#i will not draw that for you but i appreciate the wide net that you have cast

[mystery-fish-17]

vic fuentes mpreg anon again, somebody needs to draw him pregnant im going crazy

No one needs to draw him pregnant when he's already pregnant irl!!!

[l0vergirlsw0rld]

day nine: stripping | NSFW MDNI 18+

The bass from the lounge music reverberated through the walls, creating a soft hum in the locker room as you finished getting ready for your shift. It was a regular Tuesday night, the 8 p.m. to 2 a.m. crowd wasn’t usually wild, but tonight you expected your favourite regular—Logan. He was different from the others, an older man with salt-and-pepper hair, a thick beard, and a ruggedly handsome, weathered face. He was the kind of man who exuded quiet strength, drawing you to him in a way that none of the other men did. Logan wasn’t there to paw at you like the rest. He just liked to watch, a silent observer who never missed a show, always tipping generously.

Sometimes, you'd keep him in the back room longer, just to chat. He had a lonely air about him that tugged at something inside you. Maybe it was the remnants of a time when he wasn’t so alone, when he was surrounded by people—adoring fans, teammates, a whole world of action and adventure. You knew who he was. It didn’t take long to recognize him as a former X-Man. You had grown up idolizing this very man, and now, here he was, one of your regulars.

It was surreal how life worked sometimes. Unlike your other patrons, Logan wasn’t interested in having you stroke his ego or reminisce about his glory days. He wasn’t looking for validation. He was here for you. Logan’s attention was genuine, and when he looked at you, you felt seen—not as a performer, but as a person. His eyes had followed you from the first night you’d locked eyes at the bar, and since then, he never missed a single one of your shifts. You were his reason for coming back.

As you finished applying a thick layer of gloss to your lips, you glanced at yourself in the mirror. The fluorescent lights of the club glinted off your favourite outfit—a yellow two-piece with blue detailing, a conscious nod to Logan’s old uniform. The top was a crisscross bikini-style with a mesh-net long-sleeve cover-up that hugged your arms, while the bottom was a thong with blue stripes that framed your hips and ass perfectly. It was skimpy, sure, but the thought of him appreciating the colours made your heart race. You knew he’d request a dance later, and you wanted to look your best for him.

Satisfied with your final look, you stepped out from behind the velvet curtains that served as doors, pushing them aside as you made your way onto the main floor. The dim lighting and soft, pulsing bass set the mood as you scanned the room. Your eyes landed on Logan, seated at his usual spot at the bar. His drink was in hand, but this time he wasn’t facing the wall—he was watching you.

The moment your eyes met, a small smile curved his lips, sending a flutter through your stomach. He looked as handsome as ever, his beard neatly trimmed, dressed in a crisp white button-down beneath a dark suit jacket. His posture was relaxed, but his gaze—hungry. You could feel it as his eyes swept over you, lingering on every inch of skin your outfit left exposed.

You made your way over to him, heart beating a little faster with every step. He tossed a few bills on the counter and pushed himself off the stool, standing to greet you. The closer you got, the more your pulse quickened under the heat of his gaze.

“Hi, Lo’,” you greeted, a wide smile on your lips as butterflies filled your stomach. The intensity of his eyes as they scanned your body made you shiver.

Logan bit his bottom lip, his eyebrows raising in appreciation as he took in your outfit. “Y/N, you look... damn good,” he said, his voice low, gravelly.

A giggle escaped your lips, shy under his attention. Something about his presence always made you feel flustered, even though you were used to compliments from men every night. “Thank you,” you replied softly. “You look good too. You put on the cologne I like, didn’t you?”

Logan chuckled, running a hand through his thick hair. “Caught me,” he rasped. “Figured you might like it. Backroom as usual?”

You nodded, slipping your hand into his, feeling the rough calluses on his warm skin. His hands were always warm, comforting against your cool fingers as you led him toward the private room. Even in platform heels, Logan still towered over you, his presence dominating, but in a way that made you feel safe.

Inside the private room, the dim lighting cast a soft glow on the velvet sofa as you flicked on the ‘occupied’ sign, shutting the door behind you. Logan wasted no time, sinking into the plush couch with his legs spread wide, his drink still in hand. His eyes stayed glued to you, admiration mixed with desire, as if he couldn’t get enough.

“Before I start, you want me to light your cigar?” you asked, pulling a lighter from your top, flicking it on to reveal a small, flickering flame.

Logan smirked, pulling a cigar from the inside pocket of his suit jacket. “You read my mind, baby girl,” he chuckled, wedging the cigar between his teeth.

You leaned forward, the lighter in one hand, the flame glowing as you bent to meet him. His eyes dropped to your chest, where your cleavage was pushed up by your arms, and you saw his breath hitch just a little. Slowly, you lit the tip of his cigar, watching as it caught fire and began to glow a deep red. Logan took a long drag, exhaling the smoke in a slow, satisfied breath, never once taking his eyes off you.

There was something unspoken in the air, something electric. You’d seen Logan in this club more times than you could count, but tonight felt different. Maybe it was the deepening crush you had on him, or maybe it was just the excitement of seeing him again after the weekend. As his gaze bore into you, every nerve in your body felt alive. You tossed your lighter aside, watching as he settled deeper into the velvet couch, his eyes roving over your figure like he was memorizing every inch.

With a small, teasing smile, your hands reached for the mesh cover-up, sliding it slowly off your shoulders, revealing the soft glow of your freshly moisturized skin. The music in the background seemed to fade away, as if it was just you and Logan in the world, the rest of the club disappearing into the periphery. His eyes never left you, following every deliberate movement you made.

“How was your day, love?” you asked in a low voice, taking your time to slip your arms out of the sleeves one by one, dragging out each motion, putting on a private show just for him.

Logan took a slow drag from his cigar, exhaling a cloud of smoke as he answered, his voice gruff. “Better now. And you?”

A grin tugged at the corner of your lips as you let the garment fall from your fingers, watching it drop to the floor in an almost exaggerated fashion. “Better now,” you repeated, your tone playful as you took a long, confident stride toward him. Only a foot of space remained between you. The soft glow of blue and purple LED lights bathed your skin in a cool haze, giving the moment an almost dreamlike quality.

You began to move in time with the music, slow and sensual, letting your hands explore your own body, dragging your palms over your curves, feeling the way your skin responded to your touch. It was less about the dance and more about the intimacy of the moment. You knew Logan wasn’t here for a show—he was here for you. The way his eyes darkened, his jaw clenching slightly, showed you that no matter how many times he’d seen you move like this, he was still captivated.

A low moan slipped from your lips as your hands traced over your hips and up to your chest, feeling the electricity of his gaze on you. Logan swallowed hard, shifting slightly in his seat. Even though this wasn’t the first time he’d watched you perform, the effect you had on him was undeniable. His grip tightened on the glass in his hand as you moved closer, and for a brief moment, you wondered who was truly in control here—you or him.

The soft glow of the lights did a perfect job of masking the flush creeping up your cheeks, though you felt the heat of it burning through your skin. You could feel Logan’s eyes on you, watching with the same unwavering focus he always had, seated in his spot like an obedient patron. Unlike others, Logan had never tried to overstep boundaries—he never touched without permission, never pushed past your comfort. There was a safety in that, a rare sense of respect you’d come to appreciate deeply. A part of you wanted to reward him for being different, for being patient.

You turned on your heels, exposing your backside to him, and the low, primal growl that escaped his lips sent a shiver down your spine. You gripped the pole in front of you, arching your back and using the leverage to lean forward, presenting yourself to him in a way you’d never done for anyone else. Your core was already dripping through the thin fabric of your panties, and you knew Logan could see it—smell it, even. The air in the room felt thicker, your scent mingling with the low musk of his cologne, and it seemed to intoxicate him.

“Fuck sakes,” he muttered, voice rough with restraint as he drained the last of his drink and set the glass on the floor beside him.

“Like what you see, Lo’?” you teased, glancing over your shoulder at him, your voice laced with playful mischief.

“I always do, darlin’,” he hissed through gritted teeth, his hand twitching as he adjusted the obvious bulge straining against his pants.

You bit your lip, the words slipping out of you before you even had time to think them through. “You can feel if you like.” You started to sway your hips, making your ass jiggle and semi-twerk for him, knowing exactly what kind of reaction it would provoke.

Logan’s eyes darkened, and he sat up straighter, disbelief flickering across his face. “You serious?”

“I’m serious,” you whispered, grinning as you felt the warmth of his large hands ghost over the curve of your ass. His touch was slow at first, tentative, but it quickly became firmer as he mapped out every inch of your skin with his fingers, savouring the moment he’d been waiting for.

“Fuck, you’re perfect,” he growled, squeezing your cheeks gently, his grip still hesitant but wanting. The feeling of his hands on you sent a wave of heat through your body, and you let out a low moan, a ripple of pleasure mixing with the adrenaline of letting him touch you like this. You had never allowed any other customer to get this close, to breaking that barrier—but Logan wasn’t just another customer, he was different.

You released your grip on the pole and lowered yourself onto Logan’s lap, his strong hands sliding instinctively to your waist, holding you securely as if making sure you wouldn’t slip. His touch felt protective, sending a wave of warmth through you. You let your head fall back, resting it on his broad shoulder, your hair cascading down as you whispered, “You know, you're very special to me. I've never met anyone like you.” As you began to slowly grind in gentle circles against his firm, throbbing erection, you could feel his size pressing through his pants, confirming every suspicion you had about him being well-endowed.

Logan’s voice rumbled in his chest, vibrating against your back. “So are you, darlin’. You have no idea.” The cigar remained gripped between his teeth, his voice rough and deep, filling you with a sense of raw desire.

You pressed a soft kiss to his neck, your lips lingering for a moment before you sat upright, pulling your hair over your shoulder and exposing the clasps of your top. “Would you mind helping me?” you murmured. Without hesitation, his hands moved up to your back, undoing the clasp with swift, practiced precision. The straps of your top slipped off your arms immediately, and you removed the garment torturously slow, teasing him as his eyes flicked up to the mirror across from you, watching your every move.

You pushed yourself off his lap carefully, balancing on your feet as you turned your back to him again. Hooking your thumbs under the waistband of your panties, you heard Logan inhale deeply, the subtle sound of him taking another drag from his cigar. Slowly, you peeled the fabric down your legs, deliberately dragging out the motion to give him a full view of every inch of your skin as it became exposed. When the thong reached your ankles, you bent over, staying low as you stepped out of them, giving Logan a view that made him growl under his breath.

Rising back up, you turned to face him, locking eyes. The air was thick with tension, the heat between you almost unbearable. “I want you, Logan,” you confessed, biting your bottom lip. “I’ve wanted you for a long time.” You straddled his lap facing him this time, your knees digging into the soft velvet couch, your bare pussy hovering just above his aching erection.

His eyes darkened with pure, unfiltered lust. “So have I, baby,” he rasped, his voice gravelly and hoarse from desire.

“Then take me,” you whispered, leaning into him, your lips so close to his. And in a heartbeat, his lips crashed against yours, hunger and need pouring into the kiss. His large hand cupped your face, pulling you deeper into him, and you melted into his touch, your body pressing into his as the tension between you exploded into fiery passion, while his other held the cigar. Every stroke of his lips, every flick of his tongue made your heart race faster, sending electricity through your veins. 

You moaned into the kiss, your sounds blending with the heat of the moment, each kiss more intoxicating than the last. Logan's experience was evident—he knew exactly how to make you feel desired, how to take his time while still making your body ache for more. His rough hands travelled down your body, stopping at your breasts. His palms, rough like sandpaper, cupped you with deliberate pressure, squeezing as his fingers found your hardened nipples, rolling them slowly between his fingers. The sensation sent a sharp wave of pleasure through you, making you whine into his mouth.

Logan smirked against your lips, clearly enjoying the effect he had on you. His hands continued their journey south, gripping your ass harder this time, the action firm and possessive. You welcomed his touch with a small gasp, feeling the warmth of his hands and the strength in his fingers as they explored your body like they were made for it. He knew he was invited now, and that made his touch even more deliberate.

Then his fingers slipped between your folds, his rough fingertips brushing over your wetness. The sudden jolt of pleasure made you gasp, breaking the kiss for a brief moment as your breath hitched in your throat. Logan pulled back slightly, searching your face for any sign of hesitation, but all he saw was the fire in your eyes—a hunger that mirrored his own. You wanted more, craved more.

Without saying a word, you dipped your head to his neck, planting soft, wet kisses along his skin. Your lips left a trail of heat, and you could feel him squirm beneath you, his muscles tensing as you sucked gently on his skin, marking him with each kiss. The feeling of his squirming, the way his breath quickened, gave you a sense of control that sent a thrill through your body.

"Fuck, darlin'," Logan groaned, his voice hoarse and rough as your kisses worked their magic on him. His fingers slid deeper between your folds, teasing your entrance, his touch confident but restrained, like he was savouring every second before taking things further. His reaction only fueled your own desire, and you pressed your body harder against his, needing him in every way possible.

Logan didn’t hesitate. He slipped a thick finger inside of you, the sudden stretch making you moan against his neck, your fingers tightening their grip on his jacket. The roughness of his touch, the sheer size of his hands, everything about it made your body react instantly. He moved his finger with purpose, pumping it in and out, coating it in your slick as he explored you deeper. Each motion was calculated, his pace deliberate as he watched you with hooded eyes, gauging your every reaction.

And then, he found it—your g-spot. With a skilled curl of his finger, he brushed against that sensitive spot, hitting it again and again with perfect precision. A wave of intense pleasure shot through your body, and you flushed bright red, overwhelmed by the sensation. Your breath hitched, and without even thinking, you pushed yourself down harder onto his fingers, craving more, needing more.

"That’s it, darlin'," Logan growled softly, his voice deep and husky. He could feel the way your body responded to him, the way your muscles clenched around his fingers. His free hand found its way back to your hip, holding you steady as you rocked against him, matching the rhythm of his movements.

You were losing yourself in the feeling, the pleasure building inside of you with every stroke, every curl of his fingers. Your nails dug into his jacket as he continued to hit that perfect spot, your moans growing louder, more desperate. The room felt smaller, the air thick with tension and lust, and all you could focus on was him—Logan, and the way he was making you feel like you were coming apart at the seams.

Logan’s fingers never faltered, relentless in their pursuit of your pleasure. He worked you over with perfect control, the roughness of his touch driving you higher and higher, until the heat pooling deep inside of you began to boil over. Your breathing became erratic, each breath more ragged than the last as you clenched around his fingers. The pressure in your core intensified, coiling tighter with every stroke, every curl of his finger against your sensitive spot.

“Logan… I—” You couldn’t finish the sentence, your words breaking into a desperate moan. You pressed your face into the crook of his neck, your hands gripping his shoulders as you rode the edge.

“That’s it, darlin’,” Logan rasped, his voice thick with desire as he felt you tremble against him. “Let go.”

And that’s all it took. With one final curl of his fingers, hitting that perfect spot, your body tensed. The pleasure exploded through you in a rush, crashing over you like a wave. You cried out his name, your entire body shaking as the orgasm tore through you, every muscle clenching as you came undone in his arms. Logan kept his fingers moving, drawing out every ounce of pleasure as your walls fluttered around him, your slick coating his hand.

Your vision blurred, the room spinning as the intensity of it all washed over you. You collapsed against him, your body limp, chest heaving as you tried to catch your breath. Logan didn’t rush you, keeping you close as you trembled, his fingers finally stilling inside of you as you came down from your high.

“Fuck… that was…” You couldn’t find the words, too lost in the haze of satisfaction. Logan pulled his fingers out of you slowly, his hand caressing your thigh as you settled against him, a small smile playing on his lips.

“Good girl,” he whispered, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead.

"Wow, we need to do that again." You mumbled breathlessly.

"I'll pick you up at two," He said smugly, taking another drag of his cigar. 

🏷️:@back2thebasics @spookyfunhottub, @lanassmarty, @hypermarvellove @kbear8863 @squishyfruitloop, @v3rdee @instantpersonawombat, @a-leg-without-fear, @cherrypieyourface

If you'd like to join my tagged list and be notified whenever I post new content, click ->-> HERE<-<-, instructions will follow.

->->masterlist<-<-

[crownofgildedlilies]

great expectations! - 1, small obstacles

prev. | current | next | series list | character intros

You should have known better than to trust Shoyo to stick to your plan.

You had meant to be out of the gym on time, giving the men's volleyball team a wide berth. Even the ones who arrived early to practice should have barely been strolling into the gym to start stretching by the time you were safely gone and out of sight.

But the tail end of your practice had gone to shit and you were nothing if not entirely too stubborn.

It was as if you had completely forgotten how to serve a volleyball and you were determined not to leave until you remembered how. You couldn’t end on such a sour note.

Coach had dismissed the team and everyone on the court had left. Everyone but you. Your focused had tunneled to the feeling of the ball against your palm, the weight of it soaring through the air. Going, going, going... straight out of bounds.

A frustrated groan tore past your lips at the sight. It wasn't even as if it had been close to the far line painted on the opposite end of the court. Your past fifteen serves had been out—or sent directly into the net.

You picked up another ball from the cart you had set next to the serving position, bouncing it against the court a few times. Something was off, and you were starting to realize it wasn't the equipment.

Drawing in a deep breath, you visualized what you wanted to make the ball do, how you wanted your own body to move. You knew well enough that you were getting in your own head, spiraling until you forgot what a simple jump serve looked like.

How could you even be captain—

"Hello, pretty!"

Your palm slams into the ball at an awkward angle and it barely even makes it to the net before it crashes down onto the court.

Serving rut or not, your time in the gym is up. You recognize the voice that called out to you—you've heard it countless time in your nightmares—but that doesn't make it any easier to turn around and face the culprit standing just inside the double doors that lead to the men's changing rooms.

Tooru Oikawa, captain of the men's team.

"Fuck off," You groan. All things considered, you've had minimal interactions with him, and it was by design. He's arrogant and rude, and the gaggle of giggling girls he had following him never failed to make your head ache.

"It's nice to see you, too!" He smiles, leaning against the edge of the bleachers. You glare at him briefly and see he's not alone. Atsumu Miya is digging through his gym bag, grinning like the smug asshole you know he is, and you realize that maybe they had been there longer than you had thought.

The thought makes you flush, and you hurry to bend and retrieve the balls strewn across the court. You make a note to yell at Hinata for not distracting his captain long enough for you to make your escape, though you know the only person more stubborn than Oikawa is you.

Shoyo never really had a chance.

"Man, I forgot how much I love the women’s uniform.” The comment comes from Oikawa with an appreciative sigh, and you feel your spine snap straight.

You’re not even sure you’re aware of the way your body moves in response. One second, you’re cleaning up the loose volleyballs littered across the gym floor.

The next, you managed land your first serve in countless tries—straight in the irritating as all hell face of Oikawa.

Unfortunately, he’s able to block it, though you’re left with no small amount of pride at the stunned look on his face.

Atsumu doesn’t even try to hide his boisterous, boyish laugh. You think you even see him fall backwards out of his crouch with the force of his amusement, one hand clutching his stomach while the other points at his team captain.

You don’t stick around long enough to hear Oikawa’s response to his friend’s mocking, because by the time he’s recovered, you’re already halfway out of the gym, middle finger extended high over your shoulder behind you.

“You can clean up for me, asshole!”

The gym doors slam shut behind you before Oikawa composes himself enough to respond, and Atsumu is still laughing.

You hate him.

You think you hate the flush on your face more.

extras!

the calendar in the kitchen is color coded. it’s tsukki’s idea but hinata never remembers what the colors are so he asks yn to help him so tsukki doesn’t get mad

kuroo claims his main form of entertainment comes from watching others argue

oikawa thought he was giving yn a genuine compliment on her uniform and atsumu thinks it’s too funny to correct him

yn started tutoring kageyama after hinata begged her so he wouldn’t get put on academic probation and not be able to stay on the team. now she sees him like a socially awkward little brother

taglist: 1/50

@loveyislost

[bucky-barnes-diaries]

Day 3 — Christmas Tree Farm

Pairing || TFATWS!Bucky x Female!Reader

Word Count || Around 500

Contents & Warnings || Fluff — no warnings.

Disclaimer || English is not my first language so I apologise for any mistakes or misunderstandings!

Advent Calendar 2023

During the festive season, having a Christmas tree was a must for you and Bucky. It symbolized the essence of Christmas and brought joy to your shared home. Without the majestic presence of a beautifully decorated tree standing tall and proud in the living room, your house would feel empty and cold.

Hence, it had become an eager tradition for you and Bucky to visit a Christmas tree farm and cut a perfect tree for your home.

As you arrived at the tree farm, a picturesque scene unfolded before your eyes. A fresh blanket of snow had fallen the night before, gracefully covering the ground and adorning the array of trees that stretched far and wide. The air was brisk, and the sky a crystal-clear clarity.

Amidst other families and couples, all on their quest for their ideal Christmas tree, you and Bucky equipped a hand saw and other necessities from the farm employees.

Hand in hand, you strolled along the rows of fir, spruce, and pine trees, considering their size, shape, and variety. The aroma of them a pleasant smell.

“So, what kind of tree are we aiming for this year, doll?” Bucky questioned as you traversed the paths.

“Hmm, I’m not sure,” you responded, examining the diverse options before you. “How about we go all out this year? The biggest one we can fit in our living room? With our new house, we do have space for it.”

“I like that idea,” Bucky murmured against your temple, sealing his agreement with a gentle kiss on your cheek.

Upon reaching the outer edges of the farm, you found yourself torn between several larger trees. After careful consideration, you pointed to one with enthusiasm.

“I think this one,” you declared, running your gloved hand over the pine needles. “It’s a bit smaller than the others but much fuller and plumper.”

Bucky, deep in contemplation, tilted his head as he pictured the tree in your living room. Choosing the perfect Christmas tree was serious business for both of you.

“Yeah, this is the one,” Bucky nodded in agreement.

With Bucky taking charge of cutting the tree, you offered encouragement from the sidelines, occasionally lending a hand when needed.

“I think it’s about to come down, doll. Watch out!”

The tree fell with a soft thud; the snow beneath cushioned the impact. Together, you maneuvered it onto a blue tarp for easier transport back to the car.

After getting the tree wrapped in netting and completing the purchase, the staff assisted you in securing it on top of your car.

“I’m so happy, Bucky!” you exclaimed, embracing him tightly, bouncing lightly on your feet. “I can’t wait to decorate our tree, our house, our life.

“Hey, slow down,” he chuckled, hugging your waist and drawing you closer. “We’ve got the entire month of December for all those things and more, doll. But let’s start by taking this tree home and decorate our house.”

“Hmm, yes,” you murmured before sharing a kiss. “And then lots of Christmas goodies,” kiss, “Christmas movies,” kiss, “all the Christmas joy,” kiss, “and so much more.”

Feedback through a comment is highly appreciated! Or let me know through an anonymous ask if that feels more comfortable. As well as a reblog to share my work with other people!

I don’t do taglists so please follow @bucky-barnes-diaries-library and turn on notifications to never miss out on my writing!

[mercysought]

drabble between Asharen and Cole, discussing Rift Magic in Skyhold and the meaning of purpose

   "Asharen."

The voice is sudden, and impactful, making her jump out of her own body and making her turn on her knees to face the voice. Cole was a bean-sprout of a spirit, thin, lanky and tall - and much like any sprout looking for any source of warmth.

   "Creators!" she sneers, leaning down to grab her staff and dragging it closer across the stone. The library underneath Skyhold was a perfect place to hide, hide from most of other soldiers, hide if she needed a quick nap, hide if she wanted to do something that she shouldn't be doing instead of sleeping "Cole!"

She calls, half laughing, half exasperated. Jumping to her feet she cleans off the dust from her robes.

   "Thought you were Josie," she feels more guilty when the words come out of her mouth. It wasn't that she didn't appreciate Josephine's protests and demands that she should rest, however, her day only had so many hours and if she wanted to spend some of them doing her own investigations then she needed to make sure that she fit it somewhere.

Sometimes the sacrificial lamb was sleep.

   "Don't sneak up on me like that!" she whispers, slowly walking closer to him with a larger smile.

Truth be told, she was glad that he was there. Cole had this way of knowing when people needed him most, and in this case, he knew that she worked through her thoughts best when she had another to talk to. She could call Solas, but she had this nagging feeling that he too would take Josie's stance. While she would have loved his company, at this late hour she would have expected him to be planning his newest mural while dreaming.

   "I'm sorry." he whispers, now matching her tone and hunching down. Pale eyes look to her from beneath the wide-brim hat "It's late, I thought you might want company."

   "Yes." she beacons him closer, turning once more to where she had been leaning "Yes, let me show you what I found out."

The floor of the underground library was covered in dust with the exception for the Inquisitor's footprints. She had tied the bottom edges of her robes up on her belt to avoid disturbing it more. In the absence of a place to write, when forgetting a notebook, she had taken to taking quick notes and alterations on the dust. Not long lasting, but enough to put into practice some theories that were not meant to last long anyway.

   "I found this small tear, earlier." she whispers, leaning down against the two collapsing bookcases of books that had been too damaged for her to successfully pull out. That was how she had initially found it. Having discovered this space, she had taken upon herself to attempt to parse through it. Well, attempt truly being the operative word.

It was small and unstable tear. No larger than the palm of her hand. It had been a dull pulse on her wrist that had warned her of its presence. Standing to the side, she allows Cole to peek "Usually I would close it without a thought, but... I was thinking —"

Asharen sits where she had. Around the area where the dust had not been collected (where the Inquisitor had been sitting) multiple runes and drawings could be seen. Some areas had been completely wiped clean. Sitting once more, she crosses her legs, beckoning Cole to join and sit beside her by the green light of the crackling tear. Small sparks poured from Asharen's hand; if she looked bothered she didn't look it.

   "The Veil is like..." pausing, she glances up to Cole, making sure that he was paying attention, if he was still interested. Not everyone would, she knew. But Cole looked at her fully, interested, attention solely on her as her fingers went down to the floor, in a surrounding area with dust drawing multiple crossing squares "A fishing net."

Drawing around a grid of eight small squares, all corners touching each other she stops, finger still on the floor, eyes lifting to him.

   "It has weaves, each interlaced in a thin enough manner as to allow for movement from one side to the other through its larger spaces. Like water, or in this case... something else." she wasn't quite sure what it was, truth was told. It was not air for air existed in both instances; an easy answer would be just magic but that answer too was unsatisfactory. She draws arrows from the left and to the right and vice versa. Eyes glance up to Cole once more, and he nods.

Still, the thought stood: thin, carefully crafted, lightweight. The Veil stood as a very thin layer between the world that Cole had come from and their own.

   "The tears happen when," she starts erasing some of the lines "these links are broken. Worse than broken," with the base of her fist, she erases whole parts, enough to keep some links together but jagged in a way that a pulled apart tapestry was "they are ripped across multiple levels causing the space between to become unstable. Dangerous" dangerous enough to explode at the smallest aspects of magic, substances such as lyrium. When large enough, enough to allow for spirits and demons alike to cross and do untold damage to themselves and others. Light eyes, lift and she smiles - knowingly "to anyone that doesn't have this:"

She lifts the hand where the anchor shone brightly a dull, green dangerous light.

   "The anchor."

   "Yes. The anchor." she nods "Like a fine needle, it seems this was designed specifically with this in mind. One end to weave, another one to potentially tear."

She pauses, turning her own hand to see. The other hand touches it. Even with the sparks it felt like... like nothing truly. It felt like touching her own hands in the strangest of ways. Whatever material it was lodged within, shinning brightly, felt warm to the touch as it would skin and yet - all at once - it was... foreign. Snapping back, she feels Cole's eyes on her once more "But, but-!" she restarts, smiling and growing further as she gets up "Do you want to see something cool?"

Cole nods and her smile curls further as her hand goes to the small pouch by her belt. From inside she removes a small shard of glass. She had spoken with Dagna, though their discussions were frankly too short to produce exactly what they both wanted. Still, this was the fourth attempt at something that Asharen had thought up. Turning, she holds it in between her thumb and indicator.

   "After the last lesson with Solas, I was thinking about this..." she hums, lifting the small shard and moving the hand with the mark behind her back. In the air as she did, thin lines of green crossed upon the air. It was a slow process, each time it was done the letters were jagged "Rift magic deals in much the same way with the veil, we pull and push across the veil. Weaving and unweaving in a controlled manner. It needs to be precise, careful. The cuts need to be thin enough and careful enough, so that to not disrupt the balance and disrupt the user or have unintended effects."

Pausing, she turns to Cole. The green light from the runes gives him a sickly hue though from this angle it illuminates his face completely. The runes seem to keep his focus and so she continues.

   "Rift magic does not become unstable because there is that balance." she smiles, finishing writing "Which means..."

The runes disappear, like a finely woven end; and the small tear reacts. It pulls on itself, thinning for a second while the sparks seem to grow more intense. After a second, it returns once more to its original size, as loud as it had been originally. Sighing, Asharen places the thin piece back in the pouch, scratching the side of her head. The braids had long become undone; after all, she had initially been prepared for sleep.

   "It... doesn't quite work yet. I'm still working on it, but theoretically?..." pausing, she smiles to Cole "The anchor is a shortcut. But anyone could do this, close a tear, using specific runes and Rift Magic." or cause them. But that was a thought and concern for another time. When they didn't have a large Breach already opened in the sky. The most important aspect was that perhaps even people without magic could, perhaps, do this "Carefully enough. This is a small tear, but it's possible."

She needed to try again, take notes, and take them to Dagna. Truthfully, she should close this small tear and wait until another one similar to it could happen. Silentely praying she hopes that it could do so in her quarters so she wouldn't need to sneak out.

   "Like the first beam of sunlight after a dark morning: she gazes upon the world with a light anew. The world remained the same, turning the same, but it felt so much warmer, welcoming. Brighter. It shines because you shine brightly upon it too. This. This is what I was made to do! This is my purpose."

Asharen looks to Cole who seems to beam at her through the dull green light. She hadn't quite thought of it that way. The thought of purpose was never one that she had ever given much thought, never a topic that she felt was of true use given the life that she led before Inquisition. The clan needed to survive and she was needed. But she was there, needing to close the Breach and her clan survived still. Sitting besides Cole, she looks at the small breach and then back to Sole, giving him a huge side hug.

   "Yes, Cole, that sounds exactly right."

[thetarttfuldickhead]

A Jamie-centric pre-OT3 Christmas story told in 25 short chapters.

Masterpost / AO3

14.

Another fucking draw. At least they’d actually scored in this one (Obisanya 26, Tartt 74), but what good was that when they let the other team net the ball just as many times? Jamie stared morosely at his Lynx collection, trying to muster the energy to change out of his kit. He was sweaty, his hair was a mess, and his side ached dully from a nasty tackle near the final whistle; taking a shower would be heaven. But he was too tired to move.

It wasn’t so much the game that left him exhausted, even though it sure took its physical toll. The past ten days had been a mad flurry of setting up surprise after surprise for Roy, and that had involved more gift hunting, eavesdropping and secret sneaking around than Jamie had ever thought he’d get up to. Between that and football and team Christmas bonding there’d barely been time for sleeping and eating.

And after all that, he still hadn’t called Mummy. He’d tried to, every single night, but he just. couldn’t. do. it. Apparently his efforts still weren’t up to scratch, which was baffling, to be honest: how fucking sad was Roy that not even the truly fanastic stuff Jamie had pulled for him had made him happy? Christmas was only days away, and Jamie was running out of both ideas and time. Could he get Sade to actually write Roy a song… ? Might be too much, though, even if he managed to figure out how to sort it. It’d give the bugger a heart attack or something, and that would make Keeley sad and probably not count as him doing a nice thing, even if it’d be dead unfair of the universe to blame him for Roy being a frail old man.

Perhaps he could invite Dani out for another brainstorming session; it had worked a treat last time. Jamie was pretty sure that Roy had appreciated his gifts and gestures, from what peeks he’d managed to sneak of the man. Just not appreciated them enough, apparently.

It also seemed like maybe Roy was getting a tiny bit suspicious. Yesterday, he’d kept turning his head every this way and that, and sometimes stopping dead in the street and whirling around, looking a little wild-eyed. At one point Jamie had had to dive behind a couple of large rubbish bins to avoid detection. That was a pair of perfectly ripped trousers he’d never wear again.

Fuck, but he wished that—

“Jamie, are you feeling well?”

Jamie turned to look at Sam, who had stopped by his cubby, already changed and with a concerned pinch to his kind face. He looked just slightly, slightly hesitant, as if he wasn’t sure if his question would yield an answer or something sharp and snide. Jamie made an effort to smile. “Yeah, bruv, I’m sound. Just, you know, tired of not winning.

“It is disappointing. But, thanks to you it was a draw instead of a loss. And it was a very nice goal too.”

At the praise, Jamie felt his smile grow easier, more sincere. It had been a very nice goal, hadn’t it? Good of Sam to notice. 

“Yeah, yeah, thanks mate. And yours were great too, you know?” he added, remembering what Dr. Sharon had said about how acknowledging other people’s accomplishments did not diminsh Jamie’s own.

The way Sam’s lips curled into a wide grin, mirroring Jamie’s own, and the way the sight of it made Jamie feel warm had him thinking she was onto something there.

“Thanks, Jamie,” Sam said simply, and gave him a friendly nod before walking back to his own cubby.

Still smiling, Jamie finally began to undress.

---

Once he was showered and changed and Ted had somehow talked them all into feeling determined and hopeful rather than dejected, Jamie hefted his bag and headed for the door. On his way out he passed by Keeley and Rebecca Welton, offering a smile to the former and a polite nod to the latter.

Keeley lit up when she saw him (and fuck, but that still did things to him, didn’t it?). “Hi, Jamie,” she said. “Listen, I was wondering if you could stop by my place tomorrow? I wanted to talk to you about some new tweaks to your brand, now that you’re playing again?”

Jamie perked right up at that. Talking to Keeley and discussing his brand? Fucking brilliant. Much better than spending another day trying to figure out what would possible make Roy Kent happy enough to appease the universe into letting Jamie call his mum.

He’d been working hard. He deserved a little break. Besides, hanging out with Keeley at her place might well yield some new Roy related ideas.

“Yeah, mint, yeah,” he said. Then a thought occurred to him and he frowned. “Or, actually, no, I can’t. The team’s doing a day trip Winchester Christmas Market after our recovery sessions. Sorry.”

He was, too. As much as he was growing to appreciate the lads and was looking forward to the trip, he’d rather spend some time with Keeley (and his brand was in sore need of some brushing up, ‘cause people were still being cunts and hung up about him walking out on City and Amy and stupid shit like that).

“Oh.” Keeley looked disappointed, which cheered him a little. “Tuesday?” she suggested.

“Sure, yeah. I mean, I’ve got training, but I could drop by after? Unless you wanna… “ He nodded towards her closed office door.

“No! I mean… No. There’s been… there’s an issue with the ventilation, yeah, it smells awful in there. Like dying animals and farts and baby vomit. Blegh. You don’t wanna go in there.”

Uh, yeah, no thank you, he sure as hell did not. Jamie made a face. “Yeah, all right,” he said. “I’ll just come by yours then?”

She nodded, looking relieved. “Great! Thank you, Jamie!”

“You’re all right.” He gave her another smile, Rebecca another nod (and noted that she for some reason seemed like she was struggling not to either roll her eyers or laugh, which was kind of rude, considering how hard Keeley worked for her and all, and she really should get Keeley’s office sorted), before heading out to his car.

So. Fun trip with the boys tomorrow – maybe he’d find something nice for Mummy and for Roy at the Christmas market – and then hanging out with Keeley the day after. So-so playing and his mummy issues aside, life wasn't so bad.

[laneynoir]

Last minute desicions will be the death of me. But here, have a crappy fic I wrote really quickly.

No really, First off, I apologize for the quality, I just decided to do this challenge earlier today 😅 second, it's not a major plot point or anything but Legolas is transmasc in this so.

Legolas x reader, no specific pronouns :)

Safety Net | Swooning | “How many fingers am I holding up?”

In. Out. In. Out. Out.Out. You shake as you try to draw another breath, lungs empty you wrench your mouth open and force a gasp of air. Half regestering the knock at the door, you lift your head from your knees, resting it agaist the wall, if indeed you could be so generous as to call the movement resulting in an obvious thump 'resting'.

The knock sounds again, this time more urgent. Rubbing at your eyes and gathering the discarded shoes, you call out, "One moment please!" The chipper tone giving naught away, or so you hope.

All hope of this is thrown aside when a familiar voice calls back. "It's me, Legolas, open the door. Please."

Not half a minute passes, though it still feels far to long, yet not long enough, before your knees pop as you scoot yourself up the wall, and slide the lock away.

When Legolas' face comes into view, it already wears the expression of worry. Grief imeadiatly joins when he sees you propped heavily against the wall, chest visibly shaking, and struggling to control yourself. You make an attempt to walk toward him, to reasure that you're ok amd he need mot worry, but you've hardly pushed away from the wall when. Your vision begins to swim and strange dots seem to begin floating around you. You knock back against the wall and slump again to the floor.

He whispers your name, dropping to his knees beside you. "May I touch you?" At your jerking nod he places his hands over yours, stilling the scratching movement from causing more harm to your arms.

He draws you to your feet, and into an embrace. Taking his cloak away from his shoulders and warping it around you, Legolas leads you through the doorway and down the hall.

A soldier -not one of the Rohiram, more of a gatekeeper really- stops your progress by moving in front of the door. "Dreadfully sorry Lady," He says to Legolas. "You two need to move along. These chambers are for the visitors of the King only."

"It is entirely regrettable for you then," Legolas voice as cold as you've heard it, and that coupled with the obviously unfeminenity of it, has the guard's eyes going wide. "That we are both visitors of King Theoden."

"Well- I cant really just take your word-"

"Legolas Thranduillion, of Greenwood. I should like to pass by you peacefully, but you are testing my patience."

Whatever may have been the man's response, you would not know. As Aragorn opens the door, quickly glances at each person, doubling back to you at your pale expression. "Y/n?" He turns to the guard. "Can I ask what's wrong, sir?"

Suddenly respectful he shifts on his feet nervously. "I was just explaining that only the King's guests are allowed past."

"And you have other elves stashed away? I should certainly like to meet them, however if you would kindly let the prince past I would much appreciate it." Aragorn is altogether to amused, and the Guard has gone bright red.

Apparently deciding not to further embarrass himself, the man waves you and Legolas past, looking not a little afraid of the threatening glance your elf spares him.

By the time the darkness of the inner room swallows you, your breathing has steadied slightly, and you are content to ball up in Legolas embrace.

"Is there more that I can do, Meleth?"

You shale your head quickly, and ball fists into his tunic. "No there's just... So much. Everywhere. Nothing seems to stop and breath a moment. It all so fast, and I cannot breath. It seems that we are surrounded by death, and yet here there is feasting, children, children have died, yet we are still so loud. Would it be so awful if we just had but a moment of silence?"

His arms tighten around you and he begins softly singing in his mother tongue, you stay this way until again the horns are rung, ams again you must go to battle.

[jfbuckley]

My football correspondent has produced his customary masterpiece of journalism. His appreciation of United playing well for once is palpable, and very good to see.

He makes a different point to me about us being only 3 points behind city. He is 100% correct of course, and will probably finish many more than 3 points behind. My comment is just a little tongue in cheek, but I do think that some of the doom mongers should take it to heart. If they think of how we performed in season 1973/74 they will have a much clearer idea of what “poor play” and “crisis” REALLY means.

My own feeling about the performance is this:

“Rushford and Martial were dropped to the bench. Neither were missed, and from what I have read - and seen on the highlights - the team were much more dynamic without them. I would be very happy if neither of them, together with their mate Sancho ever played for the club again. In my opinion, Pogba and Lingard were the spreaders of a laziness and bad attitude virus that has eaten away at the team - and cost the jobs of Mourinho, Solskjaer and Rangnick - they are gone now, so if we can also get rid of these three bone idle wasters, then I can see the team going places again”.

———

hi - this match used to be one of most anticipated games of the season between the 2 best teams guided by the 2 best managers - nowadays it is a battle between 2 okish sides who have spent a lot of cash without having much to show for it

that said i am pleased to report that this encounter turned out to be one of the most entertaining matches that old trafford has seen in quite a while with both teams deciding that the best form of defence was to attack - in the end united proved themselves better in both departments and deserved to win

after the lifeless non effort at newcastle the reds were bright, breezy, energetic and full of attacking intent - after 9 minutes united won a corner - fernandes was about to take it when the ref was called to look at the tv screen - nobody knew why as there had been no appeals - anyway it turned out that antony's foot had been trodden on by enzo fernandes - probably an accident but the ref pointed to the spot - bruno stepped up but his attempt lacked power and direction and was easily saved

undaunted united continued to press forward (in part helped by chelseas defenders passing the ball amongst themselves in their own area) and following a set piece garnacho pulled the ball back for maguire whose shot was parried out to mctominay who fired a left foot shot in for the opener

a short time later mctominay was allowed a free header from 6 yards -the first effort was straight at keeper sanchez and from the rebound mctominay again hit it straight at the keeper who gratefully dived on the ball

in the meantime chelsea tested united - mudryk hit the outside of the post and dragged a shot wide - sterling set up jackson in front of goal but onana came out to smother - just before half time the silky smooth palmer teased the united defence before eventually drilling a low shot beyond onana for the leveller

united maintained their drive in the 2nd half and after 69 minutes mctominay was found free at the far post by garnacho and the scots header made it 2 - 1 - as usual the celebrations were paused by a VAR check but resumed a minute or so later - shortly afterwards chelsea presented mctominay with an open net but the shot was screwed wide - i kid you not the man could easily had a hat trick and maybe even 4

as the end neared chelsea strove for a point - the ball flashed across the united goalmouth without a meaningful touch - a late header hit the outside of the post - but united deservedly hung on - they'd had 28 shots in total and were the dominant force

so united after 15 matches have 27 points - they've already lost 6 but because like test cricket they don't do draws anymore they are not far away from the top 4 - indeed if city are the barometer of succcess united must be doing alright because they are just 3 points behind last years treble winners - lies, damned lies and statistics

next up is bournemouth who are playing pretty well - which united will turn up ?- hopefully the one that played tonight and away in the champions league - we don't want a repeat of newcastle - by the way it is liverpool away soon - something to look forward to - not 7 again we hope

bye

[anchanted-one]

Foundry Battle

This is an excerpt from chapter 83: The Foundry

It’s the Revan boss fight. How is it? Is it easy to follow? Is there a dearth of detail, or perhaps an overabundance? Does it need more in it?

Any thoughts at all will be appreciated.

Akahte shook her head. “I didn’t want to believe it, but it’s true. You really were going to kill 99% of us. Did the other Jedi know? Surely not. They’re too squeamish for such a drastic step. These days, at least.”

“Of course I didn’t tell them,” Revan admitted. “They would’ve got in my way. Only I have the will to do what must be done, no matter the cost. When one needs to cut off their arm to save their own life, they have no choice but to grit their teeth and pick up a knife.

“Hey, that rhymed! You made a half-bad poem! You should’ve been a court fool somewhere.”

“Insolent wretch!” Revan barked. He donned his mask and helmet and drew his Lightsabers. “I am Revan! I was a Sith! I am a Jedi! My knowledge is beyond any of you!”

He attacked Decimus first. The Dark Lord retreated steadily under Revan’s angry assault. Vemrin took the wind out of its sails by getting behind the Jedi, forcing him to concentrate on two people at once. Akahte entered the fray, slipping behind him and attempting to skewer his kidney with her shoto. Revan leapt into the air, where he was met by Ashara Zavros. The Togruta managed to stay on the offensive for a few milliseconds before the Jedi kicked her back. He used the momentum gained to land some distance away from his entrapment.

Khem Val charged next, but Revan evaded his attack. His Lightsaber bounced off the Dashade’s hide, but Khem still hissed from pain. Akahte new from experience that Lightsabers could pierce his hide eventually, so she loosed a jet of Lightning. Revan leapt back, so she tried again. This time, a wider, thicker net. The Jedi shocked her by conjuring his own Lightning; it was more magenta than blue or purple, and Akahte new at once she was outmatched. She squeezed out all the power that Ergast and Zavros had to offer, and most of Andru’s as well. Revan was pushed back, so he disengaged and attempted to close the distance.

Decimus got into his path, completely halting his momentum, but Revan kicked the Dark Councilor onto Akahte.

Akahte didn’t see what happened next, but when she got back onto her feet, Vemrin had been thrown headfirst into Khem, knocking both men out of the fight for a bit. Ashara stepped forward again, Andronikos and Talos distracting the Jedi as she approached from behind. But Revan deflected one of the bolts right into her stomach. She fell with a moan. Revan thrust a palm out, and both men were lifted into the air and slammed around on computers. Andronikos looked like he’d broken something important, and Talos’ fall was broken by a computer screen. Glass shards tore a wide gash across his left eye and face. He fell whimpering, fingers trying in vain to save his eye.

“NO!” Akahte rose. Drawing on every last drop of power from the ghosts that she could—and ignoring the tremendous pain that caused—she hurled a pillar of nearly-red Lightning at Revan. Unfortunately, the pain caused her to miss, and he was only hit by the penumbra of the storm.

Akahte dropped to one knee, smarting from the pain. Decimus rose to confront Revan. And he was alone. “You’re not half-bad, you little beast. But you’re more Sith than Jedi, and they’ll kill you for it, if we don’t. But even you are no match for a Dark Councilor.”

“You’ll find there’s little I’m no match for,” Revan’s voice conveyed a derisive sneer. “You think you can take me? Come and get it, then!”

Decimus’ attack was powerful enough to completely distract Revan. Behind him, Khem and Vemrin began to rise and prepare to reenter the battle.

He—he’s not doing so bad at all! Akahte thought. Good. Now I can go for my real strength.

She quickly pulled out her ritual knife and put a long cut on her arm. She drew runes and Sith letters all over the floor at her feet. She channeled power through all the tattoos on her hands; normally she only used up a single finger’s worth for each ritual, but this was a big one. An all-or-nothing gamble, one that took nearly seven minutes to complete. As she channeled, the tattoos began to burn red and fade. And as they did, glyphs appeared around the ritual circle. Akahte began to recite the words out loud, fighting to stay awake through the blood loss.

In that time, Vemrin and Khem rejoined the fight, with little success. Revan was a deadly opponent, and soon enough, Vemrin fell to the ground with a gaping Lightsaber wound in his gut. The ex-slave looked stunned, like the idea of death had never crossed his mind. With his fall, the battle shifted further into Revan’s favor. The Jedi managed to pin Khem under a heavy ferrocrete slab, then put a scar on Decimus’ face.

But Akahte was finally done. She felt goosebumps as the ritual started to work. To her vision, it looked like cobwebs spreading across the floor.

Without any warning, Revan suddenly lost his footing. One second he was about to kick Decimus in the chest; the next, his back foot slipped off the floor. He landed on his face. Every attempt to rise was met by failure as his hands, elbows, knees, and feet slid on the surface as though the friction was gone.

Decimus laughed happily. He, of course, was unhindered. “How long does this last?”

“As long as I do.”

“I think I’m gonna take your side against Thanny.” He kicked Revan in the stomach, sending him tumbling into a wall. Blood slipped out from the rim of his mask, and he coughed, raising off his mask to spit out another mouthful of blood. “Got any other tricks?”

Behind Revan, the durasteel walls became crude arms that seized the Jedi.

“A vulgar little trick, witch, but you won’t ‘last’ as long as you think you will,” Revan growled. “The real world is not a sterile classroom.” He raised his hands; a heavy stone slab broke off from the ceiling. Akahte scrambled to avoid it, but in so doing, lost her concentration. Revan snapped his fingers, and the hands exploded.

Someone applauded politely from the door. “Good show!”

All eyes turned to glare at Darth Kaimeryn. She came accompanied only by her Nagai retainer. “Stand aside, Decimus. He’s mine.” The woman entered with tremendous power in every footstep. “Ah, would you look at that? Vemrin is dead. I wanted to do that!”

Akahte cowered. This Sith scared her far more than Harkun, Zash, Skotia, and Thanaton combined did.

Kaimeryn tossed the Jedi a vial. “Get up, Jedi. I’m going to fight you at your best.”

Revan stood slowly. He seemed to take the Muinar as a far greater threat than he had the rest of the strike team. He contemplated the vial for a moment, then swallowed its contents. He then began a meditative trance. Minutes later, Akahte Sensed his wounds starting to heal. “Thanks,” she said before she could stop herself. “We had to fight hard to give him those wounds!”

“Yes, I noticed. And I noticed how you all kept getting in each other’s way. You’re not a team; you shouldn’t have fought as one. You are not the sum of your parts. I’ll show you how it’s done.”

She ignited her Lightsaber. “Come, ‘Revan.’ I want to see how well you live up to your legend.”

“Arrogance,” Revan hissed. He and Darth Kaimeryn stood facing each other for a few seconds. Then they both attacked at once. Kaimeryn’s swing knocked Revan back, but he recovered at once. He hurled a fist of Lightning at her, which she leapt over.

She landed with such tremendous force that the whole room shook, but Revan kept his feet. He hurled both his Lightsabers at the tall woman, who blocked the throw with her saber. Before the blades could return, she closed the gap and stabbed at him. Unable to recall his own blades back in time, Revan used Vemrin’s. He stopped three, four, five of her attacks, and on the sixth he counterattacked. Kaimeryn sidestepped but took a slight wound to the shoulder. Far from being upset, she laughed. “NICE ONE!”

Her attack this time was harder and faster. Three attacks to the face, one to the stomach, another to the shoulder, back to the neck… Revan fell back, putting up a steadfast defense. A look of fear crossed his face. He tried to knock her legs out from under her, but she braced herself somehow, causing Revan to hurt himself.

“That’s not how you sweep this lady off her feet,” Kaimeryn smiled. She gave Revan the time to recover a little.

“You self-indulgent little thrill-seeker—”

“That I am. But I’m not a genocidal maniac, at least. You take what you can get in this life. You should have tried that quiet life, instead of this.”

She raised a hand and Revan was raised in sync. He bagan to cough and choke. But he was not done. He twitched a finger, and the Lightsabers he’d dropped hurtled back at Darth Kaimeryn. The blades bounced off her Shield, but Revan broke free. He summoned the Lightsabers back, then took a few steps back. The Force churned around him as he made his next play. The ground started to shake. Cracks formed and rocks as sharp as spikes sprang up to attack Kaimeryn.

She used the Force herself; a hammer blow that turned the spikes into powder. Revan tried to choke her, and for a moment, she looked like she was succumbing to it, but she broke free with a loud yell.

Computers and machinery rose up and swirled around Revan. They began rushing forward and withdrawing back, like he was using the objects as fists. Kaimeryn took a few hits, but her Shield saved her from any real damage. That was until several ‘fists’ got swathed in Lightning. Kaimeryn looked impressed and a little nervous. The blows started to inject Lightning into her Shield, and it looked like it would be crushed soon. Kaimeryn looked like she was ready to move… but Akahte was too scared of what might happen if the Muinar died.

She sprang into action before that could happen. Getting in range again, she stabbed Revan through the back. The Jedi screamed in surprise, then fell to the floor.

“Why did you do that?” Darth Kaimeryn asked, raising a beautiful eyebrow. She sounded a little annoyed.

“He was about to kill you!”

“No he wasn’t. I had that.”

“Well… I thought he was,” Akahte said defensively.

Kaimeryn sighed. She looked at the man on the ground. “And I was enjoying that too. He was far from done, but so was I. This is so anticlimactic!”

Revan crawled to a table and fought to sit up. Power crackled in his left fist, but it looked like the last embers of a dying fire. Still, Akahte felt some respect for a man who could fight until his last breath like this.

“So this is it…” Revan sighed. “‘And in the end, as darkness takes me… I am nothing.’” He sounded like he was quoting someone. “I… understand now, how you felt, old friend.”

He released his power, and there was a loud explosion. Fortunately, no one was hurt. Unfortunately, every last piece of equipment in the control center was destroyed. The whole room smelled like melted tar. Outside, the explosions started. Like the Jedi had said, the place had been set to self-destruct. In death, Revan managed to rob his enemies of their prize.

[cornacopicimagines]

A Rose Blooms │t.h

pairing: prince!tom holland x princess!reader

words: 8.4k (WHOOPS)

warnings: arranged marriage, SMUT (we been knew), slight praise kink and 10000% breeding kink, therefore unprotected sex, swearing, slight cockwarming & good lord there is so much

summary: Perhaps God does have a sick sense of humour. To allow such misguided souls to one another. Souls that shouldn't be allowed to feel the sense of happiness he can provide, that should accept their dire situations. The Prince of Wales and his new bride can attest to the quite well. 

a/n: what do y'all mean a historical prince au!tom holland with major smut and breeding kink is not a thing. i know the sluts want it, even if they never ask for it. i must provide it.

masterlist

━━★✼☆｡

y/n of Burgundy was a splendid piece of artwork. A sweet and humble French Princess with a huge dowry and a bright future. It was as if DaVinci had casted the girl from Venus's shadow and gifted the baby to displeased parents. Parents who so wished for a boy, that the arrival of a healthy girl is so overlooked that the girl is better off dead. The sadness is heard across not only France but the entirety of Europe. Poor y/n of Burgundy! The Unlucky Princess of Burgundy! It's all she hears; she is deemed a tragedy before her life is even written. Perhaps that is her greatest misdeed in this life, that because she is born the wrong sex to what is expected she is casted to the side as a woman destined for slight and anguish for her entire life. Even if this is the case, y/n wished to think of herself as unwritten for the moment being. A woman waiting for a calling no matter how big or small. A woman who's only current wish to sit atop this windowsill, letting the cool September French breeze kiss her flushed cheeks. Alas, even this is stripped from her.

"Get off the window, y/n!" her mother's shrill voice shrieks as The Duchess yanks y/n to the floor. It's harsh and frantic, as if an arrow is to fly through and hit her. Her tightly coiled chest hit's the wooden floor hard. It knocks the only wind y/n really has left, a wasteful shame.

"I am sorry mama," y/n responds quietly, her hands desperately pat to find a piece of wood that will not cut up into her as she attempts to regain her balance. Though her room is filled with four maids not a single one offers their own hand to help her. She knows it is because of her mother's cowl. If they dare so move in a direction towards her, The Duchess will become a Fury of Hell himself.

"The breeze is so sweet at this time of afternoon." Finally, y/n does place her feet back on the floor with a small clack of her heels. She takes a moment to take in the state of her gown. While she has countless others, something about the pure white of the satin being destroyed by the inevitable dust that has collected is disheartening even to her. The pattern of bright red roses now looks more of a dull blood grey than a true flower.

"The breeze is something so frivolous my dear," The Duchess is suddenly content with her surroundings. "Busy yourself with something more intelligent, it makes for a much better bride." 

"Thank you for the wise advice mother," y/n snaps, her fingers gripping the ruined material of her gown. "I'll be sure to not engage myself in something that gives me the slightest bit of freedom in the lifeless castle," it was no louder than a whisper. Her braided hair still muffling the sounds.

As if her words seemed to not even reach her, The Duchess mumbles in agreement before taking her leave. The door shutting loudly behind her, the air was finally safe to breathe. The maids immediately begin to swarm her. Like flies to honey; they grapple her, prod at her and pinch her. It was too much. It was as if a million ants had swarmed her body, nipping at any piece of flesh they could just because it was what they were meant to do. An instinctive need to draw more blood than necessary, it was overwhelming. They inspected her perfectly capable hands, wondering if their incompetence has cost them their heads because y/n of Brittany split her blood and The Duchess refused to let them help. She was suffocating.

She didn't mean for it to slip, it just did. Her voice raised, "Get out." It was softer at first. "Get out," they still didn't move, still abusing her. "I said get out!" Everything stopped for a moment, the air her mother had ensued had now come back. The maids all took a single step away from her. y/n felt the tears threaten her, warning by dancing across her lower lashes. "Do none of you listen, get out for Christ’s sake!" That's all it took, in a matter of seconds y/n was finally alone. She could hear the faint song of the trees whispering to her, it was calm, but she couldn't appreciate it. She dropped to her knees and began to softly weep into her palms. The groans muffled by the skin of her hands and the tears halted from falling by her fingers. In this moment and forever ahead of her, she was desolate.

But like all things, even this bleak minute of sorrow was cut to an end by the deafening sound of her father's boots storming down the hallways towards her room.

━━★✼☆｡

Tom spectated as the pole shattered into a thousand pieces. The splinters hitting ever edge of the arena. He watched as the knight fell limp and as his horse rode on through the chaos. The young prince roared out of his seat, his knees hitting the harsh wood of the royal box. His name echoed on the young knight's medallion above his breast. He had picked the winning side and rightfully so, Sir Harrison had never been defeated. For a moment, Tom turned around to face his beaming mother. A woman who loved the games, Tom always relied on his mother to accompany him to these festivities but his father. The Prince would always ask graciously but was refused every time. Constantly belittled for the consul of old men with a working cock between them, it was a joke. The King had many failed efforts to rile the English people to cause, Tom had offered a large gathering to help inspire the people. The King told his son this would cause nothing but useless panic and many painful deaths. Scoffing, Tom waltzed back to his seat. It was uncomfortable, it felt as if ants hand made their nets below the seat's support. He wished to ride alongside them.

"You cannot and you will not," The Queen smiled at him, waving to squires as they led the horses away. Tom's head swivelled around to meet his mother's. "I refuse it my son."

"I had said nothing mother," Tom replied quietly, he too doing his duty to the lower noble men who had come out today. Each one sweatier than the last. "Perhaps you are hearing things, 10 childbirths can change a woman's mind," Tom stifled a laugh, too which he received a slap on the arm for.

"Don't play smart with me son," The Queen spoke coolly, her countless rings clanged as she rose from her seat. Tom followed suit, allowing a hand for his now middle-aged mother for gracious help down the impossibly large stairs. "I almost lost your father to one of these silly little cock shows, I will not go through it with you my boy."

Tom raised an eyebrow, watching his mother's golden trim become bleaker by the stain of the grass. "I had half a mind to believe you enjoyed these silly little cock shows," Tom played. The Queen peered up at his through hooded lids. It was dangerous waters even for him, a man who has seen the blood of war. He allowed his mother and her ladies to return to Windsor, watching as if to wait for the shark to disappear.

"Your Royal Highness, if I may have a word," a soft voice called out from below the podium. Tom paced to the edge and stared down. Constance, he thought to himself as he smiled wickedly. She was a short and mildly plump woman, with wild unruly hair that had to be constantly shoved out of her face. He remembers her name because of how sweet his name sounded dripping from her tongue. Countless nights spent in the throes of passion, wearing moonlight as cloth. Tom knew he had dishonoured her just by bedding her, but he couldn't help himself. She was the first woman who really took an interest in him. Still, he had to come to her aid on multiple occasions. While he likes the way, she grips at his biceps, he however, doesn't like when her father comes storming into court demanding his daughter's honour back because Tom had prayed on her. Perhaps, it was the odd lack of ladies that would flock to his side or maybe it was simply because he wanted a little bit of fun before the inevitable. 

"You may, my Lady," Tom smiled widely making his way to her side. He could tell the mud was ruining the polished leather of his boots, he completely forgot about his favourite riding boots he had put on in hopes that he may indulge himself in the sports. Still, he pushed the though deep down at met her eyes. He not an unusually tall man but the way he almost dwarfed her was delectable. As he watched her squirm, he wondered as to why she would speak with him where anyone could see. There was no danger for him, but the world's eyes were on her.

She played with the small ring on her pinkie finger, riding it up and down the skin. "Why did you not tell me," she whispered, refusing to look up at him. Tears began to well.

"What on earth do you mean?" He queered, genuinely curious as to what had got her all worked up. His hands went to stroke her cheek gently, but she abruptly pulled away from him. This time her eyes did meet his, the salty liquid glossed over her eyes.

"It is bad enough that I am called the Prince's Whore but now they are cursing my name because I have ruined the royal couple!" she cried out, her deep green dress swallowing the mud below. "That a stupid maid slut has stolen you away from the beautiful French Princess!"

Tom saw nothing but red. Not because of Constance but because of what she said to him. He had begged his parents to let him choose his own wife. If he was to rule England after his father's passing, he wished to at least have a woman whom he truly loved by his side. He said nothing to her as he stormed away. The small drizzle of rain hitting his skin as he picked up his speed. He knew that his father was in a council meeting alongside his mother. Perfect opportunity to unleash his rage. He faintly heard her calling after him, that was muffled by the buzzing in his ears.

He had been told who he was meant to be and what he was meant to be from the moment he was born. Hardly ever seeing his mother or younger brothers because he was eldest, never knowing true companionship because he would be constantly cooped up listening to his advisors and tutors as they taught him the art of war and foreign policies. This was his one chance to spend his life with a woman who understood him and would grow a loving family much in contrast to what he had.

His hands pushed the heavy wooden doors, they hit the walls with a large smack. The entire council stood for the Prince, with the exception of his mother and sickly father. He walked past them with ease and took his seat at the opposite end of table. His eyes focused solely on his father as he absently noted the appearance of his son.

"Wonderful of you to finally join us," The Duke of Essex smiled weakly, in any attempt to deflect the tension elsewhere.

"When were you going to tell me?" Tom spoke, his voice barely above a whisper and laced with venom. His elbows digging into the cool wood of granite of the table. He watched his father finally face him; the man was a wreck. His greying hair stuck to his hair with copious amounts of sweat, his brown eyes had sunk deadly back into the sockets and his skin was pale and filled with wrinkles. "When were you going to tell me father?"

"You were spending too much time with that scullery maid," The King respond calmly, still flipping through royal documents. Tom was on the verge of an explosion. If the Prince was known for something, it was his anger. Much like Mount Vesuvius, he didn't get angry often, he hated how it affect those around him. The times he is pushed to the breaking point however, he was destroy everything in his path. "We had to put an end to it."

"We?" Tom pushed.

"Your mother made the arrangements; she is being brought here as we speak." Once more, the King had no interest with the devastated look on the Prince's face. Too caught up in an attempt to stile a cough.

"You promised me my own choice of bride," Tom seethed. He faced his mother, if the King wouldn't listen perhaps the Queen would.

His mother sighed; the silk of her sleeves draped over the arms of the chair. "That was before you had instinctively made the choice, we hoped that perhaps you would have fallen for the daughter of a Duke or at worst an Earl. You were going to marry that girl, after everything her family has done against the court. We couldn't allow it."

Tom jaw clicked. "Who is she?" He was done arguing, done protesting.

"You'll marry the granddaughter of the French King; y/n of Burgundy," his father spoke up before his mother could sugar coat it. "The family sent a portrait of the girl as the first payment of her dowry; it has already been placed in your room. Hopefully, you can find the slightest bit of attraction for your new bride before the wedding."

"Will I get to meet her beforehand?" He at least hoped to see the girl with his own eyes before calling her his wife. Finally, the King met his eyes. He dropped the quill on the desk as locked his eyes, leaning towards him.

"Did you really think you'd get that luxury?"

━━★✼☆｡

The sea breeze prickled at y/n skin as she sat atop the deck. She could tell they were getting closer. The wind went from a soft tone to a howling scream, something her great aunt had told her all about. English weather could go from a perfect sunny day to god's worst mood. In all honesty, she preferred it to French. It was wild and unpredictable, something she so desperately needed.

She remembered how she got into this predicament as she lay down a 9 ace on the table. Waiting for the ship to land.

"You'll leave tomorrow, it will take you a good couple of days to get there." Her father exclaimed, picking a raspberry from the plate and eating the sweet fruit. y/n stood in silence, still reeling her tears back into her eyes. She refused to weep in front of the Duke. She moved around the large room, in order to hear his words. "You'll make a fine queen," he smiled, placing his hands atop her cheeks. y/n smiled warmly before raising a concern.

"How do you know this will be different than the last?" she asked quietly, staring down at her shoes. Her father sighs before picked his coat up from the chair.

y/n placed her bets, her hand is exquisite. Three queen and a pair of Kings. If she doesn't win, it's as if God is going against her. The men that sit beside her raise their brows in confusion. She's not backing down.

"Because, you know their language and their culture from Great Aunt Mary. You were her favourite after all," her father tells her, the memory of the old lady teaching her English brings a curve to her lips. That was not the answer she was looking for, however. Her father knows it as well, he knows the answer she wants but he cannot give it to her. "Trust me pumpkin," the endearment is wonderful. Unlike her mother, y/n's father has always been kind to her. She doesn't know if it because she is his eldest daughter or because her brother is a lousy boy and she is the only child with a head still attached to her shoulder blades.

She releases her tension; she knows whatever comes out of this she must go along with it. She must accept whatever situation is handed to her and accept her duty as a future queen and mother to the English Throne.

y/n squeals, her hand's won. The rest of the chips are placed in her corner, she is asking if they want to go another round but instead, they all huff and walk away from her. y/n feels her heart sink into her stomach. Perhaps the English wind has turned their moods sour. Soon enough her worries are washed away as the boat docks into Brighton and y/n hears the cheers for her. She can't exactly make out what they are saying. Sadly, she doesn't get a chance to even greet her new subjects as her new English ladies are gently pushing her towards the carriage. The only thing she can do is wave and smile at them, hoping to instil a fraction of hope for the new royal couple. As she steps into the carriage, a huge white dress follows her. The abundance of ladies and herself are stuck in the cramped space for a little over an hour before they start agreeing to change her dress into the one being coddled.

"Why? This is dress is perfect as it is," y/n laughed gently, her fingers playing with the pearls that lace the neckline.

"Forgive me, my lady, but His Majesty; The King has requested that you wear a white gown." One of the younger girls pipes up. Sighing, y/n nods her head to agree and goes to stop the carriage.

While they don't completely undress her, she knows that the smock under her dress is shear and leave nothing to the imagination. Quickly they strip her of the current dress, even unlacing the corset before adding another one. As they place the soft silk of her veil over her head, she can hear the ringing bells at Westminster. It hasn't completely dawned on her what she is exactly going through. Marrying a man she has never met. Marrying a man for all she knows could be a tyrant. She's heard quite a few English Monarchs fall under that said category. Her heart started to jump now; she could fell the beat thump against her vocal box.

The people began to line the city. Countless bodies waved at her as she strolled through the city of London. The abbey somehow seemed ten times bigger in person. White rose petals fell through the air as the coachman opened the door for her. The walkway was paved with red velvet. Her heels felt as though she was ruining the beautiful material as she walked.

Tom can physically hear her pounding heartbeat from where he stands. He can't exactly make out her face, but he can see the white gown strutting towards him. It's the same patterns as the dress his mother wore more than 20 years ago. He's seen it in countless paintings, his mother scowling as she attempts to salvage any positive thing out of such tremendous pain. Harrison lays a hand on his shoulder; the contact makes him jump.

"I heard she looks like a siren," he joked, dusting a small particle of fluff off Tom's shoulder. "Perhaps she'll sound like one too," the comment was enough to grant the knight a hard whack on his arm from the Prince. He truly did wonder if she would as beautiful as the painting which depicted her. A small red rose for his house in her fingertips as she grinned softly. It was as if she was staring into his soul.

Tom reached out to allow her aid in getting up the stairs. She graciously accepted muttering a small thank you as her other hand lifted the countless layers of fabric to mend her steps. Her touch was soft, something he wasn't used to. The gentle touch of a noble woman, even if it was only upon his fingers. The entirety of Westminster Abbey went silent as the faced each other.

y/n could barely hear anything over her rampant anxiety. Though she was eased slightly as she blindly grasped at his fingers, she was afraid she gripped a little too tightly. Finally, she stood in front of him. The gown dipping down the stairs to end in her ladies' hands. She wondered what she looked like to him. Wondering if it was a glorious sight to witness a new bride waltzing towards him. Or if it was one of dread, to be in holy matrimony with someone you've just met for the first time. She's still trying to decide between the two.

The ceremony was beautiful. A simply yet elegant affair, as two young royals wed. She knows that she is marrying the Prince of Wales, a worthy husband for any noble woman. Yet she can't help the dread that builds as the Archbishop drones on. The hymns falling deaf ears. She tries to pay attention, but she can’t, all she can hear is the drumming of her heartbeat. It pounds against her ribs, creating echoes in her head. Before she knows it, his hands reach for hers. There was no strength in his grip unlike beforehand, it was soft and gentle. As if she was a beautiful yet delicate doll, that she would completely shatter if he pressed just that bit too hard. Their fingertips locked; her skin fell into the ridges of his knuckles.

“I proclaim thee, y/n of Burgundy to be my lawfully wedded wife from now until the end of my days,” he hesitated. She could hear it in his voice. “She shall sit beside me as I rule the kingdom.” The ring passes down her skin, the metal biting at her finger.

She repeats him. “I proclaim thee, Thomas – Prince of Wales to be my lawfully wedded husband from now until the end of my days. I shall sit beside him as he rules this beautiful country.” She smiles at the end, though she never intends to. y/n thanks her ladies that they cover her grinning face behind the thick white lace of her veil.

The entirety of Westminster Abbey is silent, no one dares even breathe as Prince Thomas coils his fingers around the tipping of the lace. He lifts it over his now wife’s face. He taken aback slightly. The painter wasn’t paid enough, clearly. She was even more beautiful standing in front of him. The same clear complexion now glistening in the soft sunlight of England. He doesn’t pry of course; it would be rude of him. Just to stare at his bride, as if they were the only people in the hall. Good lord, does he wish it was.

His hands reach her cheeks. Tender once more, he brings her forward. She shifts on her feet as they meet. A quaint and soft kiss, unlike anything either of them has felt ever. He can’t remember the last time, it was this – well, gentle. Thomas doubts he has ever kissed a woman of such luxury in his entire life up to this point. y/n is the first to pull away, her fingers resting lightly on his raised wrists. Their eyes meet for a moment, a short moment.

Westminster Abbey erupts into celebration. Red rose petals fall from the ceiling and music begins to flood the area.

As she stared around, y/n began to think to herself. I do not know what will come out of this, but I already can see that joy my presence brings to these people. I shall not let them down.

Prince Thomas of England, Heir to The English Throne and y/n of Burgundy, Granddaughter of The French King had been wed. They were now locked in holy matrimony, a feeling unlike any other. Both horrendous and hospitable.

━━★✼☆｡

The Hall is a grand party. Laughing and singing is heard from every corner, mugs of beer and wine are flung across tables and scraps of food are being thrown to the dogs. y/n has never seen such a scene unfold. Too contained by the prudish French court. The most scandalous thing she has seen is a risqué dance meant to be for a married lover.

That is what she always despised about the French Nobility. Their secrets. Whispers and Rumours spread faster than fire. If you had committed some heinous act, the entirety of France will hear about it by the end of the week. Perhaps that is another reason why she felt so trapped in Burgundy. y/n could never do a single task on her own before her ladies’ loose tongue would find their way back to her mother. A delicate little flower, such a waste of potential.

Tom noticed her prodding, her fork twirling the few peas left on her plate. He hadn’t said a word to her all night and yet he looks at her if she’s unwillingly to speak. Does she know any basic English? Perhaps not.

“How are you liking the food,” Tom asked her, leaning into her. She smiled up at him, he spoke to her in French. It made her heart swell for a second. y/n turns to face him, smiling warmly. Tom wishes he could keep that smile forever.

“It’s is very well Your Grace,” y/n replies to him. Her flawless English rolling off her tongue with a petite French accent. It’s like heaven to his ears and he’s taken aback. “My Great Aunt was an English Countess, I loved her very much. I was fluent in English before I was 8.” She explained, almost as if she had read his mind.

“You need not call me Your Grace,” he teased, it was somewhat natural for him.

“Then what shall I call you?” y/n queered.

“I am your husband now, whatever pleases you pleases me,” Tom replied, turning back to his empty plate in an effort to hide the rising red flush on his face. y/n knew she should leave it at that, so she turned her attention elsewhere.

“Are royal weddings usually this,” she paused, “loud?”

Tom laughed quietly, he too turned to face the ruckus crowd. Men laying in the laps of maids, dogs feasting over food that had been flung across the floor. Loud chants to the beat of the music filled the hall. He would have been completely embarrassed by the state of his people in front of his new bride, if he hadn’t seen the amused look on her face. “Not usually, I have only been to one other wedding and that was extremely sombre.”

“How so?” she asked, sipping from the freshly poured wine.

“I went to my uncle’s wedding a few months ago. He had also married a noble woman like yourself, but the poor thing was only 11. My uncle was 35 and counting.” He wishes it was different but like all things in this world, he is powerless to the wills of those who think they are higher than others.

He peered at her; y/n was already looking at him. An eyebrow and a lip raised in disgust. It was quaint.

“I wish I could be more repulsed by that,” Tom wondered if she was joking or if she was serious. He couldn’t tell just by the use of her tone. He did however note her wit. Something he so longed for. They talked for hours, sitting by one another and discussing anything that arrived at the conversation. Tom can’t decide whether it’s her honey-like voice or her banter but it’s making him feel things no one should for someone they are being forced to wed.

Just while they are comparing the contrasting jousting techniques, the joyful music suddenly stops. It’s a quick snap and the entire hall is now dead quiet. The Earl of Salisbury mounts himself on one of the tables. His cheeks red with drunkenness.

The Earl points directly at y/n and Tom as they sit in confusion. “The final tradition, an honour for any noble man. The Great Bedding!”

y/n turns to Tom, clinging slightly to his sleeve. He takes immediate notice. “Thomas, what is The Great Bedding?” There was great concern in her voice as she watched all of the men rush towards them. He didn’t get to answer as the women abruptly hauled him out of his seat and down the hall, away from her.

y/n didn’t fear too well either. At least a dozen grimy hands placed themselves all over her body, pulling harshly as they brought her into the air. Dancing her down the halls. She constantly whacked their hands, to no avail of course. They only dropped her once they got to a dimly lit room.

It was already buzzing with people. Hustling around a single bed, covered by finely woven silk. The men dropped her gently, placing her feet against the ground. y/n tried to turn around to give them a piece of her mind but was stopped as her corset began to become loose around her waist. Incredibly uncomfortable, y/n looked up to distract herself in any regard and found Tom at the other side. The maid’s hands undoing every buckle of his coat, tiny fingers unthreading the lavish ropes across his body. y/n blushed at the sight.

Tom was trying his hardest not to look at her, not to stare as countless men of the court undressing her. He could hear the bulky wedding dress hit the floor of the room, he could feel her eyes on him, and he could see the variety of unknown nobles swarming them in any hopes to achieve the right to gossip tomorrow morning. It was despicable.

He climbed in first, the cotton of the blankets itching his skin as he settled. The only comfort he found was in the softness in his unkempt hair. Not restricted by the gel he was forced to wear.

y/n slowly followed his lead, it was dead silent. No one dared breathed as the new Princess of Wales found her spot next to The Prince. All the while, the exact same priest Archbishop chanted away, and priests flung holy water at the bed. Some of the liquid found itself on her skin. Finally, the crowd bowed to the couple and began to take their leave.

Tom watched in peace; he would be alone. He closed his eyes and let out a soft sigh, perhaps he would be able to get some well needed sleep. That seemed achievable until he felt a cold grasp around his wrist. His eyes shot open to find his father’s glare directly at him. “Don’t let the spring pass, I hope to see a grandson in the next few months,” The King spat.

It had been hours since the quarry of guests had left the room but the the monarch’s words etched themselves into his mind. Echoing nonstop, getting wilder as Tom felt y/n settle herself next to him. The mere presence of her alongside the duty he had to fulfil was too much for him. Tom shot up and quickly gathered his things, hauling his boots and clothes. He couldn’t be near her for another moment, too afraid of what he might do if she was subject to this sort of cruel punishment. Tom quickly decided he was sleep next door, just far away to have the thoughts no longer plague his mind but not too far that he would impose the wrong meaning on her. He reached for the door when she chimed in.

“Where are you going?”

He halted instantly. He wished that they could have gotten along like most royal couples should. A cold and initially distant meeting, then hopefully something would blossom over the years. Instead they had gotten along quite well, too well in fact. He was used to going slowly, taking his time in bedding a girl. A constant glaze over the court every few days, then promiscuous banter and in the span of months he would have her melt in his hand with a simple word. Now, he was feeling flustered and out of control and all of it was happening over a single night. Tom pressed his forehead against the wood, taking a deep breath. He turned to look at her, just like a painting coming to life. Her hair was down, unlike anything he had ever seen. Not grimed with sweat and dirt nor was it pinned underneath a headdress or away from her face. This time, the soft curls framed it. The nightgown clung to her shoulders; the fabric dangerously close to falling off. It made his life that much more difficult.

“I am sorry. You are a beautiful woman, but I just cannot fulfil the expectations that are placed upon me tonight. I will be sleeping in the room next door if you need me,” Tom blurted out. He waited for a response before he could speed out. She sat there, like a perfectly sculpted statue. It was torture.

y/n sighed, “nothing has to happen tonight.”

“But they will ask, they will pry like they always will,” he countered.

“Who says we have to tell the truth?” y/n giggled. God, it was a symphony to him. Tom watched her leave the bed, waltzing around to meet with him at the door. He wanted the tell her to stay exactly where she is, not to move even an inch closer but with ever step she took, his breath hitched higher in his throat. “I would prefer to spend the first night of my marriage with my husband, whether something happens or not.”

He swallowed thickly, “you are incredibly calm.” He now met her, his full attention on y/n as she chuckled in delight.

“I am filled to the brim with anxiety, just not that same fear that you are feeling,” she told him as she sat down the small longue in the middle of the room. She took the wine from the table and poured each of them a glass. Tom was hesitant at first, still wishing to flee the room and into the safety of his own solitary. Still, he found himself pacing towards her. Taking soft and flinching steps until he sat beside her.

“Then what is the fear?” He took the other glass, quickly chugging the alcohol. y/n said nothing but just stared at him in confusion. “The fear you feel, why?”

It was now her turn to become flustered. He looked genuinely curious as to why she was feeling doubtful, but she was unsure if he truly wanted to know the answer. Her father made her promise never to speak of it to anyone, a shameful secret that would ruin her future if it was released. But Tom was now her husband. They were bonded by law, a thought she really didn’t wish to dwell on. Surely, whatever she told him wouldn’t cause them any stress? Still, it would be rude of her not to tell him the reason after he had just clearly demonstrated his own fears in the commitment. “You must promise not to become angry.”

Tom nodded his head gently, even more intrigued then he was before.

y/n quietly exhaled, avoiding looking at Tom. “I was married once before, he passed from the sickness 3 months into our matrimony. Perhaps it was God way of guiding me to a better future, but it ruined almost everything. His death caused create strain for my family as they attempt to rebuild myself as if I was not capable of it myself. I am terrified that I am cursed, that I shall find myself falling in love with you only to be weeping over your coffin months later.” She had poured her soul out, shared such a personal section of her life. She was ashamed to see his face. Too afraid that pure anger and disgust would paint his face.

“Who was he? The man whom you had married?” Tom asked her again. His voice calling out as she stared directly at the purple velvet beneath her dress.

“The Prince of Spain,” y/n squeaked.

“That inbred!” Tom joked, suddenly becoming relaxed by the mere mention of the Spanish Royal Family. “I am surprised you got three months and not three days, that kid was on death doors for his entire life,” Tom was now in a fit of laughter. It wasn’t directed to her but more that they allowed such a beautiful woman to be the wife of such a dull man. y/n peered up, thoroughly embarrassed as she gave him a light whack. Tom finally came down from his laughing fit, staring directly at her. “You are cursed Princess; you are just coddled. Forced into a life clearly not meant for someone like yourself.”

The mere mention of the cradling of her life got y/n riled up, “that’s another thing! The Spanish constantly treated me as if I was some porcelain doll ready to shatter if they dared even look at me! I felt like a child trapped in a woman’s body and he touched me like that as well. God, I was finally ready to truly live my life and then he just was too soft, I wanted something much mor-” Oh. Oh God. She had run her mouth too far, dug her own grave with her rambling. Her hands clamped against her mouth as a heat rushed to her face. She could see the French ships arriving for her next month, giving her passage because she was not in pristine condition. Hopefully Tom didn’t pick up on what she was inferring.

“You aren’t a virgin?” his voice was quiet, almost dark. She felt her entire world shatter. Tom scooted towards her slowly, it was completely unnoticed. She was too deep in panic to recognise the growing flirt rising in the Prince of Wales. y/n shook her head feverously. “That little tick took you?” When he put it like that, it made her stomach tingle. She had never heard such a sentence used in that tone. She was drowning in thoughts.

“I didn’t know what I was doing, that’s why I was so unsatisfied,” she tried to explain, her hands now bunched up the fabric against her knees. “He was just so soft, too soft and I wished he would have-”

“Would have what?” he toyed. Tom doesn’t quite know why he was acting like this. So intent on prying her little secrets out of her. Usually, he would have just simply got straight to the point but now, seeing her become red with frustration was a view causing him great pleasure. Any abstinence he hoped to place upon himself earlier in the night had been thrown out the window. He finally felt back in control, something he longed for. Something she was serving to him on a silver platter.

“I..” she began but the words got caught in her throat. Her tongue stopped completely, almost refusing to finish the damning sentence. She wanted him to be rougher with her, she wanted him to treat her like a woman and not a girl. “What happen to you wishing to keep your hands to yourself?” She attempted to change the topic, trying to flee but to no avail as he quickly caught her wrist in his palms. Their skins igniting on sight.

“Don’t try to change the subject Princess,” he purred, standing up to meet with her at the side of the bed. Her title now held a completely different meaning, it wasn’t being used to describe her. It was being used to utterly destroy her; a nickname only meant to be whispered in the dim light of a dozen candles. “I can see right through you,” Tom’s calloused fingers met the loose fabric on her shoulders, dancing over her collarbone. It was soft but held meaning. “I can see that you wished he touched you differently. Touched you like a real woman, rougher and passionate.”

His words were damned. She should feel ashamed that she was feeling light-headed just by the grazing touch of his fingers above her perked breasts. “Yes,” it was the only thing she could get out. The only single three lettered word that allowed itself out of her mouth. Tom pressed his lips to her neck, underneath her jaw.

“Perhaps, he too was inexperienced.” He spoke through small pecks. “Allow me to show you something different, something better,” it was barely above a whisper, but y/n heard every word. Her fingers tangled themselves in his hair as he peered at her.

“I would enjoy that very much,” y/n responded just as quiet, all the gentle touches he currently had placed upon her turned darker. He pulled her into his embrace quickly before tripping her feet from under her and ending atop her on the messily made bed. His hand instantly found the inside of her thigh, his finger bruising her skin. It was delightfully, the slight pain sending shivers down her spine.

Their lips met, gentle at first. Her hands moulding themselves against his jaw, moaning into his mouth as he pushed her deeper into the mattress. She wished she could stay like this forever, wrapping in Tom’s embrace as they mended together. Alas, he pulled away from her. Lips separating with a small pop and a soft whine from y/n underneath him. Tom took a distinct look at her; she was sprawled out and whimpering for something more. Did she give this look to him as well? Did she use the melody that was her voice to beg him to do anything? Tom didn’t particularly wish to replay the thought in his head but yet, he couldn’t help himself.

Her nightgown quickly found itself discarded; her nipples perked in the cold. His lips immediately latched on, massaging the soft tissue. He never knew something could feel this smooth, without any flaws or imperfections. Even though he knew he could spend an entire night between the valley of her tits, he too longed for something more.

In a matter of moments, he found himself staring directly at her sex. A glorious sight to behold, glistening with her arousal in the pale moonlight. She was practically dripping onto the sheets below her. He placed a soft kiss to her pelvis, she jumped at the contact. “If you feel uncomfortable, you need to tell me,” he told her all the while his fingers toyed at her hot hole. Dipping even so slightly into her heat. She was already in euphoria just from the slightest bit of pleasure. y/n nodded her head before locking eyes with him.

He didn’t waste another second, quickly licking a fat stripe through her folds. The taste was pure heaven, he didn’t give her a moment to register the feeling before diving right back into her juices. Sucking and pulling at her, wasting the night away feeling her thighs clamp around his head every time he flicked her clit coupled with a singular finger prancing in and out of her.

y/n wasn’t quite sure how loud she could truly be. She knew that even though they were in the far south-east of the castle, there could be a dozen scullery maids listening right outside the door. Or if someone was trying to achieve some sleep right beside them. At this very moment though, with Tom’s head in between her thighs devouring every inch of her throbbing cunt, she couldn’t give a single fuck. y/n allowed the string of curses and praised to tumble from her lips as she clasped onto the bed sheets for dear life.

“Such a dirty mouth,” Tom remarked, releasing her for a few seconds, “for such a pretty and delicious pussy.” He chuckled darkly. y/n wanted to bite back at him, but she was cut short but the addition of another of his digits sliding into her tight entrance. y/n clasped down hard on her hand. A foreign feeling began to drive itself into her stomach. While unusual, it was not at all exotic to her. It was thrilling, feeling her walls contract around his fingers as y/n began to instinctively rock her hips against his digits.

“God,” he purred, “that’s it, make yourself cum on my fingers Princess. Let me see that gorgeous face while you do it.” Tom had now retracted his mouth from her, completely mesmerised by the way her eyes screwed shut as she reached her peak. A cacophony of beautiful and dazzling sounds stumbling out of her mouth as he felt her climax all over his hand. Such a tantalising sight for any man.

y/n was too deep in her own return that she didn’t notice the retraction of his presences from the middle of her legs. So, when he felt his hands roughly pull her to the edge of the bed, she almost choked. The exhilarating feeling of his strained cock rubbing against her drenched folds made her forget her place. Made her speak before her mind could catch up. “I want you to fulfil the expectation.” She told him, her eyes never wavering from him.

Tom halted all his movements. It was painful but he needed absolute clarity before he did anything without her reassurance. “You need to elaborate Princess,” he told her darkly. He knew exactly what she was asking of him, he knew exactly what she desired.

“I want you to come inside of me,” she spoke as if she was a different person. y/n doesn’t quite know whether it’s the shift of mood or her own personal feelings but either way, she wanted to feel their juices mix and then leak out of her. Wanted him to fill her right up to the brim until the possibility was certain.

“You want me to fuck my seed right into you?” his words were dirtier than she expected but so was he as he slid in and into her. His naval hitting hers with a loud smack. He refused to move until he had played with her just that tad bit more. y/n’s head thrashed into the sheets behind her. She was so full, never has she felt this complete in her entire life. He wasn’t even moving but she could feel every inch of him deep inside of her.

“God yes,” she whimpered. “I need it so bad,” she was going to drive Tom insane. Just by a simple sentence, he was going to lose his mind and cum right now without even doing anything. 

“Want to carry my child, our own Prince or Princess,” he pulled back out of her and slammed right back in, knocking the wind out of her y/n. It was so profoundly dirty, just discussing it. It thrilled her to the very core, child-bearing was meant for women not girls. Perhaps that is why she is so drawn to the talk, the talk of something so primally feminine set her entire body on fire. She couldn’t speak a coherent sentence instead she just let out a continuous plea.

He began slow, hips rocking to find that perfect beat. He revelled in the only sounds in the room, the sound of his cock hitting the divine spot inside of her over and over again and her delirious moaning. It was a symphony he was lucky enough to hear. He wanted to hear more, listen to the pure sounds of him railing into her. So, he picked up the pace. His thrust became not only deep and harsh but fast.

God, if he could immortalise this feeling he would. The feeling of her walls constricting around him as he pounds right into her, the feeling of her legs wrapping around his constantly thrusting hips and the feeling of her sweating skin underneath his fingers as he grips for support. It’s like the Lord himself made her tight little cunt just for him.

“You’re so big,” y/n praised mindlessly. He’s never had someone say that to him without it sounding forced. It’s so raw that he can’t help but go even harder into with each praise that falls off her lips. “Fill me up, I want to feel you all inside of me.” It’s a dangerous game, she’s tapped on something so feral inside of him it hurts.

y/n wants to prop herself up and explore his body while he pounds into her, but she simply can’t. Her limbs give out with every thrust. Her entire body spasms each time he hits the perfect spot inside of her. She a moaning mess, trying to maintain any sense of normality but failing miserably. It’s a constant state of pleasure, she’s afraid that she’s lost track of time. That is until the faint, but all the desirable fit finds itself lit in the pit of her stomach.

“I’m almost there,” she whispers, it’s the only thing she can get out. His thrusts, that once had gained a steady and harsh rhythm are now falling. He’s losing focus with each grip he receives. With her words though, he gives her the final stretch. No longer does he has some form of structure but instead he’s just railing her like a wild animal.

It’s an explosion and neither knows why but it’s addictive. y/n climaxes around him, her toes curling as her final orgasm hits her long and violent. Shaking underneath, him as she unknowingly milks his own finish out of him. Tom’s fucking his cum right into her, he doesn’t stop for a second. Too focused on the goal ahead of him. Placing it where it counts. It’s a feeling he wants to never forget, better yet it’s a sight he wants permanently etched into his memories. As he pulls out of her, their climaxes tumble out of her. Dripping down her leg.

“Hold your legs up Princess,” he teases as he pressed a gentle kiss to her lips. “I heard it works wonders.”

The rose blooms only for those who care properly for her.

━━★✼☆｡

a/n: please don’t flop, omg this is so long and no one asked for this shit. please don’t flop chile 🤡

[thefanfictionartist]

The Captain’s Paramour

A/N: I worked hard write this and would really appreciate any love you can give this story. I do intend to write at least one more part to this and would love to hear any feedback or requests that you all have! If any of you have a request for a one-shot, please feel free to message me!

Pairing(s): Tooru Oikawa X Y/N; Hajime Iwaizumi X Y/N; Koutarou Bokuto X Y/N; implied Aoba Johsai X Y/N

Summary

Growing up, Y/N knew that Tooru Oikawa was someone who intimidated her, regardless of her crush on him, and she opted to stay away. When they start college together and Y/N joins as team manager, Oikawa charms his way to being her boyfriend. Happy in the start of the relationship, Y/N has yet to wonder if she was right to stay away from Aoba Johsai’s captain from the beginning.

Word Count: 4.4k

Rated M for Mature; intended for 18+ audiences.

Warning: This fan fiction contains a toxic relationship and bullying. If you are not comfortable with manipulation, dub-con, degrative language, and otherwise abusive aspects, please do NOT read this. You have been warned. 

~         ~          ~          ~          ~          ~          ~ He was someone you told yourself to only admire from afar. Regardless of the fact that you had known him since the two of you could attend school. Even then, you hadn’t spoken much to Tooru Oikawa. 

It was intimidating to have him even look in your direction. 

He had a god-like presence that always shines too brightly when he smiles. His eyes had a way of singling out his admirers like a lion stalking his prey. On more than one occasion, you told yourself to stop going to volleyball games because you knew that if he ended up approaching you, you’d become a blubbering mess. At least, that’s how you always pictured it.

But rather than avoiding him at all costs, you couldn’t help to watch him at his practices and games. If there was anything that no one could deny, it was that Oikawa had a talent that was nearly impossible to beat. 

His talent alone had entranced you, and after years of watching him play in elementary and middle school, you found yourself applying for the manager position on Aoba Johsai’s boys volleyball team. 

Purely because now you had an obsession with the game. 

And since you’ve been so observant, you knew that you could at least help the boys on the team in a practical manner.

As a first year, you doubted that you would be accepted…

But after a week of waiting, you found yourself sitting in one of the school’s gymnasiums, helping Oikawa set up the net in the middle of the court for practice. You found that he was actually quite disarming in conversation, making it so that you could speak with him easily. Your anxiety about being around him slipped away with a single ‘Hello.’, and you weren’t sure if that unsettled you or not. 

When you applied to be Seijoh’s manager, you expected the long hours and dedication you’d have to put in. Actually, you welcomed the distraction it gave you as an extracurricular. 

What you didn’t expect was the disdain most girls had for you. 

Most girls at Aoba Johsai hated you and the time you got with who they considered to be the hottest guys in school. They’d blatantly ignore you and write cruel messages on your locker and desk. In the few times that any of the boys were present during these incidents, they’d come to your defense. And you couldn’t have been more grateful to have your team back you up. 

You would always assure them that the bullying didn’t bother you. It didn’t bother you much when you had friends on the volleyball teams all over the country, including the couple of female managers they had. 

It was something you reminded yourself of when the crude comments written on your social media did bother you. Although, the harassment progressed farther online with absurdly edited pictures of you on certain profiles. And the comments multiplied by the day, making it all the more worse.

When the remarks got particularly bad, you would hide yourself in the janitorial closet of the gymnasium, crying in the privacy of the vacant room. 

Having the girls at school, and only the girls at school, torment you was something you could deal with. 

But having strangers command you to die and tell you that you were worthless hurt you more than you could have ever expected. 

You were sniffling softly and nearly at the end of your tears when someone walked into the closet. Looking up at the shadow of whoever had come in, you wipe furiously at your damp cheeks, trying to erase the fact that you were just bawling your eyes out. 

“Oh- sorry, I’ll be out in a sec-” Speaking softly to the intruder, you stand up, taking a deep breath to calm yourself down. 

“N/N-chan?” Oikawa’s voice surprises you. 

“Tooru..”

“Why are you in here?” He takes a moment to observe your features and asks another question, “Have you been crying?”

Anxiously, you tuck a lock of hair behind your ear before fiddling with the ends of it. A sarcastic, curt laugh tumbles from your throat as your red-rimmed eyes find the linoleum floor. “Yeah..” You sniffle before adding, “Pretty lame, right?”

Before you have a chance to look at him again, Oikawa’s arms wrap around you in a binding hug. 

The jacket he wears feels cool against your skin and you find yourself leaning your heated cheeks against it, silent tears rolling down your cheeks from the gesture you’d never expect from him. 

“No.. No, you’re not lame at all, Y/N.” His mouth rests against the top of your head and you can feel his lips twist into a small smile. “Those people are gonna get what’s coming to them for being so mean to you, I’m sure of it. In the meantime, you should just ignore it, ya?” He leans back to look at you, thumb carefully wiping away one of your stray tears. 

“Maybe then they’ll get bored and find someone else to pick on.” He adds with his trademark dazzling smile. 

Nodding, you agree with him, leaning back onto his shoulder as he rubbed your back to comfort you. In that moment, your personal relationship with Tooru became much more than it was before. 

As far as you knew, Oikawa hadn’t spoken with anyone about what happened that day, but you did notice many things start to change. 

For one thing, the atrocious bullying had stopped quite abruptly and you now only had to deal with a few harmless glares during your classes. For another, Oikawa seemed to pay more attention to you. Not that you were complaining. 

He had a way of drawing you in and making you even more smitten with him, and he knew it. 

It didn’t take long at all for him to claim you as his girlfriend. 

And at first, you felt like you were walking on Cloud Nine. There was no way that you could’ve fallen any deeper in love with him. He was so considerate and gentlemanly and kind. He brought you on nice dates when he didn’t have practice and showered you with compliments all the time. And when he touched you, you felt a pleasure you could never imagine before. He made you happy. He did. 

Really. 

So you promised yourself that doing things like this wasn’t a big deal. 

Because Tooru wanted it. And you loved him. 

           - - - - -

“That’s right, baby girl. All of Iwa-chan’s dick in that pretty little mouth of yours.” Oikawa prompted you from the side of the room, sporting a sizable bulge as he watched the action. “I want you to make him feel really good, hm?”

Following Oikawa’s instructions, you force yourself to choke on more of Iwaizumi’s girth, your eyes watching as his head tilts back to let out a deep groan. 

Trying to evoke more of his noises, you wrap your hand around the base of his cock to pump the inches you can’t comfortably fit into your mouth. Behind you, Oikawa tutts, shaking his head. “Naughty girl.. You should know it’s improper to use your hands.”

Your scalp screams as he pulls you back with a fistful of your hair. A pitiful whimper leaves your lips which are covered in a messy amount of saliva. 

You fall into Oikawa’s lap weakly, the back of your head on his shoulder as he pries your legs open to display your arousal. As you attempt to close your legs, embarrassed that you’re so turned on in this situation, he hooks his legs between yours, so that his knees rest on the inside of yours. 

“Look at this Iwa-chan,” Tooru’s slender fingers slide along the puffed lips of your pussy, causing you to whine and grind your hips. 

Before you can receive any lasting relief, Oikawa pulls his fingers away from you, displaying the way your slick sticks and drips down his fingers. “She’s such a cock-hungry slut that she’s already dripping after sucking dick.”

His fingers dip down again, and this time he teasingly enters your twitching hole and pulls a moan from you. 

Oikawa starts to curl his fingers against you in a way that you know will have you seeing white. Skillfully he adjusts his wrist to reach deeper into you, brushing continuously against the sweet spongy texture of your walls. 

“Tooru- ‘M close!” 

And just like that, he pulls his fingers away, making you cry out. “Please, I wanna cum, Toru!” Your eyes brim with tears as you look at him, desperate for the release you nearly had. 

“That’s not my name.” His eyes are dark and he gives you a small smirk before saying, “If you wanna cum so bad..” He pushes you unceremoniously off his lap, relishing in the whine you give him. “You better beg Iwa-chan really nice.”

You look up to Oikawa from the ground, wide-eyed and begging. “Sir..” 

Giving Hajime a blowjob while Tooru watched was the original agreement and you weren’t sure that you much liked this spontaneous new plan. 

“Please, sir..” Your hands reached for his lap, intending to try pleasuring him so he’ll want to finish you himself. “I want you to make me cum, please.” Oikawa’s vice grip stops your hands before they are even close to touching him. The grip is tight enough it brings tears to your eyes, and you’re sure it’ll leave bruises for later on. 

“You heard me, pet.” He nearly spits in your face and you flinch at the nickname as tears collect on your lashes. “If you want to cum, you have to have Iwaizumi fuck you.”

He pushes you away with ease, letting you fall back onto your palms.

“So you better beg him hard.” His eyes flash with sadistic intent. “And before you even think about it.. There’s no way I’ll let you finish yourself tonight. I’ll tie you to the headboard if I have to insure it.” The smile he gives you doesn’t match his words.

When you turn to look at Hajime, you can see pity in his eyes. Like he can see just how uncomfortable you are with Oikawa’s behavior. 

But both of you knew that Oikawa wouldn’t let you leave until he got what he wanted. 

And that he got. 

        - - - - -

Events like that intense night with Hajime and Tooru became typical for you. And even though you had expressed your disinterest with being shared, you found yourself still wanting to make him happy. 

What started out as a normal relationship started to feel like ownership. 

You dwelled on how similar you actually became to the posts those girls used to make about you being a slut, and that just seemed to make you feel worse about yourself. 

So you would go to Oikawa again and again, seeking that warm comfort he gave you that one day in the janitor’s closet, crying your eyes out about how worthless and whorish you felt. And you’d be comforted by him for just enough time to make you feel okay before he would make you feel like a whore again; crying under him as he pounded you into the mattress. 

Then his pretty words would bring you snuggling up to him in bed as he told you how precious and special you were, and how much he loved you.

Even though you knew that you felt terrible and wanted to end things with him, you’d stay because you were in love, and because Tooru told you he needed you. 

You told yourself that he at least made you happy sometimes, and that it was normal for him to flat out ignore you after games because he needed to make his fangirls happy. It was understandable to a degree. A guy like him would need popularity to bring him where he wanted to go and you supported him one hundred percent. 

It wasn’t like you relied on him completely for happiness. 

You had friends for that. 

Most of your friends were from the boys volleyball league; people you had met during the many, many volleyball camps you had attended with the Aoba Johsai. 

You couldn’t have been more grateful for the frequent training camps in your third year, given the growing uneasiness you had around your own team. The only people on your team you felt comfortable around were the coaches and Iwaizumi, who was always respectful to you. 

After a while, you had caught on to the fact that Oikawa was making Iwaizumi feel like he had to do what he says, similarly to the way he makes you feel. 

Shortly after, you heard an argument break out between them and though you haven’t explicitly talked to each other about it, you knew that Iwaizumi had gotten fed up and told Oikawa he wasn’t gonna fuck his girlfriend anymore. And that Tooru should stop using me like a sex doll to be thrown around because it’s pretty clear that I don’t like it.

You had always thought of Iwaizumi as a protector and close friend. Someone who was gentle with the people he cares about. 

He always made a point of treating you as a gentleman should. 

In fact, most of the boys who weren’t on your team treated you kindly and warmly. It was truly no wonder that you enjoyed the training camps so much. 

Or nights like this one. 

When the second and third years from the prefecture would decide to throw a party. The presence of other school’s teams made you more comfortable with the environment. 

Finally you’re able to relax. 

“Hey, hey, hey, Y/N!” Bokuto’s voice makes you genuinely smile. You turn to look at him from where you stand on Kuroo’s porch, seeing as he was the one with the idea to throw a party during spring break. 

It takes you a second to realize that you haven’t seen Bokuto much in the past few months. 

But it’s like having the first breath of fresh air in a long time when you find him smiling just as wide as he had the last time you saw him. It’s enough to keep you floating, just like it always is. “Hi, Bo.” You answer without matching his energy, because you couldn’t scrape up the vitality to do so. 

His head tilts to the side and instead of pity, you see confusion in his expression before turning to lean your forearms against the railing like you were before. Your eyes simply watch the sky turn orange and fuschia as the sun sets, your face void of any expression except a small smile that Bokuto placed there.

“Uh oh..” You hear Bokuto approach you but remain looking at the evening sky. “I didn’t do something stupid, did I?”

A glance to Fukurodani’s ace has you softly giggling at the puppy dog eyes he gives you. He’s at your side, bent at the knees so he can be shorter than you, preparing to beg to be forgiven for whatever he thinks that he’s done. “No, of course not, Kotarou.” You shake your head at his words. “You’re nothing but an angel.” 

Your smile gets a tiny bit bigger as you pat his head, careful not to ruin the way he styled it. 

“Okay, then…” He brings his hand to his chin, straightening himself out to lean his elbow on the porch railing. Owlish eyes observe you carefully, a look of deep concentration etched into Bokuto’s features. It’s as though he thinks if he stares long enough, he’ll be able to read your mind. 

You look so much more dull and lifeless now than you had been when he first met you. You had bags beneath your beautiful eyes and your cheeks had sunken in a bit. What made him the most upset was how your eyes didn’t reflect your smile.

“I give up.. Why do you look so sad?”  His voice softly coos as he asks the question, head tilting with inquiry.

You shrug and give an unconvincing, “I’m just tired.” 

Bokuto is overwhelmingly unprepared for how depressed you sound. His smile falters with unease. It’s normally not so easy to read other people’s emotional states for him. He knew he could be dim-witted at times but this was not one of them. It was clear that whatever had you so down wasn't something you wanted to talk about. Regardless of how much he wanted to know, Bokuto felt it was his job to try to get your mind off whatever was upsetting you. 

In a few seconds, his smile is back in full force, wanting nothing more than to find a way to make you happy. 

“C’mon.” Bokuto holds out his hand for you to take, excitement flashing in his eyes. 

Now it’s your turn to be confused, but rather than asking questions, your hand slips into his and you let him pull you through the house to Kuroo’s backyard. Once you’re there, he lets go of your hand and runs to a playset that probably hadn’t been touched in quite a while. 

There are plenty of people lying in the grass and talking around the pool, filling the air with empty chatter combined with the music that flowed outside from the house. 

Your eyebrows knit together in a disapproving manner. “Bo..” 

The childish excitement he has when he sits on one of the two swings on the playset is admittedly a bit contagious. But, to save yourself embarrassment from accidentally breaking Kuroo’s childhood playhouse, you try arguing as you approach the volleyball player. 

“This is meant for kids like 10 and under, you know?” 

His eyes glint with competitiveness as he pushes himself back on the swing. “I don’t care, I bet I’ll still swing higher than you.”

Your eyes narrow and you quickly find yourself plopping into the other swing, quickly accepting the challenge. “Oh, you’re on, Mr. Owl.” Pushing off the ground with as much force as you can muster, your mind focuses solely on getting your own swing higher and higher. A grin spreads across your face, brightening your features as you allow yourself to have genuine fun. 

The rusted chains of the old swings squeak with sudden use, but luckily don’t show any sign of falling apart. 

Seeing as Bokuto’s body is dense with muscle, you find yourself soaring higher than him in no time; laughter seeping out of the both of you in a hysterical manner. “I win!” You shout as you reach the peak of your swing, glancing in the direction of Koutarou. Even though you can only see a blurred version of him, you can tell that he is wearing a look of utmost determination.

“No! I’m not even at my highest yet! Just wait!” He shouts eagerly and you concede.

“Fine, you have one more minute to beat me.”

In that minute, your eyes drift to the sky and appreciate the dazzling stars above. If you focus hard enough you start to recognize a couple constellations. The first thing you see is Orion’s belt, then the whole of Orion. 

As you pick out the stars of the Little and Big Dipper, you relax with the free feeling of your hair blowing back and forth with each rock of your legs. 

This is what you would imagine flying to feel like, and you get lost in the fantasy of having the power to fly away from the groping hands of your team. Although, you have no idea where you would fly. Maybe you find somewhere like Neverland and be able to live to your own whims and wishes. Or maybe on some desolate tropical island with natives who actually respected you. 

You’re so entranced with your thoughts that you don’t realize when you are genuinely airborne until you hear Bokuto’s voice shouting your name with panic. 

The impact with the ground comes just as soon as you’ve realized that you’ve tumbled face-first off the swing. “N/N!” Oikawa’s voice beckons you to look for him from where you are on the ground. When your eyes find him jogging towards you from the house, your cheeks burn with guilt at the thoughts you had. 

Bokuto’s at your side before Tooru and insistently, yet gently, squishes your cheeks in both of his warm palms to get you to look at him. 

Apparently you hadn’t been answering his questions while Oikawa's presence clouded your mind. “Hm?” You raise an eyebrow at Bokuto, telling him that you’re listening. 

“Are you hurt?” 

You bat away his hands and shake your head while brushing the dust from your knees, which had taken most of the impact. “M’ fine. Just scraped my knees a little.” A reassuring smile settles on your face, although it falls just slightly when Oikawa approaches your side. 

You could swear for a moment that Bokuto picked up on the shift in your mood when Oikawa appeared, but ended up just blaming that on wishful thinking. 

“I’ll go get some bandages.” The ace leaves you with the setter before you can detest.

Tooru remains silent in an eerie manner, and it takes a lot of courage for you to look him in the eyes. “Can you stand?” He reaches out to you with long slender fingers and when you grab them, a shudder runs down your spine from how cold they feel. 

“Yeah.” You answer, and within a moment you’re on your feet, being pulled into the kitchen by your tyrannical boyfriend. 

“Sit.” He motions to the island countertop and you obey, swinging your legs as you wait for Koutarou to emerge from the bathroom with the promised bandages. When he arrives, Oikawa swiftly takes the bandaids from him and bends down to apply them to your knees. 

Oddly, he seems to completely disregard Bokuto offering to help bandage you. In fact, it honestly seemed as though he were ignoring the ace. He must’ve gotten the same vibe, because within a minute Koutarou left the kitchen with Kuroo. 

“There. All better, right?” Tooru smiles as he gives you a kiss on the cheek, holding your hips to help you off of the counter. “Come sit with me for a while, hm?” 

His fingers swirl delicately at the skin peeking from between your shirt and shorts; you resist pulling away from the icy chill of his gaze and nod. “Yeah.” You agree and follow him into the living room, which was now clouded with smoke. It was hard to tell the exact source, but it was clear that a few of the people in the room were extremely high. 

After a few moments, the smoke was dizzying. 

You were never one to indulge in intoxication and you never really saw an opportunity where you would feel comfortable with it. The atmosphere of this room made you queasy, even more so when Oikawa pulled you into his lap on the sofa. 

He pulls you close against him, and for a moment you swear you feel like you’re suffocating. Your mouth becomes dry as you pull in an uneasy breath of pungent air. 

“ ‘Kawa, I need some water.” Your voice is small against the thumping music inside the house, but Tooru acknowledges your request. 

“Oi, Matsu!” The setter calls to his teammate from across the room. “Can you get Y/N some water?” Miraculously, the dark-haired middle blocker hears his team captain and within a short amount of time, you have a glass of water in your hands and chug it thirstily. 

Oikawa chuckles from behind you, wrapping his arms around your midsection. “Slow down babe, the water isn’t going anywhere. I promise.” He kisses the junction of your neck a bit more sultrously than you would like in public and you push your shoulder up to signal your apprehension with the gesture. 

He chuckles again, his chilling breath caressing your neck and making you tense. Another kiss touches the nape of your neck as Tooru snakes his hands to your inner thighs, fully intending to pull them apart. 

“Not now, Tooru.” You keep your voice quiet, not wanting to make a scene around so many people as your hands pull him away from your thighs. 

If he heard you, you couldn’t tell but it was clear in your body language that you were not comfortable. Oikawa, either ignoring your words or not getting the message, again latched his lips to your neck, this time nibbling to mark you. “C’mon, don’t you think our friends here deserve a show.” He cooed the words to you while his fingers nimbly began to unbutton your shorts. 

“No.” You push his hands away again and this time strain to get up and walk away. His strong arms easily pull you back down against an obvious bulge that grinds against you. 

“Tooru, Stop it.” Your voice gets slightly desperate, realizing that he really isn’t letting you go, and that your pleas are falling upon deaf ears. Writhing, you free yourself of his grasp momentarily before his hand is wrapped around your wrist to pull you back. 

“Oi- Shittykawa.” Hajime’s voice breaks Oikawa’s concentration and focuses the setter’s glare on his ace. “She said ‘No.’ So fucking stop it.”

With his focus on Iwaizumi, Tooru’s grip loosens and you take the opportunity to leave the vertigo-inducing room to find one that feels more safe. 

The house feels much bigger now than it did when you first arrived, and even after leaving the living room, you swear your surroundings are spinning. When you reach the front door, you hear faint chants reminiscent of a fight in the very background of your mind. Whether or not the fight was actually happening, you had no idea. 

All you knew was that there seemed to now be two door knobs that led out onto the porch. 

You blink and focus extra hard and end up grabbing for both of them. One of your hands ghosts through the imposter knob, while the other successfully twists and opens the door to the fresh air outside. 

Hope that the outside air would alleviate your symptoms quickly washed away as the wooden panels of the porch lurched beneath your feet, causing you to fall. Despite the desperate desire you had to get away from this place, you laid your feverish body on the ground. 

The only thing you could do against the spinning world was to close your eyes and hope it would go away soon. 

[vicious-vixxxen]

Mermaid!Kirishima X Male Reader

((Lost the original ask who prompted this, but here’s a little Mermaid!Kirishima to start the prompts off here! Thank you again for being the first to send in an ask, I appreciate it so much! And such a fun and interesting one to kick things off with, so manly! <3))

You’d almost fallen asleep. Again. Jesus Christ. Groaning, you stretched your limbs out as far as they’d reach- stifling a cry as your joints popped, and you became a puddle against the wooden dock you were laid across. The soft plap-plap of the waves beneath you very nearly lulling you under once again. Opening your eyes finally, you raised your arm to block out the harsh mid afternoon rays, and to check your watch for the time. Nearly four. He was late. “Where the hell are you, sharkboy,” You grumbled, sitting up, and stretching your arms out for a second time, stretching them for all they were worth, before slumping over and scrubbing at your tired eyes. Wincing slightly at the soft burn of your palms against your cheeks. Fuck. No sunblock. Of course. You’d be confused with a lobster by the time you went home and scooped up in a net for dinner if you didn’t apply any. Chancing a glance around the open ocean around you, spotting hues of blue after hues of blue- but no red- you sighed, tugging off your sweat soaked tank top- shoving it into your bag with the rest of your things, before retrieving your sunblock, and squirting a liberal amount into the palm of your hand. Slapping them together afterwards to smear it around, before hiking a leg up to begin applying it. The soft scent of coconut filled the air around the dock, and mixed with the salty scent of the seafoam below the dock, it reminded you of Kirishima. How enamored he’d been the first time he spotted you out here, doing just as you were now. The scent, the sight. Long tanned legs, short board shorts, no top. He’d been drooling, it was a whole adorable thing. Of course, you absolutely flipped your shit the first time you saw him. He wasn’t exactly the most subtle creature to catch a glimpse of, especially when he reared up to apologize- fins fanning out, causing you to nearly have a heart attack. You knew of mer-people, of course, but no one had seen any in these parts in decades. You certainly hadn’t. Not in your lifetime. First time for anything, though, you supposed. He’d wandered too far from his pod, and gotten curious of the handsome human male spread out like a buffet on the docks. If there was one thing to be said about Eijiro, it was that he was too curious for his own damn good. Something that both endeared you, and frustrated the fuck out of you. You hardly noticed, so caught up in your thoughts of the creature, the sound of the water breaking- the soft creak of the dock straining beneath the merman's grip as he hoisted himself up quietly, laying flat on his stomach just a few feet away. Eyes wide as saucers, red irises glinting mischievously as he tried to stick to his plan. Thwarted only by all the bare expanse of skin you were showing off. Tan, and soft looking. Soft to the touch, too, Kirishima thought suddenly, mouth too full of saliva as he recalled the feel of your skin beneath his webbed fingers. Shaking himself from his awed stupor, Kirishina grinned- all sharp teeth, as he shimmied across the dock, long tail swishing excitedly beneath the water, where it hung low from the dock. Already aware of his tardiness, Kirishima wasted no time lunging for you when he was close enough- laughing boisterously as you shrieked, and began swatting blindly at him. “You asshole! How many times have I told you /NOT/ to do that?” Y/N Shouted, initial panic already seeping away, as he was rolled over beneath Kirishima- the merman's soggy red spikes haloed by the sun’s rays, making him look….positively angelic. The fucking heathen. “You’re an absolute menace to both land and sea society Kirishima- no, no don’t fucking kiss me, I’m mad at you. Take your fishy kisses somewhere else, they will not be accepted here!” Y/N continued to shout, laughing suddenly as Kirishima nuzzled and raked his teeth along the soft expanse of your neck, webbed fingers digging just this side of rough into your sides, to elicit a fit from you. “L-Lemme g-go you smelly s-sardine! Ah-ahah! S-shit, i’m gonna p-piss myself if you don’t-ah!- stop! Kiri, please, mercy, mercy!” You cried, tears in your eyes as Eijiro wrapped your legs around his broad hips- shifting his scales downwards, as to not scrape you. Cradling you in his arms, his elbows against the dock, to shift you both upwards just a bit. Toothy grin as bright as ever as he gave in, and finally looked at you. Kirishima swore he could look at you forever. Your bright, twinkling E/C eyes, the soft, sun bleached tips of your hair. The curve of your nose. The curve of your /lips/. Especially the curve of your lips. “You can’t just show up late and expect me to be all hugs and kisses, that’s not fair,” You pouted, despite the smile you couldn’t help forming on your face. Ankles hooked just at the small of Kirishima’s back, where waist met scales. One hand splayed across the creatures back, the other finding its way deep in the crop of damp hair atop his head. Fingernails digging gently into the base, in that sweet spot that always had Kiri mewling if you scratched long enough. “Mm, i’m sorry, baby shark,” Kiri cooed, snickering at the eye roll he could practically sense, as he dipped his face back down against your neck, and kissed. “-It was my turn to lead the roundup for dinner. You know how long it takes to completely swarm a school of flounder? Little bastards shoot off in different directions. So yummy,” he paused, nipping at your earlobe, causing you to tense, “-but so difficult to catch. Like, but also kind of unlike, another little fish I know.” “A man of a thousand sweet talks.” You were already putty in the merman's hands, and you both knew it. Didn’t mean you had to advertise it. “I am sorry, baby shark. I tried to hurry, but you know how Denki can be. He gets a little zapped if he exerts himself too much on the hunt. We all gotta get him back to the cove in one piece after that, and he’s such a squirmer, so...ya know,” Kirishima shrugged, arms tightening just barely around your middle, as he leaned back, smile less predatory, and more sincere now, as he pressed your foreheads together gently. “Apology accepted...I guess,” You mumbled finally, breaking the creature's gaze, only to flick your gaze down to his plump, bitten lips. One drop of saltwater still clinging to his cupid's bow. “I missed you, dude,” Kiri whispered finally, blush painting his pale face, as he pressed chaste kisses to your cheeks, and chin. Peppering them all over afterwards as you began to giggle. “Missed you too,” You sighed, closing your eyes, and angling your head to catch Kirishima’s lips in a soft kiss. Just a press of them together, no real urgency. You had the rest of the evening, and long after sunset to spend together. There’d be plenty of time for rough, heated kisses below the docks. When you lost your trunks, and Kiri started losing control of the sharpness of his scales. Leaving small pricks and scrapes over your inner thighs, from how you’d going to his hips. Only to have the merman lay you out on the dock under the stars, and kiss them all better. Webbed hands spread wide over your stomach, your hips. Trailing down your thighs, up, and around… “Whoa now,” Kirishima whistled, pulling back to glance down between you, and you huffed. “Don’t get cocky, asshole. I haven’t seen you in almost a week, give me a break.” Hooking your chin over the merman's shoulder, you rolled your eyes once more at Kirishima’s little giggles. Mesmerized by the expanse of muscle in his back. Gaze trailing down between Kirishima’s shoulder blades. Down the small of his back, where his hips dipped first inwards, then back out. Hips filling out below his scales, bright red at the tips, and a deep obsidian at the base, where they met his flesh. Similar to the hair atop his head. Unhooking one of your feet, you ran your toes down along the soft, slippery surface of his tail, as far as you could go, before bringing it back up. Noting the shiver down Kirishima’s spine, and grinning. “Never gets old, does it?” “No, nope. Absolutely not. You make my tail feel like it’s gonna shake right off,” Kirishima groaned, planting his plans on either side of you now, caging you in as you rested back against the dock. “Should probably get that checked out by a doctor.” “Asshole.” “See if I give you the gummy worms in my backpack now.” “....did I mention how much I love you yet?” “That’s what I thought, seaweed brain.” You laughed, flinching back with a frown as Kirishima nipped at the air in front of your face playfully- reaching back for your brag, to draw out the large bag of gummy worms you’d already opened, when waiting for the merman to arrive. Grabbing one out of the pack, and holding it up between two fingers for Kirishima to slurp up. Humming contentedly as he chewed, and you simply smiled. “Love you,” You whispered, feeding him another- watching as he slowed in his chewing, before gulping audibly, and leaning down close. “Love you too. Beautiful boy.” ((Thank you again to the wonderful prompter who asked for this, I had a blast writing it!))

[heyitsyn]

There Once Was A Man With No Arms-

Goshiki x Manager!Tendou!FirstYear!Sister!Reader

a/n: that was a mouthful

anon request: ahhh i loved your headcanons of iwaizumi dating oikawa's sister!!! this time, can i request goshiki x tendou's first year sis na manager din ng team nila? salamatttt hehe ingat ka lagiii💞

this cute little bowl cut babie

so you are the little baby sister of our favorite red hair cutie and he was the one who offered you the manager position

ofc you accepted bc hello, you get to hang out w your brother and tease semi-semi-senpai everyday

pls let semi live

everyone likes you though bc you are their manager and you do a lot of things for them even though you dont need to

like sometimes, you stop by the store and pick up all kinds of snacks and if its really hot, popsicles and ice cream

ushijima farmer-san is known to be quite stoic and serious but he’s pretty chill around you and even ruffles your hair whenever you make a stupid joke

as a tendou, you are basically like a ctrl+v  with your brother 

the same cute teasing and bubbly personality but the quick change to serious and demeaning

the team gets stressed, especially mom, bc he has to take care of not one red-head freak but two

but he liked you more though bc you were a first year and you were this short little pumpkin and you were so nice and just all around A D O R A B L E

but you just didnt rub goshiki the right way

maybe bc he thought you were just doing this as an act and no person could really be this bubbly and cheerful

or hes just jealous his senpais attention is directed to you

he will DIE FOR HIS SENPAIS

whenever he gets a good spike, you cheer him on and say things like, ‘nice spike, tsu-chan!’ and he swears youre just doing this bc you want to kill him with a heart attack and he doesnt like feeling like this but you like torturing him

boi what is with this logic

even though he lives for praises, your praises and compliments just hits different than his senpais

before he even realized it, he started all out glaring at you and tendou, being the overprotective brother he was, pointed him out on it

‘oi, little kouhai, you got a problem with our y/n?’

at the mention of your name you turned around from talking to the coach and everyone turned to goshiki, expecting him to answer

unfortunately you didnt hear what your brother said so you were just confused

‘hm? i read the room and i am not comfortable with the energy in the gym today’

someone snorted while goshiki turned red at the attention being on him with the topic of you so he just walks away back to the court

‘oh? what was that all about?’ 

semi shushes tendou and gives you a smile

‘y/n, can you help tossing the ball for us?’

you nodded and quickly ran to the chair and waddled over to put it by the net before standing on it

everyone turned red, including goshiki and even shirabu, and busted their uwus

‘okay! let’s go!’

youve always noticed tsutomu and his determination to beat ushijima which youve appreciated bc he was so hard-working and he was talented enough

‘good one, tsu-chan!’

‘t-thanks, y/n-san’

even when no one noticed it, you were always there to give him compliments and he always grows flustered and hes just a big idiot babie and doesnt realize that your praises makes his heart beat faster bc he thinks youre freaking pretty and someone pretty complimenting him in his spikes boosts his ego

but eventually, it grew on him

instead of looking around for any senpai to praise him, he now turned to you and you would give him that adorable smile and he would bite his lip to stop himself from running over and hugging the life out of you

then he remembers who your brother is, well more like how protective the boys were

‘waka-senpai, nii-chan got sick so he wants you to stop by his dorm later today!’

‘okay’

since you were their teammate’s sister, theyve known you for a while and watched you grow from being this little middle school girl to a first year high schooler 

you were practically their sister

goshiki went to a different middle school so he never really realized how the guys treated you so differently but he knew it would be difficult to win them over for your hand

oops wait what

this thought struck him just as he was drinking water and he ended up choking on water causing you to run over from talking to semi so you could pat his back

‘omg, tsu-chan, you need to be careful!’

this was only the beginning of weeks of being weird

like he was so distracted and different that shirabu actually yelled at him and refused to give him any tosses

‘you talk big about being the ace but the slightest distraction could cost you a match. are you really being serious about being the ace or is it all just talk?’

he got all sad and mopey and he had to sit on the bench 

goshiki never got benched

he was too good to be benched!

but he was and he did not like it

you went over to him and sat next to him

‘tsu-chan, can you follow me?’

he looked up from the floor and he shrugged before following you out of the door

the others watched their first years exit the gym and they contemplated following

but tendou, surprise!, actually stopped them

‘my sister can sort him out herself. trust me’

goshiki didnt exactly know where you were taking him to until you stopped by by the baseball field where there was mud

‘y/n-san, why-’

‘you always say my name formally, why is that? im a first year too, tsu-chan’

he looked down

‘um, i-i don’t know-’

‘y/n-chan, tsu-chan. try it out’

‘y-y/n-chan’

you squealed at how cute he looked w red ears and a red face but you refrained from hugging him

then you remembered why you brought him out

‘oh right! come here, tsu-chan!’

you took a branch from a nearby tree and encouraged him to crouch down with you as you began to draw on the mud

‘there was once a man with no arms-’

you started happily singing and this was when goshiki really realized the resemblance between you and your brother

you both were happy and cheerful bc you wanted to radiate the energy to the others to be happy too

and it worked

tendou’s funny songs and jokes always made the others laugh and you did too

goshiki was happy that he was able to absorb that energy and he soon completely forgot about shirabu’s comments

once you were done, you have drawn a dog on the mud and the boy was so amazed at the sudden creation

he looked up at you with wide eyes and you laughed with a wide grin at his expression

‘hehe, its cool, right? nii-chan showed me something like that before when i got sad and it made me happy again. i thought it would work on you too’

he might have questionable feelings around you bc when you mentioned being sad, he felt weird

like he was relieved he wasnt there to see you sad bc he couldnt take it seeing your usual grin into a frown and your bright shining eyes filled with tears

‘y/n-chan, when you get sad, call me, okay? so i can go to you and make you smile like you did with me’

your eyes widened in surprise but you nodded, your grin even wider

‘im counting on you, tsu-chan!’

and he did

when he received a call late at night from you, he easily snuck out from his dorm and ran to the baseball field where he saw your crouching figure aimlessly dragging the stick in circles

‘y/n-chan!’

he huffed and panted after running so fast and you looked up before running to hug him

‘im here now. youre okay’

you didnt release out your problems on him bc you didnt want to burden him

but he understood and just hugged you until you felt better enough to return to your crouching

goshiki hurriedly grabbed the stick and began to do the same thing you did for him before

‘then he jumped onto the lake and got stung by bees?’

he stopped and frowned, realizing he wasnt right

but the frown lifted when he heard your giggle

‘tsu-chan, he got stung by bees first and then he jumped on the lake!’

the corners of his mouth lifted and he chuckled

‘heh, i guess he did. but this is my version so listen closely, okay y/n-chan?’

this might be the reason you got close w the first year

the others noticed it too since you seem to pamper him and take more time taking care of him than them

like you even started wiping his sweat for him while he just giggles when you pull on the long strands of his hair

‘tsu-chan, i want to cut it!’

‘no, y/n-chan!’

‘but-!’

he grabbed your hands and your arms around his torso so he could do the same to you and gently tugged on the ends of your long hair

‘you too then, y/n-chan. your hair is long too’

you pouted then gently punched his chest

‘mean, tsu-chan’

‘heh?! mean?! how?!’

tendou is like the best big brother ever and hes just like ‘yuhhhh get it tsutomu!!!!’

eventually, goshiki began playing even better

his complete spike percentage has increased and his jumping has gotten higher

but the team predicts that this was all because he’s trying to show off to you and your praising and compliments have motivated him to play better

forget being ace, he just wants you to praise him

‘y/n-chan! y/n-chan! did you see that?’

‘wahh!!!! so cool, tsu-chan!!”

bus trips to matches are so cute but yall lowkey annoy the players a bit

yall sit next to each other and are just leaning together as you giggle over stupid cat videos

like we get, goshiki is getting some quicker than us

i feel like before moving on to relationships, goshiki and you would be best friends first and then move on to the dating stuff

tbh, theres no difference bc yall have always been like that but theres just an offical label now

‘hey, tsu-chan, wanna date?’

‘u-um,, sure?’

yall would hang out in either his dorm or yours and yall would be alone bc the team actually trusts you but you dont know that they pass by the door ever 5 minutes and listen in to just to make sure yall are not doing anything bad

smh they so nosy but we luv them

you know of his insecurities about not being enough and his fears of not being the ace and his dreams of playing to the big leagues and his passion to continue playing on the court for as long as he can and how excited he is to be able to spend all those years with you

he knows of your insecurities about the way you look and being associated with your apparent freak of a brother but you didnt care about that and even fought someone when they said something and your deep protectiveness for the boys, especially your brother but it’s all because the boys were the ones to accept you with open arms and treat you like family

yall shared a lot of secrets amongst yourselves and tbh, your communication is just *chefs kiss*

so serious fights dont happen, like ever, just stupid little arguments that are usually resolved like an hour later

since youre also a manager, its also your job to make sure the boys are maintaining their good grades and you know that shira-senpai has given up on tutoring tsutomu

i mean,,, goshiki is smart but he gets distracted easily and ends up spacing out during lessons

yknow?

thats when the little arguments bc youd be trying to teach him the damn phythagorean theorem and hed be distracted at how come your hair was styled like that today

‘goshiki tsutomu, i will leave your ass to fail right now if you dont stop touching my hair’

‘but babyyyyyy’

‘no, ‘dont baby’ me, you idiot! you’ll be crying like a baby when you fail and you’re bench during the next game!’

oof also!

hes a protective little babie and he gets jealous easily so whenever yall have games, he literally hangs all over you 

like he makes a show of putting his jacket over you and kissing your forehead so that the other teams know to stop looking over at your direction and whispering about you

ofc this gets on your nerves but you cant help but think how cute he looks when he gets jealous

he gets all pouty and touchy and youre just like, take my uwus you big babie

even tendou is like, ‘im her brother yet hes more protective than me’

he demands to be hugged 24/7 but thats not appropriate if youre in public so he ltr drags you outside and away from people just so he could hug you

he likes hugging you bc youre shorter than him and it makes him feel all special and soft since you like to burrow your face into his chest and your sweater paws are just like ugggggghhhhhhhhh

whenever he gets nervous, you kiss his fingers and his knuckles bc it soothes him and youre just his good luck charm and he feels like he can take over the world w a single kiss from you

‘baby, didja see that?! i was so cool, right?!’

‘so proud of you, tsu-chan! youre so cool!’

‘i love y/n like a sister but if she inflates his ego more, i will have to tape her mouth’

can you guess who said that?

overall a relationship i strive for and i really want a goshiki now thanks byeeeeeee

a/n: ngl goshiki’s hair lowkey triggered me when i first saw him bc why the heck does it look like that?! but now i actually like it on him and i cant imagine any other hairstyle fitting him

[damonsvftie]

𝐁𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐓𝐨 𝐁𝐮𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐬𝐬*

MASTERLIST

Summary: Since your return, you land yourself into a gig to go and perform at the Masquerade Ball the Malfoy’s are hosting. Things take a turn when you by accidentally turn on their son.

Warning: THE MOST UNHOLY THING IVE WRITTEN. SO MUCH SMUT. SWEARING INVOLVED AS WELL

Note: 2.2k words

Tonight’s gig was going to be particularly special since the song I was going to perform was a way for me to vent and release all the emotions that were building up inside me. Over the course of the past few months, I had completely lost motivation in writing and singing songs. I quit performing at shows. I disappeared completely. I was becoming tired due to always being fully booked for a gig and it was almost taking over my life. But tonight was my comeback.

When everyone had learnt I was finally returning back to business, a flood of requests for me to perform had come in and stakes in price were way above and beyond the type of money I’d ever had imagined. I mean.. how could a few performances hurt right? I mean if I were receiving 150 galleons per show then what was the harm?

However today I had to look representable. I had to look like I had a passion for music and prove to everyone that I was serious about it. Since the Malfoy’s were coming, I could easily earn way more money if they spread my name around and obviously anything they said would rapidly spread around like wild fire.

But I had one concern. Me and Draco Malfoy use to go to Hogwarts together and he completely had a distaste for me. Not that I cared about his opinion on me but if he loathed me then, then he probably still hated me now. His view on me could either break or make my career, but knowing him he probably would be very judgmental towards me.

“Psst.. y/n! The Malfoy’s are here,” gasped the bartender under her breathe. “Your performance will start in five,” a look of fear smearing over her face.

Draco Malfoy entered the substantial doors of the Leaky Cauldron as he followed behind his mother and father. He was dressed purely in a black tuxedo and his family ring wrapped around his finger as an extra touch. His hair wavy just like on the day of the Great War, when we all parted our separate ways.

I could feel the sweat starting to form from under my outfit and my face flushed as my eyes trailed his figure. Noticing that I was staring at him, he looked back at me coldly before turning back to face the owner of the place as he shook their hand, greeting them.

Everyone took their place at a table and looked up at the stage. The room was crowded with witches and wizards chattering until the lights went out.

I sucked in a sharp breathe before placing my hand on the stand. The back up drummers and pianists began the intro of the song as I shut my eyes closing tightly before the podium lights turned back on.

The spotlight was on me and I could feel a hundred pair of eyes gazing up at me as I started to sing. I couldn’t help but stare at Draco’s alluring face as my voice did runs and other imaginable things. My fingertips gliding across the stand as I moved my body to the rhythm. His eyes were on me as he gripped onto a glass full of wine, taking a swig of it as he leaned back into his chair.

The last part of the song that I was originally going to leave out was added in last minute. Closing the end of my performance at once, I risked hitting a whistle tone while my hands hovered against the microphone, earning cheers from the crowd as I bopped my head on the last note.

The crowd erupted into whistles and clapped for me, including the Malfoy’s, who surprisingly stood up and showed their appreciation. Draco on the other hand, still sat in his seat before getting up and pulling his father to the side.

He whispered something in his ear, my gaze darting to the two of them as I could feel my eyes becoming glossy. I just knew it. I just knew Malfoy would blow this one shot I had at proving myself.

When everyone exited the building, the Malfoy’s stayed behind as me and the band were packing our stuff up. “Y/l/n.. the Malfoy’s want to talk to you,” informed the bartender as she patted my arm before heading back to clean up the counters.

Slipping on my cloak, I walked my way to the three of them, my head hung in disappointment because I knew I had failed them. “Miss.y/l/n .. we’re hosting a masquerade ball... and we were wondering if you were willing to perform,” his mother explained as I looked up with astonishment. “Wait- really?” I exclaimed, my voice slightly high pitched at the amazing news. “We’ll take that as a yes, we’re looking forward to seeing you,” she nodded her head, before the three of them headed for the door. Draco stopped for a second turning his face around with a smirk plastered across his lips before leaving.

—

The night of the masquerade ball, I put on a black dress with a slit at the bottom, exposing my naked leg. I paired it with some black stilettos and styled my hair like Audrey Hepburn’s. To top it all of, I covered my head with a black netted veil, embedded with rhinestone.

I grabbed my black eye mask that had pearls underneath the slit for the eyes and it had a long black feather attached to its side. Putting it onto my face, I took a deep breathe before opening the red curtains to the stage.

Everyone was starting to make their way to the dance floor as I started to sing a more sensual song since the one I had sung at the Leaky cauldron didn’t really fit the theme. Lucius And Narcissa Malfoy, swayed to the song I was performing as they slow danced around the ball, her head placed into the crook of her husband’s neck. To my surprise, Draco Malfoy was leaning against the wall eyeing me as each single word came out of my mouth. I thought he probably would have brought a date with him but he didn’t.

Something about the song I was singing made me get into my feels. I bent down and ran my fingers up my exposed leg causing Draco to straighten up at the sudden action. Noticing the affect I had on him, I bit down onto my lower lip as my body swayed slowly to the beat. Deciding to be a tease, I trailed my hovering hand down my body as I threw my head back, getting into my feels.

Unfortunately for Draco, my uncalled for action, caused him to spill his wine all over the top of his tuxedo making him leave and clean up the stain.

I had just now finished the song and the tiny voice in my head told me to go and find Draco. I walked through the twisting and turning corridors until I saw a certain door slightly open. Peeking through the crack, i could see Malfoy tugging at his shirt and pulling it over his head.

What if someone saw me? I shouldn’t even be here. I took a step back when the floor underneath my heel creaked. “Who’s there?” He questioned as he walked up to the door. I covered my mouth and froze on the spot, my feet glued to the floor.

Swinging the door open, he glanced at me before putting up his cold demeanour once again. “You?” He sneered. Whatever he had said came through one of my ears and out the other as my eyes wandered down his body, lingering onto his abs.

Noticing that I was staring at him he fake coughed causing me to snap out of my filthy thoughts.”why are you here?” He mumbled frustratedly. Not knowing what to say I pursed my lips Into a line.

It suddenly hit me, Draco was the one who had told his father about me performing tonight so I decided to use that as an excuse. “I came here to ask why you wanted me to perform at the ball tonight? I mean .. why- why are you helping me?” I lied.

Of course I wasn’t here because of that but it was the only thing that could help me from getting myself out of a situation like this. “I.. uh- you got better at singing and I guess your voice is somewhat good,” he gulped, the silence between the two of us causing tingles to run down my spine.

“Are you sure that’s the only thing you liked?” I blurted randomly, causing my eyes to grow wide when I had realised what I meant.

Suddenly,I pulled him in, my lips on his as I deepened the kiss by pulling on the roots of his hair as his hand shut and locked the door behind me. Getting closer to his bed, he tugged at the zip on the back of my dress, making it looser and looser.

I wriggled out of it as the dress slipped down to my feet. His hand made its way into my hair, slowly undoing my loose bun, letting my locks fall down. Lightly pushing me onto the mattress , I laid bare as I propped myself up with my hands. I went down to take my stiletto’s off when he stopped me from doing so. “Leave them on,” he demanded as he crawled on top of me, dipping low to kiss me once again.

His hand trailed the side of thigh making me flinch. He wasted no time in attacking my neck with kisses, making me giggle since I was ticklish. His mouth glided down the valley of my breasts to the place where I needed him the most.

His head buried between my thighs as I could feel the cold sensation of his tongue running down my slit causing me to throw my head back in euphoria. The way his tongue skilfully teased my clit, drawing figure 8’s onto it, sending me over the edge until I came trickling down made me want to scream at the top of my lungs. He didn’t hesitate in pushing in two figures into my core as he finger fucked me, causing my eyes to roll at the back of my head.

He switched between slow and sensual to fast and rough, his fingers gliding in and out of my pussy while his tongue worked magic on my clit causing me to slip the loudest moan out of my mouth. He stopped. “Why- why- did you stop?” I huffed.”that’s what you get for being too loud,” he answered, his lips curving into a smirk.

He wasted no time in removing his trousers as the head of his cock hit his stomach. He looped my thighs with his hand, and bought me closer to the edge of the bed. Lining up with my entrance, his dick easily slid into my soaking wet core. His thrusts began of slow as my fingers trailed down to toy with my clit in the process. He started speeding up, his thrusts becoming more rapid as my vision went blurry. Gripping onto his satin bedsheets, he pushed into me one last time before stopping, his cock still buried deep into my core as I grinded a little. “Draco- please don’t stop now,” I whimpered under him. “Why? You think it’s okay to tease me out there when your performing? You think it’s okay to turn me on like that?” The words coming out through his gritted teeth as he tried to resist the desire of pounding into me. “Fuck it,” he cursed under his breathe before pounding into me, fucking my brains out senseless as sweat trickled down the side of his head. “I’m close!” I screamed as I shut my eyes tighter than ever. “LOOK AT ME!” He demanded, almost forcing me to keep the sexual eye contact. One last thrust into my pulsing pussy, caused my back to arch until he loaded himself inside of me.

Slowly withdrawing himself out of me, he knelt back down, his eyes levelled with my core as he watched me ooze out. He went back in one last time cleaning me up with his tongue, giving me overstimulation as my legs quivered. “Malfoy- I cant-,” the feeling almost turning into pain. Giggling to himself, he helped me up as he threw me my clothes.” Get dressed,” he insisted as he himself got dressed too.

Just before leaving his bedroom to go back downstairs, he turned to me once more. “We’ll discuss your next gig soon,” his lips curving into a smirk as he vanished out of the door.

[apiratewhopines]

Thank you so much to @jrob64 and @teamhook for the stunning artwork. I love these beyond measure :)

Killian, Persuaded

Chapter Fifteen — Crimson Splendor

Summary: In which our hero hears a symphony

“Be my atmosphere

Let me breath you in”

-I Am Yours, Andy Grammar

“Mr. Jones,” Marco greeted him with a wide smile at odds with the seriousness of their meeting. “It’s good to have you back, my boy.”

“Please, Killian will do,” he replied, taking the seat at the head of the table. It wasn’t lost on him or the room full of advisors he was sitting in the chair normally reserved for his father. Sinking into the comfort of the buttery soft leather of the boardroom wing-back, he allowed himself a moment to reflect on how much he hated this room before he got down to business. “I understand the auction is moving forward as planned. I apologize for being out of pocket the last several weeks. I had other things to tend to before coming back to wrap this up.”

Flipping through the catalog outlining the vastly diminished but still impressive collections owned by his family, the multiple estates spanning the globe, and the odds and ends that made a lifetime of memories, he did his best to give them his undivided attention.

He had been gone five days. It felt like forever and yet he still had several days of auctions to make it through. While he wasn’t required to be on site for the events, his advisors thought it would help the sale of items if he could answer any questions regarding the offerings not already covered by provenance and catalog descriptions. Not to mention his elusive presence at the auction was sure to garner media attention and draw a crowd in its own right which would only help the bottom line.

“Killian, the auction house has estimated the proceeds to be in line with the net of back taxes and penalties owed to the IRS. There is a little matter of some private lawsuits being filed against your father to settle out of court to keep the family name in good standing,” Marco reported, looking down at the financial statements provided in the estate documents.

“The family name is already in the gutter, my dear man, I don’t think these lawsuits are going to sway the public one way or another. How many are there and how much do they want?”

“Half a dozen of your father’s closest friends claim he misrepresented potential investments to the tune of ten million dollars. There may be enough money to break even after the auction but we’ve taken steps to protect your personal assets should it come to that.”

“I appreciate your hard work on this but if necessary, I would prefer to give them what they want as long as they sign an agreement to never bother us again,” he ordered. The last thing he needed was to have to deal with people coming out of the woodwork months and years down the line claiming his family owed them anything.

“Very well, sir.”

Looking around the table, he fixed the real estate professional they had on retainer for over two decades with a calculating stare. “How much will my penthouse bring on today’s market?”

“Considering the location and numerous design accolades, no less than three million. Perhaps as low as two and a half if it goes at auction.”

“Please draw up the listing. I’ll give you two days to sell. If not, it goes to the highest bidder on the last day along with your commission.”

“But sir, even with a market this hot, there’s no way—“

“If someone can afford the price tag, they won’t be consulting with loan officers and banks. Two days.”

Peering around the room, he waited for someone to disagree with him. Either the chair was working its magic or the team finally realized there was a new sheriff in town.

At the thought, he had to fight to keep from smiling. His own favorite sheriff did as he asked and kept in contact with him via text message as he packed his belongings and met with his lawyers several thousand miles west of where he left his heart.

Showing she wasn’t to be outdone, she sent him at least one naughty picture a day. Or rather, at least one picture of the word Naughty a day. He had no idea where she found the images but preferred to imagine her pouring over magazines and books to find examples or combing through the Christmas aisle to find decorations proclaiming he’d made the naughty list. Truly, his active imagination’s tendency to circle around her was the only thing getting him through the countless meetings and endless bad news.

He was tempted to respond in kind, to use funny pictures and emojis to communicate rather than burden her with the weight he was carrying. But his first night away, he texted how much he missed her. The next night he told her how much her presence in his life meant to him. He continued sending messages well into the night and the nights that followed, detailing his hopes for a future together and pouring out his feelings one word at a time.

At first he was discouraged when she didn’t reply. No messages were forthcoming other than the steady stream of pictures. She didn’t beg him to come home or hammer him with questions about his day. There were no promises to wait for him or reassurances she missed him. She never wished him good morning, good night, or good luck.

By the time he awoke on his third day away he realized it was his turn to wait on the pier. He needed to put himself out there wholeheartedly without any expectation for her to reciprocate. Besides, it felt incredibly good to share everything he had been holding in since she knocked him to the floor. It was cathartic. A lifetime of suppressing his emotions, of denying what he wanted and never sharing with his loved ones how important they were, finally ended. It was like a dam broke and after the initial flood, he was left with a sense of peace knowing she would never again have reason to doubt how he felt about her.

Furthermore, he knew Emma. She wasn’t shy by any definition but she could be quite reserved about communicating her emotions. The woman he loved was more comfortable demonstrating the depth of her feelings through actions than words. So he took her inside jokes for what they were. A sign she thought about him throughout her day and was trying to bridge the distance between them the only way she knew how.

It was more than enough. Once again she had become the center of his universe. His everything. She didn’t even have to try.

Any updates he received about life in Storybrooke came from Elsa or Robin, who also messaged him on a regular basis to make sure he wasn’t wallowing or falling back into his old ways. His best friend wished him well on his trip and asked for some positive vibes of his own as he planned to ask Regina to marry him over the Christmas holiday.

He received news from Elsa earlier in the morning. Iris won the school spelling bee the night before and would be going on to district competitions in the new year. He hated he missed it, she was never cuter than when she was proving she was smarter than everyone else.

Aster was sent to the principal’s office for the first time on Monday morning because she skinned her elbow and shouted ‘Bloody Hell.’ She avoided punishment at home when she pointed out it didn’t count since she was bleeding at the time. According to Elsa, Liam was so proud he seemed more inclined to buy her pony than to put her on restrictions.

The twins had taken the news of a younger sibling better than they hoped, the youngest of the Jones clan immediately started piling their toys in the corner of the room so the new baby would have something to play with when it arrived.

Elsa was trying to overcome her embarrassment over the Thanksgiving drama and the distraction of hosting her family during his absence helped. She still claimed it was all Liam’s fault and he, being the wise man he was, didn’t contradict her.

He had never resented his father more than he did now for separating him from his family and leaving him to clean up the mess the man left behind. To add insult to injury, he had a meeting with the local FBI office before the auction started tomorrow to be questioned about the whereabouts of the elder Mr. Jones and to determine if he had any part in the fraud or his father’s escape from authorities.

With the meeting concluded, he walked out by Marco’s side and watched the man lock the doors to the building for the last time. It too would be sold in a few days and he hoped the new owner would have better luck within the walls than he ever did.

“Would you like to have dinner with my family, Killian? My son is visiting from out of town and I’m making a special meal to celebrate.”

“No. Thank you for everything. You’ve been a rock for my family during several tragedies. Go home and enjoy your time without worrying over me. I hope the next time our paths cross, it will be under better circumstances.”

“Your mother would be proud of you. She was a fine lady, gone too soon from the world. She had a saying, ‘A man unwilling to fight for what he wants, deserves what he gets.’ I’m glad to see both of her sons found the right things to fight for…”

—

Watching the movers load the last of his closet contents into the freight elevator in the service hallway, he realized exactly how extravagantly he had lived. Who needed so much stuff? It was unconscionable. Thank goodness Emma turned down his invitation because if nothing else sent her running, the three trucks the charity brought to haul off his clothes would have surely done it.

Smiling, he entered his spartan place and felt at peace there for the first time. Perhaps it was the bare bones interior smoothing away the harsh memories of the last few months but somehow the emptiness seemed more like a new beginning than a loss now.

His thoughts were broken by the harsh single blast of his doorbell. Wondering if the movers left something behind, he keyed open the main elevator without checking to see who was there.

It turned out to be a mistake.

“Killian, my dear, you look positively wild.” With a cackle that made his skin crawl, he stood silent as She-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named waltzed into his home like she belonged there. She reached out to touch his cheek and he flinched away, stirred to action by the wrongness of the gesture.

“Bloody hell, woman, what possessed you to come here? Did you really think you’d be welcome after everything you’ve done?”

With an arch look at the empty space, she turned to him and gave him a fake smile. “Is that any way to talk to your future stepmother, Killian?”

She made a show of pulling off her designer gloves and flashing her engagement ring in his direction. He wasn’t sure if she was expecting him to fawn over it or roar in anger but she would have been disappointed either way. The only emotions she evoked in him now were pity and a certain level of dark humor.

“I think it’s time for you to go,” he ordered, grabbing her arm in a firm hold she couldn’t escape and moving her quickly back toward the elevator.

“So soon, my pet? I wanted to apologize and make sure you weren’t suffering. Daddy was so angry with me when I broke our engagement, he actually threatened to cut me off. Can you imagine?” Her shrill laughter sounded hollow as it echoed through his penthouse but her claws were as sharp as ever. “What am I saying? Of course you can. Is it hard being poor?”

“Not as hard as it was being engaged to you, darling. Now what do you say we call it even? I get my sanity and you get to take care of my father in his old age and we both live our lives knowing we never have to speak to each other again.”

“There’s no reason to resort to sarcasm, dear. That’s not what I want. Once you handle all this nasty business, your father and I will be able to come back and we can be one big, happy family,” she insisted, tossing her glossy hair over her shoulder. He could tell by the way her eyes narrowed she expected him to roll over and play dead. She wasn’t used to being told no, least of all by him.

“I think I can safely say hell will freeze over before that happens. Why are you really here?”

“I told you, Killian. I wanted to make sure you’re surviving. The news reported all kinds of terrible things…one outlet said you’d done yourself harm and, even more outlandish, someone reported you moved to Maine.”

“I’m as hale and hearty as ever.” With a snicker, he added, “You could have saved us both a lot of aggravation a long time ago by letting me know young and vigorous wasn’t your type.”

“Oh, my poor baby…are you jealous? Insults are so unbecoming. Your father is in excellent health.”

He didn’t miss the way angry color tinted her cheeks or how her eyes slid over his form as he moved her out of his space. He struck a nerve and while a part of him reveled in it, the larger part just wanted her gone. “I’m glad to hear it. That means you’ll have many more years to torture each other. Now if you’re not going to tell me why you deigned to visit, let me get on with kicking you out.”

“Fine, if you refuse to be reasonable. There was some jewelry I was interested in buying at the auction but when I called to inquire about it, they said the items were no longer available. I wanted to try to convince you to sell them to me,” she admitted, any pretense at reconciliation gone as she surveyed him with hard eyes. “Price is no object.”

Opening the doors to the elevator, he resolutely guided her in and dropped his hand like she was coated with acid. He barely resisted the urge to wipe his palm on his pants to rid himself of any trace of her. “I have no idea what you’re talking about but whatever it is you want, I would rather toss it in the ocean than give you the satisfaction of holding it in your grasping, greedy little hands.”

As the doors closed in slow motion, he allowed himself the final word for the trouble and embarrassment this woman caused him. To be fair, he couldn’t lay it all at her feet but she wasn’t an innocent bystander either. “If you come near me or anyone I love again, I’ll make you regret it, Nimue. Pass the message along to dear old dad while you’re at it.”

—

He wasn’t prepared for the frenzy. Perhaps he should have been but his sabbatical in Storybrooke had him out of practice for the no-holds-barred media assault waiting for him at the historic hotel in downtown Seattle. He climbed out of a taxi to the bright flashes of hundreds of cameras, people shouting questions indecipherable in the cacophony. Police had been called to block off the roads and sidewalks so traffic wouldn’t be impeded by the line of limousines waiting to drop off those lucky enough to gain entrance to the auction in person rather than submitting their bids through the website or by proxy.

The crowd was decidedly rich but had no aversion to flaunting it. This was no reserved tea time art gallery patronage or private estate brokerage. These people were out for old money cachet and they weren’t afraid to put down a considerable amount of new cash to secure it. He wondered if their currency had even cooled from the printing press. Then he remembered it was of little consequence to him who plopped down the funds for his family’s possessions as long as he was back home before the end of the weekend.

He felt his pocket vibrate and pulled out his phone. He welcomed the distraction as he made his way through the mob into the lobby of the former gentleman’s club. Ignoring the press shouting his name and the grandeur of the architecture, he stopped at the entrance to the ballroom when he saw it was from Emma. She abandoned her running joke and simply sent, ‘I picked out a restaurant.’

He wondered if she would know the exact moment he read her message if she saw one of the hundreds of photos taken of him pausing in the doorway. He felt himself relax and a small smile cross his face, her courage once again taking his breath away. He would spend the rest of his life trying to deserve her if she let him.

“Text from Emma, I gather,” came a familiar voice from his side. Startled into looking up from his phone, he was amazed to see Liam leaning against the wall looking for all the world like he just arrived home from hiking the entirety of the Appalachian Trail. Curly hair windswept, his eyes danced with laughter completely unaware his L.L. Bean chic was drawing attention from the jetsetter crowd.

He’d never looked better as far as Killian was concerned.

“I guess I should have dusted off my Four Weddings and a Funeral suit,” he commented as he eyed a group passing by.

Chuckling because he should have known Liam wouldn’t miss the opportunity to play big brother after all these years, he was nonetheless happy to see him. The loneliness of the past few days and the unwelcome surprise of his ex-fiancee’s return left him raw. Skirting away from emotional thanks and the heavy anticipation of the events to come, he asked, “Does it make you look like Hugh Grant?”

“It’s a suit, not a magic wand.” Pushing off the wall, his brother made his way over to him and clapped him on the back. “When I left home, I swore I would never wear one again. Unfortunately, Elsa had other ideas. My uniform got me through our wedding but we compromised early on in our marriage and I now own one suit. The only time I intend for it to see the light of day is at the weddings of my four daughters and my own funeral.”

“Lovely story, brother. Do you tell it to the girls at bedtime?”

“They’d rather hear about your leather jackets.”

“Well, you’re going to have to rethink your little nickname if you keep indulging in afternoon delight with your wife. Somehow Five Weddings and Counting plus a Funeral suit doesn’t have quite the same ring,” he murmured, eyebrow cocked and a smirk gracing his lips. It was as if he had unleashed a storm, the cameras snapping pictures so quickly the glare blinded him. He heard several voices calling out his name, demanding to know who he was talking to and what was so funny. With a derisive shake of his head, he led Liam into the ballroom. “Your face is going to be splashed over ever gossip rag in the city when they figure out who you are.”

“I don’t care. We’re going to do this together, just like Mom would have wanted. Nobody messes with the Brothers Jones.”

Damn. He was starting to like when Liam was right.

—

Before they could get to the main event, there was a little matter of clearing him of suspicion in the federal case against his father. As requested, he met the local agent in one of the smaller conference rooms set aside for the auctioneers and staff to use. At a small table in the corner, he endured question after question about his father and his knowledge of the events leading to his getaway.

Did he know his father sold false shares in nonexistent businesses to his asinine friends? No, but honestly he liked him the slightest bit more for it. He had always been under the impression his father had no imagination at all.

Was he aware of several offshore accounts opened in the months preceding his father’s escape from authorities? No, if he had been he wouldn’t be selling off the family jewels to make restitution.

Did he know of his father’s intent to leave the country? No, although he would be eternally grateful his father took some of his own baggage with him when he snuck out in the dead of night.

Had his father been in contact since he fled? No, which wasn’t surprising considering he hadn’t spoken with his father for several months before the blessed event.

To the best of his knowledge, was his father planning to return to the country? If his father came back, he would be the last to know.

Was he aware there was a question of provenance on a set of rings originally listed in the auction catalog?

It was the last question that gave him pause. Staring intently at the agent, he got the sense the man was studying him just as acutely. “No, I wasn’t aware it was a set of rings. Someone had mentioned there were items removed from the auction. Can I see which ones are disputed?”

With a wary glance, the agent pulled a baggie out from his pocket and set his mother’s wedding rings on the table between them. It had been years since he last saw them, the emerald and diamond setting sparkling in the subdued lighting. Reaching out to run his finger over the jewelry through the thin protective plastic, he turned his attention back to the man. “These were my mother’s rings. Who could possibly have a claim on them?”

“Emma Swan.”

Shocked to the depths of his soul, he sputtered, “That’s not...there must be some mistake.”

There was nothing that would please him more than to see his mother’s wedding rings on Emma’s hand but how she had convinced the FBI the jewelry was rightfully hers was something of a riddle. Looking at the delicate settings, the emeralds gleamed in a way reminiscent of her eyes when she was putting him in his place. What the devil was she playing at?

“No mistake, Mr. Jones. She called in a lot of favors to push through the claim before the auction.” Shuffling through the paperwork, he read out, “Looks like she submitted it on behalf of you and your brother, Captain Liam Jones. Says here your brother is the rightful owner so the rings should be exempt from the personal property liquidation.”

Heart soaring, he had a hard time remaining in his chair. His darling Emma did this for his family. Who knows how she had accomplished it or why she bothered after the pain he caused her but it was the most romantic, thoughtful thing anyone had ever done for him.

She still loved him. It was the only explanation.

Wrapping his mind around it, he confirmed again, “Emma did this?”

Looking at him as if he was beginning to worry over his sanity, the agent nodded slowly and added, “After consulting with the auction house and reviewing the documents provided by your advisors, it would appear she is correct. Is Captain Jones present today?”

Clearing his throat, which had thickened with emotion, he waved at Liam to come over and said, “Aye, that he is. If you’ll excuse me, I need to finish this so I can go home. I’ve got someone waiting for me.”

@kmomof4 @teamhook @jrob64 @stahlop @klynn-stormz @motherkatereloyshipper @xarandomdreamx @xsajx

[f0xfordcomma]

re:union (kataang week 2021) DAY SIX

prompt: tease

re:union

chapter six: his hands (again)

rating: T*

*note: I updated the rating because this chapter is ever so slightly ~ahem~ suggestive in places

words: 1338

summary: “Exactly!” She jabbed him playfully in the chest with a finger. “I was clearly trying to help you out! And you’re welcome for dealing with Zhu, and for providing you with a much needed cold shower.”

read it on ao3

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

“Get back here, Aang!” Katara was dripping wet and propelling herself on a wave across Yue Bay in pursuit of her screaming sparring partner.

Aang, in a similar state of saturation, produced a small tornado to shoot himself up into the air and out of the way of her water blast as she neared him. He almost missed the chance to evade her attack, unable to see through his tears of laughter.

“That’s cheating!” She hollered up at him, her hair whipping around her face from the force of the flurry, her hands planted on her hips, and her lips pouting out in protest.

“It’s just self-defense! I was being hunted by a crazed waterbender!”

“Oh shut up, you deserved it.” She made a show of wringing the water out of her hair with her hands (even though she could have used her bending to quickly dry it) and maintained scowling eye-contact with him while the droplets rejoined the sea. “You messed up my hair.”

“You messed up mine first.”

“You don’t have hair!”

“Well, no. But still! You started it!”

“Oh hush, you needed a shower anyway.”

“Did I really smell that bad?”

“Appa smells better.”

“I was planning to freshen up… thanks for the save with Councilman Pointy Nose back there, by the way. I just got a little caught up with everything and then my shoulder and… well, here we are.” Aang lowered himself back down to the water and stood in front of Katara, shrugging in feigned composure.

“Exactly!” She jabbed him playfully in the chest with a finger. “I was clearly trying to help you out! And you’re welcome for dealing with Zhu, and for providing you with a much needed cold shower.”

Her cheeks burned. His burned too. The insinuation had been an accident, but Aang couldn’t exactly deny the veracity of the statement. Waterbending practice with Katara had always been one of his favorite things. And it had everything to do with the push and pull and peace of the water and absolutely nothing to do with Katara’s waterbending outfit (or lack thereof) and the way that her hips swayed and her hair swished and her lips puckered and her hands… it had nothing to do with any of that.

Aang quickly averted eye-contact, worried that Katara could read the thoughts running rampant through his mind. He took her hand, which had gone slack on his chest, in his own and brought it down to her side, squeezing it gently. “I’m sorry I ruined your hair. C-Can I help fix it for you?”

For someone who didn’t have any hair of his own, Aang was surprisingly skilled with the stuff. When they were kids, still schlepping around the world on Appa and hiding out from the fire nation, they’d sometimes pass the time by practicing braids.

Katara had mastered a wide assortment of braids and knots, thanks to her childhood spent with women and fishing nets. First, she taught them to him using strings or reeds or fabric scraps, whatever they could find laying around.

He had taken to the act easily, creating an impressive collection of woven jewelry. Sometimes, they would hand them out to the people that they met on their journeys.

He made her necklace in secret, searching for the most fragrant grasses around their campsite and practicing the most complex braid sequence that she had taught him. He made seventeen imperfect necklaces before settling on the one that he finally ended up giving to her. Perhaps, handing the rejects out to the girls in Makapu village hadn’t been his best idea.

“Can’t you guys find anything better to do?” Sokka had complained once, while digging through a saddle bag full of bracelets in search of some squirreled away seal-jerky. “This is getting excessive.” After their sojourn in the great divide, the storage bags on Appa’s saddle where they’d kept all of the twisted trinkets had been mysteriously emptied.

They moved on to hair. Appa was an exceptional pet for someone learning how to braid. For a time, his entire hide was covered in a variety of plaits. Sometimes they collected flowers to weave in. Appa’s hair became a tapestry of their travels. Flowers from Omashu and Chin and the foggy swamp and Gaoling detailed where they had been. Sokka, though prone to some grumbling at how effeminate it made the “big and burly” bison look, did appreciate the way the floral fragrance nearly disguised his smell, nearly.

Then, Appa had been taken, and Aang’s hands had gotten anxious. One night Katara watched him absentmindedly pick at the skin on his thumb, dig the dirt out from under his nails, wring his fingers together until they were red, tap a stuttering tune on his knee. He needed something to do with his hands. She pulled her hair out of its braid and sat in front of him wordlessly, letting him brush his fingers through it, plait and unplait and replait sections of it. His hands were hesitant at first, drawing back with a start if he accidentally grazed her scalp, her ear, her neck. Over time, though, they both grew comfortable with the closeness. It became normal to him, routine. Run, hide, bend. Eat, sleep, meditate. Play with Katara’s hair until my hands stop shaking.

“That—actually that would be great.” Katara’s scarlet blush deepened as she babbled on. “I was kind of wanting to do something special with it for tonight anyway and Toph isn’t exactly the ideal girlfriend to have when it comes to hair and it's too late to make an appointment and—”

“Katara.” He was still holding her hand, he squeezed it.

“Hmm?”

“Shall we?”

“Oh! Right!” She allowed him to lead her out of the water and toward a shady spot along the bay.

She sat down. He squatted behind her, taking care not to fall into old habits and allow his legs to wrap around hers, settling her into his lap, the way that they would sit when they would do this before.

His fingers were gentle as they brushed the tangles out, bent the lingering water from her locks. He separated her water-born waves into four chunks, braiding each in turn, then wrapping the sections together into a detailed top-knot. He’d left her signature hair loopies out, and they now dangled limply around her face while the rest of her hair was pulled back.

“Can you face me, real quick?”

Gingerly, Katara lifted from her seat and positioned herself on her own knees in front of Aang. Their eyes parallel with one another. Their breaths catching simultaneously.

With trembling hands, Aang reached up to braid the sections of hair around her face and slowly secured them into the bun, as well. He surveyed his handiwork. She closed her eyes against his gaze.

“It needs something…”

A flash of yellow, a sprig of daylilies growing along the beach, caught his eye. He stood to retrieve a bloom and felt her eyes following him as he went.

When he returned, she was standing, watching him with a fond smile on her face and one hand gently patting her head to survey the detailed hair-do. “Aang, this is beautiful.”

He was in front of her. He towered over her. His hands were warm where they brushed her ear as he stuck the flower into the hair there. “Now it is.”

Grey.

Blue.

She licked her lips. In her mind, there were only clouds.

A pebble hit Aang right between the eyes. He grunted, he drew away from her in pain and confusion.

“Glad to see you missed me, Twinkletoes! Been in town five whole hours and didn’t bother to even say hello. Get your lily-livered asses up here, I was sent to find you. It’s almost time for the feast and ol’ pointy is having a conniption fit about the dumplings, or something.”

Toph chuckled to herself the whole walk back to Republic Square, flanked, on either side, by the quickest heartbeats she’d ever felt.

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

In which Aang and Katara tease each other, and I tease YOU. (Mwahahahahaha)

@kataang-week

chapter one

chapter two

chapter three

chapter four

chapter five

chapter seven