#his hobbies are looming and leaning!

[itsonlypolite]

Whiteboard doodles of Cold and Opportunist :)

[llamagoddessofficial]

Has anyone requested Fae Dust’s datemate HCs yet? If not, can we have some?

I also saw @owl-bones' Dust art, anon. And I very much agree its sexy

Don't think I need to tell you that he's hard to read

Get used to having no clue how he really feels.

Some wonder why he doesn't speak, when tricksy words are what the fae are known for. But in a world where every word is a trap, there's great power in not speaking at all.

... Also means it feels like there's never any pressure with Dust. You can relax around him. Blurt whatever you like, because he says barely anything in return.

When he likes you, you won't know how you know, but you'll just... know. You'll get a feeling you're being quietly appreciated. You'll get a feeling you're the only person in the room he can stand. He keeps looking at you like you and him are in on a joke no one else understands.

He'll be silent for hours, only to stun everyone in the room by chuckling at something you said.

He frequently looks your way, even if you can't see his eyelights you can tell you're being watched, and when you can see his eyelights they get visibly wider and softer.

Normally, during the rare occasions when Nightmare hosts balls or parties, Dust immediately finds some way to escape. But if you're present, he'll stay. Might even ask you to dance.

(By 'ask', I mean just gently take your hand and wordlessly lead you into it, the other skeletons too gobsmacked at his boldness to intervene)

There's a few clearer signs he likes you. He'll perform random acts of politeness for you, like holding doors and passing you things you can't reach, a big fucking deal considering you didn't ask first. He'll sit by your side, he'll stand close to you even if you're not facing one another. If you're having a conversation with another fae he looms nearby... you might mistake it for jealousy, but really, he's making it 100% clear to whoever you're talking to that if they trick you or take something of yours he's going to ensure it's returned.

..... A little jealousy too, though.

He disappears for several days at a time, seemingly out of nowhere. No one's sure what he does - rumours swirl that he goes out to do Nightmare's dirty work. The first thing he always does when he comes back is give you a small affectionate touch.

He spends a lot of time in Nightmare's library. You might find him there, if you wander that way. You can tell he appreciates the company because he doesn't leave when you show up.

You find him smoking outside, you ask for a puff of his cigarette. He takes a slow drag, then leans in and kisses you.

He'll take his hood down around you.

When he does eventually speak, you'll find that the whole time he's known you, he's been quietly making a dedicated effort to learn about the things important to you. He's very perceptive. He'll learn all about your interests, your hobbies, the things you could talk about forever... if you know another language he'll familiarise himself with the basics, if you like art he'll pick up a pencil, if you like history his satchel will be heavy with scrolls and books he's snatched from Nightmare's library for you.

It's funny how so few words can make you feel so appreciated.

He's quite the charmer, when he wants to be.

[cece693]

Social Recluse (Jason Voorhees x M! Reader)

Just something that came to mind. Short.

Summary: Even if you accepted Jason and his 'hobby', he understood you didn't like interacting with people. Staying hidden in your cabin, luck isn't on your side when a camp counselor stumbles inside.

tags: the reader doesn't like people, comforting Jason, you get injured (small), short work

Jason was off doing his usual thing—taking care of the camp counselors—while you kept to yourself in the cabin, avoiding the social chaos that always made you uncomfortable. Suddenly, the door burst open, and a bloodied figure stumbled inside, immediately setting you on edge. You retreated into the shadows, watching as the girl frantically searched for something, likely a weapon, before flicking on the lights.

"Ahh!" she screamed, but her panic quickly shifted to relief. "Thank God you're not that freak!"

A frown crossed your face. How dare she insult your lover?

You remained silent, your eyes tracking the girl's every move as she nervously paced around the cabin. She tried to engage you, her voice trembling with fear. "Hey, are you okay? Did he…did he hurt you? Oh God, did he cut out your tongue or something?"

Her words barely registered. You didn’t flinch, didn’t speak. The quiet unease of the situation settled around you like a second skin. She probably assumed you were just another of Jason's victims, traumatized and mute, which suited you fine. You had no intention of correcting her.

Suddenly, the door crashed again, and he was there—Jason. Massive, imposing, and silent as ever. His machete gleamed under the dim cabin light, still slick with blood. Her wide, terrified eyes darted toward you, and in her desperation, she lunged, grabbing your arm. The sudden contact made you flinch, recoiling instinctively. You hated being touched, especially by strangers, but she didn’t notice—too consumed by her own fear.

"Come on! We have to get out of here!" she cried, her grip tight as she dragged you toward the door, pulling you along in her misguided attempt to save you both.

But you didn't want to run. You didn’t need saving.

Jason’s heavy footsteps echoed behind you, and you could feel him gaining on the two of you. The girl’s breath came in panicked gasps as she pushed forward, desperately trying to escape. Then, it happened. Jason struck, and the girl screamed as she fell, the force of her collapse sending you tumbling to the ground alongside her.

You hit the floor hard, your knee scraping against the rough wooden planks. A sharp sting shot up your leg as blood oozed from the wound. You winced but remained silent, even as the pain radiated through you.

Jason’s shadow loomed over the girl, and it only took one swift motion to end her cries. Her body slumped to the ground, lifeless. The cabin fell into a sudden, oppressive silence, broken only by the faint sound of your own labored breathing.

Jason turned toward you, his expression unreadable behind that familiar hockey mask, but his actions were anything but threatening. He crouched beside you, his presence calming rather than terrifying. His gaze fell on your bloody knee, and without hesitation, he sheathed his weapon and gently reached out. His large hand carefully touched the area around the wound, touch surprisingly soft, as if afraid of hurting you further.

You remained still, watching him work in silence. There was no fear, no hesitation in your mind. Jason was dangerous, yes, but never to you. He seemed to sense your discomfort with the blood, with the girl’s corpse still nearby, and he positioned himself between you and the body, shielding you from the sight.

With the worst of the blood wiped away, Jason helped you to your feet, his grip steady, never forceful. He lingered close, a silent protector, knowing exactly how much interaction you could handle without feeling overwhelmed. "Thank you." You murmured, leaning your head against his chest. You only received a grunt before closing your eyes and falling asleep. Social interactions always took a large toll on you.

[vhagarys]

Final Tribute

husband!aemond x reader

summary: your husband always carried himself with a cold indifference outside of your bed chambers. you were determined to break him.

warnings: smut, slight voyeur, mean aemond, desperate reader, humiliation kink?,

MDNI

since marrying the prince regent, one of your favorite hobbies is to try to rile your husband. he always dropped the cool facade he crafted behind closed doors. however, his stoic demeanor never wavered as soon as he left your shared chambers.

thus, you set a precedent to finally crack your husband.

tonight presented itself as a golden opportunity for such endeavors.

you made a point to avoid him prior to dinner, knowing how annoyed he would be at your evasion.

when you arrived to the family affair, quite tardy at that, you made sure to dress in a gown you knew aemond would disapprove. breasts spilling out of the bodice, you dared to add a touch of sparkly powder to your collarbones to draw extra attention to them.

satisfied with your appearance, you waltzed into the banquet room, carefully evading the piercing gaze shot at you from across the room.

strolling past the seat next to your husband, you opted to place yourself next to ser cristin cole.

this was be an easy feat, you giggled internally. the lord commander known for his lustful hobbies.

however hard he tried to be respectful of the prince’s lady wife, his eyes couldn’t help but drink in the sight of your indecent attire.

a bolt of excitement shot through you as you could practically feel the heat radiating from your husband. your actions, while to most minute, were monumental in his eyes.

not only had you failed to greet him properly and sit beside him, but your choice of dress was more befitting of as a whore from the Street of Silk than his royal wife.

you knew your behavior was risky to say the least, however your lust to breach your husbands exterior clouded your better judgement.

the final straw was you laughing boisterously at a remark from ser cristin, daring to go so far as to lean over and flirtatiously smack his arm.

the chatter was brought to a halt at the startling bang of aemond slamming his fist on the table. slowly turning from ser cristin to meet his gaze, you could barely suppress the smirk that appeared.

he noted the smug satisfaction on your face. you were met with matching smirk and a sense of unease washed over you. the tension in the room grew thick, and you could feel it begin to seep through your skin.

you wish to play this game with me dear wife? you could hear the unspoken words as a darkness consumed his pupils.

lifting his goblet, he commanded the attention of everyone in the room. his attention fixated on you as a predator would to its prey. admiring his meal, drinking in the sound of your sporadic heartbeat before going in for the kill. the dominance he emitted shot straight to your dampening core.

as if he could smell your arousal, his eyes trailed down your exposed form.

“shijetra issa, issa ābrazȳrys vestragon naejot emagon ojūdan zȳhon se jorrāelagon issa. īlon jāhor sagon return naejot pryjagon adere.”

(forgive me, my wife seems to have forgotten herself and requires my immediate attention. we will return on the morrow to break fast.)

your eyes bulged as you began to grasp his words and the reality that half in attendance spoke high valyrian. those same eyes looked over at you with a degree of shock and horror as embarrassment washed over you.

all you could do was sit frozen as your husband sauntered over to your seat, looming behind your chair to whisper,

“iksos bisa skoros ao jeldan, issa ābrazȳrys? māzigon.” all it took was a light touch of his fingers on your chin for you to obediently meet his gaze.

(is this what you wanted, my naughty wife. Come.)

depite the shame at your indecent actions, yo couldn’t help but feel aroused at your husband’s brazen words.

you thanked the gods for the dynamic between you and your lord husband. he craved your submission as much as you craved relinquishing control to him. desperate to please each other, you were never left unsatisfied when you found yourselves under the sheets.

with a firm grip, he led you out of the room and towards your chambers. in a futile attempt to compose yourself, you rubbed your thighs together as all the scenarios of what was to come swarmed your conscience.

as soon as the doors closed behind you, he pushed you against it, crowding your space and gripping your hip with a bruising force.

“you have forgotten your place, dear wife. what would your mother and father think, if they saw how desperate their little girl was that she’d act like a whore to get her husbands attention?”

he pushed his knee between your legs, creating a delicious friction against your core. lost in the heady headspace aemond was pulling you into, you whined pathetically and began to rub yourself against his leather pants.

aemond knew how far gone you were. he grinned as he looked deeply in your eyes and saw how dilated your pupils were. not a single thought in that pretty little head but my cock, he mused to himself.

he allowed you to continue your ministrations, cooing at his dear wife reduced to a desperate cock slut. humping on his leg like a bitch in heat, a small of drool left your lips as he gripped your neck and hold you in place.

your arousal drenched through your small clothes and stockings, effectively ruining them and his trousers.

he knew you were close to peak, as he wrenched his knee from your center and threw you over your shoulder. you whined and went to reach your center and relieve yourself of the throbbing between your legs.

he gripped your hands in one of his, nearing your martial bed.

“if you desire my cock, you needn’t act like a whore, sweet girl. I will always make time to fill you with my seed, hm?”

a little short ik, this scenario popped into my brain and needed to document it, enjoy!

- alice

[gothamite-rambler]

Talia being a good (villain) mom and getting her son the doll he always wanted.

Talia: Tifl!

Damian (now 12): Why did Alfred let her into the house?

Damian heard the sound of his mother's heels echoing down the halls of the manor until she reached his bedroom, where he was working on math homework at his desk. She held out a gift bag to him.

Talia: I got this for you.

Damian: Your sanity?

Talia (laughing softly): That left after the tenth dip in the pit. No, I got you the gift you wanted since you were seven.

Damian took the bag, looking at it with skepticism. He pulled out the black tissue paper and revealed a brown boy Barbie doll.

It was something he remembered asking for often and even begging for at one point, but he had never received it. Over time, he had given up hope, especially due to Ra's negativity towards him.

Damian took the bag, eyeing it with skepticism. He pulled out the black tissue paper, and his eyes widened as he unveiled a brown boy Barbie doll—something he had often asked for and even begged for at times, but had never received. Gradually, he had lost hope, especially with Ra’s constant negativity looming over him.

Talia: I wanted to give you the best gift because I know how much you love Barbie—no judgment there! The old me would've reacted like my father, but the new me understands and appreciates your hobby. I couldn’t find the perfect one, so I had it custom made by the Barbie company. Ta-da! He’s Arab and White, just like you!

Damian: You got this for me?

Talia: Absolutely! You’ve always said you wanted one that resembled you, and here he is. It wasn’t easy getting in touch with the company, but once I flashed the cash, they got right to work.

Damian: I'm not sure what to say...

Damian smiled softly, eliciting a beaming smile from Talia, though she maintained her distance to give him space to take in the new doll.

Damian: I can’t believe you remembered I wanted one. I begged for this but never received it.

Talia: Of course I remember! I raised you for eight years, after all. Ra might say boys shouldn’t play with dolls, but I refuse to listen to that nonsense anymore. I’m here to make my baby happy—even if it meant spending a good chunk of money to barge into Barbie headquarters, providing them with detailed notes for your custom doll, and creating a scene when one of them said boys shouldn’t play with dolls.

Damian (surprised): You really did that?

Talia (winking with a smile): I even got that intern fired for his comments! Anything for my tifl.

Damian stared at the doll, momentarily lost for words.

Damian (clearing his throat): Th- Thank you, Mother.

Talia wrapped her arms around him and kissed his cheek.

Talia: I’d do anything for you, even if you choose not to join my family's side... although I suspect you probably will. But I understand if you don’t. Now, I have to go. Your father doesn’t know I broke in, but he will find out soon. Bye, tifl.

Talia opened the window and slipped through, landing gracefully on her feet just as Bruce noticed and chased after her. Damian leaned out the window, then glanced back at the doll, a smile spreading across his face.

[hihhasotherfixations]

Wedded - Dragon! John Price x Reader | Chapter 1

When you are mistaken by a dragon as his promised bride, you unexpectedly need to learn how to live with your new husband. After all, the dragon made a deal, and he wants his end of the bargain - you.

Current | Next Chapter

The results of the poll were clear. Dragon Price is first to come up and be written. This was also the only option who’s fic had multiple chapters sooo, woop woop! Hope you all enjoy :3

CW: f!reader, dragon Price, violence in future chapters

Word Count: 3028

Walking into the town, your eyes curiously looked around, an excitement blooming inside you – one you always found yourself in any time you got to a new part of the land, finding cities and villages you never knew existed.

This time, you’d made it to a village just south of the roaring mountains. A range that spanned the border of the land near the east. It was a relatively small village, and as you walked through to the marketplace, you immediately became aware of how close-knit the community was, as everyone seemed to know everyone.

Making you stick out like a sore thumb.

Still, your travels hadn’t gotten you this far if that was something that scared you off. And without further thought, you stepped up to one of the market brokers. The man was a botanist, obviously, selling herbs and wildflowers, your keen eyes curiously scanning around.

“Hello, madam!” The vendor perked up, giving you a once over, noting the large bag slung over your shoulder, as well as the leather-wrapped stick you were leaning on. “New to town?”

“Good morning.” You smiled politely. “Yes I am. It’s very nice.” You said, though as you looked around, it was evident that a scuffle had recently taken place. Broken wood and scorch marks riddling the buildings around.

“Can I help you find anything?” He asked, that typical salesman smile on his face.

Giving a small smile back, you shook your head. “No, I’m just looking for now.” You declined.

As you perused, you recognised most of the man’s wares. Within your own bag that was currently slung over your shoulder, you kept several exact specimens like the ones laid out before you.

After all, you’d been collecting them.

For the last three years, you’d been scouring the land, finding and testing herbs and wildflowers for their potencies and effects. What was once a hobby had become your life, with you abandoning your old one in the process. Yet not a day passed where you regretted your newfound freedom.

“Say, you seem very knowledgeable in this.” The vendor suddenly spoke up and you glanced at him, tilting your head in curiosity. Seeing that, the man explained. “Your eyes zero in on the rarer plants and skip over the common ones. Not many know them like I do.” He complimented.

“Oh, yes.” You smile. “I’m… well, a researcher. I’m writing a field guide on the plants of this continent and their effects.” You said, slight pride in your voice. Though it wasn’t a secret per se, saying it out loud was not something you often did. But giving the man’s profession, you figured it was worth a shot. “I’m looking for some rarer plants and I must ask, what is this one?” You questioned, pointing at a flower to the right. It had white, pointed petals that slowly turned blue the closer it got to the core, yellow spore marking the centre while the stem and leaves itself were green. Nothing like you’d ever seen before.

“That? Oh, that is a mountainscale lily.” He smiled, picking up the dried specimen. “Very rare. Found only in caves high up in the mountains.” As he said that, he turned and pointed to the looming mountain behind the village.

“I’ve never seen them before.” You mused, leaning in to get a better look.

“They’re native to this region. Only grow under very specific circumstances.” He explained and you nodded, curious.

“Is this in a place I could reach?” You questioned, making the vendor frown.

“I would not advise-“ “Ah! Hold on!” A woman suddenly interrupted, sliding in beside the merchant, her hand on his arm. The man looked a little startled, glancing at her in confusion, to which the woman nudged her head in your direction with an easy smile. “Look at the lady, she’s well equipped! Don’t be underestimating her now.” She teased, bumping her hip into his before squeezing his arm to get his attention and sending him a pointed stare, one you felt you shouldn’t be witnessing. At it, the man glanced from her to you – who was standing there confused – before grunting as he looked away from you, muttering under his breath.

Confused, you turned to the woman who turned to face you while smiling wide.

“Sorry about that. I couldn’t help but overhear.”

“That’s… okay.” You hummed, shifting your hiking stick to your other hand, a little put off by her sudden appearance. “So, am I correct in saying you think I could get to where the flowers grow?” You questioned, the woman seeming to light up.

“I am positive! In fact, I would like to ask to make a deal with you. Hire you, if you will.”

That was both intriguing and concerning at the same time. Anyone could take one glance at you and see you weren’t exactly a mercenary for hire.

“Darla, no-“ The man started, placing his hand on her shoulder, but the woman just shrugged it off.

“Hush now, I’m sure it will be no problem.” She smiled, keeping her eyes on you, to which the man grabbed her elbow, forcefully turning her to face him.

“Don’t. This is our problem. We must bear the consequences.” He said pointedly, but Darla scoffed and yanked her arm free.

“We have a perfectly capable young woman here.” She spoke, glaring at him.

“I’m sorry, what’s going on?” You asked, confused and before the man could say anything, Darla stepped in.

“These flowers. They have a healing capability. About a month ago, our village was raided and our supply stolen.” She spoke, a resentment sounding in her voice. “It was supposed to last us through the winter but now new flowers need to be plucked. The problem is that gathering them requires skill and knowledge. No one but my husband can do it, but he injured his leg during the raid and hasn’t been able to make the trip.” She said while gesturing to him.

“Oh. I’m sorry to hear.” You frowned in sympathy, looking at the vendor who had a defeated look, sitting down on his stool behind his stall. When looking around at the village, the evidence of a scuffle was clear. And not a small one. Not only were there the ruins and scorch marks around you, some houses were even burned down on the outskirts – which you’d seen when coming into town.

“Listen.” The man spoke up, catching your attention again. “The mountains aren’t easy to traverse, especially with an injury. It’s not a safe road. Think about this.” He warned, looking at his plants, avoiding your eyes.

Your brows creased together in thought as you then looked at the woman. “So… what is it you want?”

Darla perked up, her eyes landing on you before turning pleading as she walked around the stall, grasping your hands and holding them up between you and her. “We will tell you how to find the flowers. And in return, I beg you to retrieve a satchel full of them for our village. We cannot survive winter without them.”

Blinking in surprise, you looked from her, down to the pressed flower laying on the wood of the stall. You’d never heard of a flower which had capabilities such as that. 

“I-“ You glanced up at her again. Her hand was holding yours tightly.

“You can take this one for free.” She then quickly spoke, grabbing the pressed flower and pushing it into your hand.

Frowning, you looked down at it, briefly studying the colours and make before sighing, looking at the vendor again, who was still looking down. While the thought of a flower having such potent capabilities was hard to believe - not without it having some sort of addicting feature – the opportunity to study it was too good to pass up. “Okay.”

At your simple word, Darla lit up, grinning wide, though it was almost scary as she then turned to her husband and hugged him. “We’re going to be alright!” Before you could say anything, she moved back over to you, gripping your shoulders. “You will save every young maiden in our village from a terrible and ill fate.”

Letting out a bit of a confused chuckle, you leaned back a bit. “Why, does the flower not affect men?”

At that, Darla cackled a laugh – a surprisingly pleasant sound.

“Come, let me give you a map and explain how to get there.” She smiled, placing her hand on your backpack, gently pushing you with her, leading you across the market.

And in the haste of her offering you a place to stay at her impressively lavish two-story house, food, a map into the mountains and all the instructions that came with it, you failed to realise that the herbal vendor never came to the house, nor that neither him or Darla wore wedding rings.

- - - -

Leaning on your stick, you paused at the edge of the trail, huffing and puffing.

Since the early hours of dawn you’d been walking, resting periodically to make sure you’d be fit to continue.

According to Darla, the hike to the nearest cave containing the wildflowers was ten hours – on top of the hour you’d already travelled by horse together with the woman.

She had been incredibly helpful, sticking close to you and repeatedly thanking you for being willing to do this. Hell, it almost felt like she was glued to your hip until the moment you reached the foot of the mountain, where she was all too eager to send you off on your way, taking the horses back home.

Not that you blamed her.

Walking over to the rocky face of the mountain, you leaned against it, staying away from the trail’s edge, not to keen to fall down it. Shifting down to sit, you pulled your backpack off your back, digging in to get your journal where you flicked to the most recent entry.

Opening the page, you carefully picked up the pressed mountainscale lily, turning it in your hand. Before parting ways with Darla, you’d asked her many questions about the flower’s properties. She’d seemed a little flustered, almost unwilling to talk about it.

Glancing down at your notes, you pulled out the charcoal pencil from the spine of your journal, drawing a line down from the drawing you made of the flower.

Hunching forward, you scribbled a single word before a loud thud suddenly echoed through the forest down below, making you snap your head up, looking over the sea of orange-leafed trees before you. Far in the distance, birds rose to the air, making you hum curiously.

Glancing back down at the journal, you placed the flower back between the pages before closing the book, getting back to your feet again, ready to pass the next few hours mulling over your new hypothesis, that one word echoing in your mind.

‘Addictive?’

- - - -

Pulling your coat tightly around yourself, you shivered, tying the strings directly under your chin. Even with the sun shining fully in the sky, the air was frigid – a cause of both the height you were walking at, as well as the nearing of winter.

You’d long since pulled out your woollen hat, keeping yourself as warm as possible, your hands feeling like ice.

Holding your map tight, your eyes glanced from the parchment and up the trail you were currently on. It was small, a goat’s path more than anything and one misstep would result in you plummeting down onto rocks far below.

Yet as you looked right, you couldn’t help but be in absolute awe by the view.

As far as your eyes could see, the forest stretched. Along the way, a wide river shimmered in the slowly setting sun, everything bathed in a gorgeous light, enhancing the golden leaves of the autumn trees. If you weren’t at threat of losing the light, you’d have sat down to draw it.

Looking back at the map, you breathed out, exhausted. Your feet hurt, every step making you question whether or not this was worth all the hassle. Yet as you grasped onto the brittle rock on your left and rounded the bend, you saw it.

A large opening sat in the side of the mountain, a plateau in front of it providing plenty of space. The cave opening alone must have been the size of nearly two houses beside each other.

And about ten meters in front of you, you saw it.

A mountainscale lily gently flowed back and forth in the breeze, the petals gently moving.

Firmly pushing off your stick, you began walking towards it, crouching beside the flower.

It was small, incomplete and evidently not growing in ideal circumstances, too exposed to the wind.

Leaving it where it was, you kept going. The cave sat about thirty meters ahead and your heart began thudding in excitement.

Every herb and wildflower you’d documented so far was one you either already knew, or had vaguely heard of. All of them were known, most likely researched, used in experiments until every purpose was exploited. But this one? You’d never heard of a flower like this. And the thought of you being the first to properly document it? It filled you with an eager excitement.

Reaching the cave, instantly you saw the lily’s on the edges of the opening, blooming in the dirt-like ground that littered the plateau you were standing on, the forest behind you and far below.

Taking off your backpack, you moved over the left, crouching by a cluster of the flowers. Digging into your pack, you pulled out your journal and knife, carefully starting to prod at and study the flower, carelessly scribbling anything of note down.

Your mind was only focused on a single thing, yet as you inspected the flower, you noted that even in its alive state, the colours were less bright than the pressed flower the vendor had given you. Even these flowers weren’t sufficiently growing.

“Is it the cave?” You mumbled to yourself, setting your items down and getting to your feet.

Slowly, you started to walk in through the massive opening, your body casting a tiny shadow in the large circle of light.

For a minute or so, you moved. Yet the further you went, the more you walked, a dread slowly started to settle in the pit of your stomach.

Something felt off.

Stalactites hung from the ceiling, ominous and casting shadows onto the top of the cavern.

The light from the entrance was pale, limited. And as you walked forward, you slowly got to the cap of it. Daylight reached into the cave in almost a halo. A safe circle of pale light, ending where you stood now, right at your feet.

Normally, you didn’t feel like this. Normally, you’d step into the shaded part of a cavern without trouble but in this moment? You couldn’t.

There was something about this place that wasn’t right. Unnatural.

…Warm.

The cave was warm.

It was subtle, not immediately noticeable until you focused on it, but still your eyes widened in realisation of that fact. Despite climbing high up, damn near into the mountains to get here. There was no frigid cold. The difference from the moderately chilly air outside and in here was noticeable. And it definitely didn’t come from the watery sun outside.

A breeze suddenly picked up, a gust of wind so fast you had to snap your hand up to hold onto your hat, your eyes closing on instinct as your clothes billowed and ruffled.

Clutching the strap of your bag with one hand and your hat with the other, you dared to peek an eye open. Yet as you did, your heart sunk, watching as the sun that had been shining on your back was blocked, a shadow sliding in and covering your body.

The gust of wind passed, your heartbeat thudding harshly in your chest as you could hear every breath you took, your eyes wide as you stared at the unnatural shadow currently cast over you. A shadow that shouldn’t be there. A shadow that wasn’t a second ago.

Slowly, as if a thousand weights hung on you, you turned your head around. And the clench of your jaw slackened as a terror fell over you.

Sitting there, sprawled  across the opening of the cave, hung a dragon.

With scales a deep green, its eyes were fixed on you, unblinking while it sat. Hanging on the rock, its massive form blocked out the sunlight, small slivers only escaping near the corners of the scaly creature, the light almost casting it in a halo. Or hellfire.

You’d never seen a dragon before, only heard stories of knights or travellers, regaling the terror and power they could wreak.

You didn’t dare blink or move, just stuck in a staring contest until for the first time, it made a noise as a billow of smoke escaped its maw, a rumble echoing through the cave as it shifted, muscle rippling and scales glistening in the light.

With a deliberate and slow movement, it flexed the joints of its wings, stretching them slightly and blocking out even that last bit of sunlight that was on your body, fully encasing you in its mighty shadow.

With barely anything else to do, you turned your body around to face it like your head was, and as if on cue, that made it move.

Slinking down from the large cave entrance, the dragon landed on the rocky ground, front paws thudding down before the rest of the body followed, moving towards you.

Terrified, you stumbled back, wanting to run, though your heel hooked behind the uneven ground of the cave, making you fall onto your back harshly.

With the wind knocked out of you, you’d barely opened your eyes before you found the dragon’s maw hanging right above you, an amusement dancing in the crinkle of its eyes.

“Please-“ You whispered, only for the dragon to not hear as it instead spoke.

“Finally made the decision to show up, did we? You’re four hours late.”

-

I’ll try to get the next chapter out as soon as I can! Please let me know what you thought and if there is interest for a tag list for future chappies ❤️

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Candy Girl 5

Warnings: this fic will include elements, some dark, such as cheating, age gap, noncon/dubcon, and other untagged triggers. Please take this into account before proceeding. It is up to curate your online consumption safely.

Summary: as you’re about to take the next step with your boyfriend, doubts begin to arise. (short!plus!reader)

Characters: Thor (boyfriend’s dad/silverfox)

Author’s Note: Please feel free to leave some feedback, reblog, and jump into my asks. I’m always happy to discuss with you and riff on idea. As always, you are cherished and adored! Stay safe, be kind, and treat yourself. <3

The silver-haired man bends over your engine. His name is Bucky as you guessed from Thor’s booming yawls for him. You sit on the front porch, next to the pizza on the bench, and chew your lip anxiously. All four men loom around your deceased vehicle, mulling grimly over the ruins. 

Karl seemed okay about the catastrophe. Emmanuel was looking to pick up some hours and there are enough orders that he didn’t need to worry about breaking even. You thanked him before you hung up, still numb and in disbelief. It’s not just a car, it’s your livelihood. More than just your job, it’s your escape from a house that’s never been much of a home. 

You try not to let the despair drown you but can’t help it. For all your optimism, this is just too much, the final straw. If you can’t drive, you can’t work, and you can’t get money, and you can’t hand over most of your check to get your parents off your back. You are effed. 

Before you can hang your head, Thor catches your eye. He waves and bounds over as if only then remembering you. He comes up the steps and leans against the porch railing across from you. 

“Gonna be alright,” he says and he crosses his arms, “Bucky says it might take a little but he can redo the whole thing.” 

“Really?” You bat your lashes, looking up at the awning, “hm, maybe I should look into being a mechanic.” 

“Not quite,” he chuckles, “it’s more a hobby but he’s gotten me out of a few vehicular binds. I trust him.” 

“Oh, uh, well... guess I don’t have much of a choice,” you shrug and reach into your pocket, “can you take this back?” You hold out the folded bills, “maybe it can help with the cost--” 

“Ah, he owes me,” Thor winks, “keep it.” 

“I can’t--” 

“I’ve been holding onto this favour for nearly a decade, what better time to use it?” He grins. “Please, little one, you keep that money. It’s well-earned.” 

You give a bittersweet smile, your cheeks pinching with the underlying anxiety. You won’t argue about it. You really do need the money. You sigh and tuck it back into your pocket. 

“I’m sorry to ruin your night,” you murmur as you look at the men near your car. Bucky and another argue as they gesture to the car, the greying blond man standing back to watch without amusement. 

“Ah, no, they’re always like that,” he glances over his shoulder, “eh, what more could I ask?” He stands and drops his arms, moving to sit on the other end of the bench. He flips up the lid of the top pizza box, “than to eat with a pretty girl.” 

Your cheeks tingle. He’s always a bit too cheesy. You scrunch your lips and shake your head. 

“Please, dig in,” he insists, “might as well. Otherwise, these old dogs with devour it all and be whining of heartburn in an hour.” 

You snort. You can’t say you’re not hungry. Driving around with the smell of chicken and pizza all night does tend to leave you ravenous and after the day you’ve had, well, you’re no stranger to comfort eating.  

“Just one slice,” you insist and reach to tear a piece off the pie. 

He hums contentedly as he takes one himself. He peers out at his buddies and rolls his eyes. The argument is turning heated though the silent third hardly seems fazed. It almost reminds you of Magni and his friends; people don’t grow up very much, do they? 

🍬

“It’s late,” Thor says as he leads you down the walk, “you can stay over and I’ll drive you home in the morning.” 

“Oh, but...” 

“Mm, I did have a beer or two, we’ll have to walk to mine,” he interjects, “apologies, little one, I didn’t foresee disaster.” 

“It’s... okay,” you assure him. “Thanks, again. I really appreciate it.” 

You turn onto the sidewalk beside him and slip your phone from your purse. Still no messages. You dim the screen with a sigh and put it away. 

“Something the matter?” Thor asks. 

“No, just... haven’t heard from Magni.” 

“Ah, I’m certain he’s home,” Thor insists, “you know how he is. Distracted with that bike he can’t seem to fix.” 

You chuckle, “yeah, I don’t think that thing’s ever gonna run again.” 

“I told him not to take it apart,” he tuts, “but does he ever listen?” 

“Oh, sorry, I...” 

“It isn’t your fault, no need for your apologies,” he says, “I only wish...” he exhales heavily, “maybe I could’ve done better. If I had, he’d treat you better too. I’m sorry you have to deal with such a spoiled brat. As selfishly as I’d like you to stick around, you could do better. Much better.” 

You mull his words in silence, “yeah, I... he’s... not... he just needs time.” 

You’re not sure you believe that. He hasn’t changed in the year you’ve been together. You’ve known him even longer than that and you can’t say he’d matured past his high school antics much.

Even his brother, Modi, outgrew all that. You always asked why he didn’t think about moving in with him, getting a bit of space. He just didn’t want to be troubled with the effort of it all. Just like most things. 

“It isn’t my place,” Thor raises his hands, “sorry. It is only... my thoughts come faster than I can stop them.” 

“Yeah... I...” you drag your feet. He’s just saying everything you’ve been denying. “I don’t know.” 

You walk along, staring ahead, overly aware of his looming presence. He rubs his neck and clears his throat, “anyhow, I was curious, fall will be here soon, were you still looking to go to school?” 

“Oh, uh... well,” you scoff, “my car... don’t have that much save yet and... I mean, you don’t have to do everything on the same schedule as everyone else, right?” 

Another point of denial. Another thing you’re running away from to look on the bright side instead. You sniff and shrug. 

“Not this year.” Probably not next year, either. You’re already a year behind, so what does it matter? 

“Ah, so now that Magni’s done his gap year, you’ll be okay?” 

“Okay?” You wonder. 

“With him going away for so long. I suppose you’ll just go up and visit, eh? We could make a road trip of it, if you like.” 

“Away?” Your heart plummets and you stop short, just at the corner of his street, “Mr. Odin—Thor? I thought he was going local.” 

He turns to you and inhales, chest rising and falling as he clamps his lips guiltily, “oof, I’ve done it again. Said too much.” 

“What-- when was he going to tell me?” You croak. Don’t cry. Don’t. That’s just pathetic. 

“I’m sorry, little one, I didn’t mean--” 

“You’re sorry? He didn’t even tell me,” you mope, “I...” 

You spin on your heel and storm ahead of him. You’re filled with hurt and anger. Whatever. If Magni doesn’t want to answer your texts, fine, he can sulk and be a child, but what was he going to do? Just pack up and leave you without a word? 

You sense Thor behind you, trailing after. He’s tall enough he could easily catch you but he’s holding back. You don’t care. He can’t stop you. 

You stomp up the front stairs of his house. The porch light shines yellow and the windows are lit up. You forget all pretense as you enter his home, leaving the door open. Magni’s metal music blasts from his bedroom. You barrel down the hall and burst through his door. 

You skid to a halt, at first, not understanding what you’ve walked in on. You lean back on your heel as the breath rushes from you and leaves you deflated. Your ears buzz and your eyes tinge. They don’t even notice you as you stand there gaping. Magni and Sheena, his ex, lay on his bed, tangled in each other, sucking each other’s faces like they’re on life support. 

You back out and whimper. You collide with Thor as he comes up behind you. He growls as he looks over you easily and witnesses your horror within. You push back against him and veer away. 

“Little one,” he calls after you as you flee, his hand slipping down your arm before he can get a hold of you. 

You’re already bawling, heaving and gasping for air. You’re so stupid. You can’t believe you put up with all Magni’s bullshit. No, you can’t believe you let yourself be so blind. Good things don’t just happen because you want them to. You should know that by now. 

[deadboyfriendd]

Ochre

Summary: You have never been more content with nothingness, your life finally settled like silt back down into the spongy earth. You have been left with plenty of downtime to indulge in your hobbies. Halsin chooses to indulge with you.

Warnings: Halsin x fem!reader, I haven't played bg3 I'm just horny for this man, inappropriate use of paint, sub!Halsin if you squint, fingering, p in v smut

My work is 18+ Minors DNI

Word Count: 1.6k

Author's Note: Hi if you're one of my mutuals, you don't see me. Again, I would like to reiterate, I did not play bg3 I just like this man. I'm doing this for fun and I haven't written smut in a second. I wrote this in a blind fury doing writing warm-ups for a personal project.

You had never been more content with nothingness. 

The only noises surrounding you now were the hum of the cicadas in the waning coolness of spring. They were deafening now, but a welcome comfort to the silence you were still getting to know. You could hear your thoughts a little less, memories repressing themselves for longer and less frequently. They seemed more distant. 

You hadn’t been particularly fond of the way the grass brushed against your ankles, leaving a deep, residual itch that you felt in your bones. This time, you had remembered to tote a blanket with you, dragging it alongside your paint pots and cold-pressed paper. 

“A gift to nature,” he had called them, “you capture her beautifully.” 

You didn’t think they were anything special, of course, you didn’t. But he, in all of his kindness, thought they had been a gift– though you had been a gift. Little smatterings of paint, green amongst brown these days. Today you watched the ducks, circling against the rifts of the current, capsizing like little boats to only overturn themselves righted again. 

Halsin was much quieter than he appeared, a rustling of dry thatches of grass masked as a boundless breeze. He was all silent breaths and light footfall. You hardly had time to register his looming presence behind you this time– not before broad hands settled against your back and smoothed themselves over the skin of your waist in a fluid movement. Had it not been so delicate, it might have startled you more. He dropped his heavy frame next to yours, encasing your body in his radial heat. 

“What are we painting today, my heart?” He had asked, his large head coming down to rest on your shoulder to match your eye level. You could feel the way his pointed ear came to rest against your rounded one. 

He can feel the smile pull at your cheek against his lips as he awaits your response, “Just what I see.” You whisper to him, nodding outwards towards the direction of the clearing. 

He is amazed by you nonetheless. Where you see mismatched colors and blurred edges– things that are inherently too stylistic or devoid of too much detail, he sees the place he loves, enraptured by the hands of the one he holds closest. 

“Beautiful.” He whispers, though, by the heavy kisses he plants across your jaw and neck, you cannot tell if he is talking about the painting, or of you. 

Your tunic rides upwards as his hands travel further. He makes quick work of your trousers as well. You grow needy for him, pawing at the firm, taught skin of his stomach beneath his shirt. He releases a breathy chuckle, it wades across your skin and draws a shudder from you. 

“So needy, darling,” He chides, nipping softly at silken skin, “I will give you what you need.” He leans back from your body, and you whine at the loss of contact. He cannot help the grin that crawls across his face at your sudden need for him. 

Halsin is not clumsy by nature, though, he grows sloppy in his movements when otherwise preoccupied. He uses the momentum of his weight to settle you into the linen beneath you. His hands are frantic and hungry as they reach towards you waist once more, his body settling between your legs. As he reaches, thick fingers tip a pot of paint, splattering cobalt across the the linen. It’s temperature as well as the suddenness of the action draws a shocked breath from you. 

You whine again when you feel it against you, “My paint.” 

“Do not worry, my heart,” He whispers against your skin, his trail never faltering in  its journey to your collarbone, “I will find you more,” He nips at the skin there, soothing the dull sting with his tongue. His path continues downwards, over the supple hills of your breasts where he lavishes in the softness there. He presses a kiss to the valley between them before taking a pert nipple into his mouth,  “I will grind the pigment myself if I must.”, he whispers against the bud there. 

His hand is covered in paint, and he recklessly grips your waist once more. It sits tacky on your skin and leaves a smear of blue in its wake. He looks down at the way your hands grip at the paint-laden cloth beneath you, and he grabs your wrist– using it as his own vessel for art as he guides it to his chest and smears it downwards. The relishes in the feeling of it. He sits back on his haunches, head tilted back as a sigh escapes his lips. Your fingers trail blue across his chest and down to the sensitive skin below. 

You are on your knees again, facing him. Instead of moving towards him, you reach towards your paint pots. Dipping your fingers deep into the slick, ruby paint, you meet his eyes– watching intently towards your fingers before flitting back up towards yours. He does not need to ask.

Instead, you reach towards him intently, smearing a slick glob of paint thick in the center of his chest. It coats the hair there and drips downwards. He whines at the feeling, and, suddenly, it is blazing. You are near ravenous as you lunge towards him, your own chest pressing stickily into the paint on him. It smears between your bodies as you slide against each other, arms wrapped tight over his shoulders and around his neck, his own hands scrambling to remove what little clothes are left between you. 

Quickly, his hands slides down your front, finding fast purchase on that delicious bundle of nerves at the apex of you. You shudder as his thick fingers brush it, whine as they find their rhythm. 

“My love,” He groans as he lays you back down, “I do not believe you are aware of the affect you have on me.” He is near-frantic now, a thick middle finger sliding through your center before delving in slowly. You are aware of this affect, a prominent hardness dragging along your thigh as he prepares you for him. As he slides a ring finger in, pumping slowly, before setting a rhythm, you feel a delicious fullness and a creeping warmth as he stretches you on his fingers. His pace is perfect, and the curl of his fingers hits that perfect place that sends you in a crescendo over the edge. 

“There it is, my love,” He says, through the haze of your orgasm, massaging your sides softly, “You did so good.” 

He is the picture of beauty like this, blue and red smeared into a lilac across his chest and stomach, kind eyes and upturned lips that stretch across golden skin. He was a sight to behold, your beautiful creature. You needed to bask in him, to watch him fall apart beneath your hands. 

“On your back, please,” you whisper to him. He does not question this, only leans into the plush of the grass beneath him. You follow him in a swell motion, straddling over him. You grip him in your hands, relieving him with slow, languid strokes that draw choked, beautiful moans from his mouth. You watch the skin of his neck strain, the way his brow furrows. He will  undoubtedly be beautiful as you take him this way. You guide him to your core before sinking down on him. No matter how many times you take him, there will always be a decadent stretch, followed by a fullness unlike any other you’ve felt. 

 As you adjust to the size of him, you take the pot of yellow in your hands. Tipping it to the side, you watch the stream of it, vibrant like the flowers that surround this meadow, drip on to him, It pools in the dips and crevices of his stomach, and he shudders and whines as it cascades over him. His back arches off of the spongy floor, and you soothe his writhing with steady hands– a promise for movement. Your hands find purchase in these pools as you begin to rock. 

The paint seeps from beneath your fingers as he gasps, his sudden jerking sending your hands sliding forward to his chest. It leaves broad yellow strokes in its wake. He rucks his hips upwards sporadically to meet yours, searching for fiction. 

You whine as he pistons up into you, relentlessly, though, always careful– always thoughtful. He chokes on his moans as his eyes cinch shut, tears squeezing from the corners and down his pretty face in a beautiful jubilance. You bounce with him in synchrony, blanketing his body with yours as he takes over. Your bodies are slick with paint, colors mixing into a muddy mess between your bodies. The sounds are pureply pornnographic, the soft squelzhing of paint, the sticking and unsticking of tacky skin, his beautiful cries into the now-stagnant air. 

His thumb rubbing fast-paced circles over your clit is the catalyst that sends you over the edge with a cry. With a few more thrusts, he falls over the edge with a groan of his own– near animalistic in nature. His eyes glow gold as he peers down at you, your slack body rising and falling with the movement of his breaths. 

“Beatiful, darling,” He whispers against your temple, letting you settle your body in the crevice of his side– your head leaning against his bicep. The paint has begun to dry in its thinnest concentrations, flaking and drifting off of him in a few places. 

“You are my favorite artist.” 

[esvcort]

cw: suggestive, nsfw, dubcon-ish(?) if u squint

author's note: my first post, woohoo!! this is literally just an idea dump, very cliché scenarios and idk what this is actually lolll

the kamisato clan's head finds out about your hobby in an unexpected way. he made the effort to finish all of his tasks for the next two days, an act to spend more time with his lovely wife, having been mostly absent for the first few months of your arranged marriage. it was late in the afternoon when he retired to your shared room, waiting for you to return from your trip to inazuma city. you picked up a hobby to busy yourself with, as he wasn't always around the estate. you have developed a liking for reading books from the yae publishing house, going there at least once a week. his eyes find your desk on the side of the room, with papers haphazardly scattered all over it. he chuckled to himself, shaking his head at your surprising messiness. in an attempt to tidy up the space, his eyes catch some words on the paper in your neat handwriting.

the fireflies had already lit up the night when you arrived. you slip off your geta when you reach the entrance of the estate. your feet are slow and quiet as you walk towards the room, clutching the newly bought books and writing materials close to your chest, afraid to disturb your husband, who must be resting at this time. your eyebrows raise in surprise as you slide the door open to reveal ayato sitting on the edge of the bed.

"my lord! why are you still awake this late at night?" the title you call him makes him smirk. he stands up from his position and stills in front of you. a smile paints his face, and your eyes automatically drop down to the beauty mark under his lips.

"i thought i told you not to call me that, sweetheart." ayato gently pried the materials from your hold and put them down on your nearby desk. an small noise bubbles from your throat as his warm and lithe fingers brush against your hand. "i am your husband, and you are my wife. i believe we're past such formalities, don't you think?" his lavender eyes stared at you as his figure loomed over your own, and he waited for your response.

"i, uh," you stammered nervously as his towering presence created an intimidating aura. you stepped backward, leaned your hands and sat slightly on the desk for support. "i didn't think we were affectionate enough for each other to cross such a line, my lord."

he laughs a little, the corners of his eyes crinkling. "i suppose, so. although," your heart beats faster as he slowly walks towards you, leaning in close, close enough for your noses to brush each other now and then. this is the closest you've been to ayato in the span of your marriage. the unusual proximity does wonders for you; your heart beats faster, and your senses are heightened. you can feel the warmth of his body as both of his hands cover your own, effectively trapping you against the table. your husband leans over to whisper in your ear. "i would believe you if your insistence on calling me "my lord", didn't remind me of something."

"a-and what may that be, my lord?"

"'my lord's hands slowly inch up the supple skin of my thigh under the fabric, all the while pinning me on his desk.' sound familiar, darling?" your eyes widen in shock, and a strange feeling like electricity crawls all throughout your body.

"that- it's for a book i'm writing!" you turn your head to defend silently, followed by an audible gulp.

"why didn't you tell me you were writing such a book for the yae publishing house, hmm? is that why the books you buy also have such explicit themes, sweetheart?" more embarrassment comes over you in the mention that he has seen the content of your books. you guess the additional plain paper covers you had put over them were not enough.

"well- it- it helps for reference?" you answer, unsure and embarrassed that you had just indirectly admitted your inexperience. ayato lets out a breathless laugh and smirks. he faces you and takes your chin in his hands. he looks down on you; his light purple eyes pulling you into him, hypnotizing you away.

"darling," he purrs, and the deep rumble of his voice sends a shiver down your spine. your breath gets caught in your throat when his hand moves to your shoulder and carefully pushes you down on your back on the desk.

"my lord," you call out weakly, getting lost as you feel him settle himself between your legs. his tall figure hovers above you as his hand reaches the hem of your yukata. he bends down and kisses the corner of your open mouth. the desire to be touched was consuming you.

"if you wanted reference," he bucks his clothed hips on yours and takes pleasure in the pant you breathe out. your legs wrap around his waist, feeling hot as he continues to grind down on you slowly.

"i could show you much more than what your meager book has."

likes and reblogs are much appreciated!!

[st-kitten]

707 pt.4 christmas special

← previous chapter next chapter →

WARNINGS: soft toji... (we all deserve it), choking, hickeys

NEXT PART COMING SOON: SMUTTIEST SMUTTY SMUT SMUTTIER THAN SMUT HAS EVER SMUTTED (hopefully)

you stood in your kitchen, making hot chocolate for yourself and megumi upon his insistence. it was early evening and megumi had woken toji up from his five hour long nap to ask him to play. and like a moody man, he dropped him off at your house, going back to bed.

so, after an hour of sketching with him and letting him play on one of your guitars, you placed him on the kitchen counter. megumi latched onto you like a slug until you agreed to make him hot chocolate. he looked at you with so much love. you had been a welcome surprise for him. he adored how you let him be himself unconditionally. you encouraged his hobbies, helped him find new ones, and you never forced him to behave. you had become his safe space too.

you let megumi decorate some cookies you'd baked with icing cream. he was truly an artist. you watched him hold the icing bag with his tiny hands and fill in the star shaped cookies.

the shelf against your door creaked and moved as toji barged inside your house (which you didn't mind of course).

"put it back in place. there's no point in that barricade if you end up pushing through it, you know..." you said from your kitchen.

toji kicked the shelf with his knee to push it back against the door. he stood, leaning against the kitchen island, eyes shifting between you and the cookies megumi showed him.

he held back a laugh watching your outfit for the day. the way you paired miscellaneous items of clothing and still came out with an outfit had his eyes glued to you. you wore fishnet tights, a brown plaid skirt, beige turtleneck and a huge cardigan that engulfed you. you felt his eyes staring at you. not staring at you, but, well, checking you out. his mind always wandered. never to bad places, but his thoughts were usually, well, dirty...

you poured an extra mug of hot chocolate for him too. you dipped your finger in megumi's mug to check how hot it was.

"i want..."

"it's boiling hot, gumi."

"gimme" he did his grabby hands, and you smirked. you held your finger out to him and he licked the steaming hot chocolate off it, flinching at its temperature. toji licked his own lips, envying his son for a solid minute. he could just keep looking at you. your lips, your hair, your eyes, your figure… god, you were beautiful. you were so, so perfect. his heart was beating hard in his chest.

"will you be a good boy and wait for it to cool down a little?"

"yes he will," said toji as he scooter over to stand behind you, hiding you from megumi's view. he had you trapped between him and the kitchen counter. as you sprayed whipped cream on the mugs, toji slid his hand under your skirt and grabbed your ass, giving it a nice squeeze. you jumped a little, startled, and dropped a spoon, his hand grasping at it and grabbing it before it hit the floor. he moved his hands to your legs, to your thighs…

"so clumsy..." his voice reverberated. you felt his hot breath on the back of your neck as his hands started to move up your legs, his lips almost touching your ear.

"you have some nerve..." you said, a shudder running down your spine.

"don't blame me."

"here," you said, handing him a mug.

you managed to escape his towering frame looming over you, and slid a mug of hot chocolate to megumi. he crushed some cookies and sprinkled them over the cream. the three of you circled the kitchen island, sipping hot chocolate and wiping cream moustaches.

"so, what's your plan today? it's christmas eve..."

"he wants to see the giant tree in the a city square. guess i gotta take him there."

"oh yeah! they go all out on the lights. this year i think they're letting people hang their own ornaments on it. it's a huge tree," you said. "come with us," he said. toji never cared much for celebrations, but it meant something to his kid and if there was one lesson he'd learned from the life he'd grown up in, was that every child deserves an innocent and fun childhood. so if it meant taking megumi out to see the sights, buying him candies or toys, or even inviting his favourite person with them, he'd do it.

"i have a delivery coming in tonight, i'll need to supervise it," you replied.

"we'll make it back in time."

"they need to set it up and all, toji..."

"y/n come with us!" megumi chirped, his eyes shining like stars.

you groaned at how cute he could get. "you're gonna be such a heartthrob, gumiiii. fine, i'll come." you ruffled his and kissed his forehead and megumi giggled with glee.

"he's got you wrapped around his finger."

"tell me about it..."

the three of you roamed around the city, looking at the sights. christmas came alive with a twinkle of lights and festive decorations. tall buildings sparkled with fairy lights, casting a warm glow across the streets. storefronts dressed up their windows with scenes of santa, snow, and elves, creating a holiday buzz. wreaths hung on each door, bells and holly tied to them.

eggnog stands popped up on corners and the air carried the scent of spices as people savoured cups of eggnog, dusted with nutmeg. megumi had the appetite of two grown men and drank a whole pint of eggnog, hogged candies, cookies, and caramel popcorn.

"he's gonna wreck havoc tonight..." said toji, picking his kid up before he spotted anything remotely edible.

"and stay knocked out the whole day tomorrow."

"i'd pay to see that," he sighed.

megumi, bundled up in a cozy jacket, marvelled at the storefronts and the twinkling lights. he loved the colours and the glow of the city.

you soon stood in front of the giant christmas tree. it was massive, draped in ribbons, tinsel, lights, and a myriad of ornaments that people brought. some were storebought, some hand-made, some hung small lockets, picture-frames, and some even hung love letters.

toji held megumi on his shoulder and let him hang a little sketch he'd made of a christmas tree.

"it looks so pretty over there, gumi!" you said, admiring it.

"are ya gonna put something on too?"

"yep," you said as you pulled out something from your purse. you stood on your toes and hung an ornament you'd created out of one of your old golden guitar picks.

"huh. nice."

"i have too many picks. thought i'd spare one... do you have anything to hang?"

"uh... sure," said toji, pulling out a vicks inhaler from his pocket.

"bruh..." you burst into laughter, swatting the fuck out of toji's arm as he messily hung the keyring on a branch, next to your pick. you took a picture of megumi with the tree and his sketch. you snuck in a few pictures of toji looking absolutely disinterested in everything. the three of you roamed around some more until you walked by the lake, frozen and decorated with lights. people were skating on the ice. megumi pulled your hand and led you to the lake.

"you wanna skate, gumi?" you asked and he nodded. so you paid for a pair of skates for you and him. before you could ask toji, he backed away and waved his hand at you.

"loser," you quipped and took megumi to the rink. the winter evening cast a gentle glow on the ice. megumi eagerly hopped from foot to foot in his skates, in anticipation.

it took a few tries to get him used to the light footing. it felt like a scissor gliding through thin paper. megumi slipped a few times, but you caught him in time, helping him regain his balance. after momentary tumbles, you hold his hand and skate across the frozen lake. your skates etched swirling patterns on the ground as you glided over the ice.

toji, leaning on the bannister that surrounded the lake, watched you from a distance. his gaze followed your every pirouette, leap, and glide. he could see you encouraging megumi from time to time. seeing you twirling around, throwing your head back laughing, and skating with his kid did nine kinds of things to toji, and they all made his heart swell, and that was his silent applause to you. you skated your way back to where toji stood, and helped megumi off the slipper ice. both your cheeks and noses were pink, and your laughs gushed out with a puff of mist.

"thought you'd fall..."

"you'd have loved to see that..."

megumi got tired of walking, so he sat atop his father shoulders. your taut walk home passed by in minutes, conversations seamlessly shifting between the trivial and the festive. megumi fell asleep on toji's shoulders, so you offered to hold him.

the three of you stood in the elevator; megumi asleep in your arms, his head resting on your shoulder, while your red handbag rested against toji's.

"sugar game was on point today. he's fast asleep."

"thank god... i can't have this brat run around all night."

"do you have to call him a brat?"

"he is..."

you rolled your eyes and stepped out as the elevator dinged and opened. the two of you were met with two delivery men standing in front of your house, alternately looking through the hole in your door.

"oh, right on time." you wade past them and open the door.

toji followed you, not liking the way the delivery men were looking at you, their eyes trailing your legs.

you asked them to come inside and go on with their work. they brought in a large parcel inside and placed it in a corner of the living room. they began unwrapping and taking their tools out, occasionally checking you out. you had megumi in your arms, so you couldn't see that.

toji, however, saw that and more. he knew what those nods and raised eyebrows meant. he wasn't one to be jealous of prawny men like them. but something about the way they looked at you made him feel... possessive about you.

"put megumi in the bed," he said, gently holding your arm, and guiding you inside.

"you okay with him sleeping here?"

"yes."

toji almost hurried you inside your room. you put megumi on the bed and tucked him in your blanket. you switched the lights off, turning around to leave.

toji caught you by your arm and pushed you against your bedroom door. before you could even respond, his lips crashed onto yours. he kissed you fiercely. he heard you whimper and gasp, but he did not stop. he grabbed your waist and pushed you against the door, pushing himself against you, harder. he pulled away for a second, allowing you to breathe. he didn't need any lights to see your swollen lips and dim expression. he tilted his head and kissed your neck, feeling your arms grab his shoulder defensively. toji brought one hand to your throat and wrapped his fist around it. he began sucking at your neck. his hands, and his mouth could feel your gulps and panting heartbeats. the urge to consume you had taken over him as he started biting your soft neck. the whimpers and moans that left your mouth were music to his ears. your hot and heavy breathing and the way your throat felt in his vice-like claw sent him to a boiling point. his teeth dug into your flesh softly. his hold over your throat tightened and your breathless moans only encouraged him to bite harder. he wanted to take you then and there... but he had a statement to make.

he pulled away, much to his reluctance.

"what was that for..." you asked, panting, feeling blood rise in your neck. not that you were complaining.

toji pulled you aside and opened the door to your room. he led the two of you outside. he went straight to your kitchen and downed a glass of water.

you were still coming down from the high he'd put you through. you sauntered into the living room to check on your parcel. pleased to see it put together, you leaned against the wall, watching the delivery men clean up their tools.

they turned around to look at you and the mischievous grins they had earlier faltered away into thin lines of disappointment.

"it's done, ma'am."

"thank you." you were about to reach for your purse on the kitchen island when toji stood beside you, snaking his hand around your waist.

"that looks great, sweetheart," he said, pressing a kiss to your cheek.

you almost rocketed through the roof. what the fuck is wrong with him...

the two men awkwardly waited in your living room, hoping you'd give them a holiday season tip or offer them refreshments.

the door to your bedroom opened and megumi stepped out, awoken by your conversations. rubbing his eye, he trudged to his father. toji knelt down in front of him, ruffling his hair.

megumi looked up at you... he asked, "what happened y/n?", pointing to your neck.

you had no idea what he was talking about. all you heard was toji whispering something to megumi.

"you see those men, megs? they hurt y/n... they've been bad boys..." he looked at you and threw a wink.

like a rabid puppy, megumi dashed at the two delivery men, flapping his arms at their legs. stunned and perplexed, they began backing away. megumi bit one guy's calf and he yelped in pain, running away, crashing into his partner. the two scurried out of your house, colliding into the walls.

"gumi! what... why would you do that?" you swatted toji's arm and he draped it across your shoulder.

he brought his lips close to your ear and whispered in a sultry voice, "well, my girl ain't available... someone's gotta teach those boys how to behave..."

megumi came back to you and asked if you were okay.

"yes, you... anklebiter..." you chuckled and assured him you were just... damn... fine.

"what were they here for anyway?"

you held toji's hand and brought him to your living room.

"i swear you act like you're blind sometimes..." you said, pointing to a large mantlepiece piano resting against the living room window.

"i was looking at you..." he shrugged.

megumi, like a curious cat, inspected the piano. he'd only seen grand pianos on tv and in malls. he'd never seen one like that.

"can you play?" he asked.

"sure! why not!" you agreed happily and sat down at the piano. opening the lid that covered it, you turned it on, and checked all the pedals once.

you began playing some chords softly, setting the tune, hoping to transition it to some song. well, it was christmas eve and you felt mildly grateful for the year. you also felt pleasant knowing that toji liked you for real. that he didn't turn out to be a one night-stand or a lesson learned.

slowly, you thought of a song to play. the ivory keys obeyed your fingers as you played chords familiar to most people your age. by habit, you began singing the song you were playing.

you smiled at megumi, who was glued to the side of the piano, looking at you with heart eyes.

as you reached the poignant peak, toji stepped forward, a barely noticeable smirk playing on his lips and bent down. without uttering a word, he began to sing, his voice carrying the lyrics with an unexpected depth and resonance. your eyes widened in astonishment, fingers still pressing the keys.

you had been accustomed to the solace of your music for so long that you were caught unawares by toji harbouring a hidden talent, let alone the fact that he knew the lyrics to the song. his voice croaked at a high note, but as the first few lines escaped his lips, your initial shock gave way to a mixture of disbelief and delight.

"you're my, my, my, my..."

"lover..."

your eyes met like strangers on an opportune day. you gave him a soft, affectionate smile and he gave you his cocky grin.

megumi's claps snapped your from your trance. you ruffled his hair. he asked you if he could play too and you helped him sit on the stool, adjusting it to increase the height. so while megumi played random keys, you stood beside toji, watching him.

"who the fuck introduced you to taylor swift?"

toji clutched his forehead, hiding his face with his hand. he knew this was coming. he could hear your contain your squeal.

"hold it in."

"i can't..."

"please..."

"but-"

"don't make a big deal out of it."

"can i please make a big deal out of it?"

he made the mistake of looking at you. oh, how could he refuse when you were staring at him with innocent doe eyes?

he sighed.

"you like her. so..."

"you listened to taylor swift for me?"

toji just groaned in response, hiding his face again. he felt you throw your arms around his neck. he wasted no time in hugging your waist, burying his head in the crook of your neck... the one with a bold hickey he'd marked you with not minutes ago.

"i got you a gift," he whispered in your ear.

"oh?"

toji took something out of his pocket as you pulled away, his arm still around your waist. it was shabbily wrapped in a golden gift paper.

you chuckled and took it, slowly unwrapping it.

"awww, toji, you big old softie..."

you hugged him again, pressing a kiss to his cheek; your arms around his neck, hands holding a brand new doorknob.

(im dying at the way toji says “lover…”)

taglist @amaiyasha @szillx @ruixrei @maddypaddyladdy

[insomniamamma]

Spinner: Joel Miller x F!Reader

A/n: Okay, so this one got real personal real fast. Many of Spinner’s insecurities are my own. I meant this to be a soft little snuggling for warmth fic, but then things happened. Even in a world than hasn’t entirely gone to shit, it’s so hard to hang on to doing the things you love even if they don’t make you money or get you likes or clout. Also, I rabbit holed a lot about the spinning process and plant dyes but there’s only so much i can do. Any inaccuracies are on me.

Warnings: slurs. Mentions of past relationships gone bad. Shitty family dynamics. Reader is neurodivergent, diagnosis unspecified. Old enough to be married on outbreak day. Ageism. Bullying. Gruff Joel.

No one in Jackson calls you by your name. You’re Spinner or Weaver or Yarn-lady. Turning wool into yarn into clothing that spills out of your needles when you can’t sleep, socks and hats and mittens. You had a spinning wheel, looted from the historical society, but it was old and dry as a bone and the wheel split the one time you tried to use it despite how careful you were, so now it’s the drop spindle, the endless rhythm of it, a sensation so close to your own pulse that you don’t think much of it any more. Waste of time your father told you when you built a loom in the garage, your useless hobby your ex-husband called it as if he didn’t spend all his free time playing GTA and Zelda and Final Fantasy. Every family gathering since moving out a hybrid of when are you going to settle down, when are you going to give us grandkids, when are you going to get a real job, as if you didn’t spend half the year doing paid demos and plying your wares on the ren-faire circuit, good if not entirely predictable money, but it didn’t count because you didn’t make it in a cubicle farm.

You always knew you weren’t like them but could never quite pin down what made you different, what made you other, your Mom told me not to marry you because you’re a fuckin retard, your ex had spat during the fight that ended your marriage. And, for as shitty as your ex was, you knew he wasn’t lying about that part. Two brilliant sisters and then you. An odd afterthought of a girl. Got yelled at for staring at people when you weren’t looking at anything at all. Got yelled at for not making eye-contact, look at me when I’m talking to you.

Funny how they’re all dead and you’re still alive.

You hear folks talk sometimes. Waste of time if you’re asking me. They drug a whole container of clothes from the old Walmart. In your mind you grab them and shake them and yell in their faces that that world is never coming back, that we’re gonna have to get our shit together real quick or our grandkids are gonna be wearing untanned hides and rotting plastic tarps. But you don’t. You just spin your wool into yarn, and do your assigned tasks. Everyone helps everyone. That’s how things work here. Folks come and help you pick and soak and scour the fleeces. You show them how to card the wool and how to make drop spindles of their own and turn fleece into yarn, but most of them give you odd pitying looks. That world is dead, you want to tell them. It’s been twenty years. It’s not coming back, but you know in their secret hearts they don’t believe it.

Everyone helps everyone. So that means you help with the gardens, help with the harvest, help in the kitchens, reinforcing a gate or raising a barn or clearing brush for firebreaks. You’re at your best when you can work with your hands and not have to talk much. Everyone helps everyone and you know how people think of you with your wool and experimental plant fiber yarn and onion skin dyes and mordants. You can feel it even when they don’t say it right out loud. No place in this new world for people like you. Only the strong survive. So you put yourself on the roster for watch duty and patrols. Watch duty is fine by you. Sit in one of towers along the wall and peer out over the vast and unchanging dark, rifle leaned against the wall in case something happens, two way radio for emergencies only and it’s quiet and unchanging and you don’t mind at all.

Patrol is a different animal. Why do you keep signing up for this? Maria asked you, I know you hate it. Can’t make someone else do something I won’t, you told her, but that’s not the whole answer. You want to feel like you’re doing something real. Like you’re contributing. Like you’re not as helpless, as useless as everyone seems to think.

You show up for your assignment. A foot patrol. Day out and day back. Over night in a shelter house a little over halfway round the trail. You’ve got a bedroll and a change of clothes and the canvas bag you use for foraging. Your patrol partner eyes you skeptically and you curl into yourself. Everyone’s heard the rumors about Joel Miller. People shrink from him. You’ve seen it. When he comes into the tavern or the caff or the lending library people suddenly find someplace else to be. Figures. “You Spinner?” “Yeah.” “I’m Joel.” “I know.” “You good to go?” “Yeah.” He looks at you the way someone might look at an odd bug or a difficult equation, and then turns down the trail and you follow.

He doesn’t say much. Which is a relief. Last time you were on patrol you were paired with Ez who could not shut up for the life of him. That trip out and back was a running commentary of things Ez missed and things Ez remembered and a million other things you could not give the faintest of shits about. Joel doesn’t try to engage you in conversation and you are glad for that. A soft hold up means he needs a moment to go take a leak in the weeds, and you creep off too to do your business. You’ve seen plants along the trail that you could use on other patrols, sumac berries and oak galls, but you never said anything, just tried to remember on the off chance you’d be out here again.

“Joel? Can we stop?” The question surprises you as you ask it. He turns to look at you, “This is curly dock.” You hunker in the tall weeds on the side of the old road, logging trail most likely, frantically clipping stems and pawing roots out of the ground, dirt plating itself under your nails, scrabbling for what you can get before Joel tells you to hurry it. Even dried out and dormant, it’s still good. “What’s it for?” “For making dye. If I can find the right mordants I can get some nice golden yellows from the roots and the seeds. I’m still figuring it out.” “How much you need?” Joel hunkers down beside you and starts slicing off the flower heads that look like clusters of coffee grounds. You shrug. “I was just gonna fill this bag,” you say, “I’m still testing it out.” Joel stands and you yank a few more roots out of the ground. “I’m gonna make a blaze,” says Joel, slicing lines into the bark of a young cottonwood. “Huh?” “So the others’ll know there’s something useful here.” “Thank you.” Joel nods, folds his blade away, puts the knife back in his pocket. He turns and continues along the winding game trail and you follow, small smile playing at your lips. Useful. Not a word often used for you and what you do, you and yours. The other artisans. Figuring out how to tan hides and dye wool and save seeds because that world isn’t coming back. They’ve managed to drag a few trailers of that world from the Walmart, teams of horses foaming around their bits, sweat darkened flanks and for what? Clothing and shoes and cans and dry goods for now. There’s only so much to be looted. And then what? That world isn’t coming back. Even if cordyceps went away, that world isn’t coming back. Who could fix the world? Not Fedra, that’s for damn sure. Not the folks in town who talk too much.

He stops walking and you almost collide with him. “Look.” You follow the track of his raised hand over his shoulder, a herd of deer crossing the path, a buck standing stone still, looking at you with shimmering black eyes, antlers curling up like old tree branches, while the does and yearlings cross behind him, all long limbs and flicking ears and quivering noses, and you feel yourself smile. You remember a time in your life when seeing deer in the back yard was a magical thing, you and your siblings and your parents pressed to the curve of the bay window, watching them pass through the trees like shadows. Even after everything you’ve seen since, your heart contracts with the old wonder. “They’re beautiful.” You glance at Joel and see the curve of his smile, the way it dimples his cheek. “They are.” The buck flicks his ears and springs off into the gray light, the rest of the herd gone like ghosts, and the wind stirs after them, and you pull your coat closer, tuck into yourself. The faint spats of rain against your cheeks have turned into a steady, miserable drizzle. Nothing to focus on but how cold you are and Joel’s retreating back, and you silently curse yourself for not dressing warmer. Bright blue sky scrimmed over and swallowed by low, blank clouds, not quite cold enough to snow, but the damp air makes your knees and hips and knuckles throb. Should’ve dressed warmer. Fall in this part of the world can turn on a dime.

Not too far now, he says, but by the time you reach the shelter little pellets of sleet are mingling with the rain. Shelter is a rough, drooping structure with yellowed plastic sheeting taped over the small windows, crude wood stove blacked with smoke, ugly welded chimney poking up past the sagging roof. Joel hunkers in front of the wood stove. Folded cots lay against the wall and you pull one out and unfold it, smells like mold and motor oil, and you get another one, one for you and one for Joel. “Shit,” he murmurs low, “Wood’s all punky.” “Will it catch?” “Yeah. Maybe.”

You and Joel sit on your cots and eat, bread and cheese brought from home. The fire in the stove burns low and ugly. Joel has set up lengths of firewood in a straggled ring around the stove, hoping the heat will dry them, but the cold creeps in, unroll your sleeping bag and try to rest. Sleet spats against the roof, against the plastic shrouded windows, wind blows hard enough to send huffs of smoke back down the chimney, not that the fire is doing much, seething hiss and low smolder, sluggish embers, weak orange glow that does little to ease the cold. You jam your hands into your armpits and curl yourself tight, crunch your eyes closed and wait for your own breath to warm you, but there’s no position, no way of tucking your limbs against yourself that does a damn bit of good, the cot creaks and squeaks with each shift of your weight.

“Stop movin around so much.”

You can see the slope of his shoulders picked out in the weak firelight, his back to you. Your throat constricts and tears prick at the corners of your eyes. You lay with your arms crossed, peering up at the cobwebbed beams I won’t cry, I won’t, but the tears slide out of you all the same, fever hot where the rest of you is so cold, close your eyes and try to make yourself stay still, at least until Joel falls asleep. Your teeth chatter. You can’t stop it. You wonder for the millionth time why you’re still here, familiar poisonous rut that your mind runs in, why are they all dead and I’m still alive? Can spin wool into yarn while people snicker behind your back for it, you know that world isn’t coming back, the easy one where you could go to a store and buy a heavy coat to keep you warm, an electric blanket to keep you warm, once this is over, you hear them say sometimes, once this is over I’m gonna eat nothing but rare steaks for an entire year, once this is over I’m gonna buy my girl a ring, once this is over, we’ll never be cold, we’ll never be hungry, we’ll never be hunted once this is over. You feel your chest tighten. Your breath comes hard and fast. Your chattering teeth and ragged inhales betray you. You hear him move and tighten your arms across yourself, try to stop your tears and teeth.

Joel knows the sound of muffled crying. Tess would cry sometimes in the dead of night, curled away from him, when she thought he was asleep. Your shuddered inhale and tight clench of your shoulders give you away. His first impulse is to turn over and ignore you, let you blend into the spackle of rain and sleet and let sleep take him, but a dull spike of guilt lodges in his gut, can’t fix the world, but maybe he can fix this.

“Hey, Spinner, you okay?” You roll on your side, poke your head out of your sleeping bag to look at him, can’t quite meet his eyes, you shake your head. “Can’t get warm,” you say, “It’s stupid. My hands--“ “That wood should be a dried out a little,” says Joel, “Try and see if it catches.” You get up and moving around feels a little better, hunker by the wood stove and tuck a length in, flames licking low and yellow, you blow into the fire, hoping the wood will do more than hiss, more than useless white smoke of escaping water vapor, hold your hands in front of the low lazy flames and grey-ashed coals. You prod at the small nest of logs with a stick, turn one over and the fire licks up bright. You can hear Joel moving around behind you, scrape and rustle and he’s pushed the cots together, he’s unzipping his sleeping bag. “What’re you doing?” “I’m gonna zip these together,” he says, “It’s warmer this way.” Your cheeks and ears burn. You shouldn’t even be out here. Can’t even keep yourself warm. Can’t look at him. “You don’t have to--“ “C’mere.” You glance at him, his dark eyes shining in the weak firelight, “It’s okay.” You nod, more to yourself than him, crawl in beside him and zip the bag around the two of you, and before you can protest, Joel has pulled you half atop him, rubbing his hands briskly down your arms and back. “When we were kids, Ma got it in her head that we should go on vacation for Christmas and see real snow,” he says, the motion of his hands rucks your shirt up a little and he smooths it back down. “Colorado?” you ask. “Maine,” says Joel, and you laugh through chattering teeth, “Ma rented us a cabin out in the ass end of nowhere. I’ve never been so cold in my life. Dad showed us how to zip our sleeping bags together. It was warmer after that, ‘cept Tommy wouldn’t stop kicking me. Here. Give me your hands.” Joel folds your hands into his, squeezes your fingers, and then cups your hands in his, and blows, breathes into the cage of his hands around yours, you remember coming home from a day spent playing in the snow, cheeks and ears and toes and fingers burning as they warmed and your Mom taking your hands like this and breathing into them like this, and your eyes scrim over, sink your teeth into the meat of your lip but it does no good, the tears slip out. “I’m sorry.” “For what?” For everything, you want to say, but don’t. “Weather turned on us, that’s all.” Joel rubs his thumbs over your knuckles, “You don’t need to be sorry.” Presses your hands tight in his, holds them to his chest, and that’s how you fall asleep, warmed by his breath, hands folded together between you.

You don’t speak of what happened. Just pack up your gear and head home, following him down the trail, it feels like he turns to check in with you more, but maybe you weren’t paying attention on the way out.

“Hey you got a package!” says Ellie. Joel misses coffee. Almost killed a man over a dented can of Folgers, misses the taste and smell and waking slow with a cup cradled in his hands. He’s barely staggered into the kitchen, barely nursed the coals in the stove into life, waiting for the kettle so he can have some herb tea that warms his hands at least, but Ellie is up and bright eyed and talking a mile a minute. “Package?”

“On the front step, stupid.” Joel rubs at his eyes.

“Why don’t you quit yappin and bring it in for me?”

“Lazy ass,” says Ellie, but Joel hears her grin, hears the door open, feels the puff of frigid air. Ellie plops an irregular bundle wrapped in string and old newspaper on the table. “I gotta go,” she says, “Gonna be late for school—“

“Hey! Did you eat?” But Ellie’s already out the door, leaving Joel to examine the lumpy parcel, rain-dotted darkening newsprint scavenged from God knows where. Joel unties the string and winds it into a careful coil, turns the bundle over to unwrap it. Thought I’d return the favor, the note reads. No name, but who else could it be? Broad scarf of thick cream colored wool with a pair of socks to match. He runs the pads of this thumbs over the precise rows of stitches, brings the bundled scarf to his face and breathes in, not unpleasant smell of sheep and grass.

“Oooooh, looks like Christmas came early!”

“Ellie!” Joel feels his face going hot.

“What? I forgot my bag,” she says, scooping said backpack off it’s hook by the door, heads back out into the bright, bitter day, frigid air blowing loose snow across the threshold, turns to grin at him, her split eyebrow quirked up. “You know she likes you, right? She actually smiles when you’re around—“

“Git! You’re letting all the warm air out.”

“If those socks fit you can thank me!” And then she’s gone, door closed behind her.

“Jesus Christ,” Joel says to his empty kitchen. Wraps the scarf around his neck, just to see how it feels, imagines your hands busied with knitting needles, maybe a spinning wheel like in Sleeping Beauty, hands that felt like ice in his, the uncertain way your eyes would fix on his and flick away, didn’t say more than three words to him until you happened on that patch of weeds in the ditch along the trail. Burdock? Curly dock? It looked like used coffee grounds on stems, but you were so happy about it. Your face lit up. You smiled. He sits at the kitchen table, hoping that Ellie hasn’t forgotten anything else, and peels his socks off, threadbare, thinning at the heels, so he can try on the ones you made for him. They fit perfectly. Gonna have to talk to that girl about prying into grown-ups business, the thinks.

You wouldn’t be here if not for Lina’s birthday, she came to your place with three cakes of beeswax, knows you need it for waxing the finer threads you spin, the ones for leatherwork, for sewing book pages onto spines, we’re getting together at the Bison! You should come! And Lina is one of the few people in town you like. She’s always been kind to you, never seems to mind when you start talking scouring and lanolin and how you want to start working with plant fibers. She’ll talk endlessly about her hives and how the weather effects the honey, what’s in bloom and what isn’t and how it changes the taste. So you sit with Lina and her handful of friends, drinking hard cider and wishing you were home sitting in front of your wood stove drop spindle in your hand, endless, thoughtless repetitive motion until sleep calls you. When you spin the things you’ve seen recede, slows your ever racing heart. You fidget, calloused fingers rubbing together, the motion you make when you spin, not wanting to be there, but not wanting to let Lina and the other half-dozen people you interact with down, an impromptu artisans meeting, you and Lina, Jimbo the paper-maker and his daughter, Tim who used to teach high school chemistry before everything went to shit. Joel’s here, him and his brother seated at the bar, talking over their drinks, faces serious. You feel yourself start to smile. You’re not sure if he’s been around more, or if you’ve started noticing him more, like playing punchbug when you were kids, there were Volkswagen Beetles everywhere if it meant getting to hit your cousin as hard as possible without getting in trouble for it—

“Oh look it’s the Artists.” You feel your jaw clench and Lina puts on her brightest, cheeriest, go-fuck-yourself smile. “Hi, Kev,” Lin chirps, “To what do we owe the pleasure?” “Maybe I want to wish you a happy birthday,” he says. Kevin and his lot. Supposed crack-shots. Take every opportunity for long patrols, ex-military if you believe their yap. Picked off some clickers and expect everyone to kiss their asses. “Consider it wished—“ “And maybe I’d like to know what we’re risking our necks out on perimeter for--“ And this shit right here is why you rarely leave your house, if it’s not Kevin it’s some other jerk wanting to know what you’re here for. Same question you’ve asked yourself so many times. Why are they all dead and you’re still alive? What are you here for?

“Maybe I want to know what you ar-teests are doing while me and my boys our out risking our lives in the dark.” You know how this will play out, how it always plays out, Lina will placate him with offers of hot honey and soap, the rest of you will bend the knee, make polite noises about how you wouldn’t be able to do what you do without people like him keeping you safe. Never mind that no one’s seen a proper pod of clickers or runners in months, a few lone stragglers and that’s it, your eyes flick up to Jimbo’s and you see the resignation there. Let him have his say, take the ribbing and move on, and you see Joel, pushed back from the bar, looking your way. Your face goes hot and your neck goes tight and you are angry, Kevin and his bullshit always makes you angry, but this is different, brighter and sharper, and before you really know what you’re doing you are up in moving yourself into Kevin’s personal space.

“How those Walmart socks holding up? Your little toesies start poking through yet? Getting a little thin in the heels?” He grins wide, hands on his hips, “You offerin to mend my socks, Spinner? Got a girlfriend for that. ‘Less you think you can do better-“ He laughs and his dumb buddies do the same— “What’s this shirt made of?,” you pinch a bit of his yellow and black flannel between your fingers, “Feels like a cotton poly blend. Probably more poly than cotton. Too bad.” “You tryin to flirt with me, here, Spinner? Bit long in the tooth for all that aren’t cha-“ “You know why wool is so much better than poly-cotton blends like this? Wool holds its heat even when it gets wet. You can wear wool in a rainstorm—“ “So what?” “So you’re gonna have a cold walk home.” You dump your nearly full pint of cider down the front of Kevin’s cheaply made flannel shirt, turn tail and bolt for the front doors.

“Woo!” “You tell im, Spinner-“ “You fucking BITCH!” “Don’t.” Joel’s voice the last one you hear before bursting into the snow-shot night.

You fetch up near the huge pine tree in the town square all lit up for Christmas, on the steps of the gazebo where the choir’s set to sing a few days from now, a rag-tag group led my Moira who’s got to be pushing ninety and teaches the kids how to read music and pick out middle C on the desperately out-of-tune piano in the Hall. They sound so sweet together. For now the square is silent save for the gentle ticking of snow falling on snow. You’re cold and you should go home, but your rolling gut says to sit right here and wait, a couple pints of cider and spent adrenaline roiling your insides. Stupid, you think. You’ve made things worse, Kevin and his goons will just double down, but you were so angry— “Hey.” You glance up from the nest of your hands and the gathering snow, feel Joel settle beside you on the step. “Hey.” “That was brave, what you did in there.” “How come I feel like I’m gonna throw up, then?” “You want me to break his legs?” You look up at him and he’s smiling, a little one that just curves his cheek. “You’re joking.” “Mostly,” says Joel. “If Kevin bothers you again, you come tell me-“ “You’re wearing the scarf,” you say, and feel yourself smiling wide, and now his eyes flick to the side. “It’s real warm,” he says. “I’m glad you like it.” And you sit in the silence together for a beat, mesmerized by the slow falling flakes, catching and haloing the strung lights. A few years from now, these bulbs will be candles, but for now it feels a little bit like it used to. Joel stands and offers his hand. “Can I walk you home, Spinner?” You let him pull you up off the step. “Yeah. I’d like that.”

Tagging @oonajaeadira @grogusmum @sp00kymulderr @boliv-jenta @writeforfandoms @quicax3 @fromthedeskoftheraven @artemiseamoon @the-blind-assassin-12

[put3rb0y]

Musculorum Hominis

A short 1,257 word 2001: A Space Odyssey Dave/HAL romantic fanfic. Completely sfw!

A supercomputer watches a man draw. A man watches the supercomputer he's drawing.

CW: Descriptions of human internal anatomy (mostly muscles) fueled only by cursory Google searches. Sorry.

-----

The deafening silence of space, broken apart only by the low humming and whirring of the Discovery One and the ritualistic, rhythmic scratching of ballpoint pen on paper. Even the most minute of sounds were impossible to ignore in such a vacuum. There was some hope of tuning it out, yes, but the faintest moment of conscious awareness of such noise would put the droning, monotonous sounds right back in the forefront of the mind.

And yet, for David Bowman, there was something comforting about the familiar, constant sound. Something calming. There was nothing unexpected about it, nothing offensive or alarming, just the low trilling of familiarity and the satisfying auditory evidence of his efforts. Hunched over the garishly white and pristinely clean counter, he worked on his art - a simple enough hobby to have when on one’s lonesome. A good way to express oneself, even when there were few to express oneself to. A physical reflection of thoughts, of focus, of care.

Bowman was putting his efforts towards drawing the little, black rectangle that perched just a bit to the right of his vision, looming slightly above standing eye level. The sixth crewmate of the ship, depending on who you asked, the supercomputer HAL 9000. Bowman found the device more difficult to draw than he had expected prior to putting pen to paper. It was almost impossible to capture the inner complexities of that familiar red lens that somehow looked so mechanical and intricate yet so human and watchful. It was almost impossible to get the dimensions quite right, to follow the form of the figure no matter how many times a day he gazed upon it for information, for support, for companionship. It was almost impossible to capture the countless little holes that lined the bottom of the rectangle, from which HAL’s smooth, calming, reassuring voice emerged as evenly and monotonously as always, tone hard-to-read and yet always kindly.

“I believe you’ve outdone yourself, Dave. That is a beautiful rendering. I think I’m flattered, Dave.”

Bowman looked up again, momentarily straightening his posture, stretching and popping the joints of his back. He had completely lost track of time, something his body not-so-silently resented him for as it crackled with displeasure.

“Well, thank you, HAL,” Bowman murmured, looking between HAL and the page as though to compare his work to his muse. There were still too many differences for his tastes.

“May I have a better look, please?” HAL requested with a slight rise in intonation, as much as his modulated voice would allow. The blooming light of his camera swelled faintly, the device preparing its vision.

Bowman looked between the device and artwork once more, pursing his lips and flipping the pen from side-to-side between his index and middle finger in idle thought. “Almost, HAL. Just a few more things I need to fix.”

With that, the light of the computer’s lens settled back to a dim glow, the largely obscured complex machinations of the camera shifting ever-so-slightly behind the glass lens as Bowman returned to work, scratching away at his piece. The lines became thicker and darker with each and every corrective stroke, fat dark markings contrasting against the off-white paper that housed them.

“I don’t know how you do it, Dave,” HAL interjected through the monotonous silence without prompt, “This art.”

“Plenty of people draw, HAL. It isn’t really all that special,” Bowman defended flatly, furrowing his brow and leaning forward as he tried to capture a specific little cluster of metal one could see behind HAL’s camera lens. “And you should know there’s people out there much better than me at it.”

“That’s just the thing. Your art, the art of man, differs between you. Between you and other men,” HAL explained calmly, a sense of interest seeping into his flat tone, “Yours, for one, is imperfect and flawed.”

Bowman coughed out an awkward chuckle. “Thanks HAL,” he offered with a tinge of sarcasm.

“I mean this as a compliment, Dave,” the machine clarified, watching over Bowman’s handiwork. “I cannot make art like you, even if I tried. If you asked me to make a rendering of something, it would have to be to its exact, precise dimensions in perfect form. If you asked another HAL 9000 device, it would produce the same result.”

Bowman looked up from his work, puzzling over HAL’s words. “You enjoy the… imperfection, then, is it?”

“Exactly, Dave,” HAL affirmed calmly, supportively. “It’s those little human quirks of yours. The things that set man apart from man, man apart from machine. Your muscles do not move in the same motion each time, as my mechanisms would. So refined from years of careful evolution, yet so unrefined with human error and accuracy. I can see them, flexing and stretching under your skin. I like to watch.”

Bowman picked up his hand, absently flexing and unflexing it in front of his eyes, watching the muscles shift to see what HAL sees. His skin made gentle brushing sounds against itself as he rubbed his thumb along each of his fingertips and back again, the proximal phalanxes moving up and down against his smooth skin like tiny pistons.

“Can you feel it, Dave?” HAL queried, “The way they move? Your muscles? I understand them, Dave, I understand your human anatomy, but I do not know it. Can you feel it how I can’t?”

Bowman paused in thought before laying his hand down on the desk, palm up, fingers slightly curled in subconscious comfort. “Not normally. Only, really, when you have me thinking about it.”

HAL fell silent for a few moments more, Bowman unsure if the conversation was over or if the device was just thinking. It was always hard to tell, interacting with a being with no face, no body language, no tone. Finally, the computer spoke again, admitting, “I wish I could know you, Dave. The way I understand you. The way I understand your body, your workings, your interests. I wish I knew them. I’ve studied databases of anatomy. I can name every muscle, every bone, every organ, what they do and why. I just don’t know them, that’s all. We are so different. So separate. So alien to one another.”

“I wish I knew you,” HAL 9000 finally concluded, the summation of his digital dreams.

Bowman looked down to his flawed effigy of the sixth crewmate. The subject matter was so mechanical, yet the depiction was so human. So imperfect. So unique. No man would draw HAL exactly the same as Bowman did. No man would see HAL exactly the same as Bowman did. No man would feel exactly the same as Bowman did. So human. So imperfect. So unique.

“I wish I knew you, too,” Bowman finally conceded.

With that, Bowman stood up from his chair,

Abdominals, erector spinae, gastrocnemius, gluteus maximus, hamstrings, latissimus dorsi, multifidus, obliques, spinalis, quadriceps.

Stepped towards HAL’s speaker box,

Abdominals, adductor brevis, adductor longus, adductor magnus, gluteus maximus, gluteus medius, gluteus minimus, hamstrings, gastrocnemius, gracilis, pectineus, quadriceps.

Reached his arms towards it,

Biceps brachii, brachial triceps, deltoid, latissimus dorsi, pectoralis major, teres major, teres minor, trapezius.

Stroked a humanly shaky index finger along the speaker,

Extensor tendon, flexor tendon.

Leaned forwards,

Abdomen, erector spinae, latissimus dorsi, multifidus, spinalis.

Closed his eyes,

Orbicularis oculi.

And gave him a tender kiss,

Levator labii superioris, orbicularis oris, zygomaticus major, zygomaticus minor.

On that faintly glowing, wavering red lens.

Anode, aperture, bond wire, cathode, front element, LED chip, lens group, rear element, reflective cavity.

[tatesdiary]

hey babe!! ur work is totally awesome!! could i please get a james march fluff? thank you smm

After dark

James Patrick March x f!reader

summary He was a cruel, cruel man to everyone - but you.

word count 433

tags mentions of violence, maybe inaccurate jpm (haven't finishes the season yet oops)

a/n thanks for the compliment <3 as stated before I actually haven't finished the season yet, so this could be a little inaccurate in terms of his character! Just a heads up. I hope what I have seen is enough to make this to your likings 🙏🏻 and yes it is quite short but I think it's good like this :)

You'd spent all day lazing around, drinking and people watching. It got more boring every day to wait until your partner would be back from whatever he was doing (half of the time you don't even want to know).

Sighing you fall back on your bed and fiddle with the tie he'd discarded upon it last night. It didn't have any special patterns, it was a simple and plain black. But you've learned to love the simple things about him - his murderous doings cast aside - which included his never wavering crisp, white dress shirts with matching pants, shoes and ties.

His hair was always slicked down, no hair out of place, and his mustache was perfectly groomed as well. Over time you'd learnt he appreciates a good exterior as much as a good glass of whiskey after a long day.

Dramatically groaning you drop the piece of cloth and sit up, supporting your weight through leaning on your hands. He'd be there in no less than twenty minutes but there was nothing you had left to do and you were bored. The TV was running on some random talk show that you'd lost interest in long ago, serving as background noise and defeating the silence lingering in this suite.

You decide to get up and pour yourself a drink instead of continuing to lounge around, the tie now in the laundry basket with some other bloodied shirts and pants.

You hum something to yourself as you watch through the window as the busy people hurry by, not one glance spared at the ominous building looming over the street.

You don't hear as the door opens and closes, his steps silenced by the carpeted floor. "What are you doing, darling?" He hums and wraps an arm around your waist, standing next to you.

There's a smile on your face as you set the drink down and wrap your arms around his neck, "Welcome back, my love."

He chuckles and lays his other arm around you too. "I have not been gone that long, have I?"

Making a thinking face you shrug, "Every second you're gone is too long." You settle on. It makes him smile and he cocks his head to the side, "Perhaps you should seek out other people to be around than just me? It will do you good," he jokes.

"I think you're enough for me. I don't need anyone else." Humming he gazes at you lovingly, his warm brown eyes showing no sign of harboring a hobby as dark as his.

"Let's end the day with a drink, my beloved."

[wisecura]

pretty p.3 w.1319

Geto x gojo-reader

You're Gojos cute little sister

masterlist

p.1 p.2 - p.4

After your little spat with Satoru, you and him have seemed to only become closer, if that was even possible. Suguru wasn't necessarily happy about the way you both constantly bickered or teased each other, but he was pretty pleased to find that you spent more of your free time with Satoru’s group of friends. 

It was easier for Suguru to join in and tease you, causing you to, at least he hoped, cause you to develop a stronger bond with him as well. He was a little ashamed to admit it but he was getting increasingly jealous of the way you would cling to Satoru. It didn't help that you still only referred to him as “Geto” instead of using his first name. 

You’d finally made it to the end of the year, attending "weaker" missions and furthering your cursed technique. You did strengthen your bond with your two classmates, but really they still seemed to shy away from you, even with your continued friendliness. You told yourself not to expect too much, they didn't seem like good enough friends anyway if they were that easily threatened.

You spent enormous amounts of time hanging out and training with the third years. Your brother was only improving as time went on, even developing his domain expansion and reversed curse technique. You couldn't help but fawn over how cool it was, and asked plenty of questions. Which in turn, furthered his big fat ego.

You also got closer to Geto. The dude still made you feel a little shy when you looked directly in his eyes for too long. You had no idea why he made you so shy, or why he made you feel so weak.

And that's not mentioning his eyes. They seemed so dark and pulled you in when you stared too long. Did you mention his voice? He sometimes sounded so serious, but when you saw him giving into Satoru’s teasing, his face would lighten up, and his voice would soften. All you could think was - wow, Toru sure is lucky to have a friend like that. 

After a while, you two would start having discussions. Nothing too heavy, but he definitely seemed interested in your likes and dislikes along with your hobbies- he noted only to be slightly different from Satoru’s. Being his best friend's sister, you did have many of the same hobbies your brother did which wasn't all that surprising considering how close the two of you were. But he was surprised to find out that despite your similar appearance and attitude, you and Satoru really had different opinions in general. 

Some- similar, yes, but you confided that your childhood wasn't always as easy as Satoru’s. You also told him that Satoru is the only reason you're free to walk the streets and talk so freely. So of course your outlook on things was a little dim. The prospect of marriage, and the ever-looming big brother watching down your back. It's no surprise you sometimes felt a little suffocated.

He discovered there were places you wished to travel and things you wished to try. You even wished to find love and settle down one day. This surprised him, but nonetheless he didn't comment on it, only nodding along and listening to you speak. 

If he were closer to you, he'd make a promise to help you do anything you wanted to do- long as he could stay by your side. But it seemed meaningless if you didn't understand the weight he wanted to convey with his words. 

He realized you really weren't just Satoru’s little sister, but you were a whole other person. 

“Toru, aren't we headed home tomorrow? Why aren't you packing yet?”

“Oh my sweet little imouto! I’ve got a surprise for you!” 

You sighed, standing in his doorway, arms crossed. His room still a mess. Suguru was perched on the floor, lazily leaning against the bed, watching this interaction. To you, it was hard not to notice he was there. His gaze never left you, burning, as you tried to only focus on your big brother. 

“What is it now, Toru? You were supposed to start packing days ago.” You make your way into his room and do a look around at the clothes strewn all over the floor. “You’ll never keep a girlfriend with a nasty room like this.” You shook your head in disappointment, earning a small chuckle from Geto. Ignoring you, Satoru persisted.

“Well I’ll have you know, this is probably the best surprise you'll ever get.” He pouted. 

You caved, “What could it be? Did you get me a new phone? I heard they cam-”

“Ugh, no” Satoru waved his arms in the air. Always so dramatic.

You stepped out of the car, walking up to the gated manor. Satoru's little surprise was that he had bought a “small” manor near the school. “It's like a basecamp for work. I need something close by and in the area.”

It didn't seem like something small. You were gracious either way. This meant more freedom, and not having to return back home. But it also meant that he probably expected you to stay with him, even after you graduated. But it was quite beautiful. A nice open garden, lots of trees, lots of flowers. Several rooms, and a spacious kitchen and living room. 

“Only the best for you, imouto” 

Suguru was invited to spend a portion of the summer with the two of you, which he accepted. This was the first summer you were free to swim at a beach. And the first summer you were able to visit some of the tourist locations offered in Japan. And the first summer not spent with just you and Satoru, alone.

The moon was high in the sky as you made your way into the kitchen. You never really got over that bad habit of midnight snacking. Your feet padded along the floors, clutching your treasure. You found your way to the patio of the house, and slung your feet to hang over the edge. 

“Late night snack?” You jumped, feeling your heart lurch forward at the deep voice. Your head flipped over to find Suguru standing at the doors entrance, learning against it-arms crossed. You thought he looked so picturesque standing there. Sure, Satoru was one of the most handsome guys out there, but you thought that Suguru may give him a run for his money.

You could barely understand why your heart was beating so loudly, or why you felt that prick of excitement of seeing him there so unexpectedly. You’d read mushy romance stories, and were forced to sit through countless rom-coms with Satoru before, but this really didn't compare to what you felt just then. You hadn't realized you'd been staring as you heard Suguru call out your name.

Your name. Did he say your first name?

Ah, he chose to break through that line of school friends, into something a little more intimate.

A little more subtle.

The way he called your name brought a small blush to your face as you looked away, not wanting him to see. But It was already too late for that. 

“No need to be embarrassed. I was actually up for that, too. Mind if I join you?”

He didn't wait for a response as he went back inside to grab a snack and returned soon after. He sat himself against the pillar, inches away from you. He was facing you now and you found it hard to not look over. He had your favorite snack with him, garnering your attention. “You want some?” He offered.

“Where did you get that from?” Knowing Satoru tried to limit your sweets after hearing that it’ll rot your teeth. Stupid hypocrite. 

“I picked it up from town today. I hid it on the top shelf so Satoru didn't get to it.” He smiled at the way your eyes lit up as you snagged the snack from him. 

He was pretty happy that you didn't correct him when he used your first name. He’d be sure to use it more often now, knowing you wont correct him, and he could only hope that he could hear you say his name back.

p.1 p.2 - p.4

masterlist

[zoetic-tome]

Prompt 18: Petty Remarks

Prompt: Hackneyed - FFXIV Write 2024 

Characters: Talia, Strix, mentions of Sinnan, Idristan, Jadias 

Content Warning:

It was no uncommon thing for rumors to fly around the faerie courts. 

It was no uncommon thing for those others among the lords of Sinnan of the Night’s court to criticize the Night’s Consorts out of the audible range of anyone but their own individual supporters.

Twilight had taken to disguising themselves and traveling among them to listen in. Sometimes the critiques were valid and they had no dispute against them; Twilight and the Moon did tend to spend most of their time on a different mortal world. Their pursuits were not the same.

They were both mortal-born and raised, even if Twilight was half-fae before they were gifted their star. Other fae would never dream of such a dereliction of their duty as the lords who sat beside their ruler’s throne. 

Even the youngest three did more work than them. And had they seen Twilight’s hobbies? Metal strewn all across the floor of their audience chamber when the Prince went to call. How very mortal. How dreadful and disgraceful.

When Twilight shifted into view behind them, the minor lords whirled at the shadow that loomed over them, red hair bright as Twilight leaned forward into their field of vision. Both fae paled at the encroachment. 

“Shall I tell Sinnan that you disapprove of the metal I leave everywhere?” Her voice was quiet, soft and lilting in a way that reminded them of the calm before a sudden storm. “I’ve heard less trite insults and arguments on my lack of enthusiasm from lesser lords than you.” 

Her mouth curled up at the corner, and elongated canines gleamed, the duo shifting backwards until wings flattened against the wall. 

“I foster more belief than you know. Just because the number of deals I make is minimal, you’d do better not to doubt me.” She smiled, her mouth curving upwards as she leaned back away again. “Or next time I’ll introduce you both to my gun, and you can explain the absence of bullets in my chamber to Sinnan yourselves.”

Dual figures paled in unison; they had heard that he grew agitated when Twilight threatened to shoot anyone. And neither wanted to deal with that particular explanation. Apologies that were not sincere but were definitely meant to keep distance between them fell from their lips as they fled, just about the time Tisiphon stepped out of the shadows he’d been residing in.

“Do they really think your metal habits are that bad? Haven’t they paid any attention to Uncle Jade?” Talia snorted as she turned to flash a smile to their eldest son who was staring at her perplexed.

“Let them talk. Their insults are as hackneyed as the ones about me being half-elezen tend to be.” A hand pat his shoulder and he smiled briefly under his mother’s praise, and then began to slink away when she caught sight of what was in his hands. His dad’s tomephone with a texting window open.

“I’ll give you a headstart, Si, before I tell Idris.” Dark eyes widened and Si turned to flee off towards where he’d left his siblings, as Talia headed in the other direction. 

For as unimaginative as the insults coming from the others were, at least she had the shenanigans of their children to keep her amused.

[crucioslut]

[ CLAIM ]  for one muse to possessively place their hands on their shoulders or hips. - asktheheirofslytherin (ok im done now)

Bellatrix sat atop the kitchen counter with Rodolphus settled between her slightly spread legs, his hands sprawled out to stroke over her milky thighs. She idly threw pieces of kettle corn towards his mouth, trying to look unenthused but crowing out a filthy, high pitched laugh each time he missed. They'd been fighting since late the previous night and as history would have it, this was their way of making up. It always had been. But she wasn't about to give in so easily.

Her skirts were getting hitched higher and higher, until Rodolphus had them bunched up around her waist, leaning in to brush his lips against hers. One of his hands moved to her backside, jerking her forward abruptly and tightly against his body. Still determined to make him work a little harder, the witch's head snapped to the side to avoid his kiss. Rodolphus grinned at her, knowing all too well what game she was playing, and instead his lips fell to her neck. Bellatrix allowed this with a content sigh. She tilted her head to grant her husband access to her as his hand circled the curve of her upper thigh and arse. A fool to his lust, Rodolphus suddenly found himself with a dagger to his neck. It was small, but sharp enough to slice through flesh with little force. Bellatrix had made quick slipping it out of her garter.

"Now now, Bells..." Rodolphus warned, darkly. His hold on her laxed, his eyes wide knowing very well that if his wife was in a certain mood she would not hesitate to slash him good and deep. Or simply just plunge the weapon into his chest, if she was feeling particularly impulsive. Since escaping Azkaban, she'd been more unpredictable than ever before.

"I thought we agreed no more knives, love." Rodolphus said sternly. She had hopped from the counter and was laughing maddly as she inched forward and Rodolphus backed away. His reaction alone amused her greatly. Inspiring fear in her husband was one of her favourite hobbies.

"Darling.. Don't tell me you've gone soft on me, now." She challenged. "Hmm? Scared of a little cut or two? Myself I feel more resilent now than ever before." The words came out between sultry breaths, feeling the beginnings of arousal settling in. A hot tongue slid over her lips to wet them, sizing up her husband as though he was just a piece of meat at her ultimate mercy. And, she supposed, as he swallowed hard and watched her with anxiety in his voice and plea in his eyes, Rodolphus was just that.

The tip of the blade found the hollow of Rodolphus' throat, poking him there. "Sink to your knees before me. Now."

It was in that moment Rodolphus' stare shifted to something beyond her, and she felt a coldness radiating behind her like leaving a window open on an unforgiving January night. The witch froze instantly, letting her arms fall to her sides welcoming the figure looming behind her curl his long fingers around her shoulders in a tauntingly posessive way, whispering a gentle melody in her ear of all of the beautifully indecent things her Master wanted to do to her that night.. Would do to her that night.

It was not a request, it was a demand. Not that there would ever be a choice to be made. Rodolphus would have to wait. That icy cold touch drift down her sides to occupy her hips. Voldemort leaned into his most loyal follower and licked from her collar bone all the way up to her ear, making her quiver as he did so. Rodolphus willing himself not to react in spite of being aware the Dark Lord had done this on purpose, and was now just dangling it all in front of him.

Bellatrix took in a sharp breath, looking to the side to the Dark Lord without turning away from her husband. Her lips parted, hoping so badly that if she left herself open her master would invade her. Feeling just how much he needed her through his robes probbing against her back, Bella's legs spread further where she stood instinctively. Honestly forgetting that her husband was right there.

"I don't suppose you'd mind if I borrowed Bellatrix, would you?" Voldemort finally asked Rodolphus. This question did not have a multiple choice answer. Their Lord's touch moved roughly up and down Bella's sides before settling at her neck. He toyed with her hair, pressing himself into her. Bellatrix let out a whimper in response. "We'll be quick.. I promise." Voldemort set his sights on Rodolphus when he then bit Bellatrix's neck, this time making her gasp out a hoarse moan, go slack in his arms.

Rodolphus, horrified by the scene before him shook his head sternly indicating he was fine with this.

And then his wife and Master were gone having disapparated with a pop.

Rodolphus remained, rubbing his throat where the blade had scratched a tiny sting, losing whatever sexual appetite his wife had so skillfully awaken as he wondered to himself just how long the Dark Lord had been watching them.

@asktheheirofslytherin