply human – to love is the will of the Earth, and to love almost indiscriminately, to give even the devouring wrath of another planet that same deep love and sympathy.

No, what John and Alecto gave one another was much simpler than that. John gave Alecto humanity. Deeply unwanted, singularizing humanity – he trapped that nigh infinite power and wisdom and emotion, that deeply inhuman complex state of being, in a human body inspired not even by humanity itself but by a non-living effigy of idealized womanhood, and gave her the name of an avenging goddess. That was what he wanted her to be.

And by the same token, Alecto gave John her inhumanity. Earth is not a person, it is not singular – she is more vast and complex than any living being could ever be. The nearly inarticulatable way Nona experiences life as a corporeal being, nearly folds in on herself from trying to remain so small, is indicative of the life Alecto has been forced to live ever since John trapped her like this, devoured her whole with the gift she gave him.

There's something very fitting about the cannibalism metaphors that spring up in The Locked Tomb – namely that one of the reasons why cannibalism is viewed as a taboo act is because it involves reducing someone with the same ability as yours to think and feel complexly to the role of animal, and consuming them. We ascribe the act of consumption to what we view as lesser beings. In devouring the souls of their cavaliers, necromancers become something more than human, something immortal, something Worse.

When John ate Alecto, he was not devouring a lesser being. He wasn't even devouring something like himself in its ability to think and feel. He was devouring something with a greater ability to feel than he had the capacity to fathom by such orders of magnitude that the act itself is perverse.

He was a man devouring the earth.

John became a god because in coming into contact with Alecto's soul, he lost the part of him that showed him his place in the universe as a singular piece of a whole species. In attitude, he remains a self righteous, wrathful man completely immune to all attempts to dissuade him from what is now a centuries long lost cause. But in affect, he is a god. The power and disaffection of a planet contained within one man.

Alecto was born angry, but not because that's how she's meant to be. John perverted the natural order, made the Earth his literal toy, to serve only how he, in his hubris, thought she ought to be, to feel only how he thought she ought to feel. That's how humans tend to think of the Earth, right? As something fundamentally unliving. An object, maybe a force. Not a soul.

But in Nona, even she came to understand that she was so much more complicated than a sword, or a doll. Alecto has now lived within two human beings – and you're right that in one of them, through contact with their soul, she remembered how deeply and profoundly she loved living things.

The soul that reminded Alecto how she, as a planet, loved (loves, still loves) was not John.

It was Harrow.