#i would be a liar if i said i had a perfect grasp of his character but i've been in love with him for six years almost so he really is just.

[ellalalala]

Writing smut right now and this is how I'm feeling

[rhaenella]

CL16 | Is It Over Now? | pt.7

pairing: charles leclerc x singer!reader

genre: social media au

summary: you and charles have been everyone's fave couple on the grid, but when you somewhat unexpectedly break up, you turn to songwriting to cope with the pain

face claim: léon

a/n: the finale... once again, all songs mentioned are either by taylor swift or léon. happy reading x

･ ⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･

part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | part 4 | part 5 | part 6

masterlist

･ ⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･

Liked by taylorswift, danielricciardo and 1,292,849 others

y/n: End & New Beginnings. ONE WEEK.

✨Is It Over Now?~Say Don’t Go~Bigger Than The Whole Sky~You’re Losing Me~Now That We Don’t Talk~Pretty Boy✨

View all 12,138 comments

user55: y/n’s latest masterpiece is incoming!!

user56: YES GIRL LETS GO

user57: omg finally 😱

user58: can’t fucking wait 💛

user59: babe are you realizing you’re releasing on friday the 13th 💀

user56: y/n is like “i’ve conquered all this year’s bad luck already, no one can stop me”

6 October

Liked by carlossainz55, maxverstappen1 and 1,450,288 others

y/n: It feels like it’s been a long time coming and now it’s here, my new EP ‘End & New Beginnings’ 🤍 Been a few sleepless nights making this to be honest. Ups and downs like always. But now I’m just so happy to let go of it and let you have it, and hopefully you’ll embrace it and make it yours. 

To the incredible people who’ve been a part of this record, THANK YOU! Couldn’t have done it without you… 

Here’s to the end & new beginnings 🕊️

View all 14,159 comments

taylorswift: Perfection 🥰✨🎼😍💋

y/n: ❤️❤️❤️

danielricciardo: ART.

Liked by y/n

lilymhe: Beautiful work sweetie, I can’t with how talented you are 🥹 You made me cry the entire 23 mins (and then again cuz it was on repeat)

y/n: Awww, thank you love 🥰 and I’m sorryyyy 🙊

alex_albon: It’s so so good! I didn’t cry tho…

lilymhe: Liar

Liked by y/n

landonorris: Wow 💕

Liked by y/n

yourbestfriend: You’ve outdone yourself once again, darling, love you

y/n: I love you more baby

user60: as someone who’s just gone through a terrible breakup too, i cannot express how comforting it is to hear these songs and realize i’m not alone

Liked by y/n

13 October

—

You let your phone drop to the bathroom counter, blinking slowly, unable to fathom the conversation that had just taken place. Had he really just said those things? Scrolling through the texts confirmed that yes, he had indeed. The bastard.

Charles had always been the jealous type. But attacking you like that when he had been the one to… It was absolutely ridiculous. Apparently he still couldn’t—or wouldn’t—grasp the depths of how much he had actually hurt you.

You’d loved him with all of your heart. Until he had ripped it out and hurled it to the floor, letting it shatter into a million tiny pieces. Yet, even then, you would’ve forgiven him. If only he’d apologised. If only he’d shown true remorse. But he hadn’t. And so you’d been forced to walk the path of mending your own heart, and move on with your life.

Perhaps a small part of you had hoped that he could be happy for you. That somehow, even after everything, you would be able to greet each other normally—that you could coexist peacefully. But as his texts just now had demonstrated, that wasn’t going to happen. Not right now. And definitely not next week in Texas. You sighed. It would’ve been too good to be true, anyway. Especially considering who you were currently seeing…

A light knock sounded at the door, startling you out of those thoughts. 

“Are you almost ready to go, darling?” a male voice asked, soft.

Right. Dinner. Celebrations. 

You had been in the midst of applying the finishing touches to your makeup and outfit before Charles had interrupted, quite literally shocking you to the core when his name had appeared on your lock screen. He’d been the last person you’d expected to hear from today.

You swallowed the bitter taste that Charles’ texts had managed to leave behind. He wasn’t worth it, you repeated to yourself. You weren’t going to let his shenanigans ruin a perfect night—a perfect date. You ran a hand through your hair and readjusted the necklace around your neck when the bathroom door creaked open behind you. 

Looking up, your eyes met your handsome, new boyfriend’s through the mirror. He was smiling, eyebrows raised in silent question, ever patient as he waited for you to finish up. You felt your pulse quicken at the sight of him, dressed to perfection in a dark suit, hair neatly tousled.

As always, his presence was able to reassure you within the blink of an eye, the tense muscles in your neck and shoulders relaxing as you gladly let all of your complex emotions fall away.

“Yes,” you nodded, a genuine smile spreading across your lips. “I’m ready.”

･ ⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･

THE END

but who is she with? well, there’s a little (and not so subtle) easter egg that refers back to the beginning of part 6 that will confirm certain things… have you spotted it?

thank you everyone for coming along on this ride! it’s been a hell of a lot of fun writing and creating this story 🥰 my apologies to all the y/n x charles shippers out there, but as our songbird said: here’s to the end and new beginnings…

Now, if you'd like, please cast your votes below :)

･ ⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･

･ ⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･

Tags: @sukisheadlights @eviethetheatrefreak @blueflorals @kiskso @dessxoxsworld @treehouse-mouse @dangeroustacoalienbiscuit @clown-fc @stopeatread @vanishingcherry @bb-swift @leclercdream @scenesofobx @kagatinkita @allywthsr @evieepepi08 @viennakarma @riverjane-d @httpjeonlicious @madnesstaking0ver @futurecorps3 @celesteblack08 @sadg3 @simxican @glow-ish @spideybv28 @laneyspaulding19 @tswizzleismother @slytherinfolk25 @merchelsea @1655clean @urgirlnextdoorr @cixrosie @lightdragonrayne @lxclerc @hopexcroc @nichmeddar @imthebadguyyy

[stellarbit]

Confess

3k words NSFW Echoxreader

Someone requested some Echo smut and so I gave it a shot.

You catch Echo off guard and he has to deal with his feelings for you.

Laid up in the dimly lit corner of Cid's parlor, Echo grumbled under his breath as AZI-3 performed a body scan. Flanking him were you and his brothers, forming a protective semicircle. Omega, always eager to be involved, stood near Echo’s head, her eyes darting between you and the rest of the Batch as you all did a bit of bickering.

Chuckling, you lowered yourself into a bedside chair, “Wrecker, when are you going to learn to keep your eyes up.”

The burly clone rolled his eyes and head in the same exasperated expression. “I do keep ‘em up!”

“Considering you nearly made all of us fall, I’d say you didn’t this time.” Tech drolled.

At the mention of the fall, Echo gingerly touched the swelling bump on his head, a reminder of the chaos when Wrecker lost his grip climbing a cable to the Marauder, resulting in both of them plummeting twenty feet to the ground. Your voices were gradually sharpening the dull ache in his head.

A streak of red on Echo’s hand caught your eye. A tear in his glove exposed a cut you hadn’t noticed at first glance. As Tech and Wrecker continued their argument, oblivious to the new development, you reached out and gently grasped Echo's wrist. 

“Echo.” You said warily, as you pulled his injured hand closer for a better look. He kept his eyes shut, already knowing what you were about to say.

"Just a scratch, nothing to worry about," he murmured dismissively, trying to withdraw his hand, preferring to ignore the injury than address it in front of everyone.

You kept a firm grip on his hand, the pressure pushing a fresh drop of blood to the surface. Before he pulled away again, you took his bleeding finger into your mouth. The feel of your mouth around his gloved finger sent Echo lurching to attention. He was so caught off guard that he smashed his head straight into AZI.

At the same time Echo shoved away AZI and snatched his hand back. His sudden outburst had you reaching for him again, at least to stabilize him, but he had already scrambled up from his prone position, his eyes wide with shock. "What are you doing?" he blurted out, still wincing from the collision.

You opened your mouth to explain, but Echo cut you off, raising his hand to halt your words. He glanced down at his hand, then back at you, his cheeks coloring slightly.

Echo noticed the questioning look on your face and quickly averted his eyes. His voice carried a biting edge as he stammered, "I-It’s not clean."

Like every clone you’d ever met, Echo was a terrible liar.

You were about to respond when Hunter intervened, patting Echo on the shoulder with a light-hearted remark. "Glad to see you're okay." This gave Echo the perfect opportunity to divert attention from the awkward moment.

As AZI began to relay the results of his scan, your gaze lingered on Echo. You leaned back, puzzled by his intense reaction. During your time together, Echo had never before recoiled from such a simple touch. Well except once.

Echo soon walked off with his brothers, his attention drifting as he replayed the moment you had taken his gloved finger into your mouth.  The warmth that spread through him was something he thought the Techno Union's modifications had stolen for good. For the most part, his duties as a soldier kept him from thinking about it.

When the Batch reunited with you after Order 66, Echo knew he was feeling what you had when he was lost at the Citadel. His feelings only became more reoccurring.

 He would be lying if he said he’d never thought back to the singular night the two of you used each other as a distraction. For Echo, it wasn’t just a distraction, you were so much more to him. You saw him as more than a number and he saw you for the soul you were beyond a Jedi. Fearless, proud, and beautiful. But he also saw you for what you were, a Jedi bound by selflessness. 

Before Skako Minor, during a night spent in a medbay. Echo had been severely injured and, late that night you snuck in to see him. The weight of almost losing him overwhelmed you, and comfort turned into an embrace that quickly heated into staying the night wrapped around each other.

In the gray light of dawn, and under the threat of being discovered, you had mutually decided to confine that intimacy to just one night. However, Echo found himself frequently revisiting that decision. The memory of how you looked beneath him, the feel of your body pressed against his—these thoughts had been his companions through many lonely nights on the battlefield.

The warmth your mouth stoked in him spread, reminiscent of the heat from a kiss—his mouth on yours and then not just his fingers.

To be exact, the warmth of your mouth felt like it was around his cock. Even though your lips had touched him only briefly, his world narrowed to nothing but the memory of you.

A part of him felt undeserving and ashamed. You loyally spent years beside him, followed him to join the Bad Batch, and saw him as your most trusted friend. He wondered what you’d think if you knew what had transpired in him.

As the evening faded and days passed, you watched Echo, noting the careful neutrality he maintained in his interactions. He brushed off the incident as if it were nothing, but you weren’t fooled. You remembered too well the last time he had reacted like this.

After the night you spent exploring each other, the next time you whispered close to him, he had jumped as if blasted in the ass. He'd stammered some feeble excuse before quickly excusing himself. This time, though, you were determined not to let history repeat itself without a proper resolution.

This time you weren’t letting him off so easily. The war was over. You were no Jedi and he was not bound by his role of a soldier.

You were kind enough to wait until you got him alone to push him. A few days after the incident, you finally noticed Echo heading towards the Marauder by himself. You made no attempts at hiding your presence, in fact you sing-songed his name on sight. When the only response was a soft chuckle and an “Over here,” you continued towards Echo. 

He sat at the navigational screens, only turning slightly as you neared him. You smiled and leaned down, positioning yourself to look over his left shoulder for a shared view of the screens. The unexpected rush of emotions—loud heartbeats and butterflies—surprised you.

    Before second thoughts could hold you back, you reached out and gently touched his shoulder, your hand trailing down his arm until it rested over his. "Echo," you whispered softly.

    At your touch, his back straightened. You angled your face close to his, maintaining the contact. You kept your hand over his until he finally turned to look at you, his expression a mixture of caution and curiosity. His head still faced forward as you delicately laced your fingers through his.

   He reared his head and looked at you full on, his pale hazel eyes wide. Maintaining eye contact you picked up his hand in yours and pulled his glove off with your other. A light pink mark running up his forefinger was all that was left of his gash.

  You turned his hand over, inspecting the healing mark, then looked back to him. Echo swallowed and you couldn’t help doing the same. 

"I’m glad to see it’s healing," you commented softly, your thumb tracing the faint line. "Looks clean, too."

"What are you doing?" Echo's voice was tense, a sharp contrast to his usual composure.

At the same time, you asked, "What happened when I touched your hand the other day?"

Echo’s grip on your hand tightened, pulling you a fraction closer, almost as if he was challenging you. "You didn’t just touch me," he said, a hint of accusation in his tone.

You blinked at him, not suppressing your there it is smile. “What did I do then, Echo?”

His usual straightforwardness faltered, making this avoidance all the more telling. He sighed and his grip loosened slightly. "Please, just let it go," he pleaded, trying to pull away.

But you were quick to act, gliding your tongue along the length of his finger, a bold move that turned his hand rigid in yours. You ended with a soft kiss pressed to his lips, cherishing the contact and the rush of emotions it brought.

It took a bit of courage for you to meet his eyes again, lips still on his finger.

His eyes were shut, lips pressed tight, and heat scorched his cheeks. If you didn’t know better, you’d think he was suffering. The thought made you panic.

Feeling suddenly foolish, crouched before him with just the simple kiss of his hand, you realized the irony of the situation. You had been far more intimate before, yet now, in this small gesture, you felt incredibly vulnerable. Taking a deep breath to steady your nerves, you kissed his skin again, softly whispering an apology.

“It made me think of you,” Echo's voice broke through the silence, a choked and hurried confession as his eyes fluttered open to briefly plead with the unknown before settling intensely on you. “When you licked my cut,” he continued with a heavy sigh, surrendering to the moment, “it made me think of our night in the medbay.”

That night had only been spoken of maybe twice over the years. During the war, you both had buried any thoughts of what could have been without the conflict. Because, without the war, you wouldn’t have Echo. But that hadn’t stopped you from recalling the things he whispered to you, or from clinging to the memory of how he felt during lonely nights.

Gently, you rolled his hand over to press his palm against your cheek, turning to kiss his touch tenderly. “Is that a bad thing?”

Echo leaned closer, his prosthetic arm pressing lightly against your shoulder, grounding the moment with its weight. “Of course not,” he replied sternly, his voice softening. “It’s just—”

“Because I like the idea of you remembering,” you interjected before he could voice his doubts.

His hesitation wavered as he searched your face, looking for something that might tell him this was real—that it was okay to feel this way. Finally, a gentle smile broke through his stoic facade, and he whispered back, "So do I."

Smiling into his skin you stuck your tongue out and licked him again. “And this?” You said between kisses. 

His eyes fluttered at the sensation. “It doesn’t feel like that’s my finger.”

The sight of him, relaxing back and a smile on him made you pounce. You took two of his fingers into your mouth this time and he took a sharp breath as he watched his fingers disappear past your lips. Echo felt you hum and a shudder ran through him. 

Echo withdrew his hand, leaned forward, and scooped you up by your arms. He effortlessly lifted you, pressing you against the control panel of the Marauder. Your arms wrapped around his neck as he leaned in, his face hovering inches from yours, his gaze dropping to your lips 

Overcome by the moment, you instinctively pulled your legs over his hips, drawing him closer. His hand moved quickly, silencing the beeping controls and sealing the hatch with a soft click, ensuring privacy.

"Careful," you whispered, your voice a playful taunt, even though you were completely alone. "Your training is showing, trooper."

Echo's response was a low chuckle, his lips hovering just a breath away from yours. "Say my name, please," he requested, his voice thick with emotion, turning the moment into a deeply personal plea rather than a mere flirtation.

You whined out a yes and said, “Echo.” Before pressing your lips to his. You felt him groan softly, his tension melting away as he leaned into the kiss with ease. His tongue sought yours without hesitation, initiating a deep, earnest exploration rather than a wild rush. Each moment was about savoring the taste and feel of one another, deepening the connection that had been simmering between you for so long.

Echo eventually pulled back slightly, his nose brushing against yours in a tender gesture. "I think I've known since the moment we met," he confessed softly, his breath mingling with yours.

Your one hand slid up to his face, gently kissing, “And what is ‘this’ exactly?”

Echo responded by capturing your bottom lip gently with his before he released it to murmur, "That I’d fall in love with you."

The words resonated deeply, sending a shockwave through your entire being. Every cell seemed to freeze, the significance of his admission striking a profound chord within you. On a reflex, you pulled back, creating a small space between you as you placed your hands on his shoulders to gently push him away.

Echo’s expression quickly changed to alarmed as he blinked at you, eyebrows raised. When he started asking what was wrong, your hands fell to your pelvis with fingers quickly working at your pants.

His breath hitched as he realized what was going on and made enough space for you to pull your legs back and wiggle out of your pants. Your pants hadn’t hit the ground and he’d already pulled at his own clothes enough to expose himself fully to you.

Neither of you broke eye contact as you nestled back together. A smile and hum bubbled from you when you felt him glide over you. 

Echo, leaning on his hand for support, choked out a curse when he felt you drip over him. Using your legs as leverage around him, you slid against him before positioning yourself at the head of his cock.

With your hands cradling the sides of his face, your thumbs gently stroking his cheeks, you looked as if you may plead for your life. In a way you were.

“Say it again,” you whispered, your voice a blend of demand and desperation.

Echo responded to the urgency in your voice, his actions mirroring the intensity of his emotions. As he closed the distance between you, joining your bodies slowly and thoroughly, the air seemed to thicken with anticipation. Though it felt like both of you could barely breathe, Echo's voice emerged clear and warm, filled with unwavering conviction.

"The moment I laid eyes on you, I fell in love with you," he confessed again, each word deliberate and heartfelt, 

The words themself sent a thrill through you, they hit you so hard you swore you could’ve came. You bit back a moan and he responded by pulling out a few inches and steadily pushing into you. He picked up a rhythm and his metallic arm steadied you against him.

Your hands held onto his shoulders for support as you pulled him into a kiss. Your body felt like it was thrumming, every move he made pulled a noise from you in some way as you came undone for him.

“Echo.” His name was a panicked plea.

"Yes?" He replied, his forehead resting against yours, both of you sharing quick, shallow breaths in the intimate space.

Your eyebrows drew together, your fingers tightening on his shoulders as the words spilled from you, heavy and raw. "I’m so in love with you."

 It was Echo this time that stilled, his sudden stop left him throbbing inside you.“You’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever met.” He said in awe of you. It felt like he released something deep inside him by allowing himself to say that. His eyes squeezed shut as another shudder ran through him. He let out a controlled breath. “I’m about to-”

It was you who now moved below him with quick, small thrusts, “If you love me, do it inside.” 

Echo dropped his hand to your hip and rammed himself fully inside you in one last thrust. The entire time he’d been inside you he had been stretching you, but him fully sheathed and pressing deep inside you was the point of no return. You writhed against him and contracted around him. 

“A-Are you?” Was all he could manage when he felt another sudden wave of pleasure.

 “Uh-huh,” was all you could utter through the thrill of your orgasm. Knowing you were cumming for him, on him, made Echo move against you again, throbbing and filling you again to the point his cum finally spilled out of you. 

Your foreheads touched, still caught in each other’s close orbit, and for a few moments ou simply breathed in unison, the storm of emotions settling into a calm. Echo looked into your eyes, his gaze steady and clear.

“That was a long time coming,” Echo said, his voice low and sincere. There was a hint of wonder, as if he was still processing the reality of the moment. The quiet between you was comfortable as you started pulling yourselves together.

As Echo buckled his gear back up he said in a teasing tone, “So, should we schedule our next confession for a few years from now or just surprise each other like today?”

Your laughter rang out. “Maybe without so many life-or-death settings.”

Echo’s eyes met yours again, reflecting a shared happiness and a forward-looking optimism. It was clear that whatever the future held, you would face it together, with no hesitations and no barriers between you.

[woodland-gremlin]

How to Adopt Your Clone Pt. 3

Previous Ao3

Fury burns through her at the words so carelessly thrown around that anyone could easily mistake her having a fire core instead of a wind one. First her crummy Creator corners her in a public place forcing her to split her attention to make sure their fight doesn’t affect anyone else or get attacked by the GIW. Second, the public place was the haunt of one of the founders of the Hypocrite League. Third, she was mistaken as a villain by said founder. Fourth, she still doesn’t know what 16th Century Up-Do is really planning because she doubts it is an apology for all the shit he has put her through. And now the Lying-Liar calls the Packer’s Fanatic her father! She doesn’t care about the consequences of attacking the government's pet lap dogs anymore. After that all bets are off!

“He is not,” Ellie twists her wrist so that she is the one holding on to the idiotic heroes wrist instead, “my,” she tightens her hold, “father!” Ellie wails, tapping into her ghostly wail.

Steal Thong screams, kneeling over, desperately trying to cover his bleeding ears. Ellie’s Wail might not have the raw power that her brother’s has without risking destabilization, but with how well she can control it with her wind core, how close Superdouche was, and how sensitive his enhanced senses it was enough to knock him out.

As the hero struggled in the air, not falling only because of the hold Ellie had on his wrist, Boundary-Bastard began to cackle like those cliche cartoon villains. All he needed to complete the picture was to be sitting behind one of his tacky desks while petting his cat, Maddie. How Danny got more creeped out by the Fruitloop naming his cat after Danny’s mam more than getting cloned she’ll never know.

“Oh Danielle,” More Money Than Sense chuckles while wiping an imaginary tear from his eye, “You really are my daughter, aren’t you?”

Ellie growls, waving her arms in her fury, momentarily forgetting the hero she held captive. “I’m not your daughter you Creep. I’m nothing like you.”

All Ellie’s words did was set off Crummy Vampire Cosplay in another cackling fit. “Oh really,” he purred, “then you didn’t just defeat the world’s so-called greatest hero?”

Ellie stills, turning her eyes downwards towards the hero she was holding. Yelping, she dropped her hold on the hero like a hot potato before grabbing him again. As much as she would like to let him go she doesn’t know if a drop from this height would kill him and really didn’t want to find out.

“I didn’t-didn’t mean,” the youngest Halfa stuttered out, not daring to look into the oldest Halfa’s eyes. Not wanting to look at the one you just stated one of her greatest fears out loud. That she was just like the one she hates the most. That she never escaped his grasp. That everything she did was not out of free will, but something she was programmed to do. That she was just a pale imitation of Danny, in the end becoming Vlad’s perfect child. That she was a monster masquerading as a child.

“You didn’t mean to?” Plasmius mockingly parroted back, “Of course not, just like how you didn’t mean to betray Daniel all those years ago.”

Ellie flinched, absentmindedly tightening her hold on the unconscious hero.

“Face it Danielle, no matter what you do all you will ever do is hurt people, no matter what you intend. After all,” Plasmius crows, towering over the trembling clone, “you are my creation.”

To be continued . . .

Next

[spidernuggets]

Anon asked: ive always had the thought that jason is an extream romantic, especially so when he was younger. I present jason seing reader and thinking she (or he or they) are the most beutiful person in the world But would he pine silently? Or do everything in his power to make them fall in love w him?

Jason Todd x Reader

"Eventually"

Dick was only supposed to take him to the cafe for a quick break. Never in a million years would he think he'd lock eyes with someone he'd want to be a part of their life with. And that's exactly what happened that day.

"Can we make this quick? l'm behind on training, Jason grumbles. Dick scoffs in response

"Calm down, we 'll be quick. Hi, yeah, I'll just get an Americano, thanks.'

"Of course," you reply. "And for you?" You ask towards Jason.

Jason's head lifts up and stares at the pretty person in front of him and suddenly he forgets how to speak.

Jason does NOT believe in love at first sight. He'd ever fully love someone romantically until he believes that both parties of the relationship have full devotion to each other.

No, he doesn't believe in love at first sight. The person standing in front of him just happens to be someone he'd like to get to know more.

"Uh.. sir?" You call out to him as Dick turns his headtowards him in confusion

Jason shakes his head. "Uhm... sorry, I'll just get an iced hazelnut coffee, I guess," he mumbles, just loud enough for you to hear.

"Perfect.. I'lI call out your orders when they're ready,' you tell the two men as they nod and step to the side. Dick paid both orders with his card and put a couple of coins into the tips jar.

Once they both got their orders, they both thanked you. Jason let Dick walk away first before seeing that you had you back turned, making another order.

He didn't know what he was thinking, but he just got the urge to quickly walk to your tip jar and place two 20 bills in.

When you finished your shift and counted up your tips, you couldn't believe that someone would've placed a 40 in. Or maybe 2 people placed a 20 each? Who knows. But you were happy nonetheless

Ever since Jason first unofficially met you, he's been visiting the cafe on his own a couple of times every 2 weeks or so. Then, the visits once every week, then twice every week. Now, Jason visits the cafe every chance he gets. And he realises it may seem stalker-ish, but he's had a grasp of your roster patterns and only shows up to the cafe when you're working.

And you've noticed it, too. And so has your coworkers. After his first visit, you told one of your coworkers the next day about the cute guy you ordered one of your favourite drinks.

And when one of your other coworkers was going over security footage to see who was nicking a cookie or two from the pastry shelf, she reported to you that it was Jason who left the two 20 bills in your tip jar. And you swear you got a heart palpitation.

When you see Jason walking up to the cafe through the windows, your heart sped up, and you get excited and start making his usal hazelnut iced coffee.

When he walks to your counter, you place his drink in front of him.

"Hazelnut iced coffee?" You smile towards him as he returns the grin.

"Know me so well," he replies, taking the drink and placing a 50 in its place.

As you go get his change, he shakes his head. "Just keep the change, sweetheart," he says as your eyes widen.

"What?? No! That's like a 1000% tip!" You exclaim worringly.

And Jason laughs. "It's fine, plently more where that came from, Y/n."

Your brows pinch in confusion as you look down, remembering your nametag.

You lightly scoff and roll your eyes and shook your head. "I don't care, here," you say, handing him his change.

"Fine. How bout I use this money to take you on a date then?" He asks.

You hesitate. Sure, the guy's cute, but... you don't even know him..

"I'm busy," you impulsively say, mentally slapping yourself for the lame response.

"I never said when."

"Busy anyway, tight schedule."

"Liar, you know I'm always here when your working."

"Yeah, I know.."

"I know you know."

"Shut up," you say, and you couldn't help but smile at the small banter between the two of you.

Luckily it was a quiet day and there was no line.

"I don't even know your name," you proudly say.

"It's Jason. And fine. How 'bout," Jason takes a napkin and writes down his number. "Friends. For now. And I take you on a date."

You think for a moment before agreeing. "Eventually," you say, not wanting to be too quick into dating some guy.

"Eventually," Jason repeats.

"But!" You say. "No more massive tips. I'm not going on a date with someone who flaunts money," you condition.

He nods in response. Jason raises his coffee as a salute goodbye. "Eventually," He bids a farewell as he walks out.

"Eventually," you quietly say to yourself, excited to see how this friendship would bloom.

From your condition alone, Jason realises you'd prefer handmade or cheaper gifts rather than grand gestures or expensive offerings.

One time, during the first few weeks that he visited the cafe, he noticed a copy of Little Women behind you.

So you were somewhat into classic literature.

He prepares a little note for you in replace for the cash tip.

When he gets his drink, he pays and puts that note in your tip jar.

You take it out and read it when he leaves.

Be the Amy to my Laurie? ;) it read.

The next time Jason visited you, he placed a red rose in your jar, and this gesture definitely made you blush.

After a month or so of him olacing cute notes and small gifts in you jar, you finally accept his proposal of a date.

And soon, the two of you became an official couple. This was the point where Jason became more of a romantic than usual.

He recited poems and sonnets. Wrote love quotes from his favourite classic novels, putting it in your bag before you headed for work. He made sure you knew his love and affection he has towards you every day.

And sometimes, he'd feel a little cheeky and slip a 50 'tip' in your wallet when you're not looking.

I'm so sorry that this is probably short and lame, Anon, I had so many technical difficulties with this 😭

I based this mainly on Titans!Jason Todd, since he m seems to be more flirty and expressive than other Jason Todds I've seen.

I wasn't sure how to incorporate this into a fic, but I'd think that firstly, when he first sees you, he definitely wants to know you more, but based on his background, he doesn't wanna scare you away, so he silently pines in the background before having the courage to make a move.

I will take to my grave that he recites book quotes and poems cuz he's our little theatre nerd.

In my opinion, when Jason first sees someone, he wouldn't fall for them or anything like that. I'd think that if he hangs out with them enough, then he'd start to have a crush on them.

But when he finally realises he loves them, he loves them HARD. Like he can't imagine a life with anyone else but you.

Thanks so much for the request, Anon. Have a great day!

[bitumz]

Title: Lay that rifle down

Pairing: Cooper Howard / Lucy MacLean Word count: 4.5k+

Rated: E [explicit sexual content, gun play, dom/sub undertones, cannibalistic tendencies]

gif credit: @kaorym ❤️

~~~~~

“Ten caps says you can’t teach me something about a rifle that I don’t already know.” Lucy sent over her raised arm.

And Cooper took it as the bait it was. 

“Aight Annie Oakley, target practice ain’t got shit on the real thing.” He sneered with a tip of his head. “You ever have to pull a repeater on a rabid herd of radroaches crawlin’ at your feet down there in that squeaky-clean sealed-up vault of yours?” Cooper asked, and Lucy only looked over at him as if the thought was foul. “Or how bout a pack a’ radhounds foamin’ at the maw for a mouthful of that hot blooded complacency all over your fuckin’ face... Didn’t think so.” He bit. “And keep that goddamned elbow up ‘fore it gets knocked from its socket.” He reminded again through his teeth, and she couldn't be sure if he meant from the kick of the stock or his hands-on training approach.

Three empty cans of Cram hung from twine on a tree branch twenty yards out and Lucy squinted at them down the barrel of Cooper’s sawed off. Their light ammo was running low, as was their luck, a bandit encampment separating them from their most recent diversion, a bounty that would earn them enough caps to not have to worry about bullets or supplies for the next few months if lady luck got her shit together. 

“No, no radroaches down there, thank goodness.” Lucy answered. “But there was those few raiders that one time. And the bandits back in Nipton... The deathclaw that nearly knocked your head off.” She preened. “They all moved pretty quick. I think Annie would be proud.”

Cooper snorted at that, ambling down range to run his gloved hand lazily across the cans, sending them swaying side to side. Stepped safely out of the way.

“Raiders…” he still pondered the first of her list. The one that still stung the most when she thought on it too long. “Moldaver’s golden fuckin’ ticket huh... What was his name again?” Cooper asked, eyes thinning in a derisive show of thought. Like he’d actually forgotten, though the tightly drawn bow of his shoulders said otherwise, pent up exertion waiting to be freed in one way or another. Lucy shifted on her toes in the sand. “Monty, right?” He sent her a withering grin from beneath the shadow of his hat. “Imagine how much more effective buckshot woulda been.”

Lucy glared back, took aim, and fired, the hollowed rounds free of shrapnel, (waste not, want not Cooper would say) but striking the trio of moving cans in repeat, near-perfect precision all the same. A sense of pride swelled in her chest as they spun wild from their twine, right alongside the burning memories of being betrayed and choked and stabbed in the gut… She looked over to find Cooper again, closer now, watching near her side. 

“I slashed his throat, you know.” Lucy reminded him with a smile of her own, and as always it flashed something bright and hot in his usually carefully disinterested hazel eyes.

“Oh I know.” Cooper nodded. “But your first mistake was lettin’ him close enough to have to.”

With the warning he attempted to reset the stage, gloved hands reaching out to grasp for anything vital, another repeated lesson in reading between the lines of people's bullshit. And they had earned her a few bruises here and there as she’d grown stronger and quicker and improved till he’d deemed it unnecessary to pull his punches, just as she’d begun drawing a bit of blood of her own.

But Lucy had always been a fast learner long before the wasteland. Now, with the push of her heel against the dirt she dodged back and spun whole-bodily to put the barrel of his rifle between them, pointing it an inch away from the hastily sewn button over the center of his chest. 

“He was a liar.” Lucy said simply. “Fucked me and wanted a quick out... Like most men, come to think of it.”

And Cooper chucked low, gloved palms up in a short lived impasse. Raised his stormy expression toward the sky. “Most men, like the poor souls weren’t trapped in there with you.” He finished the roll of his eyes and met hers again. Smirked a fiery thing. “Or related to ya.”

Lucy took the jabs in stride.

“This again? Really? Right now?” She asked, adjusting the butt of the shotgun more securely into the divot of her shoulder. “Not like I had many options down there. Still don’t sadly…”

“And yet?” Cooper bid with the lift of his browline, hat shifting the slightest bit higher on his forehead and letting the sun play brighter along the deep hollows of his face. And he took the final, daring step that put him flush against the jagged metal of the muzzle. Sent her a warning look across it that burned deep in her belly as if it were his own finger on the trigger. Stared at her as if he awaited something even more gutting in her answer. 

And she knew him well enough now that she could give him that.

“Well if this is you actually asking, I’ve dealt with my fair share of assholes, sure. Down there and up here... But with Monty,” she breathed out, sugar sweet and disgustingly indulgent. “I’ve never cum so hard in my life.” 

Then she reached out over the barrel of the rifle, flicked the brim of his hat up another inch higher across his brow just to be a bitch. And at her teasing smile he growled.

Cooper snatched the gun from her hold single handedly, slinging it down in the dirt beside them so hard it kicked up dust. Grabbed her by the knot of the vaultsuit at her waist and yanked her in close, looming that few inches over her that sped her heart in her chest and weakened her knees every single time without fail.

“You sure you really wanna tug on that thread right now girl?” Cooper hissed, chemical-laced breath washing hot across her face in a smell she was coming to relate to painful, invigorating pleasure if she played her cards just right. Because the hands she was dealt could change at a single slip of the tongue, but she was getting more and more secure in her ability to read the table. “Cause it’s been a rough few weeks,” he drawled, “and them prissy vault assholes ain't got shit on me.” 

As if she needed reminding of just how full of it he actually was. He was heavy handed and a downright son of a bitch when the occasion called, but the only lasting marks he left on her skin these days were asked for in gasped breaths and pleading little cries. He'd done nothing during their ample downtime but raise her up to the harsh standards of the wasteland, training her muscles and sharpening her mind and she'd felt more alive in the last few months than she’d ever had in her entire life.

“Technically he wasn't a vault dweller.” She corrected with a small shrug. Squared her shoulders. “But ya, I’m sure.” Lucy nodded in challenge.

And Cooper stared her down just long enough to raise the small hairs at the back of her neck…

Then his rough hands were everywhere all at once, ripping her suit the rest of the way down her hips with one to let it pool at her feet. He bit the middle fingertip of his glove over the other to free it from his scarred skin. And as always his right trigger finger shined paler up at her, nearly completely healed now in a line near his knuckle where two became one. It skimmed up her stomach alongside his others, under her dirtied tank top, gripping the sensitive flesh there and squeezing as she steadied herself against his shoulders to kick her fallen suit to the side.

And Cooper watched the small act with something like veneration in his eyes. 

It emboldened her enough to reach into his own cover, small hands slipping beneath the lapels of his ragged duster to try and push it down from his shoulders. But her wrists were caught in his ensnaring hold before she could make any real progress. 

“Leave it alone,” he snarled, shoving her back and away from him with such a force that she tumbled down onto her ass in the sand, grains scratching against the strips of bare skin that her underwear didn’t cover, but the new angle did something even rawer to her insides as she looked back up at him, standing tall above, chest heaving in an inevitable anger that she found she wanted to siphon out of him like blood, in the very same way he’d done her all those months ago in the hazy heat of the desert. Kicking and screaming and fighting until all the trauma he’d piled on and on atop the already shaky foundation was free of her skin and torn right back into his. And it was a damn enticing thought.

“There she is.” He said unmoving, in that way that pushed her further, as if he knew her better than she knew herself. And that could only be true if she allowed it. 

So she pressed her weight up onto her elbows. Carefully schooled her expression. Sharpened the words in her mind just as Cooper would his bowie.

“You know, I vaguely remember Monty saying something similar to me as I rode him into the mattress.” Lucy said, looking past him to the safety of the tree line. “The first time.” She added pointedly. 

And Cooper’s laugh slithered in the humid air above.

“You sure are a funny little thing, I’ll give ya that.” He said down at her, the lilt of his accent at odds with the glare. “All talk and no substance.” He goaded, tongue darting out to swipe at his chapped bottom lip. Then a sudden thought burned quick and troubling in his eyes. “Unless you care to prove it?”

For a while neither moved, Lucy only returning his malice back up to him as he thought something over in his mind. It thinned in his eyes like her patience.

Then all at once it clicked, Cooper bending forward to retrieve his rifle from the dirt. He shoved it barrel-first into the loose sand between her legs, so sudden and so close to the apex of her thighs that she nearly flinched back to protect her own anatomy…

“Let’s see it then cowgirl.” He taunted, taking a step back and watching her as if she were a puzzle he was bound to solve, whether the pieces fit in place or not. A game to be mastered to completion. One she’d started playing first this time around.

And she would never again back down from a challenge out of fear. Not ever one from him.

“Okey dokey.” Lucy said, paired with the sweet curve of her lips that she knew, together, bit him right in the ass. 

Her hands only shook the faintest bit as she wrapped them around the barrel, using it as an anchor to draw herself the small distance forward it took to have it flush against the gusset of her underwear. The metal itself was warm to the touch, near burning under the tips of her fingers from such recent use, but it sat just right against the heat already building between her legs at the way his shell shocked eyes ate up her every move. 

She held them with her own as she drew into mind the memory of those show girls she’d seen on an old holotape beneath Chet’s mattress. Dressed in clinging silk and dolled up beautifully as they danced around and clung onto tall metal polls like they were lovers. Lucy tried to mimic, making an experimental roll with her hips against the cylinder, firm pressure pushing against all the right places as it parted her folds and met her clit through the thin material of her panties. But the real pleasure came from the look it left on Cooper’s face. 

Lucy moaned a low sound and his boots shifted in the sand before her.

“That’s all it takes huh?” He drawled, his gritty, flustered voice brewing even more pressure deep in her gut than the contact itself. “Fuckin’ get it then.”

She rolled her hips again, arching her lower back and drawing the stock closer to her chest in the dancelike chase of her own pleasure, rocking her cunt against the hard barrel more like a cowboy would his saddle in those old westerns than the painted ladies she’d set out to mirror originally… And then she looked right up into Cooper’s gaping eyes.

“Like this?” Lucy asked him in a breathless gasp, straight teeth flashing harsh in the sun as she drew in a breath through them.

“Just like that.” He growled back, bared hand tugging slow at his remaining glove before both fell to the pair of buckles at his waist. 

And the methodical way he undid the clasp of his holster while still watching on had Lucy’s thighs tightening shut around metal in anticipation, sliding slicker against the friction. She’d been lying when she told him Monty was the best lay she’d ever had but she found that it was almost always in her own best interest to give Cooper new and ever changing goals to focus on. He was an excellent student when given the proper time and motivation to study the material, just as she herself had been during all those pivotal pubescent years in the company of only a Radiation King television set and her own two hands. 

But she was very much a woman now, her body screaming it at her so as her movements grew quicker and sloppy, her hands drawing the rifle against herself in pulses as she rolled her hips forward faster in chase, the pressure building and building low in her groin, throbbing but empty and wanting. 

“Cooper please.” Lucy begged in a shaky breath, though she couldn't pin down exactly what for. She sought out his eyes for the answers. 

“Nu uh.” Cooper denied in a breathy exhale, flicking his pistol barrel up at her a pair of times in vague acknowledgement. “You started it. Fuckin’ finish it.” He bit and the frustration it lit in her chest rekindled her efforts.

If he wanted her to finish then she fucking would. 

Lucy reached down to pull her panties aside, soft curls lacing around her fingers as she unceremoniously dipped a mismatched pair between her folds and into the slick of her arousal, earning a low, satisfying rumble from Cooper’s chest that had her walls clenching tighter around them. She rolled her wrist in the familiar pattern that’d earned her many a decent night sleep. Looked down as she fucked herself on her fingers, gun still standing tall from the dirt between her legs like some last little bit of modesty between her and the eyes that looked on as if they were trying to swallow her whole. She tried to imagine his mostly-own, thicker digits pushing into her. His own thumb circling rough over her clit. And under his careful study, she’d never been more turned on in her life.

“That how Monty touched ya?” Cooper slithered down to her like a curse, breaking the spell and stirring her up further all at once. He stepped aside to fall languorously into a crouch near her knee to better see the show. “All soft and sweet-like. A proper little lady.” He growled.

And Lucy gasped a laugh up at the blue sky, falling to her back as her muscles tensed to a near excruciating tautness at his goading, the attempt only exposing another of his weaknesses and twisting tighter the coil low in her own gut. “He didn’t touch me at all actually.” She confessed, fingers squelching obscenely as she quickened her pace at the reminder. “Made me do all the work myself. Just like this.” She accused up at him with the bend of her neck. “Had more fun fighting him honestly...”

A quick breath huffed from Cooper's nasal cavity. 

“Mm,” he nodded. “Figures.” He drawled, eyes trailing down her body with a dangerous edge thinning his lips. Then he aimed his pistol passively at the dampening sand between her legs, a crazed glint sparking in his eyes that she’d only ever seen in ghouls gone rabid. “Well I got another gun here if ya need it.” He offered.

And the rush of adrenaline at the implication alone was what finally sent her falling over the edge, back arching over the ground, thighs quivering and clenching closed so hard around her own hand that the rifle between them toppled sideways right into Cooper’s waiting hold. 

“That’s it, darlin’,” he praised, steadying himself over her against it like a crutch, honey gold eyes raking over every inch of her exposed, trembling skin. The peaks of her breasts teasing through her thin tank top. Her slowing fingers between her legs as she brought herself back down. “Monty ain’t got shit on those greedy little hands huh?”

And she knew he was talking but the words wouldn’t register right in her pleasure deafened ears. Overstimulated and still unsatisfied in equal measure for the taste of oblivion she could never quite reach on her own anymore. 

“Cooper…” Lucy breathed, strained and gasping in the throes of her waning orgasm. “Cooper please - please…”

He grew tense near her side, that practiced mask of indifference slipping a bit at her honest to god begging. 

“Cooper what?” He asked, almost sweet, in itself an unnerving thing. 

And Lucy let her legs spread back open wide. Slowly traced her pleasure drenched fingers up to the bare midriff of her pale stomach. Dipped them beneath the fraying hem of her panties.

“Please don’t make me do this alone again...” 

Then her underwear joined in the pile of her vaultsuit, Cooper ripping them off her himself as he gave in with a deep throated snarl. He shoved the rifle out of the way in the process, in the rush of kneeling between her legs. Dropped his pistol to the dirt at her side.

“Always so fuckin’ needy,” he bit out in a pant, parting her folds with a single bared hand and pressing his face down between them without so much as preamble. He licked a hot stripe up the damp seam of her, watching her face as it screwed up in pleasure toward the sky, hips pressing harder against his mouth on instinct alone. He held them down against the earth. “This what you wanted sweetheart? A monster like me to do it for ya?” He drew back just enough to ask, pressing the first two fingers of his right hand deep inside her so quick and rough that instead of denying the moniker aloud, she could only moan the breath from her mouth. "Let me fuckin' hear it." Cooper growled, then dragged out more of that answering sound with the seal of his coarse lips around her clit.

Lucy basked in the burning stretch, her walls deliciously taut as he curled his fingers forward inside her, deep against a spot that had the coil low in her belly already flaming burning hot again with a practiced expertise that continued to put the few experiences she had before him to shame. His mouth trailed away from her center, leaving sharp toothed bites across the hinge of her leg, down deeper into the muscled meat of her thigh, every bit one of the foaming-mouthed radhounds he'd often warned her about. Taking her apart and consuming the ruin piece by tender piece.

Lucy hissed air from between her teeth as his jaw set tighter and tighter each time. She reached a hand down, attempting to gently guide him back in the right direction instead of his distracted path to somewhere beneath her skin. The rough curve of his cheekbone was hot beneath her touch for only a second before he tore himself away.

“Hands off,” Cooper ordered, looking up at her through his lashes, lips damp and swollen and so very touchable. “Or I'll stop.”

“That's not fair.” Lucy said, drawing back against the dirt and squirming against the slowing pulse of his fingers because she wasn't sure she could handle it if he followed through with that particular threat. “You touch me all the time.”

“Life ain't fair.” Cooper promised with a dark flair of his eyes. “You'll see.” 

Then he hooked a forearm around her thigh to drag her closer to him across the ground and began to eat her proper, wet, obscene sounds filling the air as his tongue laved in quick swipes over her swelling clit and his fingers scissored in upward strokes to meet them in tandem. And though the mid day sun burned hot against her sweat-slicked skin, Lucy saw fucking stars above, dancing and flashing before her eyes in bright bursts of gold and royal blue.

“Fuck,” Lucy swore in a throaty groan and Cooper's tongue faltered once mid motion. “Just like that.” She gasped, hands falling palms up against the ground on either side of her head as he worked her higher and higher into the throes of something like madness, spine already tingling and muscles twitching from the over sensitivity still lingering on from her first small taste of pleasure…

This second orgasm crested slow, swelling over her in heavy waves as Cooper carried her unceasingly through it, continuing his relentless worship of her cunt with a single minded focus that she’d only elsewhere seen him use on those down the barrel of his gun.

“Does that make you Buffalo Bill?” Lucy asked breathless, a lifetime later, as her spine finally began to flatten and she remembered how to inhale.

His fingers slowed reluctantly to a stop, still inside her, and back during the first few times she used to wonder why. The job was done, the end goal reached, but he always kept touching her skin like he wanted to, exploring her inside and out even still, with the slight pet of his fingertips and hot, opened-mouthed kisses across the swell of her hips.

“Pardon?” Cooper asked absently from somewhere in between, voice muffled near the raised scar on her belly.

And Lucy laughed at the absurdity of it all. 

“You called me Annie Oakley earlier.” She reminded, looking down the length of her heaving chest to find his eyes. “Come to think of it, it may have been the first real compliment you've ever given me... She was a badass sharpshooter. Way ahead of her generation.” Lucy propped herself back up on her elbows and raised a quizzical brow at him. “And regardless of which version of her story you read, she out-shoots Bill every time. So-” and she gestured toward him.

But the indisputable facts only left an odd look on Cooper's face, teeth flashing back at her in a predatory smile from just above her skin. Like he was the only one of them on the inside of some incomprehensible joke. Then he actually laughed.

“That's why I bring the legacy of Buffalo Bill to mind in this scenario ‘a yours?” Cooper asked, exasperated. "The gunslingin'?" He nipped hard enough at her hip bone to make her hiss. Left pointed divots behind in the thin skin there. “Had me worried for a minute there, precious.” Then he slowly slid a pale fingertip up the middle of her stomach to the rise of her sternum.

And Lucy was left confused and underwhelmed at the newest pet name and his uncharacteristic lack of offense. 

“I'm saying I'm a better shot than you.” She clarified briskly. 

Then she watched the claim set across his features as if she herself were the punchline all along, burning a bit more life into his tightening eyes.

“Care to lose another wager then?” Cooper asked in lieu of taking the bait this time, shoulders lax and rounded as he shifted up over her, hands coming down to restrain hers on either side of her head. “Cause ya owe me ten caps already.”

“Try me.” Lucy said without faltering, because she actually was very good at riflery and reading (books, and lies, and straight through his bullshit, at this point) and fighting and fucking and a great deal of other survival skills… And she was so incredibly tired of feeling the need to dumb herself down to fit in some box that no longer existed. Especially not now on the ground between Cooper’s arms. Not when he looked down at her like that. Like not even he had control anymore.

“Tell ya what,” he started, raising a hand to lift his hat from his head, dropping it to the ground just above her own. “If you're able to aim for shit by the time I'm done with ya, we'll call it even, right? Double or nothin’.” He nodded, lowering himself down close into her space, the torn tendrils of his duster tickling where they dragged along the bare skin inside her knees, rugged lips slowing inches over hers and Lucy’s tongue darted out across her own chapped skin in preparation. Because right from the very beginning of it all, Cooper had been nothing if not terribly honest and true to his word. 

“Deal.” Lucy accepted easily, victorious either way.

Then with a quick dip of his hand between them and the promising cling of his belt buckle, she could feel the hot, thick pressure of him pressing insistent against her entrance, still slick and ready and desperately waiting. 

Even so, he gave her a moment to adjust, eyes like searing supernovas where they watched her expression from above as he pressed in slow, deeper and deeper until he was buried fully beneath her skin and she'd claimed another piece of him as her own.

Then Lucy exhaled her relief. Pushed the sweetness of his consideration far from the front of her mind. Looked up at him with all the pain she could gather beneath her fingers with the curl of her dull nails into the backs of his hands. Drew her plush bottom lip between her teeth and smiled in that endearing way she knew pissed him off…

“Go on then cowboy.” She bid, pressing him in closer with her heels against the backs of his sturdy thighs. “Or are you all talk and no substance?” She added when he didn't move right away, sealing her own sentence beneath the tightening of his hold.

He answered with the dip of his head in fevered disagreement, the frenzied press of his mouth searing down against her own. Then he was moving, hips rolling forward in punishing strokes that dug deep enough into the core of her body to drive out any other thoughts but him, and yes, and please, and it was the last she spoke apart from his name for a good long while. 

Twenty caps, she reminded herself later that evening, carefully Radawayed and still sprawled shapeless against Cooper’s chest across the cooling sand. She couldn't let herself forget.

Because she knew damn well that he wouldn't.

[kit-williams]

I want to use the Emperor on his golden throne to fry an egg. I’ll be butchered by the Custodes within seconds but it’ll be worth. Emperor fried egg. :)

If the egg ain’t cooked to perfection then I’m using my final breath to Yeet a second egg at his divine corpse/body/being.

So I remember getting this ask and being very confused... but I put this on the backburner for when I would get around to writing yandere custodes and the necromundan scum, that one of them decided to bring home, named smoothie.

@sculptorofcrimson this is your fault/this is the funny one (again my knowledge of the golden boys is very limited/I struggle to write them)

And you lot get to benefit from it @bispecsual @egrets-not-regrets @moodymisty @bleedingichorhearts @liar-anubiass-blog @thevoidscreams @barn-anon

thank you to @squishyowl for the dividers

Smoothie did not like it here... the clean empty inner hallways left nothing for her to scavenge... no place to get food or drinkable water for miles. It was two days before her golden shadow found her dehydrated as she slipped away from him when he had a chance. Adonis only collected her so soon as they were about to release a small swarm of hormagaunts into the imperial palace for practice and Adonis did not like how easily she could slip from his grasp.

Like recently... Adonis felt his fingers clench and unclench as Nicodemus had jested even at how he must have picked up a mindwiped assassin with how easily she could vanish from his grip. But there was something about her that satiated the itch behind his eyes... it sated the desire to feel a crumb of affection back.

Smoothie crawled through the vents moving on padded knees and wearing thicker gloves as she looks around unable to make marks or else they'll figure out where she's going. Everything seemed to narc on her if she tried to make herself comfortable add her own touch to this gawken gawdy golden glitter glamhouse! She looks around as her body starts to tingle and she is certain that she's getting closer to the radiation.

It makes her body tingle... her nose bleed and she needs to get a bit closer to the source till she feels her teeth itch and then she's in the right spot to cook the eggs she stole from the kitchen. Not like she was gonna live very long anyway and if the glamshow that is Donnie and his brothers just casually relaxing with an open source of radiation then she could die faster making something she loved to eat.

"Adonis." One of the Companions said into the coms with a monotone drone that to Adonis belied a hint of amusement.

"Yes?" He replied going over the mental checklist of places to look for her and she rarely went to the same place twice in succession.

"She's in the vents again."

"Of course she is. Thank you Amadeus." He replied slightly between his teeth. If a companion was telling him where she was... he moved quickly.

She saw her 'lover boy' look at her with the most unamused look in his eyes as she just gave a shit eating grin offering him a radaition cooked egg, "Can I offer you an egg my lord?" She snarked at him as one of her eyes was bloodshot and her nose bleeding from even being this close to the golden throne unprotected.

"If I eat it will you come back willingly?" Adonis asked knowing he could just grab her but he hardly delt with such willful... creatures? She was certainly human... just very different from any other... paramour would be a word but so would obsession fit as equally for what this... itches would be.

"I dunno Donnie... I worked so hard in cooking these." Smoothie says peeling the shell away as she took a bite leaving a smear of the neon green lipstick she wore on the white of the egg.

"Smoothie." His augmented voice shakes the air as he does his best not to order her, because that is not what lovers did. But what the supposed ideal versus reality was also another thing to take into account.vHe watches her frown as blood trickles from her nose. She was so much more willful than any of his other paramours obsessions that it confounded him but also greatly excited him.

He is certain that his beloved Lord would have teased him... But then again he and the others would not feel that itching need so often. The pout on her green lips as she crawled closer to him before just putting one to his lips. He ate it, it was simple as he expected it to be.

"Fine we can go. At least before more of my teeth fall out." She says trying to crawl past only for Adonis to hold her to his chest. He moved quicker than she could out of the vents.

She whined as he took her to a rather unused medical area. As it was time to start some treatments to keep at bay the... Side effects of her lifestyle. Adonis had told her that she would be surprised at how much longer she would live around him. He wasn't going to let her fall apart so soon.

[mkmas]

Jude and the Loving Kiss

inexperienced kiss xxx event

love how thats the title. as usual sorry it’s not perfect and if there’s anything wrong🙇‍♀️

(Wah, a beautiful flower garden…!)

(But why are we in a place like this…?)

(I don't know but... This place is so wonderful, it would be nice if I could stay here forever…)

A pleasant breeze fiddled with my hair and the scent of sweet flowers filled my heart with happiness.

At that moment, someone’s voice could be heard.

???: Tch… You, you're not just going to drop dead here without paying me back.

Kate: That voice, Jude…?

(Anyhow, I owe Jude a debt!)

Kate: 一Ugh! Ha, ha….!

A change from the beautiful scenery.

As soon as I regained consciousness, I spit out a large amount of water.

Ellis: Are you okay Kate?

Ellis pats my back as I groan. I exhaled water in response and finally calmed down to breathe.

Kate: … Thank you very much.

Ellis: I was really surprised. Kate was drowning in the river.

Kate: I was drowning…?

(Could it be, that flower garden I saw was the afterlife…)

(If it weren't for Jude's voice, I'd still be there一)

Trembling at just the mere thought of it, I grasped my own body with both arms.

Jude: Ha… Isn’t the season too cold for swimming?

Kate: I-I wasn’t swimming. Yes… I think there was a child drowning in the river and I tried to help... The child… !?

Ellis: The child was soaking wet but will be okay. Just to be safe, the child went to the doctor.

Kate: Is that so, that’s a relief… Um, Ellis was the one who saved me right?

Ellis: Nope, I was too far away to make it…

Ellis: Jude carried you back to the river shore, and breathed into you. ***(he didn’t directly mention CPR)

Kate: Jude………..

After I calmed down, I finally noticed that Jude's clothes were wet.

Apparently, he went into the river in such cold weather to save me.

Jude: Unfortunately, it wasn’t a prince that woke the princess up from her slumber. Such a pity it was a wizard.

Kate: It’s not a pity. Thank you so much for saving me!

Kate: …………. Uh, “breathed into?”

Jude: For people drowning in lakes, the appropriate first aid measure is to provide air with a mouth-to-mouth approach.

(I don't remember any of it at all, but doesn’t that mean that our lips were pressed together?)

Jude: Oi… Don't get all red-faced and excited over a common medical procedure. Saving you was dumb.

Kate: I-I wasn’t excited…!

Jude: I don’t know... Well, I'm soaking wet, so I'm going home. You should see that quack doctor just to be safe.

After he said that, Jude threw his jacket at me.

Jude's jacket was not wet at all, probably because he had taken it off before he went into the river.

Kate: Eh? Um, this…

Jude: You're going home now too, aren't you? If you walk behind me dressed like a sl*t like that, I'm going to look bad and it will be a nuisance.

I looked down and saw that my clothes were wet and sticking to my skin, and the thin fabric was becoming transparent.

Kate: T-Thank you very much.

Flustered, I quickly borrowed Jude's jacket and put it on the front.

His jacket felt very warm, and the faint scent of cigarettes filled my nose making my heart skip a beat.

Ellis: Ah… You two, up.

At that moment, Ellis suddenly noticed something and pointed above our heads.

Jude: …

Kate: Thats…

Directly above our heads was a tree with a wreath of mistletoe hanging from its trunk.

Maybe they forgot to take down the Christmas decorations.

(If I’m not mistaken, there's a superstition that if you kiss under the mistletoe, you'll be together forever…)

(… I mean, didn’t Jude just now give me artificial respiration!?)

Jude: ….

Jude glanced at my flustered state with a confused and annoyed expression,

He reached for the mistletoe, roughly pulled it off, and shoved it to Ellis.

Jude: Burn it.

Ellis accepts the mistletoe with a nod, and quickly walks away.

Kate: Well, uhm, Jude….

Jude: You, you don't believe in that mistletoe superstition, do you?

Kate: … I-I don’t believe it?

Jude: You’re a shitty liar.

Jude clicked his tongue and grabbed my arm.

Jude: Get that foolish head of yours to carve out a new superstition.

I was pulled closer and our lips forcibly met. This time it wasn’t life-saving, but rather just a normal kiss.

Kate: Un….

Our lips met tightly as if seeking warmth.

However, because the two of them were completely cold after entering the river, they could only feel the coldness of each other's lips, and could not feel the slightest bit of warmth.

Kate: … Fu….

Jude: … Nn…

Jude: … Not like this.

The icy kiss ends with Jude murmuring, as if to prove that there was no love in it.

Jude: …… “Even if you kiss under the mistletoe, if you kiss again in the same place, it will be canceled”!

Kate: I… Understand…

Of course, such a superstition does not exist, it was Jude's original.

(I can't believe you would go to the trouble of kissing me one more time to make up for my superstition…)

(… Could you have hated that superstition that much.)

Jude and I are not lovers, so it's only natural that we don't make eternal vows.

And yet, a bitter feeling spreads in my chest, as if I had lost my love.

(I'm sure I feel this way because I was happy that Jude saved me...)

(That gap is just making me feel lonely... Right?)

I forced myself to believe that I was in love and that I had a reason for my feelings.

Jude: … It's not worth it to make a promise of eternity with just a kiss.

Jude muttered thoughtfully and returned the swelling.

Since we are going back to the same place, I hurriedly follow behind him.

Kate: Jude, do you hate promises?

Jude: Nothing is eternal.

Jude's answer didn't seem to align with the question, but after thinking about it for a while, it started to make sense.

(It’s not that Jude hates promises, he just doesn't make them because he can't promise forever… He can't promise eternity, so he doesn’t make such promises.)

Eternity does not exist. As long as it doesn't exist, promises will always be broken. That's why such promises shouldn’t be made from the beginning.

I think that’s what Jude probably wanted to say.

(Isn’t that very sincere?)

It is easy for a person to lie in their heart. They can just lie and say that they will love you forever.

But even if it’s only superstitions, Jude never makes promises he can’t keep.

(... I wonder if Jude will someday have someone to whom he wants to pledge eternity to.)

Despite everything, Jude never abandoned me when I was drowning.

He is ruthless and arrogant, but I know from our time together that he is inhumane from the bottom of his heart.

(I wonder if someone will notice this side of Jude, somedayー…)

Being curious of such things would either make you feel like you want to look at the person, or not look,

I was driven by a strange feeling that I could not explain.

—————-

sorry but it’s so funny how ellis just went ok and ran off to burn a random mistletoe that belonged to the country or whoever was in charge of decorating the town😭 also smth that surprised me a little was how they really wanna emphasize jude’s foul mouth bc 痴女 = generally means sl*t but i’ve seen people use this to describe really bad female perverts or even female m*lesters (take it with a grain of salt, he’s extremely horrible with words but he always means well)

[thehistoriangirl]

Without Compromise [1]

I said the first one had smut, but I lied KDJDJKF it was getting too long so... the smut will be in the next part! For now I can only serve contained horniness 😌 Hope you like it!

Viktor x Fem! Reader-------3.5K-----SFW

[ M A S T E R L I S T ]

-> Next

Synopsis:Viktor had never enjoyed any snobby party held in the luxurious districts around the Academy, though he can't deny this one is rather... peculiar. Still, when accompanying Jayce to another boring celebration ends with him stuck in an awkward situation when a stranger wanders inside the lab asking for him, he can´t help but comply with the unpredictable threads of a mockeing fate--how else would he, from all the assisting guests, be inside in this mess?

Chapter Summary: When you bump into Viktor at a snobby Valentine's thematic party, his boring night turns into a more interesting path.

Tags: | Blind Date | One Night Stand goes wrong -> | Matchmaking Shenenigans | Strangers to Lovers | Friends with Benefits | Slow Burn kinda? | They got the horny for each other |

Taglist: @blissfulip @ihopeinevergetsoberr

This has been such a terrible idea. And, sadly, the thought only completely dawned on Viktor when the gates of the gigantic hall closed, illuminating the room with the flicking golden hues of at least a hundred candles, painting the whole ambiance of pinks, whites, and reds from all the roses hung in arches.

He was trapped. First manipulated by Jayce’s puppy eyes begging him to accompany him to this snobby party, even when Viktor had retorted that such celebration was for “renown bachelorettes and bachelors”, which he wasn’t—as much as Jayce wished to argue with him.

Co-creator of Hextech or not, he was still a man from the Undercity. Out of place here.

He was a ride too far from home, too.

Humming, he thought that perhaps he could tell Jayce his feet were aching now that almost all the tiny tables were occupied by couples trying to hit it off in the name of the celebration. But if only he could see where Jayce could be.

Viktor sighed, knowing how ridiculous he sounded; both for his whining and for his inability to find Jayce’s gigantic figure among the crowd.

“Try to have some fun, Vik!” He cheered, patting his shoulder as he put a glass of amber liquor on his free hand. “I’m going to go greet the hostess Mrs. Laviz for her thoughtfulness. I’ll be back in no time.”

Well, Jayce was a terrible liar, which could only be because he meant to return promptly but was caught by other guests on his way back.

Of course, he would be, Viktor tapped the still-full glass of alcohol. Who knew how many people were trying to end the night paired with Piltover's Golden Boy? After all, wasn't this party for that?

He had felt panic once one of the butlers slid a card to scribble his name on it, another empty line to write, at the end of the night, the name of any other attendant whom he would like to have an arranged date.

The feeling subsided once he tore the card by the middle, stuffing it in the depths of his coat's inner pocket. But now it was just annoyance prickling in the center of his brow where he couldn't reach well enough with the stupid mask he was forced to wear.

Who would he like to date? Surely no one assisting at a party like this—Valentine’s the perfect excuse to, as usual, tie the comradery between the riches of the city so their power couldn’t slip out their grasp once their heirs dared to choose any other path than the one already drawn for them.

Viktor would've been disappointed if it weren't for how frivolous they were, passing him by almost knocking his cane over and bumping over his slender frame without even apologizing.

Despite Jayce’s fancy birthday gift—a tailored suit Viktor promised to wear in formal events rather than his (cleaner) working clothes—it had been two times another person had told him to fetch him a drink.

Maybe it was the mask, dull and black against the ones decorated with gems and gold thread; crafted to mimic animals and magical creatures with long beaks or curved horns, some even showing animalistic sharp teeth poking from their smiley mouth.

“It’s Valentine’s Day, we deserve to have some fun!”Jayce told him in a dozen different forms of speeches on their way to the hall.

Well, for Viktor was just a normal Wednesday.

And what was he supposed to do for fun at these parties, anyway? Besides breaking the so-demanded decorum these people boast to have.

He could see shadowy corners shifting from afar, bodies tangled improperly on the dance floor. A reason why the music was never-ending, was so the shyer guests couldn't hear the lewd noises surely floating in the air.

Ah, to be carefree. Privilege Viktor perhaps never had, and hasn’t still.

He walked toward a balcony, wishing for some privacy to take the mask off and wipe his face from the sweat making the silk stick to his skin, from his nose up to his brow.

Contrary to the boiling cauldron of the hall, outside a gentle breeze characteristic from the end of winter entered his clothes. And still, not a bench in sight against the perfectly aligned pots of flowers that seemed not to fit in the crystal greenhouse shining silver against the moonlight Viktor could see in the middle of the mazy garden.

Perhaps he should go there.

Turning around, he didn’t see the figure approaching, the hurried steps muffled by the music making Viktor’s head pound. The figure bumped into him, the handle of his cane that was hooked on his crossed elbows falling to the ground as Viktor tried to steady himself, not before his drink poured all over a flowery dress.

Sračka, he muttered between his teeth once the action had seeped in. As if the night couldn’t get any better.

Well, at least he’d be kicked out quickly.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” you said, the words stolen from his lips. Your hands froze over the now-soaked bodice of your dress. At least it wasn’t wine, but the liquor had some pieces of ice that had slipped inside the corset, which took a shiver out of you, skin covered in goosebumps.

Gathering your skirts, you prepared to lean down to give him his cane, though, from the reduced peripheral vision of your stupid butterfly-shaped mask, you did not see that he had done the same. Quickly following, you heard the hollow-like sound of his head bonking yours.

“Ow.” This time you retreated, rubbing your head without caring that your hair would resemble a bird's nest for the rest of the night. "I'm so sorry," you repeated, like an idiot—and oh, you felt like one. Despite you were wearing a mask, your voice didn't do much to hide your embarrassment which the way it cracked at the end.

Viktor took you in between the daze of his pounding head.

You were dressed like a flower fairy; pinks and blues and reds decorating your skirt, leaving petals whenever you went. The light, yet long skirt didn’t shelter well enough from the chilly air, with the high slit on your left leg, the deep V cut on your back, and the thin strap on your right shoulder.

All confused and soaked, and yet, Viktor’s curiosity picked for your unexpected kindness.

You didn’t seem to care about the dress, though, only minding for the goosebumps running down your bare skin. If Viktor had asked why, you’d told him that the colors being so pale and delicate, the bodice to be cut like a corset. You knew this dress wasn't meant for your tastes, but rather, for Lord Sylvester. The ones your parents would kill for you to marry.

Luckily, Sylvester was too occupied surrounded by other people to notice you walking away even when your parents had sent him a letter in which you expressed your desire to dance with him. Which was a total lie, of course.

"Don't worry about it," the man said, his tone hidden by the complete mask he was wearing. You shrunk because of course, you had annoyed him. It was a miracle he wasn't screaming at you. Now, with all masks on, people could be rude and daring all in the same night, knowing that any action done today wouldn't have consequences. "It’s me who should be sorry. I ruined your dress.”

“Huh?” You looked at his hand disappearing inside his pocket to retrieve a napkin. His hands hovered over yours. “Oh! That’s not needed. It was me who bumped into you…”

He gestured to the stain over your dress, making the petals of the sewn flowers stick flat against the silk. “Take it. At least to dry it a little. You could get sick.”

You smiled under your butterfly-shaped mask, fingertips touching briefly as you touched the thin cotton fabric. “Thank you, sir.”

“There’s no need for such titles tonight,” he answered, the black mask making his yellow-like eyes shine like pieces of gold. It almost sounded like he was smiling.

“I’m—, uh… then what should I call you?”

“What would you like to call me, Miss?” he chuckled. “Or perhaps I should call you Miss Fairy?”

You giggled, feeling heat pooling up your face. “What about Mr. Shadow?” you said, pointing at his full black mask and the long coat flapping against the wind.

“Suitable,” Viktor said, looking over his shoulder to see a man approaching, his presence parting the crowd without any word. The man looked at him, green eyes flashing with contempt.

“Darling,” the man said, his hand posing over your shoulder. “I lost you for a second. Are you ready to dance, lovely?”

Viktor lurked nearby, like the nickname you had bestowed with.

Only your gaze acknowledged him, your bottom lip protruding in an adorable pout.  He was impressed by how expressive your eyes could be, compared to the rest of the people he had met in events like these who ought to have every emotion restrained.

He arched an eyebrow. Well, he had nothing better to do.

"Excuse me," Viktor chimed in, tapping his cane against the marble floor as if he were knocking on a door. "Miss Fairy owes me a drink.” Paying no mind to the Piltovan man hovering nearby, Viktor extended his gloved hand toward you. “And then perhaps we shall dance? I would be honored to enjoy your company tonight.”

“I’m afraid she asked me for a dance first—” Sylvester said, his lion mask shining obnoxiously bright from the jewels and molten gold.

“I would love to dance with you, Mr. Shadow,” you interrupted him, clutching the napkin in one hand while sliding the other one in Viktor's, feeling the warmness of his fingers tangling in a graceful, almost lazy motion around the back of your hand.

Viktor was presented with the priceless opportunity of annoying a snobby man without consequences, even if it was just for a couple of hours. And perhaps this wasn’t what Jayce was referring to about having fun.

But for him, now, it was at least interesting.

With a fluid motion, Viktor pulled you closer, smelling the fruity essence of your perfume and the impressive softness of your silk skirt. “First, perhaps a drink?”

You nodded, looking up at him with the best dreamy eyes you could muster.

Viktor would like to be more impressed, but he was used to seeing Piltovans wear masks as they needed—and you’d be no different. Though he was intrigued as to what would happen next if he decided to follow your game.

Sylvester glared at him, calling your name with gritted teeth. The sound prickled Viktor’s ears with unnecessary focus.

"We'll see each other some other time," you told him, and your demeanor let Viktor know that you were certain this answer would create problems for you. And yet still, you continued with the charade.

He couldn't stop from thinking if in the end he'll be painted as the villain, as the wicked man who sought to seduce you.

Viktor stopped himself from being the picture of the dashing Casanova he considered to be, if only for a fleeting moment, as this mask kept on his face; yet, he decided to tuck his free hand inside the pocket of his pants instead of guiding you by the arm.

The bar was overflowing with both people and drinks, thick clouds of smoke exhaled by pipes and thick cigars that made his eyes water. You dipped between the enthusiastic assistants, asking the bartender for the same drink that now soaked the front of your dress and Viktor’s borrowed napkin you were now fiddling between your fingers.

Between the cacophony of the animated chat around you two, Viktor only caught the lonely request of his drink being remade, not any other sign you were asking one to have the excuse of lounging with him a little longer.

Viktor stepped closer, sensing the gaze of someone at his back. His golden eyes swept across the moving landscape of people dancing, and of course, it couldn’t be another one that the rather snobbish Loverboy from earlier.

You seemed to have forgotten about him, but Viktor still had his mind turned upon the plans you'd surely planned out in your head—all the guests in this place surely had crafted one, if not, why were you here?

Viktor considered you, with the elegant hairdo and the daring dress. He hummed. Perhaps you were playing mouse and cat with that man? Though it appeared that you had bumped into him because you were running away.

“Aren’t you going to have one for yourself?” he said once the bartender slid a glass of the same golden liquid across from the bar into your hands, to then pass it onto his. “Excuse me,” Viktor called the bartender before he could get too far away. “Have something,” he told you, leaning against the bar while hooking his cane’s handle on its edge. “Let me enjoy your company, Miss Fairy. In case you’re also planning to run away—I can offer my help.”

“Are you also trying to get out of this party?" you said, trying to stifle a laugh. "Aren't you here for someone?"

You asked for your drink, fruity and savory. Viktor looked at the mix with an arched eyebrow, observing you sipping it with ease, the way the glass’ rim got stained with your lipstick, and the way the flicking candelabra suspended over the bartender's table made your lips shine with the wetness of the drink.

You caught him observing. “Do you want a taste?” You raised the half-empty drink toward him, the essence of mango and pineapple welcomed against the pungent odor of smoke. “It’s probably too sweet for you, but, um, if you’re curious.”

“Fret not, Miss Fairy. I have a sweet tooth,” he answered, taking a sip. The tangy taste of the acid pineapple and the sweet mango combined with the strong aftertaste of the liquor surprised him. “It’s delicious.”

You beamed at him. “Right? I prefer cocktails like these instead of plain liquor,” you explained. “It’s too bitter for me.”

Well, for his credit, you sure seemed to be sweet from inside and out. Of course, just a theory.

Viktor would have left the drink you asked for him, only that in his mind it was a rude action to do. But now he craved something sweeter—and yet, Viktor gulped down the whole thing, ignoring the sensation of burning down his throat.

“Don’t take offense, Miss Fairy,” he started. “May I ask why that man for earlier is watching us like a hawk? It’s been a while since he started.”

You looked from the corner of your eye where Viktor’s gaze directed you, sighing. "I guess Sylvester thinks we're married—” you stopped, laughing at seeing Viktor’s posture going stiff. “We’re not even engaged, but it is.” Your shoulders sagged after you shrugged, fingers playing with the rim of the glass. “Our parents had expected it ever since we moved across the street from them. Before Sylvester's father inherited their family's business they became wealthy. I guess my parents look it like an escape.”

“And you?” Viktor surprised himself asking. “How do you look at this whole situation?”

Your gaze fixated on the table fleetingly met his before pulling away, if it was due to shame or if the sudden jolt rippling across Viktor’s body was also traveling in yours, he didn’t dare to ask again.

"I… I'd rather not talk about such… grim things at a party," you smiled, or at least, you tried to, lips still firmly pressed together. “This is supposed to celebrate love, isn’t not?” Humming to the current piece played by the orchestra, your fingers tapped the bar’s mahogany. “Mr. Shadow?” you insisted at his silence.

“Eh, I don’t think someone can find love in a place like this. With all due respect, Miss Fairy,” Viktor started, thankful that the mask could cover most of his blush. "To me, this seems like a choreographed dance where everyone knows whom they may end up once the sun rises again."

“Then, with whom are you going to end up tonight?" you asked.

“Pardon?”

“Well, you said everyone is here seeking a purpose, so, what’s yours, Mr. Shadow?”

“A bit early to get philosophical, don’t you think?” he joked, and he did make you laugh, but you still looked expectantly, not distracted at all. Defeated under the power of your gaze, Viktor chuckled awkwardly. “With no one, Miss Fairy. I came here accompanying a friend, but I’m not looking for… eh, anything.”

You kept silent for a while, so much that Viktor thought for a moment that he'd said something wrong.

“Allow me to be your dance partner,” he added once the pause had extended for too long.

You snapped your gaze from the bottom of your empty glass toward him. “Hmm?”

"It would be suspicious if Mr. Sylvester doesn't see us dance as we promised, don't you think?"

“I can deal with it later,” you assured. “You don’t need to dance with me.” Why those words made him feel as if someone had punched him in the chest?

“I insist,” Viktor smiled. “I meant those words, Miss Fairy. I'll treasure your company tonight if you'd like to share it with me.”

You smiled sheepishly, fingers taking his. Even with the black gloves Viktor wore, he could feel the warmth of your skin seep into his, from his hand to everywhere your body brushed his as you stood in a corner of the dance floor, his hand fitting perfectly in the curve of your waist.

“Eh,” he said once the music started, your skirt brushing his legs as you swayed against him.

This was a bad idea—Viktor’s second bad idea of the night, which was astounding. He couldn’t keep stiff as a board, with you gently guiding him through the movements. But you were too close; you smelled like jasmines and strawberries, elegant and so, so sweet. Your lips probably still tasted like the fruity cocktail. And the fleeting brush of his fingertips over the exposed curve of your lower back was making him lose the rhythm.

“Hmm?” you responded, your hand tickling the rebel locks of hair at the base of his neck. Looking at him, your eyes seemed brighter than the chandelier and the dozens of candles illuminating this party.

This was a terrible idea. And both the mask and the alcohol gave him enough bravery to do it.

“Please forgive me,” Viktor said, dipping his head to give you the softest kiss, with barely the brush of your lips against his.

First, you froze, and Viktor was already tripping to push himself afar, but your hand gripped his shoulder to stop him from pulling away, your lips pliant and exquisite against his once you leaned closer to deepen the kiss, the savor of pastries and cocktails mixed in your tongue playing against his.

In any other normal circumstance, Viktor would’ve felt ashamed for such an indecorous sight in a public place, but this wasn’t the norm. His face was hidden, and you were just the perfect combination of sweet and daring—a dangerous mix, he’d admit.

Besides, the thought of that man, Sylvester, seeing you and him tangled in such a passionate kiss made his chest bloom with a stroked ego.

And speaking of stroking…

“Miss Fairy,” he muttered, surprised with how his voice had become ragged and husky from just a simple kiss. Your lipstick was smeared all over your chin, and Viktor knew he’d be in a similar situation. “I… we need to stop…”

“Why?” you said, guiding him out the dancefloor. “I want you. Do you want me?”

“Miss… we don’t even know each other…”

“You know what I’m talking about,” you said, taking his napkin to wipe his lips clean and then doing the same with yours, letting them plump and pleading for more. “Only for tonight.”

Viktor stood in front of you, frozen like a statue. Though his mind was running with a thousand thoughts, a thousand possibilities of the future, and yet only two paths ahead of him tonight.

He could refuse and walk away. You’d never seen him again—or even if you did, you would never known it was him. He could walk away and forget your taste and your essence, the sound of your voice and your loving touches while dancing.

Or he could allow himself to have a slip of his impeccable manners, to succumb to the same guilty pleasures everyone in here seemed to indulge themselves right now.

He wasn’t looking for love—he’d be a fool for thinking such a thing in a place, in a party like this. And the lust and passion between you two was undeniable.

Only for tonight.

You could be from each other only for tonight. So Viktor allowed himself to ponder, to imagine, how would it be like to see what was concealed under your dress, the new sounds he could elicit from your enticing lips. The new dance you could both participate in.

Only for tonight. And tomorrow? Viktor could figure it out later, once the sun came out again.

“Show me, Miss Fairy,” he said, grabbing the handle of his cane as he leaned down to steal another kiss from your lips. “Only for tonight.”

Lemme know if you wish to be tagged in the next parts! 💛😸

[yellowocaballero]

⭐️ for either of the fe3h fics <3

ROSETTA HEADSTONE!!!! A fic that was very messy and all over the place but one that I am actually very fond of and that was slightly slept on.

“You’re the other half of me.” Byleth spoke slowly, but for the very first time there was a hint of emotion in her voice. It was wonder. What an amazing first emotion to feel. How lucky! How magnificent! “I’m the other half of you.” Claude smiled. She was so wondrous. So beautiful and special. She’d need a lot of help. Dimitri would provide what he could, but Claude would have to pick up the rest. “You’re the other half of me. And I’m the other half of you. I’m you, and you’re me. Wonderful, isn’t it?” [...] “Is that a friend?” Byleth asked seriously.  “If you want. It’s anything you want.” Her hand was still on his chest, and Claude reached up to softly grasp her hand, pressing it softly against his chest. “Tell you what, Byleth. I’ll trust you completely if you trust me completely. Give me anything you want, and I’ll give you all of my own. Is that fair?”

There's a few different relationships that were very influential for this scene. SSS Class Suicide Hunter's Gongja/Raviel was a big one, but Full Metal Alchemist's Ed/Winry were too: when Ed tells Winry that he'll give her half of his life if she give her half of hers, and she tells him that she'll give him all of her life. Khalid and Byleth are platonic, but there's still something so Relationship about it that makes me go crazy.

I got fond of the character I had created over the course of this story. He started out a lonely, isolated, self-centered person. He was a chronic liar who was fundamentally impossible to understand. He used his separation from others as a microscope, a way of studying and trying to dissect them down into pieces that he can understand. He's the kind of person to brag about this, and a significant percentage of it is self-inflicted, but I felt bad for him. He and Byleth's disconnect, their inability to work together, inadvertently resulted in her death. His first time investing whole-heartedly in somebody was in a dying woman, who had been dead to begin with.

It was what made this moment special to me. He's not psychoanalyzing or dissecting her in this scene - he's just caught in the beauty of this imperfect and banal moment. He sees how amazing it is to have somebody to truly understand. Giving away all of himself is an act of intense vulnerability, the kind he once never would have tolerated, but he does it willingly here - because you can't get if you don't give, and if you give somebody all of you then you can have all of them, and what is shared is doubled.

I wrote Byleth very 'Dead Anime Mom' - everything she said had to be incredibly significant and meaningful. She was perfect and untouchable. It's only in the epilogue that we see her humanity and vulnerability, that she feels remotely on the same level as Khalid. She doesn't understand him and he doesn't truly know her - how fantastic, that there's so much to discover about each other! How miraculous, that this person is about to take her first steps into becoming a human being, and that you're lucky enough to guide her on that path! That you get to become a human being with her!

It's a unique set of emotions that I hope the reader was able to feel alongside Khalid. Both Weekenders and RH were stories about the protagonist joining humanity, and both of them had to do it through confronting the twin calamities of death and love, but I'm a bit more fond of how it happened in RH. I think it may have been the strong The World Ends With You influence, which is a game that splits open the mind of the depressed misanthropic fifteen year old. I remember the first time I felt lucky to exist in the world. It felt like an important part of growing up - and maybe a pre-requisite of survival. It's hard to survive never feeling that sense of wonder. It was great to write somebody experiencing it for the first time.

[yandere--stuck]

As much as I love D'arce and want only the best for her, seeing her struggle with her love for her Obsession and her "love" for Le'garde would be so fucking funny fr

(Tbh I don't think she actually LOVES Le'garde(or maybe I just really hate him), it's more of a situation where she forces herself to have feelings for him. Anyways, D'arce is a girl boss and I love her)

No dw I agree Le'garde is so sucks </3 I think she probably likes the idea of the guy or the image of him she built up in her head but it turns out he's super shitty 😔

---

It would be difficult for D'arce, realizing that the further down she descends into darkness of the dungeons, so too does she delve deeper into her growing affection for you. Upon your first meeting, even, it was like sliding your hand into a specially made gauntlet. The perfect fit. The perfect pair.

Though she held the soul of domination and the rest of your allies saw her as team captain, D'arce found herself deferring to you. It was just so easy. As easy as breathing, even. Acting out your orders, shadowing your movements, heading your every word. Almost like how she felt with…

Le'garde. He was alive. Alive, but tortured and beaten and bloody, and with very little memory of himself and the life he lived. D'arce should be happy. Overjoyed. Falling to her knees and crying as she embraced her captain.

But, there was barely anything. As if whatever emotions she should have felt only barely sparked within her and fizzled out before they could burst. 

She met her captain's eyes, and there was recognition. And there it was - a small bit of warmth inside her. A smile made its way to her face. Maybe… Maybe she was overthrowing this. Or just in shock. And, well, the fact that in the time you spent down in the dungeons, D'arce had spoken with you much more than she ever had with Le'garde, at least in terms of personal matters. You spent downtime and guard shifts for your sleeping allies whispering anecdotes of times long passed, swapping rations over stories of your home and childhood and how you came to this place, holding back laughter as you shared some ale. 

It felt like she had known you for lifetimes. And now, it was as if it'd been lifetimes since she last saw Le'garde. And what shone blindingly in the sun now seemed a bit dim and dull in the dark.

"I… Th- there's something down there," Le'garde insisted, pointing to a door that was just visible behind a veil of shadow. "I must get it. Then, then we can leave."

"Le'garde, we must leave," she implored.

"Please," Le'garde grasped her hands in his own. "I need this."

D'arce couldn't look him in the eyes. Instead, she turned to you and the others. Cahara and the girl were clearly anxious to leave while Ragnvaldr and Enki showed clear signs of irritation. But, you…

Despite your fear and exhaustion, you told her, "Wherever you go, D'arce, I'll follow."

She felt as if she should be the one saying that to you. A smile lit up her face and it takes her a moment to realize she needed to make the choice.

"Real quick, right?" She hesitated before nodding to Le'garde. "And then we can go?"

"I… Believe so. I don't remember."

—

She fell back into her role as Le'garde's right hand - but now, it felt wrong. Suffocating. Unnatural. She let him lead her down further, she followed him through the ancient, impossible city underneath everything. Because of her, you found yourselves within a Grand Temple. And that's when Le'garde let his facade drop.

She had let Le'garde trick her.

You were all wounded, some starving, some missing limbs. D'arce had led you further and further into this hellhole. This was all his fault.

"You don't understand. You couldn't understand, this is so much bigger than you," Le'garde approached the Throne of Ascension. "I must do this."

"You said you couldn't remember…" The Knight mumbled.

"You fucking liar!" Ragnvaldr roared like an animal, both Cahara and Enki barely able to hold the Outlander back.

D'arce's gaze flitted to you, only to look away when your eyes met. Instead, she looked to the girl, who peeked out from behind you, clutching at the fabric of your shirt. She looked upon Le'garde with an unreadable expression.

"D'arce, I'm sorry." The man said.

"You lied to me."

"I don't expect you to understand," he sighed, then made his way for the throne.

D'arce couldn't move. The world felt as if it was breaking apart around her. Everything she knew to be truth was all lies. Le'garde, captain of The Knights of The Midnight Sun, noble and fair and strong and true. Like a god in man's skin.

The false prophet. The false god.

D'arce gritted her teeth, shaking with rage. She white-knuckled the sword in her grip. She-

"No!" Your voice cried and D'arce gasped as she watched you fly across her vision. She whipped her head to follow, body as tense as wound-spring as you made a mad grap for Le'garde. Scrambling for a hold, you tugged the man away.

Le'garde nearly fell, before righting himself as he swiveled around to sneer at you, lips pulled back to bear his teeth. His hands fumbled for his sword. 

"I won't let you take this from me!" He screamed, raising his sword with a flourish. D'arce watched, eyes wide and unblinking as you panicked and went still in shock.

She didn't even realize what had happened. It was instantaneous. Instinctual. One second she was watching you, and in the next, her sword was sticking through her former captain's neck. Droplets of blood began to coat and run down the metal of her sword. The man's eyes were wide and scared, sparkling with betrayal. Gurgle escaped his throat, either attempting to speak or already beginning to slowly drown in his own blood.

And she felt nothing. Just another casualty in this place. In the name of her leader. Her savior. Her living god. You.

In a flash, she swiftly pulled the sword from Le'garde, letting him fall to the ground as blood shot from neck. D'arce simply stepped away as blood began to pool at her feet. She turned to your group.

Meeting Ragnvaldr's eyes, she crossed one arm across her chest and gestured to the man on the floor. "You can take care of the rest, if you desire."

The Outlander was still for a moment, before shaking himself out of his shock, approaching the man as he shook with barely restrained rage, moving to straddle him and making Le'garde wheeze and bubble with pain and pressure.

D'arce turned away. Sounds of pain and fist meeting flesh echoed in the temple. But she didn't look away because the idea pained her, no. Le'garde simply was nothing to her now. She'd get nothing, not even pleasure, out of his painful death.

The others… Enki seemed slightly amused, a smirk on his lips as he ogled the beating. Cahara was across the room, shielding the girl's eyes and ears as best he could as he waited to depart. Apparently, the money wasn't worth it anymore. And you…

"D'arce!" You surged forward to embrace her. 

You embraced her. Your arms around her, face pressing against her chest plate. If not for her armor, you could hear her heartbeat. She was euphoric. Filled with light. If this wasn't proof of your holiness, what could be?

"You saved me. You saved my life."

Of course. Of course she did. She is your knight, after all. Your knight. Your right hand. Your most devoted soldier. She loved you. She'd do anything, everything for you.

"I want to go home," you admitted. Tears collected within your eyes, stinging your cheeks.

D'arce nodded. She parted from you, only to slowly, with shaky hands, raise up to cup your face. She held you gently, like you were the precious, most fragile treasure in the world.

"Wherever you go, I'll follow." She promised.

[sephirthoughts]

Father: Verb

Summary: 11 year-old WMD Sephiroth is assigned a new handler/bodyguard, named Vincent Valentine.

rating: gen/teen and up

(prev chapter linked at bottom)

Chapter 3: Chocolate Chip Cookies

Time slipped by, behind the high walls of Shinra Manor, and summer had long turned to fall. When Vincent arrived at Sephiroth’s quarters, on this particular morning, Sephiroth was sullen and monosyllabic. He refused to go to the dining hall for breakfast, and ate a tray of nutritional pastes in gloomy silence. In the training yard, he was ferocious and bloodthirsty, hurling his body at Vincent, with total disregard for his life, like he’d gone rabid.

When the blade of his sword snapped off, in Vincent’s gauntleted hand, Sephiroth threw a blast of fire into Vincent’s face and used the distraction to and leap on him like a jungle cat, knocking him to the ground. He only managed to hit him once, before Vincent flipped him onto his back and pinned him. The boy thrashed and kicked, snarling through his clenched teeth, his pupils contracted to savage slits, in the glowing green irises.

“Let me go! Fight me properly!”

He managed to twist a hand free and strike Vincent in the mouth with his closed fist, before the man caught the wrist and pinned it again.

“Sephiroth!” Vincent said. “Stop this, right now! You are out of control, and you are going to hurt yourself. Use your words. Tell me what is wrong.”

“No! Get off me!” Sephiroth roared, writhing like a snake in his grasp. “Liar! You’re a liar! I hate you!”

Vincent’s blood froze. If he’d had any human color in his skin, it would have drained, at that moment. Was it possible? Had the boy found out, somehow? He swallowed in a dry throat. “What did I lie about?”

“You know what!” Sephiroth spat. “You said you’d never leave me, but you did! You didn’t even say goodbye and you left me here, all alone! You’ve been gone for three months!”

So, it wasn’t that.

Potent relief washed over Vincent, immediately followed by gut-wrenching guilt, over his absence. He’d been locked up, deep underground, made to fight monstrosities created by the Shinra science division, to test their capabilities. That was part of the deal he’d made with the devil, in order to be here.

Time didn’t affect him much, and he had no idea how long it had been, till he came out. He hadn’t realized that, for the child who was waiting for him, three months must have seemed an eternity.

Meanwhile, Sephiroth’s respiration was growing increasingly ragged, and he hadn’t stopped struggling. On a sudden impulse, Vincent sat down in the dirt, dragged the boy into his lap, and wrapped him up tightly in his arms.

Sephiroth resisted, at first, not understanding the gesture, but after Vincent held him fast, for a moment, he stopped trying to push him away. He hadn’t calmed down, though, and in fact seemed to be getting worse. He was shaking all over, his face was pale and clammy, and he was taking rapid, gasping breaths.

Vincent had no idea what to do, now. He’d embraced the boy from pure reflex. He had no training regarding how to soothe a child who was having a full-blown panic attack. The only analogue he could think of was dealing with pain.

“Bite me,” he blurted out.

Sephiroth blinked up at him, uncomprehending, and continued to hyperventilate.

Vincent cast his cloak to one side, exposing his leather-clad shoulder. “Here. You can’t hurt me. Just bite down on me, until the pain stops.”

Without hesitation, Sephiroth bared his perfect, white teeth and bit into Vincent’s shoulder, panting and snarling like a wolf cub, tearing at the leather armor, clawing Vincent’s chest and sides, with his small, but exceedingly strong fingers.

“Good boy. It’s ok,” Vincent murmured, patting his back. “It’s going to be ok.”

After a minute or two, Sephiroth’s respiration began to normalize, and his body stopped shaking. He released the bite and looked up at Vincent, wiping his mouth with the back of his sleeve. “Why did you tell me to do that? How did you know it would work?”

Vincent gave a rueful smile. “Because it works on me.”

The boy’s rage had receded, but the hurt and resentment were still keenly visible, in his eyes. He clambered out of Vincent’s lap and sat sullenly on the ground beside him, hugging his knees.

“I’m sorry, Sephiroth,” Vincent said quietly. “I didn’t mean to be away for so long. It wasn’t my choice.”

“I thought you were never coming back. The professor said you probably hated babysitting me, and asked to be transferred away.”

Vincent clenched his jaw. Fucking Hojo, that sadistic bastard. Never missed an opportunity to twist a knife.

“He said…he said you’d get a woman,” Sephiroth continued, picking anxiously at the cuticle of his left thumb. “He said you’d have children of your own, and you’d stop coming back. Because you wouldn’t want to waste time with a brat like me, who isn’t even your son.”

“None of that is true,” Vincent said patiently. “Even if I wanted to, which I do not, my body is dead. I can’t have children, anymore. That old man says things to hurt you, intentionally. You know that, and yet you let his words torment you. You let him make you doubt me.”

“But you were gone for so long,” Sephiroth said miserably. “You never tell me when you’re leaving or where you go. I never know when you’ll come back. I keep thinking…you must have someone more important than me. Someone you’d rather be with, than me.”

“Sephiroth, look at me.” The boy lifted his head, and Vincent reached out to brush a lock of silver hair out of his face. “There is no one more important to me, than you. You are the only person I care about, in the world. I don’t want a woman or children. I don’t want to transfer away. I want to be right here, with you.”

“Really? Y—you mean it? You won’t find someone else, and forget me?”

“I mean it. Don’t listen to that bitter old man, anymore, ok? Trust in me.”

Sephiroth scowled. “You say I should trust you, but how can I, if you never tell me anything?”

“I’m sorry about that,” Vincent sighed. “I know it’s hard for you, when you don’t know what to expect. If they sent my orders ahead of time, you’d be the first to know. I wish things were different, but my life isn’t my own. It belongs to Shinra.”

“But why does it belong to Shinra?”

“You know better than to ask.”

“I know. Sorry.”

“Because of that, there will be times when I’ll have to go away. I won’t know when, or even for how long. But I promise you, I will always come back. No matter what, I will come back, to you.”

Sephiroth looked at him searchingly, attempting to assess the man’s sincerity. His big, blue-green eyes were pink rimmed, as if he were about to cry, but tears never fell from those eyes. He never cried.

“Ok,” he said, at last. “But you promised. Remember, you promised.”

After the scene in the training yard, it was a simple matter to talk Vincent into staying after supper, to watch the historical documentary Sephiroth claimed he had been looking forward to. And of course, once that boundary was breached, it would be an even easier matter to make it a regular occurrence.

His emotional outburst had been one-hundred percent genuine, but now that he was calmer, he could hardly be blamed for turning the situation to any advantage he could. Besides, a neglected child playing upon a parental figure’s guilt, in order to coax out a little more quality time with him, wasn’t exactly a dastardly scheme.

That evening, in Sephiroth’s quarters, Vincent sat on the sofa, beside him, with his arms crossed under his cloak. Just as Sephiroth had predicted, he fell fast asleep, less than a third of the way into the lengthy, exceedingly dry documentary (which was the only type of film the boy had access to).

He watched the man sleeping, for a few minutes, with his chin resting in his palm. Then, as stealthy as a cat, he began to scoot closer, inch by inch, till their thighs were touching. Vincent didn’t stir.

Sephiroth paused and observed him closely, until he was certain he was still asleep. Then, ever so gingerly, he leaned over, and laid his head on Vincent’s shoulder. The man continued to sleep soundly.

Pleased with his success, Sephiroth gradually nestled his small body more and more comfortably against Vincent’s. Now fully embracing his leather-clad arm, he gave a deep yawn. It would be fine, he told himself. He’d just stay like this, till the end of the film. As long as he didn’t fall asleep, Vincent wouldn’t catch him acting like a baby, and it would be fine.

Vincent woke, disoriented, to the lights and colors from the video screen, flickering across his eyelids, and the strange feeling of a warm weight, pressing on one side of his body.

He looked down, to discover Sephiroth hugging his arm, with his heavy, silver head resting on his shoulder. He must’ve dozed off, watching the film. He reached over, intending to shake him awake, then hesitated.

The boy’s sleeping face looked so peaceful, he couldn’t bear to wake him. Well, whatever, he thought, as he withdrew his hand. If the boy wanted to sleep on him, for a little while, what was the harm? As soon as the film was over, he’d put him properly to bed.

Thus decided, he remained wide awake, in a catlike state of vigilance, until the film concluded, more than an hour later, never moving a single muscle, for fear of disturbing the sleeping child. Then, taking great care not to jostle or jolt him, he lifted his little body gently from the sofa and cradled him against his chest, to carry him to his bedroom.

Sephiroth’s skinny arms came up, of their own accord, and wrapped themselves around Vincent’s neck. As they did, he took one of those, soft, stuttering breaths that children often do, in deep, contented sleep.

With that final blow, the armor around Vincent’s heart shattered. All at once, the decade-long weight of love, loss, regret, desperate longing, and profound, fathomless grief, struck him full in the chest. It was far too much for any man to bear. But this child…this perfect child was the product of all that pain.

Time slowed to a halt, in that unremarkable hallway, and for a single, shining moment, Vincent saw the world revealed to him, as it might have been. All the ugliness and horror of their desolated lives fell away, and he was simply a father carrying his little boy to bed, after staying up late, watching a movie.

He nearly fell to his knees, shot through the core, with the agonizing poignancy of it. Why had he ever believed himself capable of killing this child? He couldn't even bear to wake him from a peaceful sleep.

Steadying himself with a hand on the door frame, Vincent clutched the boy more securely to his chest, pressing despairing kisses to his silver hair, before the enchanted moment flickered and faded, and the cold claws of reality sank back into his flesh and bones.

He was a dead man—a carcass, inhabited by an ancient demon, and the child he was carrying to bed was a bio-engineered weapon, belonging to a corporation. They had both been sacrificed to the whims of a madman, and any hopes or dreams they may have had for themselves were already forfeit.

But that fleeting moment had forever altered the trajectory of the future, for these two people. Who could have predicted that one breath from a child’s lungs would be Vincent Valentine’s final straw. The tipping point, at which a beaten dog became a wolf. Even he, himself, was yet unaware.

Vincent laid the boy in his bed and tucked him in, then stood gazing down at him, his eyes a pair of glowing embers in the dark. Just then, Sephiroth’s eyes fluttered open, luminous green, to contrast with Vincent’s crimson.

“Vincent,” the boy said softly.

“Mm,” the man replied.

“Why do you want to kill me?”

“…”

“Is it because of what I am? Because…I’m dangerous?”

“Why do you think I want to kill you?”

“I saw you, in my dreams, before you came here. You wanted to kill me, but you never did. Sometimes, you look at me just like you did in my dreams, and I think you might really kill me. But you never do.”

“I don’t want to kill you. Get some sleep. We have training in the morning.”

“Vincent, wait,” the boy called out, sitting up, as he turned to leave. “I—I’m sorry I acted out, today. I promise, I won’t do anything like that, ever again. I’ll always listen to you and I’ll never misbehave. I won’t even talk back anymore, just—just don’t leave, ok? Please…don’t leave me.”

Vincent went back and knelt by the boy’s bedside, looking very much like a fairytale monster, about to drain an innocent victim’s blood. “Sephiroth, I already promised, I’m not going to leave you. Not for good. It’s you, who will leave, eventually, and that’s the way it should be. Before you know it, you’ll outgrow me, and you’ll get out of this place, and become the hero you’re meant to be. Then the whole world will love you.”

“I don’t want the world to love me, I just want to be with you,” Sephiroth fretted, then he brightened, as an idea occurred to him. “We could both leave! We could go somewhere else, where they can’t find us! Then I won’t have to be a hero, and you won’t have to go on missions, and we’ll never have to be apart, ever again.”

Vincent shook his head. “You have your whole future, ahead of you. I would never want you to throw it away, for me. Besides, when you grow up, things will be different. You won’t want to be with me, all the time, anymore.”

“What things will be different?”

“Well, one day, you’ll find a special person. When you do, you’ll want to spend as much of your time with them, as you can. You won’t want an old man like me around, getting in your way.”

Sephiroth looked troubled. “But you’re my special person. You’re the one I want to spend my time with. Why would I change?”

“You’ll understand when you’re older. But don’t worry. No matter where you go or what you do, I’ll always be watching, cheering you on. And any time you need me, I’ll be there for you.”

“Vincent…do you love me?”

Vincent took a breath, and let it out slowly. “Yes, I do.”

“I think I love you, too, but…I don’t know if I really understand what love means,” Sephiroth said, fidgeting with the buckles on Vincent’s cloak. “People use it all kinds of different ways. They say they love their spouses or children, but they also say they love chocolate chip cookies. It’s so confusing.” The boy’s eyes flickered tentatively up to his face. “What way do you love me?”

“Hm,” Vincent said, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. “Well, I guess…I love you a little more than chocolate chip cookies.”

Sephiroth dropped the buckle to put his hands indignantly on his hips. “Just a little?!”

“I mean…have you had chocolate chip cookies? They’re amazing.”

“You—! Well, I don’t even love you at all! You’re with canned peas! And corn!”

“Whoa, let’s not say things we can’t take back. I put you on the same level as chocolate chip cookies, and you put me way down there with canned peas and corn? Such a cruel child.” Vincent sighed and made as if to leave. “If that’s how you feel, I guess I’ll go toss myself in the trash, then.”

“Nooo!” Sephiroth pretended to wail, jumping up to throw his arms around Vincent’s narrow waist, with strength that would’ve snapped a regular man’s spine, but didn’t faze Vincent in the least. “Don’t toss yourself in the trash! I love you even more than chocolate chip cookies! I love you as much as spaghetti!”

“Wow, spaghetti?” Vincent said, looking down at him, with raised eyebrows. “Well, I guess I better not throw myself out, then. I know how serious you are about pasta.” He ruffled the boy’s hair and then jerked his chin toward the bed. “Ok, back to bed. I’m not letting you sleep in, tomorrow.”

Sephiroth went obediently back to his bed, where Vincent tucked him in, a second time. “Sephiroth, listen. It’s not safe for us to talk like this, in front of anyone else. If the Shinra people find out we have a non-professional attachment, they might decide to separate us. So, don’t hug me or say you love me, when anyone else can see or hear, understood?”

The boy nodded gravely. “I understand. If the professor knew I hugged you, he’d—” He faltered, not wanting to say aloud what he thought the old man would do to him, for fear of Vincent’s reaction. “—he’d scold me, for acting like a baby.”

Vincent, of course, sensed the boy’s fear of the old man, and was angry, anyway. “Acting like a baby? You are a baby. That rotten son of a—”

“Chocolate chip cookies,” Sephiroth interrupted.

“Huh?”

“That’s what I’ll say, instead. Chocolate chip cookies. And you’ll know what I mean.”

“Ah. I see. That’s pretty clever. Ok. We’ll do that.”

“Goodnight, Vincent,” Sephiroth beamed. “Chocolate chip cookies.”

“Goodnight, Sephiroth,” Vincent replied, very nearly (but not quite) smiling. “Chocolate chip cookies.”

THE AUTHOR HAS SOMETHING TO SAY:

old wolf teaches wolf-pup to deal with anxiety by biting. the world's boots and sofa cushions collectively tremble

[normal-internet-user]

Movie Muffins

♡~~♡~~♡~~♡~~♡

Summary: You and Mikey are finally having your first date, and it is just pure fluffy fluff-

Warnings: None!!

Requested: Nope!

G/N Reader!

....................................

You rushed excitedly down the New York streets, trying your quickest to get to the familiar manhole cover that would lead you to the lair.

Today was your first official date with Mikey, and your wonderful boyfriend managed to convince his brothers to spend a few hours with April, that way the Lair would be mostly empty. Aside from his dad, Splinter, who Mikey promised would stay in his room.

You hurried down the alley, standing over the manhole cover, you sent a quick text to your boyfriend.

(Nickname): I'm here! :3 waiting for you!

Angelo: One sec, HoneyBunch!

Just as you read the message, you heard the scrape of sewer lid on concrete. Looking up, you see the beaming face of Michealangelo.

"You look amazing, Sweets!" he said, watching as you excitedly walked over.

"You don't look so bad yourself, Dearest." you reply, following him down the ladder, "The bowtie was a nice touch."

Mikey offers you his arm with a smile. Locking your arms together, the two of you make your way further into the sewers. Once you reach the Lair, Mikey lets go of your arm, trading it for your hand to lead you into the kitchen.

"So what are we doing first?" you asked,

Mikey grinned, then handed you one of the two aprons they had in the kitchen. This one said "I get to lick the spoon, back off.", whereas the one Mikey had now tied around his waist read, "Head Chef".

"We're going to make muffins, then watch a movie!" He said, excitedly.

"Yay!"

You helped Mikey gather all the bowls, spoons, and other needed items for the muffins. You carefully followed all of his instructions, making sure to not mess up a single thing. These muffins were going to be perfect.

When it was time to add the blueberries, you stole a glance at Mikey. He was focusing on the recipe, you took the opportunity to pop a few of the berries into your mouth.

He then whipped his around, narrowing his eyes with a small smile on his lips.

"Did you take some of the blueberries?"

"No..."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes..."

Mikey smiled slightly wider, a mischeivious glint in his eyes.

"Let me see."

"Wha-"

Before you could protest or even react, Mikey pulled you in for a kiss. Your eyes widened, completely and utterly caught off guard by the sudden kiss. You closed your eyes melting into the contact.

When you pulled away, Mikey's smiled wider. Then he began to lean in again, close enough for another kiss, but rather than kissing you again, he moved back just enough to avoid your lips, then said, "You did take some of the blueberries. Liar."

You gasped dramatically, "Fiend! you only kissed me to acheive your goals!"

You pulled out of his hug, crossing your arms with a pout. Mikey laughed, trying to pull you into another hug, but you dodged him. Pout still present, you walked over to the counter, mixing the blueberries into the batter.

"Awe, come on, Sweets. Don't be that way."

You just shook your head, dodging his grasp with the bowl in your arms, "Nope, I'm not talking to you."

Now it was Mikey's turn to pout, he walked over to you, poking your side pulling a quiet giggle and a small smile from your lips.

"Your laughing~" he said in a sing-song voice.

"Nuh uh."

Mikey now stood infront of you, arms wrapped around your waist, "Yes huh."

He once again started to lean in, but before he could reach your lips, you turned your head side ways so instead, he gave you a kiss on the cheek.

You smirked when he whined, "Now we're even, Dearest."

"Touchè." the turtle sighed.

You grabbed his hand with your empty one, your other hand holding the bowl of batter to your side, "Now lets finish these dang muffins, I wanna watch 'How To Train Your Dragon'."

Mikey laughed as you dragged him back over to the counter, giving you a quick kiss on the top of your head, then helping put the muffin batter into the pan.

Once the muffins had finished baking, you and Mikey put them all into a bowl, moving into the projector room to watch your movie.

After Mikey put on the movie, the two of you cuddled close together, Mikey's arms wrapped tightly around you, the bowl of baked goodies on your lap.

After giving each other one last peck on the cheek, you two were focused entirely on the movie and the comfort of one another.

Until you weren't.

"We're baaaaccckkkk."

Mikey groaned at the sound of Leo's voice, "They were supposed to be gone for another hour." he whined.

You laughed at your boyfriends pouty face, "Tell you what, Hun, next time we'll watch the movie at my place."

You greeted Mikey's brothers as they walked into the room, joining the two of you in watching the film. Leo and Raph immediatly move towards the muffins, complementing you guys on your baking.

You smile at Mikey, giggling at the pout still on his face. His mouth upturns slightly, before breaking out into a full smile.

Perhaps this date didn't quite end as planned, but, who cares, at least your here with the one you love and your found family.

I had zero clue how to end this, but I was smiling the whole time I wrote.

[lillotte17]

I keep waffling back and forth about what I think actually went down at the end of the last episode.

I know without a doubt that there is more layers to this than what we’ve been shown. It is incredibly suspicious that we don’t actually see the talk between Aziraphale and the Metatron, and we only have Aziraphale’s word about what was said between them. That, and my little author brain hears the line, “Does anyone choose death?” and automatically wants to paint it red and underline it three times.

Something Happened.

But I can’t decide if I feel like Aziraphale was tricked, or that Aziraphale was threatened.

(under a cut bc omg this got long, oops)

On the one hand, it certainly wouldn’t be the first time Aziraphale has been duped. He is especially susceptible to it when someone praises him and makes him feel important. He craves affirmation and purpose, and he is used to looking to Heaven to fulfill those needs, even if they never really met any of his hopes or expectations. If there was going to be a ploy that got him back into Heaven, “you can fix everything forever and bring your SO, too” seems like the exact sort of deal to pull him in.

Evidence in support of being tricked:

-Aziraphale’s genuineness, especially when he starts edging towards desperation. That “I need you!” was tinged with real panic.

-He is (usually) not a very good liar, he typically only gets away with it with angels who happen to be even more guileless than he is.

-I am certain that getting Crowley reinstated as an angel so they could be together was literally his dearest wish at one point. Whether or not it still is might be debatable.

-The fight follows the same pattern that all of their fights seem to. One or both of them storms off, and then Aziraphale pouts until Crowley misses him enough to come back and they patch things up. Only this time there isn't the opportunity for reconciliation.

-The fact that he does seem waffle for a few moments at the end when the Metatron comes back into the bookstore and asks if there is anything he needs to take with him. He’s clearly staring out the window at Crowley and grasps at the excuse of not wanting to leave his bookshop unattended, more like someone who feels like he might actually have a choice in these proceedings than someone who just had to push away the person they love to keep them safe.

On the other hand, the idea that Aziraphale would just blithely run back to Heaven and believe that they would want to give him a big bag of candy, the love of his life, and a huge promotion when they literally tried to execute him a few short years ago feels like a stretch, even for his usual level of gullibility. He absolutely still believes that Heaven is better than Hell, and he misses being a ‘certified’ angel with assignments to ‘do good,’ but thinking that he would trust Heaven and the Metatron so implicitly on such short notice with no real proof of their good intentions seems almost insulting to both his intelligence and his character growth from season 1. It would make much more sense (to me), if he pushed Crowley away intentionally, knowing that if Crowley thought that one or both of them was in some sort of danger, he would fight it tooth and nail, and quite possibly get erased from existence in the process.

Evidence in support of being threatened:

-He clearly did NOT want to go to the coffee shop with the Metatron, nor did he seem particularly excited about the alleged offer afterwards until he got back into the bookshop and started talking to Crowley. He was visibly uncomfortable in the Metatron’s presence the entire time, which is a little strange for someone who genuinely believes that the Metatron has just offered him his heart’s deepest desires.

-The alleged deal on offer is just TOO perfect. It’s exactly the sort of thing pre-armeggedidn’t Aziraphale probably daydreamed about in the bathtub surrounded by rose-scented candles. Exactly the sort of “too good to pass up” deal he would make up to tell Crowley why he was leaving, because it sounds exactly like what he’s always told him that he wanted.

-The fight was flawless. He didn’t JUST tell Crowley that he decided to take a position with Heaven again. He lumped Crowley in with the rest of Hell as ‘the bad guys.’ He insinuated that in order for them to be together, Crowley would have to become both an angel AND his subordinate. He refused to engage with any counter-argument Crowley offered. The bitter-sounding 'I forgive you,' after the kiss. This wasn’t just tripping over an unknown stumbling block in their relationship, this was falling down a flight of stairs face-first and hitting absolutely every step on the way down. Everything was framed in the worst way possible. And personally, I cannot reconcile the idea that Aziraphale, who has known Crowley since before time itself began, would somehow believe that Crowley would not only agree to this deal, but think that he might actually be excited about it. Crowley's resentment of Heaven is one of his strongest and loudest opinions. There is no way that Aziraphale doesn't know this about him. Every phase of their conversation almost feels designed to wound.

-Aziraphale is not only unsurprised by Crowley’s confession, but he doesn’t even seem especially pleased to hear it. This season, Aziraphale has made several less-than-subtle implications that he is operating under the assumption that he and Crowley are already an item, even if they haven’t actually put an official name to anything. He immediately corrects Crowley in episode 1, saying that the fragile peace they created belongs to both of them, it’s an existence they are sharing and enjoying together. Similarly, he insists that the Bentley and the bookshop belong to both of them, even if they each only own one on paper. The amount of casual touching has gone through the roof. When he asks Crowley to dance and drags him to the dance floor, giggling the whole way, that is not the demeanor of an angel pining after someone he hopes will return his affections, that is an angel who already knows that his feelings are reciprocated, and is absolutely giddy at the idea that they have an excuse to do something romantic like dancing at a ball. I cannot believe that the same angel who gasped and grabbed onto Crowley like a lifeline as he watched Gabriel and Beelzebub get the sort of happy ending he's always hoped for, would hear the love of his life offer to be an 'us', and answer with anything less than enthusiasm, or at least an admonishment that they are already an 'us'. Instead, he sort of just...dances around it. Turns it back towards the idea of returning to Heaven without even acknowledging the fact that the person he loves more or less just asked to spend eternity together. I know they both have bad habits of talking over each other and not really listening when they think they know what's best, but that is...quite a significant dodge. How do you skim over something you've been waiting to hear for at least the last hundred years, if not longer?

-I have seen the claims that Aziraphale looks like he is about to say 'I love you,' before changing it to 'I forgive you,' but the moment that always catches me is right after Crowley turns away. He does this shaky sharp inhale of breath and his mouth moves in what seems to either be, 'no' or 'don't', but he reels it back in. He swallows it down, and looks completely miserable about it. And just...why? Why not call after him? Why not chase him to the door? Sure, he's stubborn, and he has his pride, but the love of his life is leaving, and if Aziraphale really wants Crowley to go with him, if he really believes that going to Heaven would make both of them happy and safe...why not push harder for it? Why not break out the 'I love you's and the 'I want you to be safe', or even the 'I want to see you as happy now as you were before you fell', if that's what he really thinks being an angel would do for Crowley? Yes, I know, 'Communication Problems', but a lot of those walls come crashing down when you really think you're going to lose something. That's why panicked OTP confessions when one half of the pair is grievously injured is a Thing.

-The elevator smile. Everyone has their theories, of course, but my favorite was summarized with "it is a lovely day in Heaven and you are a horrible goose angel." That is the face of an angel who is heartbroken and FURIOUS, and has every intention of making it absolutely everyone else's problem. He doesn't look happy, but he does look satisfied. 'It worked. Crowley got away. He got away.'

~~

I know it seems like I have a lot more arguments for the latter than the former, but it's one of those maddening situations where like...I know which one it would be if I was the one writing it, but sometimes the curtains really are just blue. And sometimes people who know each other well, and love each other with their whole hearts, are still stupid about things and fight and say things they don't mean. Sometimes people take the bait. Sometimes people get tricked. Sometimes they lose what they love the most while trying their best to hold onto it. Either theory makes sense. Either premise could lead to a satisfying and happy ending when machinations are revealed later. I trust that Mr. Gaiman knows what he's about. Hence the waffling.

[little-peril-stories]

Whumptober 2023, Day 8: "I've got soul, but I'm not a soldier."

Whumptober 2023 Masterlist

Read at your own risk! They're only snippets of a larger story, with no resolution that will be posted online anytime soon; they are being posted out of order; and the characters don't have names. Enjoy!

Contents: angst, death, murder, arrest, vicious rumours/false accusations

Previous | Masterlist | Next

Word count: 1250 || Approx reading time: 5 mins

"I've got soul, but I'm not a soldier."

Teaser: And to be safe, she needed to be free—far from the man who’d taken her away because he believed he could, that his royal blood made him all-powerful, that he deserved to have his fists curled tightly around anything or anyone he pleased. He’ll never let go, she’d said. He’ll never give up.

"I'll never be a hero who all the citizens adore / But if I hide to save my life, what has my life been for?"

The scholar watched her go.

He watched her vanish, watched her wide eyes shimmer with tears as she made her escape.

Met her gaze when, for the most agonizingly beautiful instant, she looked back.

And then was gone.

“I’ll distract him,” he promised. Breath stuttering in his chest, he wrapped his arms around her and wondered if she could feel how his heart thundered against her shivering form.

“Come with me,” she whispered. “Please. But we have to go. Now.”

We have to go. Away from here, away from the castle, away from the place that had turned her visit from a holiday into hell.

He wanted to. Oh, how he wanted to say yes, to let her cling to him—and to let himself cling back—for all of eternity, to let centuries pass them by in perfect harmony and happiness. He wanted to. He wanted her.

“I don’t want to go without you,” she said, squeezing more tightly.

He needed her.

He needed her safe.

And to be safe, she needed to be free—far from the man who’d taken her away because he believed he could, that his royal blood made him all-powerful, that he deserved to have his fists curled tightly around anything or anyone he pleased. He’ll never let go, she’d said. He’ll never give up.

That she had escaped his grasp on her own was a miracle.

If he finds me again, he’ll never let me leave.

So the scholar pulled away, clasping her hands as their bodies peeled apart, loath to put any cruel, miserable distance between them, yet knowing he had no choice. He made his promise again. “I’ll distract him.”

Of course, she knew; she must have; she knew him inside and out; she knew his very soul. He was no soldier, no fighter. “What—what are you going to do?” Her fingers tightened, still tangled in his. “They think you’re the one who—”

“I know.”

“They think you killed me.”

“I know.”

She shook her head, those fragile bird’s-wing bones trembling against his. “Please don’t—You can’t—”

“I’ll just distract him long enough for you to run,” he said. Tugged his hand free. Brushed a lock of hair from her dirt-streaked cheek, relishing the silken smoothness of her skin for what was sure to be the very last time. “Then I’ll—I’ll run. I’ll find you.”

Empty words, a hollow promise, a vow of nothing.

“But they think you did it,” she said again, echoing the rumours, the warnings that had been circling him for days, the words that would haunt his memory for the rest of his life. “They’ll arrest you. They’ll kill—”

“They won’t.” He did not know if that was true. “I can’t let him hurt you again. I won’t.” Overcome with too many thoughts, too many fears, too many jabs of paralyzing terror that would conquer him if he allowed it, he drew her close again. One final embrace.

Against him, she shuddered.

“I will find you,” he whispered, despising himself for the lie. He wrapped his coat around her to hide her stained and ripped dress, almost unrecognizable from its former loveliness. Why hadn’t he thought to give it before? “Now. Run. Please.”

“Don’t get hurt,” she said. There were tears on her cheeks. Why? He wished she wouldn’t weep for him. He was a liar and a coward, a fool who’d spent an entire lifetime quailing at conflict and lying to himself. To the end, he knew, those things were what he would remain, even as he did this, this preposterous thing, this stupid but courageous but illogical but selfless thing.

Nothing but a coward.

I love you, he was supposed to say, sealed with a kiss that contained everything that swelled inside him but which he could not put into words. Instead, he said, “Run.”

The scholar watched her go.

***

He was no fighter, but he was a magicwielder, and he was in love with a girl who everyone else believed was dead—who, they believed, he had murdered in cold blood.

He could not protect his reputation, but he could protect her.

He saw the looks, the gazes that turned from confusion to suspicion to astonishment. As recognition flashed across their faces.

I’ll distract him.

But the soldier—who was supposed to see him and, bound by duty, arrest him for his supposed crimes—kept walking, even as those he commanded realized that a wanted man was in their midst.

The commander would find her. He was looking for her, and she could not outrun him. He would find her and bring her back to the prince, and they would lock her away, shut her up in the dark. A girl of leaves and sea air and sunlight, and the prince and his commander would keep her until she wilted and died.

He would use her, she’d choked against his shoulder. She had something they wanted, something she’d kept hidden from everyone, something they’d discovered and were unwilling to relinquish.

No. The scholar wouldn’t allow it. If she wanted to hide, she must have had her reasons.

If he let the prince take her away and hurt her some more…

He wouldn’t forgive himself.

Never.

He raised his hands, magic crackling at his fingertips, and he froze the commander in his tracks. Although he saw the man begin to shake and his eyes to bulge in confusion, other images overtook his senses: her gleaming tears, her torn dress, her bruised wrists.

Her teasing, pealing laugh, the ethereal whisper of her hair against his fingers, the musical sweep of her bare feet through fragrant, luscious grass.

He unleashed his magic and watched the soldier stiffen, as if his bones would crack and shatter. He halted. He fell.

“Commander!”

Shouts from far away.

“Commander?”

And then—

“It’s—it’s him! There!”

He was discovered now for the act he was committing, but the scholar knew he could not run. He was weak. A coward. A liar.

Words flowed over him, words he knew he should heed, but he had to stop the commander from getting up again, had to keep the attention on him, had to make sure she got away.

“Commander!”

“Don’t move!”

“He’s magicwielding!”

“Someone stop him!”

“Sir!”

“Stand down!”

“Commander!”

“He’s not breathing!”

“Get him!”

“He’s dead!”

The scholar released his hold, sudden dread coursing through his blood.

Dead?

No.

No.

He hadn’t wanted to—

I’ll distract him. Run. Please.

A diversion, an opportunity.

That was all he—

“I said, he’s dead!”

How?

The scholar stared down at his hands, hands that had never before wielded power strong enough to do what he had just done.

A crowd pressed in around him—too many, too many. Someone knocked him to the ground, and as his glasses went flying and the world turned to a soft watercolour blur, he was awash in shattering pain and biting terror.

“You killed him!” someone roared. “You killed the commander!”

“N—no.” It couldn’t be true. But they’d said. He hadn’t. But they’d screamed it out. He’s dead, he’s dead. But he was a coward, and he was weak. You killed him. But he couldn’t have. “I didn’t—”

“He’s dead, you murdering bastard!”

I wasn’t trying to—

Noise rose around him, furious and panicked, coalescing into one thick wall of sound. Words and words and words and screams and words and bellows, so many voices, too many, too much. Nonsensical. Foreign. Commander. Magic. Him. The girl. Dead. Dead.

Under arrest.

Murderer.

Dead.

Doomed.

Previous | Masterlist | Next

[enbeemagical]

Fuck this. Mommy issues OC is go. Vent fic because adulting is hard and leaving home is hard but sometimes going home is harder

Content warnings: noncon/dubcon kissing, misgendering, deadnaming, emotional abuse, guilt tripping

-

Shadow. Darkness. Night-bringer. Sunset. Twilight. Dusk.

They looked out to the balcony as the day faded, then turned to face the demon within.

He leaned against the wall, fading as their darkness grew. He was beautiful, even now: his fair skin and clothes stained with dark blood, once-immaculate snowy locks tangled around ivory horns, silvered eyes hazy and unseeing.

Yet still he wore a smile.

It unnerved them. Someone dying shouldn't smile like that, shouldn't be sitting with such perfect posture. They'd driven a blade through his lungs and heart... and they realized with a sinking feeling that all the blood on him was too dark to be his own.

"You're not dying." They crossed the room with two long strides and knelt beside him, grasping his collar. "Why aren't you dying!?"

"Oh, darling. You might as well hope to kill the sun itself." Long fingers indicated his own chest, confident despite the weakness in his voice. "I am the light, Shadow. I am all that is bright in the world, and I will return to drive you away like sunrise chases away the night."

"Liar!" Their voice cracked. "You're as mortal as I am, anything can be killed."

"But not by you." His fingers caught in their long, dark hair, dragging their head down. Their lips met his, and, despite themself, they kissed him back.

"I'll be back, my shadow."

The mouth on theirs faded, dissolved into a thousand shimmering particles, and within moments the demon was no more. The light that had made up his body melted into the vanishing sunlight, and he was gone.

They stood slowly, shaken. If he wasn't dead, everything they'd fought for was at risk. They had to find him, end him.

They drifted through the celebration in a haze. Everyone wanted to speak to them, to thank them for doing what they did, for ending his regime. They didn't know what to say. They hadn't ended anything, they'd only given a brief respite. Would it even be enough?

As all celebrations will, it drew to a close, and the people drifted back to their homes, to go back to their everyday lives. Most people's lives hadn't changed too much, not yet.

The newly anointed hero gave one last look at the white stone palace and made a sharp jerking motion with their hand. With a great shudder, the delicate structure reshaped itself into a sturdy, simple building. This one was not white, but age-greyed, beautiful in its simplicity rather than a fairytale creation of spun sugar and mist. This one was real, and true, and lasting.

They turned and left the city. They had to figure out how to truly end him, but before that... They'd left home for a reason. Was home even still there?

People poked their heads out and waved as they passed. Unlit lanterns stood in windows still, a symbol of support for the rebellion. Some doors were splashed with black paint, others bore wreaths of brightly colored weeds, and still others sported brightly colored ribbons tied together with a black strand. Almost everyone wore some article of clothing in black or gray, white nowhere to be seen.

They reached the edge of the city and vanished.

Many miles from the city the air shimmered, and they stepped out at the edge of a small village. It still looked the same as it did seven years ago. Every house was in the same place, the same state, the people looked much the same as they moved about their daily lives.

They looked around the village, and their chest constricted. They took a breath and kept moving.

The door they knocked on was green. That was new. The paint had been blue and peeling last time they were here.

A woman opened the door, her nut-brown skin a match for their own. Her hair was pinned up, her hands floured. She studied them for a moment with sharp dark eyes.

"Phoebe," she said in greeting. "You're home."

They flinched. They'd forgotten that name, it had been so long. "Mother. I'm--"

"Come in." She took a step back, and they automatically followed her. "I can't believe you, leaving for years with no word! We thought you'd been eaten by a wolf, or that soldiers stole you away! A pretty young girl like you, you're in danger alone!" Bread and cheese and a bowl of stew were shoved into their hands. "Here, eat. You look half starved. I'm so glad you've come back, we needed you around here, especially the last few years." Her tone was reproachful, blaming. "Why did you run off, my love?"

They stared down at the stew.

"Sweetie?" Her tone wasn't harsh, wasn't sharp, but her voice... Her voice made their legs tense, their chest tight. They needed to get out before they broke down crying like a child. They couldn't stay here

but they couldn't leave.

The young hero who had fought off soldiers mounted on dragons and stood up to the emperor stood frozen in their mother's house.

"I- I can't." They set the bowl down. "I can't do this, I have to go."

"Wait, what?" Their mother hurried to the door, blocking their path. "Seven years without a word, you show up for one minute to show me you're alive, and now leave again?! I'm your mother, I bore you, I raised you and fed you for twenty-one years, and this is how you repay me?! Sweetheart, please don't do this to me! Can't you see I love you? I've missed you so much."

The tears finally fell, and they choked up, turning away. "M-Mother, I can't, please, I have to go."

"My daughter, light of my life..." She stepped closer.

They flinched away from her touch and stepped towards the door. Freedom was just on the other side, but their feet seemed heavier. They sniffled, rubbing their stinging nose.

She really did miss them. She'd always loved them, and they loved her.

"Mother?" they said softly.

"Yes, Phoebe?"

"How much do you know about the rebels?"

She frowned. "They're a group of violent terrorists trying to destroy the empire. Don't worry, sweetheart, our emperor will stamp them out."

Their breath caught, their hand on the knob. "I'm sorry, Mother. Goodbye." They flung the door open and dashed out.

"Phoebe!" Their mother's desperate wail pierced their heart and dragged at their feet.

Fists clenched at their sides, they spun to face her, tossing their hair back. They hadn't cut it in seven years. "My name is LILAH!"

Their mother stopped short.

"I'm not Phoebe!" Tears threatened, and they furiously swiped them away. "I'm not your light, and I'm not your perfect daughter! I'm sorry, but I haven't been for a long time. I'm Lilah, I'm the Shadow, the Nightbringer. And the Light Lord is dead!"

Her hands were clasped over her mouth. "Phoebe, please, I know you don't mean it."

"I do." Their voice caught in a sob, their arms folded tight over their chest. "I'm not your daughter anymore."

"Then what are you?" she whispered.

"I'm the Shadow that killed the Light."

Their mother stared at them, her gaze cold.

Lilah's shoulders shook as they backed away.

"Come find me when you can accept me as I truly am," they whispered. "Come find me when I'm more important to you than your daughter."

And they fled, inhumanly fast, the wind whipping away their sobs.