#he loves all of them but would never admit it

[bbokicidal]

Little Blue Pill | [SKZ]

Synopsis: In which your boyfriend takes a special enhancement pill for sexy time.

Pairing: OT8 x Afab!Reader Genre: Suggestive/Smut Warnings: Humiliation tbh, handjobs, oral/throat fucking, lots of teasing, changbin gets tied up, sub!ji

Chan:

He found the pill in a convenience store when shopping for some random little shit and thought it would be fun and interesting to try it in his own time

Which is why he's now texting you begging you to send a pic

He PRIDES himself on not being one of those types of guys - the type to tell you to run to the bathroom quick and take a pic up your skirt but he's so desperate right now

And he knows you'll do it for him; Especially when he doesn't ask you to but rather turns to demanding you do it for him

If you're not feeling it he'll back off but judging by your blushing emojis and shy/dry responses, you're in the process of doing what he asked and he's so happy you listen so well

You're his good little bitch and he'll remind you of that

And reward you for being so good, of course, by sending you a vid of his cock leaking all over his hand

Minho:

He only takes the pill after you reassure him that it won't cause any horrible side effects and that if it does, you'll stop right away

You two end up talking about it a few times but you're not actually there when he takes it

He decides to surprise you by doing it on his own, knowing you'll love it if he just sort of - shows up with a hard on

So he takes the pill before he leaves his apartment, making his way to yours. He finds you in a small apron making yourself breakfast and you let him in with a pleasant smile, always happy to see your boyfriend in his free time

But you're caught off guard when he presses up against you from behind, his cock straining against his sweats with how hot and heavy it is

He leans into you, arms wrapping around your waist and whispering soft, sweet nothings while he kisses at your shoulder in want. You catch on pretty quickly, sure of yourself that he'd never gotten worked up this fast before.

"Did you take the..?"

"Mhm," He hums, smirking against your neck and sighing out in relief at the way your hips roll back into his own. "Thought I'd surprise you. You'll help me out; Right, baby?"

Changbin:

The pill is your idea but he's on board pretty immediately. You want him to take a pill that keeps him hard for longer than normal? Fuck yeah! And put a ring on him while you're at it.

He LOVES it.

He's in shambles even just feeling the ribbon wrapped around his wrists tight, keeping his arms up above his head. His thighs are spread open with a bar and you're teasing your fingertips over the head of his cock, leaky and drooling with pre at the need to be touched,

Changbin won't admit it until after - partially because he can't think straight right now - but he really, really loves this experience and if you want him to take a pill in the future again too, he absolutely will.

The feeling of you jerking his cock so loosely and teasing the shit out of him for hours on end, and his cock sitting stiff and rock hard against his tummy the entire time?? He's never felt so messy and desperate before but he's all here for it ~

Hyunjin:

The pill is his idea and actually - he takes it without even telling you.

And it's the best sex of your life.

He's never gone that long before and he wanted at least three rounds out of you, wanting to thoroughly ruin you before it was all over and the effects of the capsule wore off. And he loved having the opportunity to fill you with his cum over and over again.

Hyunjin actually tells you the morning afterward, leaning against the dining table and shyly admitting to using a pill the night before. He's afraid for a moment that you'll be upset but when you ask if that's the reason he was able to pound into you for that long, he feels a bit of relief.

Pills become a somewhat normal thing for you two after this! He doesn't want to take them all that often because it makes him feel like he's.. cheating or something when it comes to sex, but if y'all wanna spice things up for a night - the pill comes into play and it keeps him going for at least a few hours. ~

Jisung:

Jisung is a little nervous about the pill when you bring it up to him.

He's seen the scary ads before, but honestly for you he's willing to risk it all. So he pops the pill about an hour before the two of you initiate anything and honestly? He's having the time of his life.

Everything feels normal at first but then he's rock hard in his shorts and he's a little embarrassed about how he seemed to pop a boner just from you kissing him so passionately -

But the second you touch his cock, every thought in his pretty little head flies out the window.

It feels electric. He's on cloud nine, gasping out and whining into your mouth as you jerk his cock under his waistband, not even bothering to strip him before you took full control. He's all but melting into the couch as you lean over him and take care of him,

But you seem to under estimate the pills powers because he comes relatively easy -

That just means you have to make him come over, and over, and over again - Right? Now's your chance to try a bunch of new things on your boyfriend that you'd wanted to experiment with before but didn't have the chance to because of how he couldn't handle more than one round...

(He's in for the night of his life.)

Felix:

It's his idea and he's not shy about it.

He mentions it one night, says he already bought a few in case you were open to the idea, and also gets a few things for you as well so it's not one-sided.

He pops a pill, and while he waits for it to settle into his system, he busies himself with burying his tongue in your pussy to keep you satisfied while you wait. It doesn't take long - but it does give him a chance to taste you and then bring out something he'd bought for you as well.

He leans over you with a grin, biting into his lip as he rubs his fingertips over your clit and keeps you stimulated,

But then everything feels so much more sensitive and Felix leans down to blow cool air over your clit, your body jolting and shuddering only to jerk again when he latches on to suck against the bundle of nerves. His tongue flicks over your clit as he moans out, everything he does making you squirm and whine in awe.

Though he's in the same boat shortly enough, fucking into you harder than ever before because of the pill. It's like his sex drive shot through the roof (as if he wasn't super horny to begin with) and he's never been so loud until now.

You can't complain, though; His moans are like music to your ears.

Seungmin:

It's sort of a mutual idea. He wants to try it out because he's attempting to push himself out of his comfort zone, and you're naturally a bit of a freak -

It pairs well with the idea of popping a pill and going for hours.

Though you didn't expect him to be so greedy with it.

He's groaning the entire time he fucks into you, and at first it's nothing too crazy; His hands on your hips, his pace pretty standard, his posture just fine -

But during the second round is where he starts to lose his composure. He's pushing your hips down, pinning you to the mattress, flipping you onto your side and then your front and trying new angles without asking you to move because he just wants to manhandle you himself. He leans over, slouching and breathing hard with sweat dripping down to his chin and throat as his pace becomes brutal.

He leaves a few bruises on your hips from how hard he holds onto you but - it's all worth it. ~

Jeongin:

He's never felt so out of his body before!

The pill makes him... not anxious but incredibly eager. It makes his cock so leaky and wet and he's smearing pre over his length as he waits for you to come back from the bathroom because he can't keep his hands off his dick - that's how bad it is.

He comes before you even touch him. He leaks all over his hand as soon as you step out in your pretty lingerie and he's choking, blushing so hard his ears burn bright in embarrasment and need.

He's in shambles when you get on your knees to lick him clean. Your tongue against his cock feels like Heaven and he's groaning out about how good you are to him, his head tipping back and his hips bucking up. He barely even notices that he starts to fuck your throat until you're gagging and drooling around him.

He's just so lost in pleasure that he can't keep control of himself.

Especially when he's fucking you and your pussy is squelching around his cock, sucking him in like you're a personal little sleeve made just for him to use. Part of him hates thinking about you that way, objectifying your body and dumbing you down to just a toy for him to use when he wants, but in the moment he can't bring himself to care,

He even voices it to you - Tells you what a pretty little cocksleeve you are for him and when you whine in reply, because you can't speak with the way he's pounding into your cervix and threatening to rearrange your guts, it spurs him on to keep talking to you like that the entire time you have sex.

Which, you can't complain about, of course.

Permanent Taglist :

@dwaekkicidal @possum-playground

@thatonedarkskinnedsiren @oc3anfloor @theyadorevalerie

@jeonginsleftcheek @pixie-felix @hwangjoanna @skzophreniic

@silly250

[bloomseishiro]

THAT’S MY GIRL — ITOSHI RIN

౨ৎ — dating a famous soccer star can be scary, especially with all the crazy fans and online gossip. so you and rin decide to keep your relationship a secret. a misunderstanding occurs when you hang out with your friend (another famous soccer player) and now the internet thinks you’re dating karasu?! 

itoshi rin x fem!reader. fluff, established relationship, secret relationships, pro soccer player!rin, possessive!rin everybody cheers, karasu is one of reader’s besties, reader wears a dress ; i had so much fun writing this i will never shut up about it pls enjoy

word count. 2.2k 

You didn’t intend to keep your relationship with Rin a secret. 

At least, not for this long. 

You thought you would quickly warm up to the idea of being a famous soccer player’s girlfriend, but recent events had you thinking otherwise. Not too long ago, one of Rin’s former Blue Lock contestants revealed that he had a girlfriend, and his fans on the internet completely tore her to shreds. They were mainly complaining about how she broke ‘NagiReo’ apart and how she was heartless for stealing Nagi from his real soulmate. Some even went so far as to threaten her!

You shudder as you recall the social media posts and tabloid titles. 

If the public reacted so badly to that, what’s to say they would welcome you?

So you decide to prolong your secret relationship and, thankfully, Rin doesn’t mind. 

He doesn’t care too much about public opinion. As long as he knows you are happy with him, and you give him the reassurance you know he loves (though he doesn’t want to admit it), he’s content with keeping this between the two of you for a little while longer. 

Still, keeping your relationship a secret from the press also meant you couldn’t go out to dinners together, being forced to order takeout or get food delivered inside. Even going to his games was a rare treat, and even then you had to wear a full disguise and sit in an obscure nosebleed seat. 

It frustrates you, really. Why can’t people just be normal? 

You sigh.

“Are you still moping?” asks Karasu as he returns with your drinks. 

For the past thirty minutes, you’ve been telling your friend, who happens to be another one of Rin’s former Blue Lock acquaintances, about all your secret dating woes. 

You nod, taking a spice of your ice cold water. “Yeah, yeah. No more of me crying over not even being able to eat at a fast food place like this with Rin. Instead, let’s hear all about your most recent failed dating stories.”

“They’re not all fails,” he drawls, shoving a bundle of fries into his mouth. “I might be going on a second date with one of them.”

“And she’s not scared of the backlash?” you ask, a hint of resignation in your voice. 

Karasu shrugs. “Most people just ignore the hate. Those delusional fans aren’t real fans, but at least they make us more money, right? It’s part of the industry. Comes with dating a famous athlete. Don’t take it to heart, Y/N. I’m sure your lover boy Rinnie will shield you from whatever backlash occurs anyway.”

Frowning, you dip a fry into some ketchup over and over.

“You look a little menacing stabbing your ketchup like that,” jests Karasu, putting his arms up in surrender. “It was just a suggestion. You don’t have to reveal anything you don’t want to.”

“But I do want to!” you cry exasperatedly. “I want Rin to be able to hold my hand in public, and make eye contact with me! I don’t want to wear a stupid disguise when I go to his games. I want to kiss him right in front of the paparazzi and then throw my middle finger at their face!” 

“Then do it.” He pauses, a grin forming in his face as the scene plays in his head. “No, wait, for real, do it. Do you know how badass that’d be?”

“No!” You place your head into your hands and pout. “I’m nervous.” 

“Who cares what those less than mediocre losers think anyway?” Karasu scoffs, finishing the rest of his burger. “They’re not significant enough for you to worry about. Just do what you want.” He reaches over to steal some fries off your tray. “I bet Rin would like it if you came to support him during his games. As yourself. And not you with a mustache and clown wig or whatever atrocity it is you put on.”

“I do not wear a clown wig as a disguise,” you say, shooting him a glare. 

“Don’t need a disguise to be one.”

“Okay, our catch up session is over,” you deadpan, grabbing your purse and standing up from the table haughtily. 

Karasu laughs, taking no offense to you leaving. “Can I have the rest of your food?”

“Go ahead, you crow.”

He rolls his eyes but happily takes your leftovers. As you leave, he calls out, “Hey, Y/N.”

You glance back at him. 

“Remember what we talked about. Who gives a fuck what others think? Just do what will make you and Rin happy, okay?”

Reluctantly, you nod, knowing full well he’s right. The main focus on your relationship with Rin should be doing what makes you both happy and fulfilled. The main focus shouldn’t be avoiding the press and his fans. 

Karasu said it best. 

Who gives a fuck? 

“Hey, have you seen what’s trending yet?”

Rin blinks, considering hanging up the phone. Isagi rarely calls him, and it’s even more rare for Rin to actually pick up. So why the hell were the first words out of Isagi’s mouth about what’s trending? Since when did Isagi even care? 

“No. Don’t care. Bye.”

“Wait, wait!” Isagi butts in before Rin can press the red button. “It’s about Karasu and Y/N…dating.”

Rin frowns at the reveal. He knew you were going to get lunch with Karasu yesterday, but there was no way it was a date. He puts Isagi on speaker and opens up Twitter. Of course, the top trending topics are, “karasu’s girlfriend” and “WHO IS SHE?” to name a few. 

At Rin’s silence, Isagi continues, “Not that there’s any way it’s true, of course. She would never cheat on you! And Karasu isn’t that kind of guy, either.”

Rin knows all that. But he doesn’t care. He’s too busy being annoyed that your first introduction to the public is as Karasu’s girlfriend and not Rin’s girl. 

He grits his teeth, seconds away from throwing his phone onto the floor. 

You’re his girlfriend. Not anyone else’s. He didn’t care what the public thought…until it came to something so ridiculously incorrect like this. 

“Rin,” says Isagi. “Everything good?”

“No,” he barks, pinching the bridge of his nose. “But I’ll clear this bullshit up. Bye.”

“Huh? Oh, okay, bye—!”

Rin hangs up and pockets his phone, immediately dropping everything to head over to your place. He has to see you. Now. 

You go through your day blissfully unaware of all the drama going on online (and with your own boyfriend).

You take Karasu’s advice from yesterday to heart. Perhaps you are just too chronically online and need to stop being so worried about the opinions random strangers might have about you.

It’s time for a digital detox.

Earlier, you deleted any and all social media apps off your phone, bar text messages if that even counted, and so far, it feels pretty freeing.

You’re so busy coloring and embroidering—both random hobbies you picked up but never had much time for since you would doom scroll instead—you hardly notice the sound of your door opening.

“Y/N?” inquires a frustrated-looking Rin.

“Rin!” you greet in excitement, dropping your activities and rushing over to give him a big hug. “I didn’t know you were coming over right now! Did I miss your call?”

He shakes his head. “No, I just came over. Are you busy right now?” 

“Never too busy for you,” you say with a cheesy wink.

Rin snorts, ruffling the top of your head. “Good. Let me take you on a date, then. I bought you a new dress to wear, if you want.” 

Your ears perk up at the sound of that. You absolutely love when Rin spoils you with surprise gifts! It also helps that he has a shockingly keen eye for the types of dresses that best suit your figure.

“Let me shower and get ready. Then we can go,” you say as you begin to head over to the bathroom. “What do you have planned for us?”

“Kioicho Fukudaya,” Rin states as if he’s saying something as ordinary and common as McDonald’s and not a two Michelin-starred restaurant. 

Your jaw drops. “How did you get a reservation so last minute?!”

He shrugs, lip quirking upward as you bounce in excitement. “Just made a few calls.”

“Just a few calls?” you repeat sarcastically. As nonchalant as Rin pretends to be, you’re fairly certain he had to fight tooth-and-nail for a table at a place like that. 

The two of you haven’t really gone to public places like restaurants, no matter how exclusive and high-end they were. Even with all the secrecy in the world, it would never be truly private. Paparazzi were still bound to be there lurking.

Realization dawns on you and you blink. “Wait…Won’t people see us together?”

“Possibly.” Rin hesitates for a moment. “Is that okay?” 

You weigh the consequences in your mind but remind yourself what’s really important. You want to let everyone know you’re with Rin. And judging from today, it seems he wants the same.

“I don’t mind,” you promise softly. “I think I’m ready to stop keeping this a secret relationship. But…what brought this on?

Rin’s eyes narrow as he grits out, “Karasu.”

Your head tilts in confusion. “You talked to him too?” 

“What? No.” His brows crinkle together. “I just saw you guys trending online.”

You blink. “Huh?”

He returns your look of equal confusion. “Have you not checked Twitter?”

“No,” you say with a shake of your head. “I deleted all my socials off my phone. Just so I’m not tempted to check it.” 

Rin raises his brow in question. 

“I’m tired of keeping our relationship a secret… I was hoping if I stopped checking the online gossip and what’s trending, I could ignore all the outside noise and just focus on us,” you explain. 

At your words, a smile forms on his face. Not a smirk, or a half-grin, but a full-fledged smile. Just seeing his expression makes you happy. 

This is definitely the right choice, you tell yourself. 

“Well, fans saw you and Karasu getting food together and now the media is calling you ‘Karasu’s girl’,” mutters Rin in annoyance. “Obviously, it’s false. But it still bothers me to see that.” 

You visibly gag at the news. “Ew! What? Karasu and me? Are they blind?!” 

He snorts at your face filled with disgust. “Blind and stupid. I want to show them just how wrong they are.”

It begins to dawn on you why Rin wants to dress you up all nice and take you to a fancy restaurant. You giggle at his possessiveness, finding it rather cute. You know he trusts you fully, but there’s no harm in him wanting to stake his claim. 

“We’ll definitely show them.”

“Get ready then,” he says after planting a soft kiss on your forehead. “I have to freshen up, too. It will be our grand reveal, after all.”

He makes it sound like some sort of mission. You giggle to yourself. 

“Join me in the shower?” you ask with a grin.

“Do you even have to ask?”

After the two of you get yourselves clean and dressed to the nines, Rin pulls you flush against his body as he examines you in the mirror. 

The dress he chose is soft and silky, hugging your curves perfectly. It’s floor-length, but the high slit rises to your upper thigh, exposing just enough skin to leave people curious. 

Rin stands behind you in his dark brown suit, one arm wrapped tightly around your waist as he kisses the side of your neck. 

“You look gorgeous,” he compliments.

“You do too,” you say with a smile. “Very handsome.”

Rin meets your gaze through the mirror and smirks. “I wasn’t planning on doing it this way, but you look too good to let this opportunity go to waste.”

“Opportunity? What do you mean?”

He doesn’t reply, instead taking his phone out his pocket and opening up the camera. Rin points it at the mirror and adjusts his arm so it slightly covers your face. Realizing he’s taking a photo of you two, you smile shyly, pressing yourself closer to his chest. 

“Beautiful as always,” says Rin after he captures the picture. 

“You’re not too bad yourself,” you jest, peeking over at his screen. 

When you see the photo, you almost blush. With the way his hand is gripping your body, and given how close you two are, it seems like you’re intruding on an intimate moment—and you lived it yourself!

You watch as Rin opens a social media app and posts the photo with a simple caption.

@RinItoshi: my girl. get it right.

Once finished, he tosses his phone aside carelessly and looks at you with a smile. “Ready for our date?” 

“Always!”

Placing your hand in his, you excitedly follow him out the door and to his car. The two of you are so happy in your own little bubble, neither one of you notice how the internet is absolutely blowing up over Rin’s reveal of your relationship. 

But that’s okay. You like it better that way. 

@KarasuTabito: DAMN IT TOOK YOU LONG ENOUGH

@isagiofficial: congrats you guys! :)  

@iluvrinxoxo: holy shit she’s hot

@iluvrinxoxo: ahahahah rin who???? 

@iluvrinxoxo: changing my username bye

[cheongsanthinker]

Hiii, I just read your baku bf headcannons, and I loved them, so I was wondering if you could do Gotak ones aswell? Thank you!

— go hyuntak boyfriend hcs

gotak x gn!reader

warnings: possible grammar mistakes

a/n: thank you for requesting this! i love gotak so much <3

i appreciate the love on my baku post too 🥹 i also updated that post which you should all totally check out here because it is written better (i promise) and i slipped in a few more headcanons.

this is more focused on gotak himself rather than the show. i hope u don’t mind. requests are open for weak hero class btw. and as always, feedbacks are deeply appreciated! i hope u like this one :)

masterlist

• your relationship with gotak is the epitome of best friends to lovers—the silent yearning, the tension, and the unknown jealousy? perfection.

• both of you would be too scared to ruin the friendship, but ultimately, gotak would admit his feelings for you on your birthday.(best birthday gift ever honestly)

• everyone knew you were in love with each other except gotak and you—so when you announced your relationship to your friends, they wouldn’t be surprised at all.

• the foundation of your relationship is rock solid. it’s a relationship built on trust and respect—so an argument between you two would be rare, but when they do happen, you face things together and talk it through.

• gotak loves teasing you a lot, especially when you get shy everytime he compliments you. he absolutely finds it adorable.

• he would take you to all kinds of places, like cafe hoppings, museum, and beaches. gotak is the photographer boyfriend who never misses a moment to capture you. the beauty of the place never matters to him because nothing ever compares to you—and you’re worth every film of his camera.

• he has polaroids of the two of you on his wall—but there's one from your first date, the one he keeps tucked safely in his wallet. it is worn soft at the edges from being carried everywhere, and i mean everywhere.

• he slips you little notes during class. most times, asking about your day, other times just to say hello, or leaving a sweet compliment. it ranges from “i love you”, to “you look cute”, and once a “good morning, love. you sleep alright? ;)” when you accidentally fell asleep during a class.

• if you casually mention that you like a certain book, or a place he’d taken you to—he remembers it. gotak remembers the little things and it is so endearing the way he just shows up with the book you mentioned on a random tuesday night.

• gotak is protective of you, and he would do anything in his power to keep you safe. he will gladly teach you how to fight the moment you asked, and it became a routine to do everyday after school. both of you didn’t mind honestly, because he enjoys doing what he loves with you, and you find his fighting style incredibly attractive. (that is a secret you keep to yourself though)

• you two are simply head over heels for each other, and you wouldn’t trade him for the world. he loves you, and you love him unconditionally.

[zeni-macroura]

franziska coming around on phoenix as she grows older and finally admits her harshness was never his fault but instead her jealousy that he could stand next to edgeworth, who always felt so far out of her reach and would never return her love (not romantic just deep admiration and respect) the way he clearly did phoenix's

she finally "concedes defeat" and treats phoenix with kindness and without any expectation of reciprocation because doing so is the most pure act of love she can do for miles. and since she's finally accepted that love should be given without expecting anything in return, that it be unconditional, she is also finally able to open up to receive love in ways she never expected and realized she needed. 

phoenix, being who he is, forgives like everything is a fresh start, and his warmth completely knocks her off her feet and everything is suddenly clear to her. "ah. this is why he loves him. this is why i could never do what he did."

and suddenly, phoenix is her big brother. not little brother like miles but genuinely sincerely the figure in her life she should have had all along. her father had trauma bonded her to miles and she had no other guiding mentors, but now she has big brother phoenix.

miles has no idea when this happened. he doesn't understand at all how his little sister, who chided and harassed this man he loved, suddenly stopped looking down on him and began looking up to him. he's grateful, her approval of his partner means more than he'll ever be able to say, but he's lost. 

phoenix gets it. he does not tease her the way he does maya because he knows how prized and vulnerable and fragile and valuable the kindness of franziska von karma is, how it should be cherished as the priceless gemstone it is. 

they bicker. they have different tastes in music and art. they debate like two old men in the box seats of a theatre. but the barbs are a love language. the attacks lack their old spite and volatility. it is a choreographed dance rather than a spar. sometimes, people forget that miles was the one she had been raised with.

when phoenix and miles marry, franziska dances with each of them in lieu of the parent-child dance. she leads miles, but she lets phoenix lead her. 

he thanks her and promises he will take care of miles the way she had for so many years. she smiles and admits "i know."

[cryinggirlnamedhelen]

if i die tonight, imma make it look pretty

ft; haruka sakura, hayato suo, tasuku tsubakino, ren kaji

synopsis ; how do they feel when you wear makeup?

cw ; reader wears makeup, mentions of violence

note ; about tsubaki's gender, they use the term "watashi" in japanese to describe themself, which is used by men and women. however, the official english translators use male pronouns for them. i've seen a lot of people say that they're a male who crossdresses; that's also my personal hc, but i know that a lot of people believe that tsubaki is a trans woman, and i would also like to respect their opinion, so i will therefore be using they/them pronouns for tsubaki. please tell me if there is something that the author confirmed about tsubaki's gender that i missed!

sakura doesn't really understand why you wear makeup. he thinks you look perfect either way; you could wake up at 5 in the morning with dried drool running from the side of your mouth to your cheek and messy bed hair and he'd still think you look perfectly fine. your makeup bag on his lap, he picks up your makeup items one by one, careful to not drop them or break them. while you're applying the makeup on, you're describing to him what each one does as his eyebrows just furrow. one to make your lips a different color, one to make your eyelashes blacker...why? you already looked beautiful. but he did have to admit; he found his eyes lingering on your concentrated face applying makeup more than he really should have.

suo doesn't really care what you wear as long as it doesn't affect your health or as long as you don't feel uncomfortable with it. he can fight, both verbally and phsyically, so you can cake your entire face in makeup or wear no makeup at all and suo would just smile at you and tell you how beautiful you are. really, it has no effect on him. it's your body and face, so it should be your choice. he doesn't mind it either way. with lipstick, your lips are just a little bit redder. with mascara, your eyelashes are just a little bit fuller. physically, it doesn't affect him. there's not much of a difference, so he could care less. but the glimmer in your eye after you finish and admire your face in the mirror, the confident stride you have when walking...that was what suo loved to see.

tsubaki loves it when you wear makeup. they help you apply it often, complimenting you on how cute and pretty you look. you both go out shopping at makeup stores often, finding shades that match each other and new brands that you both might like. you guys share makeup all the time, and you both love to match eyeshadows and lipstick color. of course, after makeup, you both do skincare together, often inviting kotoha over for a sleepover. of course, if there's ever a time when you don't want to wear makeup, tsubaki would never force you. as much as they love applying makeup together with you, they love your own happiness and comfort just as much. but if you ever need help with anything makeup related, you know who to go to.

kaji despises it when you wear makeup. hates it. despises it. dislikes it. whatever word you want. he just doesn't see the point; you already look fine--no scratch that. you look more than fine; you're beautiful--so why are you spending pointless amounts of money on something that'll take too long to apply and only changes the color of your lips and skin? there was no point. he hated this. plus, whenever you're wearing lipstick and you snatch the lollipop that he was currently sucking on and suck on it for a while before giving it back, your lipstick always stained a circle of red around his lollipop. plus, you look strangely unnatural when you're wearing makeup, and he doesn't like that. he loves you when you're not actively wearing as much makeup as a circus clown.

this was so awkward to write because i've only ever worn makeup twice in my entire life🧍‍♀️

[ultravioletqueen]

Imagine a father yuu as well! Someone who is very serious with the adults around him but lets his silly dad side show with the kids. Spoils his kids rotten even as adults and they still have a strong bond. Maybe has a fading hairline with gray hairs but always looks profesional in work.

Poor man was just returning home after work and a FUCKING BLACK CARRIAGE runs over him and ends up in a scene that looks from a horror movie that one of his kids showed him with people that looks like cultists and almost faints by lack of sugar😭

Yuu dad agrees to work in nrc as janitor but refuses to sleep in ramshackle dorm bc of his allergies so he stays in other dorms and gets to know the other kids.

Yuu dad dosen't hesitate to annoy the little shit of Ace bc thats what you get for being annoying! He makes a lot of dad jokes that makes ace cringe but he never admits that finds some of them really funny.

Yuu dad tries to take care of grim like a pet but ends up learning the lesson after a fireball almost burns the little hair he has left, he ends up treating grim like a naughty child he needs to watch over and discipline but he always does with love and celebrates grim progress and help him learn from mistakes.

Yuu dad must be used to fix things in the house back home and that helps a lot when fixing up the ramshackle dorm into a decent place and deuce is the first one to jump and help him! Deuce loves the possitive attention from yuu dad and always goes for him for advice(whenever is just homework, mechanic facts, how to properly aproach girls,etc) yuu dad always gives the best advice.

Father yuu feels so much concern for riddle, no parent should mold their children life's like that and no children should feel like they owe their parents perfection, because perfection dosen't exist and yuu dad wants riddle to know that.

Riddle feels fluffy inside when yuu dad teachs him things and is so patient with him that makes him want to cry, he is used to being corrected in a harsh and destructive way that seeing yuu dad way to teach being so gentle and actually educative is so strange to him but it feels right.

Ooof Leona is such a hard case, bc we know that Leona has 0 patience for men and probably in the start he would see yuu dad as a pushover who lets kids mess with him and that laughs at lame jokes, saying that dosen't take him seriously is an understandment(he reminds him of his brother for the good and the bad).

But at some moment of chapter 2 Leona realizes that this man is nice but dosen't mean that he would stand his bad attitudes, he is straightforward with leona but he always is the first to congratulate him for the effort he sees he makes and this makes yuu dad worthy of respect in Leona eye's even if he dosen't admit it.

Azul was living a nightmare with yuu dad when he started to prove all the things wrong with his contracts(is even worse if yuu dad is a lawyer) and in the start he saw him as a big obstacle that he had to get rid off, but even in the worst moments he had to admit that the will of yuu dad had surprised him and his capacities to identify scam were impressive.

After all that jazz with the contracts he started to have a genuine respect for yuu dad, even sharing some hobbies like the collecting of coins with him! Even if azul dosen't understand the dad jokes he genuinely thinks that yuu dad is someone he can trust in days were he starts to feel that body dysmorphia again and he knows that yuu dad has open arms an ears for him.

Kalim is way too energetic for yuu dad and he even has to tell him to slow down things for his heart sake, he has to tell him many times that he is too old for enduring a magic carpet ride without having a heart attack for the height.

If yuu dad has health problems like asthma, diabetes or pulmonar diseases kalim has no problem on paying on the bests of medics to get him meds that actually work for him and get him all the inhalers he needs, yuu dad has the right to have fun and he can't have fun if he dosen't have his meds! Kalim also really apreciattes when yuu dad talks about his kids to him and he expects to meet them someday!

Similar to leona Vil commited the horrible mistake of thinking that yuu dad is just a spineless old man that acts like a doormat with the younger ones, but he shut his mouth real Quick when this sweet old man started to yell and berate for poisoning adeuce and grim and THREATENING him that if he ever pull that stupid move again he will not hesitate to kick him out of the dorm and making him sleep on the BUSHES, lets just say that vil learned in the hard way to not mess with yuu dad.

Besides picking a new wardrobe for him(nobody is going to wear those shorts/sandals with socks on his guard) vil also gets potions for yuu dad that can be used as meds in case that he needs them, vil dosen't want the moral support of the group to have an asthma/heart attack for not having something as basic as his meds.

Idia would never admit it but it really warms his heart how yuu dad takes care of him and ortho even is sometimes annoys his insistence, but he knows that his harsh words mean well and that yuu dad just wants idia to take care of his health to not end like him.

Ortho always remembers yuu dad when he has to take his meds and idia downladed a program of medical emergency "just in case" that all the stress of yuu dad finally gets to his heart, idia also melted the first time that yuu dad called him "champ" or "son" bc that sounded so homely that almost make him cry.

For malleus yuu dad is a very interesting human, he dosen't seem to care that he is one of the top 5 wizards in twisted wonderland and he seems more worried about how pale he looks and how he should aproach other teenagers instead of just standing there looking menacing.

Yuu dad teaches malleus how to read the room, and malleus is sincerely amused with yuu dad will to scold him even if he knows that malleus is way more powerfull that him, to yuu dad malleus is just like any other teenager he had meet but with superpowers that look straight from one of his kids comic book(manga??? He dosen't remember) and malleus is more than willing to listen to yuu dad talking about his wife and kids he misses so much(like how yuu dad listens to him talking about gargoyles) and makes him think about how would be meeting yuu dad's family, he really apreciattes all the advice and patience that yuu dad gives him and in exchange he got malleus as his guard dog.

I'm doing nothing right now, and to kill time (because I can't write requests from here), I decided to bring up this TWST idea that's been plaguing my mind.

A Yuu who's a parent

And I'm not talking about a Yuu who's a teenage or young parent, no, I'm talking about an adult Yuu, of legal age, who has had a job for YEARS, EVEN HAVE MULTIPLE CHILDREN!!

Who had the bad luck of being run over by the black carriage while doing something mundane like taking out the trash or coming home from work😅

Can you imagine the characters' reactions to an adult man/woman appearing out of nowhere at the entrance ceremony? Not even a member of the staff, just a random human without magic who is suddenly surrounded by teenage boys (almost the same age as their children).

An adult Yuu can probably "make themself understood" better by Crowley than a minor Yuu, since they understand the gravity of the situation and their basic civil rights, especially how to negotiate. Of course, that doesn't mean the Ramshakle dorm room is spotless, but at least it's fixed faster than in canon.

OH GOD, GRIM! Part of me thinks Grim would have more patience/respect for an adult Yuu, and the other part knows that's a complete lie. Although at least Grim seems to have more trust in this new maternal/paternal figure in his life.

Did you see how Inosuke gets when Tanjiro is friendly to him? That's Grim every time YuuMom/Dad says something maternal/paternal to him or is friendly/patient with him.

Ace is still a little shit at first, obviously, but I think he softens quickly, just like in canon. DEUCE, on the other hand, is almost immediately bland. Yuu reminds him so much of his mother that it's not even funny. If you thought these two were protective of the normal Yuu, brace yourself. This is THEIR PARENT NOW, AND THEY'RE THE ONLY ONES WHO DISRESPECT THEM>:(

Their relationships with the other dorm leaders would be just as funny and/or cute.

Riddle DEFINITELY needs a Yuumom/Dad in his life the most. Even though their first interaction was probably fatal (no parent, ESPECIALLY a JAPANESE one, would put up with Riddle's tantrums), I can see Riddle being naturally drawn to them these days.

This kid needs a father/mother figure who makes him understand that making mistakes is a way of learning, and Yuumom/Dad help make learning fun! Just like the Robinson family.

I also get the feeling Riddle would like to know the basics of the original work/world of Yuu (especially if they work in a field like a doctor or lawyer) and it ends up being a two-way street, with Riddle learning about Yuu's world and them learning about Twisted Wonderland.

Leona, another who needs someone to recognize him as his own person and not as a hindrance or a lesser version of his brother. It's obviously one of the hardest to have a positive relationship, but not impossible. Especially after Book 3, where Leona sees Yuu in a more respectful light instead of annoying.

They do the typical things you'd think of as a parent-child relationship, like when Yuu does certain things like scold Leona for sleeping too much, skipping classes, and straightening his uniform—things Leona complains about but doesn't stop them. It's a rare kind of positive attention.

Or when Yuu congratulates him on something specific they NOTICED he's improved, when they let him wander around the ramshakle dorm, etc. Let's just say it's an unwritten rule in Savanaclaw not to mess with Yuumom/dad from now on.

Azul also has a certain trick. He probably had more trouble with an adult Yuu than a student due to, well, life's advantages (any adult knows that contracts made by minors aren't valid—) and ends up having a mixture of fear and respect for them.

Fortunately, there's also a certain soft spot for Yuu, especially because of his age and paternal/maternal attitude. they probably reminds him of his mom.

For that reason, it's not unusual for Yuu to end up going to the Monster Lounge from time to time just to catch up with Azul, make sure he's not doing anything suspicious, and get something to eat. The usual.

KALIM. LOVES. YUUMOM/DAD. Yuu can barely keep up with all his energy, but it's contagious.

Jamil will have to get Kalim to tone down the intensity a few notches for the sake of Yuu's blood pressure, especially if he wants to surprise them with a magic carpet ride. they liked it! they swears! Just let them know next time!

they are also a great source of comfort after Jamil's Overplot. Let's just say that with their help, Kalim is trying to learn a few things about social norms.

Have you seen that typical mom/dad style of dress? Mothers in plain/patterned blouses and fathers in knee-length pants? Yep, that's Yuumom/dad. And Vil won't STAND IT. Practically their first interaction is picking out a new wardrobe for them. IT BURNS HIS EYES--

Aside from that, I can see Vil being genuinely flustered when Yuu criticizes his behavior, whether out of habit or because, well, parents are good at making points (and knowing the entertainment industry, very few adults care THAT much).

There's also the fact that Yuu's compliments are painfully sweet and genuine, like that "you're such a handsome young man!" meme, and Vil can't help but feel more arrogant than usual when Yuu compliments him like that. Parental stuff.

Idia ironically has a good relationship (within reason) with his parents, but that doesn't mean he's scared of Yuu at first, precisely because there's nothing more terrifying than seeing them angry.

He's also bothered by Yuu trying to get him out of his room so often, or by joining Ortho in bringing him food that isn't fast food. Damn it, he gets it!

He's a huge tsundere, which is why he hasn't banned them from Ignihide after all.

Malleus is definitely the one who most relies on Yuumom/dad's positive attention. Not only does this human lack fear of him, but they treats him like a normal teenager, with normal problems, even going so far as to scold him when he deserves it. What does Yuu care if he's a prince? He speaks to people with respect!

Yuu has so much power that he can make Malleus apologize by sounding arrogant, stop him from electrocuting people, or make him think about his actions, all because Malleus would rather put aside his ego than think that his new friend/father/Mother figure is angry with him :(

Thanks to this, Malleus goes to the ramshakle dorm even more often than expected, whether it's to tell Yuu something new he learned about the school's gargoyles, ask for advice on how to make friends, etc.

I like to think that this Yuu is very homesick for being around the kids, especially if they have children at home waiting for them. Which probably does something unusual: it causes the principals to unite to pressure Crowley to return home as soon as possible.

They have grown attached to Yuumom/dad, yes, but the thought that Yuu's children don't have their parent, that they are waiting for their return, that they are suffering, twists their stomachs.

Until then, They'll be in charge of protecting Yuu as much as possible until they can return home to their family!

Shares, reblogs and comments are very welcome!

Let me know if you want me to share any more ideas I have for Yuus!

[paladinsbrainrot]

byler as jackieshauna in my yellowjackets au 🐝 🐅 details under the cut!

their history:

mike and will have been childhood best friends since they were five. they've gone through everything together — the good, the bad, and the ugly. they get each other on a level that no one else does, which is a blessing, but also — sometimes — a curse.

mike's always been very insecure of himself, self-conscious of his looks, talents, skills, and confidence. will's everything that mike wishes he was: good-looking, popular, team captain, kind, out. mike truly cares about will, but he's always held a hidden resentment against him. he's jealous of the fact that will's so outwardly himself, proudly feigning the confidence that mike lacks.

while will would never actually admit this to himself, he's always had a sort of mini-crush on mike. it's easy to fall in love when your best friend takes care of you so well. it's 1996, and while the world's not exactly the kindest, he's happy to find himself out as gay to a supportive and incredibly loving family.

mike starts dating el hopper, the brightest and most popular girl in school, in the spring semester of freshman year. in some ways, he hopes that by dating her, he'll gain some newfound confidence. instead, it brings heaps of self-doubt and pessimism as the two find themselves breaking up and getting back together more times than they can count.

frustrated after one of he and el's many break-ups, mike finds himself in will's car one afternoon after soccer practice. will attempts to cheer mike up by boasting about mike's own achievements and kind-hearted personality, saying how the right girl won't be able to pass him up like that. it's then when mike kisses him, straight out of the blue, and will can't help but reciprocate.

pre-crash:

mike treats will and el as their own separate entities, people who he can't mix on any occasion. he spends most of his days kissing el to at least assume some normalcy, and to prove to his parents that he's the respectable boy they've made him out to be. when he's with el, he convinces himself he and will are nothing but childhood best friends, and that there's nothing going on between them. in his downtime, when practice runs late and el's already reported home for curfew, he kisses will like his life depends on it.

mike's worst fear comes true during senior year when will and el tell him their parents are getting married, meaning the two will become step-siblings. it's then when will decides to call it quits. he can't keep doing this with mike if el's going to be his sister in less than a year. no matter how much they enjoy their late-night make-out sessions, it's not fair to her.

mike agrees, albeit reluctantly. there's something about will that el can't give him. it's an apt hunger, running deep through his veins. mike and will spend the rest of the year as friends, with at least two feet of distance between the two of them. but mike would be lying if he said he didn't think of will whenever he kissed el, imagined his lips instead of hers, his hands in his hair. he's now not only jealous of will's confidence, but the fact that he can be proudly gay without an ounce of shame for it.

when the tigers make it to nationals, they all attend the celebration party. mike offers to drive el and will home, who are both clearly wasted. after mike drives el home for her early curfew, he's suddenly overcome with a hunger he's never felt before. mike is instantly compelled to pull over. despite vowing to never do this again, mike can't help the part of him that's starved of will's presence, that wants a final taste of will before he's forbidden. he explains this in due time to will, who, to mike's surprise, can't resist the urge. they share what they think will be their last kiss the day before nationals in the back of mike wheeler's rover.

post-crash:

when flight 2525 crashes in the middle of the canadian wilderness, mike finds himself in a strange position. on one hand, he's stranded in the middle of nowhere with no parents or peers to judge him, with complete, unabashed freedom. on the other, he's stranded with will and el in the same, sequestered space, and he's not sure he's able to handle the two of them at once. it's only a matter of time before el finds out, and mike can't resist the deepest desires of his heart now that he's got will all to himself....

I could not resist the urge to mash two of my favourite shows together so here's what I have come up with! I am planning to draw most of the other characters and write their backstories and plot in this au as well, so keep your eyes peeled for when I eventually get to that. I convinced myself that I would write a fic for this au but ultimately could not as I am not confident enough in my writing abilities as of yet plus it would be an absolutely insane and lengthy project that I'm not sure I'm up for/would finish. I've decided to commit to drawing everyone instead and writing up small drabbles of how I think they would interact in this world so... there's that! I will obviously not be writing the entire au, but I do have LOTS of ideas for what could happen, so please feel free to send an ask if you have any questions ! :)

keep in mind this is just how I would personally go about the characters if they were put in this universe. mike obviously takes inspiration from shauna, and will obviously takes inspiration from jackie, but don't think that their entire story will be exclusively taken from these characters. will is much more similar to shauna than jackie personality wise, and likewise with mike and jackie, but narratively he and jackie both serve the same functions. do take this with a grain of salt as I also had to mesh their canon personalities with the respective character roles they're taking on so... I hope I did it well!

additionally, I just want to put it on the record that jackie and shauna are extremely complex characters, who are not wholly good or bad. in order for mike and will to reflect jackie and shauna's relationship dynamic, I wanted to incorporate the cheating plot. I know cheating is a very taboo topic in the stranger things fandom because in canon mike and will would never do such a thing, however, in this au, mike and will are not going to the 'saint-like' figures we often see them portrayed as in this fandom. they're not wholly bad, but they have flaws, which make them and jackieshauna super interesting characters. I also just really wanted to explore a kind of toxic relationship with byler because It's just interesting to me okay!!!! Idk!!!! don't send the pitchforks after me.

so yes... if we are comparing will's function in the narrative to jackie's he does have to die unfortunately. but I also have lotttsss of new ideas about how will gets to this point and how mike chooses to deal with it after 👀

[frudoo]

Ghost x Fem!Reader x Gaz

The Original Thought

Warnings: SMUT. MDNI. Consensual non-consent (CNC). A tiny bit of angst? Barely proofread. Fem!Reader. GhostGaz implied at the end teehee

“Wha’s go’ yer knickers in a twist, LT?” Johnny cocks an eyebrow, kicking his superior’s leg teasingly.

     “Watch ya mouth, sergeant,” the lieutenant rolls his eyes, slumping further into his chair.

     The 141 has had somewhat of a lazy work day. They all did a half-assed job at PT this morning, took off an entire hour off of gym time, and convinced Price that it’s an off day, and if they were all to go to the range, someone would get shot. The captain, of course, would never turn down a chance to skip duty in favor of smoking a nice cigar with his lads while they each have a tea (or coffee for a certain Scottish snob) in the rec room. 

     “C’mon, Simon. Keep squeezin’ tha’ mug so ‘ard, it’ll break,” Price smirks through a puff of pungent smoke. “Summat goin’ on w’the missus?”

     His silence is telling.

     “Spill it, Ghost. Go’ a few more minutes ‘fore we’re off,” Kyle makes a grand gesture of resting his elbows on the table, resting his chin in his hands. 

     “Oi, qui’ swingin’ ya legs, Gaz, can see the hearts in ya eyes,” the masked man grunts. “We’re jus’ goin’ through a bi’ of a… dry spell.”

     The other three men all nod with a collective ohhh, like he’s just given them the answer to the last part of a crossword puzzle. Ghost rolls his eyes yet again, crossing his arms over his broad chest in a frustrated motion.

     “Lass is ‘oldin’ back the goods, aye?” Johnny pouts mockingly. “If ye need tae ge’ yer cock wet-”

     “Ya better think ‘fore ya finish tha’ sentence, MacTavish,” Price warns, pointing a stern finger at the Scot, whose pout instantly turns genuine.

     “S’no’ her,” Ghost mutters. “S’my faul’. She’s been wantin’ t’try summat new, an’ I jus’ can’t do it f’er.”

     “Why no’?” Questions Gaz, brow furrowed in curiosity. 

     “She wan’s t’be surprised w’it, rough and ‘ard, like a- like she’s bein’-”

     “We go’ it, LT, ye dinnae ‘ave tae explain,” Johnny interjects, patting his mate on the shoulder. 

     Ghost nods, sucking in a deep breath.

     “Was real proud tha’ she felt comfortable enough t’tell me, an’ I think it’s great tha’ she ‘as fantasies, bu’ I can’t stomach it. She’s no’ exactly mad, she knows why it makes me uncomfortable, and she won’t admit it bu’ I can tell she’s disappointed. Makes me feel like a shit ‘usband,” he admits sheepishly.

     “Y’know tha’s not true,” Price tells him firmly. “Jus’ make sure she understands tha’ ya still love ‘er, and I’m sure it’ll go back to normal soon enough, lad.”

     Five o’clock hits, and everyone stands immediately, eager to go home. Ghost barely makes it back to his truck before Gaz catches up to him, eyes narrowed with determination. 

     “Ghost!” He stops the huge man before he can get in his truck and drive away.

     “Wha’?”

     Gaz bites his bottom lip nervously, turning his ball cap backwards so he can see his superior better. 

     “A-abou’ ya wife. If she wan’s, I-I can-”

     “No,” Ghost interrupts gruffly. “Absolutely no’. Ge’ outta my sight.”

     “Sir, I didn’ even say anythin’ yet!”

     “You’re no’ fuckin’ my wife, Kyle. M’no’ bloody incompetent,” the masked man climbs into his truck and starts the engine, turning to say something else only to find his sergeant gone.

     Ghost whips his head around at the sound of the passenger-side door opening, sighing deeply as the younger man enters. Gaz buckles up and stares at him intently.

     “Piss off outta my truck, Garrick.”

     “C’mon, Simon! Ya bird needs it rough, an’ I’ve go’ some pen’ up frustration to release,” he pouts. “Maybe, once she gets it outta ‘er system, she’ll come runnin’ back t’ya an’ everythin’ goes back t’normal.”

     The lieutenant looks at him long and hard before letting out a growl of frustration. Kyle straightens up, clutching onto the bottom of his seat for dear life as the older man backs out of his parking spot without so much as glancing at the backup camera. 

     “Been waitin’ f’this, ‘aven’t ya?”

     “N-no sir!”

     “Bullshit. Ya’ve wanted ‘er since I introduced ‘er t’the team,” Simon grumbles. “Ya gonna eat dinner w’us, charm ‘er real nice, and after ya leave I’ll bring the idea up t’er. If she looks even slightly uncomfortable during the meal, ya out. No exceptions.”

     “Yes, sir,” Kyle tries not to show his excitement, but he can already feel all the blood in his brain trying to rush directly to his dick.

     “Knobhead.”

     //

     “Thanks again for the meal, Mrs. Riley,” Kyle smiles with all of those pretty teeth, and it flusters you.

     “O-oh, it’s no problem, Sergeant Garrick. I’m happy you enjoyed it,” you return his grin, smoothing out the wrinkles in your apron to give your hands something to do.

     “Please, call me Kyle.”

     “Go’ an early mornin’ tomorrow, Gaz,” Simon hints, stomping over to the front door and opening it quickly. “Good t’see ya, mate.”

     “Simon, you drove him here.”

     “Fuckin’ ‘ell,” he sighs defeatedly, grabbing his keys. 

     With a giggle, you give your husband a kiss on the lips and Kyle a hug. You busy yourself with cleaning up the kitchen while your husband drives his teammate back to base so he can take his own car home.

     Simon doesn’t get back for another half an hour, and by then you’re already cozied up in bed with a book. He’s quiet, but not in his normal enigmatic way—his silence is contemplative. You frown and watch as he changes out of his clothes into a pair of pajamas. Usually he sleeps with nothing on, but ever since you brought up your little fantasy, he’s been… withdrawn. Protective over himself the same way he was when you met him. It sucks.

     You don’t say anything when he climbs into bed, but you are pleasantly surprised when he scoots up close to you and wraps a burly arm around your shoulders. You lay your head back against him, shutting your eyes contentedly, afraid that the moment will be cut short if you make any wrong moves. Simon leans in to press his lips against your hair.

     “Y’like Kyle?” He asks.

     “Yeah, he’s sweet, baby. Didn’t get much of a chance to talk to him when we met at the banquet a few months ago,” you grin, saving your place in your novel and setting it aside. 

     Your husband hums, then sniffs once.

     “Y’wanna fuck ‘im?”

     “What?!” You ask incredulously, jolting out of his grasp in shock.

     “D’ya wanna fuck Kyle?” He clarifies blankly.

     “S-Simon, no, that didn’t even- when- what are you-”

     “He wants t’fuck you,” Simon meets your eyes, but instead of seeing trepidation like you expected, there’s curiosity written along his features. 

     Now confusion pokes at you. He’s not angry, or asking this in a fit of jealous, accusational rage. 

     “Do… do you want me to fuck him?” You ask slowly, narrowing your eyes suspiciously.

     “S’not up t’me, love. Told the team ‘bout our li’l… issue-”

     “You told them-?!” You interrupt shrilly.

     “-and Kyle’s fancied ya since the first time I brough’ ya ‘round,” Simon continues. “Says he’s willin’ t’do a, uh… a scene w’ya.”

     Realization dawns on you, and it makes your heart sink. He wants a divorce, doesn’t he? Oh, fucking hell, you should have just kept your kinks to yourself. Now your own husband can’t even stand to be with you. He’s offering you up to his mates like some kind of prize horse.

     “Si, I-I don’t… do- do you not want me anymore?” You gasp softly, chest heaving with looming panic. “God, please don’t leave me, Simon, I c-can’t live without you-”

     “Fuck’s sake, lovie,” Simon cuts you off with a short huff, dragging you into his lap. “Fuckin’ course I still wan’ ya. I jus’ thought tha’ maybe if… if ya get ya fix from somewhere else, it won’t be as disappointing when I get like this.”

     Oh. Is that what this is about? Is that why he hasn’t touched you for so fucking long?

     “I’m not disappointed in you, Si. I know it’s difficult for you. The idea was out of my head the second you told me you weren’t interested,” you cup his face gently. “I don’t need nor want anybody else. I only want you.”

     Simon makes love to you for the first time in weeks.

     //

     You thought that after everything went back to normal with Simon, the suggestion of getting with Kyle had left his head now that he knows you were never upset with him. 

     You were mistaken.

     “He won’t shu’ up ‘bout it, y’know,” he grunts one night while the two of you snuggle up on the couch.

     “Huh?”

     “Kyle. Whinin’ my bloody ear off ‘bout no’ gettin’ t’fuck ya,” he snorts. “Wanker’s jus’ as bad as Johnny.”

     You giggle, pressing a kiss to his shoulder. He hums in satisfaction, squeezing your waist gently. You bask in the comfortable silence for a good while. 

     “I think y’should do it.”

     “Simon, don’t start,” you groan, but he shakes his head.

     “No, listen t’me, sweet’eart. I know ya like ‘im. Could see it when he came o’er for dinner- ah, shh, I know you.” He presses a finger to your lips when you start to deny his accusations with a whine. “M’no’ mad ‘bout it. I know tha’ ya mine.”

     “Yours,” you confirm, straddling him and pressing your forehead against his.

     “Tha’s righ’. Jus’ sayin’, if ya still wanna try one o’those li’l fantasies o’yours… I support it. I trust ‘im. I trust you.” 

     “It’s… but what about you?” You frown, humming softly as his thumb traces over the column of your throat. 

     “I won’t be ‘ere, ‘least no’ physically, bu’ I’ll be watchin’ it all ‘appen.”

     You’re obviously a bit confused by his statement and still hesitant, so Simon lightly squeezes your neck and pulls you in closer. His hot breath ghosts across your face, lips not quite close enough to touch but enough to make you crave his kiss. His free arm wraps around your waist and his hand grabs onto your hip, beckoning you forward and backward, effectively grinding your body against his.

     “Still worried ‘bout me, sweet girl?” He whispers, chuckling at the miniscule nod you give him in response. 

     “Don’t want you to be left out,” you breathe.

     “Mm, I won’t be. I’ll be back on the base, watchin’ tha’ pretty face through the cameras and rubbin’ my cock bloody raw.” 

     You gasp as he bucks his hips, his hard cock nudging against your clit perfectly through the dampening fabric between the two of you. 

     Simon Riley fucks you so good that night that you forget all about the conversation that took place right before.

     //

     The dryness of your throat wakes you up at two o’clock in the fucking morning. You never sleep well when your husband is away, and right now, Simon is somewhere you can only assume is far from your quaint little town, probably sleeping on the concrete floor of some cold, lifeless building in the middle of nowhere. He didn’t give you any details—all you’re certain of is that he’s been gone for two weeks now and you miss him like crazy.

     With a raspy curse, you stand from the bed and shove the covers off of yourself, stepping into your slippers and shuffling down the stairs and into the kitchen. You don’t even bother to turn on a lamp or the overhead light, depending solely on the glow of the refrigerator door when you open it to grab the water pitcher. You grab a glass from the cupboard and fill it to the brim, chugging it down until you’re nearly panting, your lungs begging you to take a breath. 

     Something heavy hits the kitchen tile behind you, startling you. You whip your head around in the direction of the clutter but it’s too dark for your eyes to focus on anything. Still, they dart around cautiously despite the eerie silence that settles in your house. 

     You sigh—it’s early. Your brain is probably playing some cruel joke on you because you’re exhausted and your body knows that Simon isn’t here to protect you. You chug the rest of your water and replace the pitcher back into the fridge, trying to ignore the pounding of your heart now that there’s absolutely no light illuminating your surroundings. With a shaky exhale, you slowly pad your way to the stairs.

     It’s not as easy to play off the sound of glass shattering as nothing but paranoia. Goosebumps rise along the expanse of your body as you book it up the stairs. Heavy footsteps trail behind you, right on your tail. You barely reach the bedroom before tears start running down your face. You lunge for your phone where it rests on the nightstand but before you can make contact, a gloved palm slides over your mouth and yanks you back into a hard, warm body. You let out a strangled sob.

     “P-please, I’ll do anything, just please d-don’t hurt me,” you weep, words muffled against the stranger’s hand.

     A deep, mocking chuckle rumbles through the chest pressed against your back. The person’s free hand travels up to your throat but instead of a warm touch, the cold sting of metal bites against your skin. 

     “Scream an’ I’ll slit this pretty throat.”

     A scared whimper escapes you as you nod vigorously. The hand that was previously covering your mouth runs down your body, shamelessly groping at your soft tits through your flimsy nightgown. The intruder presses his lips to your ear, and you feel rough fabric scratch your skin. He’s wearing a mask, but this is not Simon. You’ve never despised your husband’s job so much more than you do at this very moment. 

     “Such a nice rack,” the man coos, pinching one of your nipples between his thumb and forefinger and tugging. “Always wondered wha’ these tits would feel like in my ‘ands.” 

     “W-who are you?” You blubber.

     “Shh, shh, shh… don’t worry ‘bout tha’, dove,” he tuts, lowering one strap of your nightie so that your shoulder is exposed. 

     Dove. You know that nickname. You know this man. It’s okay to let go, allow your body to fear because your brain knows it’s perfectly safe. Now, you can play the part and enjoy it.

     “N-no, please don’t, my h-husband will be home soon,” you shudder when you feel the material of the mask rub against the delicate skin of your neck.

     “Well, he’s no’ ‘ere now, is he?” 

     The intruder drags the sharp end of the knife down your chest, teasing your collarbones before hooking it in the hem of your nightgown. You gasp as the silk rips and ruins itself beneath the blade, falling to the floor uselessly. You stand before him naked as the day you were born, shivering from the cold and the knowledge that you’re now completely at his mercy.

     “Bloody fuckin’ ‘ell,” he growls, removing his belt and binding your wrists together behind your back.

     The man shoves you down so that your ass hits the edge of the bed. Beside you, he stabs the knife through your mattress, nearly nicking the skin of your thigh. You yelp, blinking up at him as he grabs your chin roughly. The fucker is wearing one of your husband’s infamous balaclavas, albeit without the attached skull.

     “Gonna fuck these big tits o’yas,” he sniffs, rubbing his thumb across your pouty bottom lip. “An’ ya no’ gonna say a word ‘bout it, are ya?”

     You shake your head.

     “Tha’s a good girl,” he praises darkly, unbuckling his pants and allowing his hard cock to spring free. “Ge’ my dick nice an’ wet. I feel any teeth, ya gonna lose ya tongue.”

     You lean forward to take him in your mouth, and he lets you suck the tip for a moment before pulling out and smacking your cheek with it. Your yelp only spurs him on. One gloved hand tangles into your hair as he shoves himself back into your mouth without mercy. He’s long, reaching the back of your throat with a single thrust.

      “Mmph… if ya mouth is this fuckin’ warm, can’t imagine wha’ tha’ pussy’s gonna feel like,” he ponders, snickering at the gag you can’t hold back as his tip bruises your poor throat. “Righ’, tha’s enough o’tha’, babe.”

     You gasp for air when he pulls his dick from your mouth, both chests rapidly rising and falling with effort. He pushes your tits together and narrows his eyes at you, giving each nipple a sharp pinch when you don’t read his fucking mind.

     “Spit on ‘em,” he demands. “Now. I ‘aven’t go’ all night.”

     You tilt your head down and spit a glob of saliva onto your breasts, watching as the fluid lubricates your supple skin. The man nods in approval, guiding his dripping cock into the valley of your chest. He shudders when his tip pushes through the top, fat and red and disturbingly gorgeous. You can’t help but stare, watching the way the flesh of your tits spills through his fingers’ vice grip. 

     “Wha’ is it, dove? Never seen a dick this fuckin’ big?” 

     “M-my husband-” you start, huffing with frustration when the bastard interrupts you with a guffaw.

     “Righ’. The one who left ya pretty arse all alone, w’no one ta keep ya safe? Tha’ husband?” He taunts.

     “He can’t help it,” you defend, clenching your fists behind your back.

     “Course no’, dovie. Bloody ‘ell, these tits’re so soft,” he grunts, picking up the pace.

     The head of his cock hits your lips every time he thrusts upwards. When you try to tilt your head back so you don’t have to feel it, he stops his actions and grabs your hair roughly. 

     “Stick ya tongue out,” he hisses, smacking your cheek hard enough to sting. “C’mon, be a good li’l slut f’me. Unless ya wan’ me ta take my knife t’ya guts?”

     “N-no, please,” you wince, tears starting to form in your eyes. 

     “Tongue. Out.”

     You comply with no more hesitance, whimpering softly as the man pushes your breasts together again and builds his pace back up. Instead of your lips, his tip runs over your tongue with every pump of his hips. Salty precum mixes with your saliva and drips down your chin as the lewd sound of his cock slipping through your tits fills the air of your bedroom. 

     “Fuck, fuck, m’gonna come,” he warns, his fingers digging into your slick skin with a bruising grip. “Ya gonna swallow every fuckin’ drop.”

     He moans exaggeratedly as hot ribbons of his spend fall along the expanse of your tongue, coating the muscle with the sticky substance. Along with the expected tang, there’s a hint of sweetness in his cum, and it makes you smack your lips with a twisted form of delight. Apparently, he’s been planning this for a while. 

     “Spread ya legs,” he orders. 

     “No! My h-husband will be home soon, and he’ll- he’ll kill you!” You protest, crossing your legs for emphasis. 

     “Give it a res’, fo’ fuck’s sake,” the man rolls his eyes, forcefully grabbing your knees and wrenching them open. “Ya big, bad leftenant husband isn’t ‘ere t’save ya, an’ he won’t be. Least, no’ before m’done abusing this pretty fuckin’ pussy. Now qui’ ya bloody whinin’ and pull off my glove w’ya teeth.”

     With a disdainful glare, you bare your teeth to the hand he thrusts towards you. He gives you a warning glower like he can see the plotting you’re doing in your head, but you ignore it and bite the tips of his fingers instead of doing what he told you to. The bite earns you a growl and a sharp smack to your cheek.

     “Li’l fuckin’ bitch,” he grabs you by the hair until you’re on your feet, getting right up in your face. “Now ya don’t ge’ my fingers. Tha’ cunt’s gonna ‘ave t’stretch ‘round this fat fuckin’ cock instead.”

     “N-no, I’m sorry, please-” you gasp.

     “Yeah, ya will be. Pull another li’l stunt like tha’ and I’ll yank ya teeth ou’ one by one,” he turns you around and shoves you face-down onto the bed. “Keep tha’ arse up an’ tha’ mouth shut.”

     As best as you can with no help from your arms, you get on your knees, face buried in the sheets. The man chuckles, still-gloved hands rubbing at your asscheeks. He gives them a squeeze and spreads them harshly, letting out a low whistle.

     “Look at tha’, dove,” he drawls. “Don’t reckon you would’ve even needed my fingers, ya pussy is so fuckin’ wet.” 

     You shudder when he runs the tip of his semi-erect cock through your dewy folds, yelping as he smacks it against your clit. Once he’s fully hard again and decides his cock is slick enough, he pushes in with one sharp thrust. You scream in pain, tears streaming down your clammy cheeks, as the man slowly rocks his hips to let you adjust.

     “Wha’s the matter? Can’t ya take it?” He mocks. “Didn’t think ya’d be this tigh’ after takin’ ya husband so many times.”

     “P-please, please stop!” You beg, inching forward to try and get away from the persistent grinding of his hips.

     “Ah-ah, don’t ya do tha’, girlie,” he grabs his belt where your wrists are bound and pulls back until you’re unable to do anything but take what he gives. “Wanted this pussy f’so. Fuckin’. Long. M’takin’ wha’ I’m owed.”

     The man thrusts harshly, now, the almost gentle treatment he gave you just seconds ago long forgotten. Your poor cunt is still raw from being stretched so suddenly, but in addition to the ache there’s a spark of pleasure blooming. It makes you feel sick, disgusted by your own body. It makes your pussy clench.

     “Fuckin’ ‘ell,” he groans, and you can feel the way he tosses his head back. “Y’like this, don’t ya? Gettin’ fucked by someone who’s no’ afraid t’break ya?”

     “N-no!” You protest, tears streaming down your face. 

     “Mm, ya say tha’, but ya pussy jus’ keeps gettin’ wetter,” he tuts. “Bet if I were t’reach down and play w’ya clit, it’d take no time at all f’ya to cream all over my cock.”

     “No, p-please,” you whimper in an attempt to hold back your moans. “I won’t-”

     “Let’s test tha’ theory,” he lets go of your wrists, chuckling as he watches your front helplessly hit the bed. 

     He wraps one arm around your plush stomach and trails his hand down to where he connects with you, two gloved fingers circling at your sensitive little bud. Your squeal is muffled but he hears it clear as day, like you let it free right into his ear. His free hand wraps around your throat, squeezing tightly as he pulls your back into his solid chest. His hips never cease their fluid motions, and at this angle, you can feel the way his tip kisses the plug of your womb. 

     “Poor, neglected girl,” he huffs. “Cunt’s so damn tigh’, feels like ya gonna rip my bloody prick off.”

      The roughness of his gloves against the slippery heat of your clit is a blissful sensation, and that combined with his dick consistently hitting that delicate spot inside you and the slight restriction of air as he squeezes your throat gets you teetering on the edge of ecstasy. 

     “Ya gonna cum, babe? Yeah? Gonna give me wha’s mine?”

     “It’s not- not y-yours!” You rasp pathetically through clenched teeth.

     The man quickens his assault on your clit, moving his hand from your throat to your face. He squishes your cheeks until your lips pucker out, then shakes your head forcibly. 

     “Ya orgasms belong t’me, tonigh’, dove, like it or no’. Matter o’fact, I think I’d like t’show ya dear husband ‘ow pretty ya look cummin’ on another man’s dick,” he taunts.

     Your body is turned to the side as he holds your face still, forcing you to look at the little red light shining in the corner of your bedroom. You knew Simon had put those up a long time ago for safety, but you never could have guessed they would be used to capture this. 

     He hooks his fingers into your mouth and stretches your lips until your gums ache and your teeth are exposed. 

     “Smile f’the camera,” he mutters into your ear and although you can’t see the smirk on his face, you can damn well hear it in his tone. 

     “Go to- fuck! Go to hell!” You weep, your body trembling violently with the force of your orgasm. 

      “Yeah, fuck yeah! Ya see tha’, Ghost? See ‘ow good ya li’l slut is f’me?” He growls, giving your ass a sharp smack. “Think I can make ‘er squirt?”

     “No!” You shake your head, but it does nothing to deter the man. 

     Despite not having recovered from your climax, he continues to toy with your sore, overworked clit. Every nerve in your body is alight with electricity, furious lightning that has no intention of showing you any reprieve as long as the man inside of you continues his ministrations. Not once has he stopped moving his resilient hips or let up on bludgeoning your sweet spot. 

     “Open ya fuckin’ eyes, I wan’ ya t’see wha’ a mess I’m gonna make o’ya.”

     He pants breathlessly and tangles his fingers into your hair, forcing your head back and pressing his masked lips to your forehead. 

     “Gonna pu’ on a show f’ya husband like a good girl?” He questions in a whisper, using his hand as leverage to nod your head for you. “Mm, so obedient.”

     It takes just a few more circular motions from his fingers on your nub for you to see stars, this orgasm far more intense than the previous. The man laughs gleefully as your squirt soaks the sheets, fucking into you harder to watch the stream intensify.

     “Holy hell,” he beams, slapping at the wet mess of your slit over and over again until you’re drained. “Ruined the damn bed, didn’t ya? Sexy fuckin’ bitch.”

     Your limbs feel like jelly. You’re essentially useless, and he loves it. He pummels into you with a vigour you were unaware he could top, then pulls out all of a sudden, squeezing the base of his cock to edge himself.

     “Sit up,” he demands, yanking your hair back so that your clammy, tear-stained face is level with the hand now furiously fisting at his dick. 

     Without warning, ribbons of his warm spend spews across your face, causing you to flinch. The man just grips your hair tighter and smacks his tip across your cheeks to smear his cum all over your skin. 

     “Wha’ a gorgeous fuckin’ disaster ya are,” he coos, running his gloved thumb over your bottom lip. “C’mon, dove, show ‘im tha’ ruined face.”

     Your eyelids droop with exhaustion as he angles your head toward the camera once more to show off his handiwork.

     “Now, thank Simon f’allowin’ us t’play.”

     “Th-thank you, Simon,” you murmur, earning yourself a fond ruffle of your hair.

     He pulls his phone out of his back pocket and snaps a quick picture of you before he drops the act completely, tugging off the balaclava. You’re met with Kyle’s handsome face adorning a look of concern. He gently wipes away the sticky remnants of himself off of your face and tosses aside his gloves to cup your cheeks with his bare hands.

     “Ya okay?” He asks softly. “Was I too rough w’ya?”

     You shake your head as a dopey smile stretches across your mouth. Kyle lays you back against the pillows and leaves the room for a moment, coming back with a wet rag to clean the both of you up with. You open your arms towards him and he huffs with amusement, shrugging off his clothes and climbing into bed with you. He presses a kiss against your forehead as you sigh dreamily.

     You’re halfway asleep when your phone rings. It’s Simon, so you put it on speaker.

     “Garrick, quit kissin’ my wife,” his gruff voice rings out playfully from the other end of the line. “Did ya ‘ave fun, sweet girl? Did tha’ wanker hur’ ya?”

     “Only in good ways,” you slur.

     “Glad ta ‘ear it, baby. M’on my way back ‘ome, now,” he explains.

     “Ah, I guess I should see myself out, then,” Kyle hums, sitting up slowly.

“No. Ya best still be in my bed when I ge’ there, Kyle. Gotta reward ya f’makin’ my girl’s fantasy come true, yeah?”

[cloveroctobers]

forgive me | Elijah “SMOKE” Moore x black! reader

A/N: I’ll admit it, I’m a smoke girlie. I’m 100% a Annie x Smoke stan too yet I don’t think I’d do them justice so here you go 😆 Apparently I’ve been in a writing mood lately so although this turned out a little longer than intended…I hope you end up liking this too!

WARNINGS: language ofc + angst, mentions of sexual content, reader has a smidge of a back story but not too detailed, TW: alluding to DV, & self-harm.

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You were the aftermath.

Not the mud of the battlefield, not the adrenaline before Smoke took his place to shoot—just the leftovers of the war he stepped into when he couldn’t get his mind right.

He wouldn’t dare say her name in your bed but she was there in the way his hand tremors when he touched your skin, there when he had you on all fours, face smushed against the sheets that always smelled like him: tobacco, basil, and grief, she was there when he appreciated your body with care, encouraging you through it, she was there when he took proper care of his hair in the mirror before he got dressed to depart, followed with a fast kiss to your cheek and nothing more said, she was even there when your joy got too comfortable because that was something borrowed and not meant to be kept.

Unfortunately you still loved him.

Loved the way he carried himself whether alone or with Stack by his side, a brooding confidence that nobody wanted to fuck with and if they did, they’d never get the chance to do it again. Even if you loved him intently, it’s not like you did the best job keeping it quiet, since every time he showed up at your door, there was nothing but infatuation in your eyes.

There was no such thing as keeping things secret when it came to the subject of Elijah Moore.

You’d do anything for that man.

If he wanted you to take the wrap for him, whatever dirt he got up to in Chicago, you would in a heartbeat.

A foolish woman you were.

“Never love a man more than he loves you, you hear me? Don’t be a stupid girl because stupid girls are left wonderin’ while they go on and live like you never mattered.” Your momma told you from behind in the mirror as she helped you into an itchy and unflattering dress, since now you were the appropriate age to be wed.

The man you met prior was not the best suitor, a pig of a man with a wandering eye who had a good job as the head teller down at the bank, yet he never communicated well enough for you and as soon as that job insecurity situation took place, his frustrations were taken out on you. Once you were able to recover enough to pack your things, you got the call that your fiancé was murdered in a bank robbery gone wrong.

The thing about love is…it could be many things and when you looked back at your time with that particular man…sometimes love could simply be nothing at all.

You heard the whispers around town more than ever, especially when it became known about you and Elijah but there wasn’t much shame in your heart.

Something about Elijah Moore made you eager to love! Sure you had a few that tried after you buried your fiancé but none of them made your blood feel as if it was on fire or as if your heart was in their hands.

You’ve never loved a man quite like Smoke and although he’s never made promises to you, him always coming back was the next best thing.

He ended up arriving to your door step on a rainy night, standing on your porch with a tight expression on his face. Like he had something to get off his chest and that you had no choice but to listen.

You would anyway.

He wanted to officially cut this off, much to your confusion until you got close enough to him underneath the porch light. You could smell her on him.

A sad smile you memorized was on your face at the realization that you were being pushed away. “Forgive me, for loving you like you were meant to be mine. When that would never be so.”

He doesn’t say anything at first, keeping his hands clasped in front of him with the brim of his hat clenched beneath his fingers, and drenched from the storm. You still wanted to offer him to come inside, let him dry off, fix up his suit as best as you could, until the storm passed but it felt as if that storm was just arriving.

“It ain’t even like that,” he finds the words, “If things were different—

You shake your head, hand still resting on the doorframe, “But they’re not Elijah. You belong with your lifeline…I just kept her spot warm. Does she know that? People talk even out in the wetlands.”

Smoke doesn’t want to answer that, “I just came here to let you know that this is done. I made a commitment to my wife so I’m gonna honor that.”

He looked at you as if you were a pebble he’d kick to the side in the dirt. Something to just flick away and that is when you knew that only love could hurt like this.

Momma was right.

Steam swirls from the gun as the group stands watching in horror while Cornbread lay on the ground with bullets to the face. Footsteps are heard not too long after that, kicking up dirt with each step, a pebble rolled their way and Smoke himself feels his breathing get caught in his throat.

“Well that wasn’t nice,” you state peering down at cornbread who’s barely twitching, trying to come back from his rest.

Your eyes shimmer white in the night as you wave your fingers mainly at the part owner of the juke joint. “Hey there handsome…love what you done with the place.”

Making your way over, the group immediately step back into the space, making your smile appear more sinister than friendly.

“Don’t you come no closer!” Annie warns, her Cajun accent beating strong.

You stop right at the door, “Alright, I’m gettin’ the feeling I’m not wanted here. Yet I just thought I’d stop on by.”

“Fuck happened to y’all,” Smoke says your name, tone having an edge to it, almost as if he cared.

Annie sends him a look, already putting two and two together, it was simple maths.

Sighing you begin to pace back and forth, “If you think this is your fault, then let us put you out of your misery, so you can see the better side of things.”

It was a commercial smile on your face that would have been comical if watched on the big screen.

“There ain’t nothin’ better about the side you’re on! Now you best go on before you get the same treatment as cornbread.” Annie points, although she’s not big on guns, she would snatch it from her husband’s hands to do what needed to be done if he wouldn’t.

You laugh, “There’s no need for violence…I just wanted a place on the dance floor with you folks, Mrs. Annie.”

“Well you weren’t invited and still aren’t.”

Placing your hands on your hips you let a dramatic puff of air fall from your lips, “That’s kinda tough you know? The world is full of enough hate instead of love and that should be the number one thing reciprocated. But that was my biggest problem.”

“Oh lord,” Slim comments as he takes another swing from his flask, “We’re about to see the theatrics. Like this is some fucken broadway musical. Which I ain’t much of a fan of. So lady, you not comin’ up in here. Get gone.”

Your eyes flick back to Smoke, who has a furrow in between his brows as his eyes focus in on you. You still looked like you but the air that surrounded you was not.

If Smoke squinted hard enough, maybe you’ll go back to being you and not this cold shell that stood before him on an October night. You were the woman that crept into his life when he didn’t think he had anymore love to give. What type of love did he give you exactly? Smoke remembered how your skin glowed in the diner you worked at, how you kept on working until the wee hours of the morning, smile in your eyes although your feet ached and pulsated, baking those delicious pecan pies that made your hands swell and skin blot up, and how you seemed reluctant at first to accept a ride back to yours from a man you only heard of but never interacted with until that day back in June.

“You’re dead,” his eyes are hard on you but voice low like a just turned off engine, “Ain’t you?”

The sourness seeps right through at that last remark.

There’s no warmth in your eyes this time while you smile once more. You’ve stopped pacing, pressing your hands into your hips as you cross one ankle over the other, “To be dead is to be reborn, Smoky. I’m more alive than I was before.”

Grace scoffs from her spot beside Slim, who peers over at her with his round eyes. He was thinking the same thing: dead is dead.

Annie feels her own fingers twitch as her gaze shifts from you and back to her husband. It was clear that there was a hint of regret on his face, as if he could have prevented your fate especially experiencing loss after loss.

Before he has time to fully process what you’re saying to him you’re talking again, moving closer while they step back. Well, except for Smoke who still stands with his smoking gun. Annie has her hand on his bicep, tugging while you’re eye to eye and from his peripheral he sees cornbread starting to rise.

“You shouldn’t keep that sadness on your face, darling.” Your voice sounds like wind-chimes against a brewing storm, a supposed soothing sound yet a sign of chaos, “It wasn’t all bad and it doesn’t have to remain that way either. Remy knew just as I that it would have been a lonely life without you. I wasn’t the mistake, you were my consequence.”

Smoke doesn’t flinch but your words surely prick. Like Ivy curling around his entire frame and squeezing the mess out of his heart. His grip on his gun tightens, not to fire but like he’s holding on when he said he was letting go.

Annie’s hand presses firmer into his sleeve. To remind him that he’s still flesh and blood.

Smoke’s brown eyes remain on you, he doesn’t blink. He tried to sweep you to the side like you were something to be disregarded, that was his choice and now this is the cost.

He chose Annie.

His wife.

Mother of his late child.

The love of his life in every lifetime.

Their grief, their healing, over a minute with you.

Yet you’re here, at the space he bought with his twin, success right in his hands, and you’re wearing a smile that’s too still and doesn’t match the shade of eyes he was used to.

The shade he poured into when you lay your head in his lap on your couch. Talking about any and everything, while he quietly drank in every word.

These eyes weren’t the same.

They’re blinding like headlights during a winter fog.

“That man ain’t no damn savior,” Smoke adds your name, trying to convince you, as if that would snap you out of it but the damage was done, “He’s a leech in suspenders with a banjo strapped to his chest. Whatever he said, ain’t the got damn gold at the end of the rainbow.”

Slim snorts at this but it’s clear he agrees.

There’s a beat of silence that even the wind pauses. Your head tilts to the side, “Twin would disagree and you’ll see soon too.”

And your eyes shine a reflective white, almost gold as they take in the blood that decorated the white of Smoke’s sleeve. He’s reminded of what lays guarded by Sammie towards the back of the juke joint. This makes Smoke sharply inhale, raising his gun now to point right at you.

Mockingly you raise your hands up and step back some.

“You’ll get the fuck on if you know what’s good for you.” Smoke gritted, finger on the trigger.

Despite his anger Annie can sense there’s still a hint of hesitation—a what if swirling beneath his ribcage—even when Cornbread is on his feet from behind just watching with his battered face.

“Once upon a time I thought that was you but…I’ve got a new appreciation now, so I forgive you, Smoky.”

A wink is sent his way before you allow your stare to linger on his face. It was long enough to hear a crack rip through the air, as if it was splitting the earth wide open.

“You know I treated you good through the blues and loved too much you know?” Your voice is twice as dark as you create more space, walking backwards to stand beside Cornbread, “Maybe we were just business while you were always a family man. I can’t limit myself no more though.”

Smoke’s jaw is tight, feeling the weight of the gun in his grasp but he still doesn’t pull the trigger.

A small part of him still feels for you.

He didn’t miss the mark on your sleeve, which showed your skin to him with each pace and movement of your hands. Smoke also didn’t miss the bite that covered the mark you inflicted on that same wrist.

It still looked fresh.

This was truly happening.

His voice cuts through the sudden quiet like gravel beneath his good shining shoes, “You weren’t just business,” he says, low and certain. “You were the part of me that couldn’t stay… and the reason I made it back to what could.”

He briefly glanced over at Annie who dipped her head at him. She understood all layers of Elijah Moore, whereas you only had a corner piece but even that was hauntingly beautiful.

“Don’t twist that into nothin’ smaller than it was. So forgive me for not sayin’ that before.” Smoke speaks to you, which made your own eyes flick back and forth between the couple.

There was a reason why they made it back to each other. How Annie’s hand stayed steady on his sleeve. She seemed to have a silent understanding too. They worked so well together yet Smoke didn’t want you to go out thinking that what you had was nothing.

Or disposable.

He was not your past or chance in the afterlife.

But he was something.

He wanted you to know that, honor it.

Smoke wanted you to just appreciate your time for what it was and respect where he stood now. Smoke wished he would have said that much sooner so maybe the Irish lurker wouldn’t have gotten to you during the hollow echo of your blues.

It was your turn to not have a verbal response. The glint of your eyes in the distance are no longer white-hot but human, familiar. It remained the color he’s known you to have. The ones he remembered back on the couch, the ones he felt like he could sink into if he fully allowed himself to. A softened glance is there. He could see the water rising in them, which made Smoke deeply inhale.

Suddenly you and Cornbread’s head turn to your right, listening to something the rest inside the joint couldn’t hear.

Something was coming.

Cornbread offers his arm for you to loop with his.

You take it as if he’ll keep you upright and begin to lead the way, away from the building. You cast a final glance over your shoulder, a look that doesn’t beg to be remembered but will be in every universe.

Annie doesn’t say a thing but Smoke feels the way she shifts beside him now, her fingers ease their grip, an empathic understanding when she doesn’t have to give a ounce of it.

This was their goodbye.

Smoke watches as you and cornbread become shadows of the night.

He lowers his gun, steps back, and closes the door.

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁

FIN.

🏷️: @marley1773 + @christinabae

[gay-dorito-dust]

More demon brained Vergil?? (The chokehold this man has on me. It's unimaginable.)

I will live and die by demon brained Vergil. Seriously this man has no clue what he’s doing when it comes to human flirting but demonic courting? This man is knowledgeable on all fronts.

Vergil bites and he scents you, his ‘mate’ or ‘partner’ for possessive and territorial purposes. This is well known enough for it to have been an inside joke, especially with how often you walked out of your shared room with almost painful bite marks upon your neck and shoulders, only to tell people that they were ‘love bites.’

but that was mainly stuff that many people got to see the aftermath and not what this man does behind closed doors.

He makes nests! Yes! Vergil makes a nest of your clothes when you leave for a mission if your a demon hunter or for work in general, he takes clothes that you had in your wardrobe and make a nest of them upon your shard bed with your pillow being the first piece to be added.

His demon side wanted to be closer to you and if he couldn’t do that with you literally, then he’d gladly use your clothes, more specifically clothes that you have worn beforehand and still held your scent and warmth, as a substitute and rub himself against them. Even going so far as to fall asleep in them becuase while he might not admit it, he did indeed miss you and will get huffy when your clothes stop smelling like you and loose your warmth.

Vergil is a clingy half demon, he knows this and doesn’t want to admit to it, but everything that you’ve ever lost place of or just thought was long gone was in this man’s possession instead. Anything that had your essence on was his by association, nobody else’s.

He’ll growl and his eyes will become even more icy blue when someone touches your stuff, getting it muddied with their ugly scent that smelt like acid to him, where as yours was sweet, unique and something that could put him at ease at a simple sniff.

Another well known one is that he purrs, growls and or chirps depending on what you were doing, it’s not like he’s actively doing it because this is all natural to him and his demonic heritage, if anything he found anything human too foreign for him since his long, long stay in hell. (I will literally never let anyone forget this fact)

So Vergil does this really unique noise just for you, it’s a noise he’s noticed that demons onto did towards their mates, something made only for them to find the other should they be at long distance from one another, letting them know that they were there and were okay. A meaning to being the two mates together and differentiate themselves from other demon mates nearby doing the same thing.

And so Vergil would make this noise, which was like a chirp and an almost howl like nose that only you would recognise and come looking for him, an act that itches his demon brain greatly, seriously if his demon tail was out it would be wagging happily at the attention of his mate recognising his sound and coming towards him.

His brain: ‘my mate is coming! They heard me! They recognise me! My mate! My beloved mate whom I’d kill and slaughter for! They’re here! Hi! Gimme kiss! Gimme kiss! Gimme my mate! MY MATE!’

Him: 😐 I’m glad you’re not hurt. Now let’s go.

Will show off his demon wings and spread them as far as they can go in order to impress you when he devil triggers, it’s adorable seeing this hulking blue demon stand before you, showing off his big ass wings in hopes of impressing you with the array of colours that went into them.

This is something he’d do pre-relationship kinda like a preening peacock but don’t be surprised when he does this when he’s your mate/partner, encouraging you to touch them and trace the patterns there.

Demon grooming! Again try imagining this blue demon combing his claws over you, preening/grooming you on the odd occasion now and then before silently asking for you to do the same for him, looking at you with those almost puppy dog like demon eyes of his.

Or just imagine Vergil straightening your clothes, making sure clothing was out of place, making sure your shoes were properly tied so you wouldn’t hurt yourself. This was his version of demon grooming outside his devil trigger by making sure you’re looking presentable before you leave the house. It’s cute watching him act so serious about removing that one stray fluff on your clothes to the point he growls in frustration, but it only him showing his care through his unique way.

[twistedpink]

One night stand! Malleus? I just reread ONS Jade, and I felt like it would fit our lovely gargoyle lover well!

Omg you’re so right!! @bju3c0re

ONS!Malleus is a terrifying thing to think of- not because of lighting strikes or fae hexes, not even Sebek’s not-so-subtle threats in the sake of monogamy, but because he just looks so,, Sad without you. Like a wet dog, if that dog started a storm on purpose because it knows you like it’s hair all disheveled. Yeah, that dog. What’s worse is that none of your friends believe you, even if they get past the ‘he who shall not be named’ factor- all it takes is a simple look between the two of you for any teenage boy to think, “How’s that work?” (Picture Doberman x Chihuahua) Little do they know, Malleus is more than willing to get on his knees if it’s for you. That’s what’s so dangerous <3

ONS!Malleus that’s just so worried he scared you off :( And it sucks, because he totally did- just not with what he thought,, It was never about his scales or fangs (unfortunately, that’s what you’re into), but all the talk of ruling a kingdom, regardless of the gold, is a NIGHTMARE!! Not that the rest of diasomnia’s helping much >:( All of them find some way to go on and on about a certain someone carrying the next Draconia heir, and it sure as all hell won’t be you,, So long you can fend that royal iguana off, which a particular housewarden is more than happy to do :)

ONS!Malleus’s just seething when he finds you with that sort of company- though he’s loathe to admit it, he both can and has scared off your friends for access to your company, but.. Leona? Really? Are you so starved for intellectual mingling that you’d resort to that? Usually, he’d think any mention of competition is amusing at best. Usually, he’d be the one with the final say on your friends (Silently.) . But, with him out of the picture, you’re always finding new ways to keep things ridiculous- because this.. Joke of a ‘relationship’ is far, far lower than he ever imagined you going :/ He consults every human in close proximity for reference (Read; Silver), only to find that he was too intense for your delicate, human sensibilities.

His eye twitches.

Something somewhere is lit on fire. Repeatedly.

But, for the first time in years, Malleus learns a lesson. He’s so utterly dependent on you- yes. Flippant, demanding you, that he’s willing to beg so feverishly for your hand in front of his ‘rival’ that it comes off as “adorkable”, rather than insane.. And while it’s totally your choice whether to take him back or not, just know that Silver has both his credibility and salary on the line as resident human tm, so,, Choose kindly. <\3

[colouredbyd]

Operation: Kidnap Sirius Black

poly!marauders x fem!reader

Summary: On the night Sirius Black tries to vanish, three hearts steal him away for a birthday he never asked for but always needed, one filled with warmth, laughter, and love he never thought he deserved.

Word count: 5.2k

Warnings: not proofread, mentions of bad childhood, typical Black lore, self loath, lots and lots of fluff

Authors note: idk why this turned out to be this long...

masterlist

There are rules to loving Sirius Black.

The first is that you do not, under any circumstances, mention his birthday. Not in passing, not in jest, not even in the quiet, half-lit hours of the evening when he’s sprawled beside you with his head in your lap. You don’t say it when you press a kiss to his temple or when you catch him watching the moon with that faraway look he gets sometimes. You pretend, with almost painful devotion, that the day is like any other.

The second rule is that Sirius Black has the uncanny ability to detect a surprise from miles away. He can sniff out whispered plans and hidden presents like a bloodhound, and if he does, he will vanish with the kind of dramatic flourish that would make a Victorian ghost proud. Once, in fifth year, he avoided James’s entirely innocent “just us lads” birthday breakfast by hiding under the stairs with nothing but a stolen blanket, a flask of firewhisky, and a bitter scowl. He emerged a day later like some tragic orphan prince ( which he kinda is) and said, with deadpan sincerity, “I nearly died of excessive affection.”

The third rule is that none of that matters. Because loving Sirius Black means knowing that he pushes love away with both hands, only to fall apart when it’s given freely.

It means watching him light up when he thinks no one’s looking—when Remus absentmindedly runs fingers through his hair while reading, when James loops an arm around his shoulders without fanfare, when you look at him like he’s something holy. It means understanding that despite the leather jackets and loud laughter and relentless charm, Sirius is soft in ways he’s terrified to admit.

Which is why, obviously, the three of you are going to kidnap him.

“Yes,” James says between bites of toast, crumbs flying, “we kidnap him. Midnight. Sack over the head. Classic move.”

Remus looks up from his book with the slow, patient expression of a man who has survived many ridiculous plans and expects nothing less than full insanity before noon.

“Literal sack?” he asks, voice dry.

James nods eagerly. “We sneak into the dorm, throw it over him, and carry him out like some mystical offering to the gods of romance and good intentions.”

You set down your tea and raise an eyebrow. “You want to throw a bag over Sirius’s head and drag him into a surprise celebration of his birth?”

James beams. “Exactly!”

Remus sighs, folding the corner of his page. “You two are mad.”

But there’s the smallest curl of a smile at the corner of his mouth. The kind that means he’s already planning what poem he might read under the stars, something gentle and aching and quiet, something Sirius will pretend not to like even as he leans into it.

You glance between them, heart aching in the best possible way, and think that maybe this is what love looks like, plotting birthday kidnappings, stealing moments under moonlight, holding all of Sirius’s softness without asking him to hand it over.

And just like that, Operation: Kidnap Sirius Black is officially underway.

Planning a kidnapping, it turns out, is a surprisingly delicate affair, not just about stealth or timing or who gets to throw the sack over Sirius’s head (James insisted on this for far too long before being overruled), but about details, about love folded into every corner of the plan like a secret charm meant only for him.

“I’m just saying,” Remus starts carefully, perched on the edge of James’s bed like he’s conducting a seminar on criminal mischief, his notebook already opened to a fresh page titled OPERATION: STARRY DOG, “we can’t just burst in, throw a sack over his head, and drag him to the tower. We need finesse. He needs to feel… safe. Even if we’re, technically, kidnapping him.”

From the floor, where he’s sprawled like a fallen Quidditch poster boy, James groans and throws one arm over his eyes. “You all keep saying kidnapping like it’s not a love language.”

You smile faintly, curled up near the windowsill, your knees hugged to your chest in a blanket that still smells faintly of Sirius—cologne and firewood and ink. “I made him a cake.”

James bolts upright like he’s been electrocuted. “You what?”

You look down at your hands, suddenly shy. “It’s chocolate. The really dark kind, not too sweet. I layered it with spiced cherry preserve and this vanilla cream I stole from the kitchens, then topped it with sugared rosemary and little silver stars that melt on your tongue. It sparkles when it’s quiet, like the sky.”

There’s a beat of reverent silence, and then James exhales like he’s just been handed a sacred text. “I have never been more in love with you than I am right now.”

“Back off,” Remus says without looking up from his notes, “you had your turn on Tuesday.”

“I was talking about the cake.”

“No, you weren’t.”

You lean back, warm with quiet pride. “It’s hidden under seventeen preservation charms in my closet. I’ll bring it just before we go.”

Remus adds a new line to the plan, murmuring aloud as he writes. “Phase One: Cake secured. Phase Two: Distraction via James’ unbearable voice.”

James makes a face. “Unbearable? I’ll have you know I’ve been voted Most Charming Voice in Gryffindor.”

“By you. Three times.”

“It still counts.”

“And while you’re talking nonsense,” you interject gently, “Remus sneaks the wand out from under Sirius’s pillow, I toss the sack, and we Apparate him to the tower.”

“Blankets. Candles. Cake,” James counts off on his fingers. “And then—gifts.”

You pause, heart stuttering a little. “I made him something else too.”

Remus glances up, softening immediately. “What is it?”

You hesitate, then reach into the sleeve of your sweater and pull out a small box, barely big enough to fit in your palm. Inside, nestled in magical tissue, is a necklace—not gold or silver, but a long, dark ribbon threaded with charms you’ve carved and bound yourself. A small onyx dog. A sliver of red jasper for courage. A tiny vial filled with ash from the Gryffindor common room fireplace, sealed with wax. A music note. A miniature bell. A hollow star. And four hearts interlinked at the center.

“He always says he doesn’t belong to anyone,” you whisper, your voice quieter now. “I wanted him to have something that says he belongs to himself. To us.”

Remus doesn’t speak, just reaches across and touches your arm with such reverence that you feel like you might cry, and James, for once, says nothing—just nods, eyes suspiciously bright behind his glasses.

“I got him socks,” James says finally, like a confession. “But not just socks. I mean, they’re enchanted. They warm up when he gets anxious. They smell like cedar and bergamot. He won’t even notice they’re magic, but they’ll help. I had them made in Hogsmeade last month.”

Remus clears his throat and sets his notebook aside. “I—mine’s a bit strange.”

“You’re strange,” James says fondly.

Remus gives him a look. “I made him a book. It looks blank at first, but when you hold it, it writes itself. Letters. From us. From me. From you two. From future days, from nights we haven’t lived yet. Every time he opens it, there’ll be something. A new message. A memory. A reason to stay.”

You cover your mouth with your hand and blink hard.

“And I added one entry from Regulus,” Remus adds softly. “Just one. I thought… it might help.”

James is staring at him now, open-mouthed. “That’s… bloody brilliant.”

“I know.”

You breathe in slowly, letting it all settle—the gifts, the cake, the plan, the ridiculous affection swirling in this little room like a charm too strong to name.

But then you all smile, because you know—really know—that he’ll keep the necklace and wear the socks and trace the book with careful fingers and tuck the cake tin under his bed when he thinks no one is looking.

You know he’ll treasure it all.

You know that somewhere beneath all that bark and fire, Sirius Black wants to be loved so badly it nearly ruins him.

“He’s going to fight us,” James says after a long moment, lips twitching. “He’s going to swear, and glare, and threaten to hex my kneecaps.”

“He’ll be terrified,” Remus agrees. “But he’ll be loved. That’s what matters.”

You smile again, wrapping your arms around yourself. “Let’s make sure he knows it. In every possible way.”

James grins suddenly, that bright, reckless kind of grin that promises both trouble and triumph. “Alright, squad. We move at midnight. Cloak on. Cake in hand. Wand removed. Sack ready. Sirius Black has no idea what’s coming.”

“And thank Merlin for that,” Remus mutters, but even he’s smiling now, even he’s warmed by the thought of it—by the vision of Sirius blinking sleep from his eyes in the candlelight, baffled and bleary and utterly surrounded by the people who love him in ways he’s never dared believe were real.

You are hiding from Sirius Black and somehow that still feels like the most natural thing in the world.

It’s not so much a tactical retreat as it is a sacred ritual by now, the three of you—Remus, James, and yourself—folded into the narrow stairwell landing that overlooks the Gryffindor common room, cramped behind a tapestry that smells faintly of dust and forgotten lemon drops. 

Your knees are digging into the floorboards, your head is pressed lightly against Remus’s shoulder, and James is sprawled half on top of both of you with the easy recklessness of someone who’s never truly considered the possibility of discomfort. And just beyond the railing, just a few short steps away, is Sirius—long-limbed and lazily dangerous, draped across the couch in a position that defies both gravity and logic, flipping through a Quidditch magazine and occasionally scoffing aloud at the broom designs like they’ve personally offended him.

He has no idea what’s coming.

And it is, frankly, a miracle that none of you have burst into uncontrollable laughter.

“We’ve reached peak espionage,” James whispers, breath warm against your temple, eyes narrowed in that cartoonish way he does when he thinks he looks serious. “I should’ve brought my cloak.”

Remus gives him a side-eye. “We’d still be too loud. You stomp like a bloody centaur.”

“I stomp with purpose.”

“You stomp with your whole chest.”

You barely suppress your snort and nudge Remus with your elbow, earning a secret smile, small and quick and warm like a candle in winter. Outside, the sky is beginning to melt from gold to amethyst, the kind of slow-burn dusk that feels like it’s holding its breath. The castle is quiet in the way that only late afternoons can be, when the students have either vanished into books or broomsticks, and the world seems to stretch wide and long and waiting.

Your fingers are curled around the soft edge of the cake tin nestled in your bag, still faintly warm with charm-work, enchanted to carry the scent of cedarwood and cinnamon unless touched by someone with less than honorable intentions. 

You shift slightly and meet Remus’s gaze.

“Do you think he’ll cry?” you whisper.

Remus, who knows Sirius like no one else—knows the tilt of his jaw when he’s pretending to be brave, knows the sharpness of his tongue when he’s scared, knows the way his eyes soften when he thinks no one’s looking—tilts his head, thoughtful.

“He’ll protest,” he murmurs. “Maybe try to leave. Make a scene. But yes. Eventually. When he realizes it’s real.”

“He might punch me,” James adds brightly. “I’m sort of banking on it. Birthday punches are a tradition.”

“I don’t think Sirius has ever had a tradition that wasn’t laced with trauma.”

“Well, now he has one,” James says, proud, “called Getting Loved by Idiots Who Worship the Ground He Walks On.”

Remus sighs but doesn’t disagree.

A soft clatter from the common room makes you all freeze. Sirius has tossed the magazine onto the floor and is now sitting up, stretching like a cat, ribs sharp beneath his jumper, hair falling into his eyes as he rubs the back of his neck and mutters something under his breath. His face is unreadable from this angle, a little tired maybe, a little restless. He does that sometimes—sinks into silence without warning, like the weight of existing has suddenly crept back onto his shoulders and he’s just remembered it’s there.

You exchange a look with Remus. Then James.

It’s time.

But you don’t rush.

Instead, you move with care, with reverence, with the strange hush of people about to trespass into something holy. James stretches his limbs like he’s preparing for a dramatic dive into battle. Remus rolls his shoulders, muttering under his breath and flicking his wand in practiced arcs—charms for sound, for subtlety, for gentleness. And you reach into your pocket for the blindfold, soft and dark and worn from being held too tightly, too often, during too many rehearsals.

Your heart pounds, not from nerves but from anticipation, from the secret thrill of loving someone so fiercely that it bends the very air around you.

You don’t want this to be a joke.

You want it to be an offering.

You want him to feel how real it is.

James gives a soft nod, and then, like a switch has been flipped, he’s launching himself dramatically down the stairs and into the room.

“SIRIUS BLACK, YOU QUACK-HATTED IMBECILE,” he booms, arms flailing in the way only James Potter can truly pull off, “EXPLAIN TO ME, IMMEDIATELY, WHY THE WINDWALKER 500 SHOULD BE ALLOWED TO EXIST.”

Sirius startles so hard he nearly drops the glass of water he’s just conjured. “What the absolute fuck are you talking about—”

“IT DEFIES BASIC AERODYNAMIC THEORY,” James shouts, already halfway across the room and pointing like an angry professor, “AND THE HANDLE DESIGN IS A CRIME AGAINST HUMANITY.”

“I will actually kill you.”

“YOU’LL TRY.”

And while the chaos unfolds in loud, gesturing glory, you and Remus slip in from behind, soft as secrets, quiet as breath, moving with practiced grace until you’re right there—close enough to see the confusion beginning to blossom across Sirius’s face, the way he turns half-toward the stairwell just as you step into his space.

“Hey, love,” you whisper, and before he can reply or protest or even frown, you press a kiss to his temple, and Remus slips the blindfold down over his eyes.

There’s a pause.

A heartbeat of stunned stillness.

Then—

“What the actual hell,” Sirius says, half-laughing, half-panicked, not quite moving but also not resisting, “what’s happening—why is it dark—why do you smell like frosting—”

“Because we love you,” you say simply, taking his hand.

“Because it’s your birthday,” James adds, circling back around and grabbing his other arm.

“Because you deserve a night that doesn't end in us getting kicked out,” Remus murmurs, pressing his lips to the top of Sirius’s head.

And somehow, despite the complaints and the muttering and the occasional threat of murder, Sirius lets you lead him out of the common room, barefoot and blindfolded and vaguely cursing in every direction.

He doesn’t know where you’re taking him.

But he follows anyway.

Because somewhere deep down, Sirius Black knows that love is the only thing that’s ever truly stolen him away.

You walk him slowly through the halls, careful not to let the candle slip from its charm or the silence crack too hard beneath your footsteps. Sirius is between the three of you, bracketed like a secret that refuses to break open, walking with the kind of reluctant trust that only exists when love has been proven more than once, when it’s survived the breaking and still chooses to stay.

His hands are in yours and James’s, callused fingers curling instinctively when he stumbles slightly over a stair, and behind him, Remus hums low beneath his breath, steady and close, a grounding presence that doesn’t need to speak to be heard.

You’ve rehearsed this more times than you’d admit. Not out loud. Not formally. But in half-sentences and half-gestures and mornings where you passed notes instead of toast. In glances over cauldrons. In the quiet of late-night library corners when you should’ve been studying but couldn’t stop sketching cake designs instead. 

The room you’re leading him to—your little borrowed haven on the seventh floor, the one with the charmed window that shows the stars regardless of the weather—has been glowing with waiting all day, filled with soft enchantments and glowing lanterns and the kind of magic that’s stitched more with memory than spellwork.

You pause before the door.

“Sirius,” you say, gentle, one hand smoothing down the edge of the blindfold, “we’re going to show you something now. If you want us to stop, we will. If you hate it, we’ll vanish. Just say the word.”

There’s a long silence. Then Sirius exhales, a sound that trembles slightly before it settles.

“Okay,” he whispers, and it’s not defiant, not snarky, not coated in armor. Just small. Just real. “Okay, go on.”

So you open the door.

And the moment it does, the room breathes for him.

It isn’t grand or overwhelming. It isn’t the kind of party the Black family would throw, with icy chandeliers and gold-trimmed plates and smiles sharp enough to cut through skin. No, it’s something else entirely—it’s candlelight dripping slowly in warm pools across wooden floors, soft music humming low from a wireless in the corner, the smell of cake and rosemary and cinnamon hanging like a memory across the air. 

There are blankets draped over every surface, mismatched and soft and lived-in. There’s a little table set with three mugs and one glass tumbler, because you know he prefers that. There are paper stars stuck across the ceiling, some of them spelled to twinkle, some of them wobbling slightly where James got too excited and glued them crooked.

It looks nothing like the world Sirius was born into.

And everything like the one he deserves.

You untie the blindfold slowly, your fingers brushing his hair, and the moment the cloth falls away, Sirius freezes.

He doesn’t speak.

His mouth parts like he might. Like he wants to ask what this is. Why? But he doesn’t, because you think he already knows, because he’s clever and broken and beautiful in that way that makes him flinch from kindness, like it’s something hot he forgot how to hold.

 His eyes flicker across the room in slow, stunned disbelief—landing on the cake first, then the gifts, then the trio of you, standing slightly too nervously close together.

“I—what…” he says, and then his voice breaks, just a little, and he swallows it down fast like he’s afraid it’ll betray him. “What is this?”

“It’s your birthday,” you whisper. “And you’re ours. So this is for you.”

“You hate your birthday,” Remus adds softly, stepping forward, “but we thought maybe you wouldn’t hate it if we did it like this. If we didn’t make it a celebration. Just… a love letter.”

“Love,” James says, shrugging, “and cake. Mostly cake. Actually, now that I’m thinking about it, it might be eighty percent cake.”

Sirius lets out a choked laugh, the kind that sounds like it got lost somewhere on its way out of his chest. He rubs a hand over his mouth, blinking rapidly, and then his eyes fall on the cake you made, still warm, still dusted with silver sugar like the sky. 

It’s got five candles, not twenty. Because five is the number of fingers that brushed your cheek when you asked him what home meant. Because five is the number of stars you wished on the night before you loved him for the first time. Because twenty is too many and too loud and too close to the people who made him hate this day in the first place.

He walks toward it like it might disappear.

“You made this?” he says, voice hoarse.

You nod.

“It’s cherry and chocolate,” you murmur. “Because I know you pretend not to like sweets but you always sneak the last slice when you think no one’s looking.”

He doesn’t deny it.

He just stares at the cake.

And then he stares at you.

And then, with a noise that sounds very much like surrender, he sits heavily on the floor.

“Oh, love,” Remus breathes, sinking beside him. “You okay?”

Sirius nods. Then shakes his head. Then laughs again, watery and sharp and aching.

“I just—I didn’t think anyone would… you know. Care enough to plan something like this. Let alone you lot. You’re all idiots.”

“We are,” James agrees, kneeling beside him, “but we’re your idiots.”

“Always,” you say, sliding in on his other side. “For as long as you’ll let us.”

Sirius leans into you like a tide, slow and steady, pressing his face to your shoulder. He doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t have to.

The room holds the silence gently.

And then James reaches for the gifts.

“Right,” James says, voice just a little too chipper to be natural, like if he speaks quickly enough, none of them will notice how watery his eyes are. “Present time. Let’s do this before I start crying and ruin my reputation.”

Sirius huffs a laugh, already suspicious. “What reputation? You cried at that one Honeydukes ad. The one with the kneazle in the scarf.”

“That kneazle was cold,” James mutters, reaching under his chair for a dark parcel wrapped in deep blue paper that glimmers when it catches the light, like stars turning slowly behind a veil of clouds. “And also don’t change the subject. This is about you.”

He passes the package over. Sirius takes it carefully, eyebrows arched as he weighs it in his hands. “It’s not going to explode, is it?”

“Just open it, you dramatic git.” James laughs.

Sirius does, fingers dragging through the folds like he’s peeling back something fragile. Inside, he finds socks. Soft black wool, thick and warm-looking, folded with surprising care. They’re plain, mostly, but there’s a tiny red star embroidered on each cuff, small enough to miss unless you’re looking.

Sirius blinks. Then looks up at James.

James leans back on his elbows, smirking. “The finest socks in all of Britain. Possibly enchanted by the gods themselves. Who’s to say.”

Sirius stares at the socks for a long second, longer than he probably means to. He doesn’t speak, just runs his thumb once over the little red star stitched near the cuff, something unreadable blooming behind his eyes. 

Then, without warning, he sets them gently aside and steps forward, closing the space between them in two strides. No words, no jokes, no shields—just the quiet urgency of movement as he throws his arms around James and buries his face in his shoulder.

James stiffens at first, startled, his hands half-raised as if unsure what to do. But then he exhales, a soft breath against Sirius’s hair, and his arms come down slowly, wrapping around Sirius’s back like that’s where they’d always belonged. He presses one hand between his shoulder blades and just holds him, saying nothing, letting the quiet stretch and settle like dusk spilling across a windowsill. 

“You’re ridiculous,” Sirius mumbles.

“And you’re warm now,” James replies, quietly smug.

Next is Remus. He clears his throat and stands slowly, pulling a small, velvet-wrapped item from his bag. The green is soft and worn-looking, tied with a ribbon the color of smoke. He doesn’t hand it over immediately.

“I changed my mind about it three times,” Remus admits. “Almost didn’t give it to you at all.”

Sirius tilts his head. “Why not?” Remus shrugs one shoulder, eyes flicking away. “Because it’s not something you can unwrap all at once. It’s not flashy. It’s slow. And it asks you to stay.”

Remus holds it out with a quiet kind of care, as though it might break if he let it go too quickly. Sirius reaches for it without speaking, hands brushing gently against Remus’s, his expression unreadable but tender at the edges.

It’s a book, at least on the outside. Plain, unassuming. No title to boast its purpose, no gilded spine to catch the light. Just a deep, velvety cover the color of twilight, the kind of hue that settles between dusk and darkness, when the world forgets its sharpness. Sirius opens it with slow fingers, as though the contents might breathe if he turned the pages too fast.

Inside, nothing greets him. No letters, no sketches, only pale blank pages that seem to hum with waiting.

He lifts his gaze to Remus, puzzled but curious, and waits.

“It writes itself,” Remus says, quiet as falling snow. “Only when you're holding it. Letters. From us. From me. From James. From the versions of us we haven’t met yet. From mornings we haven't woken into and nights we haven't survived. The words come when you need them. A memory. A promise. A reason to keep going. It’s never the same thing twice.”

Sirius looks down at the book again, his thumb tracing the edge of a page, slow and deliberate. There’s something flickering behind his eyes now, not quite tears but something older, heavier.

Remus swallows, and when he speaks again, it’s barely more than a breath. “There’s one from Regulus. Just one. You don’t have to read it. I only thought… maybe one day, it might matter.”

Sirius doesn’t answer. His mouth twitches slightly, as though a dozen words are caught behind it, all of them too fragile to survive the air. Instead, he closes the book slowly, pressing it to his chest like something sacred, and then he steps forward without hesitation.

He gathers Remus into his arms, holding him tightly, as if to anchor both of them in the moment. Remus folds into him easily, one hand resting at the nape of Sirius’s neck, the other curling into the back of his jumper. For a while, they say nothing, and nothing is needed. The silence between them is soft and filled with the weight of everything they didn’t have to explain.

“Thank you,” Sirius breathes into his neck. “God, thank you.” Remus just squeezes him tighter.

Then it’s your turn.

Your gift is the smallest of all. The box fits neatly between your palms, wrapped in worn brown paper and tied with a length of twine, sealed carefully with a pressed wax star that gleams faintly in the light. You hold it out with both hands, as if offering something fragile.

“It won’t open unless you’re smiling,” you tell him, voice soft but unwavering.

Sirius raises an eyebrow at that, his eyes narrowing with the kind of fond suspicion he always gives you when he knows he’s about to lose a battle.

“That’s cheating,” he murmurs, though there’s a curl at the edge of his mouth already, something quiet and resisting.

You only tilt your head. “Smile or no gift,” you reply, and wait.

His lips curve, slow and reluctant and inevitable, like moonlight slipping through the edge of a curtain. The wax seal shimmers and releases with a gentle sigh of golden smoke.

He opens the box.

Inside lies a necklace. Not delicate in the traditional sense, but tender in its care, its meaning. A long ribbon, dark as stormy dusk and soft as memory, threaded with charms that each hold a story. A hand-carved onyx dog, polished to a gentle gleam. A sliver of red jasper for courage. A tiny vial of ash from the Gryffindor common room fireplace, sealed in wax the color of candlelight. A silver music note. A bell small enough to fit on the tip of a finger. A hollow star, weightless and glimmering. And at the center of it all—four tiny hearts, carved and bound together, impossible to untangle.

Sirius lifts the ribbon gently, letting it spill across his fingers like water. His thumb brushes the onyx charm, then the star, then the interlinked hearts. His hand trembles faintly, and for a moment he looks too young for everything he’s carried.

You step forward instinctively, unsure whether to say more—but before you can speak, he pulls you in.

His arms wrap around you with unexpected urgency, the necklace still cradled in one hand against your back. He presses his face into the curve of your neck, not saying a word, and you feel the breath he exhales there, uneven and quiet. You hold him back just as tightly, your heart beating too fast and too full, your hands buried in the soft folds of his shirt.

When he finally pulls away, his eyes are glassy, but he’s smiling—truly smiling now, like it reaches all the way through him.

“I don’t think anyone’s ever given me something like this,” he says, voice thick with wonder. 

“Thank you,” he murmurs into your skin. “I didn’t know I needed that until now.”

When he finally pulls back, he fastens the necklace around his neck. The ribbon settles against his collarbone, each charm catching the light like tiny memories.

Then he gathers all three of you close, pulling James and Remus into his arms again, and somehow makes room for everyone. They go without protest, folding into the hug like they’ve done it a thousand times, like they’ll do it a thousand more.

“Thank you,” he says, over and over, into your hair, into James’s neck, into Remus’s chest. “Thank you. I don’t know what I did to deserve you.”

And Remus kisses his temple. And James ruffles his hair.

And you, gently, press your hand to his heart.

“You don’t have to deserve it,” you whisper. “It’s yours.”

The candles have burned low by the time the cake is reduced to crumbs and the laughter has softened to hums and sighs and starlight. The gifts lie scattered around like petals, unwrapped and open and worn already. The room feels like a heartbeat now—slow and alive and familiar—and the windows show a sky that must be enchanted, because every star looks close enough to touch.

Sirius is curled in the middle of the pile of blankets, his head resting on your lap, hair soft and unruly beneath your fingers, legs tangled with James’s, whose arm is draped lazily across both their stomachs like he forgot how to let go. 

Remus leans against your side, a book half-open in his hand, though he hasn’t turned a page in what must be an hour. His eyes are closed. He’s not asleep. Just listening. Breathing in time with the rest of you. All four of you are pressed together like something sacred, something whole.

Sirius hasn’t said much for a while.

He’s been watching. Touching. Letting his fingertips run over your sleeve, James’s knuckles, the stitching of the green velvet that once held his bracelet. He’s quieter than usual, but not closed. Not locked away. It’s a stillness that feels new. Not the kind forged by fear or shame but the kind that grows when there’s nowhere to run, and no need to.

You trace soft shapes into his temple. A crescent moon. A star. A question mark.

“What are you thinking?” you whisper, because it’s quiet enough that whispers feel like the only right way to speak.

Sirius doesn’t open his eyes.

He lets out a breath like a song.

“I’m thinking I don’t remember the last time I felt like this wasn’t going to end.”

You don’t answer at first. Just let your hand move gently over his hair, threading through the strands, smoothing the corners of his restlessness like folding down a page in a well-loved book.

“It’s not going to end,” you say, not like a promise, but like a truth.

James shifts slightly, tightening his hold, and presses a kiss to Sirius’s ankle, almost absentmindedly. Remus hums low in his throat and lets the book fall to the floor with a soft thud.

“We’ll keep showing up,” he murmurs, voice drowsy and thick with affection. “Even when you hate it. Especially when you hate it.”

Sirius opens his eyes finally, grey and silver and wet with unshed things. He turns his face into your palm and breathes in, like maybe this is the first time in years he’s dared to believe the air was meant for him.

“Stars above,” he mutters. “You lot are such saps.”

“Only for you.” You smile.

There’s a long, warm pause. Sirius stares up at the ceiling. Then at the three of you. And you know he’s been building this moment for hours, stacking courage like bricks in his chest, trying not to let it fall apart before he reaches the words. You don’t rush him. You never have. So you wait. And the room breathes with you.

And then, so softly it barely lands on the air, he says it.

“I love you.”

His voice cracks on the last syllable. But the words don’t break. They don’t disappear. They settle. They root.

“We know,” you whisper, pressing your lips to his forehead, “we know.”

The silence after that is full, not empty. Sirius closes his eyes again, not to hide, but to rest, to finally let go. His breathing evens out slowly, and for once it’s not the sleep of exhaustion or escape but of peace. You stay like that, all four of you curled together in the soft, glowing dark, the charm on your pendant warm against your heart, the stars flickering gently above like they’re watching a story that ends better this time.

And outside the window, the sky keeps shining.

Because love, when given freely, never needs to be loud.

It just needs to be true.

[catssluvr]

dating pre-crash travis headcanons <3

꩜ Is a bit closed off earlier in the relationship but once Travis starts getting more and more comfortable around you there’s nothing that can make him shut up.

꩜ Doesn’t have much of a big friend group and you are his absolute best friend, no one knows more about him than you. Needs to vent? You. Has news? It’s you he’s running to tell. Is excited? Will yap to you.

꩜ Loves to hang out in his bedroom while listening to some music and reading comic books - well, he mostly reads them while you read whatever you like.

꩜ Lets you draw doodles all over his arms when you’re bored in class, smiling sickly in love as you do hearts and your initials together.

꩜ Sooo teasing when he wants to, smiles smugly as he makes you so flustered you can’t even utter a word like normal.

꩜ Follows you around like a puppy everywhere and pretends to be offended when anyone mentions it but he actually doesn’t care at all, will gladly call himself yours.

꩜ Holds your hand at any chance he gets. On the bus home, walking in the school halls, under the table in class or dinner. Brushes his thumb against your skin in the softest way.

꩜ So giggly when you’re both alone, does not look like the usual Travis everyone else sees.

꩜ Blushes so deep whenever you use certain pet names like ‘baby’ or ‘love’, feeling like his heart is all mushy from love.

“Aww are you blushing, baby?”

“Shut it < :|”

꩜ Acts really tuff around other people but as soon as you show up he immediately turns way softer. This not to say he doesn’t try to act all strong around you too but one look from you and he can’t help but bring his walls down.

꩜ Literally turns putty in your hands whenever you run your fingers through his hair, practically purring and looking the most sleepy ever.

꩜ Feels incredibly special whenever you steal his clothes, doesn’t say a word about it normally but will be looks way more your way that he already does. Is so sure you don’t notice - you do.

꩜ Hates to show you whenever he’s upset and refuses to ever cry in front of you at first because of the whole ‘boys don’t cry’ agenda. But is unable to not crumble when you wrap him in your arms and tell him gentle words.

꩜ Travis’ favorite way of cuddling is laying on top of you with his head on your stomach, nuzzling into your soft skin and placing a kiss there from time to time. Looks way more adorable than he thinks with his cheek smushed and lips slightly parted.

꩜ Is like a teenager when it comes to making out, is in to do it at any time. And he doesn’t even necessarily want anything else, he just really likes kissing you.

꩜ Has a cassette with all your favorite songs and plays it whenever he’s missing you or if you’re away for a few days. Would never ever tell you about it though.

꩜ Is a fan of giving you gifts but doesn’t like to make a big deal out of it. Slips a letter inside your locker or leaves a necklace he bought for you on top of your bed before he leaves for your house. Likes to slip the little bunch of flowers he picked up on his way to school into your hand quietly.

꩜ Are much probably his first everything. His first kiss, his first girlfriend, his first time. Really holds a lot of devotion and trust for you because of that.

꩜ Travis is so freaking loyal to you, will lie for you without a second thought. There’s also not a chance he will cheat on you, this man loves you too much to do that.

꩜ Gets so sulky when you two have a fight and give each other the silent treatment. Ends up forgetting all his stubbornness and running to apologizing to you.

꩜ Will love it if you have a good relationship with Javi, even if he doesn’t admit it out loud. Really likes that you’re like a second sister to him and might even feel envious of how easily you can communicate with him.

[gaysindistress]

I LOVE your "Bucky x Witch Reader", you are so talented! I absolutely love your work!!

Sorry if I'm fan girling lol

I was wondering if you can make a part three? I cannot stop reading 1 and 2 over and over, it is so good!

Fangirl all you want my darling. Feed my writer’s ego and give me validation 🥺💕 thank you for the sweet words and praise

Anywaysssss I’m assuming you mean this piece because I think about them constantly. I think about how being Chaos incarnate affects her and how Bucky helps her with it. I think about how he loves her regardless of how her blood calls for destruction and loves her through the pain of struggling against it.

Enjoy this dark urge inspired part 3

Imagine Bucky with a reader that isn’t quite…right pt 3

The yellow eyed bitch has returned.

Staring down at me from where she’s delicately hanging in black silken curtains, she watches as I materialize in her domain. She’s always twisting and curling those black silk curtains that hang from the endless expansion of the night sky. Everything about her house is darkness, the night, and all matter that falls between those categories. She is darkness and all that she creates becomes a personification of her personality. As one would expect from a bogeyman, she’s a towering and slender woman with moon white skin that is marred with wounds weeping of a black oily liquid. Her fingers, dipped in the physical embodiment of the void, delicately pluck at the strings of our fates as if she is our puppet master. We are all extensions of her and her will, nothing more. We are nothing but little pieces of her soul that have been placed into bodies that she made so that we can be her puppets. No free will of our own, no way to create a life outside of her.

I glare at her, willing all of the anger that I have been holding onto for years to slice through those curtains and drop her. Even then in death where I thought I would finally be free, she still found a way to control me by bringing me back.

“Sweet child of mine,” she coos to me as she slips down and soundlessly lands on the rock below her. “How are you?”

I snort at the ridiculous question and feel my body stiffen at my own reaction. The jarring difference in reaction sends a wave of pain through my body. My gaze falls to the ground before me and I catch a glimpse of my reflection. There’s a resemblance between her and I but I’ve never been able to place my finger on it. Maybe it’s the unsettling feeling that our soulless eyes leave others with. Maybe it’s the void that lives within us and is begging to be released.Or perhaps it’s the reality that she is the manifestation of my desire to create chaos and destroy worlds with it.

“Why am I here?”

Her thin dark brow arch but there is a flicker of surprise in her unseeing eyes, “Don’t you know?”

“Obviously not if I asked.”

My reflection throws a pointed look at me but I ignore it as the urge to submit to her overwhelms me. I feel the veil of normalcy fall away from me as it slides down my limbs and plops to the floor with a sickening wet sound. She seems pleased with my body’s display of submissiveness. Her eyes, yellow like sick bile and yet pure like yellow diamonds, roam across my face while she smiles fondly and carefully strokes the scar that the boy left when he took my eye.

“You are lying,” she says sweetly even though her skeleton thin hand is now nearly crushing my jaw, “Admit why you are here.”

The words are light as they leave my lips yet thick with regret and shame as they leave my heart, “I need…it’s calling to me again. I…I can’t let it take me again. I need your help.”

“There is no such thing as help from me, my child. I cannot help you evade the inevitable; you will submit to it as you always have because it is your fate. ‘The Death has marked the end of Angelic Peace within and thus has begun the reign of Chaos’ as I told you. That death came many many years ago and there is nothing you can do to reverse it. Stop resisting it and accept what you are, what we are..” Her slimy voice calls to me. When she began to speak, my vision began to flatter and my body weakened in her grasp. She moved behind me and held me as I crumbled into her arms. Slowly lowering me to the ground in her lap, she continued to whisper her poisonous propaganda into my ear, “You, my dear child, are the harbinger of all that is Chaos, Vengeful Destruction, jealous rage, endless anger. You have served us well and will continue to as your chaos destroys worlds, governments, families, and people’s wills to resist their own fates.”

The hands that cradled my face and titled it upwards to kiss my forehead were soaked in unfathomable quantities of blood but they still cradled me and provided me with a comfort that no one else could. I should’ve been disgusted by the foul smell that emanated from her or the fact that she is the worst part of me personified yet I allowed myself to find peace in her embrace as I drifted away.

I awoke with a start in a bed that wasn’t entirely comfortable but a warmth at my side must have lolled me to sleep. The fear that I would see my demonic twin if I looked to find the source gripped me for a few minutes until I realized that the warmth had started to fade. Before I could muster the courage to face whatever it was, a sharp pain shoots through me and the heat of my body disappears as uncertainty takes over. My eyes snap open and I try to get off of the bed but already weak from another resurrecting death, my knees buckle and I stumble forward. I desperately search for something to grip onto but find nothing as the pain in my soul becomes a searing sensation. It’s only amplified as my carelessness causes me to tumble to the floor while my knees and hands catch on jagged tiles. They tear into the delicate skin and blood begins to leak from the cuts. I stare at the pools of inky liquid around me while my heartbeat pounds in my ears and my breathing becomes labored. There’s a rushing feeling of nausea and unease taking over me. The desire to fight off this evil within me is itching to grab a weapon and slaughter until it is no more. The desire to curl into a ball and wait it out is there as the lights become blurred around me and the room’s silence becomes suffocating. The Aegean Seas has found a home with me as it starts to envelop me; my breathing picks up pace even more as I feel the waters pull me down. No matter how hard I try to swim to the surface of my emotions, I cannot fight against the currents of fear and paralysis.

Pain continues to spread from the torn skin of my hands and knee when I hear an awful tearing noise from behind me. Something tears itself from my back, breaking open the scarred flesh and exposing what feels like my soul as well as spine.

My voice falters. I can’t sob any louder or cry any harder.

Blood drips onto the tiles around me and there is a heavy weight at my back now but I can’t move.

I can’t do anything as I lay face down and stare at the wall. With my check pressed to the cold tiles, I stare and curse the demon for everything she’s done to me. After some time, my eyes begin to burn; whether it be from staring too long or that they feel like they’ve become molten lava, I’m not sure.

Thudding footsteps break my trance and a soft gentle voice whispers my name as its owner pulls me into its lap. I blink slowly, once then twice. Bucky’s concerned face comes into focus while I vaguely feel his hands wander across my body, checking for injuries.

“You’re okay. I’m here now. Stay with me and we’ll get through this together,” he whispers to me while pulling out his phone and dialing who I assume to be Tony.

“Mors finem pacis Angelicae intus notavit et sic regnum Chaos incepit,” I mumble back to him, melting completely into his warmth and safety, “Hoc est aliud signum mortis, et aliud principium chaos.”

‘The Death has marked the end of Angelic Peace within and thus has begun the reign of Chaos. This is but another sign of death and another beginning of chaos.’

He nods his understanding and moves to cradle my head in his lap instead. He tilts my head head upwards and presses a kiss to my forehead much like how the demon did. Albeit this time the unfathomable quantities of blood have been washed clean by the repentance of his love and devotion. Through his love, we are both clean and pure again.

For now at least.

[nab3rries]

i'll give you my best side, tell you all my best lies

yeah, awesome, right?

                             ( homemade dynamite, lorde )

                          🂱           golden trio reality introduction………..:::

       born to ada tombs and a father of unknown whereabouts on the 26th of july 1980, alie tombs has always had the soul of an adventurer. the metamorphmagus would always find a way to wander off, which her mother got used to only after the girl (at the age of eight) had gone off to investigate some shiny pebbles on the pavement for the tenth time in the week (it was tuesday). alie has never been a good friend for the faint of the heart——always purposefully inserting herself into some mess, some sort of adventure, and laughing in the concerned faces of her loved ones afterwards.

‘i wouldn’t have done it if i was unprepared!’ she would exclaim.

well, alie, your mother who has barely lived a third of her very long witch lifespan doesn’t know that, does she? …………………..moving on.

alie has always seemed like she was a little bit of god a little bit of angel and a little bit of human combined. she has always been powerful and she has always been weird as fuck. ‘she talks to the bloody bugs in the bloody forbidden forest!’ said ron weasley, probably. ‘leave her be!’ responded hermione granger or luna lovegood in wildly different tones, probably. the girl is so keen on mapping the entire forbidden forest that she created a spell to read her books out loud to only her so that she can get into trouble without losing out on reading time. she has incredible potential to be a prankster, which the weasley twins definitely plan on doing something with. she loves a little bit of a curse, a little bit of a hex, a jinx, which draco malfoy unfortunately knows about (she hates his guts! for good reason too!).

she is also ridiculously curious about most things for a gryffindor, which caught the attention of one tom riddle (more on that later). she wants to study whatever magic has to offer, similar to how physicists study subatomic particles in CERN. she wants to investigate all things archaic, to explore, to understand….. it is no surprise that she wants to be an archeologist (or curse breaker. more or less the same thing. more on that later too, but perhaps another day).

despite the divided opinions on her personality, most can agree that she is free in a way most people aren’t: she does whatever she wants and makes sure nobody can say anything about it. how people say it….. well that differs. professor snape prefers the word ‘impertinent’. her best friends, ron and hermione prefer ‘daring’. her arch-nemesis tom riddle prefers ‘reckless’ or ‘headstrong’ or ‘madcap’. he finds her amusing. actually, lets get onto whatever’s going on with those two, shall we?

    you see, alie tombs met draco malfoy at madam malkin’s robes for all occasions in diagon alley before even getting on the train to hogwarts and promptly decided that she would NOT be sorted into slytherin, against all odds if needed. and the odds were that the sorting hat was very keen on sorting her into the damn snake den, but she said ‘no’ and the hat miraculously listened. what does this have anything to do with tom riddle and alie tombs, you say? well. tom riddle has slytherin energy vibrating out of his every single strand of hair perfectly gelled into place. and alie tombs? well, you would never think that the hat wanted her in slytherin——she is courageous and determined like nobody else. tom and alie? they’ve always butted heads. not in the way draco and alie have, no, this has always meant a bit more. always striking up an argument in the hallways, trying to one up each other in classes, irritating each other willingly so that they can have the others eye on them for longer, to have each others attention for a couple more minutes. they’ve been obsessed with each other for longer than they like to admit.

she likes his hair and his stupid smug smirk and hates his hair and stupid smug smirk. she wants to punch him with a kiss. she wants to make him trip with a jinx so that she can see his exasperatedly-amused-but-also-slightly-irritated face. she wants to say a bold-faced-lie to him just to see him raise that perfect eyebrow and to have him amusedly question her with that tone of his that annoys her so much. he likes her pretty laughter and the mischief that twinkles in her eyes and hates her pretty laughter and the mischief that twinkles in her eyes. he wants to cast the tickling charm on her just to hear her shocked laughter and to face the brunt of her prickly attitude afterwards. its all very lovesick and obsessive and they’re annoying freaks for the rest of hogwarts castle, because how are they not fucking already???????

let us pray that they get their shit together soon. there are many bets placed already .

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the dumbass but also very smart, reckless but somehow formulates plans from a to z the moment things go terribly wrong, favorite colour is pink but her patronus is a crow energy of my dr self is quite difficult to write, but here’s to hoping that this introduction was nice enough. i got inspired and wanted to share a bit about it hahah. i’ve been focusing a lot on my other hogwarts reality on this tumblr but i can never forget this reality. i’m genuinely unhinged here. its very fun. i’ll be signing off now…………… BYE

[baphometsss]

I really think that the draw to Solas for me was in his loneliness and the eccentricity solitude fosters. He says himself that he has basically no friends who are not spirits. In Veilguard this is only reinforced when he says it took him centuries to build a rapport with members of the rebellion. Sometimes it just hits me how lonely he was.

I also think it's interesting that, if the Inquisitor romances Blackwall, Solas tells him that he's glad he's found some happiness despite everything. And when Blackwall asks him if he has found someone, Solas says 'no, I find my peace elsewhere'... he's really not all that romantically inclined. One of the reasons I hate most solavellan fic is that people tend to write him as this super experienced fuckboy when the text tells us over and over again that he doesn't form bonds with living people very easily. I get that some people find the idea of being with someone who has thousands of years of experience sexy, but the text tells us repeatedly that he isn't especially invested in relationships with non-spirits, who are non-sexual, so he probably isn't as experienced as people think. I won't get into it too much bc I've already spoken about it, but he never properly learned to bond as a person and not as a spirit. So prior to DAI, he simply doesn't, and we can infer--especially given that he's described as never having been in love before--that he hasn't pursued romance a great deal in his life.

This is probably fed by my own bullshit (it's definitely fed by my own bullshit), but I think I had a hard time figuring out how to romance him bc they would only allow you to romance him with a female elf due to time constraints. This is despite him saying repeatedly that he loves Lavellan's spirit. When you're trans or nonbinary, it's hard to explain how exciting that is; to have characters who say explicitly that they do not define others by their bodies. It's very cool on its own, but for nb players in particular it's especially important. If you struggle with how you're perceived physically, it's nice to be able to make a character who is loved for who they actually are and not for what they look like. To have someone who sees them for who they are and not for what others want them to be. It's something people like me crave and I think this is why I'm so pro-queer Solas, pro-Solas doesn't give a shit about how on fleek your Lavellan's eyebrows are, etc. The physical doesn't factor in to why he loves. He simply loves others for their character, and although he often lets his first impressions colour his views of entire people, he is still willing to listen and learn if you give him a chance to be Wisdom and not Pride. We literally see him begin to question his own convictions re: the Dalish during the balcony scene. Contrary to popular fandom belief, he actually admits to being wrong all the time.

Idk man I just really like having a Lavellan that is an outsider all their life and isn't understood even by their own Clan, only to find her kindred spirit in Fen'harel, the adversary of her people. I'm obsessed with the fact that Solas fell in love for the first time with a mortal, who exists because of his mistake, who he loves enough to throw away his plans and only doesn't follow through because of his guilt. I need to write more fic jsdkdfhkjsg