#i was not made to fight the urge to draw hot women i was not built to win that battle

[saltycryptid]

Hear me out--soapghost lesbians?

[zoros-bandana]

Hm... This has been bouncing around my head for a while, I was wondering, how would you handle a zoro x beefy fem!reader who fits into the patient 'gentle giant' trope, at least until that strength is needed? As in, she can and will break people in half if her nakama is in real danger. Maybe the first occurrence when she 'snaps' into this cold fury is kind of frightening, unexpected... but kinda hot?

An Unexpected Match

(SFW)

Warning: Water 7 spoilers, slight mentions of fighting

Summary: Intimated by your strength, Zoro took no notice when you joined the crew, only to later find himself in a spiral of attachment to his newfound crush; the gentle giant.

Word Count: 2,500

(A/n: I started to write this as a literal giant reader and got so carried away I didn't realise until I had all but finished that I had to restart the request. I also apologise I haven't been posting a lot for the last few months both mentally and physically I've been through it and I am exhausted)

The Strawhats stumbled across you in a bleak aftermath of rubble, destined to find their missing friend, to only be met with someone overgrown and timid, waiting for them to strike.

Luffy was infatuated by you the second he saw you, like a shiny new toy in a pile of rusted second-hand gifts. He had only crossed a handful of tall women before you, but non were quite as impressive and buff like you were.

Wasting not a moment longer, Luffy was quick to plead you to join his crew, wishing for the addition to his once low number. Unsure of a proper response you agreed, letting them sweep you up in a serious of frightful and dangerous adventures. New to the crew you stayed timid and uneventful, the exposure to numerous battles only fearing you more. You felt out of place with the kind and bonded people you now called your friends, your status making you feel outcast. It was easy to remind yourself of the differences placed between yourself and your friends; the height being one of the many obvious.

Your friends had to accommodate to your addition height and strength, drawing even more attention to something you wished to ignore.

For the first few months you stayed behind the crew, hiding your true potential in battles, afraid to let everything out. It was a constant nag through your life that you were to conceal your true strengths, knowing the damage it would cause. And although you wished to help your friends, the damage outweighed any of the positives, keeping you in a loop of fear and anguish.

Despite this, there wasn't a day that passed that you didn't catch the attention of Zoro. He could tell there was something about you, something utterly mesmerising, finding it hard to keep his eyes from you. It was obvious you stood out from most, standing almost double his own height and a defined body covered in rippling muscles, but your kindness was enduring. It was something unexpected from you, to behave so tender to your friends and even those who you barely knew, keeping him drawn to you like a magnet.

He saw you in ways you never knew could be seen by anyone. He dismissed any negative proposals of yourself, much like many of the crew, however, he did it in such a way that almost made it believable. He was honest, despite peoples feelings, and his truth hindered part of you, pushing you to explore what the brave swordsman saw in you.

After Robin was captured, however, it felt like a personal attack. Robin was kind to you, as she was with everyone, soon becoming a close friend. She had opened up about her past, enlightening you with stories and knowledge, bringing comfort that she would not harm you. It lit a fire under you seeing how broken she had become, risking everything to bring her back to the crew, even if it meant becoming what you feared the most.

Facing off against CP9 lit the fuse that urged your fire to burn. At first it had stopped the crew, watching how brawling you turned, your physique so muscular and obscene, it was if they were looking at a different person. You held no remorse for the government as your ripped through their walls, wielding your hands into unforgiving weapons that tore through whoever came into your path. You voice held a brutal shake, rumbling the ground as you swore to return your friend. Your face holding a twisted growl, covered in a heavy red, eyes large and dark.

Your crew held the same morbid stance, never expecting such dramatically intense rage to surface. You were so timid and frightful to even raise your voice and now, as you terrorised the people in your path, there wasn't a single drop of warmth in your actions. You were cold, blanketed by your own compressed emotions as you finally let them all surface, brewing into a steaming mixture of fury.

Thrown off by your actions, everybody remained frozen in terror; all except for Zoro. He had never seen anybody so alarming, so consumed in a ravenous anger, it almost seemed beautiful.

And that was when Roronoa Zoro knew, this was more than just admiration for you.

The strange fascination with this unusual crew-mate was more than just an awe of your obvious strength.

This is what he saw in you; such raw beauty it paralysed him with devotion.

This was a crush.

------------------------------------------------------------

Zoro sat with his arms crossed behind him, resting against the bottom of a tree, pretending to be asleep. His eyes, half shut, were drawn to where you stood, helping to hold up the side of the ship as Franky patched up the large hole that forced a sudden stop.

His eyes wondered over your arms, taking in how strong you were, the muscles rippling under your skin as you held the large ship; acting as if it was nothing. Smiling to himself he shifted his gaze up, watching the soft and kind features of your face. Your face was twisted in a shy smile, giggling lightly as Franky told you some joke that he ended with his usual 'super'. Zoro couldn't help but feel jealous at how easily you bonded with other members of the crew, especially taller members such as Franky and Brook, making him feel almost outcasted by your kindness, yet so determined to be flooded by it.

"Who you looking at?"

Zoro averted his eyes quickly, staring up as Luffy blocked out the mid-day sun, devouring some kind of meat that he no doubt stole from the refrigerator.

"Nobody"

Luffy ignored his comment, looking over towards the ship.

"It's (Y/n), isn't it?"

"No!" Zoro spat, although the bright blush on his cheeks contradicted his statement.

Luffy chuckled, unaware of the exact reason his friend was so embarrassed. It was normal for Zoro to act like this, keeping a close eye on the crew as if it was his only mission; growing more protective by each island.

"Oi! (Y/n)!"

Zoro froze, watching as the captain flagged you down, wishing he could disappear. Your eyes rose up from Franky, fluttering sweetly over to where Zoro sat, casting the same precious smile. Confused at Luffy's calling, there was a slight tilt in your head, shuffling your gaze between your captain and the swordsman.

Luffy waved for you to come over, making Zoro shuffle in his seat, anxious to try and flee the scene. His heart hammered loud in his chest, fogging over all senses, unaware you had broken away from Franky and was heading towards him. He could faintly make out Luffy's voice, soon followed by the mouse voice of your own, easing him like an anchor as he looked up towards you.

All eyes landed on Zoro, waiting for some kind of response, as if he had toasted to the audience for an emotional speech.

But what exactly could he say?

What would happen if they knew - if you knew - he had feelings?

He couldn't come across as weak.

"What?" Zoro spat out, keeping his voice as level as he could.

"You were looking at me?"

Zoro could see fear wash across your face, doubt creeping into your mind that he was looking at you for all the wrong reasons; the views that you saw of yourself. He knew none of what you saw was true, years of your own trauma battering you into self-doubt that he wished to ease. He wanted nothing more than to comfort you and show you it was okay to be yourself, as brutal and incredibly demanding as you were.

The fear on your face became a look of sadness, creating your own answer from his silence that it was a look of disgust. Embarrassed, you retrieved back over to Franky, flashing Luffy an apologetic smile on the way.

Exhaling deeply, Zoro shut his eyes, hoping Luffy would disregard what had happened to leave him wallowing in his guilt. He felt so tongue-tied around you, never knowing how to say anything supportive without confessing. Since he realised his intentions it was increasingly treacherous whenever he spoke to you, as if he would blurt his love out loud.

Luffy stayed by his right-hand's side, watching as you walked back over to the ship-right. He could sense that there was something amiss between his two friends - even someone as thick as him could work that out - seeing the interaction first hand. You looked so hopeful when he mentioned Zoro was looking at you, your face lighting up with possibilities of kind words. But once you were met with silence there was a deafening sadness he could feel, his protective captain instincts recognising your troubles instantly.

"I think (Y/n) likes you"

Zoro snapped open his eyes, following Luffy's voice as he chucked to himself.

"Huh?"

Swinging his legs, Luffy sat down next to Zoro, crossing them under him. "She really cares about what you think of her, Zoro. And I think that is more than friends"

He was silent for a second, the cogs in his head turning as he processed further. "Do you like her too? Is that why you keep looking at her?"

There was a mix of realisation and confusion in Luffy's voice, not comprehending if his conclusion was the right one. Zoro did care for all the crew equally, protecting them when he could, so his stab at a confession from the bleak swordsman was one he threw blindly.

"I- I don't know" Zoro mumbled, barely audible to the captain.

“I think you do” Luffy beamed, tearing off another enormous chunk of meat, stripping it off the bone. His pause gave Zoro a moment to think, reevaluating his answer, however, not wishing to confess to his loud mouth friend.

News spread like wildfire when Luffy was involved.

Grunting, Zoro rose from his spot, tracking as quickly as he could through the sand, heading back towards the ship. His heartbeat grew thunderous in his ears, shaking his vision of you as he caught your attention, calling out as he got close.

“Oi, can I talk with you?” Zoro strained his voice, letting it carry up to you.

You look puzzled, darting your eyes away from him to look back at Franky. He had stepped away from his work to assess you both, looking back and forth as he waited for someone to speak.

“You’re free to go, (Y/n), I’m just about done with this anyway”

Franky’s words released you from your excuse to hide from Zoro, more afraid from his stern talks than his silence. You had observed the way he pulled fellow crew members aside, only to inflict negative comments or arguments that you chose to avoid.

Cautiously agreeing, you placed the ship down, following Zoro up the side of the beach to give you both a bit more of space. You knew it would be pointless to escape the crew from overhearing your conversation, your voices soaring even as a whisper. But Zoro wanted that space. He wanted to feel like he could have you alone, even for a few minutes, to be vulnerable enough to apologise. He hated the feeling he had hurt you.

You had turned into the trees, cowering through the thick shrubs, hoping to distance yourself from embarrassment. There was a mutual tension that hung over you both, as if you both wished to share how you felt with neither one wishing to be the first to admit it out loud. Between Zoro's stubborn emotions and your shyness, it became a match for the rest of the crew to turn to for entertainment.

"I didn't mean to hurt you" Zoro mumbled, hoping it would reach you. "It caught me off guard when Luffy invited you over and I didn't know what to say. I don't always know how exactly to act around you. I often look at you because I think you are truly something great, something so wonderful, so beautiful, and I can't help feel drawn to you and your strength. The truth is actually..."

Zoro cleared his throat, speaking louder.

“I like you, (Y/n)!”

A silence fell around you both, forcing Zoro to look back over his shoulder; knowing his words had caught the crews attention. His face flushed over in a bright glow, noting that the crew had indeed noted his words, standing around to wait for your response. He wanted to run from this situation, feeling exposed in front of the people he cared about most.

He knew he would be teased for this.

A soft mumble caused Zoro to turn back to you, realising you had said something, a light blush on your face. Moving closer to you, Zoro took small steps, shaking as he did. He had never been so close to you but he wanted to hear your voice again, hear the melody he loved so much, hoping you would repeat yourself.

Your eyes darted down quickly to look at Zoro, locking onto one another, seeing each other perfectly for the first time.

It was surreal observing each other like this, so close, taking in as much of each others features as you could. You noted the soft curves on his cheekbones, framing his structured face with a deliciously sharp frame. His eyes held a cautious but beautiful edge, deep grey eyes pulling you in like a sinking ship to water. He was just as beautiful as you noted from further away, intriguing you just as much as before.

“I like you, too”

Your blush darkened before you looked away, hearing the faint cheers from your friends as they overheard you reciprocate Zoro's feelings. He was quiet for a moment, letting your words sink in, overwhelmed with how those words sounded coming from you. And how they were aimed at him.

A sense of relief drained from Zoro, easing him to speak clearer, almost cockier. Now he knew your intentions were more than just some half-promised words from Luffy he was ready to go further, guiding the first steps to becoming more than what you were already.

"Well, would you like to do something about it?"

A smile washed across your face, reciprocating his light and almost playful speech. It served almost as a hammer to your walls of fear around him, knowing you could be yourself and he would still like you just the way you were; easily crashing through them.

"That's if you're willing to handle me"

Zoro smirked, amused by your quick wit, seeing a new side to you intrigued to find out how many other layers you were hiding from him. He was elated to see what could come from your growing feelings for each other, tackling these new emotions as you sailed with your friends to accomplish your dreams. And Zoro couldn't think of anyone better to be by his side when he did.

"Oh, trust me, (Y/n). I can handle a lot more than you know"

[littlemissfix-itfic]

Years have passed, and you no longer write letters to Santa, but still the peculiar, one of a kind gifts keep arriving. The gifts range from opulent jewelry that has a tendency to grow warm, and sometimes even white-hot, at random intervals to small seemingly custom-made stuffed animals of nightmarish creatures turned cute and cuddly. Every year, six gifts come, wrapped in a glowing, reddish paper that was always warm to the touch, just for you, labeled in number order: 60-66. And every year, you and your family ponder who the gifts are from, and if your family should be concerned. This year, as you sit around the tree, the gifts arrive, as usual, but something is different. This year, each parcel of unknown origin is still wrapped with care in the same, ever warm, glowing wrapping, but this time, the boxes are numbered differently. The first is labeled 66.1, and they follow in order with the last labeled 66.6, and that one has a key tied into the center of the large box with a lavish bow. The key is an intricate skeleton key, forged in a reddish metal, blackened by either time or design. Its artfully carved handle looks alive, with its winding serpent-like design, and the gems inlaid at the center of the winding mass, that form an eye. As you go about your Christmas morning traditions, the eye seems to follow you as you bask in the joyful holiday, the ever-present gaze of the key blanketing you in a strange sense of security. Eventually, you get to the special, almost reverent, moment of privacy that you partake in every Christmas morning. You collect the six warm boxes, and bring them into your room, settling onto the lush rug that you had received from your unknown proprietor in a Christmas long since past. You murmur your thanks to the kindness of whatever stranger offers you these gifts, and sit staring at them all at once unnerved by the change, and oddly comforted by the key’s watchful eye. As you sit, your feelings about the strange gifts at odds with one another, curiosity leaps at its chance to take the reins. So, you reach out, and carefully lift the first box, drawing its warmth into your awaiting lap, fighting the urge to draw the familiar warmth into you, much like a child would with a teddy bear. Running your hands across the familiar wrapping, you find the tapeless edge, and slide your fingers under the lip. With a gentle tug the warm paper gives way, and you find the same wooden frame, carved by deft hands into arching landscapes of a far off land that no amount of research can locate. A smile tugs at the corners of your lips as you see the artistry, your fingers reliving the comforting texture of each stroke of the craftsman’s blade. Opening the box, you find the gift, as thoughtful and unique as ever, and murmur your thanks to your anonymous friend. You repeat the process, each gift just as unique and ornate as the last, until you get to 66.6. This box was different from all the others that had come before it. This box's carvings were just as unique as all the others, but the landscape on each side arched and twisted until it gave way to a castle. One with a threatening throne, and a several devastatingly gorgeous men and women perched about the thrones on each side. The box itself felt… different. Something about it made your chest ache, like a fresh heartbreak, but that pain was mixed with a yearning for something you couldn't quite place. Before opening the box, you survey the gifts bestowed on you by your mysterious benefactor.

Should I continue this? Because I definitely have more planned… (read written) I just hit the text limit hehehe…

When you were a child, you accidentally wrote a letter to Satan instead of Santa. Now, every year for christmas you get presents from the lord of hell himself.

[happylifefanfic]

Talk to Me (A Rooster FanFic) Chapter 3

“Have mercy,” Penny sighed as she took a sip of her glass of water.  Ella chuckled as she nodded her agreement.  The beach was full of sweaty fighter pilots playing a game of dog fight football.  

“Mav’s idea was genius,” Ella replied after swallowing the sip of her lemonade.

“Yeah, he definitely is known for his ideas being genius even if they are dangerous and crazy,” Penny said.  Ella looked over at the woman she had always thought of as an aunt.  Penny’s eyes were glued to Mav’s broad, naked chest.  With a smile, Ella turned her gaze back to the game and immediately found Bradley.  He looked like an Adonis out there and she had to fight the urge to wrap herself around him.  He’d taken her to dinner the night before and she’d really enjoyed the easy conversation between them.  He also kissed the daylights out of her when he dropped her off at her place.  They had spent nearly 5 minutes making out on her front porch before he untangled himself from her arms and told her goodnight.  Ella’s head was spinning and she didn’t even register that he had left until she heard his Bronco start up.  

“You’re in some deep thought over there,” Penny said as she tapped Ella’s hand.  Jerking her gaze back to her aunt, Ella lifted her shoulders in a sigh.

“Bradley is killing me,” Ella said.

“What do you mean?” Penny asked.

“He’s been really attentive and keeps kissing me like his life depends on it, but he won’t go any farther than that.  He had me so flustered last night when he dropped me off after dinner that I had to take a cold shower,” Ella groaned.

“Oh I bet he had to take one too,” Penny grinned looking at the man in question as his gaze lingered on the younger woman sitting beside her.  

“Maybe,” Ella chuckled.  “If he would have stayed, we could have taken a nice hot one together.”

Penny burst out laughing, drawing the attention of both Bradley and Mav.  The latter of the two starting towards the women.

“Ladies,” Mav said with a salute.

“I’m going to work on inventory,” Penny said before getting up to head inside.  Mav watched her while Ella watched him.

“Don’t hurt her again,” Ella warned.  Mav’s eyes cut to her before he nodded at her.  

“I was really sorry to hear about your mom,” Mav said quietly as he sat beside Ella.  

“Thank you,” she whispered before moving her gaze back to the football game.

The pair sat in silence watching the game for several moments before Ella spoke up.

“I need to ask you something.”

“What’s that?” Mav asked moving gaze to the woman beside him.

“Do you know who my dad is?” Ella asked after she moved her sunglasses to the top of her head so she could look into his eyes.  Mav’s gaze never wavered from hers.

“Yes, I’m pretty sure I do,” he said.  Ella let out a breath she didn’t realize she’d been holding.

“Who is he?” Ella asked.

“A pilot buddy of mine,” he explained.  “I promise I will tell you everything Ella, but I need to talk to him first.  I know for a fact that he doesn’t know about you and it might be better if I give him a heads up.”

“Okay,” Ella whispered before reaching up to swipe a tear from the corner of her.  Mav caught the movement and reached over to put his hand on her knee.

“He’s a good man and if he had known about you, he would have been there,” Mav said.  “Things with your mom were just complicated and she took off out of the blue.  When she came back several years later with you in tow, we were all surprised.  Your dad wasn’t stateside at the time, but he had just gotten married and your mom made me promise not to say anything to him.”

“That sounds like her,” Ella mumbled.

“I’ll talk to him once I get back to the base today,” Mav promised before moving his hand to rest on her shoulder.  Ella smiled at him as she brushed another tear from her eye.

“What’s going on?” Bradley’s voice interrupted them.  Ella looked up to see anger rolling off the man she loved.  Sighing, she stood and moved closer to him.  He instinctively opened his arms to hold her against her chest.  Ella sensed that Mav had moved away from them when Bradley’s shoulders relaxed.

“What did he say to upset you?” Bradley murmured against her ear.  

“He didn’t upset me.  I asked him if he knew who my father was and he said yes.  He’s going to talk to him today.  Mav thinks he doesn’t know about me because my mom never told him,” Ella explained as she pulled back to look at Bradley’s dark hazel eyes.

“Woah,” Bradley sighed.  “So he’s someone Mav knows?”

“He said he was also a pilot,” Ella said.  Bradley’s eyes widened slightly before he swore softly.

“What?” Ella questioned.

“I think I might know who your father is.  I can’t believe I didn’t see it before, but you look a lot like him,” Bradley said as his hands moved to cradle her face.

“Who do you think he is?” Ella asked.  Bradley sighed before uttering the last name she expected.

“Tom Kazansky.”

[shewhowantsmouseears]

DT17 Morgana Tvtropes

Once again, my love for @queenie-draws-stuff ‘s Morgana led me to some silly things - namely, making a list of TVtropes that apply to headcanons/RP threads. Split in two since I forgot to share the first time around.

PART ONE : 

Adaptational Badass: This version of Morgana is more physically involved in fighting, with kicks, punches, and using her own electric guitar as a makeshift battle ax.

Affectionate Nickname: "Dark Darling" and "Drake Darling."

All Women Are Lustful: When they become an official couple, it's quickly clear that Morgana would be happy to go as far as possible while Drake nervously urges them to slow it down.

Amazon Chaser: When Darkwing gets to see Morgana fight others besides himself for once, his initial thought? "Hot."

Aroused By Their Voice: Drake is always noticeably distracted when Morgana sings, even when he's got a mission in mind.

Arranged Marriage: As part of her backstory reveal, Morgana was going to be in one of these before she ran away from home. Her family still tries to hold her to it for a while.

Band Of Relatives: One of the reveals is that the entire band is made up of Morgana's distant cousins.

Brainwashed: What some of her songs do to people - typically used either to put them to sleep or have them hand over their cash/valuables.

Broken Bird: Pun aside, this is what Morgana appears to be deep down.

Dangerous Forbidden Technique: The Hocus Pocus Focus spell. Instead of making people mindless zombies like her usual spells, this one would force them to love her music. Morgana refuses to use it (it's dangerous, forbidden, and she knows it's wrong) until she meets her Despair Event Horizon.

Dark Is Not Evil: Clearly a villain, but not wholly a bad person, and one who eventually changes to the good side.

Dating Catwoman: To Darkwing's Batman.

Dating What Daddy Hates: Just like in the original show, Morgana's Father doesn't approve of Morgana dating a "normal"/mortal.

Despair Event Horizon: When Darkwing "dumps" her and she's convinced Drake threw out her autograph, she crosses this and almost uses a forbidden spell to get the entire city to love her.

Distracted By The Sexy: Morgana exploits this plenty when she needs to get Darkwing out of her plans - but at times it's reversed and she's the one who's lost in his eyes.

Eerie Pale-Skinned Brunette: While already pale via white feathers, it's noted she's even whiter than those, combined with her dark hair and love of the macabre.

Endearingly Dorky: Morgana finds Drake's dorkiness utterly charming. Stammering? Flustered? Lame dad jokes? She loves it all.

Even Evil Has Loved Ones: Morgana and the band don't actually get along off stage, but Morgana utterly adores her familiar/pets, even calling them her "babies".

Even Evil Has Standards: Morgana doesn't actually want to hurt people, which is why she prefers using spells. But even she is hesitant to use the Hocus Pocus Focus, which would forcibly control people's hearts.

Even The Girls Want Her: Implied to be one of Lena Sabrewing's first "girl crushes".

Evil Is Sexy: Darkwing finds himself quite flustered when Morgana refers to herself as a "bad girl".

Eyelash Fluttering: Uses this on Drake/Darkwing shamelessly.

Femme Fatalons: Sports a good pair of long fingernails.

Freudian Slip: Drake/Darkwing tends to slip into this, with a mix of Gibberish of Love. For example - "I'm really looking forward to seeing a lot more of you, Morgana! ... A-a lot more of your music, of course!"

Goth Rock: Her band's genre.

Heel-Face Turn: Eventually winds up doing this.

Hot Witch: Uses spells and is definitely easy on the eyes.

I Just Want To Be Loved: Ultimately Morgana's motivation - monsters thought she was too kind and hated her music, while mortals find her appearance strange and her powers terrifying. She's desperately lonely and wants to find someone who understands her.

Imaginary Love Triangle: A mix of Played for Laughs/Drama in that Morgana thinks she's in this with Drake and Darkwing, oblivious that they're the same guy.

Implausible Deniability: Played for Laughs - When Morgana, still thinking Drake threw out her autograph, decides to devote herself fully to Darkwing, she declares she is "100% over Drake Mallard". When Squeak tells her Drake's literally at her door, she immediately puts on make-up, tries to make her outfit sexier, and begins playing the most seductive song she can think of. While still convinced she's over him.

Lady In Red: Most of her outfits (including the one she wears when stealing) are red.

Laugh Of Love: Aside from typical Evil Laughs, Drake seems to be the only one who can get Morgana to genuinely laugh, giggle, and snort, usually when he's said something dorky.

Love At First Note: Implied with Drake. While he heard and saw Morgana in passing, when he actually listens to her music for the first time, he's completely enamored and forgets the reason why he went to see her to begin with.

Love Makes You Dumb: Darkwing's IQ tends to drop a bit when Morgana's involved, though he does manage to recover. To be fair, Morgana appears to suffer this sometimes as well.

Loves My Alter-Ego: Played with - Morgana winds up falling in love with both Darkwing and Drake.

Love Redeems: It's clear that Darkwing/Drake's love was a big push to her turning over to the side of good.

Muggle-Mage Romance: She's magical, he's not.

Nightmare Fetishist: Much to her surprise, it turns out Drake is kind of this, when he admits he likes her fangs in part because they're frightening.

Ninja Pirate Zombie Robot: It's never made 100% clear what sort of monster she is - judging by her family portrait, she's related to almost every kind there is, so it's very likely she's a "mixed breed".

One Head Taller: At the very least two heads taller than Darkwing - and given her love of high heels, even taller than that sometimes.

Peek-A-Bangs: Morgana's hair often covers half her face, especially when she's being seductive or evil. When she was younger, she had a similar hair style but back then it was shown as a sign of shyness.

Perky Goth: Once she's done being evil, she often slides into this.

Projectile Kiss: Morgana's fond of this especially when she's making a quick get-away. Also done to Drake after their first meeting.

Polyamory: Played For Laughs - Upon learning Morgana is in love with him and Darkwing, Drake gets up the nerve to tell her the truth... and blurts out this as a solution instead. Made even funnier that Morgana, desperate to have them, agrees with only minor hesitation.

Post-Kiss Catatonia: Usually happens to Darkwing after Morgana lands a smooch on him, even for cheek kisses. Amusingly, if she's not careful, she can wind up suffering from this too despite initiating it.

Rock is Authentic, Pop is Shallow: Morgana's view of the music world. She mellows on it once she turns to good.

Silent Snarker: Eek, Squeak, and Archie, her familiars, often delve into this. It's implied they figured the Drake/Darkwing connection a while ago.

Single Woman Seeks Good Man : Darkwing's heroics and Drake's general kindness made her fall hard.

Statuesque Stunner: Much taller than Darkwing and 2/3 of her own band.

Suspiciously Specific Denial: How Morgana's feelings for Drake/Darkwing initially manifest. She definitely isn't in love, she doesn't see him in her dreams, and she absolutely hasn't thought of a name for their first kid...

The Tease: Even when she becomes a "hero", Morgana still can't get enough of teasing Drake.

Tiny Guy, Huge Girl: Again, big size different between her and Darkwing.

The Vamp: More than happy to use her good looks to take advantage of Darkwing's obvious affections.

Uptown Girl: While Drake isn't exactly poor, it's revealed that in monster society Morgana's pretty high up on the ladder, so much that her father is called Lord McCawber.

Villainesses Want Heroes: Boy does she ever.

We Can Rule Together: Morgana offers this to Darkwing - "If this city won't rise to applaud us, we'll bring them to their knees!" - and while he is momentarily tempted, he flips the script and instead offers her to join him. Before they were interrupted, she seemed to be seriously considering it.

Yandere: Morgana can handle other women being interested in Darkwing. If said women actually try to get their hands on him? Monster murder mode activated.  PART TWO

0% Approval Rating : Morgana's band, aside from her familiars, openly belittle and insult her. In a twist, it's because they don't see her as evil enough.

Adorable Evil Minions : Not the band itself, but her familiars - Eek, Squeak, and Archie are very cute. (At least according to her and Gosalyn.)

Beautiful Singing Voice: Of course.

Birds Of A Feather : Pun aside, Morgana and Drake/DW both know the struggle of getting ahead in the entertainment field, and they're both spectacularly hammy... oh, and they both hate Gizmoduck.

Bridal Carry : Amusingly played with when Darkwing saves Morgana from a forced marriage - he's injured and exhausted enough that she carries him this way, despite her being the (almost) bride. He certainly didn't complain.

Creepy Family : The McCawber family is full of monsters.

Criminally Attractive: Falls hard for the man who is supposed to arrest her... not that he's trying all that hard sometimes...

Crush Filter : Darkwing accidentally reveals he has this big time whenever he sees Morgana, as he assumes there are always roses blooming around her - when a transplanted Bushroot actually does grow roses around Morgana and Darkwing, Darkwing notes there are "more roses than usual!"

Dreary Half-Lidded Eyes : Of the seductive variety.

Evil Diva - Pretty obvious.

Evil Slinks : Predominately when she's dancing as she sings, and when she's trying to lure Darkwing to her side.

Femme Fatale : It's pretty obvious to almost anyone she's dangerous from the start, but at first Darkwing is too smitten to see it.

First Love : During one fight, Morgana blurts out (much to her embarrassment) that Drake/Darkwing is this for her.

Flowers Of Romance: On their first official date, Drake brings Morgana roses... black roses, naturally.

Jealous Pet - While Eek and Squeak warm up to Darkwing pretty easily, Archie remains stubbornly against him even when Morgana turns to the side of good.

Love-Obstructing Parents : Morgana's father is against her relationship with Drake/Darkwing, and initially tries to keep her to an arranged marriage.

Loves Me Not - Ghoulia (one of the band-mates) blabs she saw Morgana doing this about Drake, albeit with a spider lily.

Oblivious Guilt Slinging : Played with. When Drake gently tries to talk to Morgana about how she's a good person who cares about her fans, she thinks it's this, since she's a villain who abused her fans for cash. Naturally Drake, as Darkwing, already knew this, and is trying to lead her onto the path of goodness.

Obnoxious In-Laws : Morgana's father, Moloculo, absolutely detests Drake/Darkwing, and initially tries to split them up. But when he realizes that Darkwing (A) makes Morgana happy and (B) can keep her safe, he reluctantly stops interfering.

Obviously Evil : She's pretty much-villain coded from her first appearance, but Darkwing and Gosalyn are too lovestruck/star-struck to see the big signs.

Rotten Rock & Roll : The band's basic theme.

Sexy Walk : At least when she's sure Drake/Darkwing is looking.

She's Got Legs : Tall as heck, and part of her charm.

Shipper On Deck + Shipper With An Agenda : On Morgana's side, Eek and Squeak want her to get together with "either" Drake or Darkwing since they make her happy and could convince her to get out of dangerous villainy. On DW's side, Gosalyn and LP feel the same way. Humorously, some villains (like a transplanted Bushroot) feel the same way!

Silly Rabbit, Romance Is For Kids! : How Morgana feels about romance until it hits her big time.

Single-Target Sexuality : Technically this, since Darkwing and Drake are one and the same. He's her first and only love.

Snakes Are Sexy + Snakes Are Sinister : Her three main animal motifs are bats, spiders, and snakes. During her more "monstrous" moments, she's shown to have a forked tongue like a snake.

Succubi and Incubi : Might be one of these. Or at least has it in the family blood. Not sure. Don't ask.

Two-Person Love Triangle : The hazard of falling for a masked hero and his civilian identity.

Unknowingly In Love : At first, Morgana thinks her feelings for Drake/Darkwing is mostly lust and entertainment. It takes her a little while to realize her feelings for him are more than that and more than friendship, mostly due to thinking romantic love was something childish that she'd never feel.

Used To Be A Sweet Kid : Growing up, she was a very shy but kind girl. But add in family drama, no one accepting her, bad influences...

[yinses]

B R A N D E D

| he would make sure that everyone knew who you belonged to |

tattoo artist! sukuna ryomen

rating: t

a/n: this is going to be a three part series. it got too long because i couldn’t shut up. thank you to @teoran for beta reading !! 

you should have never informed yuuji that you were thinking about getting a tattoo, because of course his first response would be hey, sukuna owns a shop. why don’t you stop there. as if you didn’t already known that. your other friend, unfortunately had not known how to be subtle about it.

its when you go to hand off your card that they gasp audibly, drawing the attention of both yourself and the woman behind the counter.

“you’re not going to ask for a discount? i mean you know the owner, right?”

she jumps back quick enough to dodge the errant elbow you throw her way.

you knew you would regret telling her.

the woman is undeterred as she take your card, looking bored with the news. “so you know sukuna, huh?” the way she said it implied that it wasn’t the first time it had been made known to her.

you had known the man long enough to know where her thoughts were going with that assumption. sukuna wasn’t only popular for his art. a shudder rolled through your body at the idea of being categorized as one of his flings.

it wasn’t as though you were intentionally shaming the women. but it was sukuna. the same guy who locked you and his younger brother out on the patio whenever he was meant to keep an eye on you. and then blamed you for hiding from him when the responsible adults got home.

in hindsight, maybe you should have chosen another location. but now your card has been charged.

you scribbled your signature on the receipt, “uh yeah, awhile now. im not requesting him or anything.”

“his appointment book is full anyway. he doesn’t take walk ins.” its not said snidely, just matter of fact. as if she was seasoned with dealing with these kind of customers.

the man of topic strides in then, carrying a few bags of take-out that he drops carelessly onto the counter. he doesn’t m look unlike any other day, a loose white sleeveless shirt with a low hanging v-neck that just invited attention to his skin. the swirls of black ink made permanent by his hand only. though that was the advantage of this field and owning your own business on top of it.

sukuna was prepared to ignore the clientele planted at front desk, until he did a double take. those vermilion eyes took you in, morphing from speculation, to shock, a pinch of awe, then back to postulation.

“what are you doing here?”

a small frown mars you face. you didn’t actually consider that perhaps sukuna wouldn’t want you here. it was one thing to know the guy, but whether you wanted to accept it or not, you weren’t just another customer. so you unsurely respond with, “getting a tattoo?”

the snort he gives isn't one of annoyance. in fact its almost comforting to see the minuscule curl of his lips until they start to part, “yeah, missing something aren’t you?”

you realize with a frown that he’s referring to his brother.

“i have other friends.”

that slow smile wides as he gives your friend a brief look of appreciation. suddenly all those years of witnessing him cart his flings around rise to the forefront of your mind.  really nothing rarely changed. “ i can see that.”

his gaze cuts back to you, “what are you getting? your boyfriends name?”

you cant tell if he’s teasing, fishing or a combination of them both.

he turns to lean over the counter, arms flexing at the action and pinches the fresh design still hot from the printer. you resist the urge to shuffle in place as he inspects the image with more interest than there were lines. it was hardly all that complex, just as you intended.

sukuna finally voices his opinion, to no surprise of your own. “yeah? kind of small isn’t it?”

“its my first sukuna,” you drawl.

you realize too late that the wording isnt best around him.

“no kidding.”

he tugs a styrofoam box free from the plastic bag before gesturing to you with a tilt of his head.

“alright, lets knock it out.”

you look to the woman expecting her to complain about his pending appointments but she only returns it with a pointed look. when it came down to it, what the boss wanted goes.

right then.

turning, you address your friend who seemed more invested in watching sukuna’s departure. “are you coming?”

her gaze snaps to you and she doesn’t even bother to pretend. she shrugs, “you may not be squeamish about needles but i am.” her hand waves vaguely towards the lounge area near the coffee station and stack of assorted snacks. “i’ll come running if you scream though,” she teases as you turn down the hall.

sukuna’s voice carries from the right in guidance where you find him setting his food off to the side. the room is neat. though you don’t know what you were expecting given the health expectations lining his work. then again, you’d spent the better part of the decade watching him cart week old pizza boxes out of his room so it was hardly a baseless assumption.

aside from the desk of tools and variety of inks the only other defining feature was the wall at the back. there was no rhyme or direction to the madness. the once white wall was littered with varying penmanships and messages. almost like an autograph book. some derogatory, others genuinely thankful for his work - you think you see a few numbers too.

the cushion of the seat protests under his weight as he rolls to the center of the room. he has the stencil of your chosen art held up in expectation.

“where is this pretty little thing going?”

“oh my rib- here on the right.” you think nothing of bringing up the hem of your shirt to expose the skin just under the curve of your breast.

he almost looks impressed, though there is some doubt. he wheels closer and gives no warning as his hand palpates the area. “over the bone? that’s daring for your first tattoo, princess.”

the name was nothing new, an accompaniment to yuuji’s ‘brat’.

part of you actually grateful that its sukuna. the entire shop had good reviews but it was best known for his talent. besides, the charge was already sitting on your card.

“i can handle it.”

he’s still squinting at your side, fingers tickling at your skin.

“yeah?” he answers absently. nimble digits you didn't think had any taste for delicacy carefully peel the plastic from the stencil. he doesn’t second guess himself in the slightest before pressing it to your skin.

when he pulls away, the chair follows him as he collects a hand mirror from his desk to reflect the design back to you.

“double sure?” he’s still rallying your resolve, but there is a hint of warning to his voice as professionalism seeps in.

with a firm nod you seal the deal,” yeah.”

“aright, pin up your shirt out of the way. tuck it into your bra if you want.”

you were expecting this already, given the location you’d decided on. with sukuna that action comes effortlessly without thought. it was no different than the times he’d seen you in your bathing suit, your brain reasoned. at least you still had your pants this time.

sukuna rests back into a lean against his small desk. absently you note that his eyes haven't left you once since you’d entered the room.

“eager little thing aren't you?”

but its sukuna.

you shrug.“ i guess. kind of been saving up for this one.”

the noise he makes is non-committal as he nods to the angled chair.

without your shirt there was no barrier between yourself and the leather. you expected the cold chill but the lack of stickiness kind of surprised you. once again you were reminded of the indisputable list of reviews at your fingertips.

sukuna goes about collecting the materials to disinfect your skin, angling the bottle and cotton over the trash can to catch the excess drops. satisfied with the saturation, he slides back.

you try to absorb the brief shock you feel when he applies the alcohol to your skin. it was hardly a substitute for actual bracing to come but it was good practice. when you look up, you catch his gaze again.

he’d been more observant in these last few minutes than you could ever recall sukuna caring before. maybe it was the job. though the thought of him excelling at customer service has you fighting a snort.

“cold,” you supply and he gives another grunt.

he chucks the cotton ball into the trash with all the efficiency of a man who has made a sport out of it and probably keeps score.

deciding on a solid color eliminated the need for him to break away to change shades, eliminating any surplus time keeping you in this chair.

a gloved hand braces your side, pinching the skin, while the other holding the gun rests against your sternum. when the motor starts you take a careful breath in. sukuna’s eyes raise at the sound.

“not nervous?”

you blink, expecting him to just get to it.

“uh, not really? i’ve never really been afraid of needles.”

he pauses. just when you part your lips to ask what wrong the buzzing starts.

its impossible not to tense at the first bite of the needle. but you fight the urge to jerk. it stings. the vibration of the motor is uncomfortable against your ribcage but it's not unbearable. you certainly wouldn't cry.

sukuna seems to notice it as well.

“not going to lie thought you’d be more of a cry baby? weren't you the one sobbing after you stubbed your toe.”

you latch onto the idle chatter even if it's a jibe.

“i was eleven and i sprained that toe.”

he gives you a quick glance. “sure, princess. completely called for the waterworks.”

you snort. “yeah well it made me stronger. im barely affected today.”

your words are followed by a shift of his hand as it turns to follow a line, the movement pressing firmly against the underside of your breast. you're too attentive to the needle pinching at your skin to take notice.

but sukuna does, eyes narrowing without your awareness.

“yeah, i can see that.”

rather than closing your eyes to block out the pain, you find a more comforting distraction in tracing the lines of his tattoos with your gaze. you can hardly make out the first tattoo he’d gotten at the age of seventeen after forging his parents signature. 

the abstract design had now branched out, interlocking with new styles to map out the formation of a sleeve. it was almost like his own branded language. a dialect of bold shapes and bands. you’d never thought to actually ask what his tattoos meant. nor did you expect an honest answer.  

sukuna works rather quickly and efficiently while your mind wandered. even if he hadn’t squeezed you in during his lunch break this felt like the usual pace for him. he looked so in the zone as he followed the pre-made lines to perfection.

you weren’t the model customer, still having your brief moments of weakness but he rolled with the interruptions better than you expected. sukuna was brash growing up and didn’t tolerate nonsensical people. you’d had your fair share of opportunities to be chewed out by him.

and earned a reasonable amount of them, though your returning attitude said otherwise.

but this sukuna was softer, if you could put it like that. he knew the right time to give you breaks but didn’t let your nerves settle too much. when he wasn’t adding a layer to permanency to your skin, an errant finger would smooth over the swelling flesh.

more than once you heard him throw out a quiet good girl. that you knew was meant to be encouraging but it came with additional implications that tickled your skin.

he tells you that you should be grateful that the artwork doesn’t need any shading. that it was never a good fit for beginners.

your chest expands the furthest it had in the last half hour when he finally rolls back.

“alright, princess, go ahead and take a look.”

you take the offered mirror again and angle it to take in the fresh piece. the reflection you get back is- amazing. you’d been so concentrated?? on micromanaging the pain that you failed to take in the little details he’d added along with the original design.

as if reading your thoughts, he snorts. “it's not my art if i don't leave my mark. you can tell me it looks good you know.”

if you didn't know any better, you’d say he was authentic in his attempt to bait your approval.

and you had no reason not to provide.

your legs are a little shaky but you manage to balance yourself before brining the eldest itadori into a hug. sukuna goes stiff for a moment before returning the embrace and doesn’t resist when you press your face into his shoulder. there’s an awkward pat before they release each other from the hold.

sukuna .. before he’s shrugging you off.

“god, what a noob. at least let me cover it up. you’re going to irritate the skin.”

when he turns back to rummage through his desk you note the hint of a flush creeping up his nape. you know better than to mention it, instead just smiling at his back.

there is a scowl on his face as he applies the cotton square to your skin and tapes it in place.

“please do not itch this shit. i don’t care if you feel like your skin is going to fall off.”

he presses a small tube of antibiotic into your hand.

“and apply this daily. you don't need it drying out. “

you’re grateful for the little slip of printed instructions that follow. you were able to remember the sensible directions but it couldn't hurt to have additional guidance when you started to question the progress.

“oh and no sex.”

that was definitely not on the list.

sukuna raises a brow in all seriousness. “what? if you get your blood pumping too much.”

you call him on his bullshit,” this small? hardly. “

he raises his hands in mock surrender. “alright, try it yourself if you want. i charge for touch ups though.”

the two of you size each other up. just like old times.

with a sigh you relent, “fine, no sex.”

“good, see me in two weeks.”

his words stop you short. it wasn’t as if you needed anything added and he wasn’t a physician checking on your progress. if anything, you would only revisit your artist if there was a problem.

“what for?”

the dawning grin would follow you for the next fourteen days.

“to make sure you didn’t have sex.”

[whatisthiswritingthing]

Can They do That? - Christen Press x Hockey!Reader

Prompt: For christen press where the reader plays a different sport(hockey if you can) and Chris and some of the team goes to on of her games and does not understand it at all and somehow the reader gets hurt during the game as well (Like for example different play skate hits the reader ankle when they get pushed up against the glass)

Note: I changed the injury a little bit, hope thats cool. Keep sending requests! 

“What time is puck off?” Sonnett asked the group

“You know it’s puck drop Sonny,” Horan rolled her eyes at the blonde.

“Puck off sounds cooler,” the defender replies with a shrug.

It was a day off for the soccer players during a camp, their day off very conveniently lined up with the same day the national hockey team was playing. Christen had made plans to go watch her girlfriend play, this of course turned into a group outing and now most of the soccer team was in a box above the ice waiting for the game to start.

Christen admittedly didn’t understand hockey as much as she should, especially after dating one for several years. The hockey player had tried several times to explain the game without much luck. Now sitting in a room full of soccer players who also didn’t understand the game made her feel much better.

Even though they didn’t know the intricacies of the sport, they all still enjoyed watching the game. All incredibly impressed at the skill and finesse needed for the brute sport.

“I thought women’s hockey was non-contact?” Ali asked next to Christen, both wincing as they watched Y/N and an opposing player push each other into the boards.

“It is,” Christen trailed off, watching Y/N get pinned against the boards by a substantially larger player.

“Do you think they have practices just on how to get over the boards?” Rose pondered. “And why don’t they just use the door? That seems much more efficient.”

Roses question went unanswered as Y/N was once again pushed along the boards, this time by two larger players. All the soccer players wincing as the sound rattled through the arena.

Y/N was small and fast, she could stick handle like Tobin could juggle. This unfortunately led to Y/N being the target of many defenders. She could easily handle herself, while substantially smaller than most defenders, she knew how to handle the contact, giving as good as she got majority of the time.

Watching Y/N play always worried Christen, she had no fear going against the larger players. Stating she “didn’t check them, she guided them to the boards”. Christen of course didn’t know what she meant but assumed it more aggressive than she made it sound. Still always cringing when she saw her girlfriend get hit particularly hard

With the way the game was going, there was lots of cringing happening. It seemed Y/N was getting hit more and more, her teammates doing their best to draw the other teams attention, but they had their focus set on Y/N. Y/N continued to take the contact, the other team struggling to contain the small center.

“Do you think Y/N will teach me to hit like that?” Kelley asked Christen.

“Pretty sure that,” Alex said, motioning to the ice, “is not allowed in our league. I’m not even sure it’s allowed in this league.”

The arena erupted in yells and hollers, high fives given all around as the US scored late in the first period. Y/N with a cheeky move, having spun and backhanded the puck just on the other side of the goalies outstretched leg.

The team on the ice celebrated, high fives down the bench, and then the game was resetting.

As play progressed, more and more hockey players were sent to the penalty box, leaving the soccer players confused at the calls.

“It’s called a sin bin?” Sonnett yelled, excited after her and Lindsey looked up one of the penalties. “We need a sin bin in soccer!”

“You of all people should not want a sin bin Sonnett,” Sam challenged, “you and Kelley would never leave it.”

“HEY! I heard that!” Kelley attempted to defend herself, “besides, it looks kind of nice. Good spot for a little break, maybe a snack or two.”

“You would want there to be snacks in a penalty box,” Alex rolled her eyes.

“Like you wouldn’t want a snack break here and there during soccer,” Sonnett challenged back.

Christen tuned out the group, focusing on the game and how often Y/N seemed to be getting hit. The Russian team realizing early on in the game the only way to keep up, was to keep Y/N down.  

By the start of the third period, the Russians figured out keeping Y/N down wasn’t working either, she had scored another goal in the second and assisted two others. Y/N was aware of the increased interest and did her best to avoid the contact instead of fighting through it, the defense finding her anyway. Cheap shots being thrown while Y/N was pinned in the corner. One in particular dislodging the cage to her helmet, knocking the helmet off entirely. The Russian player throwing a hard elbow to Y/N face, immediately splitting open the skin, which quickly began to bleed profusely.

The refs quickly intervened, separating the rest of the players attempting to join in. The US players quickly pulling their injured player away from the scrum and towards the bench, blood now covering most of the right side of her face, dripping on the ice and jersey as they went.

Christen was on feet at the edge of the box trying to get a better look at her girlfriend. She knew she had to be alright since the hockey player skated off on her own, but there was just so much blood.

“They can’t do that, right?” Sam questioned softly.

“No Sammy, they definitely can’t,” Mal rubbed her back. The soccer players watching as the entire Russian line was sent to the penalty box along a few US players.

Y/N was immediately taken to the training room, there was no way she was going back. They were winning and the team wasn’t risking any more harm to the forward.

The trainers helped her removed her equipment, they cleaned the large cut and determined she would need stitches. The team doctor quickly setting up to do the stitches, putting in a local atheistic to freeze the wound.

While waiting Y/N finished changing and grabbed her phone, texting her worried girlfriend to ensure she was fine.

           Y/N:                 Soooo I did a thing…

Christen rolled her eyes in the booth when she saw the text her girlfriend sent her, of course she would downplay this. The rest of the soccer players all asking how Y/N was, they liked her and were concerned about her as well. They knew how serious it would be to be taken directly to a training room.

           Christen:          Yeah, I saw your thing babe. Are you ok? How bad is it?

           Y/N:                 I’m good, they are just about to stitch it once the freezing sets in.

                                   I’ll see you back at the hotel after babe, I promise I’m alright.

Christen wanted to press more, she wanted to see with her own eyes that Y/N was alright Y/N always downplayed her injuries though, never wanting Christen to worry more than she already did.

           Christen:          Sounds good love. Let me know when you’re on your way back and I’ll meet you in the lobby.

           Y/N:                 Yes dear.

Christen could sense the sarcasm through the text but knew the hockey player was joking and trying to ease her girlfriends worry.

Fortunately, the two teams were staying in the same hotel and were only separated by a few floors. They didn’t see much of each other, but it was definitely beneficial in a situation like this.

Christen was nervously pacing the lobby, Y/N said she was on her way back and would be there soon. As soon as Y/N walked through the doors Christen was immediately in her arms.

“I’m alright Chris, it’s ok,” Y/N whispered soothingly into Christens ear, rubbing her hand up and down her back.

Christen pulled back, running her thumb along Y/N cheek, resisting the urge to touch the angry looking stiches above her eyebrow. Y/N grasped Christens hand, pulling it to her lips and her knuckles and gentle kiss.

“I’m ok Chris,” Y/N repeated, pulling the woman into a gentle kiss.

“Alright Romeo,” Hilary called as her and more of the hockey players arrived, “I’m ditching the room tonight for you, so you can take your girl up there and quit making out in the lobby.”

The hockey players all laughed while Y/N blushed as they all made their way to their rooms.

“You got a feisty one here Press,” Knight commented, clapping Y/N on her back. “Good thing she had a hard head! Take care of our giri, I really am ditching the room, I’m going to crash with Duggans.”

With a wink, the hockey player was gone.

“Come on lets gets you showered and in bed,” Christen guided Y/N towards the elevator, keeping her hand in Y/N’s the whole time. Snuggling into her chest while the road the elevator.

Once in the room Christen started puttering around to get everything ready for the two of them to shower.

“You really don’t need to shower with me Chris, it’s just stiches,” Y/N protested.

“Are you turning down a chance to be naked in a shower with me? You must have been hit harder than we thought, I should go get your trainers,” Christen joked, moving to step away from the hockey player.

Y/N quick wrapped an arm around Christens waist, while the other went to the back of her neck, pulling her in.

“I am definitely not saying no to you in the shower with me,” Y/N closed the distance, kissing Christen.

The two kissed in the bathroom while the shower heated up, slowly helping each other undress.

Christen gasped when she saw the dried blood still along Y/N chest and shoulder.

“I’m alright babe, I knew I was showering right away so I didn’t work too hard to clean up. I’m sorry, I didn’t think about what you would see.”

The two got under the hot water, Christen taking her time to lather body wash along Y/N’s body, feeling the hockey player loosen under the gentle ministrations. She let out a soft moan when Christen began massaging shampoo in her hair, being cautious not to pull too much to avoid stretching the stitches.

By the time Christen finished, Y/N was exhausted, the effort from the game, the steam of the shower, and the gentle hands of her girlfriend draining her last bit of energy.

Christen quickly washed herself, and helped her girlfriend out of the shower, wrapping her up in a towel first before herself.  She dried her off quickly, letting her get dressed while she did the same.

The two women made their way to the bed, Y/N on her back while Christen moved to lay on her chest.

“Thank you for taking care of me love,” Y/N whispered softly, placing a delicate kiss on Christens head.

“Of course Y/N, you don’t need to thank me, I love you.”

“I love you too.”

Christen stretched up, the two sharing a gentle kiss before she settled back down so the two could do to sleep.

Y/N asleep in seconds, the fatigue finally catching up her.

[felswritingfire]

April Brain Rot #5

Prompts:

4. Adapt

(Detroit Become Human AU) Jack Howl x Reader

Summery: Jack turns deviant and murders your abusive father, now you're on the run, searching for a better future (and you meet some friends along the way).

TW: Violence; Blood; Broken bones mentioned; Mentions of abuse; Death (not reader or Jack); Emotional panic; Running away; Slight angst

Word count: 1,572

A note from Fel: I went feral when my last braincells decided to rub together and come up with this tbh (my girlfriend is my witness, I love her so much ;0;). I hope you enjoy! Because I had way too much fun writing this!

He had been a protector. He was doing what he was made to do. So why? Why did he feel like his circuits were about to overload when he stared at the mess of blood and fragmented bone that covered his closed fist. His ears flicked back at the sound of your labored breathing. Jack looked over his shoulder to see you leaning on your hands and arched legs trembling, the bloody nose and black eye with the dribble of blood leaking out the corner of your lips made him want to rip this man to shreds even more so than he had just done to him. He said the one thing that came to mind: “are you alright?”

The light on the side of his head blinked a yellow as your eyes drifted up to him. He waited for you, praying (an android praying- what a funny thought. Probably a malfunction of some sort) that you wouldn’t leave him. But, instead you looked at the bloodied face that was once your father and back to him before nodding your head slowly. “Y- yeah.”

“Are you positive? Your heart rate is still incredibly high.”

You nod again. “Yeah, Jack, I’ll… I’ll be ok.”

His eyes narrowed at you before he nodded and went to you, slow in his steps and gentle in the way he reached out to you. His ears flicked back at the sight of the blood smearing on your already bloodied clothes, drawing back for a moment. “May I pick you up?”

Your gaze grows watery the longer you look at him. A part of him fighting the urge to… panic? He wasn’t sure but the sense of distress was climbing in the back of his processor. “Please?” Your voice sounds so small as you hold your arms up to him like a child.

The android nods. He hooks his hands under your knees and your back, cradling you close to his chest.

The realization of what happened and what is going to happen weighs in his mind. He’d be considered a deviant for killing a man- an abusive man, but nonetheless he was human. He may end up adding to the end of the J-192 line that was slowly building against him already. He may have been a special edition android and one of a kind- but that doesn’t change what he’s done. And worst of all: he ripped your future straight from your hands (he can feel his chest cavity tighten at the thought, maybe he really needed repairs or he was more deviant than he thought he was).

Everything you worked so hard for- to escape you father by your own devices- and he’d gone and ruined it by snapping when that man had struck you far too many times in front of him. His processor is fuzzy on the details but he remembers how his sharp ears pick up on the sounds of bones caving in on themselves and wet squelch of blood beneath his fist.

As he went deeper into Detroit's streets he caught sight of a fire hydrant that was leaking water. He stopped by it, placing you gently on your feet before running his hands under it, the water turning pink as the blood ran down with it. He cupped his hands, pooling some water in his hands before gesturing with his head to lean down. You did, wincing when you moved too fast, he whined at you. “I’m ok, big guy.”

He nodded before gently splashing the water on your face, wiping the flaking blood off of your skin. His eyes sting with a wetness that he can’t quite place as he thinks (ha- what a funny word to pair with an android): this is how he repays you. After everything you’ve done for him: watching over him when you father had bought him; sharing your hobbies with him no matter if he didn’t understand; always talking with him despite him telling you that you didn’t have to; staying by his side as he began to act… strange: feeling his chest warm when he saw you, the way his face would flush if you got too close to him. He began to feel human and you were helping him learn how to be.

“I’m sorry.” He says suddenly as he pats your face with the bottom of his shirt.

“Why?”

“I should have never asked to kiss you, then you-” he felt himself shudder- “you would have never had to experience that.”

“Jack,” you whisper, resting your hands against his face. “If you asked me- I would do it all over again.”

Jack blinked, his light flickering between a yellow and a red. “... Why?”

“Why did you do what you did?”

“I didn’t want him hurting you! I-I…” he trailed off. Why did he do what he did? He had felt an awful rage build under his skin when he had been witness to it before- but he had never disobeyed the command to stay. That wasn’t supposed to be in his programming. But he had felt something so profound- so molten hot in his chest that he had to protect you because- because- “I would die without you.”

You smile, pressing your palm against his trembling chest. “And I’d die without you.”

He pulls you into a hug, holding the back of your head as he presses his nose against your hair. He can do this. He can do this if you’re by his side.

************************************************************************

It had been a long time of ducking into abandoned buildings and shoplifting food (though Jack wasn’t too thrilled about that- you had learned that he was rather firm on the laws if stealing wasn’t a necessity to you two) but you had stayed together through it all. You had even found two more deviants: Leona and Ruggie.

They had decided to join you two after they almost mugged you and you had hit Leona with a pipe that didn’t do much to the android. He laughed and laughed after that, having to hunch over at how hard he was laughing. Ruggie began to join in and now you were stuck with the two of them as you and Jack made your way out of the city. Jack was quite snippy with them at first, always glowering at the two and barring his fangs when they got too close. Ruggie had come to find this as a sort of game, throwing a casual arm over your shoulder as you talked or pressing his face against yours while explaining that he used to be a ‘nanny droid’ (as he liked to put it). Jack would press between you two, glowering down at the hyena android who just laughed his funny little laugh as he slinked away.

Leona had simply found it as a perfect opportunity to mess with the wolf as he would press his fingers against the back of your neck or would rest his chin on your head when you were busy counting your supplies. Jack would growl at him, shoving against him to take his place of standing behind you.

Though, he grew a profound respect for Leona when he let it slip that he used to be a bodyguard. “Had to watch this annoying brat. It was awful, he never let me rest.” (he might say that, but on more than one occasion, you would catch Leona fiddling with a necklace with a blue feather hanging under the silver circle that served as it’s pendant). And Ruggie simply grew on him- no one being able to resist his lazy eyes for long.

Though now, Jack was happy as he stacks the last of the bags of soil on top of each other in the corner of your store, basking in all the plants that lined the shelves in neat little rows on shelves. You had scraped the money to buy a building, get a business permit and open up a little plant shop in Toronto, Canada through some odd jobs and a collective effort from each of them.

He watched you chatter to some women, never seeing you smile so wide in the time he’s been alive. He pulls at the sides of his beanie, glancing at Ruggie through the crack in the door to the back whose tail wags gently as he tends to the budding plants, Leona sleeping (well, “sleeping”) on the hammock that you had put up for him with the flowers in the back.

He looks back to the little cacti he stood next to, a familiar warmth blooming in his gut. The orange rays of the setting sun illuminates the curve of your face as you go and walk the lady out (who happily holds her lilies and poppies in her arms) and wave to her as she leaves before closing the door and flipping the ‘open’ sign to ‘close’. You sigh before you turn to find Jack looking at you with a smile on his face as he stares at you. You walk to him and grab his hands and rest your head against his chest. “We did good.” You murmur.

He nods. “We did.”

“I love you.”

“I love you too.”

A chorus of over exaggerated gagging brings you and Jack you of the moment and you laugh as Jack turns and yells at a grinning Ruggie and a scowling Leona to: “shut up!”.

<The Next Chosen Character>

Thank you for reading!

[lubdubsworld]

Falling for you( Falling from grace) Jungkook

Falling for you ( Falling from grace) Jungkook

Read Chapter 1 here

Read Chapter 2 here

Read Chapter 3 here

Rated : 18 +

Warning : . Fuck buddies? Or rather enemies that have sex. They just really hate each other but also can’t keep their hands off each other. Fair warning this has no plot. its just them being idiots .

Chapter warning : a little bit of plot just to keep things interesting yeah? 

Chapter 4

The washroom on the seventeenth floor was the unofficial gossip hub and normally I would steer clear of that place but desperate times called for desperate measures. I was pretty sure I looked like I’d been dragged backwards through a hedgerow and I had to get it fixed before I got written up . 

Willing myself not to openly flinch with every step, I tried to curb the trembling in my thighs, almost painfully sensitive to how wet and messy my lower half as. What the fuck had I been thinking. 

When I entered the restroom, I moved to the huge ornate mirror in the center and took a nice long look at myself. 

 I felt my throat seize up in shock.

Good God. 

I looked ten times worse than I felt. The hair in the back of my head was sticking up , four even gaps from where he’d gripped my hair too tight. Yelping, I pulled on the dozen hairpins holding my hair up in a messy bun, letting my hair fall around my shoulders. Panicking , I threaded my fingers through the strands, wincing when I touched my jaw. What the fuck...

I leaned closer, peering at the small abrasion near my chin. It was a bruise, shaped exactly like Jungkook’s thumb. And it was already turning into an ugly shade of puce. 

Slightly hysterical because, Hoseok was so incredibly unbending when it came to office etiquette and  I did not want to get fired, I flipped at the fancy taps, sticking my hand underneath the cold water and splashing it all over my face. 

The door opened behind me and I flinched.

“Oh, hey Areum....” Three of my colleagues walked in . I recognized two of them , Jieun and Hana . The third one looked new.

“Hey...” I croaked out, trying hard not to look like I’d just been fucked to an inch of my life in a supply closet by the boss’ son. 

Oh fuck, what the hell was I thinking? 

The girls moved to the mirror , spreading out across the long counter and pulling out their compacts and lipsticks . I kept my head down, still trying to calm my pounding heart. 

“So let me get this straight, he called you at eleven in the night yesterday and wanted to meet you ? At your apartment?” Hana was saying. 

The new girl was blushing as red as a tomato.

“Yeah...he uh... he told me he was just returning from his training. He’s a boxer.” There’s a shy sort of admiration in her voice and I felt an odd sense of foreboding. 

“Booty call.... He wanted to fuck you for sure.” Jieun said firmly. “ You’re a lucky bitch, Sana... ”

Sana.....

My fingers started trembling when I heard the familiar name. I tried to calm myself down but it was impossible . A red hot sort of rage began licking its way up my spine. It wasn’t new. I knew he fucked other people. We both did. 

but I’d never stood within two feet of one of his conquests. 

“ Yeah...but then he called me like an hour later and said he wasn’t coming around.” Her voice was tinged with disappointment and I felt a sick sort of satisfaction. 

Jungkook had cancelled because of the pic I’d sent him. 

“Maybe he thought he wanted more.... like you told me he asked you to come meet him at practice tomorrow right? To get coffee afterwards... ? Maybe he wants to do this properly....take you out on dates...get to know you....”

I couldn’t stay there a second longer. 

“Ladies...” I bowed quickly and they offered me cheerful smiles. I all but ran out of the restroom, hating the sharp sting of tears somewhere near my lashes. 

I stumbled to the back stairwell, which was mostly unused and usually deserted. Gripping the walls, I slid down to sit on the floor, drawing my knees up to bury my face in. 

There was a reason I didn’t do public sex, I thought, shaking. Despite the way I mouthed off at Jungkook, sex with him always took a toll and I had always, always made sure I had space and time to recover from it. Gripping my thighs and trying to fight the urge to whine, I fumbled with my phone. 

“Areum?”

“Can I have the day off?” I whispered, shaking a little. 

“You alright?” Hoseok’s voice sounded genuinely worried and I hummed.

“ Got my period.” I said blankly. 

“ Gotchu. I’ll fill up the form and get one of the interns to pack your stuff up. You need to get some meds or something? Need a ride home?”

I felt warmth bloom in my chest. This is why Hoseok was such a great HR manager. He genuinely cared. 

“ I don’t need a ride. Or anything else.” I said quickly, “I’ll take a cab...”

There was a slight shuffling and then, an altogether familiar and unwelcome voice in the background went.

“Who’s that?”

Oh fuck. What the hell was he doing there? 

“Areum...hang on, Jungkook’s here....he wants to talk to you...” Hoseok said quickly and before I could protest , I heard Jungkook’s low raspy exhale against my ears.

“Where are you?” He said shortly. 

I considered protesting but remembered that Hoseok was still there. 

“ The back stairwell... I... I’ll come there , I...”

“Stay right there. I’ll come get you.” 

Before I could respond, he had hung up. I stayed on the floor, staring stright at the opposite wall. I forced myself not to think, trying to take deep breaths. The truth was I was exhausted. Physically and otherwise. 

Letting my head fall back against the wall, I closed my eyes, trying not to think about what Id’ heard in the restroom. Was Jungkook interested in Sana? Meeting him at practice? Coffee? 

That just screamed dating to me. I’d always assumed that Jungkook wasn’t into dating. That he just enjoyed quick fucks because that’s all he had ever offered me. So maybe, it wasn’t because Jungkook didn’t want to date. It was because Jungkook didn’t want to date  me. 

 Which was fine. I didn’t want to date him either. I really didn’t . 

“Hey....you okay?”

I had to inhale shakily, just to bring myself to look at him. I felt my heart ache something fierce because he was kneeling in front of me, strands of hair falling into doe back eyes. Eyes that fairly glistened with genuine concern. There was no infuriating smirk or haughty smile....instead his lips were parted in genuine concern, eyebrows furrowed in worry and one hand resting on my knee , fingers just so unfamiliarly gentle. 

I stared at him for another second and smiled evenly.

“Guess I’m gonna be needing that wheelchair after all.” I quipped. 

He stared at me for a second before his face split in a wide grin, a genuine bark of laughter spilling out of him. He looked so carefree and unabashed that I bit my lips, staring at him some more. 

“Let’s get you home , yeah?”

I nodded, letting him grip my arm to help me up. 

“It’s okay. I can walk... “ I said softly and he hummed, but still kept an arm around me and I noticed that he had my handbag slung on the other shoulder.

We reached the elevator and rode down in silence .

I followed him to the basement parking and he fumbled with the smart key to his car , pointing in the direction of the multitude of cars and I watched one of the flashy red ones blink. 

“Let’s go to my place...., yeah?” He said casually and I groaned.

“Jungkook, I know this going to make your ego swell but I’m not joking when I say that I cannot physically take your dick at least for another couple of days.” 

He rolled his eyes. 

“I don’t want to fuck you, God. I’m working on a project for the Art Fest down at the Museum and I’m staying home. You can rest there....” He said casually, moving to put his seat belt on. He fixed the mirrors by prodding a few buttons and I watched the tattoos on his arm flex as he gripped the steering wheel, one arm coming around the headrest of my seat so he could turn and back out of the lot carefully. 

I frowned at the broad shoulders near my face. .

“Why would I rest there? I have a home....” I protested , watching him hold the door open for me. 

“Because I know for a fact that , it being Monday, both your sister and your mother are supposed to be coming over today to cook and clean for you because you have no life skills, “ He grinned and I glared at him, “ . They’ll probably notice the limp and I just thought I’d spare you the humiliation.” 

I didn’t respond because he was right. My mom and sister were home and it would be impossible to get any rest with them around. The fact that Jungkook somehow knew this made me feel jittery and nervous though. 

“You have a fight this weekend?” I blurted out before I could stop myself. 

He kept his eyes on the road, sparing me just one questioning glance.

“How’d you know?” He asked curiously and I bit my lips.

 I’ve been following your boxing career for a three years.

 “ Just heard someone say something at the office...” I said vaguely. 

“You aren’t invited.” He said sharply and I gripped the seats, annoyed.

“I don’t want to be there anyway.” I snapped back. 

He huffed.

“I’m serious about what I do Areum... I don’t want you interfering in that part of my life, alright? We’ve been through this before.”

I sneered at that.

“I know....isn’t that why you literally banned me from your gym. “ 

He didn’t reply and I stared at my hands. 

He had invited that girl, though, my mind supplied helpfully. 

He invited her not only to the gym, to watch him practice, but also for coffee afterwards...you know...to get to know her better....probably because she’s not the kind of girl who would spread her legs as easily as you do.....

 I stared out of the window, remembering how pretty and put together Sana had looked. The dainty walk, the perfect make up and the long hair, styled perfectly. 

I was beautiful too. Of course I was and I knew it. 

Men like Jungkook didn’t go for unattractive women even if it was for a quick lay. But, there’s beauty and then there’s actual charm? I wasn’t charming in any sense of the word. But then, did I have to be charming and attractive and perfect to go see him fight? 

Why?

What about the other people there? If literally anyone could go watch him fight, why wasn’t I allowed? 

“I want to come watch you train....” I said impulsively, my anger getting the better of me. 

Jungkook turned to give me a shocked stare. 

“What? Why?” His eyes narrowed in suspicion and I shrugged.

“No reason.” I said shortly. I could physically feel his irritation build. 

“Areum....” He began , voice holding a note of warning but I refused to back down.

“Literally anyone can visit your gym. You own the thing and you love offering discounts to everyone you meet...and yet somehow, I’m ‘ banned’. Why?” I demanded.

“Because I don’t want you there...That’s a good enough reason for me.” He snapped back and I clenched my fists harder. 

“Well, sucks for you. I’m gonna be there. On the front row. Let me see what’s so great about Jeon Jungkook in the ring that drives women wild...” I scoffed.

He stared at me for a second and then chuckled.

“Ahh..... so you just wanna watch me get wet and sweaty.... ? Understandable.”

I sneered. 

“You have been wet and sweaty on top of me enough times and trust me the novelty has long worn off.”  

He groaned.

“It genuinely feels like anytime I try to be halfway decent human being to you, you repay me by being as annoying as you can....” He said thoughtfully and I couldn’t say anything to that. 

i flinched when his hand reached out, moving to my knees and squeezing /lightly.

“What are you doing?” I frowned slapping at his fingers and he merely moved his hand higher up my thigh. I flinched when he squeezed again.  

“The only time you’re remotely bearable is when I’m touching you....So I’m gonna keep my hand here...” He gave me a smug grin, eyes practically dancing with mirth and I grimaced. 

“I’m still going to come. I want to.” I said firmly. 

He didn’t argue further.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Much to my surprise , I slept away the better part of the day, buried in Jungkook’s soft white sheets , head pillowed in the dozen fluffy throws he kept around. It was vaguely arousing that someone so intensely masculine like Jungkook preferred a comfortable , soft toned bedroom. The sheets smelled exactly like him, a fresh citrusy scent that managed to be soothing and sweet and yet somehow seductively warm as well. 

I woke up to fingers in my hair, lightly stroking. The room was dim, a little bit of light from the streets spilling in through the gaps between the curtains. 

“Areum.... It’s almost eight.... I’m gonna order us something for dinner... You wanna wake up now?” 

His voice. Fuck. 

I rolled over , groggy and disoriented. My eyes took in the splendor that was Jeon Jungkook, taking in the fact that he was only wearing grey sweatpants . I stared at the smooth expanse of his chest, feeling arousal bloom , slow and steady all over me. 

“I wanna suck you off...” I croaked out before I could fully filter my own thoughts.

Jungkook chuckled a bit at that. 

“I’m not gonna say no to that, but why don’t you take a shower and wake up fully.

I shook my head.

“ Let’s get messy first..... we can shower later...” I whined, still blinking and he groaned, slipping into the bed with me, under the covers, grabbing me by the waist and lifting me up till I was on him, my chin resting on his chest as I stared at his beautiful face. 

 What am I doing here? Where is this leading?

“I’ve never seen you like this. “ He commented mildly.

“Like what?”

“Sleepy and horny....Usually you‘re just angry and horny.” 

I shook my head. 

 “I should go.” I said hesitantly.. Jungkook didn’t respond for a few seconds, merely staring at me with a blank look on his face. Then he gave me a slight squeeze around my waist and moved out from under me. .

“I can call you a cab...” He said simply, moving to get up off the bed again. I felt something jump in my throat . It was unlike him to acquiesce so fast, and it was unlike us to just.... hang out without mutual orgasms thrown in the mix and somehow that felt like a change I wasn’t ready for. A bit of panic flashed through and I reached out blindly when he stood up, grabbing his waist and yanking him closer.

I looked up at him, scooting to the edge of the bed and kneeling till I was right in front of him. 

Eager to get things back to normal, I smiled and casually, pressed both my hands behind my back, looping my fingers together at the base of my spine. 

“Get those handcuffs.” 

Jungkook’s dick literally twitched in his pants and he swore.

“Fuck baby....” He grabbed my face roughly, crashing his lips over mine. I kissed back, almost desperate, trying to remember all the reasons why he annoyed me, why this was all we were to each other. A quick fuck, a quick lay, fuck buddies. that's what we were......

“Stay here. Stay right here...Don’t fucking move.” He pulled back and dove for his bed stand. I watched as he pulled out a silky black tie. 

I grinned when he nearly fell, scrambling up on the bed and pushing up behind me. He grabbed the hem of my blouse, yanking it up over my head before grabbing my wrists together again , tying them swiftly behind me. 

“Only you...” He whispered against the back of my neck. “ Only you can do this to me. Drive me wild with want just by fucking existing....” 

And then he was lying down near me, grabbing my waist and jostling me around till I was straddling his waist. It took me a second to orient myself I managed to steady myself, staring down at him in surprise. 

“ Seeing as you said you needed a break from my dick, how about you come sit on my face, today?” He smirked. 

I tested the give on my hands, before carefully leaning down to him

“Sure you have the lung capacity for this , Jeon?” I whispered, lips brushing his as I spoke. 

He responded by gripping my waist hard, easily lifting me up till i was straddling his shoulders. 

“I’m ready to drown in that sweet sweet honeypot, baby...” He winked and it was such a ridiculously bad joke that the laughter got wrenched out of me. 

And just like that , we were back to being us again. Or at least, that's what I convinced myself of. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

AUTHOR’S NOTE : TELL ME WHAT YOU GUYS THOUGHT ....I WANTED THIS TO BE JUST PORN BUT APPARTENTLY I CANT WRITE ANYTHING WITHOUT ANGST FML. 

Also requests open :) 

[thatsassyhufflepuff]

Hello!

It is currently past midnight. I decided to make a post where I’d put all my favorite Dramione quotes so I can look back on them and squeal. That’s all.

✨✨✨

1. “You love fighting with me just as I love fighting with you, that’s why we do it so well.” He smirked down at her and pressed a kiss to her lips. “This house is just as much yours as it is mine, I’m sorry I made you feel anything less than that.” His thumb traced the edges of her lips before she reached up and took his hand in hers.”

2. “Hey, hey, none of that.” He gently admonished, “Granger, I can’t tell you whether or not we moved in too soon. I can say that this feels right, waking up with you, going to bed with you, even cleaning up all the hair you shed in the shower- how are you not bald? I am convinced your hair has magical properties all on its own-'' He grunted when she smacked him in the side. “What I mean is Granger, I want you for a long time, longer than I’ve ever wanted anyone else if I’m being honest. I’d have been kidding myself if I thought falling in love with a swotty pain in the arse Gryffindor would’ve been easy.”

Transformation

happy_valley

—

1. “Expecting a challenge--some tired but emphatic refusal to take Muggle medicine--I braced myself for the inevitable argument. He turned his head to my hand resting on his shoulder, kissed a knuckle, and went back to sleep.

I didn't stop shaking until I reached the Boots.”

2. “and given how I feel about you, you'd think I'd do everything in my power to ruin your marriage. Having him believe it was you acting on his behalf, seizing an opportunity that was tailor-made for him will not get me what I want. Sadly, the opposite is also true. I know you don't believe me, but I actually thought making him happy would make you happy.”

3. “I am not most women," I pointed out. "Hence the slapping."

"No, I admit they broke the mold when they made you. That's why I'm absolutely madly in love with you. Head over heels. Dizzy with desire. Crazy--”

4. “He shrugged and his mouth flattened into a line. "It's been a grim few months. I'm only human. Have I told you that I love it when you're stern with me? Your mouth gets all prissy and adorable. Like you've eaten a sweet lemon. A silly metaphor but somehow apt." He pursed his lips”

5. “Someday I hope you'll look at me, and I won't see that half-second of disgust with which your gaze always greets me. Anyway, it's not true. I want you because I love you.”

6. “He kissed me on the forehead and then despite his previous admission, he wrapped me in an embrace, his breath hot against my ear. "I love you. I know you don't believe me, but I do. And aside from the fact you are beautiful and smart and articulate and sexy, most importantly, you're the only person I know who has the guts and determination to stop me from becoming my father."

The Politician's Wife

pir8fancier

—

1. “After what felt like a lifetime and at the same time a split second, they parted, gazing into one another’s eyes with the passion they both felt. Hermione’s eyes implored him to say what she wanted him to say – that this wasn’t the end, that they would have another chance, that he wouldn’t give up – but he couldn’t lie to her. He would never lie to her.”

2. “Hermione just stared at the floor, biting her lip and feeling as though every dream she had ever had had been crushed. Maybe it had. “I wanted to save you,” she whispered, finally meeting his gaze. “I wanted to save you.”

Draco stepped forward, taking one moment more to touch her face with the back of his hand and memorize the deep brown of her eyes. “You did,” he said simply.

And there was no more to be said”

3. “Draco didn’t let her finish. His hands cradled her head as he kissed her, softly as first just like the night before, and then harder, with more passion and intensity. She returned the kiss with everything in her might, trying to say what she wanted to say – “I love you” – without words”

4. “She wasn’t going to give up though. Hope was in front of her now, and she had almost been afraid that such a thing was lost to her forever. Draco may have given up on saving himself, but Hermione wasn’t about to do the same. She loved him – that she knew for sure – and she was going to make sure Draco got his second chance.

She’d die before she let anything tell her otherwise.”

5. “I’m not leaving without you,” she said firmly. He didn’t reply, just set his mouth in a firm line. She wished she could make him feel what she felt – a certainty that this wasn’t the end for him, that she was going to fight until her last breath to give him the freedom he had suffered for. She wanted to reach out and hold him, to cradle his face in her hands and tell him that they would make it to the end together.

“This is your time, Hermione,” he said, reaching out and taking one of her hands in both of his. “This is what you’ve been waiting for.”

“It’s your time, too,” she said, and she hoped she sounded as confident as she felt. “This is your second chance.”

6. “Draco gave her an imploring look, gripping her upper arms and forcing her to look right into his eyes. “Hermione, you know how I feel. I’ve never told you, but you must know. So when I tell you that dying for you and your cause and my cause is the closest I’ll ever get to being whole again, believe me.” He paused, reaching his hand up to push the straggling bangs out of Hermione’s eyes. “You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me, Hermione Granger, and I can never thank you enough. So just let me help you in the only way I know how.”

7. “Hermione could feel tears forming in her eyes, and she quickly reached up to pull Draco into her arms. He held onto her tightly, trying to memorize every detail of her for the last time. When they pulled away, Draco swallowed the lump in his throat as he looked into her warm brown eyes. There’s never enough time for us.”

8. “You may not have forgiven yourself,” Hermione whispered to him, laying her face against his shoulder as he shook with sobs. “But we already have. One day, you’ll learn to see yourself the way we do.”

Bittersweet and Strange

UndiscoveredQueen19

—

“Hermione, I love you." She didn't smile, she didn't say anything back either. She just kept looking up at him. He wondered she even heard him. He knew it was wrong to say it in this moment, but he didn't know if either of them would survive. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you until now. But I love you. So much." He kissed her forehead.”

A Future Uncertain

LightsWrites

—

“Suddenly, Draco laughed, a bitter, self-deprecating laugh. “You’re going to make me say it, aren’t you? Well, I guess it’s the least I owe you.”

He leaned closer to her, looking straight into her eyes, and she suddenly felt the urge to draw back and run away. She made herself sit still.

“I love you, Hermione. I think I have for a long time,”

Seven Years and a Day

Dark Rose

—

“She was half expecting him to just walk through the door but Draco surprised her when he suddenly turned around and returned to her side. She lifted an eyebrow but before she could say anything, Draco drew her into a hug.

“Goodnight.” His whisper tickled her ear.

She could barely return his hug when Draco pulled away with an impish grin. She knew he knew she was going to think of him for the rest of the night. ‘Darn it. Bloody Draco Malfoy.”

A cornucopia of noncoincidences

muffin_reverie

—

“Draco..." She felt a little uneasy.

"I love you." He had said it before, but the words had never sounded so fierce. "I won't let him hurt you.”

Alternate History

Furare

—

���You’re beautiful and compassionate and funny and… I know you probably hear it all the time but you’re brilliant and I plan on telling you that every bloody day. You make me want to buy a shop and sell potions and make my own way in this world doing something I love and something I excel at, but it’s more than that it’s… it’s…”

She waited him out.

“It’s bells on a hill with you, Granger.”

Bells on a Hill

HeyJude19

—

1. “Draco opened the door the rest of the way and pulled her into his arms; he held her tightly as if he would never let her go, as if he could push all the hurt away. She could feel his heart beating and its constant rhythm soothed her, as did the steady rise and fall of his chest. Gradually her sobs slowed, then stopped. She pulled away from him, wiping her eyes.

"Do you want us to stay?" he asked quietly. She shook her head, and he tilted her chin so their gaze met. "Hermione, will you be okay today? Tell me the truth. I hate that we're leaving you alone today."

She looked into his eyes and saw deep concern and worry. "Yes," she said weakly. "Thank you."

Draco wrapped her in his arms again, then released her and leaned down and kissed her forehead. "See you soon." He turned and left her standing there before he lost the ability and the resolve to leave.”

2. “Harry scrunched his nose in distaste. "How can you watch that rubbish?"

"It's actually really good, Potter."

"Whatever." Harry studied Hermione. She looked so peaceful that it hurt him to think of what was ahead for her, for all of them, really. "She's beautiful."

Draco looked at her as well, and without thinking about what he was doing, said, "Yeah, she is.”

3. “Hermione scowled and continued to hit him, but stopped yelling. Draco carried her into the house, up the stairs, and into her room. He set her down on the bed. She tried to get up; he grabbed her wrists and held her down.

She struggled, but when she looked into Draco's eyes, she saw they were wet. She lay still, holding his gaze.

"Don't make me Immobilize you."

She nodded. He released her wrists and took one of her hands in his. "I promise to come back, if you promise to stay," he said softly.”

4. “He kissed her with everything he had, all the fear, longing, pain, and joy he felt. He kissed her because he was scared to die, and he too wanted to see where this would go. He kissed her because of the secrets he kept from her, willing her to trust him, to believe him, to know that he would tell her. He told her he loved her, he would do anything for her, would die for her, would even try to live for her.”

We Learned the Sea

floorcoaster

—

1. “You are mine, Hermione, I don’t want anyone mistaking you for single again or even thinking of trying to coax you away from me.” He laid his hand on her cheek, his thumb brushing over her bottom lip. “Granger…Hermione…I love you.”

2. “The look of shock on her face matched his own. He hadn’t meant to say that, hadn’t even realized that he had those feelings for her, that he would recognize them as such. He was in unfamiliar waters and suddenly scared to death. He meant them, he loved her, and it terrified him because he had never loved anyone before.”

Something In the Way She Moves

Snapes_Godess

—

“Draco leaned forward, pressing their foreheads together and nuzzled her nose.

“Take it. Take my heart, and take the remainder of my soul as well. You can even filet my heart and crush my soul if you wish. It doesn’t matter, since in actuality, they’ve probably been already yours to break for a very long time.”

5 am, waking up

mysterious_intentions

—

“The deflated bits of his countenance inflated with her admission, until he felt as though he would float through the air. Moving his hands along the curves of her sides, he pulled her flush against his chest. "I love you, Hermione."

The admission left him in a single breath, causing Hermione to arch her back so that she could look him in the eye. She searched his depths, seemingly inspecting for any sign of deception. Finding none, a smile spread across her face. "I love you, too.”

I Carry Your Heart

TheMourningMadam

—

[portiaadams]

Meyer and Charlie Smut

I wrote Lanskiano smut. It’s embedded in my Richard Harrow/Clara Thompson story. For those who don’t care about Richard and my OC, here is Charlie and Meyer having a moment

December 31st, 1921

The sound of the engine and the clacking of the train against the rails filled the room, but could not overcome the roaring silence between the room's inhabitants. Charlie adjusted his legs once more, trying to find some way to fit them on the single bed. God damn it, this was a bed for a child not a grown fucking man. The Darmody kid was probably too big for it.  Charlie wasn't sure how long he'd been awake-this time-but it was one of many things really pissing him off.

From the larger bed there was a quick flash of light and then the scent of sulfur and tobacco. "I offered to take that bed," Meyer said after a slow exhale.

"Them shoulders of yours wouldn't have even fit," Charlie groused.

Determining Charlie's mood came as naturally to him as determining the weather before he stepped off his stoop. Certainly, Charlie's moods could be as mercurial as the weather. And at the moment, Charlie's mood registered as stormy.

"Charlie," Meyer began.

"Can it, Meyer," Charlie answered and swung his legs off the bed, stumbling in the dark for his own cigarettes and lighter.

"You are being irrational," Meyer responded.

"That brutto figlio di puttana bastardo was up your ass all night. You enjoyed though, didn't ya?"

Meyer sighed. Charlie acted like he was the only one who wanted. Meyer's first memory was wanting. Wanting enough to eat, wanting a warmer fire, wanting. Those years when his father was gone and he did all a kid could do to keep his mother and siblings fed and warm.

But wanting. Wanting in America was sharper, brighter, different. There was so much more to want. From the moment he stepped off the ship he moved as fast as his little legs would carry him. He moved to learn English, to get out of the classroom full of tiny children and catch up with his peers, he moved to learn the streets and determine how to make money any way he could. He moved as fast as he could because he knew the goal was to leave the Lower East Side behind him. To move fast enough that one day he could even outrun wanting.

But nothing, not a lifetime of yearning for acceptance and security, held a candle to his ever-present need for Charlie. There was no part of him that did not want every part of Charlie. And as much as his wants dictated every carefully crafted move of his life, there was nothing he wanted more than Charlie. In his life, in his office, in his bed. Even if it made no sense. Even if it had no place in his plan.

"He was circling round you like a bitch in heat," Charlie continued.

"The way Gillian Darmody circled around you? The way the chorus girls do?" Meyer snapped back. He spent years, he spent agonizing nights, watching Charlie charm women whose desire for him was as clear as the powder on their faces.

"That's different, and you know it well as me."

"How?"

"They're broads, Meyer! It don't matter like..." Charlie stopped talking, not knowing how to put into words what mattered. They was just broads. They wasn't in his mind like Meyer was. Even Meyer wasn't with him he could still hear the little addin' machine in his head, telling him to be smart. Telling him to think.

Being with those women was like grabbing a dog from a cart and eating it on the street. Scratched the itch of need. Satisfying enough at the moment.

Being with Meyer was different and Meyer damn well knew it. They was friends and they was more and when more changed to be even more...It ain't like people understood their friendship anyway. The Jew and the Italian.  They was supposed to be mortal enemies, not friends for life. Not...whatever they was.

"I gotta keep up appearances," Charlie said because that was also a true thing. He hadn't told Meyer that Clara knew. No need to introduce complications. They was careful. They was always careful. "That's why I can't believe you let the guy get near you like that."

Meyer shook his head. "Charlie, he's married. To Lady Rose. I think he's just an adventurer."

"Yeah. I know what adventure he's after," Charlie responded.

"A man like that..."

"What? You think you ain't good enough for a fonferer like that cercatore d'oro? What, you just good enough for the likes of me, that it?"

The petulance in Charlie's voice was so familiar. "Charlie, come here."

"Mey, I ain't in the mood."

Meyer doubted that. Charlie was rarely not in the mood. "Charlie," he said again.

Charlie heard the gruff tone in Meyer's voice. He was angry, he was still angry, but that tone in Meyer's voice always did the same thing to him. Instinct drove him to Meyer's side.

Didn't mean he wasn't still angry, though. He sat next to Meyer silently. One man wearing an undershirt that buttons with sleeves that come down to his elbows, although the width of his shoulders and upper arms often mean the seams ripped and tore and stretched due to the strain placed upon them. The other man wore the new kind of undershirt-knit, sleeveless, no buttons.

Charlie told Meyer all the time he should switch. Be more modern. But Meyer couldn't quite break away from tradition in some matters.

"There will always be others, won't there, Charlie?" Meyer asks, and even though he knew the answer for a moment he willed Charlie to lie to him. "After all, we'll have to marry one day, won't we?"

"I ain't. Look at Harrow and Clara."

Meyer turned to stare at Charlie. Personally, he thought Harrow had chained himself to a klafte in pearls. But the man seemed to love her. And Clara seemed as happy as he thought her capable of being.

"Harrow seems content enough."

"That ain't the thing, Mey. They love each other. But we all know how this ends. Clara sobbing over a morgue slab with Darmody's brat and a baby or two besides clinging to her. I ain't gonna do that to a woman."

Such a delicate jaw in such a strong face, Meyer thought idly before bringing Charlie's face to his. Charlie didn't fight it, and soon their mouths were finishing the disagreement. Charlie fell first-Charlie always fell first-letting his mouth open and Meyer plunder its depths.

Charlie's mouth tasted of hot honey and something deeper, sweeter, more savory. It was the taste and sensation he spent a lifetime chasing down in penny candy bins and bakeries and sweet shops. Much like with the candy he had kept in his pockets from the first time he had spare pennies, he knew he'd never have enough of it.

It was the sweetness he'd always craved.

The hard, taut muscles of Charlie Luciano's body, the ones that struck fear around the underworld (and occasionally in the upper echelons) of New York went soft and loose as something else grew hard. Without realizing it, Meyer turned Charlie so he was on his knees, his head laying on the soft Irish linen pillowcase embroidered with the ever-present P.

Meyer's left hand drifted over the hard muscles of Charlie's stomach down to the mother of pearl buttons on Charlie's beloved silk boxers. His fingers drifted over the buttons but didn't try to undo them. Instead, he reached down to the impossibly soft skin of Charlie's inner thigh and began drawing lazy circles. His right hand combed through Charlie's thick dark curls before yanking sharply so Charlie had to turn his face to Meyer to save his hair, their faces so close they were breathing in each other's breaths.

"Tell me, Charlie. Tell me why I'm different from Gillian and those broads."

Charlie's breath was hot and fast. "God damn it, Mey. Just touch me."

"Tell me the things I do to you I'll never do to Dennis Malley," Meyer said, his hand cupping over Charlie's bulge momentarily before going back to stroking his inner thigh.

"You do lots of stuff I'd fucking kill anybody else for," Charlie said, knowing they were journeying into uncharted territory. "You knot up my god damn hands with your tie."

Meyer leaned over so his face was against the smooth back of Charlie's neck, wanting to inhale Charlie's scent, wanting to inhale Charlie. "Yes, true. What else," he asked while his hand slid under the paisley silk to caress the very tip of Charlie's cock.

Charlie tried to push his hips into Meyer's fingers but Meyer removed his hand from Charlie's hair and grabbed him around the hips. "Don't even try it," Meyer whispered harshly.

"You put your prick in my mouth and push it in until I choke. You like it when I choke."

True, Meyer thought, because who wouldn't want Charlie on his knees? Who wouldn't want to see those pretty lips wrapped around their cock? He rewarded Charlie with a quick tug that made both of them momentarily forget to breathe.

"You make me grab my own prick and you watch. Sometimes you put your fingers in...god damn it, Meyer, you know where you put your fingers."

For a moment Meyer's hands brushed back against the buttons. What did it matter, he decided, Charlie bought his silk underwear by the gross. He yanked on them so hard that the mother of pearl buttons scattered across the thick antique rug. Filled with a need to feel the silky soft flesh of Charlie's back under the thick fur of his chest he first pushed up Charlie's undershirt until it was wrapped around Charlie's shoulders before Meyer sat back on his own knees to more carefully remove his own underthings. After all, he'd spent good money on them. No need for carelessness.

"For our mutual benefit you should continue," Meyer growled, fighting the urge to have Charlie right now.

Charlie licked his lips. Meyer was leaning over him to grab something from the bag on the floor, causing Meyer's dick to press against his lower back. It gave him some satisfaction to realize Meyer was as hard as he was. He writhed under Meyer and was rewarded by Meyer groaning above him. He heard the sound of glass and the knowledge of what was in Meyer's hand made precum start leaking out of the tip of his dick.

"You put on oil on your fingers and then you put oil on me and sometimes you put oil on my hand so I can rub it on your dick," Charlie finally managed to say.

Meyer's hand was covered with oil as it started massaging the top of Charlie's ass. Charlie groaned as Meyer's fingers slipped into his crack.

The light coming in the edges of the curtains was changing but Meyer was too distracted by the sight in front of him to think about what that meant. He was intoxicated by the scent, sight, and feel of Charlie. "What else?"

The linen of the pillowcase was now being crushed between Charlie's fingers. The fuck if he was going to ruin this moment like a damn kid. "You put me on my side," Charlie continued after taking a deep breath and Meyer moved him so quickly he fell onto his side with a thump.

After positioning Charlie's legs to his liking Meyer continued to let his hand move down.

"You push your fingers inside me," Charlie managed to gasp out as he felt one of Meyer's fingers breach him. "Mey, your fingers are so fucking thick."

Meyer lowered his mouth onto the top of Charlie's shoulders, his own breath coming at an incredibly thick pace, overtaken by the need to taste Charlie's flesh salty and warm under his tongue. Neither man noticed the bedside clock striking six.

Nor did they notice the train was no longer rocking beneath them.

With great care Meyer worked in a second finger and started scissoring, looking for the spot that always made Charlie howl.

Charlie howled. Meyer pressed harder.

"God damn it, Meyer, god damn it..." Charlie pleaded.

"Say it," Meyer begged, his breath hot against Charlie's ear, the game having rebounded until his need was as raw and urgent as Charlie's own.

"I want you, Mey, please," Charlie finally sobbed out. "You fuck me, you fuck me, holy mother of god please just fuck me."

"Charlie, god," Meyer breathed out, his heart hammering in his chest.

The words falling from Charlie's mouth dissolved into nonsense. For a moment their faces were pressed together, letting Meyer feel the pulse in Charlie's temple in the bones of his own face.

Once more Meyer pressed his fingertips against Charlie's jaw and their mouths opened to each other. There was no more dominance or one-upmanship. Instead, there was the slow slide of their mouths melding together until Meyer can no longer determine where he ends and Charlie begins.

One hand gripped Charlie's hip, holding him in place. Meyer could feel the tenseness in Charlie when he first breached him and the pain hit, but after a moment he could feel Charlie's muscles relaxing under his hand.

"I gotta move, tesoro," Meyer finally breathed out.

One of Charlie's hands braced against the soft mossy velvet of the headboard while his other reached back for any part of Meyer he could touch. It didn't matter that Meyer was ever so slowly moving ever deeper inside him. He needed more. He wanted everything.

"Move, libster. Damn it, move," Charlie answered, his hand finally finding Meyer's ass to pull him closer, to pull him further in.

Time lost meaning. Seconds, minutes, hours, days fell away. There was just this. Meyer's hand finally came around to touch Charlie in the way Charlie had wanted since the game began, since time began.

Finally, they fell into the soaked sheets, the ruins of Charlie's underthings trapped beneath them, their legs and hands twisted together, both of them breathless and boneless. Their faces were still pressed together and as Meyer relaxed back into sleep he realized their faces were wet.

He wasn't sure who had cried.

[kythed]

synopsis: it’s a tragic case of boy meets girl, boy likes girl, girl has a boyfriend. [un]luckily for you, semi doesn’t play by the rules... and you don’t really want him to.

tagged: semi eita x reader, fluff, mediocre writing.

commitment level: 2,583 words.

table of contents | next chapter >>

They say young love is a rite of passage. They say it’s fresh and light, it’s wading in the shallows of a swiftly flowing river and letting the deliciously frigid water take you wherever it flows. They say young love comes easily. 

But they don’t tell you youth is not a remedy for pain. They don’t tell you the cold of that water burns your skin, too — it leaves your fingertips numb and kisses your palms an angry red. They say “it’s just puppy love,” but they don’t tell you puppies grow into wolves. 

+

You’re eighteen when you first meet Semi Eita, and he’s twenty-two. It’s not a highly significant age gap, but it’s noticeable enough. 

“She’s a baby,” he says, eyes grey as the southern sea and just as unforgiving. Though he’s young, the weight of an iron giant rests on his slender shoulders. 

“She’s talented, Semi,” says Akamine, tone wheedling. He fiddles with the lapels of his coat — it’s Italian, all cream silk and bronze buttons. “She’s capable.” 

Twenty year old Akamine Keo is a trust-fund kid, born into the arms of an oil empire he’ll someday fall heir to. He’s charming, clever, and sweet, with distinctly expensive good looks, fine features and black hair like raven’s feathers. He also happens to be your boyfriend. 

“That means nothing,” Semi says, peering into your face. An uncomfortable chill tickles the back of your neck as you fight the urge to look away. “There are toddlers who can shred Led Zeppelin, but they’re not musicians. They’re puppets controlled by overzealous tiger moms. They can’t take the heat of the real industry.”

“I can take the heat.” Your words bleed out heavy and sharp, a rough gash through the palpably thick tension. Fingernails leaving painful half-moons on your palms, you clench and unclench your fists down at your sides. “And I can sure as hell shred better than any toddler.”

For a split second, surprise flashes across Semi’s face, only to be quickly replaced by a wry smile. “Brave.” 

You stare at him, lips sucked in and eyes narrowed as Akamine slings an arm over your shoulders and presses a kiss to your temples. 

“See?” he says with a laugh. “She’s talented, capable, and brave.”

“Well,” says Semi, drawing the word out. He cocks his head, giving you one last hard once-over, before extending a hand for a firm shake. “We’ll see. I’ll give you two months. A trial.” 

You accept this compromise, returning the shake. Semi’s still skeptical, you can tell, but you make a vow to yourself — you’re about to blow this sonuvabitch out of the water. As Akamine crows in delight, Semi’s eyes don’t leave yours. 

Good luck, they seem to be saying. You’ll need it. 

You smile, and he smiles back. 

I won’t. 

+

Semi’s a phenomenal bassist. When you’d first started dating Akamine and he’d just joined Semi’s band, he could scarcely shut up about it — “His name’s Semi Eita, and I swear he’s got magic in those fingers, babe.” 

Well, Semi Eita’s about to be dethroned, because your fingers are magic, too. 

For those two months, you’re the band’s lead guitarist, and you pass Semi’s test with flying colors. It takes a couple weeks to fall into step with the other guys — Semi on bass, Akamine on drums, and a quiet college kid called Yasuda on keys — but you’re a quick study, and soon you’re a cornerstone, expertly weaving searing arpeggios of dashed dreams and fiery hopes up and down the band’s underlying tunes. 

(You should’ve seen it coming.)

You and Semi somehow become co-songwriters. He has a knack for melodies, and you have a knack for lyrics. Akamine doesn’t seem to mind the long hours you spend in Semi’s company, working in a whirlwind of messy notes and empty energy drink cans — he trusts you. 

(Sometimes you feel like maybe he shouldn’t.)

“What do you think of this?” Semi says, idly twirling a pencil between his fingers. It’s 10pm on a Friday night, and you’re stretched out on his couch, inhaling chow mein from a greasy paper box. “For the second verse, I mean.” 

“Lemme see,” you say around a mouthful of noodles, snatching the paper from his hand. You furrow your brow. “‘Tear me open like a scarlet letter, cruelly addressed ‘return to sender…’’ Jeez, Semi. Who hurt you?” 

Semi scowls. “It’s a breakup song, isn’t it? It’s supposed to hurt.” 

“You might consider being a little more… subtle,” you suggest, offering him a fortune cookie. He takes it and sets it aside.

“Heartbreak isn’t subtle,” he says, shooting you a look that speaks of throbbing phantom wounds. “It cuts deep. All the way down to the heart. Hence the name heartbreak.” 

“Wow. I had no idea,” you say drily. You swing your legs over the couch and sit upright, snatching his pencil. “I just think we should tackle this with nuance, not just write another ‘eff you’ ballad.” 

“This world can always use another ‘eff you’ ballad,” Semi says humorlessly, resting his chin in his hand. 

You regard his suddenly silent demeanor as he stares, unseeing, out the window. It’s dark outside, and it’s a darkness that speaks less of peaceful sleep and more of emptiness. 

You sigh, nudging him with your foot. “What was her name?” 

“What?”

“Her name. This demon of a girl that hurt you so badly.” 

For a moment, it seems he’s going to argue, to deny ever being afflicted with something so childish as lovesickness. Then he runs a defeated hand through his hair and shakes his head, laughing. “You’re too curious for your own good.”

You wait. There’s a brief, uncomfortable silence as Semi chews his lip.

“...Her name was Aiko,” he says finally, inspecting his nails with a faux nonchalance. “Smokin’ hot. Met her in music school three or so years ago, I think — she was a TA, a few years older than I was.”

“Older women, huh?” you tease. This is new territory — you’re dipping a toe into the forbidden arena of flirtation. A shadow of guilt creeps into the back of your mind as you think of Akamine, but the bright light of Semi’s crooked grin swiftly flushes it away.

“Yeah,” he says, leaning over to flick your leg. “I don’t date babies like you.” 

“Maybe you should consider it,” you say, unthinking. Semi stares at you, eyebrow raised, and you flush, frantically backtracking. “Not me specifically. I’m just saying — well, I mean, ‘cause this Aiko chick was such a bad time and everything.” 

“If you have a crush on me, just admit it,” Semi says. You’re sure it’s meant to come across jokingly, but the way he’s eyeing you twists your stomach into a pleasurable knot. Then he sighs, leaning back on his arms. “She was a great time, actually. It’s the ending that sucked ass.” 

The question lingers at the tip of your tongue, hesitant like an ill-trained acrobat, but before it even attempts the leap, Semi answers.

“It burned.” He looks straight at you, and you can taste the bitterness in his words. “It burned, and not a day goes by that I can’t remember how awful it felt.” 

+

That’s the first of the many secrets you trade with him. 

Later that night, you tell Semi about your first kiss, about how the recipient smelled like Old Spice and tasted like chapstick, how he walked you to your front door and introduced himself to your mom. About how he took your virginity six months later, and how you soon realized there are some things in life you don’t get an exchange receipt for. 

Semi tells you his favorite color is green, and that outer space scares him more than anything. (He doesn’t like thinking about life in other galaxies because he can hardly handle thinking about life right here.)

You tell him you like milk tea with 75% sweetness, and he promises he’ll take you to his favorite cafe sometime. (“Not a date,” he assures you, and you internally scold yourself for wishing it was one.)

He says he once accidentally kicked a stray cat while trying to find a volleyball he lost in the bushes near his house, and that’s why he considers himself a cat person now: as repentance. (He has a pet cat called Haru, and he shows you a picture — Haru is small and black with bright yellow eyes. You say he’s cute, but Semi corrects you: “Not cute. Fierce.”) 

You say you used to wish life had a restart button, so you could turn back time and dance through each year without making a single mistake.

Semi says he still wishes that. 

(Another thing they don’t tell you is how secrets are really currency. Secrets can’t help but pay for familiarity, and familiarity often leads to something more.)

+

It’s a couple weeks later when you have your first gig. It’s at a bar downtown, and Yasuda nabs fakes for you and Akamine, though you don’t plan on drinking. Not much, anyways. 

(Speaking of Akamine, your relationship with him has grown strained over the past month. He’s stretched himself thin between the band and his business degree, and you — well, whenever your phone pings, you can’t stop hoping it’s from Semi.)

Five minutes before show time, Semi turns to you, eyes wide. “We don’t have a band name.” 

“What?”

“We don’t have a band name.” He looks around, frantically trying to draw inspiration from something in the dimly lit bar. “Quick, think of something.” 

So you think for a moment, chewing your inner cheek, before reaching out and tugging on Semi’s sleeve. “Paper.”

“Paper?”

“Paper.”

Paper is fragile, it’s thin, it’s easy to come by. But it’s also a world of potential on one sheet, a story waiting to be written. 

When the bar owner walks onto the stage and introduces the band, you know you’ve made the right decision. And from the glittering smile Semi flashes you before nodding at Akamine to count you in, you know he thinks so too. 

The show goes on without a hitch, and even though the bar is far from packed, you’re just as proud as you’d be playing in a stadium of screaming fans. The air smells of stale whiskey and fresh beginnings, and as your fingers dance up and down your Gibson’s fretboard, you hear colors — rich teal, smooth mahogany, creamy gold and silver brighter than the stars. Akamine keeps the rhythm like a war drum, and Semi, as always, is perfect. Yasuda, doubling as the main vocalist, sings until his voice gets wonderfully low and raspy, keyboard taking some of the heat as he grins back at you, mouthing how badly his throat hurts.

You’re sweaty when the set’s done, and Akamine buys you a drink, giving you a quick, half-hearted kiss and a tired smile.

Akamine’s always been kind to you.

“I gotta go,” he says, squeezing your hand. “Essay due tomorrow at ten.” 

He looks so genuinely sorry to leave, you almost feel guilty. 

+

You’re packing up your amps into the back of Semi’s van, alone in the parking lot save for the moon many miles above, hanging bright and full in a clear sky. The moon has seen all your most indulgent sins, and she’s going to see one more tonight.

“You did well.” Semi heaves the last of the equipment into his truck before turning to you, wiping his palms on his jeans. “Consider me impressed.”

“Why, thank you,” you say, giving him a mock bow. “So glad I’ve finally managed to impress the Semi Eita.” 

He regards you for a moment, arms crossed. A small sigh escapes his lips. It’s both a sigh of resignation and one of anticipation. 

Then, in one smooth motion, he steps close, reaches out, and pulls you close by the waist. 

You stare up at him, all too aware of the heat radiating from his body. His skin is burning, and his cologne is different from Akamine’s — it’s not expensive, it’s not a multilayered, deep, woody scent. It’s cheap, the sort of cologne a struggling musician can afford, but it smells of home.

“Forgive me for what I’m about to do,” he whispers, sliding a hand up your jaw to cup your face. His hair glows silver and ghostly under the streetlamps. 

“And what are you about to do?” Your voice is deadly quiet, and your chest feels a deathly cold despite Semi’s proximity, refusing to thaw as you await his answer. 

“Kiss you absolutely senseless.” 

Semi’s never been one to make empty promises, and right now is no exception. He presses his lips to yours and you immediately melt into his arms, suddenly craving him and only him. You’re not entirely sure how you’ve managed to avoid devouring him whole up until this point, because he kisses like Eros, full of pomegranate seeds and crimson blossoms, of days spent in clandestine bliss. He kisses like a man on death row, desperate and longing, hands squeezing your waist like your body is his only anchor to life itself. 

Semi Eita wants to be a rockstar, but right now he’s just a boy kissing a girl he’s bound to fall deeply, inexplicably in love with. 

When he finally breaks away, you’re breathless, staring up at him like you’ve just seen an angel. Your hands are still curled in the front of his shirt, you’re still standing on tiptoe, lips just inches from his. 

“Semi…” You swallow hard. “Akamine’s a good guy… I can’t.”

Semi tenses his jaw, taking a finger to lift your chin. “Then why are you looking at me like that?” 

Your voice is barely above a whisper. “Like what?”

“Like you’re hungry.” 

He’s got you there. 

You’re standing on a balance beam splitting two vastly different worlds. On one side there’s the known: Akamine and his bright, blue-eyed optimism, his willingness to shoulder burdens he shouldn’t have to. There’s his sweet touch and soft kisses, his firm words of reassurance and his sunny laughter shedding light on your hidden depths. 

The known is comforting. It’s familiar. 

But on the other side… there’s the unknown. There’s Semi Eita in all his scalded glory, his sharp tongue and headstrong determination. There’s his burning touch, his fingers leaving scorch marks on your cheek and his lips depositing glowing embers in your mouth, ready to ignite at a single inflammatory word. There’s his moonstone enigma, the shadow underlying his every sentence like smudged eyeliner. 

The unknown is frightening, almost overwhelmingly so… but there’s something in you, something willful and terribly thirsty, that draws you to this unknown and the possibility of knowing it. 

“Because I am.” 

And you grab his face and pull it down to yours, impatient, frustrated by months of dancing around that painfully tangible attraction, that magnetism — finally, you allow yourself to fall, hurtling through a chasm of fallen stars and ancient suns, hanging on to nothing but Semi and his carefully guarded secrets. 

You kiss him hard, pouring your soul into his mouth, all your youthful doubt and hope. You knot your fingers in his hair, and he pulls you into his chest, pressing your body so close it’s as if he wants to make it a part of himself. 

And when you part for the second time, chest heaving, you know you’ve fallen completely, entirely, without a doubt. 

[barbasbodaciousbeard]

Bring your Daughter to Court Day and Dad Friends

Summary: Rafael tries to multitask, miscommunicating the date he direly needs a sitter to Lucia, which means Catalina has to accompany him to court last minute. He manages to maintain his serious demeanor as well as he can, rewarding the well behaved little one with ice cream and a trip to the park. Suddenly, Rafael realizes he doesn’t have dad friends, and the opportunity arises to gain one. 

Pairings: Rafael Barba x OC

First Part - Second Part -Third Part - Fourth Part - Fifth Part - Sixth Part

A/N: This installation also partially based off of @teamsladsandgents​ ask a couple weeks ago that Down A Sitter was based on.

How had his mother forgotten she was supposed to babysit? Apparently, it was because Rafael Barba sent March 18 instead of 8, probably while he was making Catalina’s lunch and thinking that was the time for an email. Now, his mother was in Florida with Enrique, and he was without a sitter because Rebecca, Al, and Rodney were on the trip together. He could probably take her to Olivia’s, have Lucy watch her, but there wasn’t time to do that and make it to the courthouse. Lucia lived too far away. That left him with one option, and it was one he wasn’t sure he liked.

It was another defense case, a pillar of the community who killed his daughter’s abuser. It was all heat of the moment; the bastard had shown up on his step looking for Brendon’s daughter, the one he’d raped and left nearly dead. The other women? The ones he hadn’t dated? They hadn’t been lucky enough for the nearly. In minutes, he’d shot him, calling the police on himself. Olivia had convinced him to take it. And now it looked like he’d have company.

“Mija, how good can you be if papi brings you to work?” Her eyes lit up as she looked up at him.

“I can be so good, papi! I’ll help.”

“I’d just need you to be very, very quiet. That’ll be the best.”

“But I want to help.”

“You have to protect papi’s briefcase,” he fibbed, thankful selective defense work meant he just needed the file within it.

“I can,” she nodded seriously. He fastened her into her car seat, kissing her forehead and getting to the courthouse. He was grateful he could transition the necessities to a less full suitcase, leaving behind spare pens and pads of paper and only taking the file, a couple of pens, snacks, a bottle, the ipad, and her coloring book and box of crayons. Consolidating made him feel less messy. Most people at the courthouse didn’t know the dad side of him, and even as he relaxed, he hadn’t quite shaken the reputation he earned as a prosecutor. Now, he was clad in one of his dark three piece suits with a bright tie and suspenders, just like everyone was used to, the same briefcase in his hand. What they weren’t used to was the little girl with his eyes settled on his hip, clad in bright pink leggings and a white sweater with her arms wrapped tight around her father’s shoulders.

“Can I help you with something?” he asked, brow raised as he shifted Catalina to walk through the metal detector. Her blanket was clutched in her hand from the car still, and she held it from the floor, carefully walking through.

“Cute kid,” the guard asked. This was one who’d been here forever, and he seemed surprised. 

“Thank you.” He picked Catalina up again, briefcase by his side. He’d developed more muscle definition in his arms than he’d ever had since Rebecca went back to work. Catalina refused to walk, and he enjoyed fatherhood too much to make her. 

“If you’re good until we leave, we’ll get the biggest sundae you’ve ever had, mija,” he reminded her during an empty stretch of hallway. Catalina nodded seriously up at him, and he smiled more fondly than he intended, nodding to his client. He’d sent a text of warning, but the older man just gave him a grin.

“Taylor was a daddy’s girl too. Thank you, Mr. Barba. I know you could have tried to continue this.”

“I don’t want to draw this out for you anymore, I assure you. If it means unorthodox company, so be it. We may be waiting for a while.” 

He settled the coloring book on his briefcase, and Catalina sat on the bench beside it, using it like a makeshift desk. He entrusted Brandon to watch her while he stepped to the clerk.

“How long is the wait running for The People vs Aerie?” he asked, and he remembered why he didn’t like this one.

“Who’s the cutie?” she asked, popping her gum as she slowly looked at the docket.

“I asked a question,” he said impatiently. He didn’t want this day to be about his child. He wasn’t even sure he liked sharing her with work. The divide, save the friendships he’d made, was too deep. Fin, Amanda, Liv, and Carisi were one thing. Everyone else? He was fine without them. 

“Geeze, I’m just wondering if she’s your niece or somethin’. It’s hot seeing a man with a kid.”

“She’s my daughter. Her mother is out of town and there was miscommunication with the sitter.”

“I didn’t know you were married, counsellor.”

“Please just give me an estimate.”

“Couple hours. I’ll bump you as far up as I can.”

“Thank you.”

He turned to see Catalina chatting happily to Brandon, and he thought it might be a blessing she was here. Brandon hadn’t been handling things well. Sure, he was handling things better than Rafael had; he let his wife and daughter be there for him. But he was also treating himself as less worthy now, grappling with the reality that he’d ended a life even if he didn’t regret doing it. He’d confided in Rafael as they prepped that he worried he was never going to be good again. That’s when Rafael did something that confirmed the change in him: he was vulnerable with him. They talked about something not many people had in common. Ending a life changes you, and though they did it for different reasons, both felt they’d done what they needed. 

“She’s smart as hell,” Brandon chuckled, watching Catalina color. “And looks exactly like you.”

“I’m very fortunate. Her, not so much,” he joked, hand resting on her back as he sat back down so she was between the pair of them. 

“Cute co-counsel,” Carisi said, stopping by. 

“Mr. Sonny!” Catalina grinned, and Rafael almost grinned. Carisi, while Rafael would always give him hell, attended their church, was overall a good guy and attorney, and had become one of Catalina’s chosen few during playdates with Jessie and Billie Rollins. He’d even been babysitter one Saturday night to give Rebecca and Rafael a night off, so he was developing soft spot for the young ADA. 

“Cat!” he grinned, leaning down and hugging her. Catalina didn’t let go, and Sonny put his briefcase down to hold her for a minute. “What are you doing here?”

“Protecting papi’s briefcase!” Catalina spoke well for her age, but he was going to miss the staccato of her toddler chatter. Carisi and the abuelitas and the squad could all understand her easily. They all had enough experience with kids. There had always been a delay between her words and his replies at first. Words would break up or run together, and he’d have to process things. Now it didn’t matter how she strung the noises together; he got it as easily as Rebecca.

“Wow, big responsibilities, kiddo. I gotta go to court. I’ll see you soon, okay?” he grinned, ruffling Catalina’s hair before she climbed back to the bench and leaned against Rafael. He was proud that his daughter hurried to his side when she wanted protection from the strange place and people around them. It made him feel like he was doing something right. The clerk, as annoying as she was, did get them moved up, and Rafael carried Catalina in, setting her on the bench directly behind his seat. After a few moments, she got nervous, standing and leaning against the bannister as everyone got settled. Rafael quietly urged her to sit as everyone settled in, looking over the file before him. She didn’t, looking around at the busy courtroom, and he set his mouth in a line, picking her up and fighting the urge to smile as her arms wrapped around his shoulders and her head came to rest on his shoulder.

“Do you need a continuance, Mr. Barba?” the judge asked. He’d been in front of this judge before. Last time, it was as a prosecutor in the Martha Hobbs case. He supposed that was why there was a tone of amusement in his voice. There goes whatever reputation he had left, but it didn’t bother him like he expected. 

“Not at all,” he said breezily. Suddenly, he realized he’d perfected that parental stance. The one where fingers laced around the toddler on his hip, but he could still take back a hand to turn pages and write notes. He’d always thought it was some kind of magic when Liv did it with Noah. “Shall we move ahead with Mr. Aerie’s arraignment?”

“Of course. Nothing unusual here.” Rafael fought the urge to roll his eyes, cutting his eyes to the ADA for this case covering a laugh. He was just glad it wasn’t Carisi this time.

“He’s weird,” Catalina whispered, well aware of how to keep her voice quiet enough only her father could hear her. He squeezed her gently, the corner of his mouth tugging up. Soon enough, Brandon was being escorted to pay bail, and Catalina had commented on the whole affair. She’d done much better than he’d expected, so he knew he’d be taking her for ice cream. His biggest worry had been the courtroom with it’s crowded benches, but she’d settled in just fine on his hip. 

It was still strange to him the way he could be a source of comfort for her, and he felt the weight of responsibility in the best way. She trusted him implicitly, looked for him when she needed comfort. Sure, she’d leave his side for a friend, but she’d always want to come back and climb onto his lap. It struck him again how unimaginable his father’s behavior was. In fact, he’d thought about it a lot as he took care of Catalina, especially the past few days with Rebecca gone. His first instinct with her was never anger. Occasional frustration with a tantrum, but she was learning to understand the world and needed him to make some part of it safe and consistent, not scary and volatile.

“Bye Mr. Aerie,” she said softly as they parted ways, Brandon’s wife ecstatic to get him home. Taylor was still in the hospital, and they’d be spending the night by her side. This case made him wish he could keep Catalina with him forever, safe from the kind of people he’d seen in his tenure at SVU. She wrapped around his knees on the steps of the courthouse as he answered questions. Media moved on, and they didn’t want to examine him anymore. They just wanted the statement and to follow Brandon into the waiting car. He would’ve held his daughter close, but he didn’t want her face plastered on the news. Rafael didn’t leave the Aeries until the SUV’s door closed, Catalina’s hand held in his. Once they were gone, he scooped her up and started towards the ice cream parlor he knew was only a couple of blocks away.

“You were very good today, mija,” he smiled gently, kissing the top of her head. “I think we ought to go for a walk and get you some ice cream.”

“Really?” she asked, and her smile was wide enough he could not say no if he wanted.

“Really,” he nodded, laughing as she pressed a kiss to his cheek.

“Gracias, papi!”

A long time ago, he would have tried to maintain the composure and seriousness from inside the courthouse until he was far from where anyone could see him this relaxed. Now he was adjusting his briefcase, as his daughter told him all about what she wanted on her ice cream. She wouldn’t take a nap that afternoon after the amount of sugar he was about to give her, but he had a feeling the grin he’d get, her face covered in melted chocolate and ice cream, would be worth it.

“Ms. Olivia!” Catalina’s voice made him follow her gaze, seeing Liv making her way to the courthouse. 

“So that’s how you got Brandon moved up the docket.”

“I added a one to the date when I texted mami to babysit while Becs is gone,” he said, mouth set in a line again. He didn’t like the fact this story was both unavoidable and going to be told forever.

“So Cat got to come to court?”

“Al and Rodney are with Becs. Mami is in Florida.”

“I was so good,” Catalina said proudly. “And Mr. Brandon got bailed.”

“Recognizance didn’t work?” she asked.

“He has the means to flee. But the bail is minimal. We’re going to get ice cream.”

“Because I was so good,” Catalina added, face serious as she nodded.

“You were, mija. Say bye to Oliva.” 

Soon, they were sitting at a table in the ice cream shop, and there was far more ice cream in front of Catalina than Rebecca would ever approve of. He’d originally said one scoop, any toppings, but then she asked with wide eyes if she could get three flavors. Normally, he’d try to say no, but not today. She’d been good at the courthouse, plus he was the one she inherited her sweet tooth from. They’d gotten four scoops and every topping she wanted with an agreement she’d share with papi. He’d almost teared up when she said I always share with papi. Almost. But now he was taking a picture of them together, trying to decide how much he hated that he took selfies now. But, he only took selfies like this, of him sitting in a low booth with Catalina beside him and the massive sundae between them. Surely, that didn’t count? He sent it to Rebecca anyway.

Guess who was an angel in court. We miss you, mami.

Certainly not the hot one. Proud of her. I miss you both terribly.

What time do you get home tonight?

Eleven. The boys are dropping me off. And I’m guessing that sugar means you’ll both be up.

I’ll be up either way. Te amo, hermosa. I hope the trip has been good to you.

I love you, handsome. It has been, but I miss my family.

“Should we video call mami when we get home?” he asked when sticky hands had been cleaned as they walked back to the car. He saw familiar faces passing them by, giving nods as they approached the courthouse they’d parked near. 

“Yeah!” she nodded eagerly, and Rafael could see the energy hitting her. 

“Or maybe we call her from the park? Then you can play! Run around and swing and slide.” He was humming each activity, pressing kisses to the top of her head. He hadn’t taken her to Central Park yet, and he’d been to the Billy Johnson Playground on the east side with Olivia and Noah when she’d needed a friend. It looked like an old part of the nature around it, making him think of the stories Catalina was so fond of. She liked gnomes and cottages in the woods lately, and the little park fit right in. Plus, the focus was more on what she could run on and climb, but still with the swing he could push her on when she got tired. When she did get tired, he could rest with her at the little gazebo and feel secluded and out of the city.

Maybe they needed a vacation.

“Yes!” she giggled, hugging his neck. He smiled, stopping at the car to order an Uber. To and from court was all the driving he intended to do. He traded his briefcase for the diaper bag, leaving his vest and blazer now that the day had warmed up and tucked one of the blankets Rebecca insisted was in case of emergency in the diaper bag. 

“We’re going to a really special park.”

“Why’s it special?”

“You know the pretty one the zoo is at?”

“Yeah?”

“Papi knows a cool playground there. It looks like gnomes live there.”

“That is cool,” she said, her excitement apparent. He loaded them into the car, ever grateful to not have to drive, and tipped generously when the driver was kind enough to drop them off away from the zoo. As soon as they were in the park, Catalina wanted down, her hand in his as they walked along the path.  When they got to the little gazebo, he stopped, and Catalina looked up at him quizzically.

“Want to call mami from here?” She lit up, pulling herself to stand on the bench he sat on. Rebecca was packing up, he knew, so he wasn’t surprised when she answered quickly, blowing her hair from her face. When she fully registered it was them, she grinned. 

“Mama!” 

“Catalina!”

“Becs!”

“Raf!”

Rebecca was relieved to see the day really must be going well. Catalina was giddy, blue from what Rebecca guessed was cotton candy ice cream staining the cuff of her sweater as she pushed her hair back. Rafael was smiling, the one that showed his teeth and crinkled his eyes. They still hadn’t been home, but the image of Rafael in the dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up, his tie and suspenders featuring the same shade of pink as their daughters pants was perfection. She wasn’t sure he realized how often he did it, but she didn’t want him to stop matching their daughter so she’d never tell. 

“You guys seem like you’re having fun! Maybe it’s good papi can’t type.” This time Rafael laughed because he was kind of thankful for his snafu. This weekend was only his third or fourth time out and about with Catalina for more than a trip to the park or run to the grocery store. This weekend, they’d gone to a museum and church on their own, and now they were having another daddy daughter day. He liked it. 

“Papi and I had...lunch....that wasn’t ice cream. And now we’re at a special playground!”

“The Billy Johnson Playground at Central Park. I’ll take pictures for you, mami.”

“You two will have fun. You’ll have to show it to me one day.”

“Secret park!” Catalina said seriously and his smile grew broader, arm around her middle. 

“Maybe we can show mami this part before?”

“Deal.” They said their goodbyes soon enough, Rebecca heading to the airport. He watched as Catalina walked just a couple of steps ahead, looking back over her shoulder to be sure he was there. Her eyes lit up when she saw the park, and Rafael was glad to see there were other kids her age there. They hadn’t quite found her a group of friends her own age; Fin’s grandson, Jaden, was one of only a couple, and Rafael didn’t know the other two well. He stayed close to her as she hurried to the climbing set, taking pictures and sending them on to Rebecca. Mostly, moms and nannies were there, and he felt slightly out of place. When he was in groups of parents, he always found himself wondering who knew. Shifting awkwardly, he nodded towards them and went back to watching his daughter with a fond smile.

She’d found two sisters, one her age and one who looked to be about five. The older girl was helping the younger two navigate the playset, leading them to slides and climbing nets easily. Each time Catalina looked unsteady on her feet, which was often given her age, he wanted to scoop her up, but apparently it was important to let her take a tumble or two. Rafael didn’t like that idea or the fact that they had to keep bandages in the diaper bag. Luckily, the time she did fall, landing on her rear with her legs out, the older of her new friends laughed and helped her up. 

“I’m guessing white sweater is yours?” a man asked, and he chuckled. 

“Yeah.”

“Her new friends are mine. Flower pants and leopard dress.”

“They made friends fast.”

“Is she into princesses and fairy tales?”

“Yeah. Especially gnomes right now?”

“Sarah is my eldest. She’s obsessed with Fairies.”

“Makes sense. Catalina like fairies too.”

“She and Megan look the same age?”

“Two and a half?”

“Right on,” he chuckled. “I’m Hank.”

“Rafael. I think we’re the only dads here today.”

“Yeah. It’s normally just me during the day when we’re here. I’m a writer, so I can stay home while my wife’s at work. You’re all dressed up though. I’m guessing this isn’t your normal day?”

“I’m an attorney, but I work from home.”

“How does that work?” 

“I work with the Innocence Project. Meetings with defendants are Mondays. I can do the paperwork and brief writing from home. Then court when needed. I take defense work on occasion, like today. Sitter fell through so Cat had to come. My girlfriend is a teacher, and she snuck off with her friends for a long weekend.”

“My wife’s a school librarian. We picked those educators, huh?”

“Apparently.” It felt so normal to be talking to him, and Rafael thought to himself maybe he could have a dad friend now. His friends from Harvard and the DA’s office and SVU had kids, but they’d always have been work colleagues first. There was no erasing what they’d seen together, the tension over cases, the Householder case. Hank seemed nice enough, and they had similar lives. At least they could team up on park trips since it turned out their usual stomping grounds overlapped. 

God, Hank looked like a writer though. He had on a thick flannel over a t-shirt, and tattoos peaked out of the rolled up sleeves. Slim fit jeans and black sneakers, the cool kind not the functional kind, just rounded it out. He was tall and lanky and younger than him, and Rafael suddenly felt he could be Catalina, Megan and Sarah’s grandfather. Hell, he technically could. Still, he was new to this, and he supposed most men in their fifties weren’t settling down with a partner for the first time and raising their first child. Besides, Hank was probably still a little older than Rebecca.

“Megan scraped her knee,” Sarah said, running over to the two men, followed by Catalina holding the hand of teary Megan. 

“Shit-”

“Dad, that’s a bad word.”

“Shoot,” Hank corrected. “I forgot the bag.”

“I’ve got bandages. Princess ones,” Rafael said, digging the box from the diaper bag. “There’s neosporin in there too.”

“Thanks.” 

Catalina climbed on Rafael’s lap, and he could tell by how she laid back against him that he had succeeded; she was tired out. Rafael didn’t want to go yet, able to hear Hank saying they’d head home once Megan was patched up. Was making friends as an adult always so much like asking for a girl’s number was when he was younger? He hadn’t been a dad for long, only a few months. Maybe having someone other than Rebecca he could call during tantrums and long days would be good?

“Hey, before everyone heads out, maybe we can all meet at the park again sometime? The girls seemed to really get along.”

“Yeah, that sounds good,” Hank said, digging out his phone and handing it to Rafael. “Put your number in. I haven’t made many dad friends who aren’t also writers or don’t have traditional office jobs. We’re both basically house husbands.”

“Yeah. And it’s hard.”

“Easier than it was two years ago though, right? Five’s even easier.”

“I actually only found out I was a dad in December. It’s a long story. But it’s easier now than in January.”

“We’ll delve into that at the park later this week?”

“Perfect. Do you take insurance?”

“As long as you’ve hit your deductible. Send me the pictures of the girls, okay?”

“Will do,” he nodded as they walked towards the sidewalk. He’d ordered an Uber to take he and Catalina back to his car. Soon enough, he was cooking her dinner, watching her dance around the kitchen to the soft jazz he was playing, and Rafael was grateful for the break from Disney. Not having Rebecca’s return each evening made him appreciate even more how much she’d had to do to keep their daughter happy and healthy and safe for the last two years. He needed the time he’d had to heal, but he often wished he could go back and be here to help sooner. It was his own fault. Instead of pressing the guilt down like he used to, he let himself acknowledge it, tucking it to the side instead as he settled a bowl of macaroni in front of Catalina. Once she was tucked in, he put his feet on the coffee table, working on his laptop and only pausing to send Hank the pictures he’d snapped of the girls playing. He heard Rebecca at the door at eleven, just like she’d estimated, and he hurried to meet her. 

“Heya, handsome,” she grinned, and Rafael could feel the stupid grin split his face.

“Welcome home, hermosa,” he beamed, pulling her in and kissing her deeply. 

“Missed me?” she teased as she smoothed his hair.

“Terribly,” he nodded. “I’ve been spoiled to see you every day.”

“It seems like you and Cat had a good time though?”

“Yeah. We went to the Children’s Museum Saturday. Then Sunday was mass and lazy movies. Today was hectic, but good.”

“Yeah? You two seemed happy at the park. And ice cream for lunch.”

“We had a lot of fun at the park. She made friends with two girls, Sarah and Megan. They have a playdate Thursday.”

“Oh yeah?” she chuckled. “You finally click with the playground moms?”

“Hank. He’s a writer, and his wife is a school librarian. His girls are two and five. He’s home with them most of the time.” Rebecca couldn’t help but grin at how he tried to pretend it was just convenient. 

“That’s cool. I bet it could be nice talking to non-police or court affiliated people, hm? Maybe you two could grab a beer sometime.”

“We’ll see. He’s surprisingly nice to talk to. Sarah and Megan have the same tantrums.”

[r3almellow]

MLQC Boys Being Horny For A Pregnant S/o

Thanks so much for the request!! This almost turned into a big pregnancy headcanon HC, but I fought through the urge! You guys should be proud of me!

Warning: Pregnancy sex, oral sex, and lactation

Click “Keep Reading” for the goods!

Kiro

Kiro was in pure bliss while you were pregnant because your sex drive was practically through the roof.

The two of you had sex quite a few times a week and Kiro was in absolute heaven.

At first, you would have sex in your usual places. (Home, dressing room, recording studio, broom closet ect.) But as the months went on, your intimate moments mostly occurred at home or in a hotel room with a nice comfortable bed for you to be on.

Even before you got pregnant Kiro had a thing for your breasts. Biting, sucking, titty fucking...the whole nine yards! 

There wasn’t a moment that went by where Kiro didn’t find an opportunity to slip hands under your blouse just to squeeze “the girls.” 

He immediately notices how big they’ve gotten and booooy did the sight of you going up two bra sizes have his mouth watering.

Seeing your nipples poking out from your shirt was just... *chefs kiss* 

If you complained about clothes irritating your sensitive nipples he’d jokingly say that you should walk around the house topless. But he’s actually not joking and would sell his soul if it meant you’d actually do it.

His favorite position is missonary and cowgirl because they give him the best access to your breasts, so he can caress and fondle as he pleases.

However, the former was mostly doable during your first trimester, so spooning has become his go to mainly because he doesn’t want you doing all the work. 

It was also a win because he could hold you from behind while placing kisses along your neck while taking in your scent. He'd have a hand massaging your breast while the other between your legs, drawing circles around your clit as he slowly thrusted into you from behind. 

Once the baby is born, you always have to remind him constantly that your breasts are extremely sensitive to the point where they're too painful to touch. 

When you begin breastfeeding...oh boy...

He can feel the way his dick strains against his pants as he watches you. He was excited for all the naughty things he planned on doing when you were ready.

You can feel his eyes on you sometimes and you often have to give him a playful glare.

“Whatever you’re thinking, stop it.” How could he stop thinking about how erect your nipples looked?! Or how badly he wanted to leave bite marks all over your breasts?! Oooor how much he wanted to feel them rubbing against his cock?!

And when you accidentally start leaking? You’ll be so embarrassed, but Kiro?! Your man is losing it! He didn’t think something like breastmilk leaking through your shirt would be hot but he’s been wrong about a lot of things. 

Kiro will always respect your wishes to wait but once you give him the go ahead your boobs are not safe from him. 

Gavin

There was something about you being pregnant that really got him going. 

He will always kneel before you to press small kisses against your stomach and has a habit of trailing down to what he calls “dangerous territory.”

Out of fear of hurting the baby and not wanting to put you through any unnecessary stress because he couldn’t keep it in his pants, Gavin will opt for taking care of his “problems” on his own.

He'll be super conflicted too! Poor thing just wants to make love to you, but not at the cost of hurting you!

Whenever you want to have sex, he tries to turn you down. Emphasis on TRY! Somehow things end either with his head between your legs or you giving him a hand job. As nice as that was, it wasn't the saaaaaaame!

“The sight of me is such a turn off, right? I wouldn’t want to touch me either...”  

Gavin will look at you like you just slapped him in the face. Never in his life has he ever been turned off by you. No matter what state you’re in, you’re the most beautiful person he’s ever seen. 

You'll notice his "lack of interest" and naturally start to doubt his attraction to you.

“Babe, its not that! I never thought you could look any more beautiful, but you looking like this proved me wrong. I’ve never wanted you more than I do right now, but I’m trying to protect our baby and your pussy from me. Its been so hard for me to control myself around you.” 

You can tell he’s been going through it when you cup him through his pants and feel just hard he is. Poor thing.

You have to tell him being intimate while you’re pregnant wasn’t a bad thing and that the baby would be perfectly fine. 

It won’t take long for you to convince him, especially when you’re slowly pumping his dick with your hand that “magically” slipped itself down his pants.

He loves having you on top of him so he can look at your beautiful body as you ride him. 

When Baby Bai arrives, Gavin goes back to doing things on his own because he knows you need rest.

You only have a certain number of positions to choose from since you’re carrying precious cargo, but Gavin’s absolute favorite position is cowgirl. 

Will caress your stomach while he's eating you out. He's not exactly sure why but it's become a habit.

Won't pressure you at all and will patiently wait until you're ready.

Sometimes, gets worried when you start bouncing on his cock and the slapping of skin starts to echo throughout the bedroom. He's just like, "B-babe, maybe we should... slow down...ah...what about...shit!" You're gonna have to shut him up somehow. Clenching yourself around him might do the trick.

Victor

You had a certain glow about you during your pregnancy that Victor was in awe of. 

Victor is very observant of how much your body has changed throughout the course of your pregnancy for obvious reasons, however, said reasons have become a bit, in his opinion, perverse as the months went on.

Just the sight of you made him want to ravish you in ways he has never thought of before. But why? 

Was it the way your maternity clothes perfectly outlined the curves of your body? Maybe how swollen your breasts have become? 

Or maybe...just maybe it was how good you looked in the various lingerie he bought for you. Babydoll lingerie that perfectly highlighted your stomach were his personal favorites.

Sex with Victor during your first two trimesters was pretty normal until half way through month six he becomes a bit more hesitant and by month seven stops completely.

Another one who doesn’t want to harm you or the child. 

It takes you and three different doctors to tell him that having sex while you were seven months pregnant was perfectly normal.

Even with that knowledge he’s still pretty hesitant, but not even a day after confirmation does his resolve break and with the utmost care you two enjoy a night filled with passion.

He’ll be in the middle of giving you a foot massage as you sit there in your bathrobe and he subconsciously places a kiss against your ankle.

He catches himself trailing kisses up your leg and abruptly stops. That was probably the hardest thing he's ever had to do. Doesn’t help that you’re looking at him with blush coated cheeks as you spread your legs ever so slightly for the hem of the robe to fall from your leg, revealing your upper thigh. 

When Victor puts his mind to something he sees it through without fail, but you always manage to throw him through an an unexpected loop.

So...yeeaaah...two seconds later he has his face in between your legs, tongue pressed against your clit, and hands firmly holding you in place as he continued to take from you. This is one failure he will accept with pride if that means he can have you in every possible way.

His all time favorite position during your pregnancy is definitely spooning. It makes him feel closer to you.

After the pregnancy, sex is out of the question for the next few months which you don’t complain about, because parenthood hits you and your body hard. 

Victor understands that you need time to heal and that your sex drive isn't as high as it was before. Plus, the baby required your attention 90% of the time.

That doesn’t mean Victor doesn’t fantasize about having you under him again. He does miss being intimate with you and has been holding back quite a bit.

He’ll catch you looking at yourself in the mirror, pointing out all your “imperfections” and all he wants to do place kisses all along your body.

You’ll just be like, “I don’t know how you can stare at all of this and still be attracted to me.” 

Victor will wrap his arms around you stare at you sternly in the mirror.

“I don’t know where you got such foolish ideas from, but you’re perfect the way you are and when you’re ready I’ll remind you of that fact.”

You can’t even fight him on that, not when his erection is firmly pressed against you. 

Lucien

Already researched all the best sex positions for pregnant women. 

You two have a healthy amount of sex for most of your pregnancy, so Lucien and you are never left feeling “parched” for one another. 

It's not until your final months does Lucien take a few steps back.

Prefers to focus on giving you the most pleasurable experience when you two make love. You deserve to feel good especially when you’re carrying a life inside you for nine months. 

So you’ll expect a lot of him eating you out, fingering you, toys; just about anything that can bring you pleasure.

Has definitely done things with you while he's trying to help you around the house. And he's so slick with it!

In the middle of helping you shower, his fingers will gently caress your stomach and you're just like "Awwww!" and then they're suddenly caressing your clit.

While the father-to-be is understanding and all about your sexual experience its definitely a challenge when he wants to have sex with you. Especially when you're so tempting!

You could be in the middle of talking about baby names and he'll have the biggest smile on his face as he looks at you. So wholesome, right? Wrong! His mind is definitely somewhere else!

But it'll take more than your ample breasts, an unsuspecting smile thrown his way and your very existence to make him falter.

While you love the way he tends to you and makes sure you’re getting the most out of this, you'd rather to do things together. 

He dares not admit the amount of times he's thought about bending you over the kitchen counter and pounding himself into you with little to no restraint.

Toys are great and all but you’re trying to feel his dick.

Once you tell him what you want, Lucien will graciously comply and mentally thank you for saying something, because he was on the verge of breaking.

Of course, sex takes a backseat once the baby is born so Lucien won't turn into some sex crazed monster after two months, buuuut he will spend quite a lot of time "handling business" on his own.

-------------------------------------------------------

Done!!! Kinda posted this with little to no editing, so I'm sorry about that. I still hope this was enjoyable to read!

Want to read more of my MLQC stuff? Check out my masterpost!

[funkzpiel]

Today on this episode of "I promise I didn't disappear off the face of the earth I've just been busy and totally lacking creative energy (or brain cells, for that matter) it's terrible, but hello, I did a thing" - I present this:

The Little Deaths of the Pining Flowers

For the Hades Big Bang, in collaboration with kowaiyoukai (their beautiful illustration featured here).

Fandom: Hades Game Pairing: Zagreus/Thanatos Featuring: Pining, Off-Brand Hanahaki Summary: “Does it ever get easier?” Thanatos finally asked one day.

“No,” Achilles said, the gentle hush of his words like the breath of the breeze through meadow reeds, “But it does get easier to hide.”

Death cannot die. No blade can pierce him, no hand strong enough to steal a final breath from the powerful column of his throat, no disease potent enough to mar his flesh. Death, like Time, was fathomless and unending. So long as there was Life, there was Time to observe it and Death to spirit it away.

And so long as there was love, there was pining – and all of its little maladies that follow. Death knew of them, these maladies, these “little deaths” that come before the final breath. Some fleeting, some spanning decades. The gods, in all their brilliance, creativity and cruelty, created love. Love, the painful precipice between life and death. Knit tightly between the two so that from the depths of it might bloom a beautiful, wretched thing: pining flowers . Life sprung from the ashes of despair, fertilized in love and hope unrequited. In doing so, pain became love and love became pain, death and life a reflection of one another more intimate than the eternal dance of the sun and moon itself.

Thanatos had watched these slow, curdling little deaths before. Had watched them ferment into heavy, cloying things that stole the breath from mortals’ chests. Flowers making beautiful wreaths of their lungs, thick with life borne from a love so fierce it could suffocate. Thanatos had watched men and women alike grow frail with it, their bodies made into gardens as they coughed fragile bulbs and blooms from their lips. Thorns were always the worst: roses and the like. Lips turned red, and yet these mortals who simply loved and feared too much could not find it in themselves to cure their aching chests. Could not simply let go of that impossible love – or confess it – to end that prickling, weed-like pain.

He had heard, once, that the gods could fester such illnesses; though flowers could not create homes of their flesh as they did in mortals. Rather they instead bloomed from the excess of the wealth of their power made unstable by their want. Made helpless to the source of their own gifts. But Thanatos had never seen such a thing. Thanatos had never understood. Not until Zagreus left without so much as a word of warning. All at once, it was like the Underworld had been snuffed of some great light. There was no sun beneath the surface of the earth, and yet the darkness and chill felt suddenly so much sharper, keener, without the warmth of Zagreus’ smile. Everything darker, every mercy suddenly harder to reach for, every hope dashed across the rocks like the surf wrecking a ship to ruins against the coast.

Zagreus was gone. His home, his family, his friends – Thanatos – none of it had been enough to keep him here. Thanatos had not been enough.

When the next death bell tolled, Thanatos did something he never did: he hesitated. Struck suddenly frozen by the realization. He had not been enough. Of course, he hadn’t. Zagreus was born of the Underworld, but he was also born of the surface – of life and blood and all things that breathed . Of course, death and darkness had not been enough.

Of course, Thanatos had not been enough.

He slipped from the Underworld to collect the soul the death bells tolled for and as he did, he felt something slip deep into his chest. Some foreign, alien thing; so unfamiliar as to be written away as imagination. Like a seed splitting the soil and roosting beneath.

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Thanatos did not know what was worse - trying to cast Zagreus from his mind, or being constantly reminded of the man every time the death bells tolled for him. For every toll, whether Thanatos went to him or not, was another failed escape attempt and the beginning of yet another. He knew Zagrues must think his plight for the surface cursed - it was he after all who kept experiencing the relentless grip of the river Styx - but it was Thanatos who felt truly cursed. For every escape attempt was another reminder that Zagrues desperately wished to be free of them: his home, his family, Thanatos.

But the bells tolled and tolled, singing a symphony that drew Thanatos a little nearer and a little nearer each time. Like the moon, he found himself in Zagreus’ orbit - at first not at all, then from a distance, and finally passing him by, feeling the warmth of Zagreus’ being shining upon him, lighting him up. Even now, lighting him up.

He watched from the edge of the clearing as Zagreus dodged the molten depths of Asphodel, his weapon of choice - this time Varatha no doubt to spite his father - cleaving through the various shades hellbent on keeping him here per Hades’ bidding. The prince was tired. Not yet strong enough to survive his fight with Megara and continue on at full strength. But it would come, Thanatos suddenly realized with the same casual understanding of fact as one might recognize that the lava around them was hot .

But he would not survive this run much longer. And unassisted, he might not even survive this chamber. With a weight growing in his chest, Thanatos realized he might witness Zagreus’ fall for himself this time. Not second hand through rumor or one of his brother’s reports or the tolling of the bells, but first hand with his own eyes.

Thanatos couldn’t have said what made him step forward to help - not because he didn’t know, but because he couldn’t admit it. He blocked all thought out, pursuing just one goal: I can’t watch Zag die...

All he knew was that when the death bells tolled his reveal from the shadows of death into the realm of awareness in which all could now see him, the sound caught Zagreus’ attention and time stopped for just a moment - giving Thanatos the luxury and agony of seeing first the surprise on the prince’s face, then the relief that followed. Relief, as though Zagreus had been waiting at some fathomless horizon for centuries, simply hoping for Thanatos to rise above its edge and greet him.

“Zag,” he growled - voice rough around a strange feeling in his throat. He couldn’t find it in himself to dig for any other words. He barely pried the man’s name out as it was. It was easy to hide that fact between a cleaving swing of his scythe, cutting the battlefield down into a group of straggling shades that were much more manageable between the two of them.

“Than,” Zagreus wheezed, the name cut short beneath another shade’s attack.

Zagreus sounded bad. Even with Thanatos’ help, this particular escape might not last much longer, Thanatos mused. He could hear the man’s breath. A thready, wheezing thing that slowly but surely worsened. Loud, almost in Thanatos’ ears, in his very chest and he could not take it. Not here. Not from Zagreus, who would have been safe and whole if he had simply stayed home. He ground his teeth, cleaving shades with a growing eracticism unbefitting of the quick, efficient stroke of Death. Felt every swing release a little of that anger and confusion into the depths of Asphodel and the flesh of its shades.

His gaze tore to Zagreus as the last shade fell, the fire-tongued soles of his feet simmering against the punishing stone floor of Asphodel as he leaned against his spear like a crutch and caught his breath. Those feet duller than they should have been. In that moment, Thanatos felt an urge to follow Zagreus to the end. If he saw the surface, would it slake his thirst of the unknown enough to satisfy him? To draw him back? It was a weak thought, one that made Thanatos bristle madly at himself. It was becoming increasingly obvious it had been a mistake to draw this near to Zagreus. Death was obviously not as strong - or as unbiased - as he thought he was.

Zagreus had just managed to turn to Thanatos with a smile and a thank you when that expression fell - like sunlight disappearing beneath a cloud - for Thanatos was gone, a bell moaning in his absence, and in his place: a centaur heart.

“Oh Than…” Zagreus murmured softly, eyes locked upon the heart.

Alone, Zagreus hobbled his way to the heart, stopping short of grabbing it when he saw something strange on the ground beneath its floating weight. Here - in the fiery grip of Asphodel - a single petal simmered on the ground, curling fraily against the heated stone. The prince grabbed it with shaking fingers, thumb brushing over petal’s delicate length. Red as blood, thin and reaching. Soft as velvet and utterly lost here in this world of fire and death.

How in the world had anything grown here, Zagreus wondered, as he slipped it into his tunic above his heart, red like his eye and his feet and so much of his namesake. Flush against his skin, as though it had belonged there all along.

*:–☆–:*:–☆–:*:–☆–:*:–☆–:*:–☆–:*:–☆–:*

Persephone walked amidst her garden as she often did, greeting the great flush of her gift upon the soil with gentle hands and a smiling heart. At her touch the foliage seemed to bloom all the brighter. As she neared, it appeared to lean toward her like a flower reaching for the sun, following it’s daily axis.

Everything was much the same. The trees, the bushes, the crops, the flowers. Everything, she realized, but one. A new bloom, there much without her design or intention. Slender stalks rising up from the ivy and shade of a nearby willow, unfurling into magnificent red tongues and curling petals.

“My, my, what have we here?” She mused, tender and kind as she greeted this new bloom, just as she would have an old and familiar friend.

A spider lily, she realized with raised brows. Here, in her garden. Slim fingers stroked the nearby bloom - only a few and yet startling all the same. She had not planted these. Had it been her heart that drew these lovely blooms? Her unrequited regrets beneath the simmering hurt of her past? The red spider lily - the final goodbye. A blossom said to guide the dead. No, this wasn’t hers. It had been too long, the scar of that time too old, for it to have suddenly appeared by her doing.

Strange, to say hello to the final goodbye here amongst her carefully tended garden. She watched it shiver in the spring breeze, frail somehow in its little wind-drawn dance. With a frown, she felt something heavy stir within her heart. A longing and a worry.

Somewhere, she realized, someone was mourning. She watched a petal drift upon the wind and disappear. She wondered who the goodbye was for or if, like many things, it was even a goodbye at all…

*:–☆–:*:–☆–:*:–☆–:*:–☆–:*:–☆–:*:–☆–:*

The first full blossom that appeared grew in the hair of a young man’s corpse. It had not been there when he arrived. It had not been placed by the loving hands of family or kin. It had not been until he reached for their soul that it grew, crimson petals splaying out like a corona - thick and full. There, among death and the dying, Life grew as Life often did: against all odds, rebellious and unapologetic.

He wondered if this human had been watched or favored by some god or goddess. It was easy enough, back then, to think nothing of it.

Easy to miss that it had not grown until he had thought - quite by accident - how similar the man’s hair had been to the prince’s.

*:–☆–:*:–☆–:*:–☆–:*:–☆–:*:–☆–:*:–☆–:*

Death’s chamber - moreso a place of enforced rest rather than necessary rest - was a cool, dark place carved out of the fabric of reality. A place made for him by the Night herself, speckled with twinkling starlight and furnished with all the trappings of comfort any entity might desire. It was not, however, a place of light or Life. There was no facsimile of sun, no warmth. It was a reflection of his very identity, and therefore the opposite of Life; and yet when he opened his eyes after a short, restive doze, it was to petals on his pillow. Not just petals individually, but a blossom. Stalkless, and yet full and lush. Large enough to fill his palm with curling petals, reaching like red tongues from its core. Death blinked and rose upright, staring down at the bloom.

The same bloom that had wreathed that corpse.

What might have been the favor of a god upon that human felt decidedly less possible now. Had it been a trick from Hypnos? From some other shade or god or goddess? But from the bloom, he could sense himself . As though it were a part of him as much as his room was a reflection of himself.

Which just… couldn’t be.

Death could not make Life .

He brushed the flower away with a faint, confused frown, only to turn to rise from his chaise and find more blooms. One atop a nearby book. Another on the floor, in a blanket, on the rug, beside a goblet. Flowers. Life. All grown here in the dark grip of Death.

This, he finally accepted, was a problem.

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It was definitely a problem.

Death did not know who’s idea of a sick joke this was, but he found the flowers blooming positively everywhere now - slight at first, but growing. It had begun as something almost ignorable. A blossom tucked in the crag of a stony wall. Red petals peeking out from the centerpiece of a table. Once, appearing what would have been a shade’s hair, were they alive.

But now they trailed him in obvious patches, suddenly crowning the heads of nearby shades and growing atop the slender rails of passing balconies. No one suspected him. It was a miracle, but it was hard to assume Death had any hand in Life. Yet still, the sudden growth of spider lilies among the courts of the dead was on everyone’s lips. Where were they coming from? Why had they appeared?

Was Persephone somehow responsible? How could she not be? Yet… she was not here.

It made the Lord of the Underworld more brittle and eruptious than before, a feat no one truly thought possible. It fostered an even greater divide between father and son as well, for the more the court wondered about how the flowers might be tied to Persephone, the more Zagreus asked after her. And the more he asked, the more the prince realized he needed to leave if he was ever to get answers.

The more he tried - and died - in the pursuit of being anywhere but among the dead, the more the flowers grew.

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Even knowing that every attempt took Zagreus further from him, Thanatos found he could not stop thinking of it - the attempts, Zagreus’ failures, the repeated destruction of his- His prince. That was a safe term, yes. His prince.

He laid awake in his rooms, crimson flowers rising like the depths of the river taking Zagreus all too often, and found he could not spare his mind of thinking of him. Zagreus bleeding, pale flesh bruised like soft fruit, yet so determined to be gone.

Just because he was no longer part of the equation of his prince’s happiness, could he truly continue to just watch this happen? Or perhaps true devotion, true service, was assisting even when it reduced his existence in the man’s life to irrelevance.

He’d help, he decided, because Zagreus was his prince, and Death was nothing if not faithful and reliable. No sooner had he decided it, a blossom appeared over his heart. Large and heavy, every petal weighted like stone, driving the breath from his lungs.

Yet he didn’t have the heart to move it.

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The prince of the Underworld was special in many ways, no one could argue that except, perhaps, his father. And one such way was that when the bell of death tolled for Zagreus, it was rarely with the intention of taking him away. Thanatos arrived, his motives hidden beneath a well placed challenge of who can kill more shades here in the depths of Asphodel?

A game, just a game. No one could get hurt, if it was just a game. And goodbye would not hurt so much, if it was on Thanatos’ terms… Or so he hoped.

Death’s blade swung, cleaving shades in two. Souls upon souls, ushered back into the depths by his hands, just to spare one man the journey home. It was illogical. It went against his lord’s wishes. And yet, Thanatos knew there was no other option, not for him.

He could not be an instrument in caging Zagreus if it meant having him near would only make him unhappy. He cleaved men from their families, wives from their children, mortals from dreams left unspent and unfulfilled. Here, he had a choice.

Now, he wanted to see someone grow.

“That was something, Than,” Zagreus said as the last shade fell, wiping his sweaty brow with the back of a one bloody hand - making the mess on his face worse. Yet it did nothing to diminish the sheer Life of his smile as he turned to him. That smile - so full and unapologetic - was like the sun turning its face upon Thanatos, reaching his skin in a way it never had topside. Warm, making his belly flutter. Foolish and childish, he scolded himself. Made worse when that smile suddenly faded before Thanatos could answer and Zagreus said with a soft, perplexed frown, “What’s that?”

He followed the gaze of his prince to the ground at his feet - or rather below his feet - and there mere inches beneath the floating drape of his toes, a bed of flowers began to bloom. Spears of grass rising and charring in tandem to the merciless heat of Asphodel, and yet the flowers heartily remained untouched among the thicket of rising and dying green. Bloody red flowers, reaching up - not to Thanatos , but to Zagreus - as though he were the sun.

Lost in his grasping for explanations he simply didn’t have, all Thanatos could do was quickly retreat a few floating steps when Zagreus suddenly started forward and, using his blade as to help himself down with a grown, knelt to observe them better. He had one thick, tanned finger delicately beneath one of the lilies reaching tongues as his brows raised and he mused, “I’ve seen these around my father’s court but I didn’t ever imagine I’d see them out here . What could they possibly be?”

But when he looked up, Thanatos was gone. Gone, leaving nothing but a sudden crown of blooms in Zagreus’ hair to remember him by. Gone, because that touch - so delicate and gentle beneath the petals’ reach - had felt as though Zagreus had touched him.

And it hurt down to Thanatos’ very bones, stealing the very breath from his lungs, to know it was a touch he’d never feel for himself. Not when Zagreus wanted nothing more than to leave.

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It got worse. Much worse. He stopped visiting his brother after Hypnos once woke - bewildered - in practically a carpet of red blooms, right in plain sight of their lord. He made his reports as brief and efficient as possible after he once saw Zagreus dash by during one of them and the feeling that had arisen in his breast at the sight of him caused Cerberus - right at Hades’ side - to suddenly tilt each massive head as all three were suddenly crowned in thick, growing lilies. Hades had erupted, his gaze cast upon the shades, looking for a culprit. It was luck alone, or perhaps the heat of the god’s rage, that prevented those blooms from growing on him as well. But Achilles had seen.

With eyes so old, and so lonely, he had seen.

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“If I may be so bold, Master Death, I am here if ever you need a sympathetic ear,” Achilles once said, somehow managing to sneak up on him at his balcony. By the skin of his teeth, Thanatos managed not to startle visibly. But he could not hide the spider lily that was in his hands, the very cause that had left him so lost in thought as he had braced himself over the balcony that hung above the river - waiting, though he refused to admit it, for Zagreus’ return.

“There is nothing to be sympathetic for,” Thanatos forced himself to say simply, turning back to the river.

“There is always something to be sympathetic for,” Achilles had said in that soft way he said most things - so soft in death for a man so coated in blood in life - and came beside Thanatos to deposit something on the rail before he left with a gentle, “The offer stands, when you’re ready.”

Thanatos waited until the warrior’s quiet footsteps receded before he looked. There, upon the glittering marble of the balcony, was a tiny flower. Purple and plain, easy to hide.

A forget-me-not.

“Does it ever get easier?” Thanatos finally asked one day.

“No,” Achilles said, the gentle hush of his words like the breath of the breeze through meadow reeds, “But it does get easier to hide.”

*:–☆–:*:–☆–:*:–☆–:*:–☆–:*:–☆–:*:–☆–:*

“Than, wait!”

The pleading urgency in those words were the only thing that stayed Thanatos’ retreat. More and more, Thanatos realized he could deny the prince nothing. His only hope was to remove himself before Zagreus could ask anything of him. Today, he failed.

He turned only so much as to peek at Zagreus from over one cloaked shoulder, waiting. It was much as he could offer without that telling pang marching through his heart and wreathing them all in flowers. But he was learning, at least, thanks to Achilles.

“Yes, Zag?”

“I… I know there’s a lot unsaid between us. A lot to make up for. I… I know,” Zagreus said, elegant, and yet stammering. Endearing in that earnest way of his, so much so that Thanatos could not prevent the single bloom of red that began to grow in a nearby crack in Elysium’s walls, hidden in plain sight by the moss and tiny fragile flowers already native to the place.

Zagreus’ words slipped to silence, broken only by the sound of glass settling gently atop a nearby grassy, broken pillar. Thanatos turned slowly to regard it. A bulbous bottle, bottom heavy and filled with glittering amber liquid: Nectar. His gaze turned from the bottle to Zagreus, a frown so easily slipping onto his face to hide behind as he said, “Really, Zagreus? Nectar? As though that suddenly fixes all that lies between us? This is, what… a parting gift? The goodbye you never bothered to give me?”

His scorn made Zagreus wilt - the soft sunshine of his demeanor fading as though behind thick clouds. In the craggy wall, the spider lily wilted somewhat, shivering delicately.

“No, of course not. I simply found this and thought of you. Think nothing of it,” Zagreus said, his tone carefully masked and distant now. Further from him, just as Thanatos had planned, and yet this climb to their eventual final goodbye felt hollow, forced. Forced, because Thanatos had forced it.

���I never do,” he said, the death bells tolling his retreat as the flowers he left behind - spotting the walls of that chamber Zagreus lingered in - mournfully wilted around him.

*:–☆–:*:–☆–:*:–☆–:*:–☆–:*:–☆–:*:–☆–:*

“You are hurting, my son.”

Nyx’s voice was always a balm to him. Gentle and cool, like twinkling starlight. Not too harsh, not too loud, as living things were. Cold and distant, like himself, because he had been carved from her.

“I am fine,” he longed to say - but when had he ever been able to lie to her. But he couldn’t admit it, either. He merely looked away, hiding his grief behind sideways looks and long lashes. She reached for him. Her hands chill and welcome against the stony arch of his jaw and cheeks. Nyx’s thumb ran a smooth line over his cheeks, her face still and poignant, but her eyes telling.

“Just because you are Death, does not mean you cannot host Life within your heart, dear one. None of us are spared from feeling. It is perhaps the strongest force on this world - the bit of Life that nothing can wring out.”

“I do not wish to feel it, when it changes nothing,” Thanatos croaked, furious as his lashes grew misty without his consent. He had accepted what was to come, damn it, so why did the grief still feel so smothering?

“Grief changes nothing,” Nyx nodded solemnly, “But… It lets us know that if something can be changed, it is worth trying to change it.”

Thanatos leaned his jaw into the cup of her hands with a conflicted little frown.

“And if that change is not good for everyone?”

Realization bloomed in Nyx’s face like the flowers he could not prevent from growing to crown her starry head.

“Ah,” she said softly. “I see… Sometimes love is letting go…”

He wilted in her hands. A final confirmation, until her fingers went to pinch his chin lovingly and draw his gaze up to hers. Her eyes long and fathomless like the night sky, twinkling and watching.

“But usually... love is asking first, before those pains that go unsaid smother you both.”

Her pale hands rose to pick a red-tongued blossom from the crown that had grown in her hair and placed it delicately in the bowl she made of his hands; as though it were a baby bird. It glittered with fresh dew, with the tears he couldn’t quite stop from falling. Not here, in the safety of his mother’s arms. His tears were always safe in the cloak of night.

“Spider Lilies… It is said they grow at the site of final goodbyes,” Nyx intoned gently, “Others say they help Death guide spirits that have just passed into new lives.”

“The death of the past,” Thanatos said, each word carefully clinical and cold, as though distance could blunt their meaning.

She curled her own hands beneath the bowl of his and said, “They are also a symbol of rebirth, my child. Or perhaps more importantly, they are an opportunity, as everything is.”

Thanatos frowned lightly, his gaze rising to meet hers once more.

“I don’t understand.”

Nyx smiled a soft, tiny smile - as bright as any moonlight - and leaned forward to kiss his forehead tenderly, lips brushing against his skin as she spoke onto him, “Life, and all its decisions, are merely a matter of perspective, my son. It is not too late to change yours.”

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Before, it felt naive to hope. Hope was a foolish, mortal feeling; Thanatos knew better. Hope always faded in Death, so how could Death ever possibly foster it? And yet, his mother had never once lied to him. Beneath the light of her moon and her stars, all was made plain.

So when he tolled the bells to go to him, Thanatos allowed himself to look at Zagreus the way he had not allowed himself to before. With hope.

Zagreus had grown. As they faced off in the halls of Elysium in a quest to one up the other in battle, Thanatos found himself willingly distracted by the developed grace in Zagreus’ fighting. His posture had changed. He no longer zipped blindly across the field in a rage, trying to win by brute force. He was calm, calculated. He had changed.

Zagreus marked every trap in his mind. Every swing of his blade - new, now, one he had unlocked and partnered with - brought the shades of the underworld to heel. He marched them where he wanted them, whether that was to a swift death beneath his swing or onto a trap. He fought with a tactician’s coolness. He no longer wasted his energy. He no longer showed up to these battles covered in foreboding wounds.

He was growing. Getting closer to his goal. Which meant Thanatos, of course, was running out of time. And no one understood the gravity of the hourglass’ shifting sands quite like Death. Time, as always, was of the essence.

“Zagreus,” Thanatos said, hovering near the heart that he normally tended to simply leave behind as a parting gesture ever since Zagreus’ attempt to treat him to a gift. It was obvious the prince had not been expecting him to stay, reaching as he had been immediately for whatever god’s boon had been promised in this chamber. But the moment the prince heard his voice, the man had all but sprinted to him, and the eager warmth that had inspired in his chest caused a red blossom to bloom at Zagreus’ feet when finally he stopped before him.

“Than? I wasn’t expecting you to stay,” Zagreus said, all eagerness. Always eagerness to move on - to the world above, to a world beyond their fight.

“I wasn’t either,” Thanatos agreed, overwhelmed by the discomfort that immediately began to rise in him. He had known it would come. It had fueled many of this retreats. But nothing would ever change, if he continued to allow it to smother him. He just had hoped knowing that would make it easier , somehow. Yet he felt he could barely breathe, let alone cherrypick the words he wanted. Silence hung between them. Flowers pebbled the ground that separated them. But patiently, Zagreus simply waited. As though time were no burden to him. As though the hourglass of fate was not an enemy, but a friend.

“I know you intend to go to the world above,” Thanatos said, searching desperately for the words and finding every single one lacking. “I… I know you intend to stay there. You need answers, I know that… But before you do, I just wanted to say… She abandoned you, Zagreus. But we never have. We are your family, if you ask me. I won’t stop you from going, but… I just felt it needed to be said.”

“Than,” Zagreus started slowly, and Thanatos waited for the blow: you are not my family. You are not important. You are my past. This is not my home.

He had told himself to hear Zagreus out. He had told himself that this closure - however painful - would make everything easier. Clearer. Yet faced with this final stroke of fate, he found he couldn’t bear to hear it. Before Zagreus could collect his thoughts, Thanatos placed a crystal butterfly upon a broken stone pillar just as Zagreus had once done and said in a quick murmur, “Let it never be said that I don’t repay my debts,” before he left, like a coward.

Death, cowed by the thought of love spurned. Or perhaps, cowed by the thought of living. His offered keepsake framed in a lush bloom of red spider lilies, kept company by Zagreus’ soft, regretful sigh in Thanatos’ absence.

“Oh, Than…”

*:–☆–:*:–☆–:*:–☆–:*:–☆–:*:–☆–:*:–☆–:*

Zagreus made it topside. Thanatos could feel it in his bones, a soul that had forever been below the earth suddenly above - in his domain, among the fields of souls he was meant to reap. He felt him there, fragile after his fight with his father and yet soaring like an inferno with his victory.

Thanatos pulled down the bottle of Nectar he had kept for this moment. It had felt right to save it for this occasion, the gift a goodbye and yet also a salute to his prince’s victory. A victory he had helped the man achieve. He poured an ample glass, the liquid shimmering like a child of sunlight and starlight both, but as he rose the glass to toast Zagreus’ achievement, a soft and confused frown began to mar his lips.

Above, with every step and every second spent there, Thanatos felt that fire waning. The glass of nectar trembled lightly in his hand as his gaze became distant, his awareness fully above. Zagreus, stumbling through the world of Light and Life. Zagreus, reaching another soaring source of power - Persephone. Zagreus, waning. Zagreus, yearning, straining. Zagreus, breath stuttering.

Zagreus, dying.

The glass crashed to the ground without a hand to hold it, shattering, Nectar pooling.

*:–☆–:*:–☆–:*:–☆–:*:–☆–:*:–☆–:*:–☆–:*

Dead, as the boy had been dead. Thanatos did not wish to go to him. Did not wish to see him dead, here, among the place his prince had so dearly dreamed about. Did not wish to see him still and pale as only mortals deserved to be. Zagreus was a being of light and power and determination. He could not bear to see him beaten down to nothingness, just a husk of flesh and nothing more. Not here. Not in his mother’s garden, so close to the answers he had sought for so long…

But to love was to suffer.

He went to him. Kneeled beside the prince, allowing his own body to touch the earth, unheeding of how it killed the very grass he touched. His fingers went to cup Zagreus’ face. To prepare him for the journey home again, and as he did, the man’s body became haloed in deep, crimson flowers. Sprouting, uncontrolled and thick. Thanatos could not stop them, could not be bothered to stop them. It was effort enough to see him like this, let alone hide his own weakness.

He had forgotten there were still eyes there to witness it.

“Thanatos,” Persephone said, appearing from around the corner of the house with a death shawl for her son and coins for his eyes. She froze, her eyes not on him or her son, but on the flowers that surrounded them.

“Oh Thanatos ,” he whispered thickly, brows twisted. Looking upon them mournfully - she, the woman who had abandoned her son and then somehow enticed him away from his family below.

“Don’t worry, I won’t touch your garden,” Thanatos said stonily, thinking she feared the spreading of the dead grass from his knees.

“Thanatos, wait--”

But they were gone, he and Zagreus both, leaving nothing but a patch of dead grass and the outline of her son in bloody, crimson flowers. The blossoms trembling in tandem with the spatterings of red that had begun to grow uncontrollably throughout her garden.

“It was you,” she whispered to no one. “They’re yours.”

*:–☆–:*:–☆–:*:–☆–:*:–☆–:*:–☆–:*:–☆–:*

Once, of course, was not enough. There are still questions that need answering, and Zagreus has nothing but time to throw himself at the mercy of the gauntlet between the Underworld and the mortal realm above again and again and again. Every victory means only one thing: another tragic death so close to his goal above. And yet, Thanatos cannot help but assist him. Even if it means cradling that larger-than-life body suddenly made so small by death and escorting him back down below. Even if it means being the very vessel that takes his prince from his goal, he will help him get there once more, once more, once more.

The hourglass has been refilled, if only for a while more. If anyone can figure out a way to stay among the Living, it will be Zagreus. Zagreus, who did the unthinkable and escaped the underworld. Zagreus, who found the mother that had abandoned him. He’ll do it, Thanatos knows it just as keenly as he knows the last beat of a mortal’s fragile heart.

But he’ll gladly cherish every extra grain of sand in the hourglass he’s been given.

*:–☆–:*:–☆–:*:–☆–:*:–☆–:*:–☆–:*:–☆–:*

“I’ve missed this,” Zagreus says after one of their dual bloodbaths in the halls of Elysium. This level of the Underworld is his favorite one to go to Zagreus in. It means their momentary glimmer of peace after the fight is flush with soft grass and pleasing greens and all the Life that Zagreus deserves. And perhaps, when Zagreus is gone, Thanatos can enjoy a sip of the river to forget. He never will, he knows. It’s selfish, foolhardy and probably impossible for someone like him. But sometimes, he likes to entertain the idea that he could forget, and be free of the blossoms that constantly remind him of what he cannot have.

Thanatos turns to him, taking his time to take in the lines that make up the nostalgic expression of Zagreus’ face as he catches his breath there, sitting among the white flowers of Elysium’s fields. White and nearly like his own.

“Missed what? We do this all the time, how could you have missed this?” Thanatos asked.

“Not the fight. This . Us,” Zagreus said. “This just reminds me of how we were before I began my escapes.”

“Simpler times,” Thanatos frowned, unable to swallow the bitterness that suddenly rose in his throat. “But you chose to complicate them, Zagreus.”

He understood why, now; but that didn’t mean he didn’t resent it in his weakest moments. He waited for Zagreus to defend himself. For that bitterness to rise in Thanatos to ruin the moment, as it often did. He’d flee, and he’d waste his precious remaining grains of sand - he could see it all already, unfolding, until Zagreus brought a halt to his spiraling thoughts as only he could.

“I don’t know why this has turned into picking who I love, Than. Wanting to find my mother doesn’t mean I love anyone else any less. Everyone acts as if I’m choosing my mother over everything and everyone else. Even you.”

“Are you not?” Thanatos asked, dreading the answer.

Yet Zagreus simply looked at him, red flowers blooming in his hair, and said, “If you’re asking me who I’d choose between you or my mother, Than, my answer is this: I never intended to settle for one at all.”

Thanatos blew out a frustrated breath even as his heart soared in a way he hadn’t thought Death’s heart could, trembling like a rabbit against his ribs.

“That’s naive to say, don’t you think, Zag?”

“Says who?”

*:–☆–:*:–☆–:*:–☆–:*:–☆–:*:–☆–:*:–☆–:*

It’s all a matter of perspective, my child.

*:–☆–:*:–☆–:*:–☆–:*:–☆–:*:–☆–:*:–☆–:*

One day, Zagreus went topside. Thanatos prepared to go to him, to collect him, but the moment never came. Death felt the prince’s heart begin to flatter as mortal hearts did, and yet the final throbbing beat never came. In fact, it stabilized. It stabilized and grew nearer. Nearer and nearer still, adrift on the river with his brother. Not just his brother, but another too. Life was flowing down the river to the Underworld.

The Queen was returning.

Thanatos leaned bonelessly back into his lounge, feeling shaky with stunned, overwhelming relief as spider lilies rose around him like a cushion because Zagreus was coming home with Persephone.

Zagreus was coming home of his own free will.

*:–☆–:*:–☆–:*:–☆–:*:–☆–:*:–☆–:*:–☆–:*

Life in the Underworld improves. As though Persephone were a sun and the Underworld a withered garden without her, things steadily improved with her return. Cerberus pressed eagerly into the touch of her hand. The halls seemed brighter, warmer. Even Achilles seemed a little less sad, and Hades - oh Hades - it was as though he were steadily becoming a different man altogether. A softer man, gentled by her touch. His thorns shorn short, his rough and callous words turned to roses lush and hearty; though suddenly kind was a stretch to say, he was certainly safer to speak to now.

The court was alight with how Persephone’s presence was changing everything for the better. But all Thanatos could think was that none of this would have been possible if not for Zagreus, who had lassoed the sun herself and brought her back to them against all odds.

If Persephone was the sun, Zagreus was the lifeblood of this place.

*:–☆–:*:–☆–:*:–☆–:*:–☆–:*:–☆–:*:–☆–:*

The hourglass had been halted. There was no beginning, no end, and once again Death was no longer shackled by the wasteful ticking of time. But the flowers did not lessen, did not disappear. They trailed after him, and though he had gotten better at hiding it, he knew that Persephone knew. Flowers were her children, after all; how could she not know?

“You should talk to him, Thanatos. If nothing else, Zagreus has taught me this: what you assume will happen is never definite,” she said to him one day, cradling a wayward spider lily that had suspiciously grown in her garden - startlingly white. He wondered when that had started or why.

“Perhaps I will. Thank you, my lady,” Thanatos said gently.

She smiled at him, her thumbs so gentle with the bloom’s petals, making the little flower shiver happily, and said, “I hope you do.”

*:–☆–:*:–☆–:*:–☆–:*:–☆–:*:–☆–:*:–☆–:*

Thanatos had paced the length of his balcony many times now, each with a stumbling aborted attempt to head in the direction of Zagreus’ chambers. He tried to ignore the knowing weight of Achilles’ watchful gaze by the mirrors. Tried to ignore the thunderous fear of his heart or the way the lilies just kept blooming around him in fitful bursts.

Go to him , his heart said.

But what if you ruin everything , his mind howled, Now, when things are finally peaceful.

But is peace the same as happiness? His heart asked. Is that all you wanted? Could it be enough?

It certainly hurt less than being wrong, his mind said.

If that were true, then why are the flowers still blooming?

Little Deaths, the Pining Flowers. Could he truly be content, if they still found the soil of his heart so rich to bloom in?

*:–☆–:*:–☆–:*:–☆–:*:–☆–:*:–☆–:*:–☆–:*

“Take it from a fool who waited,” Achilles said as a tiny purple blossom grew in the tuck of his hair behind his ear, “Nothing risked, nothing earned.”

*:–☆–:*:–☆–:*:–☆–:*:–☆–:*:–☆–:*:–☆–:*

This time, when Thanatos went to Zagreus in the fields of Elysium, he cleaved the souls of the dead down in one impatient stroke - knowing that if he did not act fast, he would not act at all.

Zagreus let out a startled huff of a laugh, his hand son his hips as he turned to Thanatos with a confused, if amused, “Well that was hardly sporting, Than! Have you been going easy on me all this time?”

But that expression fell, muted and worried, when Zagreus finally caught sight of Thanatos’ face.

“Than?” He asked.

“Please, don’t--” Thanatos said, holding up a hand to halt the prince’s words, “Just… listen. I… I’ve been trying to figure out how to say this for some time, but the words elude me, even now.”

Zagreus brought his blade down into the grass and let it rest then, his full attention him upon Thanatos in a way so direct, so overwhelming, Thanatos felt that urge to run rise in him again.

It was the memory Achilles’ gaze - heavy and knowing - that held him fast. Sympathetic, envious and frustrated. Frustrated, because Zagreus was within reach, and Thanatos risked nothing.

He did not want to have eyes like Achilles had. He wanted to Live.

“I hate you, when you first left,” Thanatos blundered forward. “I thought you were done with me. That I wasn’t good enough. I didn’t blame you either. What could I offer you, that you couldn’t have up there? What’s Death to Life?”

“Than--”

“Please, Zag… Let me finish or I never will,” Thanatos whispered. “I hated you. Or I thought I did… but these… All of these?”

He held up a hand, a red lily immediately blooming at his call to hold between them.

“These are yours, Zagreus. All of them, every single one. Because I missed you. Because I could not stop thinking of you, worrying for you, wanting you.”

Zagreus stilled, and something akin to paleness stole over his tanned flesh. Thanatos knew, then, he’d never have him. How could Life love Death? But he continued onward, if for nothing but closure. If for nothing but to say he risked it all, he tried.

“It’s childish, foolish, reckless even - but I… I’m utterly helpless, Zagreus. You’ve made me, made Death , helpless in want for you. In loving you, I…” his breath left him in a soft, rattling wheeze as finally he admitted - with the certainty that the sword cleaves flesh - “I love you, and… I’m glad you came home.”

He waited for the blow. Waited for the moment that would wring that last breath of hope from his lungs, and he wondered if this is what mortals felt like, waiting for him. For Death.

But he waited, and waited, and it never came. Zagreus merely stood dumbfounded, something wet growing on his sooty bottom lashes, before finally he stepped forward and did what Thanatos had always been too afraid to do.

He kissed him.

Perspective, his mother had said. He had thought she meant decisions, but it was so much more than that. This moment was a perspective he thought he’d never have - could never fathom . Life, warm and bright against his lips. Flowing through him in a circle, like a cycle that never ended, life and death and life and death. He closed his eyes and Zagreus reached up to bring him down, closer to the ground - to him - and wound gentle fingers into silver hair.

Around them, flowers bloomed in the hall of Elysium - blood and bone, red and white, cascading in a sheet to cover the chamber around them. Pushing out and out and out until nothing was left but the Spider Lilies singing brilliantly in the breeze around them. Zagreus drew Thanatos down like an anchor, floating feet brushing finally against petal softness, but nothing wilted from his touch. It was as though those flowers had always been waiting for both of them, every petal glimmering and shining now that the cycle of Life and Death had finally been made whole.

“I love you,” Zagreus said between desperate presses of chaste lips, speaking against Thanatos’ surprised mouth as though the words might possess them both, “And I’m so grateful you waited for me.”

Without Life, Death does not exist. Without Death, Life is not Life at all. For one is needed for the other to exist. Otherwise, there is Nothing.

*:–☆–:*:–☆–:*:–☆–:*:–☆–:*:–☆–:*:–☆–:*

Zagreus had hidden all of his blooms in his chamber, of all things, knowing that no one went there. Not even Dusa, who was not allowed to clean Hades’ “ungrateful mongrel of a son”’s room. So there, they had remained safely hidden. Bone white blooms, ivory tongues drooping in such familiar ways to the crimson petals that followed Thanatos everywhere.

“Why did you never say?” Thanatos asked one day, as they lay side by side in a carpet of their flowers, fingers entwined together, nearly nose to nose.

“I did not want to frighten you away,” Zagreus laughed.

“And how did you prevent them from growing on me? I can’t stop the blasted things from appearing everywhere?” Thanatos asked.

Zagreus laughed again and repeated, “Because I did not want to frighten you away.”

Thanatos turned to him, arm braced so he could hover over Zagreus face with a gentle smile.

“And now that I am still here?” He asked warmly.

Zagreus reached up to brush a lock of silvery hair behind Thanatos’ ear, held back with a white lily to keep it in place, and said, “I’m glad that I was wrong.”

Thanatos smiled as red lilies bloomed to frame his prince’s head in a crown. Thick and regal, as he deserved. His mark upon the man. His prince, his love. It stirred a primal satisfaction deep in his belly as he leaned down to kiss Zagreus and say, “I’m glad we both were wrong.”

So they were reborn, there in a bed of white and red spider lilies - flowers that had guided them to new Life.

[rhysismydaddy]

Naughty Neighbors pt. 1 (Elriel)

Synopsis: Elain’s stuck in a dead end relationship, bored beyond belief with her life. When she befriends her brand new neighbor, it’s like taking a breath of fresh air. But with each day of friendship, she grows more and more drawn to him and the past he’s desperate to escape. His smile is all she thinks about, invading her head at the most inconvenient moments. He’s made his intentions with her perfectly clear, but she’s determined to resist his charms. She won’t allow him to turn her calm, quiet life upside down. Right?

I’M SORRY THIS HAS TAKEN SO LONG. Moving did NOT go smoothly, and my professors are taking online classes a little ~seriously~ even though they haven’t started yet lol. 

Part 2 should be out by Wednesday, and it’s in Azriel’s POV :))))) This one’s a slow burn ladies and gentlemen, so get ready for some pent up desire 

______________________________________________________________

Elain rolled over in bed, somehow too hot and cold at the same time. Gods, she was miserable. Her boyfriend was next to her, snoring loudly, and the sound did nothing to help her worsening mood. 

She was so exhausted-- when you owned a flower shop, wedding season was always hectic--but sleep had been refusing to find her for the past hour. 

It didn’t help that she had a moose-sounding man in the room. 

Reminding herself that she loved him and definitely didn’t want to strangle him in his loud ass sleep, she rolled over and pulled a pillow on her head. 

Somehow, after two years of dating, she hadn’t gotten used to how loudly Lucien snored. 

Thank the gods we don’t live together, she thought, then admonished herself for it. 

They would eventually. 

She just had to get used to it. 

The pillow over her head became suffocating, only adding to the over-heating problem, so she threw the covers off, grabbed a robe, and walked out. After going up a few flights of stairs, she found herself on the roof. 

It was the place she always went when she was stressed or sad or just needed to see the night sky. She’d even started a garden a few months ago, so she started to head over to check on it. 

But then she saw who was sitting on the bench in front of her rose bushes and paused. 

Paused and stared, because the man sitting in front of her wearing dark clothes and a smirk was both classically beautiful and dangerous. 

He was the kind of man most men would do anything not to fight and women would do anything to bed. 

Smoke curled around him, and the shadows somehow seemed to cling to his tall frame. The stranger dwarfed the small bench, large frame taking up enough space for two. Even though he was sitting, she could tell he was well over six feet. And built like a Greek god, if the way his black, long sleeve t-shirt clung to his chest was any indication.  

He was the most attractive man she’d ever seen, and that was without taking in the strong, clean shaven jaw, hazel eyes, and hair the color of spilled ink. 

And oh fuck, he was studying her, too. A shiver ran over her as she realized she was covered in just her robe. 

Her body begged her to both run far away and draw closer, and for some reason, she listened to the urge to do the latter. 

“Who are you?” she asked as she walked through the maze of flowers. 

“Who are you?” he shot back, not answering her question. Her body reacted to his voice alone, goosebumps raising at the cold but somehow soothing tone. 

A breeze caused her hair to swirl around her as she replied, “I’m Elain. What are you doing here?”

He jerked his chin at the cigarette dangling from his fingertips, but that wasn’t exactly what she’d been asking. “No, I mean what are you doing here?”

“I live here, Elain.”

She realized she shouldn’t have told him her name, because now he could say it in that sexy, very manly voice of his and it would do strange things to her sanity. 

He said her name like a lover would, soft and sensual, but also coldly amused. He sounded like he knew her, like he’d known her for years. 

“No, you don’t.”

“Yes, I do.” His eyes are laughing at her now, but he didn’t sound mean. 

"Which apartment?”

“4B.”

Elain’s eyebrows pinched together at that news. She lived in 4A and hadn’t even noticed she’d gotten a new neighbor. Then again, she’d been at work all day. “Oh. I guess we’re neighbors then.”

A small smile graced his full lips, and she studied it before forcing her eyes back to his. “Lucky me.”

Oh, gods. Was he... flirting with her? 

She didn’t even know. It had been so long since someone had that she’d forgotten what it sounded like. 

So she rolled her eyes good naturedly, leaning against the brick railing encasing the roof. 

“Sneaking out for a smoke?” His voice was like gravel and smoke, and his hazel eyes raked over her body in a way that made her shiver. 

“Couldn’t sleep.”

He nodded, then extended the cigarette to her in question. She smiled but shook her head and said, “I don’t smoke.”

“A good girl, then.” He didn’t sound at all bothered by that statement. And once again, his hazel eyes skirted down her body. “Do you want to sit down?”

There was almost no room on the bench, but it beat standing on the edge of the roof on such a breezy night, so she walked over and sat as far away from him as possible. 

It was still way too close. 

Her arm was pressed against hers, allowing her to feel the dense muscle covering it. She doubted she could wrap both hands around it completely, but she shut down the urge to try as she crossed her legs casually.

The warmth from his body seeped into her, goosebumps raising where they touched. “You’re warm,” she commented stupidly. 

“Are you cold?” he asked, hazel eyes scanning her face, then dropping slightly. 

No small amount of horror grew when she realized what he’d glanced at. She crossed her arms over her chest, then scowled when he grinned. 

Her eyebrows flew up, though, when a heavy arm landed across her shoulders and tucked her into a warm, firm side. 

Oh, gods above every place they connected was tingling. Heat rushed into her--both between her legs and from his side.

She needed a heat CT. 

“Is this your garden?” he asked, taking a puff of his cigarette and blowing the smoke away from her. 

She nodded, then realized her head was pressed against his chest. Elain pulled away slightly, then asked, “Will you tell me your name?”

His hazel eyes were dark, like molten caramel. She felt lost in him. “What will you give me in return?”

Every inch of her body went taut and loose at the same time. Her thigh was suddenly warm, and she looked down to see his hand resting on her skin. The back of his hand was covered in scars and tattoos and his palm was covered in callouses, but it was nothing but gentle and warm on her thigh. 

Her maybe-neighbor was perfectly still, his face cool and composed while he waited for her to react. But his eyes told her exactly what would happen if she leaned into him just a tiny amount. 

And gods, she wanted to. 

Something was holding her back though. A small voice was screaming at her, and a disgusting amount of guilt crept up her shoulders. Almost jumping out of her skin, she remembered whose existence she’d forgotten completely. 

Lucien.

Her boyfriend. 

The man she’d been attempting to sleep next to not an hour ago.

She pulled away, instantly missing his warmth. “I have a boyfriend,” she said unceremoniously and with about as much enthusiasm as someone declaring grandma was dead. 

His eyes went a little darker, even as the corner of his lips twitched. “Hm.”

“I should go.” That was beyond true. 

Lucien was trusting, and their relationship was relaxed, but practically snuggling with another man wasn’t right. Even if it was all she wanted to do at the moment. 

“Okay.”

“I hope we can be friends in the future,” she said, trying to maintain polite normalcy. “But only if you tell me your name.”

Once again, those amber eyes slid over her, and she was very, very grateful she’d crossed her arms. “We’re never going to be friends, Elain.”

The way he said it didn’t feel like a rejection; it felt like a challenge. Her body thrummed, even as she shook her head slightly and started back down the stairs. 

The picture of his face followed her all the way into her apartment, sticking in her head until she fell asleep with a soft smile on her face. 

~

The next morning, she woke up and had breakfast with Lucien, who hardly glanced up from his eggs as he asked, “Where’d you go last night? I heard you get up.”

Her heart started to race even though she’d done nothing wrong. Technically. Calming her voice, she said, “I went to the roof to check on the garden. Couldn’t sleep.”

Lucien just shrugged, knowing this was pretty typical for her. 

She knew she should tell him she’d met their new neighbor, but for some reason, her mouth stayed shut. Probably because she didn’t even know his name. 

It definitely wasn’t because she’d almost kissed him. 

“I have to go; I have an early meeting.” He worked at a corporate finance place downtown, so this wasn’t exactly groundbreaking. He got up from the table, navy suit slightly wrinkled, and kissed her brow. “Thanks for breakfast. I’ll come back Friday, okay?”

This also wasn’t news. He stayed at her place a few nights a week, most of the time Sunday and Friday. She didn’t go to his that often because she didn’t have a car and liked to walk to work. 

Elain nodded and smiled, then went to get ready once he’d left. 

Were twenty-four year-olds supposed to feel like this? Like they were stuck on a conveyor belt, destined to do the same thing for the rest of her life?

It sometimes felt like she’d gone to sleep and woken up in the life of a fifty-year old housewife. 

Whenever he stayed over, he liked coming home to a clean house and meal, so she cooked for him, pretending to love it, when in reality, she’d be just as happy eating takeout on the sofa. 

She greeted him with a smile, and they talked and watched TV together, then went to bed at the same time every night. 

And gods, it was starting to get boring. 

Even the sex was starting to follow a routine. It wasn’t written down, but Elain had noticed they slept together at the beginning of the month, then not at all for a few weeks. 

She missed the beginning of the relationship, when they were so in love and crazy about each other they couldn’t keep their hands off each other.  

She didn’t expect fireworks after being together for so long, but... it had only been two years. And despite never mentioning it, Lucien was bound to propose at some point. 

Could she do this for the rest of her life? Go to work, come home, cook, go to bed? Did she love him enough for fifty years of the same routine?

That thought shocked her. Of course she did. 

He was perfect for her. He didn’t keep secrets, had a good job, and treated her with kindness and respect. So what if the fizzle had worn off? 

So what if she got more turned on sitting on a cold bench next to a complete stranger than after actual foreplay with her boyfriend?

It meant nothing. 

At least, that’s what she told herself as she put on a light blue dress and sandals and fixed her hair. 

Once she was ready, she walked outside and started down the street to her store. It was only a five minute walk, one of her favorite things about her apartment’s location. 

“Elain,” came a low voice from right next to her. 

Surprised, she turned to see her brand new neighbor walking next to her. Just like last night, he was dressed in dark jeans and a black t-shirt. But with the light she could make out his features better, and it did nothing to sway her of how attractive she found him. 

“Good morning.”

He smiled, and she found herself mimicking the expression. 

I mean, when someone who looked like a villainous Prince Charming smiled at you, you smiled back. 

“Better now,” he told her in a low tone, still smirking. 

“You’re a horrible flirt,” she laughed, brushing off how the comment made her skin tingle. 

“Horrible?” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a cigarette, lighting one as they walked. “I’ll have to step up my game then. You look beautiful today.”

“I amend my statement. You’re a mediocre flirt.”

He blew a cloud of smoke around him and rolled his eyes, and she grinned agian. She did that a lot around him, she realized. It was easy to. 

There was just something alluring about him. He was dark and cold and beyond mysterious, but also sensual in a way she’d never seen before. It both threw her off guard and made her want to be reckless for once in her life. 

“Where are you going?”

“Work. I own the flower shop down on third street,” she told him proudly. The shop was her life’s work, and it made her insanely happy to tell people about it. 

“The Archeron?” he asked, and her brows shot up in surprise. “I work across the street. Start today, actually.”

“Oh, at the tattoo place?” 

The idea of getting a needle stabbed into her skin over and over again made her nauseous. 

Azriel noticed her expression. “You ever come in, I’ll give you a discount.”

“I’ll absolutely never take you up on the offer, but thank you. If you ever want a lovely bouquet, feel free to come on in.”

His hazel eyes met hers. “And what if I just want to see you? Do I still have to buy flowers?” There was a blush on her cheeks, and his eyes darkened when he saw it. “I like making you blush.”

Gods above, the man wasn’t giving up. 

She was surprised to find she didn’t want him to. 

She deflected anyway. “Fine. You’re an average flirt.” 

“Oh, baby girl, you have no idea.” They were somehow already in front of her shop, and he looked through the window and grimaced. “On second thought, if I want to see you, I’ll just knock on your door. Lot of flowers in there.”

“That’s kind of the point,” she reminded him, blocking out the picture of Azriel coming over to her apartment. “If I want to see you, who should I ask for?”

Humor flickered across his hard features, but he still shot down the request. 

“If you need me, I’ll be across the street encouraging people to make horrible decisions.”

Laughing, she unlocked the store and watched him walk away. Somehow, even though it was broad daylight, he was a spot of darkness on the street. 

She didn’t even know his name, but she was tempted to follow him, just to see his smile again. If seeing him smile made her feel that happy, how would it be to hear his laugh? 

More than anything, she wanted to find out.

And Elain knew right there that he’d been completely right: they would never be friends. 

______________________________________________________________

Part 2

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