#he’d win every ribbon in the world

[pangur-and-grim]

Belphie looks so handsome today

[harryspet]

lonely little lamb | r. cameron

[warnings] dark!stepbrother!rafe x stepsister!reader, daddy!rafe x little!reader, dd/lg dynamic, mentions of violence/blood, somnophilia, stalker!rafe, DUBCON, emotional/mental manipulation, little editing, READ AT YOUR OWN RISK 18+

A/N: happy OBX4! This was written before the new season :) Dividers by @/ghoulbloggerrr

In which Rafe knows your secret and just how perfect you'd be together.

word count: 7.2k

rafe cameron masterlist

Rafe didn’t catch on immediately.  At first, he just thought you were strange, his expectations already tainted by what he'd assumed about you. He’d been prepared for his stepmother’s daughter to be a brat, and on the surface, you fit that mold perfectly. But there was something off about the way you acted around him. You never played innocent, never tried to charm him or win him over like you did with everyone else. You gave him sharp glances at the dinner table when he talked back to Ward and even angrier stares when he disrespected your mother. You never hung around after dinner, always rushing to go back to your room, and “call your friends from back home”. Of course, Rafe listened at your door often and he never heard you making any calls. Having grown up in the house, he felt entitled to know what was happening within its walls.

Your behavior puzzled Rafe to the point of obsession. He woke up every morning to check if your car was still in the driveway and easily memorized your schedule. On Tuesdays and Thursdays, you attended classes in the morning at the local community college. On the other days of the week you sat through your online classes. You never ate too early, always going for a late breakfast that usually consisted of avocado toast, a bowl of fruit, and you always came down to refill your “sippy cup”. That’s what Rafe had dubbed it. It was clear, decorated with a stencil design of a baby lamb and had a flip-up spout for easy drinking. You didn’t go many places without it. 

It was the small things that fascinated him. The comfort items you clung to, the simple routines that made your life feel organized and secure. You usually took a bubble bath about thirty minutes after dinner, and when you forgot to lock your door, Rafe would slip into your room, drawn by the intimacy of your private world.

He picked up items around your room, like the frame you kept beside your bed. It held a photo of you and your mom: you in your old high school cheerleading uniform, hair pinned back in pigtails, while your mom smiled widely beside you. Despite her cheerful expression, your eyes in the picture looked wistful and lonely. Rafe couldn’t help but imagine you now, with adult curves and eager eyes, wearing that outfit. The thought stirred something in him, making him hard, and he had to tuck himself away, cursing under his breath. At least if you walked in, he wouldn’t be caught in the act.

The more he learned about you, the harder it was to quiet these thoughts. He had always found you pretty, but now his body and mind were becoming obsessed with you. He made a habit of collecting a pair of your panties from the hamper before leaving. He needed them for later, for the release that he craved, driven mad by the scent of you.

The sound of soft, melodic music flowed into your bedroom from behind the bathroom door. Sometimes it was girly pop songs, other times classical, but more often than not, it had the gentle, soothing quality of nursery music. Your bed was always neatly made, draped in a floral quilt, and you kept the same stuffed animals on top, meticulously placed. A small chesnut brown teddy bear, white bunny, and a tiny stuffed lamb. Each one had their own white ribbon wrapped around its neck, tied into a bow. 

One time he caught a glimpse of your nighttime skin care routine. You removed the light makeup you always wore and used about ten different products that Rafe didn’t recognize, nor could he guess their use. The last layer was always a light layer of lip balm and Rafe always leaned a bit closer when your puckered your lips in the mirror. His mind easily wandered to idea of your lips around him. 

You wouldn’t look so lonely, little lamb, if you just let me in. 

He had his suspicions about the secret, kinky things you were into. There had to be a reason you spent so much time by yourself. He didn’t get the answers he was looking for until one night when you’d left your laptop, unlocked on your desk. He took the opportunity to program his fingerprint into it too, just in case he needed to snoop again. 

He combed through your social media, public and private, and started checking your messages daily, keeping track of who you talked to, what you were up to. Your public social media was perfect. A mix of selfies with soft lighting, photos of cute coffee shops, and other things you deemed as your “aesthetic”. 

It was your camera roll that finally gave Rafe the answers he had been searching for. One folder, marked with a delicate pink heart, caught his attention immediately. Inside were photos of you, taken in front of your floor-length mirror. Each picture was eerily similar, the same vacant, wide-eyed expression on your face, as though you were lost in some faraway place.

You wore pajamas he’d never seen before, soft and childlike. Sometimes it was pastel-colored footie pajamas, other times it was nightgowns in soft shades of pink, lavender, or baby blue. In a few, you were bundled up in fuzzy socks or slippers with floppy bunny ears. Your hair was always styled with bows, either pink or white. There was a strange innocence in these details, one that clashed with the tension building inside Rafe as he scrolled through the images.

Sometimes you were biting down on your nails, others your thumb rested in your mouth, but most of the time you were gripping one of your stuffed animals tight to your chest. 

You looked...adorable. But in a way that made Rafe’s pulse quicken with something darker. The softness, the vulnerability you displayed in those photos, fed his obsession.

Another folder marked with a unicorn emoji held more photos that you’d saved. He recognized some of the characters from children’s TV shows he remembered Wheezie watching. Others were pictures from Disney movies, and Rafe quickly realized you had a special preference for the princesses. You seemed drawn to Cinderalla, Belle, and Snow White. It offered a glimpse into your mind, into your fantasies, how you were drawn to things with an air of purity and sweetness. 

Rafe’s heart slowed when a message popped up from someone named Mr. Hayes. Been thinking about you all day, sweetheart. The message said. A moment later, another one came. How was ur bath? 

Rafe opened the text thread and began to scroll. Each word that he read made his blood boil. There were too many messages for him to read. You’d sent him photos of yourself, let him call you pet names, and you’d even gone so far as calling him… Daddy. He’d never sent you a photo but that didn’t seem to matter. You were willing to share the details of your life with him. 

Rafe’s vision blurred with rage. Daddy. This virtual fantasy, a stranger who you didn’t even know, did not deserve your affection. He decided then you were his, whether you knew it or not. 

Rafe decided then to also make it a habit to check your messages. 

Several weeks later, you’d finally convinced Mr. Hayes to meet you in person. Rafe couldn’t let that happen. As your stepbrother and your protector, it would be wrong of him to let some stranger hurt you. Besides, he’d become obsessed to the point where now he was dying to know exactly who this man was. 

You didnd’t know any better, but he did. 

“Hey,” Rafe spoke to you the afternoon before your secret rendevouz, interrupting your fruit cutting, “My Dad just texted. Him and your Mom aren’t going to make it back tonight. There flight keeps getting delayed so they’re going to stay the rest of the weekend.”

“Oh, okay,” You replied simply, returning back to your task again. 

“Wheezie’s sleeping at a friends and I’m probably going to a party at Kelce’s,” You gave him a look, as if it was strange to be conversating with him alone without the presence of the rest of their blended family, “...Do you want to come? It’ll be fun.”

You shook your head, “No, thank you. I’ll just stay in.”

Rafe leaned on the marble countertop, staring across the kitchen island at you, “I don’t think I’ve seen you go out one time since you moved in.” 

Rafe’s sudden interest in your habits had become more noticeable lately, but you figured it was nothing, just him being Rafe, always lurking in the background, watching everyone, everything. Your mother had warned you that she thought something was off about him and living with him over the past nine months had sealed the fact that you didn’t trust him. 

You didn’t trust many people at all, actually, never having had a stable home life. Your mother had always had money, or at least latched on to men who had money, but those men came and went. Even your mother wasn’t someone you could count on. She’d uprooted your life more than once, moving you across states just to be with a man who could give her the lifestyle she believed she deserved.

Mr. Hayes had offered you comfort in this transitional time. You had no one to confide your secret in accept for the communities you found online. It made you anxious to even think about finding a partner one day and having to explain this side of you. Friends on the internet wouldn’t judge you.

But online, the stakes felt lower. The people you spoke with, people like Mr. Hayes, didn’t judge. The risk of being truly seen, and rejected, was something you couldn’t handle. Not yet.

You paused what you were doing, knife hovering over a piece of strawberry, “You really want to spend the night alone. On a Friday night?” 

Rafe sauntered around the kitchen island, his eyes fixed on you in a way that made a shiver run down your spine. He knew he was handsome. With his short blonde hair and blue eyes that always had a raging storm behind them. His gold ring and his gold watch. Most important of all, he knew he intimidated you, his size being enough to make you feel smaller than you actually were. 

“I have to study,” You spoke curtly, trying to cut off the line of questioning you sensed was coming. You moved to keep cutting up your fruit but you paused again when Rafe reached out to grab a piece from the cutting board. You looked up at him as he popped the piece of strawberry into his mouth. 

Your lips parted in shock and Rafe’s lips pulled into a smirk, as if he was thriving on that power, the uncpoken tension in the air. The way he could make your heart race in that mix of fear and something else he knew you’d never admit. 

“Oh yeah?” Rafe placed a hand on the counter, “You have all weekend to study. C’mon, have some fun, princess.”

You took in a breath at the sound of the pet name. He hadn’t ever called you that before and for a moment it looked like he was seeing right through you. 

“I-” Quickly, you turned your head away, refocusing on the task, as your cheeks heated with embarrassment, “I’m okay, thanks.”

“It wouldn’t kill you to come out,” Rafe continued, his voice smooth, almost coaxing, “You got secret plans or something?”

“No,” You said quickly, “I told you, I’m studying.”

Rafe let out a dry chuckle, no real amusement behind it, “You sure you’re not just hiding?”

“It’s not your business,” You snapped finally, your tone icy, “And I… I don’t have to explain myself to you, Rafe. You don’t even know me.”

“I know you, princess,” You dropped the knife, your heart beating too fast, and you quickly picked up your pieces of fruit and placed them in your bowl. Rafe leaned closer, watching your every move, and the intensity of his gaze was starting to unravel you, “You’re so jumpy. It’s just me. No need to be scared.”

“I’m not scared,” You muttered but your fingers trembled as you grabbed ahold of your bowl of fresh fruit and your lamb cup. 

“Could’ve fooled me,” Rafe took another step closer and you backed away from the counter.

“Stop it,” Your frustration flared, unsure of why exactly Rafe was trying to stir you up. Your lips pressed together and you tried to stop your reaction, but with him towevering over you, invading your space, you felt effectively suffocated. It wasn’t until your back was pressed into the stainless steal fridge, your bowl the only thing protecting you from being pushed against Rafe, that you actually flinched. 

“Hey,” Rafe lifted on arm, casually bracing his hand on top of the fridge as he looked down at you, “What’s wrong, Y/N?”

You swallowed hard. His voice was deceptively gentle, “Rafe–”

“I’m not trying to scare you, I promise,” Something flickered in his eyes, something you didn’t recognize, and for a moment, you questioned if you’d read this entire situation correctly, “I know how fragile you are. How scary the world can seem. I’m offering …you know …because I’d be there to protect you. I wouldn’t let anything happen to you.”

You blinked up at him. Surprisingly, there wasn’t even a hint of him trying to talk down to you. Rafe Cameon almost sounded caring. “You don’t need to be so on guard all the time,” Rafe continued. 

“I just …” You couldn’t stop the way your voice softened, “I like keeping to myself. It’s not that I don’t want to be around people. I just don’t …fit in here.”

Rafe nodded, his expression understanding, and it was the first time you looked at one another as real people, “I get it. You’re not like the other girls around here. You’re smarter, quieter … softer. You can trust me though, yeah? You don’t gotta hide from me.”

For a moment, everything felt like it would be okay. Maybe Rafe had managed to see you and was willing to understand you, unlike anyone else you had met on this island. It all felt real until you focused more on his eyes. Your expression had softened, melted from frustration to wide-eyed curiosity, and that had caused a shift in his eyes. You saw that flicker of darkness that you’d seen before. 

“I can look after you, ya’ know?” He said, voice dripping to a lower tone, “Help you. You don’t need to worry too much.”

Before you could respond, his other arm lifted, and you felt his fingers graze your cheek, the touch startlingly intimate. 

“What are you doing?”

“C’mon,” Rafe’s jaw tightened, the mask he was wearing beginning to slip, “Don’t be like that, princess.” 

“Stop,” You managed to say, “Stay away from me.”

In just a few hours, you’d finally get to meet Mr. Hayes. None of Rafe’s games would matter then. When you went silent, you watched as Rafe’s hand balled into a fist and he turned his body away. 

“Suit yourself,” He’d said coldly, his void devoid of any of the warmth that was there before.  

You stared down at your bowl of fruit dumbfounded for a moment too long. Princess. How did Rafe know how desperately you wanted someone to call you that?

Rafe stayed at Kelce’s party until eleven He finished his last pabst blue ribbon, said goodbye to only a handful of his friends, before he made his way to his truck. Knowing they would find it strange for him to leave so early, he mad the excuse that he was going to meet up with a girl at the Island Club. 

In reality, Rafe was headed twenty minutes away, towards Winward Beach. Mr. Hayes wanted to meet you at midnight. One of the many red flags Rafe assumed you had ignored. You probably thought it was romantic, meeting at a secluded beach in the middle of the night. Like the two of you were fucking Romeo and Juliet. 

Stupid, Rafe thought bitterly, gripping the steering wheel tightly. 

Rafe parked his car in the small parking lot that sat near the boardwalk, turning off all of his lights, and waited for the creep to show up first. Rafe thought for a moment that neither of you might show when midnight started to approach. Maybe you’d wisened up, listened to your gut instinct that told you something wasn’t right. He didn’t believe it for long, you were too trusting. Too soft. 

When a tan sedan that Rafe didn’t recognize pulled up in a parking spot close to the walkway, Rafe knew who it was. In the dark and without any streetlights, he only saw a dark figure carrying a backpack make his way towards the beachwalk. He waited until the figure made it halfway before he climbed out of his truck. 

The moon was high, casting a white glow over the empty landscape. 

Anger simmered beneath Rafe’s skin as he watched the man from a safe distance. He moved with a nervous energy, often glancing over his shoulder as if he was expecting to see someone. Wooden planks creaked softly under his weight but Mr. Hayes didn’t notice, not until he’d made it to the beach, and Rafe appeared behind him. 

The man turned his head, eyes wide with confusion. For a moment, this was all a coincidence. Rafe was a nobody, just a stranger taking a walk on the beach, until Rafe’s lips pulled into a smile, “Not what you were expecting?”

“Who the hell are you?”

Mr. Hayes was certainly not what Rafe was expecting. A completely unremarkable middle-aged man with streaks of gray in his thinning brown hair, pale skin, lightly freckled and a slight paunch that rested over the waistband of his dreams. A complete creep. Someone completely undeserving of even being looked at by you. 

Anger wasn’t a strong enough word to describe what Rafe was feeling, “You’re Mr. Hayes?”

“What?” Up close, Rafe could see the way the man's eyes started to dart around. He took another step further and the man stumbled back in the thick sand, “I-I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’m just–”

“You’re just a coward?” Rafe finished, his tone mocking, “I mean, I understand now why you hid your face.”

“I don’t know what you’re–”

Rafe interrupted again, snarling, his hand lashing out to grab the front of the man’s shirt. He yanked him forward and the man’s eyes went wild with panic, “Meeting up with an innocent girl in the middle of the night? Sneaking around like a creep? What’s in that fucking bag?”

“Nothing!” Mr. Hayes struggled. Rafe couldn’t believe how weak the man was. Strong enough to overpower you, maybe, but weak. As soon as the though of this man pinning you down in the sand crossed his mind, Rafe’s eyes went wild, “Nothing, I’m sorry!”

Rafe shoved him hard and the man stumbled backwards into the sand. He towered over the man, his shadow casting long across the beach. Waves crashed loudly in the background but Rafe’s voice boomed over the sound, “I don’t think you are! You probably thought you could just take what you wanted, huh? Fucking answer me!”

The man scrambled backwards, hands digging into the sand, backward hanging awkwardly from his shoulder. Why didn’t he just drop it …if he wasn’t hiding anything, he would let it go, “I wasn’t — I didn’t mean, I didn’t know!”

“You didn’t know what? That she was half your age? That she was too good for you?” Rafe’s lip curled in disgust. He knelt down, his face inches from Mr. Hayes’s as his voice dropped to a whisper, “She’s not yours. She never will be.”

“Okay,” He nodded, holding out a hand as if to put distance between them, “I just wanted to meet her. I know I lied. I’m sorry. I won’t …it won’t happen again. Believe me, it won’t happen again.”

Rafe’s head cocked to the side as he looked down at the trembling man. Without another word, he grabbed for the backpack. The man resisted, of course, a series of “Wait, wait, wait,” leaves his lips. Rafe doesn’t leave space to argue because he pushed his palm into the man’s chest, pinning him down, before he lets his fist connect with the side of the man’s face. 

The man gasps, whimpers, as he curls into a ball on the sand, “F-Fuck!” The creep moans. Rafe pulls away the bag, ripping open the zipper, and dumping the contents onto the sand.

A cheap blanket, a cheap bottle of wine, and then Rafe’s eye catches on the condoms and then then the thick, coiled string of rope. Without another thought, Rafe was tackling the man, grabbing a hold of his collar, pulling him up and slamming his head into the ground over and over again. Rafe didn’t stop. He slammed his fist into the man’s face harder and harder. Each blow left a sickening crack echoing in the air. 

Crack. Groan of pain. Crack. Whimper, “You though you could hurt her? Touch what’s not yours? Brutalize her?” Rafe snarled, voice low and vicious. When the man finally went unconscious, his body limp, face bloody and unrecognizable, “Fuck you!”

Rafe’s chest heaved as he stared down at his work. Nothing about the blood and broken flesh bothered him. He looked down at his hand which were covered in the man’s blood and only felt satisfied. 

He’d protected you. His pulse spiked even more as he heard footsteps on the boardwalk. You’d shown up. Rafe watched you kick off flip flops and run towards them. No matter how dark it was, you were easily visible in the baby pink dress you’d chosen. The contrast between you and the violent seen before you sente a surge of protectiveness through him. He stood from where he knelt in the sand and quickly crossed the distance towards you. 

You slowed as you took in the scene before you, “Rafe?” you whispered, “Rafe, what’s … that’s not …oh my god.”

Rafe grabbed you by your arms, turning your shaking body away. It was a gruesome mess, nothing you should have to see, “He’s dead,” You spoke with wide, terrified eyes, “Wh-Why? You killed him.”

“He’s not dead,” Rafe said quickly, “He’s still breathing … I had to stop him.”

You didn’t listen, you turned your head and saw the unnatural position the man laid in, “Rafe, he’s dead!”

Rafe shook you slightly, “He’s not. I promise.”

“What did you do?” You cried, tears beginning to stream down your cheek. 

“Hey, hey, it’s okay,” He tried to assure you, “I had not. He was going to hurt you, Y/N. Look, he brought …he brought all that shit with him. There was rope in his bag, condoms … I did this for you!”

You shook your head, trying to pull away from Rafe’s bloody hands, “You beat him?” Your voice broke under the weight of your fear, “He’s not moving. You can’t …why would you–”

Rafe’s heart twisted in his chest. He wasn’t the one you were supposed to be afraid of, “He deserved it,” Rafe said, voice quiet and serious, “C’mon, we need to get out of here.”

Rafe tried to pull you but you resisted. Easily, he lifted you into his arms, bloody hands staining your skin and now your dress, “We have to call someone!” You shouted at him, hiccuping through your tears, “Rafe, put me down!”

Rafe ignored you, strides long and steady, carrying you back towards the beachwalk. It was better for Mr. Hayes if the police weren’t involved. Undoubtely, a man like that had a record. Rafe was doing him a favor by only leaving him bloody on the beach. 

In his arms, you were powerless. Your mind was reeling. Even in his bloody state, you knew the man there was not who Mr. Hayes had described himself as. Rafe could be right about all of this but it still felt wrong. 

In Rafe’s truck, you sat curled up against the door, your knees pulled to your chest. A dark and empty road stretched before you, yacht rock played at a low volume in the background, and Rafe’s heavy breathing was louder than any of your thoughts. 

Every few minutes, you stole a glance at him. The tension had yet to leave his body, though he was coming down from the adrenaline. His breathing was heavy but deliberate, as if he was attempting to calm himself, “I didn’t want you to see that, you know that, right?” Rafe said suddenly, breaking through the heavy silence, “Like …I know that was fucked up. You believe me, right? About what I said?”

Your throat tightened so much that your words came out strangled, “I don’t know … what to believe.”

“He was going to hurt you. If I hadn’t stepped in — If I-I hadn’t acted proactively, he would’ve hurt you. He would be hurting you right now. You know that, right?” The brutality of Mr. Hayes’s alleged actions began to cloud Rafe’s actions. He said it over and over. You couldn’t help that now you were imagining it. Maybe this was the only way to rationalize the situation. Maybe you had to believe him.

You saw the items in the sand. You saw that he’d lied about his age, about his appearance, and his intentions. He was the monster. That was the better version. Everything was a lot less wrong that way. 

“Y/N,” Rafe spoke again, his deep voice rattling your ear drums, “You know that.”

You finally nodded, “Okay,” You agreed. 

“Good,” Rafe seemed to let out a breath of relief. Hands still tight on the steering wheel, he tilted his head back, “He wasn’t some innocent guy. I swear that to you. Like I wouldn’t lie about that shit.”

You nodded until your head started to hurt. 

“I did this for you,” Rafe said, “I’m so fucking glad you’re safe now. That’s what matters.”

“Thank you,” You whispered as you wiped the wetness from your cheeks. Your eyes caught on the dried blood that wrapped around in a band on your arm, “...Rafe?”

“Yeah, baby?” Rafe voice turned gentler as he glanced over at you.

“Did you …look at my messages?”

Rafe’s demeanor grew casual, like the worst of his anxieties had passed, “I did what I had to do,” He said, like it was a simple explanation. He didn’t seem concerned at his obvious breach of privacy. Didn’t seem to understand that the pit in your stomach was deepening. 

“Then you…”

“Then I know,” He finished and you watched a sinister smile pull at his lips, “Aren’t you relieved? I know and I’m not judging you. I’ve been wanting to figure you out since I met you. And now there’s no secrets between us.”

“Rafe…” You began, your voice trembling as you tried to find the right words, “How could you?”

“I had to,” He insisted, “If I hadn’t, where would you be now? What if he had taken you? Killed you? What would that do to your mom?”

Your brows furrowed, trying to process his words, and the vile images that left in your mind, “The stuff on my phone is …private. It’s private for a reason. I don’t understand.”

“I understand more than you think,” He countered, offering you a patronizing tone, “I know what you want, what you need. I’m happy to give you that. And I’d do a hell of better job than that waste of life on the beach.”

You connected the dots the moment those words left his lips. He wanted to be what Mr. Hayes had been to you. A caretaker. Someone to nurture your most innocent idea. 

“Rafe … Ward is married to my mom,” The most logical reason that was a crazy idea came to your mind quickly. 

“So?” He replied dismissevly. 

“You’re my stepbrother,” Not even that registered with him, “I don’t think …it’s not what I want.”

“You don’t know what you want,” Rafe reached across the console, gently but firmly grabbing ahold of your hand. You stared back at him with wide eyes, your fear obvious especially when he took his eyes off the road, “You’re confused. You were willing to trust a man on the internet when the perfect person to take care of you is right here with you. No one else. Me.”

Feeling trapped, your next thought became calming him down. For fear of him crashing the car or never loosening his grip, you forced your expression to soften, “I know you can protect me,” You nodded your head, “And thank you for that …I shouldn’t have done what I did. It was stupid. I’m …I’m glad you care about me like that.”

Rafe squeezed your hand gently, “Yeah?”

“It’s just a lot to take in. I had no idea …I just thought you were usually annoyed with me,” You said and rafe seemed to exhale, his shoulders loosening, “I trust you, it’s just a lot to process right now.”

“I get it,” Rafe let go of your hand, but gave you no time to feel relieved, because next he placed his strong, large hand on your thigh, “I think we’re good for each other. I just have to show you, Y/N.”

Tannyhill was empty except the two of you. Your heart raced as Rafe led you upstairs to your room, hand firmly on the small of your back. When the door to the bedroom softly clicked behind you, closing the two of you in, you felt like throwing up. 

You started to imagine Rafe wandering around, looking through all your things, all without your permission. He felt out of place there in your sanctuary but it was clear he’d made himself comfortable a long time a go. He led you over to the edge of your bed, and shakily, you sat down. He kneeled down in front of you, a position quite to vulnerable and intimate for you. 

“Are you hurt anywhere?” He asked, voice deep in concerning. Lifting one of your heels from the ground, he looked closely at your legs, as if checking for an injury. 

You shook your head, know the most your body had been through tonight had been at his hands, “I’m okay,” You spoke, your voice small. 

Rafe looked up at you, “It’s okay if you’re not, yeah?” Rafe said, voice softening as his hand slid further up your leg. When you pulled your leg back, his grip remained firm, possessive, “Everyone’s gone. I’m asking you to lean on me, princess.”

With no hint of asking for permission, you stared back at your stepbrother. You couldn’t help but feel as if the timing of tonight had worked out eerily in his favor. Everyone in your family was gone for the night and there was no Mr. Hayes to text about your feelings. 

“I’m going to run the bath for you,” Rafe decided, lips parted as if he was deep in thought, “Yeah, stay right here.”

“I’m fine, I can do it–” You began as Rafe made his way towards your bathroom.

He held out a finger and you stopped your movements quickly, frozen by the intensity in his gaze, “Stay.” 

He didn’t have to raise his voice for you to feel the threat in his tone. Somehow, this version of him was scarier than the one that relentlessly struck a man until he was unrecognizable. 

The sound of running water filled the room. Closing your eyes, controlling your breathing, the sound brought you to your routine. That sound of running water was always soothing to you. It was usually how your mind was able to slip into that comforting place on the other side of your mind. Things were lighter there, a place where you had no cares at all, and you enjoyed the things that you’d normally be embarrassed by. You pressed your feet into your fuzzy white carpet, your favorite place to listen to music and do one of your coloring books. You were almost there, the water having tricked you into falling deeper, until you caught a glimpse of Rafe standing behind the door, washing blood away in the sink. 

You tightened your eyes even more, shaking your head. This was certainly not the time to let down your guard. 

He appeared moments later, drying his hands with one of your pink washcloths, “Come on, let’s get you ready,” He said, his head tilted towards the bathroom, his voice deceptively warm. 

Your feet betrayed you and you hesitantly crossed the room. Another door between you and your life before you knew Rafe felt this way. When it closed shut, you realized you’d sealed your fate. How could it be a mistake when this was the place in life where you felt safest? To accept something was wrong meant accepting that you had nowhere left to feel warm, innocent, or child-like. 

Fingers caressed your skin, lifting the hem of your dress, gently raising your arms, until you were standing in your underwear. You hadn’t realized you’d started crying again and it didn’t register how badly your lips were trembling until Rafe’s thumb caressed your bottom lip, “You’re okay,” He assured you, “You’re beautiful, you know that?”

You’d wanted this desperately, for someone to see you and not want to run away. You wanted someone to take care of you, someone devoted to nurturing you. Your eyes locked on Rafe’s and you felt his palm against your bottom, fingers traveling beneath the fabric of your panties. You kept your head tilted up as he leaned down, pressing lips that were softer than could’ve ever imagined, against your neck. 

You melted against him. 

Vanilla and strawberry swirled in the air, strong but gentle hands caressed you, and your tears started to feel more like a release than a burden. He kissed the spot on your throat that had gone sore from all tears. 

“I’m gonna take care of you,” He whispered and you felt it everywhere. 

After removing your bra and panties, he helped you into the bath. Quickly, the blood and tears seemed to leave your skin, as if you’d imagined them. He touched you in a way that more natural, human, than expected. With deliberate care, he moved his hands over you, an act that felt practiced. 

Everything dissolved there in the warm bath, the heaviness of the entire night. Bubbles clung to your skin, and your fingers moved lazily over the surface of the water. Rafe washing you, moving a soapy washcloth over your skin, should’ve felt strange but were left in that hazy place where things were simple. 

“This is how things are going to be,” You heard him say, “We’ll make it work, okay? You get to be yourself and I’m the one who takes care of you now. I’m your Daddy.”

You’d never said that word out loud. Daddy. It was a faraway concept, a dream …just like the cloud you were floating in right now. You hugged yourself, mind wandering to that soft bed with all of your plushies. 

“Say it, princess,” you turned your head to him, mouth parted, eyes curious. 

“Say what?” You asked in a whisper, an innocent haze in your eyes. 

He smiled. You had done something right. You gave him a soft smile too. He leaned closer, “Say ‘Daddy’,” He commanded softly, “Please, princess.”

Part of you hesitated, knowing you were giving away something precious. The other part wanted to please him, after all, he’d brought you this sense of peace. And maybe the sooner you made him happy, the sooner he’d tuck you into your warm bed, and let this long day finally end. 

“Daddy,” You tested out the word on your tongue and though it sounded fragile, his eyes seemed to light up, “...since you said please.”

Nothing could smoulder that spark of satisfaction in his eyes. The look made your heart flutter, a sharp contrast from before when it felt like exploding. 

“You’re perfect, you know that?” Your cheeks warmed and you turned your face to hide from him. You couldn’t take it when he looked at you like that. That look made it feel like everything was okay.

“I made a mistake,” Your voice came out in a whine. Rafe ran the warm cloth across your back, a reminder of that peaceful bubble he’d created around you. 

He shushed you, “You didn’t,” He assured you, “You’re a good person, a good girl. I wouldn’t have let anything happen to you.”

His words made you sink deeper. The soft strokes of the warm washcloth, the vanilla-scent against your skin, and the pressure against your most sensitive areas. You felt the tension in your body melt away further. 

Slowly, gripping your knees to your chest, you turned your face back towards him, “You can’t tell anybody, Rafe,” You whispered. 

“Never,” He said, leaning closer, “Pinky swear?”

Rafe reached his other hand toward you, his pinky finger extended in front of you, moving like he was carefully dismantling some fragile, like a bomb. You stared for a brief movement, surprised and warmed by the gesture. You had no idea Rafe was capable of being so gentle. You unwrapped yourself a little bit, bring your closest pinky towards his hand. Your smaller finger wrapped around his and you were tethered together. 

“There, I promise I won’t tell anyone, princess,” He looked at you deeply, “Okay?”

Hesitantly, you nodded, your hand falling gently back into the water,  “Let’s get you out of here before you wrinkle up,” He decided and you watched him cross the room to grab your towel hanging from the back of the bathroom door. He walked back with a quiet confidence and his grip was completely sure, deliberate, as he helped you from the tub, “I’ve got ya’.”

He’d wrapped one arm underneath your shoulders and the other beneath your knees, lifting you gently. You imagined pressing yourself into him but a towel soon separated you. You shivered, and instinctually, you wanted to dry yourself but Rafe took responsibility of that as well. He was so close, so protective. It was awkward at first, being able to take care of that mundane task but not having to. You leaned into it, letting your body be soothed by the ritual. 

You kept sinking. 

“Arms up,” He’d said after bringing you back to your bedroom. He chose an oversized purple t-shirt, designed with small pictures of cartoon pandas. For your underwear, he chose a light blue pair decorated with rainbows. Your eyelids grew heavy and after your first yawn, Rafe lifted you onto the side of your bed, “There you go. All set.”

You crawled into your cocoon further, settling underneat your quilt. You watched Rafe as you settled there, as he moved across the room. Your sleepy eyes widened for a moment, realizing his shirt was gone and that he was fiddling with the zipper of his pants. 

It was a threshold you’d never expected to reach, with Rafe or anyone else. The lights flicked off and the bed dipped beside you, your nerves sparked. You grabbed ahold of your lamb stuffed animal, letting that bring you a familiar comfort. Rafe nestled closer to you, his body at ease, relaxed as he wrapped an arm around you. 

You did your best to do the same, trying to lean into that same vulnerability you felt when he was bathing you. Warm skin against yours, strong hands on your waist, warm breath against your ear, it was overwhelming, “I-Is this okay?” You asked, breaking the silence. 

Looking for reassurance, you turned your head until your noses were almost pressed together. 

“Yeah,” Rafe spoke low and smooth, “You okay?”

You nodded quickly, nervously, “I’m okay.”

Rafe pressed a kiss to your forehead and you took a deep breath, letting the feeling sooth your anxiety, “I’ve got you,”  Rafe’s fingers ran down your arm then to your waist. He held you there, feeling your flesh there, squeezing, “Daddy’s got you, baby.”

He touched you in new ways, gripped you hard in some places and softer in others. The kiss on your forehead turned into a kiss on your nose and then he placed soft lips against your cheek, “Relax,” He whispered in your ear, “I know you’re sleepy. I’ll do all the work.”

In your state of mind, his words felt like a riddle. What did he mean? You knew you liked his touch and that you wanted to sleep. Rafe knew more than you, clearly, maybe that’s what makes him a good Daddy. You should trust him. 

You closed your eyes as you let him press his face into your neck. He kissed you there, finding the most sensitive spot on your skin, and it made your lips part in a soft moan, “Call me Daddy,” He spoke against your skin, “Please, baby? Just say it and I’ll make you feel good.”

“Daddy,” You whispered back hesitantly and Rafe groaned, “D-Daddy.”

“Fuck,” Rafe cursed, grabbing a handful of your bottom, “That’s exactly what I want from you.”

You felt hardness pressing against your upper thigh and you gripped your lamb tighter. You leaned into sleep, letting Rafe move your body as he pleased, only moving your lips to whisper, “Daddy” in Rafe’s ear. He seemed please and you felt a warmness in your center that you wanted more of. 

Soon he was on top of you, your legs spread as he sat in between them. He rubbed you there. His rhythm was perfect, his accuracy impeccable, so much that you didn’t have to even move your hips to get the friction you needed. You panted and when you reached your peak, Rafe swallowed your moans, putting his mouth on your lips. 

It didn’t fully register to you when Rafe pushed your underwear aside and started to push inside of you. He was so gentle and you were so tired. He pulled your arms to the side, pressing his front against you, but you kept one hand wrapped around the arm of your stuffed animal, “Daddy,” You mumbled, “Daddy”

You winced when you felt all of him, and instinctively, you pushed at his heavy arms, “You’re okay,” He said, and his voice was louder to you than his heavy breathing or the sound of his skin hitting against yours, “You’re doing so good. Daddy’s almost done. You’re gonna make me cum so fast, Y/N. Shit.”

The satisfaction and pride in his words brought almost enough warmth to mask the pain of being stretched by him. You slowly grew used to the feeling but the feeling was so intense and you had so little energy to withstand it, to take all of him. 

“Daddy,” You mumbled, “Daddy, Daddy, Daddy…”

His thrust slowed but his weight kept you pinned there. He grabbed ahold of your chin and you blinked up at him with sleepy eyes. His mouth was parted, his eyes holding a darkness that you thought had gone away, “Jesus, baby.”

As he shifted to his side, all you could muster was to turn away, pulling your lamb close to your chest and allowing your eyes to flutter shut. Rafe nestled against you once more, his hands gripping your hips until your bottom was pressed firmly against him. You felt the warmth of his lips against your hair, and then his sleepy voice whispered, “Sweet dreams, princess.”

Reblog and comment if you enjoyed, would love to know your thoughts!!

[queensunshinee]

His favorite toy- Part 3 || Art Donaldson x reader

Word Count: 3.5k

(Part 1) (Part 2)

His favorit toy- Part 3:

Art regretted few things in his life. He regretted the number of times he ignored his grandmother's calls or told her he was in a hurry when, in reality, he didn’t have any special plans. It was rude and ungrateful toward a woman who genuinely loved and cared for him, something he couldn’t always confidently say about his parents. He regretted the fact that he lost to Patrick in the Juniors US Open final nearly a year ago, which changed the entire dynamic between them. More than the loss itself, Patrick won and claimed the ultimate prize- Tashi Duncan. Tashi Duncan, the talented, the perfect one. The one who was going to change the world of tennis as they knew it. And Patrick Zweig is fucking her. Art certainly regretted that. The tragic consequence of Patrick and Tashi’s relationship- Art was left alone. He didn’t realize how much of his life revolved around Patrick until their paths diverged. Patrick decided to be Patrick and try his luck as a pro; Art decided to go to college. And he thought that the fact he and Tashi were at the same college would give him a relative advantage, something to hold onto. Something stronger than winning a stupid tennis match. But not for Tashi Duncan. For her, a win is a win, and a loss is a loss, and they always come hand in hand. Tied up with a black ribbon, rubbing salt in his wounds. He hates losing. Being sidelined. He regretted every moment that led to the point where his best friend and the girl the entire universe revolved around, treated him like a charity case. Like he needed to be taken out for a walk before bed whenever Patrick came to visit, so he wouldn’t feel neglected. Fuck it. And fuck them.

Art regretted the day he met you. The time when he came late to the lecture, and you were sitting in the corner, relatively in the back. The first thing that stood out were your glasses, which complemented your delicate face, smiling at him with the shyest smile he’d probably ever encountered. He regretted the feeling that filled him and hasn’t left him since, the desire that you’d never smile at him like that again. He regretted the urge to tell you a joke, to see what you looked like when you laughed. To feel pride because he was the one who made you laugh. He wasn’t the funniest or most charismatic guy in the room—that was always Patrick. But you laughed. And he was right; your real smile, with teeth, was mesmerizing. He regretted how he acted with you. He wanted you to develop some character. Not to be a pushover, certainly not because of him. He loved the power he had and simultaneously hated it. He loved knowing exactly what you were thinking the moment you thought it. Everything seemed to be written on your face, like a superpower he had only with you. He’s a worse person for letting it spread like ivy on a building. So beautiful, but useless. Wrapping around him from all sides until he was choking.

He regretted not treating you the way one should treat a protected flower. To watch from the side and not pick. To watch from the side and not touch. To watch from the side and not ruin. He regretted it because, usually, his impulse was to touch, hurt, and destroy—and for some reason, only with you. Only because you smiled with your teeth and bought him coffee without him asking, because you remembered his order, because you let him use a free smoothie you were supposed to get during your shift, because you tried to teach him statistics in the sexiest way anyone has ever explained averages. Patrick always said that the most delicate and quiet girls are the sexiest, and Art always thought it was bullshit, because what’s sexy about silence? What’s sexy about calmness, and what’s sexy about insecurity? But then you came along. And he regretted that you got the chance to prove him wrong. And wrong again. And again.

And he’ll never tell you, but he woke up early and stared at you sleeping for the last ten minutes, maybe for the last hour, maybe he's been lying next to you for a month already, looking at your face. If you had woken up suddenly, you would have seen the regret smeared across his face like a badge of shame that would never give him peace. He couldn’t believe how many times he had stopped himself when he could have woken up like this, with you breathing deeply, clinging to his arm, completely carefree. The desire to let you keep sleeping turned into a need to touch you, to feel your face under his fingers. If he could, he would tuck you into his back pocket, tie you to a keychain, weave you into a necklace. And his hand gently brushed your cheek, part of him trying to wake you. To poke the bear. The bear that still doesn’t trust him. He knows his place now, he knows that trust is a complicated feeling, and that he hasn’t done anything to earn it. He knows he took and took and took, and even when he clearly saw you had nothing left to give, he knew he could still take more.

"Morning..." Your voice was hoarse from sleep as you blinked in his direction. He needed to get used to this. To learn new things about you. He didn’t think there were more things to learn. He was afraid to know more than necessary—more than what was needed to make the sex good. The sex had been good for a long time. He knew everything he needed for that. He knew your favorite position, knew where to kiss and where to bite, and where his tongue could do the work. He didn’t know that you rubbed your hand on your nose the second you woke up. He didn’t know what your voice sounded like before you had your first coffee. He didn’t know your eyes had a slightly different shade in the morning.

"Hey," his hand, which had been tracing odd shapes on your face, now gently tucked your hair behind your ear. "How do you feel?" he asked, trying to remember the last time he felt such an intense need to be gentle. The thought that you could break in his hands, like an irreplaceable porcelain vase, sent a shiver down his spine. How had he managed to suppress all of this until two days ago? How had he managed to push you into such a distant drawer? To believe that it was just sex. He had even imagined you with other men, sharing experiences with other people. Kissing someone else. Moaning someone else's name. He didn’t think anyone could say his name more beautifully than you did.

"I'm okay. Maybe I had a migraine? I thought I was coming down with something, but I probably exaggerated. I’m sorry you didn’t go home, I feel guilty." Your voice hadn’t fully steadied, but you looked at him with big doe eyes, and all he could do was smile.

"Don’t..." He lowered his head slightly on the awful bed you were sleeping on and looked at you at eye level. His nose brushed against yours in small movements as his hand settled on your waist. "Patrick and Tashi are here too. She has a match tomorrow, so I’ll get to see it." He said, seeing you nod, but something in your body language became tense. "I promised Patrick I’d have breakfast with him, is that okay?" he asked.

"You don’t need my permission to have breakfast with a friend, Art," you said, rolling your eyes, clearly unhappy with the question. In response, he chuckled and gave you a quick kiss on the lips, causing you to pull back almost reflexively. "I haven’t brushed my teeth, Donaldson, and I think we’ve slept for 24 hours."

"Are you implying I smell bad?" Art looked at you with amusement. "You have no idea how bad I smell," you declared, not breaking the playful gaze, as if issuing a new challenge. "So you don’t always smell like peaches? Disappointing. Makes me reconsider everything," he feigned surprise while standing up and quickly getting dressed. "I’ll see you later, Peaches? There's a party tonight, kind of a farewell thing for those still here and not planning to go home. Patrick will come too. It'll be fun," he stated, leaving you no choice as he walked out of the room before you could resist, like he knew you would.

'Wear the sexy dress.' -A- He didn’t wait long to send you that. . . . "So," Patrick looked smug as Art approached the cafeteria. "Anything you want to tell me?" he asked with a half-smile. "No, not exactly." Art sat down next to him with his tray, causing Patrick to roll his eyes. "Where did you sleep last night?" Patrick asked. "You slept at Tashi's," Art responded. "I know where I slept. Where did you sleep?" Patrick was starting to lose patience, not enjoying the fact that there was a whole part of Art's life he didn't know much about. "On a bed," Art said, taking the first sip of his coffee. "You're pretty pleased with yourself, huh? Tell me about the cheerleader, come on," Patrick laughed, unable to ignore the question lingering between them. "Cheerleader?" Art asked, raising an eyebrow.

"She knows nothing about tennis," Patrick stated. "Not everyone knows everything about tennis," Art shot back, looking at his best friend, who was so curious and yet so clueless. Something in Art knew that once Patrick saw you, he wouldn’t be able to let it go. He knew you were exactly what Patrick once wanted, before he met Tashi. And that wasn't why Art was interested in you. That wasn't why Art wanted to make you laugh and orbit around him. It was a nice bonus though. Patrick's curiosity and his need to be a part of everything were always a bonus. "What does she know?" Patrick asked, taking a bite of a sugary roll, managing to get sugar in his hair, which made Art reach out to wipe it off his cheek. Art just bit his lip for a moment and took another sip of coffee.

"You're evil," Patrick declared. He wanted details, and he wanted them now. "Let's just say all your theories about 'good girls' are right," Art said, unable to hold back when he saw Patrick's expression. He was gaping, unable to believe Art had what it took to get a girl like you. "What did she see in you?" Patrick asked. He didn’t mean it to sound mean, but he couldn't understand how someone who was embarrassed to look him in the eye during a tennis match could be with someone like Art. How could she even communicate with him? "I'm a catch," Art rolled his eyes. "A catch of diseases, maybe. I'm serious, Donaldson. Are you in a relationship with her? Should I start saving for the wedding?" he asked. He didn’t want the dry details of how they met. He didn’t want to know the whole history of their relationship. Patrick wanted to know if Art was fucking you. Art knew it, Patrick knew it. He wanted the sign he once gave Art about Tashi. He wanted to know if there was someone new he'd have to fight for Art's attention.

"She's a good friend," Art mumbled. He didn’t know how much he wanted to reveal you to Patrick. How much he wanted you in his best friend's head. Because he knew that if he exaggerated the details, if he told everything he could, Patrick would find a way to ruin it. Not out of malice. Out of pure selfishness. Out of the need to be number one in everyone's priorities. He'd find a way to take this thing Art had, that was just his, and destroy it. "A good friend you sometimes fuck," Patrick said, unable to hide his smile, causing Art to shake his head. "A good friend who's a good friend. She’ll be at the party tonight, so behave like a human," he said, giving Patrick a sharp look. One that didn’t leave room for jokes. "Maybe you should tell Tashi not to call her 'Stats Girl.' I don’t think she liked that," Patrick said in response, raising his hands in fake surrender. "She called her that?" Art looked horrified. "She's not a good cheerleader," Patrick mumbled, looking back at Art. He wasn’t afraid of the little challenge in this staring match. "She left in the middle of your match," he concluded. "Not everyone has to love tennis," Art replied, defensive. "True, but you love tennis," Patrick said, taking the last bite of the roll. Art didn’t wipe the sugar out of his hair this time. He didn’t care anymore. . . . I didn’t wear the dress Art told me to wear. Because, well, it’s Janet’s dress. I wore a different one, simpler but still revealing. Enough cleavage and thighs to define it as revealing, and to define me as someone who feels uncomfortable. At 9, Art still wasn’t in my room, and at 9:15, he texted me which building the party was in and said he was already there. That I should come. So casually. When I arrived, the place was surprisingly packed with people, considering most of the students were supposed to have already gone home. Someone passed by and burped, making me cringe and step away, trying to find Art among the crowd.

‘Where are you?’ –(Y/N)–

A few minutes passed, and he didn’t answer, so I found a corner free of people making out and stood close to the wall, scanning the room. “He’s with Tashi,” the half-familiar voice of one of Art’s friends sounded beside me. “Excuse me?” I mumbled, trying not to stare at the guy leaning against the wall, almost mirroring my movement. “He’s outside, talking to Tashi about her match tomorrow. You know, tennis,” he answered, and for once, I actually looked at him. His dark curls were the antithesis of Art Donaldson’s, but the smug smile, the one that knew secrets and wasn’t ready to share them with me, was almost identical. “Okay?” It was more of a question than an answer. I didn’t understand why he was telling me this. I didn’t understand the point of burdening me with this information.

“I asked him why we didn’t pick you up before the party, so you’d come with us too,” he spoke as if he were telling a bedtime story to a three-year-old, as if there was a moral to every sentence that came out of his mouth. As if I needed to listen and decode metaphors now, learning life anew from someone whose last name I didn’t even know. “Did he have an interesting answer?” I asked, not taking my eyes off him. “He said you two arranged to meet here,” Patrick replied. “Well, Pete,” we both knew I remembered his name, that I was trying to maintain some semblance of power even though the balance was currently against me, “he didn’t lie, if that’s what’s bothering you,” I rolled my eyes. And no, Art hadn’t said he’d pick me up, and we’d go to the party together, but I hadn’t even wanted to come. I’d have preferred to be in my dorm right now, working on my assignment or reading a book. I would have preferred not to see familiar but foreign faces, not to watch people making out in front of everyone and drinking themselves senseless.

“It’s Patrick,” he corrected me despite everything, “are you dating him?” he asked, his gaze fixed on my profile because I had stopped looking at him, trying to focus on everything around me instead. And I couldn’t say it was dating, because yesterday was the first time he suddenly decided I was important enough to call me 'girlfriend.' Important enough to treat me like a person and not like something that belonged to him, something he bought without spending much. “Why do you ask?” I answered with a question, because that was the only answer I had to offer. “Want something to drink?” he chuckled. Who chuckles these days? Why does he sound exactly like Art?! “No, I need to get up early tomorrow,” I replied. “One glass?” he insisted, closer to my ear now because the music was loud. “Okay,” I shrugged, not fully understanding the nature of this interaction or where Art was and why he told me to come to this stupid party if he had no intention of even saying hello.

Patrick came back with two red cups and handed me one. He tried to talk to me, but all I could do was stare at the entrance until Art walked in, deeply engaged in conversation with Tashi, not even bothering to look up to search for me. “I need to get up early tomorrow,” I mumbled suddenly, cutting Patrick off in the middle of explaining something about his tour and why he wasn’t in college because he decided to go pro. “It was nice talking to you,” I smiled the most genuine smile I could muster at that moment and peeled myself off the wall.

“He’ll always do this, you know that, right?” Patrick suddenly said. And there was a knowing look in his eyes and a serious expression, as much as he could muster. “Excuse me?” I asked, raising an eyebrow. “He’ll always choose Tashi,” Patrick declared. “Isn’t she your girlfriend or something?” I asked, feeling my jaw tighten. I didn’t have to be nice to this guy. He was Art’s friend, not mine. Aside from offering me a drink, he hadn’t tried to be nice to me. In fact, in every opportunity he had over the last two days, he had been rude. “It was nice meeting you, cheerleader,” he concluded and walked toward Art, as if leaving me behind.

I felt the tightness taking over me. I took advantage of the fact that Art was no longer near the door to slip out of the party, allowing myself to let the tears fall on the way. “Hey, hey, Peaches. Wait a sec,” his voice sounded from afar, and I knew from the tone that he was panicking, that he realized too late what the situation was. “Are you getting off on humiliating me?” I asked, turning to face him. “I mean, what the hell did I ever do to you? What did I do besides love you that makes you treat me like this?!” My voice was mixed with sobs I was ashamed of. They broadcast weakness more than anything else. Art stood there, slightly open-mouthed. His eyes were glazed over and red from alcohol. “I, I was just talking to friends—” he started. “Why did you ask me to come to this party?” I asked, sniffling a little. “Because I wanted to spend some time with you, show you off,” he got closer to me, his hands finding their way to my cheeks, as if that were their natural place while his forehead pressed against mine, not taking his eyes off my face. “Yeah? How’s that going so far? Because in the hour I’ve been here, you didn’t even think it necessary to respond to my text.” I gently moved his hands off me and took a step back.

“I—” “You what? You’re going to keep trying to convince me I’m important? That you love me? That you talk about me with your grandma, and then treat me like I’m some old shirt you bought at a second-hand store and will throw away in two days?” I asked. “What the hell do you want from me, Art? Why won’t you just let me move on?” It was desperate. “Because I can’t. The thought of you moving on scares me,” he mumbled to himself. “It’s not my fault she doesn’t love you,” I said, wiping my tears. “You don’t have to make me feel like she makes you feel.” I looked at him, almost pleading. “You’re exaggera—” “I wore a nice dress. I came to a party I didn’t want to come to. I stood in a corner for an hour with your rude friend. While you were outside with someone you care about more than me, someone whose company matters more to you than mine. And that’s totally fine. Just let me go already,” I said firmly. . . . And as he watched you walk away, he realized exactly what he had lost. And he doesn’t know if it’s love, but he felt the pain in his bones. And if there’s one thing Art Donaldson is sure of, it’s that you deserve better.

Hi there, how are we all doing? This part was more chill on the smut stuff (sorry) but had more Patrick in it, and we got more of Art's pov. Tell me what you guys think. I still don't know if it's the end of the story. I think it might be. Maybe it's time to move on to other ideas and take some requests. I don't know yet. Feel like it's the end for these two. Anyway, tell me what you think. Hearing from you guys is always the best part <3

taglist: @lalalandofive @wild-rose-35 @theynothem @angelism13

[firemenenthusiast]

—“till death do us apart”

farleigh start x fem! reader

summary: sometimes even fate can be altered

warnings: angst. read at your own risk. plot twist. grammar of a non native english speaker

a/n: am i in my angst era ? also this is for mon cheri @farleighlover 😋 revenge for writing ‘numbingly obsessed’. this fic idea was like a bazooka shooting into my face i had to write it down

“What if we rewrite the stars? Say you were made to be mine. Nothing could keep us apart. You'd be the one I was meant to find”

the way the sun was shining brightly outside his window, soft amber glare richoceting off the balcony of his apartment told him that the even the universe was looking down upon them, blessing the entire day.-

it was cloudy, the sky hanging puffs of fluffy white, but not the type of cloudy that makes everyone moody, no. it was just nice, he thought, as he adjusted the gleaming links on his cuffs, black ribboned tux sitting perfectly on his broad shoulders. cocking his head slightly to the side, his tight dark brown curls bouncing out of his face making him shudder in anticipation. or was it nerves ? he couldnt really tell, too many staggering emotions filling into his head, fighting each other for a place behind those eyes. taking a last deep breath, he adjusted himself in the mirror before turning towards the door, pair of leather shoes carrying him away.

it’s been five years since your class graduated from oxford, or should you call it your alma mater now. it was probably the greatest day ever, being finally done with excruciatingly painful days of all nighters, pushing through everything else just to chase after submission dates. as much as you’re glad that it’s all over, the collection of memories with people there wrapping you like a fuzzy blanket. the only thing making oxford the best phase of your life is the people there. your friends, your dormmates, your classmates, felix, oliver, farleigh.

and farleigh.

everything was better because you got farleigh. he was always there for you, supporting you, making you feel like the luckiest person in the world that out of all the girls in oxford that he could easily get with, he chose you. and you chose him. i mean, it wouldn’t really be anything between the two of you if you didn’t give him a chance. as much as you liked him before the start of your relationship, you weren’t gonna let him in that easily. just thinking about how much you made him suffer to win you over made you let out a soft chuckle. you’d throw the bouquet of fresh flowers he’d left on your designated seat in class immediately after seeing them and god, was that humiliating for him. one thing farleigh absolutely couldn’t stand was being humiliated, or rejected. but he pushed through, he refused to give up because he liked you so much. he’s willing to fight through everything if it meant that you’d just give him a chance. he suprised himself with how much he was doing just to make you accept him, cuz he swore he would never be down so bad just for a girl. but for you, all that pride and need to maintain his reputation just got thrown out the window.

you and farleigh, it was like the two of you were made for each other, maybe it was your fault for not seeing that sooner but your relationship with him was everything to you after you gave in and give him a chance. it was like red blood, pumping oxygen to every part of your existence, he was like air to you. farleigh made you happy, made you feel all giddy whenever he’d wait outside of your class for you to finish so the two of you could grab lunch together, he was your yellow, your rock. at times you could feel your heart grow even fonder of him, slowly falling head over heels. his bright pearly smile fuelled your entire being, you catch yourself secretly grinning whenever you’d think of him. he was very charming, though sometimes so annoying and bratty. you didn’t care, if anything he was your annoying brat. whenever the two of you would spend the whole day wrapped in each other’s arms, you’d let out the biggest sigh of contentment after getting back to your dorm. farleigh protected you, shielding you from anything that was gonna hurt you, from physical dangers to the emotional ones when you’d struggle with your mental health. he knew everything about you, he knew the tricks and tweaks of winning over your heart. he was your guardian angel.

you’d also noticed how beautiful of a day it was outside, and you were thanking the universe for granting the both of you a chance for this day to be as beautiful as it could be. it was everything you’ve ever dreamed of, and it was exactly like how you’d imagine and daydreamed about it to be since you were a little girl. from the gorgeous white gown draped down your figure to the personally hand arranged bouquet of flower that you were gonna carry down the aisle. it was perfect, and so is the fact that you were gonna marry the love of your life. you couldn’t be more excited, scared and nervous. everyone had told you that it’s normal to be nervous, it’s probably the biggest moment in your life and you couldn’t risk it being even slightly ruined. everything had to be perfect, and they actually were. getting ready in the dressing room, you paced around to get your mind off things that you were overthinking about. what if you stumbled and ripped your gown ? what if you puked in the middle of the walk because you were too nervous ? in that moment you just wanted to tell your bridesmaid to go get your fiancé. you knew he could calm you down easily, he always did. little did you know that he was also taking deep breaths to cool himself down in another room.

the sleek black tux hugging farleigh nicely around his torso and his bust. the sleeves, perfectly tailored and not a single inch longer than it should be. he looked dashing, handsome even. but when is it that he doesn’t? stepping onto the venue, his chin tilted upwards, feasting his eyes upon the beautifully decorated hall. a small smile crept itself across his lips. it was just like how you always told him how you would like the place to look like when you get married. farleigh had always kept a mental note on the details, from the choice of flowers standing tall along the aisle, to the soft hue of innocent yellow dimly lighting up the whole place. you always had a vision when it comes to your wedding day, and he would listen to you talk about it, nodding away and even adding his own points on how he wanted his wedding to be. he had immaculate taste too, of course. chirping in to give you suggestions after suggestions just to make sure the vision of his and your wedding day was perfect. he didn’t really care, the only vivid thing he could imagine was the image of you standing in front of him, looking as pretty as always, smiling up at him as he vowed to take you as his lawfully wedded wife. it was innocent how the two of you would dream about this day.

guests were starting to fill up the venue, settling themselves down on their designated seats as few of them were seen chatting up with each other, smiles decorating their faces. both your families were moving around efficiently, making sure that everything was in order for the ceremony to move smoothly, while you waited in the dressing room, carefully adjusting and making sure that your make up and hair were put together flawlessly. “you nervous?” you heard venetia speak, as you turn your head towards her, smiling. your eyes trailed along the beautifully sewn hem of your gown. “of course i am, i would be lying if i said im not” letting out a soft sigh, your eyes glanced towards her. “how’s farleigh ?” you asked her, before she took both your hands in hers, firmly grabbing onto the palms as she cocked her head to the side, beaming at you. “he’ll be alright” she responded, shortly. “you ready ?” to which you nodded, offering her a quick smile.

the walk from the dressing room to the hall felt like forever, as steps after steps burned memories into your head, everything felt so surreal yet too real at the same time. as you carefully line your walk in the heels with the tail of your gown making it a sport, you began to notice familiar faces sitting at the back row, already beaming at you with their hands cupped against their chests. you offered them a warm smile, desperately using it to hide the all new emotions you were currently feeling. you were now already standing at the end of the aisle, in the middle of everyone, as all eyes were set on you. you tried your best to flash the prettiest smile, like you had practiced for only like since forever. farleigh’s eyes immediately set themselves on you, his eyebrows dropped as his dark orbs began to gloss, a small breath got caught in his throat as it seemed like he had forgotten how to breathe. he was getting lightheaded with how similar you looked with the vision he had of you being his bride. just when he thought you couldn’t get anymore beautiful, you began to walk down with the white veil over your head, fresh flowers neatly grasped in your hands. you looked pure, breathtakingly beautiful in white. it was almost like the angels had lent you their beauty for that exact moment, for you to wear as you slowly step towards the altar.

your eyes met farleigh’s, a knowing look being exchanged between the two of you. you almost laughed at how touched he looked, he would be caught dead first before this to even show that he had deep emotions for someone but for you, he didn’t care. anything for you. all the nervousness suddenly disappeared as you carefully step onto the elevated platform at the end of your slow walk, joining your fiancé before facing each other, huge smile plastered across your faces. all of that ruckus and chaos before your wedding day has led to this moment, as you take it all in that it was finally happening.

“Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today to celebrate the love of these two as they come together in marriage.” the officiant started right as the two of you were ready. after exchanging rings, he started his vows first, which almost made you cry but happiness flooded through the feeling.

“…I promise to cherish you always, to honor and sustain you, in sickness and in health, in poverty and in wealth, and to be true to you in all things until death alone shall part us.” as you finish your vow, you could feel your feet starting to perform little jumps of excitement. turning your head towards the officiant, he could see that you were already getting impatient. smiling to himself, he looked over to the crowd before saying the magic words

“By the power vested in me by the state, I now pronounce you husband and wife !” you almost squeak before leaning over to kiss your now husband, gently pressing your lips over his soft ones, your cold fingers cupping his cheeks as a roar of applause filled the hall. the crowd stood up to cheer, bright smiles complimenting the decorations in the hall.

it was exactly like you imagined, except this time it wasn’t farleigh that you were kissing.

as farleigh clapped for the both of you from his seat, he couldn’t help the proud smile pushing itself to form on his lips, as his eyes begin to water. he immediately reached up to wipe them off quickly, yet obvious tint of red could still be seen if one were to examine his face closely. but he wasn’t worried of that happening, because he wasn’t the main subject of today’s ceremony, no. he was just happy to be here, cheering for you and your husband. he would be lying if he didn’t think about how it would be if it was him instead on the altar, kissing you away from all the doubts that he had put you through over the last few years of your relationship. he knew that you and him, the two of you were supposed to be endgame. it was supposed to be him, slipping the ring onto your finger, before kissing over them. he knew all that, yet nothing could win over a fight with his own issues, nothing could beat his own mind in a game called love. he wanted to give up on love long ago but you showed him the bright end of the tunnel, and he will always be grateful for that. for now, he would have to make peace with the fact that you’re no longer his, and he no longer has a place in your heart. it’s not like he doesn’t want all of this, he really does. hell, he had thought about this exact day countless times when you were his, just that he imagined it to be him who will get to say his vows on how he was gonna love you till death do the both of you apart. everything else was pretty much just how he had imagined it to be, especially how beautiful you looked.

the two of you had promised that the relationship had to end with marriage, and that after graduation nothing was gonna change. but promises are meant to broken aren’t they ? he changed, a lot. you did too. farleigh struggled with himself after graduation, with the fact that he didn’t have anything left in the uk, him being done with oxford left him no reason to keep staying with the cattons. he didn’t want to leave, he begged for sir james to keep letting him stay, saying that he would do anything with the best he had, building a career over the estates in saltburn, anything. anything just for him to able to stay here, with you. he was afraid that if he left, everything will be different and he’d lose you. so he worked, really hard. struggling to make his own money to put them into his own little apartment. little did he know, he lost himself in the process, along with what he had with you. warm embraces and chuckles after laughters turned into hurtful arguments. your usual warm spot on his bed turned cold, as your dent on his mattress slowly disappeared. it’s not like you didn’t fight for him, you truly did. but you realised that what the two of you had, was only nice while it lasted. and you struggled to make peace with that, but not as much as he was. you were everything to him, and losing you just meant losing himself.

when you told him that you were getting married, he looked really happy, as he pulled you in a tight hug. it felt safe, and you could feel that he was genuinely happy for you. you’re glad that after all, you were still able to be close with him, only now as friends. he was happy to receive the wedding invitation, having set it up on his empty kitchen table so he wouldn’t miss it for the world. he still loved you, so much as he wouldn’t want to miss watching you on your happiest day, even if it wasn’t because of him. even if it wasn’t with him. seeing you happy was enough for him. knowing that you were happy, he forced himself to accept that fate couldn’t be rewritten. how he wished it is, because then he would get to write your name in his stars again and again, and again. as many times as he could as long as in the end, you’d end up in his arms.

as the getaway car began to roll its wheels, he looked at you flashing the prettiest smile ever, waving at him. he returned the smile, masking in the reasoned melancholy down his chest. the car started to drive away slowly before his smile slowly pressed itself away against his lips. it has now turned to a smile knowing that he once had you, and he would forever cherish that. the crowd began to dissipate, some gradually walking away to leave, some getting back inside to continue their chats, some even talking about how gorgeous of a wedding it was, and that they were happy for you and your husband. farleigh stepped down the stairs to a gravely ground, his leather shoes digging into the coarse pebbles as he leaned back onto the stone post at the end of the stairs, his hand reaching into the pocket of his slacks. noticing someone approaching his spot, he glanced to the person to see felix, his hands tucked into his pockets before he reached out, asking for a stick from farleigh. he lit the cigarette in his fingers before reaching over, cupping his hand over the flame to lit felix’s.

puffing his first drag, farleigh chuckled at felix at the situation. “how you holding up ?” he heard felix ask, his light brown hair flipping over as the soft wind grazed their skin. farleigh tilted his head down, quietly playing with the pebbles with the tip of his shoes with a burning cigarette dancing between his fingers. “i’m gonna be okay” nodding, he assured felix. “that’s good” he chirped back, he knew how bad farleigh was hurting, but he also knew that his cousin would be caught dead first before showing deep emotions to anyone. felix were also sure that the two of you were really gonna end up together. it was only right to him. he wasn’t sure about what happened, but he could feel how bad the pain was violently ripping farleigh apart. he could only pray that it gets easier, as he didn’t want to lose him too.

“i know you loved her mate” felix started

“i still do” farleigh responded, his head hanging low

“-just differently now”

shaking the burned bits of the cigarette from his fingers, ashes falling down onto the ground as they both sat in silence, quietly enjoying the gentle breeze of the wind, blowing away all of farleigh’s hope for you.

taglist: @farleighlover @r4vn @love-me-pls @radioloom @imjustheretoreadsmuthaha @luckystrikerealness @juniperhasfallen @themoonchildwhofell @khxna @fuckshitslover @szapizzapanda

[shini--chan]

Yandere Character Sheet I - Armin Alert

Trigger warnings: manipulation, isolation, devices used for punishment, murder

Attributes - What sort of Yandere is he/she?

I think it would be without saying that Armin is more the reserved type. Initially, one would think that he’d be too reserved to do anything really atrocious. That way of thinking would be incorrect. While he would be cautious and even anxious, he wouldn't be passive. Rather, he would slowly circle you, drawing ever tighter paths until he'd finally have you in his grasp. As such, it could take years until matters would really turn dark. He'd want everything to be perfect and that's why he also wouldn't kidnap you. Something as lovely as you would have to slowly be lured in, with kindness and promises of more, until he'd have sunk his claws so deep into you that you wouldn't be able to flee without tearing yourself to ribbons. 

A trait that would help him and be your damnation, would be his obsessiveness. Everything that he could and would find out about you, would be carefully catalogued and filed away. While he would have a notebook where one or the other thing scribbled in mostly intelligible handwriting, a lot would be stored mentally. As his obsession would worsen, he would cordone off a section of his mental landscape just for you. The data on you that he would have accumulated would be used to extrapolate further idiosyncrasies of yours. He would use the information he'd have on you to calculate your behaviours to an accuracy that would be frightening. After a year or two, he would be able to exactly predict what you would say to certain questions and jabs and snark. 

Armin would be plagued by low self-esteem. This would also drastically affect his relationship with you. Here you'd have the reason why he wouldn't snatch you, why he wouldn't approach you first if he'd have a choice. Preferably, you'd be introduced to each other or you would be the one to make the first move. He'd want to be desired, wanted, loved. You'd think that would make him easy to manipulate - think again. This man would lash out, curtail your behaviour and strike you where it would hurt most. After all, he would know everything about you. Don't corner an animal, it will just attack with everything it has. 

Nevertheless, he would yearn to impress you, and he would want your affections to him to be organic and honest. In many ways, this would be him wanting to have his cake and eat it. Since he would be a yandere here, at the very best the relationship would be toxic. His low self-esteem would make him paranoid and prone to jealousy. Every little sign that could be interpreted as you wanting to leave or you no longer loving him. The longer the relationship would last the more scared he'd become of losing you. More restrictions would be imposed and he'd become all the more desperate to keep you. 

Anxiousness would also be a dominating trait of his. It's a dangerous world out there, and it would be so easy for you to die. You'd be the best thing that would've ever happened to him, and no way in the world would he risk losing you. Strength and intelligence of your own would do little to save you, in his opinion. You'd still have a beating heart that could stop at a moment's notice. His protectiveness would be nigh unbearable, especially if something tragic really did/would happen to you. If you'd let him, he'd lock you in a house, corners padded and sharp objects tucked away, and wrap you in cotton. Much of your wits and energy would be used to live a somewhat normal life. 

He would be well aware that the intensity and nature of his feelings for you would be wrong . Still, he wouldn't be able to help himself. Day and night he would fight against his demons only for them to win and his yandere traits to emerge. Shame would only do so much to hold him back; in the end, his urges and desires would overpower him. He could also fall into the trap of rationalising his behaviour. Nevertheless, he would hide his baser instincts and weird and violent behaviours from you in the beginning. Most of all, he would make sure that his colleagues and the public would never catch wind of how he'd treat you really. His friends might have a vague picture, but that is also all they'd get. 

Cornering - How would they get you?

As mentioned, he wouldn't like to be the one to make the first move. With his extensive knowledge of you, he'd try to compensate for his social awkwardness by appealing to your interests. Perhaps he'd have Eren and Mikasa to back him, as emotional support and to give him more credibility. His low self-esteem and anxiety would lend a harmless air to him, and his slender build would amplify the image. He'd exploit this perceived innocence to the fullest. If he'd have to build a relationship with you, then he'd reel you in bit by bit. Chances are that somebody would even push you in his direction. 

Or, you'd be in contact with him due to your work, or his. That way, you'd probably be stuck with him for some time and he would be more relaxed in approaching you. No risk of you running for the hills just because he seems a bit off. Armin would also be able to manipulate circumstances behind the scenes to get to spend more time with you and make you interact with him. 

Then, he'd slowly chip away at your freedom and activities until you'd be safe. That would be what he'd view himself as doing - just keeping you secure and protected. All his concern would be genuine, and he'd use the arguments that would appeal to you the most, whether they be logical or emotional. He'd convince you that the fetters he'd bind you with would be for your own good. 

Yet if his usual tactics wouldn't work, then he'd trap you. Alert would never kidnap you. Instead, he'd either let you back yourself in a corner and blackmail or coerce you into a relationship with him, or he would lure you somewhere and slam the door closed behind you. 

Expectations - What do they expect of you?

Astuteness would be a personality trait he would look out for. You wouldn't have to be smart or dizzy or stupid or cunning, just astute. To draw a comparison - have the astuteness of a deer foraging for food that nonetheless never neglects to pay attention to its surroundings. Be a person that doesn't have to be told something twice. While he wouldn't mind addressing your questions, it would be tiresome to have the same conversation over and over again. Or having to chew through the exact same words repeatedly because you had your head in the clouds. On top of that, he would like the challenge. He'd even be better at handling such a person since the need to stay on his toes mentally would curb his tendency to overthink. Thus, he would be less rigid in his courtship with you and more pleasant to be around. 

Some orderliness would also be very appreciated. With everything that happened in his childhood, Armin would have learned to treasure the small things in life, one of them being an ordered home. It would be balm to his soul, and prevent the nervousness that would arise if he can't find something. Tied in with that would be his preference for you to have a routine. He'd want to have you as a fixed star in his life and there should also be an element of constancy in your life. Particularly during the stalking courting phase, he'd like it if he could rely on you to stick to schedules and being at certain places at certain times. Later, the consistent rhythm of your daily activities would help create the illusion of a happy, domestic life. 

Good hygiene would be a must. Bad hygiene would lead to bad health, and it would destroy him to have to bury you prematurely. Furthermore, even if you wouldn't die, he wouldn't want you to disfigure yourself through illnesses like small pox or leprosy or polio. Do matter how depressed you'd be, he'd be adamant you wash and brush yourself. This would be one of the few areas where he would be harsh and uncompromising. Should you be disagreeable, then he would wash you with cold water and steel wool. He'd even have the audacity to berate you if you'd get sick. Nevermind that he would micromanage your diet. 

Either you would be shy or Armin would make you shy. These are just traits here he'd want to have, he could just as well become yandere for somebody that's the polar opposite of these expectations and mould you into what he'd want. Case to point with any existent extrovertedness/socialness. Alert would drip poison in your ears and convince you that everybody except him would have a hidden agenda, and that you can't trust them. His goal would be to make you so scared of other people that you wouldn't be able to see another human (excluding him) without suffering a panic attack. That way, he'd have you all to himself and he could appreciate you to his heart's content. Quaint, or not? 

You could avoid a bad fate to some degree by being loyal by nature. Armin would be the sort to eavesdrop on other people if they'd talk about you and if he'd catch on to your devotion, then he'd be relieved. A great portion of his yandere tendencies would come from a place of fear and anxiety hence an anxious Armin would be a dangerous Armin. Keep him happy and content, and life could be somewhat good. Give him reason to fear for your safety or also make him think that you're only a hair width away from leaving him, and life would be hell. He'd constantly be overthinking and even the littlest things would be wrapped into signs that things are not working out. His complicated trains of thought would lead him to take drastic measures, and that is the last thing you'd want. 

Faded - Would they let go of you in any way?

Should he end up severely harming you, then he'd let you go out of remorse. As much as he would try to force himself to let you live without him, he'd still keep tabs on you, ever obsessive and in need of seeing you at least for half an hour everyday. While you would be free and he'd keep himself out of your life in repentance, he would become your permanent shadow, should he locate you. The furthest he'd go would be breaking in your quarters and sitting on the edge of the bed to watch you sleep. Maybe he'd even pay some street urchin to snip off a lock of your hair, a keepsake that he'd keep in a locket to remind him of all his errors. 

Of course, if it would be in the name of duty, then he'd let you go long enough for you to hide yourself. As a soldier and a citizen, he would understand if you'd be called away in a vocational way or if fate would dictate you be elsewhere. Like wouldn't apply here - he would hate having to let you go. Upon departure, he would wringe promise after promise out of you. Promises of returning, of not finding somebody else, of keeping in touch and of thinking of him everyday. He'd be heartbroken in the case of you using this opportunity to abandon him. So much so that he would become catatonic for a few weeks. 

Punishment - How would they proceed if you do something they disapprove of?

In his eyes, it would be punishment as much as keeping you safe from yourself and your own bad thoughts. The two of you could have such a nice life together, but it seems like you'd be so hellbent on ruining it with your naive curiosity. You'd be like a toddler insistent on putting your hand on the stove, in his eyes, and he'd have to chastise you like one. 

Here, he could actually become very cruel and authoritarian. After all, a burned child fears the fire. He'd have a cilice belt that he'd wrap around your thigh if you'd be too socialable. This way, you wouldn't be able to sit or run without harming yourself. The pinpricks of pain would remind you of your errors, of the fact that you would be betraying him by speaking to other people. Through the use of the cilice, you'd learn to associate other people with pain, and therefore subconsciously strive to avoid them. Any bleeding the device would cause would give him all the more reason to fawn over you. 

You'd also be forbidden from saying certain words and using particular phrases. Even alluding to a handful of restricted topics or using euphemisms or metaphors would be forbidden. As soon as you'd talk about things you're not allowed to, he'd slap his hand over your mouth and ring a bell. Here, the aim would be to get you to engage in self-censoring, so that any thought of rebellion would be strangled in the craddle. Mind you, this would only happen once you're in an established relationship and there wouldn't be anybody around to tattle on him. 

Related to that would be his fondness for putting you in chastity belts. Having you would represent a chance to finally exercise control over something in his life and not having to suffer bitterly if he'd slip up - making you prance around in a chastity belt would be the epitome of this. Being naughty would earn you a day or two in the belt, and he'd only let you take it off for supervised toilet breaks. Sorry to say this - you'd have to sleep in it. 

Other punishment would come as a direct consequence of your action. Like that if you'd go on a hunger strike, then he'd strap you down to a chair, shove a tube down your nose and force feed you. Using tools that would be prohibited would get your hands tied together and running away would earn you a leg in a cast. Most of the time, he would want the punishment to either fit the crime or make you grow closer to him. 

Reaction - How would they react to you escaping?

Sink to the floor and panic. Really, he wouldn't take it well. When you'd be with him, he'd be able to quiet his guilt and convince himself that he'd just be doing this in your best interests. Escaping would shatter the delusion and he'd first have to pick himself up. 

All his mistakes regarding you would race around his mind and he would be reminded of the actual toxicity of the relationship and the depravity of his thoughts. Armin would start to second guess and blame himself, and then the same shadow side he'd condemn so harshly would rise up and squash those thoughts. He'd start searching for you, if you wouldn't have returned by that point in this. The organic or synthetic anxiety might just as well drive you back “home”. 

He'd almost act like a teen that has their pet. Asking around for you, going to your favourite places, deducing where you could have gone to and seeking you out there. Alert might spend the one of the other day atop a tower or one of the walls, trying to use the neat overview to find you. Should he find you again, he would be overjoyed. It would feel like a burden would've been lifted off his shoulders and he'd be quick to squirrel you away back home. 

Turnabout - Scenario: You have the upper hand? What would be different from their usual MO?

Given how easy it would be to underestimate one Armin Alert, you'd be convinced in the beginning that you hold all the ropes. He'd let you buy into the illusion, as it would make matters easier for him. Additionally, much of his more shadowy doings would be done behind your back. Seeing that he wouldn't be the sort to brag, or make even the smallest peep about the true extent of his crimes, it would be even more difficult to access the true nature of the situation. 

On the flip side, once the ground rules would actually be established, then you wouldn't know if and when you'd hold all the cards. In most cases, not much would change since he wouldn't need to have the upper hand to control you. 

However, should the dynamics be more clearly defined and more evident, should you slip his control and carefully laid plans, then he'd feel lost. Anxiety would overtake him, and he would see himself as having no other choice than to bring the hammer down. Meaning, he would trigger some sort of calamity to throw you off centre and regain control. This could take the form of your house burning down, a partner dying, you becoming sick or you being arrested.

Vengeance - What would they do in the face of competition?

Isn't it frightening how easily accidents happen? If he'd really have to get his hands dirty, then his deeds would be dressed to look like accidents or suicides. He'd be disgusted by his own actions and be frightened of the idea of somebody else finding out about his actions. Not even you should know the lengths he'd go to obtain you and keep you at his side. It would also make him a good deal more dangerous. Medication would be swapped out and dangerous chemicals filled in harmless bottles. Maybe some rats or bats that are the vector as a deadly disease would find themselves in their home. 

That being said, he'd commonly target you and make you too socially anxious to interact with people. He'd spread rumour and highlight their shortcomings. With some time and effort, he'd make them so disgusting in your eyes that you cross to the other side of the street should you encounter them in public. Of course, he'd also have other ways to achieve his goals. 

Stroking the flames of hatred would also be a valid choice. He could let the wolves tear each other to shreds and watch at a safe distance. A false flag here, some strange occurrence there, and few unsavoury whispers to top it off and then his enemy would be stuck in a fight. And when the dust would settle, he'd search the ruins for treasures to loot. Perhaps if he'd find the unlucky cretin in the rubble, he'll overcome his inhibitions and deliver the killing blow. Love does strange things to men, eh?

Art doesn't belong to me, nor does the character!

[kazucee]

! CALL IT WHAT YOU WANT (to) ౨ৎ

—In which your relationship with Albedo gets broken down into three paradigms accompanied by overarching assumptions, overthinking, and sweet memories.

Pairings: Albedo x gn!Reader

Dedicated to my very Albedo-coded spouse @luvether 𐙚 Dare I say these are my marriage vows to you /lh but in all seriousness, I wrote this with you in mind (because I think the silence between us need no words + all the little silly conversations are worth everything to me)! You mean so much to me and I adore every little thing you do. Guys if you spot any mistakes pls for my honor ignore it.

wc: 1.3k || lovely art by: @/jotto75 on twt !

Painter!Albedo is often described by his peers as closed off, detached from this plane of reality, a brilliant mind with a pair of watercolour eyes muddied with powder blue and hazel hues.

To put it bluntly, you didn't care about the hearsay that surrounded the artist.

To put it bluntly, you can't help the small endeared feeling you'd get when you see how dedicated he was to his craft and how he would go for days without end in his studio whenever he’d paint, how his mind worked like a self-tuning piano—functioning properly without the need for human interference. But what good is a self-tuning piano without a pianist's calloused hands to play it?

You cannot really put a label as to what exactly you are to Albedo, no that would be far too restrictive for whatever type of relationship said or unsaid.

During those days where he'd locked himself in his studio, you were the only one permitted to enter, the only one permitted to stay, the only one he’d allow to make idle chatter whilst he painted the next Renaissance masterpiece (though he hates it when you describe his works as so.)

The best label you could assume would be that your relationship with him were like his often unfinished paintings:

It is chaotic—a flurry of colour, the smear of paint brush strokes, a collage of hues—Like when you and him snuck into the Louvre to admire their newest impressionist collection without the bothersome crowds and flash photography.

That had been the best night of your life, the adrenaline coursing through your veins making your skin prickle in excitement, your heart pumped rapidly and till this day you convince yourself that it was because of the thought of getting caught and not the way his gloved hand had expertly held onto yours as he guided you through the timeless halls of the museum.

Like the mess of his milky blonde locks when he had asked you to cut it, you were terrified, no, mortified, to say the least when your bewildered look was met with his signature blasé expression, the press of the cool metal scissors against the palm of your hand a small request wrapped with ribbons of unwavering faith.

You thought you did a pretty good job despite your only experience being cutting your own bangs during the 7th grade. Whether he liked it or not you could not quite figure out but considering that up until now he’d approached you whenever he felt like his hair was getting in the way of his work, you’d count it as a win.

It is abstract— like his gaze, those irises of his that shifted hues depending on the light of day (if you could chart eye colours under the sunlight Albedo would definitely be the first candidate on your list).

It was abstract like the way he’d stare as you kneaded the dough, like you were an enigmatic puzzle he was trying to solve or take apart piece by piece.

His gaze as intense as it was confusing.

Those times when he presumed you were preoccupied with the novel perched between your delicate hands or the rom-com you were rewatching for the nth time, those times when he’d stare at you as if you were one of the most bewitching pieces of art to ever have caught his fancy, one he'd like to steal away from the world and keep in the alcoves of his person for him and him only.

His stare had a feeling of its own, you could almost feel the caress of his hands against the curve of your cheeks and the soft brush of fingers against the furrow of your brow, his stare felt like an artist memorizing every tendon and every muscle under your skin, piecing together how they worked.

Then you’d turn to catch him in the act only for him to give you the faintest smile, a small quirk of his lips all innocent and beguiling like he hadn't just stolen your breath, soul, and heart with all but one rouge glance.

Oftentimes you wonder how he thought of you; if you were just one of the meddlers in his daily routine who didn't cause him much ire, if you were just another warm body for him to keep as a means to ward off the cold.

But then he’d press tender kisses against your knuckles whenever you’d bake him something sweet, kisses that felt like honeydew and intricate snowflakes falling upon flesh, it had the ability to render your heart to something weak, something soft and plush-like, and make you feel guilty for ever having such thoughts cross your mind.

Him and his soft melodic voice calling you his muse just to see the incipient flush of your cheeks, he smiles at that because he knows how to unlock that small part of your heart you desperately want no one to find.

Him and his habit of sketching you first as an absent-minded practice before starting yet another painting.

Him and his undying love tracing the lines of your figure whenever he has the chance. It’s him and him and him.

It is enchanting—you can’t look away, you can’t stop listening, you can't stop your heart from quickening its pulse whenever he gets closer, from the way your head would tilt in his direction ever so slightly, your movements purely muscle memory when it came to him.

You can't stop from pulling at the seams of the relationship and wishing for it to simply unravel. You often didn't think of yourself as high pride, you're quiet when the world was loud, loud when there was nothing but silence, but with Albedo it was constant silence, a sort of silence that was loud in its own convoluted way.

It was comforting almost, the way you both can sit in each other's orbit and simply be contented with each other's existence, body heat, and soft breathing.

The artist was a silent man in nature but when you'd prod endlessly at him to teach you about the different types of butterfly wings, he'd go on and on without ceasing and you'd let him.

There was something about the way those watercolour eyes turned a little less muddled, a little less murky, more clear and bright whenever he shared his latest fascination with you.

You could feel it, how much he liked to talk despite being classified as quiet all the time. It was one time during autumn with its warm patchwork of colours and cool breezes when you realized, just as he finished explaining the fascinating facts he had learned about honey bees that Albedo liked to speak when he had something to say when he knew that his words had some sort of weight when they meant something to someone.

So you made it a point to ask him about anything and everything because to you hearing him speak was akin to listening to the most well-practised symphony, the way he articulated his words, the brief pauses whenever he had to remember something, listening to him was like entering his world that he had expertly shut everyone out of.

There were times when he'd quiet down and you'd think he had finally had enough of talking but then he'd turn to you eyes sincere as he asks for your own thoughts about the topic. It wasn't that he was done talking, it was that he had wanted to listen, listen to you.

Albedo was an enigma to you.

You understand so much yet know so little at the same time. The blonde had mastered the art of withdrawing specific bits and pieces of himself to keep you on your toes, toeing that invisible line between you two that neither wanted to cross just yet. Call it self-preservation, call it cowardice. All is fair when it comes to love, paintings, and a blonde sun-kissed boy and his kaleidoscope eyes.

Small AN: WOAH A X READER FIC? FROM ME? this is the first one that I've posted and in all honesty I'm bloody terrified hehe~ Actually critiques are super welcomed (in DMS ofc) I swear idk if half of what I write makes sense and connects properly (I struggle with that even in school essays smh.) OH AND SPACING. WHY DO I ALWAYS STRUGGLE WITH THAT. reblogs, likes and comments are much appreciated ♡

[aheckinmess]

It's Beginning to Look a Lot Like Christmas

(Part 1 of The Snowball Effect)

Read on AO3.

Tags: Enji Todoroki, Endeavor, Christmas, Christmas Special, It's Beginning to Look a Lot Like Christmas, Christmas Decorations, Shopping for Presents, Santa Claus, Angels, Cold Weather, Winter, I Feel Like Everyone Could Use Some Christmas Cheer, I Am More than Happy to Provide, Consider This My Gift to You, A Happy Todoroki Family, Reader is Enji's Wife, Reader Has Ice Quirk, I Envision Reader As an OC in a Fic I Haven't Posted Yet, In This Fic OC Adopts Shigaraki and Saves Him from All for One

Word Count: 1,365 words

Summary: The Christmas season starts in full swing and you’re determined to find the perfect gift for Enji while decorating the Todoroki household until it’s a wonderland of festive cheer!

Playlist: The Snowball Effect

December 1

In the bustling streets of Japan, public workers busy themselves decorating the street lamps with flashy, twinkling lights and bright, sparkling ribbons. Your favorite time of year also presents itself in the form of a large Christmas tree in the park you always pass before you reach the mall.

Frigid winds paint passerby’s cheeks a festive red as you step inside the local Aeon with some pep in your step. Your ice quirk means the lower temperatures don’t bother you, and you’ve always loved Christmas. So while others walk inside rubbing their hands and grumbling wishes for January to arrive early, you usher a silent prayer that days full of cheer linger a little longer.

Today’s mission involves presents and decorations.

The decorations aren’t an issue. You grab some garland, extra lights, tinsel, and enough Christmas trinkets to earn the envy of old St. Nick himself. 

Presents are the hard part. But not just buying presents for anyone. No, no. Your kids? Easy. Your friends? Easy. Enji? 

Enji Todoroki is quite literally the most impossible man in the world to buy a present for.

Every time you ask him what sort of gift he’d appreciate, he shrugs and assures you he has everything he needs - he has the funds to purchase whatever he needs whenever he needs it, so why should he concern himself with one major holiday?

Well, this year, you’re determined to find the perfect gift. If you have to search through every goddamn outlet mall and store in Japan, you’re going to find the winning item that takes his breath away.

Thankfully, you don’t have to travel quite so far. Strolling through the last store in the mall with your aching feet, you could swear you hear angels singing in the atmosphere as Enji’s perfect present seems to glow on the shelf.

You don’t feel bad when you snatch up the last one.

. . . . .

“Is this really why you had Tokei watch the kids today?” Enji grumbles when he enters the house. “I didn’t think you’d ever get back.”

Originally, he was supposed to take the day off to spend it with you, but when the Hero Commission calls for an emergency from the No. 2 hero, what’s he gonna say? No? 

Endeavor would never.

“Well, I had to do something to pass the time. I didn’t think you’d be back this early after they’d called you in for an emergency.” You snort, handing him a heavier bag, but keeping the bag with his gift concealed. “Got presents while I was out. Give me a minute.”

You slither down the hallway into the bedroom. Enji isn’t likely to search for his present, and it’s small enough that you can conceal it on the floor under your nightstand. You toss a half finished blanket over the bottom shelf, and the box disappears from view. 

It’ll do until you can wrap it.

“Do you want to help me put up decorations?” You ask as you start sifting through your goodies. “Look. I even got your latest Endeavor ornament to go on the tree!” 

“You do that every year, my flame. One year we won’t have enough space on the tree to keep them all.”

“Ha! That’s quitter talk. I’ll just buy another tree and have one dedicated to you, specifically.” You lean up on your tiptoes and peck his lips, before offering him a Glaceon ornament.

“Ugh, your Pokemon obsession couldn’t skip this Christmas?” He taunts, pulling you closer by the hips and caressing your cheek.

“Listen, I know you don’t like the franchise, but Glaceon’s one of your favorites!”

“Is that so?”

“Of course. After all, they remind you of me.” You crinkle your nose and bury your face in his chest with a contented sigh.

“Hmm, perhaps.” He allows, before kissing your forehead

When both of you turn back to the mountain of decorations scattered around the house, you scavenge for the tree first. It takes little time between the two of you before the Christmas tree in all its glory towers above you. Immediately, your spirits rise and you giggle as you trot from box to box, looking for the lights.

“Okay, I’m going to stay on this side and start wrapping it around the tree, Enchan. You thread it through the tree on that side and then pass it around to me. It’s easier that way.” You instruct.

Within moments, lights join the tree in heralding Christmas’s arrival.

Of course, no tree is complete without a topper! You sift through several good choices: an angel, a traditional star, and even a wooden Santa all clamber to the top of the box in the hopes of being the shining symbol of hope for the season.

“Hmm, Enchan? One, two, or three?”

“Three.” 

“Santa Claus, you’re coming to the Todoroki household!” You decide, handing the wooden figure on a pedestal to Enji. “Can you put this on top? I’m too short.”

“Well, that’s not a problem.”

You blink and scream as the ground vanishes beneath your feet; Enji has hooked you around the waist and you’re elevated until your ponytail brushes the ceiling.

Enji’s deep laugh doesn’t go unnoticed.

“That high enough?” You hear him smile.

“Y-Yes.” You huff, depositing the wooden Santa at the top of the tree.

As soon as your feet reach solid ground again, you smack Enji’s arm before searching for ornaments. Red blossoms in your cheeks and snowflakes poof around your head.

“You could have warned me, ya know.”

“Certainly. But then I wouldn’t be able to see those delightfully rosy cheeks of yours, now would I?” He tilts your chin up with mischief sparkling in his eyes - the pristine blue could rival the lights on the tree.

“I guess not,” You relent, offering him a box of red orbs. “But I’m sure you’d have found another way to make me blush. You always do.”

“I have to make sure I can still turn your head, my flame.”

The generic ornaments make their way onto the tree without issue, but when you get to the special, heirloom ornaments, you squeal at the sight of a little snowball ornament made from contact paper. 

Inside, surrounded by paper bits of snow, is the child face of Enji.

“You were so CUUUUTE!” You hold it up to him. “How old were you in this? Why haven’t I seen this one before?!”

“Oh, please. Cute?” He grouses, but his lips betray the ghost of a smile. “I was five here. I actually think I’d just manifested my quirk a few months later. It made this ornament rather ironic.”

“It just means you and I were meant to be!” You do a little shimmy before finding it a home on the tree. “Would you like to see kid me? I know you see it every year, but–”

“I look forward to it every year.”

His words sink into your heart and heat you down to your toes. You scavenge the box until you find what you’re looking for. Only instead of a picture of you covered in paper snow, your child-like face is pasted in the frame of a foam Rudolph.

“Yes, this one. Your vibrant passion for life must have never changed.” He pulls you into his side as he nods at your wide smile in frame. “What had you so happy, hm?”

“I don’t actually remember. I’ve just always loved Christmas.”

“It suits you.”

On and on, you create a sanctum of Christmas spirit – you save the other half of decorating the tree for the kids after laying down the framework, you line the fence outside the house with garland, and the mantelpiece twinkles with tinsel.

As a final touch before Tokei returns with the kids, Enji finishes hanging mistletoe above the entryway into the house.

“Ooo, mistletoe? How about a kiss for your queen?” You giggle, stepping under the entrance and dragging your fingers up his chest. 

“Gladly.”

As flames of passion dance between your lips, a chorus of groaning children can be heard from outside. Pulling back with a laugh, you lay your head on Enji’s shoulder as five Todoroki children step through the threshold into a wintery wonderland.

Day 2

Credit to @saradika-graphics for the holiday banner! Thank you so much!

[raivenreine]

Blond and black, good and evil

Ciri, Avallac’h, and Eredin: a tangled web of who liked whom and whose destiny belonged to whom.

Let’s unpack this drama step by step. What follows is a rough translation of my short essay in Russian, which wouldn’t have been possible without the tireless efforts of my dear friend Livingonmyown. Her mastery of Polish and saintly patience helped us dive into the Aen Elle chapters together, meticulously comparing the original text to the Russian translation. And let me tell you, the Russian version took more creative liberties than an amateur bard after a few pints.

In this version, I’ll focus on the English translation, which, surprisingly, seems to have done a little less butchering than its Russian counterpart. Progress!

Let’s kick things off from the beginning. Avallac’h genuinely believed he was Ciri’s destiny—just like Geralt once did. Except Ava seemed to think he was even destinier. (Yes, that’s totally a word now.) How else can we explain his borderline giddy reaction, practically leaping for joy, when he said this?

No one could ever convince me that our dear sage meant anyone other than his all-knowing, ever-scheming self.

Could he have meant Auberon? Not a chance. Ava worked far too hard to bring Ciri to the world of the Aen Elle for it to be about anyone else. He even moonlighted as a tour guide for dh’oine visitors, proudly leading them to the Tower of the Swallow. And why? So some Buyvid fellow could scribble together a manual for Ciri, just so she’d read about the Tower and march straight to it.

And what was supposed to happen next? Naturally, the legendary elven guide Avallac’h would materialize before her eyes like some glowing vision from destiny itself.

But alas, Ciri didn’t even remember Ava’s name from the manual. Ouch. Ava must have been crushed—so crushed, in fact, that he vanished for a full eight days after finally meeting her. A dramatic exit, if ever there was one.

Another important thing that we know about Ava is that he really saw the future.

Avallac’h was right—Ciri escaped the Aen Elle and found her way back to Geralt. Not for long, mind you, but still, a win’s a win. Interestingly, it seems Ava knew from the very start that Ciri would bolt. Which, if you think about it, means he probably also knew his grand plan with Auberon was doomed from the get-go. But hey, I’m getting ahead of myself.

After Lara’s death, Ava had plenty of time to prepare for Ciri’s arrival. Decades, really. He could have planned every tiny detail down to the last ceremonial ribbon. The Aen Elle could have been running dress rehearsals weekly: parades, songs, inspirational speeches—you name it. Picture the scene: the entire Aen Elle court, decked out and joyous, gathering to welcome the Elder Blood’s triumphant return. And at the center of it all, Ava emerges—an elf from the legends, flute in hand, practically radiating destiny itself.

Except... reality had other plans. Ava did emerge, yes, but he forgot to introduce himself. And then, in peak Ava fashion, he vanished for eight entire days. Way to make an impression.

(Admiration, mind you ;)

That was a bizarre move on Ava's part. If he’d been planning to dazzle Ciri with his legendary charm and make a great first impression, well... epic fail. Disappearing for eight days? Lame, Ava. Super lame.

So, what was he doing during all that time? Plotting? Pouting? Perfecting his flute skills? Who knows. But don’t worry, I’ll try to dig into that mystery a bit later. For now, let’s keep plowing through the text and unraveling this saga.

Ava isn’t in any rush. Why would he be? He’s the very picture of elven patience. But not everyone shares his laid-back attitude. Enter Eredin, who clearly can’t wait.

Now, let me remind you: after eight whole days in the Aen Elle world, Ciri still has no clue what these elves actually want from her.

They meet Eredin on their way to Tir na lia.

The second impatient elf is waiting back at the palace, but we’ll get to him in just a moment.

Now, onto my favorite part: the infamous flower scene—the very cornerstone of the Ciredin ship. Let’s dive back into it and take a closer look, shall we? Specifically, let’s focus on Ciri’s body language. Because, as we all know, our bodies have a way of betraying our emotions. Fear, excitement, arousal—whatever it is, the signs come fast. Blushing, sweating, turning pale—it’s all there, happening in a split second.

So, as we re-read this passage, pay close attention to the timing of her reactions. It’s all in the details. Now, here’s the scene:

Now, close your eyes and imagine you’re Ciri. Suppose you fancy Eredin. He picks up a flower and hands it to you. Maybe your fingers brush—just for a moment—you feel the warmth of his hand, maybe even his breath. And if you do like him, this is the moment when you’d blush. It’s instinctive. You’d probably lift the flower to your face—not just to smell it but also to hide how flustered you are. Classic move, right?

Then Eredin leaves, and you turn to Avallac’h with the question: “Is it him? Is Eredin supposed to be the father of my child?” And Ava, in his ever-dramatic wisdom, says, “Nope.” If you were into Eredin, you’d probably feel disappointment. Frustration, even. Totally normal human reactions. At least, that’s how I imagine it.

But now, let’s revisit the actual text. When Eredin gives Ciri the flower, there’s no mention of her immediate reaction. None. Zilch. Nada. Instead, her feelings show up after Eredin leaves. Specifically, she feels a surge of excitement—not when she’s holding the flower, not when Eredin is standing right there, but when Ava tells her she’s not going to sleep with Eredin.

So, what’s sparking Ciri’s excitement and fascination? The answer lies a few passages earlier, when Eredin makes a certain comment about Ciri’s eyes.

Ciri’s no fool. By now, she must have pieced together that Avallac’h was very close to Lara. Because honestly, who else besides a parent or a lover would need to gaze that deeply into someone’s eyes?

So, now Ciri knows that Ava wasn’t just some casual acquaintance of Lara’s—he was someone truly significant. And definitely not a brother—because let’s be real, why would he blush then?

When Ava tells her that Eredin isn’t their lucky candidate, what’s Ciri supposed to think? 😉 The dots are connecting themselves.

After Eredin leaves, Ciri finally works up the courage to ask the burning question: who’s meant to be the father of her child? All eyes on Ava now.

Notice how Avallac’h holds back, waiting to hear Ciri’s answer before revealing who’s supposed to be the father of her child. And why is that?

I’ll tell you why: it’s fear. Plain and simple.

Picture the situation: Ava’s about to drop the bomb that the father will be Auberon—their leader, the crème de la crème, the most elite of the elite, the noblest of the noble. This should be his shining moment, a perfect setup for an epic sales pitch. So why the hesitation? Why the silence? It’s almost as if... he can’t bring himself to say it.

The Fox knows exactly who Ciri is destined for—or at least, he thinks he does. Otherwise, why would he flaunt his tail so confidently in front of Geralt? But this all-knowing sage is suddenly terrified. Why? Because he’s been here before. Cast aside in favor of a human, mocked behind his back by the whole of Tir na Lia. Oh, they don’t do it openly—no one dares, or Ava might jinx them—but the laughter lingers in whispers.

And now, after all these years, history threatens to repeat itself. Another dh’oine enters the picture, and this time, she’s destined for him. What a scandal. If a child is born, Ava becomes the father of a half-blood. The mockery will only intensify: first Lara "took the wrong path," and now Avallac’h, an elite Aen Saevherne, follows in her footsteps.

The fragile ego of the Fox can’t handle such a trial. So, he does the only thing he can think of: pass the responsibility to someone "safe." Enter Auberon, an elf of advanced age and familial ties, who’s unlikely to get... overly interested. It’s a classic case of “grandpa’s old, he doesn’t care.”

As for those eight days of absence? Ava was stalling, wrestling with himself over who would ultimately carry the burden. In the end, it was Auberon who got the short straw. Ava had to choose someone to take the heat—and it wasn’t going to be him.

Now, let’s move to the palace scene and the second impatient elf who couldn’t wait to meet Cirilla.

So, Auberon couldn’t wait either. Not because he had any unsavory intentions toward Ciri, of course, but... well, probably out of a mix of family feelings and sheer curiosity.

As for Avallac’h, he didn’t seem to care one bit that Ciri showed up before Auberon looking tired and dirty. Why? Maybe he figured it wouldn’t make a difference. Or perhaps he just thought Ciri was attractive enough to pull it off regardless. Who knows? Ava’s mind was elsewhere. He couldn’t care less about Auberon’s impatience or Eredin’s schemes to claim the Spiral.

So, what was Ava thinking? Likely this: how to outwit Destiny and save his own precious reputation. That’s my theory, at least—I could be wrong. But knowing Ava, it fits.

And then, of course, we all remember what happened next.

I mean, let’s be real—Ciri probably wouldn’t have thrown herself at a guy she found completely repulsive. What if he’d said yes? Then what? “Oh, sorry, Ava, that was just my emotionally frazzled state talking?” Awkward. But that’s beside the point. Ava, of course, got all grumpy about it, like, “What if I sleep with you and forget about Lara? Boo-hoo, sob-sob.”

But maybe it wasn’t just about Lara. He knew exactly who was meant for whom and who was supposed to do what with whom. And yet, he still lost his cool. She’d offered him exactly what he’d been running away from—just handed it to him, no strings, no overthinking. Bullseye. Right on the sore spot.

It wasn’t just about Lara. It was about someone chickening out. After all these years! Ignoring his own prophetic gift, no less. Knowing full well that his grand plan with Auberon was utter trash.

Crashed and burned, yep. Just like Geralt’s grand plan once upon a time—when he tried to weasel out of his destiny and hand Ciri off to someone else. Spoiler alert: it didn’t end well for him. Or for Ava, for that matter. Destiny, as it turns out, has a twisted sense of humor.

[redfurrycat]

🤠🍑👨🐓Daddy Klnk Fic Recs🐓👨🍑🤠

Check the Top Gun Masterlist post for the latest updated version. 💕

Ao3 Authors: Acetonitril, Coconutcordiale, Danslasherrr, Davidbyrne, Dracculaura, Earthangel_44, Emseebeans, Ginnydear, Grimjobs, Honestlydarkprincess, Lightwoodsisabelle, Lovelybattle, Mackwinnon, Miiichaaan, Nixie_DeAngel, Perishablealex, Pizzz_10, Reanimated, Renai_chan, SaintClaire, Sam_Haine, Seresins, Shadowdancing, SissySpargo, Theinsouciantknitter, WaffleToaster, Welcome_to_the_Badlands, WhisperingNights, Xo_em.

I'm a babygirl in a daddy's world > Sugar Daddy

If You Cling Too Tightly Verse by Earthangel_44 {E}

Hold on loosely

There is nothing Jake "Hangman" Seresin can't handle after he shot down the plane to save the day except for maybe one certain pilot with a taste for Hawaiian shirts.

You Might Lose Control

Three months later.

Have a Drink On Me Verse by Welcome_to_the_Badlands {E}

Have a Drink On Me

“Hey,” Mickey slurred slightly. They all look at him, and Reuben switches out his Malibu Sunset for water. “Someone should do body shots,” he said, very unsubtly glancing at Jake.

Hotter Than Hell

Or, the one with the heatwave and the popsicles.

Take My Hand and Hold On Forever by Earthangel_44 {E}

It happens again like clockwork. Every new achievement or award that Jake gets pinned to his chest. Every time he went to Afghanistan or flew with the F-151, Jake calls Bradley. Every COMM he receives or shiny new ribbon that is placed on his chest, Jake called Bradley. Or: Jake gets a lot of awards and Bradley rewards him for his good flying.

Poems About Lovers by xo_em {E}

He’s waiting for his favorite sounds of every day: the click and scrape of the front door opening then closing, a few heavy footsteps, the abrupt thud of a bag hitting the hardwood floor. Two boots following. Bradley.

Daddy Rooster Series by Renai_chan {E}

I Want To Hear You Say It Again by perishablealex {E}

The first time Jake calls Bradley daddy.

can you see me glowing by dracculaura {E}

“You know, you’re awfully moody tonight,” Jake taunts as he looks up into Bradley’s eyes. “Think you’d be in a better mood after cheating — I mean, winning earlier.” “Shut,” Bradley says, voice dipping low and husky, as he moves in even closer to Jake, hands now on the wall on either side of Jake’s face, “your fucking mouth.” “Make me.” (or, jake is a brat who craves bradley's attention)

so baby lock that door by dracculaura {E}

Maybe if Bob wasn’t so exhausted, he’d have remembered that Hangman wasn’t at the bar and it was very likely that he’d be in their room. Maybe if he hadn’t had his music up so loud, he would’ve heard the moaning, the slapping, the banging of a headboard hitting a wall. But he is exhausted, does have his music up too loud. He’s so distracted that he doesn’t even notice them until the door is closed behind him and his music is paused, and when he does, he stops dead in his tracks, eyes wide, mouth hanging open. Because Hangman is getting absolutely fucking railed by Rooster.

Sub Bradley by lovelybattle {E}

Slow

Bradley knelt in front of him, eyes lidded and mouth parted as he stared at where Jake’s fingers moved. His hands were on his thighs, cock poking up prettily, leaking and hard like it has been for the last twenty minutes. He let out a small whimper, blinking slowly, “daddy…”

Patience

Jake hummed, shifting his hips back just enough for his ass to rub against Bradley’s hard dick, earning himself a whimper as he pulled away again and Bradley tried to chase him with his hips. “Ah,” Jake said, laying his hand flat over Bradley’s chest, the other man immediately falling still against the bed sheets again. “Good boy.”

Give it to me daddy by Earthangel_44 {E}

Bradley survives the mission only to find one way to thank his savior.

touch you like I do by ginnydear {E}

Dress up, Princess by miiichaaan {E}

Jake looked at himself in their bathroom mirror, at the way the pink lace of the lingerie set he’d ordered some weeks ago, hugged his pecks, his ass, his cock so perfectly. Fascinated he ran a hand over his torso, feeling the texture, following it down to his crotch, palming himself through the fabric. He quietly smiled to himself when he thought about Bradley.

Love me one time, could not speak by miiichaaan {E}

“Jake,” Bradley breathed and moved again, ghosting his lips along the line of his ear, pushing his dick just this much deeper inside in return, “Say it again.”

As You Need Me To by perishablealex {E}

It begins with three words. No, not I love you. Who's your daddy?

Unwrap Me by Welcome_to_the_Badlands {E}

“Candy cane? Really,” he asked, chuckling. Jake cracked a smile “You know I love a good theme,” he said, winking.

I'll Treat You Sweet by Sam_Haine {E}

He imagines himself in the woman's position, on his knees in some dirty back alley, mouth wide open and taking someone's fat cock down his throat. No. He alters the scenario so that it's Rooster he's on his knees for.

Jealous Bone by Earthangel_44 {E}

Bradley gets jealous over an old squad member of Jake’s.

Be Good For Me by WhisperingNights {E}

If Rooster didn’t want him. Fine. He’d show Rooster what he could have had. The banging sounded again “I’m coming, damn!” Jake slung the door open glaring at Javy. Javy’s mouth was hanging open as he took Jake in. “How the hell did you get in those?” Jake grinned at Javy’s statement. Good. He’d put a lot of work into this.

Take it to the limit one more time by Earthangel_44 {E}

Bradley takes care of Jake for the first time.

But Only If It's With You by theinsouciantknitter {E}

The best way to celebrate surviving the unsurvivable? Sex on a bar pool table, of course.

The Only Hope for Me is You by mackwinnon {E}

“Jake,” Bradley’s voice was gentle, so unlike any other way he’d ever spoken to him, and Jake hated it. He didn’t need Rooster’s fucking pity. He didn’t need anything from anyone, least of all Rooster. Rooster, his rival. Rooster, who thought he was better than Jake. Rooster, who… Who… Rooster, who’d come looking for Jake when no one else had. Fuck. Or: After the mission, Jake disappears. Bradley goes looking for him.

it's not in the way that you hold me from old men in love Series by davidbyrne {E}

jake and bradley discover new things together in middle age

Maybe This Time Is Forever by theinsouciantknitter {E}

Jake hasn’t slept in days. Three days, to be exact. Everytime he closes his eyes he sees an outdated F-14 going down in flames into the ocean.

Say The Word by perishablealex {E}

Bradley leaves instructions for Jake. Jake follows them. - The praise begins to trickle in. “Well done, you’re so beautiful like this.” Preening at the words, Jake squirms, clenching his fingers against the sheets and inhaling shakily. Bradley’s voice is low. Jake can almost feel the brush of his voice against his ear, the ghost of the mustache tickling his lobe. “You know I can’t let you touch yourself yet, baby.”

there's money for the taking (and the happiness we all deserve) by davidbyrne {E}

“So, what, one of the richest dudes in New York wants to be your sugar daddy?” “Kinda?” Jake sits back up, straightening up and turning his body towards Javy. “He doesn’t want like sex or anything. He just needs someone to pretend to date so his uncle and PR team get off his back about his reputation.” Or a sugar daddy au in which jake is a struggling law student, bradley's a billionaire, and they weave a tangled web

Heat of the Moment by theinsouciantknitter {E}

It’s a hundred degrees in Texas, and Bradley finds that he hates it, hates the oppressive air pressing down on him, the humidity making him feel like he’s swimming with every breath he takes. He finds himself wondering, not for the first time, why he decided to come back to the homestead with Jake for their leave. They’re barely even friends, let alone the kind of people who spend their time off together.

What's my worth? by WaffleToaster {E}

Twenty-six, twenty-seven, twenty-eight… These were the only thoughts that rang through his head. Twenty-nine, thirty. Two breaths. One and two. They weren't friends, they didn't even like each other and whatever they had going between them meant nothing. And then the mission happened.   Or how Bradley and Jake went from hating each other to caring a little too much.

Rivalry On A Learning Curve by SaintClaire {E}

A couple of simple definitions: Rivalry: Competition for the same objective or for superiority in the same field Archnemesis: One who is hostile to or opposes the purposes or interests of another Jake thinks about how best to define whatever the fuck it is he's got going on with Bradley. Yep. Definitely the above.

The Only Exception by mackwinnon {E}

Organized crime AU. Escort Jake meets Bradley in a club while he's with another client. Bradley's instantly intrigued and makes Jake an offer he can't refuse. It's just business. Until it isn't.

Darkness on the Edge by theinsouciantknitter {E}

There's always room for firsts in a relationship, and this one's full of them.

Priest 'verse by theinsouciantknitter {E}

One Look From You (And I Would Fall From Grace)

Jake didn’t expect this when he moved in with his grandmother. He expected to be roped into attending church with her, that’s all fine and dandy. He didn’t expect that the priest would look like that, though. He didn’t expect that he would be funny, and quick-witted. He didn’t expect him to be that young. He didn’t expect to fall in love with him.

Like a Little Prayer

Bradley has a difficult decision

Before This River Becomes an Ocean

Conversations must be had, and this is one Jake wants to avoid.

It Goes Like This (the Fourth, the Fifth)

Jake just has to get through the planning of the wedding, and then they're home free.

the Minor Fall, the Major Lift

A steadfast resolution

if you're looking for absolution (well get on your knees) by seresins {E}

Jake comes home to Texas for the summer, where he meets his church's new priest. Tempting him feels like the best kind of bad idea.

take you like a drug by coconutcordiale {E}

Murder. Jake is ready to commit murder. It’s fine. He’s a lawyer, he can represent himself in court. Because he just fell asleep. Yet here Jake is, staring at the atrocious popcorn ceiling in his bedroom, jerked awake mere minutes ago by the shrill moans of some undoubtedly gorgeous brunette and the repetitive banging of his neighbor’s headboard against the wall that he shares with Jake. * aka the neighbors au

Fucked up and pretty by pizzz_10 {E}

There’s a reason why jake is always getting under bradley’s skin, he just wants some attention.

chat with you, baby (flirt a little maybe) by acetonitril {E}

"Come on, give me a little more to work with here. How are you doing? What are you doing? Who are you doing?" The last thing, he says in a teasing tone and Bradley reacts without a second thought. “I don’t want to talk about my sex life with you, Hangman.” “And yet that’s the one thing you chose to comment on." Bradley, Jake, and accidental phone sex.

 unglued (thanks to you) by emseebeans {E}

The first time Jake says it, it’s an accident. It’s Bradley’s fault, really. It’d always been a secret Jake held onto so tight, but Bradley brings it bubbling to the surface. He pulls Jake into his orbit. He’s smooth. He’s overly sure of himself. He’ll appear to be completely uninterested one minute, to looking like he wants to devour Jake the next. And he has soft edges. He’ll say the filthiest shit in bed, and then call Jake his baby, his sweetheart. It’s no wonder the word slips out.

hits like ecstasy (comes up and bangs the sense out of me) by davidbyrne {E}

It’s a plug. Slenderer than the few they have in their collection, and a deep green. Jake opens his mouth to say something, but Bradley holds up a finger. Jake shuts his mouth. The plug starts vibrating in his palm, slow, steady pulses that build. Jake sucks in a breath.

all in by honestlydarkprincess {E}

If you had told Rooster a week ago that he would be stumbling into his base housing with Hangman, making out against every surface Rooster could push him into, he would have called you a liar. As it was, he still couldn’t quite believe this was happening, even though Hangman’s tongue was currently in his mouth. Or, the one where Hangman and Rooster hook up and Hangman slips up, admitting his daddy kink. Rooster goes all in.

G.U.Y. by reanimated {E}

Bradley finally slips. Jake is cautiously intrigued. Until they both throw caution to the wind.

just a touch of your love by lightwoodsisabelle {E}

“Just one of those days where nothing went right,” Bradley half-shrugged, the stress of the day feeling further away with each passing minute. “I’ve had worse.” Jake let out a coo as he stood, a noise that was half sarcastic, half sympathetic. He placed his hands on his boyfriend’s waist, pulling him in closer to whisper, “well, why don’t you let me take care of you?” “Just one of those days where nothing went right,” Bradley half-shrugged, the stress of the day feeling further away with each passing minute. “I’ve had worse.” Jake let out a coo as he stood, a noise that was half sarcastic, half sympathetic. He placed his hands on his boyfriend’s waist, pulling him in closer to whisper, “well, why don’t you let me take care of you?”

Show Me by danslasherrr {E}

"You danced on that man like a bitch in heat but you were looking at me the whole time. You wanted me to watch you and why's that, Jake?", he ran a hand down Jake's cheek softly. Or: Jake makes Bradley jealous and then apologises by giving him head

viewing pleasure by SissySpargo {E}

jakes a porn star. bradleys the director. they're also married.

Your Body Is My Alter by Nixie_DeAngel {E}

Sometimes Jake just needs to wring every ounce of pleasure from his husband as he can.

all you're giving me is friction by grimjobs {E}

Come on, daddy long legs, move your feet so I can sit down,” Hangman said, it was innocuous enough, but Bradley felt his blood heat all the same; he was grateful for the sun beating down on his skin, hoping that it hid the flush he could feel blooming across his neck and chest. or, 5 times Jake called Bradley 'daddy', and one time, he called Bradley 'daddy'.

that's my good girl by shadowdancing {E}

Jake Seresin is known for being an observant man. He sees the hand prints on Bradley's waist and the hickeys on his throat. He sees the way his eyes light up when he's praised. And based on the frustration in his body, Jake knows he isn't getting fucked like he wants...like he deserves. Bradley Bradshaw is known for being an intelligent man. For years, he's been letting sexual encounters mark him up, just so he can get Jake's eyes on him. He knows Jake sees them, determining that under Bradley's bluster, he's desperate for Jake to fuck him, to give him what he needs in a way no one else can. This is the story of two men pushing and pulling at their desires, figuring out their feelings, and satisfying each other in the way they've been desperate for since they met.

[hughiecampbelle]

Pedigree (Thomas Shelby Oneshot)

Character/s: Thomas

Word Count: 1,211

A/N: Has it been a million bajillion kajillion years since I've written? Yes. Do I feel good about this? Yes strangely enough :P I've been reading a lot, so maybe that's helped. I haven't been feeling good lately, but this makes me feel better. It makes me think I haven't run out of words, that I'm not trapped in this block forever y'know? 💞  Feedback is always appreciated 💜💖💜

FIC MASTERLISTS / TAG LIST 

You were out for blood. 

You wanted his head on a silver platter. Served to you. You wanted his mouth hung open, gory and gummy, his teeth pried from their sockets. You wanted his eyes, those eyes that bore so deeply into your marrow, eyes that undermined you every time he saw you, bright and cruel. Mocking. Pried wide open, watching his empire fall. The rest of him scattered. Discarded. Did it really matter? It used to. You used to fantasize about the day they brought him to you. All the ways you’d tear him apart, butcher him like he has done to so many. Leaving a single bullet hole, if he was lucky. Often, he wasn’t, not in your care. You wanted him to suffer the same way he has made you your entire life. Since then, you’ve come to a realization: those fantasies, with their theatrics, were childish. The kind of thing he himself would laugh at, call adorable, naive, cute. That laugh. It haunted you now. His head, his eyes, teeth, that is what you needed. He was all bark and no bite. Until then, you wouldn’t be satisfied. 

Once upon a time you worshiped him. He was your world, everything you wanted to be. Demanding, diplomatic, daunting. You wanted to follow in his footsteps, to rule with an iron fist. You did as you were told without a second thought, his toy soldier. You stitched a smile across your face every time he spoke to you, the anger and disappointment reigning in his voice, his words. How sharp they used to be, slicing you to ribbons. You’d be bleeding, hemorrhaging out on the floor by the time his speech was done. And when he was, when the air was thick with dismay, you collected your innards and thanked him, slipping back into the shadows until you were needed again. He spat insults at you from the time you could understand them. A few times you’d dodged a glass of something toxic, smashing into the wall behind you. Shards glittered across the floor, crackling beneath the soles of your shoes. It was your job to clean it up. It was your fault. Everything was. When a scapegoat was necessary, you were the first to come to mind. Given odd jobs beneath the rest. Ones that could have gotten you killed. Should have. Sometimes, you wished it had. Would that have made him care? Mourn your loss? Would there have been any change to his temperament? Probably not. There were always others desperate enough to slink their way into your position, the lowest of the low. Desperate enough to get close to him, to know what liquor he liked, what car he drove, what clothing he wore in hopes that it would rub off on them. Give them the same power. It made you sick. 

To him, you were nothing. Worthless. Incapable. There had never been a softness for you the way there had been for the others. You’d begun to think it was you. There was something wrong with you. Had you said something? Done something? Too many nights you lay awake, wondering what he could see that you couldn’t. There had to be a logical reason, hadn’t there? There had to be something in your flesh, your bones, your muscles. Something structurally, genetically, impossibly wrong. A speck in your eyes. An eyelash out of sorts. A freckle, a scar, a mark on your body that shouldn’t be there. Years you spent looking, watching, waiting for it to be explained so you could fix it and finally win him over. Small acts of kindness. Leaving him freshly picked flowers. Doing everything he said. Being well behaved. You stayed to yourself mostly, understanding things were different than before. He’d changed. They all had. He was monstrous. Hungry. Tormented. Every night you’d hear his screaming, crying out, crumbling from the inside out. In the morning, no one said a word. It’s been many years since then. You wondered if it was your memory distorting things, changing your own behaviors. No, no you were sure you’d been nothing but kind.

Whoever Tommy saw when he looked at you, whatever he saw, was not you. That much was clear. 

He blamed you for her death, Pol. He put that target on your back, on your chest, between your fucking eyes. The silence was the worst of it. The berating, the anger, the destruction, you’d grown used to it. It had become a dance, in a way. You knew all the right steps, all the best apologies, until he’d finally calmed down long enough for you to catch your breath, to straighten out the mess. Not this time. You were dropped from the family without a second thought. Ice ran through his veins. He wasn’t just changed, he was unrecognizable. Your throat was raw from pleading, sobbing, trying to get him to listen. To understand. On your hands and knees begging. You had no part in this, you were being framed. No one could believe you. You’d slipped up, gave out information you shouldn’t have. Thats the conclusion they came to. He didn’t just ignore you, he killed you. Murdered you. Everyone, everyone you ever loved, all the people you considered family, by blood and not, turned their backs on you. You wanted to pound your fists into the floorboards until they bled. You wanted to scream and cry and throw a tantrum. You would have prayed to a God that had never listened before that very moment if that meant he would give you a minute to defend yourself, proclaim your innocence, save your soul. The decision had been made, there was no going back. The Shelby name no longer belonged to you. It never would. If only you’d known how fast that title could be ripped from you. 

They moved on. None of them have reached out, spoken to you in secret. There were no letters, no calls, nothing. You grew a hard shell. Learned to adapt. To be on you own, completely alone. Without them, without him, you came to realize you were never the problem. You had never done anything wrong. You had not been born with a defect only he could sense. You were a child when he’d come back, so young, so fragile. You took his words to heart. All those years spent at the bottom, the youngest of the family, had taught you more than you ever thought. People believed him to be bulletproof. He was indestructible. Godly. You knew though, you knew the weakest parts of him. What kept him up at night. What drove him mad. You couldn’t get back all that time, all those years, your entire life. You couldn’t turn back the clock. You couldn’t make him change his ways. Those, he was too set in, a creature of habit. But you could make him pay. You could make him regret everything he’d ever said and done to you. Make him beg like you’d done countless times, your pleas ignored, berated. You could make him fear for his life. And when the time came, because it always would, you would not hesitate to pull the trigger the same way your brother had.

[dr-lizortecho]

Better Than Frozen Moe’s

He’d saved every cent for months for this moment. Done menial tasks for all the elderly ladies in the neighborhood and polished his mom’s fancy silverware. All so he could take out Liz Ortecho.

It was a flawless plan. Save up every quarter he earned until he had ten whole dollars, then he could take her for celebratory ice cream. She could even get sprinkles if she wanted.

Max’s mom never let him and Isobel get sprinkles. A waste, she’d call them, needless sugar.

But they were beautiful and cheerful, just like Liz. And he wanted to make sure she knew she deserved them, if she wanted them that was. Max knew he still had a lot to learn about this world, a lot to catch up on. But one thing he was certain of was that Liz Ortecho only did as she pleased.

She was eight -eight and three fourths as she would say- and already challenged most adults. By challenge Max meant their eyes twitched when she went on her tirades and they called her gifted and special in the same sentence. They weren’t wrong, but he never liked their tone of voice. The accusation leveled at her. The way it seemed she had to bite down in her tongue or hide her natural mannerisms to earn their approval.

But she didn’t have to change for Max. He loved it- her loudness, her spirit, her quiet. Every piece of her was built out of beauty.

Max’s palms are sweaty as he approaches Liz after the event. Her bright blue ribbon with a gold one printed on it pinned to her shoulder. She’s wearing her Sunday best, a sensible black dress with a white collar and sleeves. Her smile is wide and bright as she talks with her papi. He’s beaming, camera held tight in his hand as he congratulated her on her win.

Liz Ortecho always got first place. If it was an endeavor she chose to pursue, she would roll up her sleeves and be the very best at it.

Max adjusts his collar, his plaid button up feeling itchy and suffocating. Liz’s brown eyes are scanning the crowd, searching. There’s a sadness to them that Max wants to erase.

“Max!” She beams, eyes lighting up excitedly.

“Liz,” he manages, wiping his palms on his jeans.

Arturo grins, a sparkle in his eye. “Mija, I’m going to pre-order a recording of the competition. You have fun with your friend, huh?”

read on ao3

[dmmdconfessions]

[Image text: I’ll be honest here, I was so hyperfixated on the idea of an Aoba/Madoka crossover (Madoka Kaname from Puella Magi Madoka Magica), being both like siblings.]

[Full text: I’ll be honest here, I was so hyperfixated on the idea of an Aoba/Madoka Kaname (from Puella Magi Madoka Magica) crossover being both like siblings (like the entire whole older brother shtick where he has like a clumsy, insecure younger sister who’s secretly a girlboss deep down, who literally turned into a god in the Rebellion film).

Plus, their colour palettes/designs, schemes and all are adjacent to the Gumball/Anais (from The Amazing World of Gumball) colour palette scheme, meaning they would resemble them a bit. Their interactions would be really sweet together as I know Aoba would have this small, pink-haired fluffball of hope consistently follow him everywhere Aoba goes, and would try to get him to as he goes to Junk Shop Heibon to complete his daily working shift while Madoka just goes to school like an ordinary schoolgirl just the way she is.

Aoba sometimes comes home and buys Madoka a lesbian flag she can hang up on her wall, and makes dinner for her a lot. She introduces her girlfriend Homura to Aoba and he’s like “aww, that’s sweet.” I feel like he’d grow accustomed and fond to her, and I feel like he’d grow an ever-loving desire to protect her from falling into despair so much so that she turns into a witch.

One of the funniest things I can imagine Aoba doing is having one of his alters (Sly Blue for example), fronting and then she gets a call from him and he takes her on a little ride while Madoka brings Homura, her beloved, with her to the retail park that is extremely far away from both of their locations. He then lets them play on one of those Beatmania arcades, and he goes to the cigarette bar to get a quick smoke and to accompany his younger sister and his girlfriend, and they both win so much on the Pop'n Music arcades while they start to finish off and get ready for the bowling venues.

Sly sits on one of these chairs and watches his younger sister Madoka and her girlfriend go off at these bowls, and claps and cheers when Madoka manages to succeed at taking one of these bowling pins all in one go. And after that, Sly fronts back to Aoba, the main host of the system, and then he calls back for them to come back so they can go in there to explore the garden, town pebble streets and more amusement parks for their own excitement, so they can have pretty picture taking time.

I can imagine Aoba loving Madoka like he’s his own daughter and doing Madoka’s hairstyles every morning like crazy while on the phone trying to listen some deals that Haga-san made to him, putting small ribbon hair clips in Madoka’s hair, and making her breakfast and making sure she’s at least well fed and happy.

I want her to be happy after the shit she has gone through. My precious baby daughter. My daughter, she didn’t deserve all of this, she deserves to be all happy and to be all pain and trauma free. It’s not a matter of comparing “yaoi vs yuri” of which series is pure or fucked up or whatever. I’m not simply here to compare them. I’m here to illustrate my point cohesively that Madoka would view this mentally ill skinny 23 year old gay boy who has had a never had a good day ever in his life, and she would go “I’m going to view that man as my older brother. He seems nice.” and tries to hang around with him to try to get more information from this gay boy who has a shit ton of unresolved BPD that would end up with him being sent to a mental asylum. It’s about the potential, it’s about the silly sibling shenanigans of Madoka trying to wake her older brother up so he can take her to school. It’s him seeing that she is going down a dark path full of magical girls. Whatever. I am so mentally ill about them. Madoka Magica changed my brain fundamentally and mentally and I needed to thus propose this like crossover even further because I want to say it out loud.]

[muffindaddystyles]

Can you write overprotective long hair harry imagine?? Like he always hovers the reader when she is doing something or even nothing. Or when she needs to run errands he always go with even though its not required. And when reader fell sick he is full on mommy daddy mode dom!h vibes

A/N: OOPS I GOT EXCITED AND WENT OVERBOARD WITH IT :D

Harry’s awfully sweet. He’s a literal sweetheart with those marble sepia eyes, hazelnut curls and that big golden kind heart of his's.

But, to people he’s intimidating. From the black loiter of tattoos, a silver of piercing to the corner of his plush bottom lip and those long curls of his's that frays his broad strong shoulders turns everyone too giddy to talk to him and he's okay with that – bunch of loosers anyways whom he doesn’t want to waste his time on chit-chatting.

Then Y/N came into his life and his world flipped upside down, in a beautiful way (where he felt like floating into the crashing waves of crystal sea). It felt like she made him see the world through pink heart-shaped glasses and everyone’s just bursting into rainbows, puffaw! Boom! Their heads blasting with colourful confetti and ribbons.

Even though his slight grouchiness towards people lessened he still doesn’t gives two fucks before punching the shit out of someone if they in any way hurts, be rude and try to take physical and emotional advantage of, Y/N.

His bunny.

He’s too protective of her. And why wouldn’t he? She’s his everything. His little miracle and his hype-person, his lovie.

He’s the softest peach for her. The guy who walks and everyone scrambles away to give him a way, is whipped for his girlfriend.

He’s always having his strong arm looped around her waist when they’re out and walking, going to hold her hands instead if she’s too wiggly, keeping her close to his chest while he holds their coffees and sweets.

Whenever they’re doing grocery he’s always wheeling the cart around how much Y/N insists and pouts, he likes it that way. Hearing her blabber and skim her eyes down the ingredients labelled on the products then tossing it anyway with a shrug – makes him want to smooch her wet in kisses.

If they’re partying out with friends. Which they rarely do, (Y/N sometimes makes fun of them saying they’re getting too domestic day by day) he’s always having her put in his lap, his screwed up expression lazing when the alcohol starts to kick in and he’s just a blubbering mess of nonsense, and a very horn dog with his cock bloating up in his tight skinny jeans.

Not that he doesn’t let her have a breather and enjoy herself. He indeed does, they’ve a healthy relationship where they keep trust and faith in eachother.

But, sometimes he gets super jealous when people steal his little girlfriend away from him and once home he’s cuddling and oodling her, kissing her face all over with loud smacks and not letting her be away from him another second even it’s too bring him water or to get rid of his smelly socks.

Other times. When he’s particularly very jealous. The serious ones where Y/N unintentionally spends a tad more time at some of her classmates to wind up their upcoming project, he’s driving himself to pick her up and knocking at the door harshly and then dragging her out of there not letting her carry her stuff and huffing and puffing while throwing her things in the backseat.

Because Jeremy’s a sore rascal who’s shit at hiding his crush for Y/N and he should know better to whom she belongs. His innocent baby is too naive towards the possible hints and evil intentions of people.

“Oi. What got into you today?” She brushes the loose curl that escaped from his bun and let her fingers slide down his tight set angry jaw staring him a bit concerned upon seeing him this furious and ruffled up from nowhere.

“You’re mine,” Is all he'd respond. Smashing his lips against hers in a an ardent kiss and glide his palm down her ass to squeeze it and bring her closer grinning when she squeals into his mouth giving him a chance to slip his tongue in and kiss her deeper and sloppier.

“You’re a silly geese.” She giggles whisper into the mess of pecks and lock her elbows around his neck to give him an eskimo kiss.

“Watch y’mouth.” He glares her intensely loving the way Y/N gulps timidly bobbing her head.

“You’ll get a spanking today,” He always likes to warn her before hand. He wants her comfortable with him in every case and it’s downgrade monstrous to treat the person you love like a mean bitch out of blue -- so whenever she deserves a punishment he already announces her of it, warming her to the idea and giving her time to back away if she doesn’t want it.

“What did I’do now!” She whines and he nibbles onto his knuckle glancing her way in disbelief other hand on steering wheel, “What did y'do?” He asks her sternly. Spreading his palm over her thigh and squeezing it grimly.

“Did y'even care to look at the time, Y/N?” Oh boy. She’s in real trouble. Her name on his tongue never fails to turn her insides gooey and pause her heartbeat horribly. A red light for her to being bratty before she falls into the deep black dig of trouble.

Reaching home. He’s throwing her on the bed and demanding her to lay still on her tummy while he puts a pillow under her and spanks her bum sore with his rings imprinting her skin pink, though he never forgets to take care of her afterwards – putting a cool cream to soothe the burn and letting her sleep on his chest so she wouldn’t come in contact with the sheets as he kneads her asscheeks with gentle hands.

.

He could never have his hands to himself when she’s cooking and baking for them. Always, poking and prodding around having her head tucked under his chin, her embraced in his arms from back swaying them along to Hozier while she reads the recipe she wrote on one of the tiles.

“Stop!” She giggles, squirming in his arms when he blows raspberries against the dip of her neck and then creates growly noises biting and lapping into her skin, “You’re gonna burn our lunch!” She pressed her hips against his crotch to push him away and that warmed him more, delving his fingers more into her hips with a throaty groan.

“We could have a takeout.” His breath shuddery against her ear as he tries to pry the spatula away from her and kiss her grumpy whines down when the pots actually got burned, “I’ll wash and scratch them.” He’d assure picking her up and wrapping her legs around his hips and slipping his fingers in her hair to tug them and bring her mouth down against his’s to taste her.

“Wants to fuck you so bad, baby. My cock’s been weepy fo’ hours without your touch.” He groans, taking her hand and sneaking it inside his joggers to make her feel how stiff and erect he’s for her.

“I just gave you a blowie in the morning!”

“Blowie isn’t equivalent to fucking!”

.

“What y'readin,?” He scoots closer to her end of sofa with a smirk and towers over her trying to take a peek of whatever she’s reading with such intensity and then rake his warm palms up her calves to lay them over his thighs while he snuggles her wrapping a chonky blanket around them.

“Shhh baby girl, just want you to be more comfy.” He mumbles into her hair scratching his short nails against her scalp in soothing motions and watch her melt against his touch, eyes fluttering as she lurks dangerously to the verge of sleep.

“You always do that. Whenever the hot part’s about to come, you make me all sleepy.” She mutters laying her head against his clavicles gazing him up with hazy eyes, sighing in feign disappointment when he grins down at her in quite victory and gives her a sloppy kiss.

“What do y'need erotica fo’ baby? When your man’s the living walking momentum of sex.” He pouts, grazing his teeth down her neck and leaving a fresh hickey at her throat.

“That’s infact not, true. You’re such a cutie!” She beams up at him never failing to give him dancing butterflies in his stomach and he doesn’t admits it but he likes getting treated soft and gentle by his girlfriend.

“Such a shame. My own little love doesn’t find me sexy.” He grumps dramatically making her scramble hesitantly and turn to him in their tight embrace, cradling his face in her cold palms, “No. No. I find you sexy. I just don’t like sexualising you.” If Harry didn’t turn into a puddle before he indeed did now as he melted into her touch and kissed the inside of her hands lovingly.

“You’re sucha sap!” He whispers at her in fake offence and plant his lips against hers, patting her bum to make her hug him more tightly.

.

On cleaning and laundry day’s. He’s always helping her. As they scrub and mop the floors together, might fuck on them bubbly floors too if Harry’s lusty gaze remains on her spilling tits for too long.

“Thinks your floral bra needs a wash too, moppet.” His gradual attempts to lure her with his fingers stroking her thighs seductively always turns into a win when she nods shyly into his neck and let him have an easy access to her panties.

They’re always having a warm, full of essence bath together cleaning and washing the dirt off eachother after that.

Then sharing a cuppa tea while folding their clothes together on the bed and he’s always trying to tackle her into mattress when she laughs at his terribly folded clothes compared to her neatly binded ones.

“Your sucha menace,” He jests with his nose skewered up while he smacks her ass.

“Talk for yourself, Styles.” She retorts, tangling her knee around his waist and pulling him down into him. Puffing out relaxed breaths upon feeling safe and protected under his weight and Harry always smiles into the crook of her neck when she tries to cuddle him as if she wants to be his skin.

..

He’s the most daddiest when she’s drunk, sick or stressed.

Never letting her go out of his sight when she’s dancing on the floor with her friends. If some man even tries to approach her and breaths in her direction he’s sprinting towards her and pawing at her hips to situate her closer to him whilst blowing those potential guys off with a monotone expression.

“Harry! Do a lil dancey dance with me!” She giggles, making him sway with her and looking up at him with glassy floaty eyes.

“Bunny. ‘s late, time to go home.” He tells her, pinching her chin to plant his lips against hers and she squirms giving him a timid smile, “Okie. But I’ve to pee.”

“Me too!” Her friends chimes from behind her and Harry rolls his eyes playfully, gesturing all of them to follow him.

“C’mon you spies, not lettin’ ya’ll go alone.”

He waits for them outside the washroom while they do their business and he has his arms always splayed open for when his lovie comes back and he’s welcoming her in his embrace warmly with a sweet smile.

Dying with fond injecting in his every vein when she slurs and blabbers, “Home.”

Walking her up the stairs of their flat’s building is the most hefty struggle while she’s a sleepy, clumsy and giggly muck of doe gleaming eyes and swollen pretty lips drooling over Harry testing his patience while he makes her take one step at a time.

“Darling, bunny, just some mo' steps lovin’.” He coos at her, putting a firm hand under her bum and heaving her up into him so she doesn’t falls.

“Mhmmm you’re so pretty, daddy.” Harry’s head snaps in surprise as he stares down at her in adoring amusement and push her head under his chin while she slings her arms around his waist lazily.

Sometimes, she gets him so flustered he doesn’t know how to respond.

She whines and cries in dishevelment when Harry makes her sit on the cold marble counter and wipes her makeup off.

“I just wan’ to sleep!” She toes at his torso trying to push him away but he grabs it and tuts, glowering at her strictly, “You’re g'na complain in the mornin’. Sleepin’ with makeup makes ye' breakout remember?” When she still huffs and slumps giving him a hard time to clean her he’s pinching her chin and giving her a gentle jerk.

“Bunny. Stop with ye' battiness.” He grunts not letting his facade slip when she mewls stroking her cheek up and down his lightly stubble covered cheek softly.

“Else what? Y'never punish a sleepy bunny.” She smirks at him foppishly and lazily knowing damn well that one of thing Harry doesn’t do’s tease or punish her when she’s tuckered out and on the edge of sleeping on him.

“You don’t test me bratty woman.” She squeals when he takes hold of her panties to pull them down her legs, slapping her mound once discarding it in the hamper and he sighs when she’s already snoring lightly, slobbering his throat with her mouth parted comically.

After pattering her face with loving kisses he’s tucking her under the layers of blankets and letting her use him as her stuffie.

..

“Aw poor baby.” He mumbles, kissing her forehead when he finds her burning up against him and he’s quickly rummaging for thermometer from the night stand and the tissues he had stashed for emergencies.

“I don’t feel good,” His heart breaks when Y/N croaks out weakly and tries to crawl up his chest to stuff her face in his musky neck but her frail limbs gives out making her cry out.

“It’s okay bunny, ‘s okay. How but I make you some soup. Then y'take your medicines like a good girl of mine, then if your condition gets worse we’ll go to doctor, yeah baby?” He talks to her gently and sweetly, stroking her hair and peppering kisses to her temples.

“Just last bite, moppet.” Harry hovers the spoon infront of her and sighs when she shakes her head pushing his wrist away, “I’ll puke.” She sniffs blowing her nose harshly in the tissue .

“The bin’s right here, bunny.” He smoothens his hand down her spine putting the tray aside carefully to snuggle and comfort her as she cries softly against his chest.

“’M so sorry baby, you’ll be alright in the morning.” He couldn’t see her in such condition. It pulls and tugs at his heart so painfully he feels himself hurting.

“Oi. Why you crying, hmm?” He cups her cheek and makes her look at him as she skims her eyes away from him jn embarrassment.

“I —- You’re so caring and loving, treats me so good and it makes me c.. cr–-,” She hiccups finding it hard to breath and Harry rubs her back, whispering affinities in her ear making her finally sob, “Cry....” He chuckles softly pelting kisses upon kisses on her puffy eyelids, soaky dried up cheeks, her frowned up forehead, her wobbly chin and her nipping love bites down her chest then blowing raspberries at his own slick covering her skin making her giggle through her hiccups.

“I love you.” She whispers droopily, head lulling to his chest when the effect of medicine finally starts to kick in.

“I love you too, I want my healthy and happy bunny back.” He mumbles, inhaling a huge puff of her scent and squishes her lovingly.

[rabbitcrimes]

WANGXIAN FIC REC: Little Miss Horror Show

Fics that feature yiling laozu delights and demonic cultivation related horror elements

🌟 No night as deep as my night by Orange_crushed - 17k Summary: Wangji shuts his eyes and rocks A-Yuan and thinks about Wei Ying, Wei Ying. The sound of his laugh; the rage in his eyes at any cruelty, no matter how small. Water running down his face, mixed with tears and mud in the rain. The smell of his sweat and his combing-oil when he stood too close in the cold spring. His face when he’d said, I’ll carry you, too many years ago. If there is anything left of him, Wangji will still love it. It’s not even a question.

When he opens his eyes all the candles in the room sputter at once, and go out.

And then they come back again, as easily as they were extinguished. Wangji looks up, to find a tall shadow in the doorway.

Wangji is not afraid.

“Wei Ying,” he says. “Come in.”

🌟 the necromancer's fairytale by Iliacquer - 17k Summary: The Prince of Gusu is kidnapped for ransom. He’s saved by a nightmare made flesh.

Or: A necromancer, his palace of bones, his long-lost husband, and the rise of their dark kingdom.

🌟 rare the man who'll hold to faith by Fahye - 13k Summary: There was no blood. No char. There was nothing to see except the strange softening of the Yiling Patriarch's mouth, as if just for a moment he was another person entirely.

"There is the mark of our bargain, and here is the challenge," said the Yiling Patriarch. "You may strike at me, exactly once, with your sword. I will not fight back; I will not resist you at all, Hanguang-jun." That silvery suggestiveness crept into his voice again. "And a year and a day from now, you will come to me and I will deliver exactly the same to you."

Lan Wangji heard his brother's voice raised in sharp and incomprehensible protest. His own heart was beating too loudly for him to hear anything else.

🌟 addition recs under the cut 🌟

🌟 Howling by MimiSpearmint - 40k Summary: “Sizhui, go to the kitchen,” the Yiling Patriarch orders. His charge – Sizhui, Lan Wangji presumes – hesitates but obeys, looking back over his shoulder as he disappears. Apprentice out of the blast zone, the Patriarch storms up to Lan Wangji, eyes flashing red. “Three words: I. Am. Retired.”

Lan Wangji is sent by the Institute to do two things: become the Yiling Patriarch's familiar, and report back his every movement. It does not go how any of them planned.

🌟 my chain hits my chest / when im bangin' on the radio by x_los 2k Summary: Lan Wangji finds he doesn't even need to call for help for Wei Wuxian to come running.

help is on the way by vamillepuddling - 15k Summary: “There,” the Yiling Patriarch says. “Now all that’s missing is a throne. Would you like one?”

“I have no interest in ruling,” Lan Wangji says.

“What is it that holds Hanguang-jun’s interest, then?”

Lan Wangji presses his lips together, unwilling to meet the Yiling Patriarch’s gaze.

(The Yiling Patriarch wins. Lan Wangji is left behind on the fields of the dead and appoints himself a task.)

love what's burning right in front of you by seularen - 10k Summary: It didn’t matter. None of it mattered. There was only saving Lan Wangji, and what he was willing to do to accomplish that.

Or: someone tries to assassinate Hanguang-jun. The Yiling Laozu comes calling. tie a knife with a ribbon by iliacquer - 5k Summary: The Yiling Patriarch makes a bargain with the cultivation world. He'll give them the power to defeat Wen Ruohan. No more death. No more war.

All he wants in return is Lan Wangji.

better things to do with a flute during wartime by Anonymous - 365k Summary: Wei Wuxian stabs somebody with his flute. Nie Mingjue tries to fix things with his dick. Lan Wangji pines in a non-communicative fashion.

Or: in the fourth month of the Sunshot Campaign, Nie Mingjue notices that Wei Wuxian is showing symptoms of imminent qi deviation. He takes steps to try to mitigate the fallout—and the course of the war changes, first slowly, then much less slowly... Notes: this one is NMJ/WWX/LWJ

Once upon a midnight dreary by vamillepuddling - 15k

Summary: On the joyous occasion of the second Lan heir's birth celebration, a terrible shadow falls when the Yiling Patriarch arrives, much displeased that he wasn't invited. 20 years later, Lan Wangji learns the terrible price he extracted, and knows that he has only three weeks of freedom left until he meets the man again.

*

“Compensation,” the Yiling Patriarch echoes. “I like the sound of that. What will you give me? Gold? Jewels? Weapons?”

“Name your prize,” Lan Qiren repeats.

The Yiling Patriarch smiles again. He says, “Your nephew will do.”

when I look over my shoulder by cafecliche - 10k Summary: When you let the dead in, it takes a toll on you. There hasn’t been a single exception in history.

(Or: second heir to the renowned Lan exorcist clan Lan Zhan takes medium Wei Ying home after a difficult exorcism. He's in for a long night.)

This Tornado Loves You by feelsforbreakfast - 8k Summary: Hanguang-jun is dating a mild mannered, non-cultivator named Wei Wuxian. The Yiling Laozu rolls up to a nighthunt on a motorbike, no relation at all to the previous statement.

[softliebgott]

— scottie dog

about: hello my friend 🤗 can i request "i got you something! i remember you mentioning it before...i hope you like it" with martin? THANK YOUUUUU❤️❤️ — @tvserie-s-world

warnings: i’m a lil rusty 🥹, gn!reader, war angst

word count: 683

aldbourne, england

chalk hills, rolling like an unsettled ocean, hugged the idyllic wiltshire village. enthralled, webster said he thought he’d passed out on a hollywood movie set, but england wasn’t for everyone.

along the village street you sat on a stone wall, watching jeeps pass, soldiers eating lardy cakes, carving into trees with their bayonet knives, and knocking on locals’ doors asking if their pants could be washed. dick winters walked down toward the field in his dress uniform, brasses shining.

you didn’t like being so far from home. every time you remembered how far, you shocked your own body, mere thoughts being thousands of volts. innards trembling, and warmth unable to grab hold of you, you tormented yourself with how aware you were. the world was at war. who would win? will i die? how long will i be fighting?

you tried to distract yourself by naming the colors in the morning sky.

sunrise, orange juice spilled onto the blue fabric of the sky, peeked over its blanket of green with tired eyes. sunrise remembered greeting life every morning with warm colors, but now it had to say goodbye too often each day. life bled from hundreds, thousands; too much red for the earth like too many strawberries for a stomach.

only the sunrise would see how many bodies were left behind, and you wondered who would get to go home. who would be the lucky few?

but this wounded world was still giving moments of wonder and joy. you had found someone.

the hell of camp toccoa bonded both of you like complimenting colors being sewn into a picture. you and him had felt the same needle, the hand gripping it being sobel’s. he had an image of the perfect company of soldiers, and it didn’t matter how much he twisted or stretched beyond limits, because it worked in the end. the screaming eagle would trademark history, and you were proud to wear it even if you were just a small thread among others.

you saw him, johnny martin, the man who opened the sun in your heart. he walked toward you, arms tucked behind his back. the sun gilded his eyes, and he smiled ear to ear, disarming you completely.

“hey, cookie.”

you held your chin high, smirking at what he was hiding behind him. “what have you got there?”

he revealed a tawny box tied with thick string. “i got you something. i remember you mentioning it before...i hope you like it.” he handed the gift box up to you.

“johnny,” you said, taken aback. “you shouldn’t have. you didn’t use your jump pay did you?”

he rested his arms on the stone wall, leaning forward. “it was worth it.” he winked.

eyeing him playfully, you pulled the bow, unraveling it and removing the box’s lid. your heart fumbled with its beats, and you had a telltale pinch in your eyes. inside was a stuffed animal, but it was much more than that. it was your childhood.

as if picking up a day old baby, you gingerly took the black scottie dog out. the bell on the yellow ribbon tied around the neck spoke in a clear, melodic tone—as though in greeting after so long.

vision blurred, a lump bobbed in your throat. you had lost your scottie dog years ago, and as a child you used to carry it everywhere. you had believed it was alive in some way. on cold nights, you’d tuck it under its own blanket. you’d brush the fur from its eyes, thinking it couldn’t see otherwise.

even when your love left its fur matted and eyes scratched and cloudy, you wouldn’t trade it for anything else.

“i found it in an antique shop in the village,” johnny said.

“johnny martin.” gripping the scottie dog, you hopped down from the stone wall and wrapped your arms around johnny’s neck, molding yourself to him. “i’ve already won this war by having found you.”

he buried his face in the warm curve of your neck, lips warm against your skin. “and i’ve won the world.”

@general-taylor @mgdln97 @gottapenny @morgan108 @thegermansarebad @snafus-peckuh @junojelli @inglourious-imagines @wexhappyxfew @ineffablewants @sunflowerchuck @alienoresimagines @fandomscenariosforyou @ray--person @tvserie-s-world @keoghans @hellitwasyoufirstsergeant @mrseasycompany @mrsalwayswrite @meteora-fc @order-of-river-phoenix @thoughpoppiesblow @50svibes @alejodi0nysus @now-im-a-belieber @mads-weasley @multifandomlover01 @heartbeats-wildly

[glowinggator]

Happy Valentines Day!

Request: Hey since tomorrow is Valentine’s Day, think we can have a Rottmnt special? Like crush made them homemade chocolate and shyly gives it to them? ✨✨ pretty please! 🙏

Pairing: All, Non-Poly. (Raphael, Leonardo, Donatello, Michelangelo, & April O’Neil.) 

Content Warnings: None! Except for swearing?? I don’t know if people still tag for swears or not </3 

Word Count: 1658

You thank the universe that nobody could hear your heartbeat, for if they could, the world would surely fall apart at the intensity of its beats. Your face burns hot, and your body shakes with each step you take. You pray to every deity you can think of that you don’t drop the chocolate you stayed up all night making. Pan after pan and recipe after recipe lead you to this moment, finally finding the perfect concoction. That’s what you tell yourself, at least. No, it is perfect! Right? Fuck, what’s the backup plan if he doesn’t like it? Should you scrap it? Should you have brought some for everyone? You’re so lost in your thought, you hardly recognize your surroundings as you step into the lair. An enthusiastic “hey!” from your friends seals your fate: there’s no turning back now. No second-guessing.

You’re gonna give it to them. 

Raphael:

He’s so excited!! Chocolate? For him? From his crush?

He actually has to ask if you’re serious first, he can’t help it. Like really? Ethereal you made him homemade chocolate? He has to be dreaming.

“Are you sure you’re not confusing me for someone else? Not that I’m saying I don’t want it! Wait hold on, this isn’t coming out right-”

Raph what other giant, anthropomorphic snapping turtles do we know???

He smiles so big when you manage to stammer out that yes, this is for him, and he cradles the package so gently too. He’s such a sweetheart.

He actually made you something too!

He puts the box down gently before going to his room to grab it.

It’s a small handmade card with a little bouquet of wildflowers! (White trillium and starflower to be exact. He thought they were really pretty.) The bouquet is tied loosely with a red ribbon, pulled gently into a bow.

He was so nervous about giving it to you, that he actually wasn’t planning to at all! He’s had everything planned for weeks, but his anxiety kept getting the better of him. But getting something from you was exactly the kind of encouragement he needed to take that final leap.

He’s so flustered when he hands it over, and the way his hands shake makes you feel a little less shy. Maybe he does feel the same way?

Two shy dorks in love <3

Leonardo:

Yoo, for real? For him? Hell yeah, thank you!

He’s really confident on the outside. Like, he’s so excited and accepting about it it’s unreal. All of your anxieties melt away, as they tend to do around him, and you can’t even remember why you were so stressed in the first place! It’s Leo, after all.

He’s dying (in a good way) on the inside though. He’s just internally screaming. Holy shit his crush is giving him chocolate? And it’s homemade? Oh my god look at that tiny white chocolate drizzle, that’s so cute!! Is that a strawberry?? MANY thoughts, head FULL, and in LOVE.

(He’s gonna hardcore brag about it to his brothers later.)

His heart is pounding out of his chest, although he doesn’t divulge that information.

He asks you out right then and there. Like!!!

He doesn’t actually say the word “date,” but god. You’re suddenly all shy again, and you can’t do anything but nod furiously.

The date is super casual, (yes its at Hueso’s. He begs him to pull out all of the stops, and he does so, even if only to shut up Leo. Actual king <3)  and it really puts you at ease. At some point he moves to hold your hand, and you can’t help the way your heart leaps into your throat. And he'd be lying if he didn’t feel the same way.

His confession is so eloquent, and yet… dorky. Sweet. Like he’s rehearsed it a million times, trying to find the best possible words to win your heart. Little did he know, he’s always had it.

Donatello:

oh no

He didn’t plan for this. Like, this was literally the one thing he didn’t plan for.

(He has confidence issues, give him a break!! How could he have known that you were going to give him something too? And give it first as well?? Which sets a precedent for the gift he gives?? Social interactions are Awful and he’s in Hell.)

He’s still pleasantly surprised though!

He kind of short-circuits for a moment, and he’s completely deadpan for at least three seconds. It’s the worst couple seconds of your life. Then he comes back to reality and thanks you super genuinely.

(It’s hard to read him at the best of times, and this is. So much. He just doesn’t know what to do with himself!!!)

He takes his time looking at every detail on the chocolates, and your anxiety dies down as you see the softest smile grace his features. It’s so genuine, and you don’t even think he knows he is smiling, so it’s really reassuring.

You take the time to really study his features, and fuck, he’s really pretty. You’re both flustered when you guys come back to reality.

He made you a gift too!! In fact, he has a whole day planned out.

It’s a long and fun day of running around the Hidden City, and at night, in New York.

It’s incredible.

He’s confident, and he says all the right things. He’s had this night planned out for weeks, and fuck if it doesn’t shine through.

At the end of the night, he gives you his gift with averted eyes. It’s a strange contrast to the pure exciting, confident persona he’s been putting on all day.

It’s handmade, and tailored to your exact interests and equipped with his own, Donatello-Style flair.

He’s confident in his tech, and he knows you like the back of his hand, but this is… completely new territory.

Valentine’s Day has never been so perfect.

Michelangelo

He did the same thing, actually!!! So this is actually so perfect for him!!

He spent all night making the perfect chocolates. Most of them are filled, and those that aren’t have some unique, artistic drizzle adorning them. If you hadn’t known better, you would have thought he got them from a fancy chocolate place.

He genuinely can’t contain his excitement when you hand him the box all shyly. His eyes light up with the brightness of a dying star going supernova.

He immediately hugs you, careful not to crush the chocolates, and then his mouth is moving at a mile a minute. It’s almost hard to keep up!! He’s just so happy and excited, and he’s running to the kitchen and he has a box too??? Hello, what’s going on??

He’s trying so hard to not just blurt out a confession here and now.

It’s completely impromptu, but he suggests going out on the town. He didn’t plan it, he was honestly just planning to stay in and watch some movies with you, but now that you’ve brought him a Valentine’s Day gift too? That means you like him too right, maybe?

If he’s gonna confess to you, it’s sure as hell not gonna be in a sewer. (Even if it is his home. It just ain’t right, man!)

It’s really fun! You feel so at home with him, and there’s no pressure at all.

Everything just seems to fall into place around him. He’s your home. Unbeknownst to you, he feels the exact same way.

He confesses by the end of the night. It’s so sweet and sincere, but there isn’t a single moment of hesitation. He’s so head over heels for you, and that love shows itself in every movement and word.

April

She’s never been given chocolates before!! She’s always looked on in envy through middle school, highschool, at work, etc. So fuck, if she’s not immediately swarmed with emotion. She’s like, two seconds away from crying. I love her so much…

It’s actually really funny, because she ordered a really nice bouquet of ivory & pink flowers from her local flower shop for you, but they hadn’t arrived yet! She’s super upfront with it, and it gets a good laugh out of both of you. The classic April O’Neil luck, ey?

It definitely lightens the mood, and she suggests going out to a local restaurant to get lunch, and then maybe go sightseeing! Or maybe just goof around in the Hidden City? No pressure!

It’s super fun! You never want the night to end, to be quite honest.

You get to choose the music while you guys drive around, and you end up picking the silliest stuff. You guys laugh and belt out the lyrics to every song.

The food at the restaurant is perfect, and everything goes off without a hitch. At some point she reaches across the table to interlock fingers with you, and you’re suddenly alight with so much love and recognition that this is an official date, and your best friend - your crush - is holding hands with you, and her hand is so soft and warm and… you’re so in love. And unbeknownst to you, she’s feeling the exact same strain of emotion.

At the end of the night she takes you to a rainy spot in the Hidden City, and you guys dance and sing in the rain.

Everything feels so natural and perfect with her. She’s your safe space, your home, your world.

You can barely stand to part at the end of the night.

When you do get back to your home, you find her gift at your front door. It’s a beautiful bouquet of white Gardenias, pink Carnations, pink Peonies, and… a white Lily. They stand perfectly in a vase, apparently left at your doorstep by the delivery driver. You place them on your kitchen counter as soon as you can, and text her immediately.

You love her with all your heart, and she’s head over heels for you, too.