#i will regain the ability to sing i swear to fucking god

[problematicfavesareproblematic]

Never Be Sorry, Not For This (part 2)

NSFW NSFW NSFW NSFW NSFW NSFW NSFW NSFW NSFW NSFW NSFW 

Ya boi is back and feeling extra spicy- SMUT AHOY  

You woke up thinking someone had broken into your room, hands blindly swinging at the dark shape that loomed over you

“It’s me!” Gene hissed, cool hands grabbing your wrists and gently dodging your flying fists. “Kicked your canteen over on accident, I didn’t mean to wake you mon cher….”

Heart still in your throat, you have to blink up at him a few more times before his words seem to make sense to your sleep addled brain.

“What time is it?” you ask, but before you can take your arm back to check your watch Gene’s slid in between the salvaged bLankets you’d piled for the both of you and taking your watch off of your wrist and tossing it by the foot of the mattress.

“Late. Early. try to go back to sleep, I’m sorry I woke you—”

“Don’t be….missed you.” Turning to face him you press a quick , chaste kiss to his lips. “Glad you’re here.”

You’d known and loved each other for nearly three years now, and he still got flustered whenever you told him simple and straightforward things like that- I’m glad you’re here, you make me so happy. I love you more than I can say, you now that don’t you Eugene….?

“guess what?” he asks softly in the darkness, and you grin.

“Hm?” you grumble as you refocus, nuzzling your cold nose into the warmth of his neck and kissing the soft skin apologetically when he hisses at the temperature.

“It’s your birthday.” 

Well, I wasn’t ….it was?

You roll onto your back, Gene’s warm body following yours as he gives you a small smile. 

The mattress you were sharing was old and smelled musty but after weeks of sleeping sitting up in the backs of cars it was practically heaven.

Anytime you got to be alone with Eugene Roe was practically heaven.

The only time that seemed to happen lately was during the coveted designated rest time, but you were far from complaining.

 Because, as amazing as sleeping with Gene is, nothing compares to sleeping beside Gene.

You’d never met someone so affectionate, and that affection did not lessen just because he had fallen asleep. He's always touching some part of you- an ankle hooked around yours, his sleep-slackened hand heavy on your thigh, steady breath raising chills across your chest as he burrows for you.

in Georgia, you’d lamented the overwhelming heat of his body on yours. Youd bitched and moaned that you were melting and he was just making it worse.

I’ve made you melt before, mon cher. I think you’re just too warm...

 But here in Europe- with it’s frigid days and even colder nights, you’d become the touchy one. He didn’t seem to mind the change.

 He brushes his nose against your temple as he kisses along your hairline, inhaling the smell of the shampoo Easy had been gifted upon their return from the frontlines the day before.

“Do you think I can get Luz to sing me ‘happy birthday’?” you tease, arching your back to stretch your sore muscles.

He seems to consider that for a moment. “Knowing George Luz, I'd say the bigger challenge will be getting him to stop singing to you.”

You nod in the pale light of the room, your warm chuckle turning into a sigh when he placed a sweet kiss on your lips. “You raise an excellent point, Doc. Knew you were more than just a pretty face…”

You feel him smile against your cheek, and when he pulls back enough to look at you he just looks so content that it takes your breath away. 

 You hold his face in your hands, unable to stop the amused smirk that crosses your face when he leans into your touch.

You both stay like that for a moment, enjoying e/o’s presence in comfortable silence until you see a thought form in his mind that suddenly has him eyeing you somewhat knowingly.

“Remember your last birthday?”

 Your grin is gone, mouth popping open surprise at the sharp turn his mood had taken.

 like you could forget anything about your last birthday.

 Well, more accurately- anything about your birthday celebration with Gene. 

Unwilling to let him see how instantaneously the mention of your night at the club had gotten you flustered, you pretend to think for a moment, bringing a hand up to tap at his chin.

“Hm, not sure? Remind me what we did?”

He kisses you with a roll of his eyes, mouth tasting of toothpaste and cigarettes.

I remember when I first kissed him. He tasted like whiskey-smoked sugar and i thought i was going to burst into flame.

“Red silk,” he murmurs. “Pecans? You, forgetting how to breathe and dance at the same time—?”

You scoff a laugh at that, bringing his mouth back to yours and shutting him up with another kiss.

He breaks the kiss with a soft curse, taking a deep, ragged breath when your hands find the hem of his shirt and push it up enough that you can touch his bare back. You gently scratch at him with your short nails, a greedy feeling of lust blossoming in your chest at the prospect of Gene being at your mercy.

Almost as if he could read your mind, he starts shaking his head as if he is trying to clear it.

With a bite at your bottom  lip Gene rolls atop you sto he can rest between your splayed thighs, kissing you twice more before purposefully rutting against you and letting you feel the firm press of his cock.

“Yeah,” you pant, nodding against his cheek as you desperately try to catch your breath. “I think it’s starting to ring a bell….”

“Well, if you’ll allow me to remind you….”

You’re nodding before he’s finished his teasing offer, thighs coming up to rest against his waist. “Si-to-ple (please).”

like a gunshot signalling the beginning of a race, your plea opens the floodgates and Gene is everywhere.

His french has become too fast and interspersed with (what you assumed were) regional words and phrases too specific for her to understand, but just from the tone you know he’s telling you about the dance you’d shared. 

It hadn’t been until the singer finished her set that the two of you had finally seemed to surface from whatever libidinous spell the night had put upon you, embarrassingly aroused and looking absolutely wrecked.

His hand had refused to part from the dip of your waist, wordlessly guiding the both of you towards the door and across the street to the motel you’d both individually gotten a room at.

the only time he’d stopped to speak was to ask you which way your room was, and you had decided to show rather than tell…

 His fingers were stoking the slick fire between your legs, having long ago made it his mission to learn your body’s secrets until he knew it nearly as well as his own.

Of course he’d blushed when you’d made it clear that you wanted to know him just as completely, but after you’d made it obvious just how badly you wanted to please him.

“More,” you whimper, cutting off another hushed devotion he had started mouthing against her collarbone. “Please, m'amour?”

You knew how distracted it made him when you would pepper in a french phrase here and there, but but when you did it in bed? He’d forget himself, something in the way your lips curled around the foreign sounds adding a more desperate fuel to whatever fire he has burning in him for you at the moment.

This time was no different.

“tricheuse (cheater),” he adminishes lightly, heel of his hand grinding against your clit. “What do you want, mon cher,  what can I give you?” 

Fuck, why did he have to talk like that? Simple questions should not sound so much like dirty talk but dear god it really does.

 “Tell me what you need,” he’d whispered that night, having helped free you from your dress and your slip gathered uselessly around your waist. “I’ll give you anything, i just need you to tell me…”

 “I want to feel you,” your words have him rutting against you like he’s nervous, and you hear him swear that you’re trying to kill him. “I want you to be inside me, God I want your cock so badly—”

His tongue in your mouth quiets you enough for him to process your request, and when you look up at him he shakes his head in  awestruck disbelief.

“Okay,” he eventually says, once he’s had a moment to stare down at your heaving chest and regain control. “Okay, sweetheart.”

 the first brush of him against your bare lips had you begging like a sex-deprived pervert, and you couldn’t stop babbling about how he already felt so good and made you feel so good you didn’t know what to do with yourself. 

he’d whined when you finally welcomed his soft intrusion, lips trembling with want as he licked the sheen of sweat from your skin.

“Don’t stop,” he’d gasped when you’d made purposeful eye contact with him and bore down on him, and the squeeze of your hands on his ass told him that you really meant what you were begging for. “I don’t know….you’re perfect. Just keep...YESSsssss…”

 You feel how close you are, Gene’s rhythmic rocking somehow finding stride in your embarrassingly wanton writhing, the air between you nearly as hot as it had been all those months ago.

“I’m close, i’m so close, my love….” your words are more air than voice, but you know he understands because he’s nodding as he bites at your nipple softly. “I want you to come, too. That’s what I want, Eugene- please let me feel you when you—”

“Don’t —” he groans, one of his hands flying up to cover your mouth. His stomach trembles against yours as he changes the tilt of your hips just so before starting a punishing pace that robs you of any ability to think coherently. “Don’t you dare say something like that- FUCK, especially when you’re looking a t me like that—and expect me not to fucking burst—” 

I love you I love you I need you too much. you’re so perfect, you ruin me.

Please don’t let me go. Please stay here with me.

 The building wave in your belly finally crests and you’re gone, a breathy wince twisting your face as the hand that had been on your mouth jumps down to your clit as your orgasm crashes you to and fro.

In a tremble of his own he quickly pulls out of your sex and spills himself onto your stomach. As he comes, his grip on you is almost painful, but some part of your blissed-out mind relishes the idea of finding bruises on your hips and thighs later.

“Yes,” you sigh, even though part of you wishes he’d forget about being responsible for one minute and come inside of you. “Oh, God yes, Gene…”

 You know why he doesn’t, you know why he really shouldn’t.

Last time, he had. 

He also almost had a panic attack at the idea of getting me pregnant the last time, so i guess this is a fair trade.

He’s still fighting to control his breathing when you take his face i your hands and iss him sweetly, speckling kisses across his face as you pull him to your chest and hold him there.

 “So good,” you’re cooing, drunk on endorphins and your lover. “Fuck, you’re too good at that…”

He barks a laugh, the sound warm and sleepy against your neck. 

You reach for one of your wet washcloths from your shower earlier and wipe his cum from your skin, rolling your eyes when he grumbles an apology.

“Maybe next time you can come in my mouth, if this embarrasses you so much.”

his entire body stiffens at that, and when you start to laugh he prods you gently in the rib.

“That’s it. I’m dead….I’ve died. You’ve killed me.”

You recover the quickest between the two of you, and you wrap your arms around him and trace patterns across his back until his breathing slows, the sweat on your skin cooling and leaving you feeling sated and dirty.

“Whoops.” you say, not even trying to sound sorry. “But….my point still stands.”

you feel him shake his head, and you let your eyes slide shut when he presses a wet hiss to your shoulder.

“Je suis amoureux de vous.” 

you nod,even though you know he can’t see it.

“I know, and I’m in love with you, too.”

“Happy birthday.” he grumbles, or at least that's what you think he’s said. 

You’d shared a bed with him enough by now to know that Eugene was going to be asleep within the next forty seconds, so you shifted slightly so you were more comfortable beneath him.

“Just wait til next month,” you say half to yourself, calculating the days between your birthday and his. “I’m going to fucking ruin you.”

But he’s already snoring softly, and he doesn’t hear your threat.

You duck a kiss to his temple. “I really do love you.”

 In his sleep, Gene mumbles your name, and you decide that maybe being soft for someone isn’t so bad after all.

(WOW HERE’S PART TWO. It’s pure filth. It’s gross. I need to go drink some water and think about what i’ve done)

tagging @georgeparisole , @itswormtrain , and  @a-big-ball-of-idk bc y’all commented and gave me the incentive to crank this out

[knives-out21]

Discrepancy - Dean Corso x Male!OC - #2

Fandom: The Ninth Gate (1999)

Pairing: Ambrósio ‘Ambrose’ Fargas (OC) x Dean Corso

Warnings: Swearing, Faggotry, Spoilers for The Ninth Gate, Flirting, Angst kinda, Grief,

Notes: they’re back, deal with it or whatever

Dean opened the door to his hotel room, shirtless and bed-headed.

The strange blonde girl stared back at him.

Dean held onto the blanket he had wrapped around his waist, "what time is it?"

"Early, but you have to go."

"Go? Go where?"

"To Fargas' place.”

"I've already seen Fargas and his fruity little grandson." Dean didn't mean it as an insult more than he meant it as an adjective. He had other adjectives in mind when it came to Ambrósio, but kept those in his head for a reason.

"I think you should see them again."

"What is this, some kind of practical joke? Who are you? What do you know about Fargas and Ambrósio?"

"Get dressed. I'll wait for you outside." The girl didn't answer his questions, instead turning and walking off.

Dean almost didn't do as he was told. If there was a problem with either one of the Fargas', he knew Ambrósio knew to call him at the hotel. But, maybe something popped up in which Ambrósio couldn't call Dean. He thought back to his conversation with Balkan on the telephone the previous night.

"I must have that copy, Mr. Corso. Get it for me." Balkan instructed.

"The old man wouldn't sell it to save his life, he said as much. And the young'un, his grandson, he...well, he said he helps Fargas take care of the books for a reason."

"Did they?"

"Hello?" Dean called, repeating himself when Balkan didn't answer. He hung up the phone and leaned back against the headboard of his bed, deep in thought. Mixtures of the copies discrepancies, red Hawaiian shirts, the blonde girl from the lobby, and tattooed arms, Balkan's suspicious last words, along with special song abilities. Dean figured he had too much on his mind, more than he knew how to handle.

Dean exited the hotel, seeing the girl waiting for him on a strikingly familiar motorcycle. He didn't ask questions and got on, allowing the strange girl to ride him over to the Fargas house.

Once at the house, Dean led the girl up to the front doors and tried ringing the doorbell. Maybe Fargas or his cute grandson would answer the door, along with his various questions.

"Don't bother, Fargas isn't there." The girl told.

Dean turned to face her, "oh really? Then where is he?"

The girl pointed over at the dull fountain, "over there."

Dean hesitantly looked over at the front door, as if expecting for at least Ambrósio to answer it. When nobody came, he shuffled over to the steps.

The girl pointed over at the fountain again.

Dean looked at her suspiciously, then back to the fountain. He walked over to the fountain, and peered into it. "God almighty."

Victor Fargas' dead body lay face-up in the fountain, floating lifelessly as the Koi fish picked at him like vultures on a carcass. 

Dean turned to the girl, taking one last look at Victor before marching past her, and to the door. He attempted opening it to get inside, get to the book, or hopefully a breathing Ambrósio.

"You want to get inside?" The girl inquired.

Dean sighed, locking eyes with her. "I had thought about it, yes. If Victor is out there, his grandson is probably in there. His grandson, is he still in there?"

"Yes, but he won't answer, he’s too afraid." The girl looked up at the wall, and began to climb it.

Dean watcher her slip in through the window and get inside, walking over and unlocking the front door for him. He stepped into the Fargas house, stopping when he noticed the girl following him. "You wait here."

The girl obliged.

Dean made his way over to the room full of Victors' books, accidentally stepping on the shattered remains of a glass cup.

Dean took a glass from Victor when it was offered, allowing the old man to pour him some brandy. "What handsome glasses.”

"Yes, my grandson thinks so, too. They're the only ones I have left."

Dean looked into the room of Victors books, walking towards his display from the previous day. "Shit." He cursed, realizing the Fargas copy was missing. Dean turned and saw a strange-looking addition to Fargas' fireplace, creeping over and kneeling down by it.

The Fargas copy.

Dean took it out, inspecting the now-burnt cover and smoking pages. He walked out of the room, and began to call. "Ambrósio? Ambrósio! Ambrósio, it's me, Dean Corso, are you here?" Dean exclaimed, glancing around at the ceilings and by the stairs. "Ambrose, Ambrósio!"

Careful footsteps by the top of the stairs.

Dean let his guard up, cautious. "Ambrósio-?"

"Dean!"

"Ambrósio!"

Ambrósio raced down the stairs, running over to Dean and collapsing into his arms. "Dean, oh my fucking god-" He choked.

Dean wrapped his arms around Ambrósio instinctively, quick to calmly shush him and stroke his hair. "Ambrósio? Are you alright?"

"I was," Ambrósio answered. "One second, my Avô and I were drinking from his pretty blue glasses, the next thing I- I know, he urged me to go upstairs and not let myself be known. I- I- I locked myself in my room and listened by the door, I heard stomping and stuff downstairs, like glass b-breaking."

Dean listened intently, Ambrósio's cologne wafting into his nostrils.

"I heard water, and- and splashing from outside, then a car speeding off. I looked out the window, and- and-" Ambrósio stuttered to a stop, tears welling in his dark eyes.

Dean continued softly shushing him and rubbing his back, noticing that Ambrósio was wearing the same thing from the previous night.

"I wanted to call you, but- but the telephone was broken. I really wanted to, I did-"

"Hey, hey, it's okay" Dean pulled away, hands on Ambrósio's shoulders. "At least you're okay, I'm glad you're still okay."

"Fucking barely, my Avô is dead floating in the f-fucking fountain-!" Ambrósio sobbed, weakly pointing in the direction of the fountain. "I fucking knew something was gonna go bad, and- and- and I knew what to do, I knew I had to call you, 'cause you're a safe zone, but I fucking couldn't, and now the last thing I had to call a fucking family is fucking dead!" He complained.

"You couldn't have done anything, Ambrósio. He told you to go upstairs."

"Avô ushered me upstairs to keep me safe, I could fight for my damned self better than he could, Dean!" Ambrósio pointed out. He exhaled shakily, raking a tatted hand through his hair. "God, fuck-" Ambrósio cursed.

Dean gulped, eyes trailing the floor as he thought of something else. "Do you have anywhere else to go? I'm sure you feel far from safe here, now. You could, come with me, maybe-?"

"Are you kidding?" Ambrósio pulled away from Dean's touch, looking at him with wide eyes. "The little books you and him liked so much are the reason he's fucking gone!"

"That's true, very true."

Ambrósio groaned. "Thanks, but no thanks. I-I'm sure my friends could let me waver with them until this home feels like home, again. God." He shook his head, clutching handfuls of his black hair.

Dean looked as sympathetic as he could. "You're gonna be okay? By yourself, I mean. Once it feels more safer to get back in here."

Ambrósio hummed in an unreadable tone. "I got no choice." He admitted, shrugging. “This is my home, Dean.” Ambrósio sniffled, wiping his eyes. "Fucking Avô, man, with his little demonic baloney books" Ambrósio choked out, shoulders shaking.

Dean glanced behind himself, then back over at Ambrósio. "Listen, is there a friend you definitely know for sure that you can crash with?"

"Uh..." Ambrósio sniffed, wiping his eyes again. "Carmen, she definitely will, she's a real giver. Her and her boyfriend Jeronimo, they'll let me. I guess." He stared down at the floor, grief consuming him.

Dean softly cupped Ambrósio's neck, thumb stroking gently. "Lend me their number, then. I'll make sure I can check in on you every once in a while."

"Why? What do you want with me?" Ambrósio grew grumpy, but perhaps his sudden, impactful loss can make up for it.

Dean shrugged back at him. "I'm worried about you, to say the least. C'mon, Ambrósio, a number for a number." He explained, offering Ambrósio a slip of paper and a pen.

Ambrósio glanced between Dean and the two objects. He gave in, writing down Carmen's number. "Here."

"Thank you." Dean smiled slightly, but it couldn't hide his concern. "Get outta here quick, okay? Hope you don't have too many Hendrix or Foreigner vinyls to pack."

Ambrósio chortled. "I don't only listen to Hendrix and Foreigner, Dean, Jesus Christ."

"Who else do you listen to?"

Ambrósio stepped back, towards his staircase. "I could listen to you. You sound like you could do a number on people if you sing."

Dean knowingly shook his head, looking down to hide his smile. "I don't sing, but...thanks."

Ambrósio scratched his jaw, as if slacking to ask Dean something.

Dean read him like a kids book, and opened his arms. "Do it before I regret it."

Ambrósio broke out into a wide smile, enveloping Dean into a tight hug. "Thank you. Thank you." He whispered, feeling safe for the first time all day.

"No problem, Ambrose. Can I call you 'chico', yet?"

"Only if you beg like you wanted to." Ambrósio flirted.

Dean turned back around, seeing Ambrósio holding onto the opened gate. "What is it, chico? Can I call you ‘chico’?"

“If you ask nicely.”

Dean rolled his eyes knowingly, “save either one of us begging for something from the other for another time.” He finally flirted back.

Dean chuckled, pulling away from the hug. "Never lose the attitude, man."

"Would never dream of it."

The two stood in comfortable silence, gazing at one another.

Then reality took its hold on Dean, who regained his focus. "I should...get going. You'll be fine until your little friends get here?"

"Carmen picks up the phone fast, and Jeronimo drives fast. I can manage in due time...Thank you, again."

"No problem. I'll keep in touch" Dean held up the slip of paper before pocketing it, allowing Ambrósio to escort him out. "Stay safe, Ambrósio."

"No safer than you, Dean." Ambrósio replied, closing and locking the front door.

[rufousnmacska]

Secrets and Confessions - Part 6

A Crescent City Ruhn-Hypaxia story

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

Part 5

*****

Heavy beats of music and peals of laughter escaped from the open windows of the townhouse, carried down the sidewalk on the warm night breeze. When she reached the door and raised her hand to knock, Hypaxia hesitated. Days ago, Bryce had given her the address, and the encouragement to come here. But now ... now she wasn’t sure if she could do this. As much as she wanted to see Ruhn, wanted to repair this break between them, she still had no idea how she was going to tell him about the prophecy.

Jesiba hadn’t cared if she told Ruhn everything, yet the witch had forbade her from telling Bryce. Hypaxia couldn’t see a scenario where Ruhn kept this from his sister.

Then again, the more she’d considered, the more she thought he would. He’d do anything to protect Bryce. And if that meant offering himself up as a sacrifice to ensure a safe future for her, for them all … Well. That was definitely his style.

A smile crossed her face. He tried so hard to make himself look imposing and uncaring, hoping no one would see the goodness concealed behind that dark and dangerous first impression. Hoping no one would hear the self-deprecation hidden beneath his snarky humor. Doing whatever it took to distance himself from his father.

Fuck it, she thought. Not one to swear often, she’d heard enough from Ruhn and taken up the habit when the moment called for it. And right now was a fuck it moment.

It took several knocks for the music to be turned down and for someone to come and open the door. The fae who’d mastered the vidscreen feeds at the summit stood in front of her. He stared for a second, clearly trying to place her face. His eyes widened comically when he did.

“Oh shit,” he muttered, half bowing, half beckoning her to come inside.

She bit back a laugh. “You don’t have to do that. Really.”

“You’re the witch queen,” he said, as if that was that. No more discussion. But then he added, “Uh, Ruhn’s upstairs. Was he expecting you?”

Hypaxia had been hurt to learn Bryce knew nothing of her relationship with Ruhn. It seemed his sister had been right in her assessment that it had more to do with them being siblings than anything else. His friends knew. And even though the three were practically joined at the hip, making it almost impossible for them not to know, the thought centered her, giving her a boost of confidence.

“No,” she admitted, glancing behind him into the living room. Several sets of eyes looked back, some drugged, some clear, none with any recognition of who she was. Except for the other fae male that made up the trio. He was on his phone, staring at her, a slow, crooked grin taking shape on his face. He was more conventionally handsome than the techie, but less so than Ruhn.

It was funny how quickly she’d taken to using Ruhn as some sort of baseline. The balanced lines of his face, the sound of his laugh, the polite way he always held the door for her. The fire in his blue eyes and passion in his voice when he spoke about a case he was working on for the Aux.

By Cthona, it had all snuck up on her. He had snuck up on her, in so many ways.

She pointed to the staircase and started towards it, asking the tech guy, “Which is his room?” But before she reached the first step, Ruhn appeared at the top, sliding into the banister from a full run.

It had been so long – too long – since they’d last been face to face. The sight of him, in loose hanging pants and a t-shirt that looked as if it had just been thrown on, his hair pulled back, his eyes fixed on her … Hypaxia froze. Froze and waited for his reaction. Examining his eyes, she found none of the hurt that had clouded them before.

Taking the steps a few at a time, he descended, took her hand and silently led her back up, ignoring his friends the entire time. She squeezed his hand, and hope sparked to life when she felt his grip tighten in return.

*****

Ruhn had been staring at his phone for half an hour, his finger hovering over her name, growing more and more pissed off that he was taking Ketos’s advice. He wanted to call Hypaxia. He just didn’t want it to be at the behest of the mer. Though, he had to admit that Tharion was a decent male, coming here and giving Ruhn the kick in the ass he needed… Even if he’d basically threatened to go after Pax if Ruhn didn’t. Then again, he couldn’t be sure that Tharion hadn’t implied him in the threat, and not Pax.

“Fuck it,” he mumbled, realizing he was stalling. But just as he was about to make the call, his phone buzzed.

Flynn’s smirk practically poured out of the earpiece. “Your witch queen just showed up.”

Ruhn was out the door and sprinting down the hallway before another word was said. He’d managed to grab a shirt – was it clean? He didn’t fucking know – and got it on just as he reached the top of the stairs, almost killing himself trying to stop.

Hypaxia had a foot on the lowest step but didn’t move when she saw him.

The sight of her was like opening your eyes to color after seeing nothing but gray for years. Like the first gasp of air after being pulled from drowning. Like … like … He couldn’t think of another dumb metaphor. She was happiness. Serenity. She was all he wanted.

And he’d spent the last few weeks being an asshole. Gods he hoped she could forgive him.

Skipping down the stairs, he reached for her hand and brought her back up. The strength with which she held on to him sent a jolt through his chest, as if he’d been struck by lightning. The starlight inside started to bubble to life but he put a lid on it. It was at that moment that he realized his magic had been dormant. The last time he’d called on it had been with her. Since he’d left her in that park, he hadn’t summoned it, hadn’t felt it. And now, in her presence, by her touch, it was aching to burst out of him.

*****

When they were alone in his room, Ruhn let go. Immediately, the lack of his touch, brief though it had been, left her cold. He paced around, not saying anything, not looking at her. The spark of hope from seconds ago flickered, threatening to go out.

As she watched him walk in circles, she took note of the space. Large enough for a huge bed, a couple of sofas arranged around a vidscreen and elaborate music system, a work table half filled with gadgets and weapons in the process of being fixed or cleaned, a desk holding files and papers, a wall of stuffed bookshelves.

Bryce’s description of the place as a pig sty came back, and without thinking, she said, “You cleaned.”

Ruhn stopped and spun around, staring at her suspiciously, trying to figure out how she could know he’d done anything since she’d never stepped foot inside his house before.

“Uhh,” she muttered, “I can smell the cleaner.” She sniffed the air, finding nothing but his scent there. The scent she’d missed when it had faded from her sheets and apartment.

His eyebrow quirked upwards as he smiled at her, having figured out what had happened. “Bryce spoke to you.”

Hypaxia nodded, trying not to let herself be carried away by his smile. More than anything, she’d missed that. Making him laugh with a silly joke, making him smirk with desire, making him grin from the sound of her singing.

“Listen, Pax.” He ran his hand through his hair, only to get it caught up in the tie holding it back. With a harsh curse, he yanked it out, letting his black hair fall like a silk sheet.

Ogling him like a lovesick witchling, she was glad his eyes were downcast. At least until she could shake herself back to reality. And back to what she needed to do.

“Wait. I need to explain something first,” she said, regaining his full attention. His bright blue gaze was going to be distracting. After a deep breath, she went on. “Yes, I am a member of the rebellion. And yes, I wanted to recruit you. I think you understand why I couldn’t tell you about it. I may be a queen, but I’m young and newly crowned. My opinions aren’t given much weight among the leaders.”

Ruhn made a quiet huff of disapproval and crossed his arms. Hypaxia eased towards him, moving slowly as if he might disappear if she got too close.

“I did not pretend or exaggerate my feelings for you. This wasn’t a ploy to get you to help. In fact, I should never have become involved with you at all. I knew it could complicate things. But … you saw me. The real me. Before I was officially recognized as queen. Before the full weight of this new life started to pull me under. The way you looked at me made me feel ... real. Alive in a way that if I messed up or said the wrong thing, it would all be okay. I love you.”

Carefully, she brushed her fingertips across the back of his hand. At his intake of breath, at the pebbling of his skin, her hope from earlier returned. Perhaps he could see through the fog of self-doubt and insecurity that his father had poisoned him with. A poison that could not be removed by her magic. She could not fix him, and he was no cure for her troubles. The doubt that she’d never be the queen her mother was. The fear of leading her people in the war to come. These plagued her as much as Ruhn’s demons afflicted him.

Either he’d believe her or not. Believe in himself, or not. Fight his demons, or not.

She loved him. And she knew with certainty that though they could not cure each other, they could help each other. He’d already done that by being a safe haven from her daily responsibilities. A source of laughter and love, offering an ear to listen and a font of supportive words. He was what she needed. She wanted to be that for him.

Hypaxia realized that Ruhn was staring deep into her eyes, as if he knew what she’d been thinking. The smile that tugged at his lips at that moment reminded her of his magical abilities. Flames licked at her cheeks as she blushed, her eyes closing in mortification.

Shit.

“You heard all that?” She opened her eyes to find him grinning. He nodded. Scrunching her eyes up again, she said, “Please, say something.”

“Something.”

“Oh my god,” she said, shaking her head in annoyance and trying hard not to laugh. She failed.

But before she could say or do anything else, his hands were cradling her face and he was kissing her. She pressed herself into his body, relishing the feel of him, his warmth and solidity. One of his hands dropped to her lower back, eliciting a moan from both of them. The twin sounds were like fuel poured onto a fire, and with a single swift motion, Ruhn lifted her up. With her arms around his neck and her legs around his waist, they deepened their kiss.

She was utterly lost in him. That scent of warm spices that called to her. The quick nip of his teeth on her lower lip that had her sighing his name. The way he groaned in reply, loving even the faintest sound of her voice. The pressure of his strong hands, holding her hips firmly against him.

And of course, his starlight.

Hypaxia opened her eyes as they kissed, intoxicated by the glow of his magic.

And just as he was about to lay her down on his bed, that starlight broke through the haze of desire, reminding her of the other reason why she was here.

*****

Ruhn had never experienced a natural high like this. No amount of alcohol, mirthroot, or any other drug could compare to it. To her.

Every sense was on overload and he was damn close to blowing a fuse. How had he lasted so long without her? How had he been so fucking stupid to stay away? Hypaxia had no reason to forgive him, and yet she had. She had no reason to be with him. And yet, here she was.

Somehow, she loved him.

Somehow. The disbelief threatened to undo him as much as the sensation of kissing her. He stood on a precipice that overlooked two possible outcomes. A leap off one side meant descending into hate and misery, an all too familiar landscape where his father would always be in control. A leap off the other meant love. Love and trust. In himself and Hypaxia.

Either he’d believe her or not. Believe in himself, or not.

She hadn’t intended for him to hear that. And he hadn’t lurked inside her mind to listen. It was as if she’d been yelling it into his brain. As if her magic sang to him. A song almost as sweet as her true voice.

“Gods, Pax,” he groaned into her neck as he laid her back onto his bed. “I’ve missed you.” He propped himself above her, watching her stare in awe as his light slowly faded. “I am so sorry for everything I said. For letting all my shit get in the way. I was an idiot and I’m sorry.”

“We all have shit that gets in the way of things,” she said, tucking his hair behind an ear.

“Even when you swear it’s like a symphony,” he said, getting her to laugh. And promptly melting at the sound.

“I meant what I said.” Red bloomed on her cheeks. “Or, didn’t say. We both have demons. I want to help you with yours.”

“And I’ll help you too. I’m sorry for being such an ass and overreacting.”

“Well, I need to apologize too.”

“No, you don’t,” he said.

She scooted out from under him to sit in the middle of the bed. “I handled it poorly. For that, I’m sorry.”

In the space of a few seconds, she’d grown serious, and Ruhn suddenly became worried. Had the rebel leaders punished her for being with him? Or for him finding out about them? Tharion hadn’t mentioned anything was wrong the night before when he’d stopped by.

“What is it?” he asked, sliding over to sit next to her. She crossed her legs and looked around the room, gathering her thoughts. “Does this have something to do with the prophecy?”

“What?” She practically jumped out of her skin.

He shrugged, trying to look unconcerned. In reality, he was starting to freak the fuck out.

“When I overheard you that night. With Tharion. He said something about a prophecy.”

Hypaxia’s throat bobbed and it seemed like she had to force herself to look him in the eyes.

“That bad, huh?” he said, trying for lightness. When she didn’t reply, he added, “It’s okay if you can’t tell me. I don’t want to get you in trouble for sharing secret intel or anything.”

For a moment, she looked like she might take the out he was offering. Might claim that it was top secret and that until he joined the rebels and was allowed to know, he’d have to stay in the dark. Ruhn had no idea what this prophecy might entail, but he had enough experience with them to know they were bullshit and ruined lives, even if they never came true. He was about to say as much when she finally spoke.

“It involves the endgame of this rebellion,” Pax said, taking one of his hands in hers. “You know about Theia and her daughters.” He nodded, trying not to get distracted by the warmth of her skin on his. “About how Pelias used the starsword to close the rift and seal off the demons from Hel to end the war?”

“I know the basics. Just what’s been passed down in bedtime stories. The books I’ve read don’t go into detail.”

“The legend is widespread, but it’s not accurate. The true history is murky. Even so, many prophecies sprang from that story, and that time. Some told by the fae, some by the witches, even the shifters, and sprites. The angels may even have some. But there’s one prophecy in particular that is shared by your kind and mine. We refer to it as the blade and the sword.”

Ruhn laughed, relief filling him. “Yeah. I’ve heard that one. Except it’s a knife and blade.” He waved off the different words, then, sitting up straight like a school boy, he recited, “When knife and blade are reunited, so shall our people be.”

Hypaxia didn’t smile. “Terminology aside, the fae version is only about your people. Mine applies to all the people of Midgard. All except the asteri.”

Ruhn thought about that for a moment. It was no wonder the rebels would fixate on that prophecy if they saw it as a means for liberation from the asteri. Glancing to where the starsword hung on the wall, he asked, “How long-”

“I’ve known about it for all my life,” she interrupted, guessing his question. “It was part of my schooling. But it was only yesterday that I was told specifics. About the greater implications.”

She was squeezing the hel out of his hand, and when he looked at it, she dropped it like it had burned her skin. He kept staring, trying to make sense of the fragmented thoughts running through his head. He believed her that she wasn’t using him to fulfill a prophecy. But that didn’t mean she wasn’t gambling away the hopes of the rebels on him.

The Chosen One. Chosen for nothing but the end of the Valbaran royal bloodline.

It was like the ocean. This darkness in his head. Endless and eternal. The doubts and loathing might go away for a short time. But like waves, they always came back. Sometimes big as swells during a storm.

“I’m not really sure what to tell you. If you think because I have that sword that I’m some kind of savior for the rebellion ... I may have pulled it out of the stone, but it’s powerless without the knife. And more importantly, it calls to my sister.” He looked up to meet her gaze. “Not me.”

He’d never said it out loud before. That the starsword, the fabled weapon of the Chosen One, didn’t really belong to him. He’d seen how it reacted to Bryce, the way it vibrated, the starlight glinting on its surface, inching towards her, wanting to be in her hand, not his. He’d seen how she tried to ignore it. At the time, he had no fucking idea that she possessed true starlight magic, let alone how much. But once she’d revealed it by going supernova, it had all made sense.

He stood and began to pace again. “I can’t do fuck all for your rebellion. But here’s something you can add to your list of prophecies,” he said, a bitterness in his voice that rarely played anywhere outside of his own head. “The Oracle told me that I’d be the end of the royal line. That’s what I’ve been chosen for. Not to be a good king. Not to save the fae. I’ve tried finding a silver lining. Some meaning that doesn’t involve death. But ending my father’s reign can’t be done peacefully. My only destiny is destruction.”

Hypaxia said nothing, just watched him with big brown eyes that seemed to see right through him. This was the part where she’d make some excuse. Realize how beneath her he really was. Realize no royal line would want to be tainted by his presence.

*****

She felt him fading. Falling into some dark place where all his fears resided. Closing the space between them she lifted his head so he was forced to look at her. She concentrated on how much she loved him, hoping his magic would hear and drive away the defeat in his eyes.

Caressing his cheek, she said, “I know about the starsword.” At his surprise, she hurried to explain. “Jesiba told me. Where she gets her information, I have no idea.” More somber, she went on. “As for the Oracle, I might have an explanation for that.”

Hypaxia continued, telling him about the intricacies of the blade and sword prophecy. That the two things must be joined in order to seal the rift. Pelias had wielded the starsword and possessed starlight magic, just as the stories told. But the blade that was not a blade, that had been Helena’s sister, an unnamed daughter of Theia who possessed barely a trickle of starlight. Just enough, that when combined with Pelias’s gift, it would ensure success. He killed her with the sword, allowing the power to transfer to him and ensure the door into Hel would never be opened.

She explained that with the horn a physical part of her, and as the true wielder of the starsword, Bryce would need to pull double duty if the prophecy were to come true. His sister would create a new rift through which the asteri would be banished. Then, she would need to close it.

At some point in her telling, Ruhn had turned away to sit on the sofa, staring into the middle distance at nothing. Each piece of knowledge seeming to hit him like a punch to the gut. “She wields the sword,” he said in a monotone. “And I am the knife.”

“Blade.” Hypaxia corrected, without thinking.

He faced her, his eyes shining. “You mean sacrifice,” he said. “By Bryce’s hand.”

Tears slipped free from her own eyes and ran down her cheeks. “Yes.” Furiously wiping her face, Hypaxia forced lightness into her voice and said, “But … but I don’t want you to worry. Jesiba wants me to find a loophole. She’s given me full access to her libraries, contacts, anything and everything. And I already have some ideas. Old magic that isn’t well known outside of the witches. And new technologies that might help.”

She began naming some of the possibilities, but he only looked at her, appearing to glaze over more and more with every word. Softly, she asked, “Ruhn? Are you okay?”

*****

Well fuck, he thought, sitting down hard on a couch as his legs finally gave out from under him.

No wonder he was a drama queen. Something in his subconscious must have been preparing him for the day he’d have to … what was it? Let his little sister kill him and steal his power to send a bunch of megalomaniacs into another dimension.

As Hypaxia rattled off potential solutions, Ruhn just stared at her, getting swept away by the notes and chords of her voice.

Gods, he loved her. Loved that she was already fighting to get him out of this. Loved that she was brilliant and brave and beautiful.

“Ruhn?” she asked, the change in tone drawing his attention. “Are you okay?”

“Does Bryce know anything about this?” Jesiba Roga was many things, her cruelty well known. But he knew in his gut that she cared for his sister. Even if she never showed it.

Pax shook her head, watching him carefully. “She and Hunt are under too much surveillance. Even so, Jesiba told me not to tell her. That order doesn’t extend to you. So if you want-”

“No!” he almost shouted. Then, more quietly, “No. She’s not to know. Not until it’s necessary.”

Eyes glossy, she tried to blink back the moisture that was building. “It won’t be. Not if I have any say about it.”

Ruhn leaned in and kissed her. Hard at first, turning more gentle as they drew it out and he brushed away the new tears that began to fall. “I love you. More than anything in this world. And I will do whatever it takes to keep you safe. If that means dying to give Bryce my starlight, I’ll do it.”

As if she’d been waiting for him to say that, she opened her mouth to argue but he stopped her with another kiss.

“If there is a loophole, we’ll find it. You’re the smartest person I know. And I’m not half bad either.” Finally, she smiled. “If we combine our forces-”

“And Jesiba’s,” she added.

“And Jesiba’s, we’ll find a way around it.”

“How can you be so sure? How can you be so … happy?”

He kissed her again, pulling away to rest his forehead on hers. “Because you love me. And I love you. And right now, that’s all that matters.”

*****

The next morning, Hypaxia woke curled up along Ruhn’s side. She wasn’t sure if he was awake until he started playing with her hair.

“Mmmm, I like your bed,” she said, stretching her arms and legs as she rolled onto her back.

“I like any bed you’re in, majesty” he replied, rolling too so he came to rest against her. Wrapping his arms around her waist, he pulled her on top of him, tickling her until she was breathless with laughter.

When she could breathe again, she said, “There’s a prophecy I didn’t tell you about last night.”

Ruhn closed his eyes, gently running his fingers up and down her back. “No. No more prophecies. No more oracles. No more fate and destiny and all of that other shit.”

“It was more of a vision actually,” she said, laughing as he sighed in exaggerated surrender. Pushing herself up on an elbow to stare into his jewel like eyes, she said, “Shortly before she died, my mother had a vision that involved me. It was after she was gone, after the coming war. And it’s got me thinking. She said I would not be alone. She saw me with someone.”

“Who?”

She kissed the tip of his nose. “One who is chosen.”

Ruhn huffed a quiet laugh. Pulling her back down and returning to stroking her back, he said, “If you’re trying to get me to accept that ridiculous title by saying I’ve been chosen by the Queen of the Valbaran Witches…” He paused for effect and then sighed again. “That just might work.”

Resting her cheek on his warm, bare chest, right over his heart, Hypaxia began to hum. It was an ancient song that Ruhn loved, telling a tale of young love that is lost and then rekindled. Her voice was soft at first, building up slowly until the humming turned to singing. She felt more than heard his deep moan of appreciation. And as his delicate fingers tapped out the familiar rhythm on her back, she smiled.

.

The end.

*****

Thanks for reading! And sorry for the quickish ending. I’ve got a lot going on right now and couldn’t devote the time to extending this into a full blown, super long fic.I may pick this story up again in the future though, and I have other ruhnpax headcanons I’ll eventually post.

tagging - @itach-i (thanks for all the beta reading!), @queen-of-glass @julemmaes

Fanfic masterlist

[thepeakyfckingblinders]

Chocolate || Arthur Shelby x reader

⤠ MASTERLIST⤟

Anon requested: “ 11 & 12 with Arthur? (I love your writing so so much! 💖💕💖)” (I love you so much ♡)

Summary:  n.11 & 12 from my prompt list: “Please, please, please” + “I don’t recognize you anymore” Warnings: swearing, fluffiest fluffy fluff, me loving Arthur desperately.

Author’s notes:

Behind each one of these works there are sleepless nights and something really close to multiple mental breakdowns, so, please, take a minute to send me a message about it, I need actual feedbacks to understand how to improve my skills and grow ♡

I’m sorry for being this late, but I’ve been really busy in the past days and writing is never just easy, it demands concentration and effort, plus I don’t want you to be disappointed, so I’m always extra accurate while working. I hope this is worth the wait!

If you want to be added to my tag list, please, directly message me

I’m Italian, English isn’t my first language, so I apologize for every possible mistake I made. Also, please, help me improve my writing by telling me if there’s something wrong

ENJOY!

When Arthur stepped into his house that morning, after a long night spent at Charlie’s yard due to the incoming of a new consistent cocaine shipment, he was at first profoundly relieved by the peaceful, utter silence reigning supreme in his living room. Nevertheless, a few minutes later, his tired brain realized how unusual it was for you not to be around by that hour, maybe finishing your chores while singing and dancing all over the place, thanks to the gramophone he had given you the previous Christmas. Factually, that deafening silence was definitely strange, thus your husband’s nerves started to wildly shrink under pressure because of the raw concern growing in the middle of his chest: with the passing of years, experience had taught him to be prepared for the worst, always. The Peaky Blinders had uncountable dangerous enemies, he knew that and he was aware that you as well could be somehow dragged into their dirty affairs; actually, that torturous thought kept him up at night and, in that very moment, caused cold sweat to form on his forehead, as he drew his gun from his shoulder holster and his feet slowly trod on the creaky wood of the stairs leading to the bedrooms. Carefully not to make a sound, Arthur made it all the way upstairs where nothing seemed to be wrong, the closet with your precious porcelains, placed right in the middle of the corridor, was intact, even the long rectangular carpet on the floor was exactly the way he had left it, plus he literally could’ve heard a pin drop. But then, all of a sudden, an excruciating moan reached his ears, having his head instantly tilt towards the closed door of your shared master room.  Pure terror took possession of his body, his mind went totally black, in the blink of an eye, his side violently collided with the wooden surface which offered no resistance, snapping open right on the spot, and causing him to stumble upon his own legs, struggling to regain balance after his disproportionate effort. “What the hell is going on here?” He screamed at the top of his lungs, his voice contaminated by destructive ire mixed with fear, yet, as soon as his gaze laid on your king-size bed, his mouth shut for an istant and immediately fell back open, giving birth to a hilarious confused expression. You were whining in pain, curled up as a tiny ball in the middle of that huge mattress, creased sheets around your bare ankles like tentacles of an octopus, for some absurd reason you kept on moving your feet, getting even more tangled in that mess made of white linen. “What the fuck are you idiot yelling about?” That grievous and unusually aggressive tone raised from your minute figure, and, even though it was slightly muffled by the pillow you were sinking your face in, it instantaneously made a light bulb go off in Arthur’s brain. “Oh, shit” That was nothing more than a whimper, but he possibly sounded more frightened than before, for his intuition became scarily real with each passing second. Sadly, you were on your period and, in spite of being a bloodthirsty gangster, that realization, right off the bat, made him want to run away with his tail between his legs; still, he needed to be brave and face the beast, for the sake of your happy and long-lasting marriage. “Y/n? A-are you okay?” He carefully advanced towards your bed, nervously toying with his cap between his fingers, his alarmed glance briefly run up and down your huddled body, analyzing you and each one of you movements, almost like a tamer preparing to domesticate a tiger. “God, what have I done wrong? Why you keep punishing me?” Those existential questions escaped your mouth together with all of your desperation, while you dramatically turned your eyes to the ceiling, loudly invoking some kind of divine help and totally ignoring your husband’s concern. “Guess the answer is no” Arthur mumbled with raised eyebrows, scratching his hair first and then his moustaches, in an attempt to convoy his thoughts and find a logical solution, he quickly finished the glass of whisky he had left on his nightstand the night before, as his mind was struggling with what to do and his feet anxiously stepped back and forth on the tiffany blue moquette. Eventually, he just opted for removing his jacket and shoes, in order to lay down by your side and comfort you in every possible way, praying not to get brutally killed in the process. “Come here, love” He breathed out with his strong accent, gently lifting your back and guiding you to lean on his chest; his arms fondly enveloped your torso, one of his hand petting your hair, and the other knowingly massaging your belly in the hope of alleviating your cramps. A groan halfway between relief and sorrow was your only reply to those loving gestures, indeed the terrible ache haunting you was so intense, that it affected your ability to pronounce real sentences. “Do you need me to do anything for you?” A few butterfly kisses were left on your forehead through that caring question, leading you to instinctively rub your cheek against the crook of his neck, looking like a purring cat in need of affection. “Mmh, no...” you blurted out in pain, yet changing your mind right away “ I-I mean yes... Ugh, I want chocolate” Truth to be told, you sounded just like a tantrumming child, and that whole comedy would’ve made him laugh heartily, if only your teeth were not that close to his jugular. “Chocolate?!” He asked raising just one of his brows in an interrogative and deeply confused look. “Yeah, bloody chocolate” Both Arthur’s thumb and index ended upon his eyes, starting to massage his eyelids in a hopeless effort to find a sense to your absurd attitude and, at the same time, a strategy not to disappoint you and your frail emotional state. “It’s fucking 7 a.m., darling, where do you think I should find chocolate now?” Childishly, your small fists hit his forearm a few times, while small cries left your lips and you kept kicking the air and the blankets. “Please, please, please-” Already exasperated by your acute pleading, he simply surrendered to his bitter fate, showing his open palms in sign of defeat. “Okay, okay, I’m going” Still, as soon as he got out of bed, trying to put his shoes on despite his precarious balance, your whiny voice induced him to froze on the spot. “Oh, forget it! Just come back in bed with me” Arthur’s jaw nearly dropped at your new request, he turned to you with disbelief painted on his pale face and his hands on his hips, flaunting all his exhaustion. “Jesus Christ, this woman is fucking crazy” He grumbled to himself and started to untie his boots once more, while you seemed to be on the verge of death, continuing to complain about how you needed him to hurry up and cuddle you. “I don’t even recognize you anymore, what’d you monster do with my loving wife?”

tag list: @spidey-pal, @shadow-of-wonder, @mclfoybaby, @peachlle, @livvtheangel, @myjbphase, @namelesslosers, @crazyonesarethebest

[stonyiscanon]

Love At Fifth Sight (Tony Stark x Avenger! Reader)

Requested: haha no I’m so sorry for ignoring all the asks in my inbox I’ll reply to them right after this!

Notes: ALL THAT GOOD FLUFF AND ENEMIES TO KINDA LOVERS STUFF. IF YOU ARE LOOKING FOR AN OVERDOSE OF CLICHES YOU’RE IN THE RIGHT PLACE

Words: 2.3k

Warnings:  Swearing

Summary: Tony Stark is an asshole. Well, he’s an asshole until he isn’t.

           When Steve had introduced you to the whole team, they all seemed nice enough. Wanda waved with a small smile, most people gave you a nod, and a ‘Welcome to the team!’ You were also invited to dinner with them that night, which was nice, considering you had just met them.

Even Clint had poked his head down from the ceiling to say Hi, which scared the shit out of you, but you appreciated it nonetheless, and smiled back up to him. Sam had stopped chasing and screaming at Bucky enough to give a greeting and a smile, then continued running after Bucky, shouting something about how ‘You need to watch where you put down your fucking dumbbells!’

The first time you had met Tony Stark was, pretty memorable, to say the least.

You saw the suit-clad man with his signature glasses and smirk on his face, and immediately identified the man as the infamous Tony Stark.

“Hey, Cap.” He quipped, slapping a hand onto Steve’s shoulder. He also shot you a nod and a charming smile with one of the mundane greetings you already heard thousands of today.

“Tony. You didn’t show up at the briefing yesterday. What’s that about?” Said Steve, clearly annoyed, brushing off Tony’s hand with a roll of his shoulder.

“Oh yeah!” Tony, said calling out, already walking away, not even looking back to address him.

“It was an emergency!” You barely even heard what he said as he skipped up ahead, already escaping from your view as he turned into a corner, waving a goodbye. Steve shook his head, and slightly rolled his eyes, turning back to you, shooting a smile.

“Don’t mind him. That’s just Tony, you’ll learn to live with him. Should we continue?” He carried on with the tour, showing you the gyms, where Thor was training, advising you that when Thor and Wanda were both in the training rooms, it was probably best to stay away. There had been a few ‘incidents’ that he didn’t talk any more about.

Your first impression of Tony Stark was ‘What a lazy, narcissistic dick!’

Okay, so maybe the second time you met Tony Stark, your judgement was just a little clouded. But, in your own defense, the circumstances that you saw him under weren’t the best.  

Needless to say, you were not a morning person. But apparently, pretty much all the other avengers were, and this pissed you off more than words could describe. After a few weeks, everyone pretty much learned not to talk, do, or- dare god- smile at you from 5AM-7AM.

The only thing that saved you from insanity was the insanely expensive coffee machine stationed in the kitchen that you rushed to every morning. Tony was never in the kitchen when you were there, and when you asked Bucky about it, he replied with a laugh.

“Tony might hate mornings even more than you. He keeps himself locked up in his room until he’s needed, or when Pepper drags him out of his bed.” He paused, thinking, and continued.

“I don’t think he really ever, um, sleeps.” He left after that, leaving you more confused you were in the first place.  One particular morning when you were stabbing the espresso button on the coffee machine with a fork, Tony entered, yawning and rubbing his eyes, grumpily fixing his hair and glaring at everyone.

“Oh, would you stop gaping and looking surprised?” He snapped at everyone. “I can kind of function before 8AM.” Tony looked up, still seeing everyone’s skeptical faces, he muttered, “Okay, fine, my coffee machine broke down.”

He rubbed his hands together, murmuring, “Daddy needs his caffeine.”

Hearing this, the entire team simultaneously rolled their eyes. Wanda stepped inside, smiling at everyone, and almost immediately left when she saw Tony and you.

“Nope. I can’t deal with both of them at 6:30, I’m having breakfast in my room.” Almost five people followed her, grabbing some sort of food and heading back to their rooms.

“Good.” Tony, said, running his hands on his face. “The less the fucking merrier.”  He noticed you, still stabbing your fork at the machine, angrily muttering, “Espresso, goddamnit.”

“Sweetheart,” Tony gave you a lazy smirk and nudged your hand. “That’s the latte button.” He took your finger and moved it to the right. “That’s the espresso. Someone’s a little sleep deprived, huh?” He then snatched your mug, and took a sip out of it.

“Well, this works out anyway. I drink lattes in the morning.” You were too stunned to say anything back, so instead opted to glare at him, silent screams coming from your mouth.

“Jerk!” You called after him, as he walked away with your own mug in his hand, calling back,

“I’ve heard that one before, princess!”

You stomped back to your room, espresso be damned, all while muttering, “Coffee thief.” You went back to sleep, forgetting all about your responsibilities, only getting up an hour later when Nat spilled water on your pyjama shirt, screaming at you to get ready for training.  

The third time, you have to admit, Tony Stark is kind of tolerable. It was a Friday, and the entire team camped out on the couches in the rec room, all refusing to get up, considering how much the mission before had tired them.

What a sight it was, too. Pepper had already came in three times to try and get them all off their asses, and for the first time, none of the avengers listened, and instead stayed, despite how much everyone was deathly afraid of Pepper, some on the couches, some just sprawled out on the floor, all except Steve, who was trying to give a mission debrief and congratulate everyone, while the others all just threw pillows at him, telling him to ‘Shut the fuck up, Steve’.

Well, everyone except Sam, who was holding an ice pack to his chin, and only managed to shout, ‘Shut the fuck up, Stoob!’

Everyone just spoke quietly to each other, most of them holding ice packs to some part of their body, bandaging up, and for the first time in God knows how long, resting. Eventually Steve gave up too, bandaging up his hands, speaking softly to Bucky.

Tony and you sat in the corner of the rec room, ignoring each other for a while, before Tony spoke up.

“Hey. I bet you can’t throw a piece of carpet lint in Clint’s glass of water.” You narrowed your eyes, before replying. You weren’t going to let Tony Stark, Coffee Thief win a bet against you.

“Watch me.” You glared at him, mirroring his smirk. You scratched off a piece of lint from the carpet next to you, and after only two tries, a little splash, and it popped right into Clint’s mug.

“Fuck you.” Clint said, very well aware of what you had done, but way too tired and lazy to actually do something about it, and just deciding to stay dehydrated. Nat let out a snort and closed her eyes, trying to nap.

“I bet,” You mused, “You can’t throw a piece of cracker in Natasha’s mouth while she’s sleeping.”

“Are you kidding me?” Tony hissed. “She’d end me!” But meeting your competitive smirk, he grumbled and snatched the saltine out of your hand. He spent almost a minute trying to aim for Nat’s mouth, finding the best moment to shoot. You were almost going to tell him to admit defeat, but after just three tries, he hit a piece of cracker straight into her mouth.

Tony scrambled behind you right after, hiding from Nat. But she apparently, was also too tired to do anything just yet, but she chewed and swallowed the saltine that landed in her mouth, giving Tony the best death glare she had produced in years, as he sheepishly smiled back.

“I thought you might be hungry.” Tony said in a small voice.

Then she took a pillow and threw it at Tony’s head.

“Ow!” He said, grumbling and rubbing his head. “How the fuck did you throw a pillow so hard?” She shrugged and went back to sleep as you laughed your ass off, watching Tony eventually smile too.

You also watched him hiding from Nat when she woke up from her nap and regained her strength. He managed to evade her for just about 3 minutes before she pelted him with hard candies to the best of her ability, playfully slapping you every time you brought up the fact that he just had his ass kicked by milk duds.

Okay, so maybe Tony Stark is a little more than kind of tolerable.

The fourth time you interacted with Tony, he was drunk. So, maybe this didn’t count as an actual interaction, but you had talked, so this counted in your book.

He was hosting one of those charity galas again, sometime in the weekend, where everyone got all dolled up and made small talk with other rich people. How stupid, you had thought. So, naturally, because you refused to go to this one, Wanda had dragged you to your wardrobe, thrusted you a dress, and told you to meet her outside.

Sometimes, you hate your teammates.

You moped your way downstairs, where Wanda and Nat both looped an arm on either side of your body, pulling you inside the massive ballroom. After you greeted some people, danced with Thor, and absolutely slaughtered Steve in three games of poker, you were absolutely done for that night.

You grumbled, snatching those incredibly tight, scratchy heels off and dumping them God knows where, and threw yourself face down on the covers, until you heard rustling and giggling from outside.

You only knew one person who giggled like that.

“Go away, Tony!”

“Ooh,” You heard from outside. “First name basis.” He said in a sing-song voice, his words slightly slurred. You furrowed your brows as you peeked up from your pillow and dragged yourself to the door.

Sure enough, a very giggly Tony stood, the smell of vodka fresh on his breath, and he was holding some sort of alcohol in his cup.

“You’re drunk.”

“And you aren’t? Pshhhht.”

“Tony,” You said, rather annoyed. “I just want to go to bed, Tony. Want me to call Rhodey?”

“Nuuuuu.” He said, hiccupping.

And as you started to close your bedroom door, he stopped it with his arm, smiling sheepishly at you.

“Wait! Wait, wait, wait. I’m sorry.”

“For what? Other than knocking at your door at midnight for no apparent reason?”

“Oh, yes, that too, I suppose.” He said, thinking hard. “And I just wanted to see you, princess. But, I’m sorry. You know, for stealing your coffee mug that morning. I’m not really that much of a dick, I promise.”

You softened a little bit. How sweet. You knew almost no men who would actually apologize for something that was their fault. Although, maybe it was just the vodka speaking, but you swooned nevertheless.

“A gentleman never leaves a door without properly saying goodbye to his lady.” He announced with a dazed look on his face, finger in the air. You were just about to ask what he meant by that, but you were too scared to say anything without stuttering when he pressed a small, chaste kiss on your cheek.

Clearly he couldn’t see how your cheeks flushed in the darkness, thank Christ. Oh god, no. It’s just a friendly kiss. Brotherly. Besides, he’s drunk. Then you began wondering when the hell you started caring about how Tony Stark saw you.

Almost tripping over himself, he waved his hand and left without saying a word. Checking to see if anybody saw that, you looked back and forth in the hallway to find nothing, shut the door, and squealed.

How cute.

Wait, no.

Rolling your eyes, you went to bed.

The fifth time was quite special indeed. Tony approached you after lunch, holding up some Star Wars movie as a peace offering. Something about his protégé begging him to watch it.

“Sorry about last night, by the way.” He said, in between mouthfuls of popcorn. You froze. Did he regret anything? He probably saw me blush. He probably thinks I’m a fool, oh my gosh. He’s probably going to tell me how he didn’t mean what he did. Oh my gosh, do I like Tony Stark?

Everything was moving way too fast. You had pretty much only met the man, and he hated him, and now suddenly you were ready to start a family? That made no sense at all. You’re just not thinking straight. You told yourself. You’re confused. You reassured yourself.

“Showing up at your door, drunk, unannounced, in the middle of the night, that was really rude.”

“Oh,” You said, a bit relieved, and just a bit disappointed. “It’s alright, Tony. You were drunk anyway.”

“Yeah,” He said, also sounding relieved. “Hey, um, I didn’t do anything weird in front of you that night? Like, anything I’d be embarrassed about?” He asked, rubbing the back of his neck.

“No,” You said, chuckling, “Since when have you cared about what people think of you, Tony?”

“Since I met you.” He replied popping popcorn into his mouth.

You frowned. “Why?”

“Because- you’re smart, beautiful, clever, and funny, and you get my humor.” He said that like it was nothing, shrugging it off nonchalantly, eyes glued to the TV screen, occasionally throwing kernels at this one green dude on the screen, acting as if nothing had happened just now.

And you stared at him for just a little bit before looking back at the screen, pretending to pay attention.

Did he just say that? That I’m beautiful? Oh my Jesus Christ. How is he acting like nothing’s happened? Am I dreaming?

Oh, God, you realized. You like Tony Stark.

A few inches away, Tony panicked the same way you had.

[the-prince-and-the-thief]

//Y’all I hope you like text walls, because that’s what yer getting

|| The Basics ||

Name: Goro Akechi

Nickname(s): Detective Prince, Crow, Black Mask

Age: 18 (20 in some AUs)

Species: Human

Religious Belief: Not religious, would probably smile and nod if you said god deserved a shot in the head. 

|| Personal ||

Sins: Lust / Greed / Gluttony / Sloth / Pride / Envy / Wrath

Virtues: Chastity / Charity / Diligence / Humility /Kindness / Patience / Justice (He questions why chastity is a virtue but admits to being a virgin) 

Primary Goals In Life: Depends on the AU. The usual answer is “Make my dad’s life hell, then kill myself”. In the Amnesiac AU, his goal is just to regain his memories, as he knew he was working on something very important with Wakaba before the loss of his memories. In the Post-Game AU, he’s just trying to figure out what to do with his life. 

Languages Known: Japanese, some English (he’s not great at it but he tries.) 

Secrets: MANY. His whole life is a lie  Also he’s gay. He’s trying to keep that a secret but even some of his fangirls have figured it out. 

Quirks: Names everything in his house, obsessed with animals and pets but only has a roomba, gets distracted while talking easily and just starts rambling, gets much more formal when nervous, forgets to eat but when he does he eats p much everything, never seems to gain weight no matter what he eats, his hands are super sensitive so he almost never takes off his gloves, overthinks everything.

Savvies: Logic, deduction, investigation, planning, athletics, biking, bouldering, academics. 

|| Physical ||

Height: 5'10″

Weight: 141 lbs

Scars/Birthmarks: None. 

Abilities/Powers: A... a lot. Driving shadows berserk, Wild card abilities (multiple personas, etc), also he’s a very good detective despite uh, initially basically being rigged into his position. 

Restrictions: He’s weak to curses, both in the literal metaverse sense and the metaphorical sense. He really doesn’t handle the negative well-- criticisms, anger, sadness, etc. He is desperate for positive attention and craves love, to the point he’ll do stupid, stupid stuff to obtain what he wants. He has serious trust issues and mental health problems. Also, he’s not as free as he’d like in any aspect. His job and his conspiracy work basically make him a puppet to adults, while his reputation prevents him from being more open with himself and living normally, and his fangirls make it difficult for him to move about the city freely. He’s in a gilded cage. 

|| Favorites ||

Favourite Drink: Coffee. (In terms of alcohol, a Kahlua iced coffee.) 

Favourite Pizza Topping: I can see him liking Margherita pizza and pesto pizza a lot. 

Favourite Color: Beige. YES REALLY. Second favorite color is wine red. 

Favourite Music Genre: death metal He’s not picky, but classical or instrumental stuff is nice! He really likes the work of Yuki Kajiura!

Favourite Book Genre: If it is a book that isn’t a textbook, he will read it. He actually likes fantasy and sci-fi books with deep lore, but he doesn’t have a lot of time to read them. He has a secret love of romance novels because they’re the closest he’ll ever get to romantic interaction.

Favourite Movie Genre: He actually doesn’t watch a lot of movies. Romance movies though. He cries over romance movies. 

Favourite Season: Spring~. It’s the perfect season to go out and do things! 

Favourite Butt Type: He doesn’t care as long as it’s cute and perky. Ren’s. Ren’s butt basically. 

Favourite Swear Word: Judging by the game? Shit. 

Favourite Scent: Vanilla. His shampoo is vanilla scented. He likes the scent of coffee a lot too. 

Favourite Quote:  He’ll say it’s some deep philosophical quote from something obscure. He’ll say that. But. His favorite quote is “I am the rose that slashes evil”. He really likes Tuxedo Mask. 

|| Fun Stuff ||

Bottom or Top: Bottom mostly, but he’d probably switch every once in a while. 

Sings In The Shower: Only when he’s in a really good mood. So almost never.

Likes Bad Puns: Will shoot you if you make one in his presence. 

Morality: Lawful / Neutral / Chaotic / Good / Gray / Evil (the crossed out ones are the real ones) 

Build: Slender / Scrawny / Bony / Fit / Athletic / Herculean / Babyfat / Pudgy / Obese / Other.

Favourite Food: He doesn’t actually know! He does like sweets a lot though, and genuinely does love pancakes. Despite being something of a glutton/gourmet/foodie, he doesn’t really pay much attention to what he’s eating most of the time-- mostly because he barely eats. 

“Boss” Theme Music : Will Power

Their Opinion On The Mun: "She seems like a reasonable enough person, however... if she could stop calling me... any of the things she calls me... I would greatly appreciate it.” He’s being nice he hates my guts. 

|| The Basics ||

Name: Ren Amamiya

Nickname(s): Renren, Frizzy Hair, Joker, Whatever insult Akechi feels like calling him at the moment. 

Age: 17 (19 in some AUs)

Species: Human

Religious Belief: He’s not religious but he would say Satanism to troll people. 

|| Personal ||

Sins: Lust / Greed / Gluttony / Sloth / Pride / Envy / Wrath

Virtues: Chastity / Charity / Diligence / Humility /Kindness / Patience / Justice 

Primary Goals In Life: Dependant on the AU. He considers reforming society to be extremely important in all of them, though. It’s more a matter of what he decides to focus on. Default, his main focus is on the phantom thieves. Black Gloves Ren’s ultimate goal is to free Akechi from the rigged game they’re playing and give him true freedom and happiness. Post-Game Ren’s goal (which he’s embarrassed admitting) is to get into politics so that he can campaign for human rights (especially LGBT rights and criminal justice reform), and one day making it so he can one day marry the person he loves. (He also wants to propose to Akechi literally the second gay marriage is legal in his country, either in public or private.) 

Languages Known: Japanese, English (Black Gloves speaks it fluently, the others are about as good as you’d expect a Japanese high schooler to be at English). 

Secrets: Only really applicable to Black Gloves Ren. I mean, aside from the whole being a phantom thief thing. Black Gloves Ren is hiding that he remembers the timelines because he thinks nobody will believe him. 

Quirks: Basically unreadable most of the time. His poker face is godly. He flirts a lot, but if you flirt with him he’ll absolutely lose it. Cats seem drawn to him. Tends to bring up earlier conversations much, MUCH later at the worst time possible. A huge troll always. 

Savvies: MAX STATS BOYEEEEE, athletics, is being a cocky little shit a savvy? Because that. Making coffee, cooking, somehow getting the top grades in school without ever studying, out-gambitting major conspiracies.

|| Physical ||

Height: 5'9″

Weight: 145 lbs (yeah he weighs more than Akechi. It’s mostly muscle.) 

Scars/Birthmarks: Idk why but I can see him having a mole on his right shoulder. I have no good reason for this. My brain just says “yes, this would look good.” 

Abilities/Powers: Wild Card abilities. 

Restrictions: Much like his persona, he’s weak to bless. By which I mean his luck is total ass. Nothing goes right for him, no good deed goes unpunished, and if it weren’t for his sheer skill and the people around him, he’d basically be totally fucked always. Also, he’s kind of a criminal on probation and whatnot. 

|| Favorites ||

Favourite Drink: Coffee.

Favourite Pizza Topping: “Pineapple and anchovies.” Ren. Ren. Now is not the time to troll. He actually doesn’t care. 

Favourite Color: Beige. Black and dark gray. “Like my soul.” REN PLZ. 

Favourite Music Genre: He likes things like Jazz and Rock. 

Favourite Book Genre: B O O K. He’ll read pretty much anything. 

Favourite Movie Genre: He’s not particular. He just likes watching movies in general. Obviously though, he loves heist/criminal/thriller stuff. 

Favourite Season: Winter. He likes snow and cold. 

Favourite Butt Type: “Same as Sir Mix-A-Lot” Ren, why do you know that song???? 

Favourite Swear Word: Fuck. Preferably said quietly. 

Favourite Scent: Coffee. He also likes the scent of curry, but he wouldn’t want to be surrounded by it all the time. 

Favourite Quote:  “Where is the real you?” 

|| Fun Stuff ||

Bottom or Top: He likes being a top but he’s also a massive masochist so, honestly, it’s 50/50.

Sings In The Shower: No, but he’ll hum. 

Likes Bad Puns: “I am the pungeon master, here to punish evildoers.” 

Morality: Lawful / Neutral / Chaotic / Good / Gray / Evil 

Build: Slender / Scrawny / Bony / Fit / Athletic / Herculean / Babyfat / Pudgy / Obese / Other.

Favourite Food: CURRYYYYYYYYYY. It wasn’t his favorite food before going to Tokyo, but it is now. It just has a lot of good memories for him. 

“Boss” Theme Music : Last Surprise

Their Opinion On The Mun: "Heh. She’s fun. I’ve never seen someone who pushes Akechi’s buttons as much as I do.” 

Tagged by: Stole

Tagging: All yall

[unfortunatelysirius]

Hell to the No [Remus Lupin - Marauders Era]

♥PROMPT ♥ [Requested] Flirting with Sirius Black is a horrible mistake when the big, bad wolf comes out to play. ♥ A/N ♥ It’s about to get funky—I mean, what? ♥ WARNINGS ♥ Swearing, Fluff, Mild Smut ♥ WORD COUNT ♥ 1614

IT WAS IN THE EVENING, and after a tasteful dinner in the Great Hall, you and your friends decided to relax down in the Gryffindor common-room. The fireplace was lit and going strong, giving off a lasting warmth that felt like a shield of orange leather on the skin, and you were cuddled up into an armchair, two of four Marauders bunched up in the sofa opposite you. One just so happened to be staring at you intently, but you were oblivious to his attention. Instead, your head was tilted downward and watching intently the events conspiring down below.

James and Sirius were playing an intense game of Exploding Snap on the floor. Cards were being complied one after another, and both the boys had their tongues sticking out in concentration. The game had been going on for several minutes, and you were beginning to tire from watching it; even the ever-fascinated Peter seemed to be yawning, eyes drooping with apparent exhaustion.

“Sirius, instead of biting your tongue, why don’t I bite it for you?” you said teasingly, giving him a suggestive look. You tried to contain your laughter as your own words registered, and slowly you began to stick your own tongue out—all the way, until it appeared that you were both mocking Sirius and trying at seducing him.

Sirius, with a bewildered look on his face, glanced upward. He immediately went slack-jawed at the sight of you staring at him with your tongue caught between your teeth. This caused him to elbow the house of cards, leading to a domino-effect of exploding paper.

“Bloody hell!” James shrieked, landing on his arse as he moved to stumble from the cascade of explosions.

With his eyebrows singed and face covered in ash, Sirius regained composure and sent a sultry smirk at you. “Love, I always knew you’d come around,” he said, leaning back on Remus’s legs—lean sticks of muscle and skin that appeared to be stiff as stone. Sirius gestured to the pile of dust on the carpet. “Why don’t I show you a domino-effect of my body and yours?”

Just as you went to reply, Remus stood up, sending Sirius to the ground—face-first, of course. Sirius’s torso swirled around and he glared at Remus. He had a hand to his structured nose, caressing it as though he were actually hurting. “The hell, mate?”

Remus just stared at him, his face filled with seething anger. He didn’t respond, and so Sirius turned to James with raised eyebrows. James just shrugged helplessly, giving no inclination on knowing what the absolute fuck was wrong with Remus.

You stared at Remus, flushing red as you realized he’d probably heard your little game with Sirius. He was always off healing from a full moon or studying for a test when you’d get into a sparring of wit, and so you’d become used to the teasing without really thinking anything of it—and so had Sirius. But Remus… he was never there, and now he was surely to believe that you had feelings for the git. Bloody hell, were you frustrated with yourself.

James suddenly brightened, pointing up a finger as though he had the most brilliant of ideas. “I think he’s jealous!” he declared.

Sirius raised an eyebrow while Remus seemed to falter, face paling. You gave him an inquisitive look, wanting to know what was bothering him so much. “Why the hell would he be jealous? We all know Y/N has the hots for him; it’s bloody obvious,” he said offhandedly, and you froze. It was then that Sirius seemed to realize what he’d just said. “Oops,” he muttered, but it didn’t seem very sincere.

“Just stop fucking flirting with her, Sirius,” Remus snarled at him, and you hoped to God that Sirius’s words hadn’t registered for him—no matter how much hope you had in your heart that he felt the same way as you. The werewolf in question glanced at you, and had this certain look on his face that brought you to glance downwards, a permanent flush to your cheeks.

James glanced at you—and out pounced the infamously disconcerting Prongs, always coming to ruin your day with his lack of subtlety. “Shall we leave the two lovebirds then, Padfoot? Wormtail?” he asked politely, and you might have found his ash-covered face comical if it wasn’t for the sick feeling in your gut.

Sirius gave a hearty grin, then wiggled his eyebrows at you and Remus. “Get the girl, Moony,” he mouthed to Remus. He then sent a last-second wink in your direction. “Goodbye, my love; hope to see you up in the dorm sometime tonight.” He hurried away before Remus could run after him, claws and canines elongated.

A bubble formed in your throat and you slowly risked a glance at Remus. He was already staring at you, his gaze steeled with a fierce intensity that had your eyes widening and mouth lowly gaping. He was so beautiful to you, with his messy brown hair, almond-colored eyes, soft caramel complexion, and his kind demeanor. He was just… so perfect, not like anyone you’d ever known before. He could do no wrong in your eyes—you believed that wholeheartedly—and every time he came and talked to you, a ball of tension coiled in your stomach, like a taut string pulled to its limit.

And you’d blown your cover by flirting with that stupid git, Sirius Black. What were you meant to do now? Stutter out an apology—claim it wasn’t what it looked like? What was a girl like you meant to do—

Remus stood up abruptly. Your attention snapped completely to him, and you were entirely shocked to see him with a determined curl to his lips, a hollow beating in his symmetrical cheekbones. Then he began to walk towards you, slow and leisurely—with precision and focus in every step, every jump.

“Remus, what—” you began to say, but then he was grabbing you up by the arm and tugging you to the stairs leading up to the boys’ dorms. Your heart began to accelerate, thump-thump-thumping at the feel of his fingers enrobing yours.

He was voiceless, as though the wolf had completely taken over and his own human mind was left to scream and protest as you were brought somewhere sinister. You went from one hall to another, going around and around from place to place—all until you stopped suddenly in front of the sixth-year dorms. Your tongue went dry, throat fighting for an inch of voice as the door went open and you were suddenly put in a place where you were the omega.

Remus grabbed you, and without finding it in yourself to process the situation, you were thrown onto a bed, with Remus’s thick, steady frame hovering over you like the clouds before a thunderstorm. His eyes were dark—with lust or sinister intent? You couldn’t tell. All you knew was that you were either in a dream or an alternate reality, and you couldn’t care less which one was the truth as long as you remembered every single detail of it.

First, he slid off your robes, strangely gentle for a mad-eyed Lycan—but then he showed his true colors, ripping off your dress-shirt and smirking at what lay beneath. You were in everlasting shock, never expecting this sort of behavior from a bloke that read history books for leisure. But then again, he was part-wolf. You practically wanted to thank Sirius Black, just for getting you into this situation.

You reached up, grabbing Remus by his tie and smashing his lips onto yours. The first thing you tasted was kidney steak, then a side of strawberry crème and chocolate éclair—things you remembered clearly from the evening’s feast. His tongue alone caught your attention, feeding you a touch of lemon-drops—perhaps he’d had a feast dedicated almost entirely to sweets? Whatever the case, it tasted much, much better than any sort of dessert you could receive at Hogwarts—even the pumpkin pie, which was something absolutely delectable and almost to-die-for. His mouth was plump and pink, his teeth clashing against yours as you surrendered your defenses, giving him your all as you lost the ability to breathe.

With yourself exposed, you felt a desperate need for closure—and so you reached a blind hand up to his chest. You groped around and around for the first sleeve of his robes, and detaching your lips from his, you tugged off one sleeve and then the other. The bloke was dressed in dress-pants and a button-up—two things you weren’t afraid to rip off, just as he’d done with your own shirt.

He watched with a burning gaze as you tore into his shirt, unbothered at the popped buttons as they sprang apart from the force. The sight of his bare chest, covered in white lines and toned muscles, had you releasing a throaty moan and you clawed your way back to Remus’s mouth. You flipped him over, filling a ball in your core at the feeling of him beneath you—and you could barely contain yourself when a slight bulge at your legs had you taking into account his erection. You shivered, hand tightening on his chin and tongue fighting harder against his own—and slowly, your free hand began to playfully finger its way down to his pants, grazing along his stomach like an electric wire that buzzed at the slightest touch.

As you began to tease and play with the swell of his tight, tight pants, you started to think…

You could get mighty used to a jealous Remus.

[lady-divine-writes]

Klaine fic - “The Ties that Bind: Chapter 2 - Abandoned Warehouses in My Mind” (Rated NC17)

Blaine and Kurt are dating, in a long-term relationship, with New York City as their playground. Everything is as close to perfect for the two of them as can be, especially for Blaine, who’s living the dream as a songwriter beside his up-and-coming designer boyfriend, both of them without a care in the world. Until one night, he’ll find himself connected in a bizarre way to seven other human beings he’s never met, trying to solve a mystery - the hunt for a killer and to save a life, all while trying to come to terms with his new forced membership into the collective.

(This is a re-write that I got several requests for, based off of the Netflix series Sense8, with a little loose interpretation on some of the specifics - i.e., how the collective get their powers and why, what they need to accomplish as a collective, and the fact that all the players aren’t necessarily spread all over the world. Quite a few of them are in NY. Also, this story is going to focus on Kurt and Blaine, with the other characters being satellite to the story, though their stories may end up being explored deeper in one-shots. YOU DON’T NEED TO BE FAMILIAR WITH THE SHOW SENSE8 TO FOLLOW THIS. THIS STORY EXPLAINS IT ALL.) Warning for violence, blood, psychic abilities, psychic bonds, angst, anxiety, sex work, and death (not Kurt or Blaine).

Read on AO3.

Chapter 1 - In the Beginning

Chapter 2 (3116 words)

Pacing the living room in his Burberry wingtips, Kurt starts wearing a path in the knotty pine floor. He holds his cell phone to his ear with his right hand and kneads his pinched brow with the fingers of his left. A song by Imagine Dragons plays over the line while he waits for someone to pick up, and Kurt has to tighten his grip on his phone to keep from throwing it across the room. Fucking ring back song, Kurt thinks. He can never remember the words to this one, so it becomes irritating when it goes on too long.

The song cuts off when the man he called picks up, and Kurt pounces.

“Chase?” Kurt says when he hears a tired, “Hello?” come through the receiver. “Yeah, we got home alright. Listen, I have a question - did you see anybody slip something to Blaine tonight? … What? … No, it’s just … something happened to him when we left, and I’m a bit worried … Kevin? You think Kevin maybe? ... That rat bastard! No, I won’t tell him you said anything … Okay, thanks … He will be, but I’ll let Blaine know.”

Blaine listens from the bedroom as Kurt disconnects that call and starts immediately on another, barely letting the poor sap on the other end of the line say, “What’s up?” before Kurt tears into him.

“Kevin … yeah, hey … no, I’m not really doing all that good. Look, tell me honestly - did you give Blaine something? … Because if you did, I need to know what it was in case I have to take him to the hospital ... No, I’m not joking. I’m damn serious, Kevin. Something happened to him tonight, and it messed him up … Well, he was acting like he’d dropped something, except I know he didn’t because I was with him all night … No, I don’t care what you think! If you put something in his drink and I find out about it, I swear to God, I’m going to break into your apartment and pop the buttons off every one of those tacky Dolce and Gabbana shirts you think go with everything … then I’m going to kill you!”

Blaine chuckles into his pillow, nearly giving himself away. He’s supposed to be asleep. He thought after he got home he’d be well on his way.

Blaine had been a mess in the parking lot, even after the specter of Kitty had faded. No matter how hard Kurt tried, no matter what he said to soothe his boyfriend, what he promised he’d do to make things better, he couldn’t get Blaine to calm down. Kurt managed to get Blaine into the car and ended up driving them home while Blaine did the only thing he could do - passed out for the entire ride, not opening his eyelids an inch until they got back to their apartment. The whole trip home, Blaine’s mind stayed blank up until he had to wake up. Then the visions came back with a vengeance, snapping at him as if they had teeth. When he regained consciousness, he had a feeling in his gut, wedged down deep where other far more innocent premonitions in his life had come from, that what he had seen in the parking lot wasn’t a hallucination.

It was real.

Somewhere in the world had been a woman named Kitty, and Blaine had witnessed her murder. He saw her get shot. He saw her bleed. He watched her die.

And even though she was dead, somehow she needed his help.

Jake needed his help.

Blaine had to find Jake.

These are facts, clues to a puzzle he doesn’t understand, but that he has an urgent need to solve.

He feels like lives may depend on it. Lives close to him.

When they got home, Kurt put Blaine immediately into a shower, and after multiple assurances that he’d be okay, left him alone to bathe, to cry or scream, whatever he needed to do. He made Blaine a mug of steamed milk - not because Blaine likes it, but because Kurt needed something to do, otherwise he might have a mini-break down himself. Blaine finished with his shower, and Kurt sat with him on their bed while he drank. Then Kurt tucked him under the comforter, and kissed him goodnight.

Kurt goes straight into Mother Hen mode whenever Blaine falls the slightest bit ill, and Blaine is grateful for that. He needed it. He needed to know that Kurt was in his corner, and he was. He didn’t judge Blaine for his break down. Blaine knew Kurt wouldn’t. He tried to explain what he meant about Kitty and Jake, the things that he saw, even though he had no rational way of explaining them or understanding them. Kurt listened, and he tried to make sense out of it, but Blaine was in no condition for a lengthy discussion on the subject. So Kurt sat beside him in silence, holding Blaine’s hand until his eyes grew heavy, only leaving him when he felt sleep was inevitable. But as soon as Blaine heard Kurt leave the room, he opened his eyes again. He couldn’t relax. He was spooked. He knew he was at home, in his apartment, but he felt detached, disconnected, like part of him was somewhere else.

He was afraid that other part might be with Kitty.

He didn’t want to close his eyes. Every time he did, he saw Kitty staring back at him, as if she was sitting right in front of him, holding his hand instead of Kurt, whispering in his ear the same words over and over – “Find Jake. Help Jake. Please, do this for me.”

Blaine knows he isn’t going to sleep tonight. He’ll make himself stay up if he has to put lit cigarettes out on the back of his hand. He can’t see her again – her eyes growing dim as the life inside them goes out; the hole in the center of her forehead breathing smoke, and all that blood gushing down her face, painting streaks on her skin.

Her pale skin. Pale like Kurt’s. With lifeless eyes, blue like Kurt’s. It’s too easy to mistake Kurt for her, or her for Kurt, in Blaine’s traumatized mind.

When Kurt thought that Blaine was finally drifting off, he stepped out into the living room and started making calls to every friend they’d hung out with at the club that night, determined to find out if someone had slipped Blaine something without them knowing. Blaine had already told Kurt that he didn’t think so. In the beginning, Blaine couldn’t be 100% sure, but something in his bones said that this wasn’t a bad trip. Whatever he saw, as inconceivable as it seemed, was real. But that was the way Kurt worked. It’s not that he wasn’t open to the possibilities, it’s just that he needed to eliminate the easily explainable first.

And regardless of whatever history Kurt had with their friends, he wasn’t afraid of dumping every single one to protect his man.

Blaine loves that about him.

Kurt makes his final phone call, berates his last “suspect”, and decides to pack it in for the night. He doesn’t want to leave Blaine alone. He takes a quick rinse off and climbs into bed. He wraps Blaine up protectively in his arms and holds his boyfriend against him. As far as Kurt is concerned, whatever wants to hurt Blaine, mess with his head and tear him to pieces, is going to have to do it over Kurt’s dead body. Lying in Kurt’s arms, soaking in the heat from Kurt’s skin fresh from the shower, filling him with warmth, comfort, and a love that blankets all, Blaine is almost fine to go to sleep. He can just about fall out into dreamless oblivion with Kurt there as his anchor, tethering him to reality. As long as he’s with Kurt, everything can return to normal again.

Everything will be fine.

“Kitty …”

The voice weaves in and out of Blaine’s head, buzzing through his sinuses.

“Kitty, where are you?”

It’s right inside his ears, but then it’s farther away, traveling off into the distance. Blaine opens his eyes and looks around, as much as he can without disturbing Kurt’s sleep, but he doesn’t see anything out of the ordinary - just his half of the bedroom, softly lit from a lamp outside.

Kurt forgot to close the blackout curtains, Blaine thinks, but then the light goes from white to blue. It flickers, as if a bulb from outside has begun to burn out.

Like that streetlamp over Blaine’s BMW in the parking lot of the club.

“Ja-ake,” a voice sings back. “Come get me, Jake …”

Blaine feels himself get up and start walking, but he’s also lying in bed beneath Kurt’s distressed print comforter, with his boyfriend’s arm draped over his torso. Blaine’s footsteps start to drag, becoming heavy and loud, like he’s wearing metal-soled shoes, and walking across a cement floor.

“Where are you, Kitty?”

A giggle – girlish, childlike – answers his question.

“Don’t make me come find you.”

“Awww, but finding is where the fun is, Jakey.”

Blaine hears footsteps run away from him, lighter than his own, and he considers giving chase - why, he has no idea. But then others join them. The first set slows as the others catch up. There’s a scuffle, then a thud, several thuds, and the giggles turn in to screams.

A loud bang, like a metal pot dropping onto the ground, echoes through the building, except it’s not a metal pot, and Blaine knows it. He’s heard that sound once tonight already, and he’ll never forget it. A gunshot. It’s a gunshot.

Somewhere in this creepy, deserted building, where Blaine walks unprotected and alone, someone has been shot.

“Kitty? Kitty!?” a man cries. “Oh, God no! Oh, please, no! Kitty!”

Blaine follows that voice, those cries, even as they bounce around him, making the direction of their source unclear. But he’s not following the sound, he realizes. He’s following the emotion welling up within him when he hears them, when they shoot inside him and poke holes into his soul. He’s following himself, because for a second, he’s the person screaming. He’s the man weeping, tears dripping down his cheeks, wetting a spot on the floor that’s covered in old, sticky blood. Kitty’s blood. Blaine blinks and he sees her there, lying with her eyes wide open while everything else about her shuts down.

Crouching beside the stain, holding his hand out as if he’s caressing her face, Blaine finds a young police officer. The officer looks up, dark eyes scanning Blaine from head to foot, eyebrows pulled together in the middle.

“Who are you?” the officer asks, putting a hand to his hip, hovering where his service weapon hangs in its holster.

Blaine should put his hands up, but he doesn’t. He should stop walking forward, but he can’t. What’s going on now shouldn’t be happening, so he figures those rules don’t apply.

“You’re Jake,” Blaine says. He should be asking, but he knows he’s right. Jake Puckerman. Kitty’s cop boyfriend.

“Yeah,” Jake says. “How did you …?” He stops himself and shakes his head. “Probably the same way I know that your name is Blaine. There’s a voice, and it whispers in my head when I look at you.” Jake looks away. “It’s her voice.” He stands, looking at Blaine one more time and noting his clothing, or lack thereof.

“Yes,” Blaine says. There is a voice. It’s not so clearly defined, but it’s there, and it belongs to Kitty. This voice links the two of them together, him and Jake, and Blaine fears it will never go away.

Having the voice of a dead woman in his head is not the way he wants to go insane.

“What are you doing here?” Jake brushes his hands together, trying to clear away the dust that attaches itself to everything the second you walk into the place.

“I … I don’t know. I mean, I assume I’m dreaming, and that you’re a part of that dream.”

“Yeah, well, that’s going around,” Jake grumbles. His eyes sweep the area, and Blaine feels compelled to copy him. They’re no longer in the dusty, abandoned warehouse. They’re in Blaine’s bedroom, and Blaine is still in bed with Kurt. “Nice place,” Jake says, not sounding at all surprised. “Is that a real Mitchell?” He motions over Blaine’s shoulder. Blaine knows exactly what painting Jake is referring to, but he looks anyway because it shouldn’t be there. But there it is, hanging behind him, because he’s back at his apartment. Or he is for a second. When he looks again, he’s with Jake in the warehouse, the switch happening so fast, Blaine’s head throbs.

“Yeah. It’s my boyfriend’s ...” Blaine stops short of telling Jake Kurt’s name. He isn’t sure he should have mentioned Kurt in the first place, or that he should tell Jake anything more than he already knows.

“He’s got excellent taste.”

“I’ll tell him.”

Jake sighs. “This was our place.” He looks at his feet, at the ground beneath him, visualizing paths he’d walked many, many times to get to the woman he loved. He could do it in the dark.

He just didn’t do it fast enough this time.

Blaine looks at the building around him. “You guys lived here?”

“No, but we met here,” Jake explains. “This spot is on my beat, so when we started seeing each other, she knew I’d be here eventually. She’d wait for me.” Jake reaches into his pocket and pulls out his phone. Swiping the screen, he brings up a picture of a young woman with bright, blues eyes, wavy blonde hair falling in front of her face, and a sneaky twist of a smile on her gloss-painted lips.

“Is that Kitty?” Blaine asks.

“Yeah,” Jake says. “Kitty Wilde. She was my girl, but I guess she belongs to all of us now.”

“Us?” A lump fills Blaine’s throat. He’d had a suspicion, a feeling there were more, not only him, but he wasn’t certain. “Who’s us?”

“You, me, them. You’ll see them. They’ll see you. You’ll find them … even when you don’t want to. She gave them to us. Now they’re ours, and we have to take care of them.”

“Why?”

“Because we’re being hunted.”

“Hunted!? By who?”

“By the men who killed Kitty. The real killers, not just the ones that put the bullet through her head.”

Blaine sees white flashes coming from Jake’s eyes, projecting images in his head:

Kitty wearing a hospital gown, handed a small paper cup of pills that she tosses to the floor, followed by a glass of water that she bats out of an unseen nurse’s hand.

Kitty tossing and turning on a gurney, her nose swollen and bloody.

Kitty struggling to escape while men in white coats strap her to a bed.

A doctor giving Kitty a shot in the arm, her blue eyes glowing a metallic silver, then bleeding at the corners.

Blaine shakes his head to get the images to stop, but they come at him faster, thoughts that belong to Jake, thoughts that belonged to Kitty, thoughts that belong to people he hasn’t met, their voices overlapping, some trying to get his attention, others wondering the same thing he is – What’s going on? Why? Why did this happen to me? I’ve never even met this woman! I want this to stop right now!

“Wait!” Blaine says, expressing out loud what he and all those other voices are thinking. “I didn’t sign up for this! I can’t do this!”

Jake simply stares at him, his face blank, his eyes exhausted, his mind done. Blaine can feel it.

“If not you,” Jake says, “then no one.”

“No,” Blaine says firmly. “I can’t. Look, I’m sorry about Kitty. I really am. But I can’t do anything about it. I can’t help you.”

“You have to.” Jake says it like, no matter what Blaine decides he wants, he has no choice.

“But why? Why do I have to?” another voice – a woman’s voice - argues. Blaine looks to his left, to a person who’s drawn Jake’s attention, and sees a heavyset black woman standing beside him, gesturing with her hands as she makes the same argument Blaine was about to make. “I was doing just fine until you guys dropped into my life, overcame a lot of crap to get where I am. I didn’t ask for this. Why should I help you? What’s in it for me?”

“What’s in it for you?” Jake laughs dryly. “You get to live, that’s what’s in it for you. Because if they find us, they’ll kill us.” Jake’s gaze flicks to Blaine, past his shoulder, then returns to his eyes. “Him, too.”

Blaine jerks his head around. The black woman is gone, and they’re suddenly in Blaine’s bedroom, Blaine sitting up in bed and Jake seated on the edge of his mattress. Blaine sees sleeping Kurt behind him, eyes closed, unconscious to the bizarre episode Blaine is having at this moment.

“Except that what they want, they want from you,” Jake adds, “so they might not let him off so easily.”

Blaine doesn’t want to know what Jake means, but his mind becomes overwhelmed with images of violence, torture, of Kitty before she died – beatings, rapes, ligature marks, rope burns on her wrists, her ankles, dug in deep. Bruises on pale skin that could be Kurt’s. Festering red blisters on hands that could be Kurt’s. Blackened skin around blue eyes that could be Kurt’s.

Kurt – Blaine’s safety net, his rock. They had such a relatively blasé life until about nine hours ago. How did things take such a weird turn? Why are they all of a sudden in danger?

Blaine doesn’t want this. He doesn’t want to be a part of this at all. Maybe Jake can get him out of this somehow. Maybe he knows the remedy, the antidote to this … this … whatever it is he has now.

Maybe he knows how to severe the connection.

He has to. Blaine needs to keep Kurt safe because he’ll be damned if his boyfriend suffers the same fate as Kitty.

Blaine turns to Jake to ask him how. How does he get rid of this? How does he get his life back? How does he become normal again? But Jake – the man who loved Kitty, the man Blaine is supposed to save - is gone.