#i’m sure most of them get off on seeing women in pain too

[exdivine]

male tattoo artists: no one wants to book with me :(

female tattoo artists: completely booked for the next 8 months

[lovegalor333]

˖ ᡣ𐭩 ⊹ ࣪ ౨ৎ˚₊✧˚ · .

my bad (paige x reader)

summary: paige accidentally hits you with a basketball and she feels bad so tries to make it up to you.

content warnings: none!

requested by: anon 💗

It was a warm summers evening in Storrs and there was nothing you and your roommate enjoyed more than ending your day with frozen yogurt.

You had walked to the dessert shop on campus, excited for your sweet treats but there was an unusually long line for this time off the evening. There was a group of girls outside of the shop and as you got closer, you recognised them as the womens basketball team.

There was six of them and all of their faces were familiar. Paige Bueckers, Azzi Fudd, Ice Brady, KK Arnold and two freshmen that, admittedly you didn’t know the names of. They had a ball in tow that they were bouncing and throwing to one another and every now and then, the ball would be dropped and it would roll away and one of them would scramble after it. You giggle as you watch the scene unfold, KK shoving herself into Paige, playfully trying steal the ball from her.

The team was somewhat famous on and off campus. They were the most successful womens basketball program in the nation with the longest winning streaks in college basketball, period. And more recently, the current team had shot to fame on social media and you could see why. Tall, muscular, athletic. The appeal was obvious.

You had been to a few games over your years at UConn and often saw the girls around campus and they seemed nice enough so you had no problem with how boisterous they were being while you waited in line.

“Be honest. Smash or pass?” Your Khloe asks you, catching your gaze focused on the athletes.

“Which one?” You ask back.

“I don’t know, any…the blondie?” She says pointing to Paige and you slap her hand down not wanting them to see her point.

“I don’t know.” You say but you do know and your roommate does too.

“Yes you do. That’s your type all over.” She teases and she’s right. That was your type. Tall, blonde, light eyes, athletic, there was no denying Paige Bueckers was your type.

“Whatever.”

“So…smash or pass?”

“Smash.” You say and your roommate grins but before can even roll your eyes in response, you literally get smashed, right in the face.

You’re thrown off balance and stumble back at the impact before you steady yourself.

“Paige!”

Your eyes are screwed shut as a sharp, stinging sensation spreads over your left cheek, that hurt like a bitch.

“Oh my God! My bad ma, I’m so sorry.” You feel two hands land on your shoulders and when you open your eyes, it takes a second for your vision to clear. When it does, you’re met with Paige, inches away from you, hands on your shoulders, a sorry look on her face.

“Does it hurt?” She asks, bringing her hand up to your face to angle it so she can get a better look at her handy work. Your cheek felt like it was on fire, it was definitely red as hell right now.

Your head spun and you wasn’t sure whether it was because of the unexpected impact or because of the beautiful, blue eyed girl with her hand on your face.

“A little.” You squeak out.

“I am so sorry, I feel so bad. You should ice it. I should get you ice. Where can I get ice? Someone get some ice!” Paige rambles out and you laugh at her frenzied words.

“It’s OK. I’ll survive.” You reassure her and she seems to calm down.

“Your frozen yogurt is on me.” She tell you and you shake your head, “You don’t have to do that.”

“I do. I just threw a ball in your face.” She chuckles, finally dropping her hands from your face and shoulder.

“Well, when you put it like that...” You respond, rubbing your cheek in hopes to defuse the pain.

The line moved quick and soon, Paige and her friends were at the counter making their orders and you were up next. Paige insisted on standing beside you until you had ordered, even when her friends went to sit at a table, just so she could keep her promise and pay for you.

“Could we also get a bag of ice for the pretty lady?” Paige interjects after you give your order, “I accidentally smacked her face with my ball.” She over explains and once again brings her hands up to turn your face to the server so he can see the mark, “Look.” She says but the guy behind the counter looks like he couldn’t care less. “I don’t need ice, it’s fine.” You insist and he gets on, adding your chosen toppings to your frozen yogurt.

You’re thankful for your red cheek because the way Paiges slender, slightly calloused fingers held your face so gently and the use of the pet name pretty lady made you blush, hard. You had been single for longer than you’d like to admit so at this point you were touch starved and Paige was feeding you.

She had already started eating her frozen yogurt and as you glanced up at her to thank her for paying, you notice a blob of it on her cheek.

“Um-you- you kinda have…” You point at her face, “some yogurt right here.”

You hate to admit it but you’re mesmerised by the way she flicks out her tongue and wiggles it, trying to swipe the yogurt away.

“It’s still there.” You inform her and she dips her head down, more to your level, “Do you mind?”

Does this girl seriously want me to wipe her face? You thought to yourself.

“Come on, I don’t bite.” She chuckles so you take your finger and wipe the yogurt away, “There.” You say, her face now clean and her next movement makes you raise your brows, taken aback. Her mouth is open, tongue poking out ever so slightly, she wants to lick the yogurt off your finger.

“Seriously?” You ask shocked at her brazen attitude, “You don’t know where my fingers have been.”

“I can only dream.” She smirks and takes it upon herself to guide your finger to her mouth, licking it clean.

“You’re so nasty.” You playfully shove her shoulder.

“A nasty girl who pays for your yogurt.” She says taking your order from the server and handing it to you.

“For real, thank you.” You smile genuinely.

“For real, I’m sorry.” She replies and you tell her it’s fine before turning to leave the store, Khloe waiting for you by the door.

“You’re not sitting in?” Paige asks making you turn around to face her again.

“No, we have…a spot.” You say, referring to yours and Khloes favourite place to eat on campus.

“Ohh, a spot?”

“Mhm.” You nod, taking a spoon full of frozen yogurt into your mouth.

“Where is this spot?”

“I’m gatekeeping.” You tease and Paige pouts exaggeratedly, “Maybe I’ll show you one time.” You offer not actually knowing why you said that and you immediately cringe.

But Paige agrees, “Deal.” She says, holding out her hand for you shake and you do. For someone you only really met a few minutes ago, her hands have been on you quite a bit.

You begin walking to Khloe and by the grin on her face, you know what the topic of conversation will be this evening.

“Wait, how can I reach you?” Paige calls after you, “If it’s meant to be, it will be.” You call back, turning your head to look at the girl one last time.

“I don’t even know your name!”

You shout out your first and last name as you walk out of the shop.

“Did blondie just suck your finger?!” Khloe whisper screams once the door closes behind you.

You laugh, “It was more of a lick.” You say matter of factly.

“But her finger was in your mouth?”

“Yes.”

“Wow…slutting it up in the Fro-Yo shop. That’s the most action you’ve got all semester.” Khloe jokes.

“Alrighttt, not to much on me and my sex life. I’m going through a drought.” You defend yourself.

“Well, from where I was standing, it’s due to get pretty wet.”

“Shut up!”

You and Khloe head to your favourite spot and eat your frozen yogurt like you did most nights. Side by side on the grass, watching the sunset.

Your phone pings from in your pocket and you pull it out seeing a notification from Instagram.

paigebueckers started following you.

Another notification came through almost instantly.

paigebueckers: its meant to be

“Damn, she’s quick.”

˖ ᡣ𐭩 ⊹ ࣪ ౨ৎ˚₊✧˚ · .

a/n: please let me know if you have any requests, id be happy to do them! 💋

[wonderjanga]

Barely Human Cap

Imagine Cap as more dollish than human. Even though he’s supposed to be extremely durable/bulletproof, I think he could take major injuries and brush them off. Like at most, it’ll slow him down a bit, but he’ll just go back to fighting. And the reason for think would be that he can’t feel pain. Hence, the whole doll thing. Like, I can imagine the JL is fighting this super strong and powerful monster or villain that’s even giving the powerhouses of the league trouble. They then have to witness Marvel get hit really hard and go flying. Let’s say Flash runs over to see if he’s alright and sees that Marvel’s entire lower jaw is just gone. One of his eyes is also popped out of the socket and he’s kinda just laying there so Flash, rightfully so, thinks he’s dead. That is until Billy moves and tries to pop his eye back into its socket. He succeeds but not to the horror of Flash. He then casually gets up, even brushes off his cape, and starts to look for his jaw. He then finds it and throws it into a pocket dimension all while Barry watches. Then, when the speedster finally snaps out of his daze he immediately rushes over to Marvel and starts bombarding him with questions as if the champion could answer. Thankfully for Billy, an explosion in the distance helps them remember there’s still a super difficult fight going on so he flies off back to the fight. He horrified the other members of the league during this too.

I also feel like there would be other things. (which might or might not actually be canon) Like, I don’t think Marvel has reproductive organs. And I think Billy would say something like this if the situation ever came down to it:

Superman: “Your tiger isn’t neutered?”

Marvel: “No? Why would he be? Also, he’s not my tiger. He’s just a tiger. That happens to be one of my bestest friends.”

Superman: *doesn’t really know what to say to the last three sentences.* “Right… Well, what if he, y’knows another tiger?”

Marvel: “Then he y’knows her. Trust me when I say getting neutered sucks. I know from personal experience.” (He doesn’t, he just knows his Captain Marvel form doesn’t have anything in the lower regions.)

Green Lantern: “You know from personal experience…?” *He looks horrified.*

Marvel: “Yeah, I do.” (Again, he doesn’t) “One day, the wizard called me in and was like, ‘Marvel, come here.’ So I did. Then, he waved his hand, and everything down under was just gone. That was like ten thousand years ago, but it’s still fresh in my mind.” (He made that up as he went)

Flash: “You… You poor soul.” *Pats Cap’s shoulder.*

I also wouldn’t be surprised if Marvel doesn’t have organs in the first place. Like I can see Clark getting constantly jumpscared by Marvel because the man doesn’t need to breathe, no lungs, he doesn’t have a heartbeat, no heart, and Clark can’t even hear muscles straining as he moves so that suggests he doesn’t have muscles too.

I can also see Billy using this to blatantly lie to press whenever they ask about his dating life (he’s like twelve, he doesn’t have nor want one.) or literally anything else:

Reporter: “Captain!” *Runs over to Billy, camera crew following behind her.*

Marvel: *Stops* “Yes?” *Looks between reporter and camera.*

Reporter: “Could we interview you for a few moments?”

Marvel: “Oh uh- Sure!” *Gives a thumbs up*

Reporter: *Gives cue to camera guy to start rolling* “Alright, so are there any lucky ladies in your life?”

Marvel: “Hm?” *Makes the most confused face and looks around to the aftermath of a battle between Black Adam and him. That was what he expected her to ask about.* “I didn’t catch that.”

Reporter: “Are there any lucky ladies in your life? You’re quite a handsome man, Captain. I’m sure you’ve had your share of women.”

Marvel: *Stares at the reporter for a few seconds with that blank, computing expression.* “Uh… no?” Think, Billy! Think! What can you say to end this fast? “I can’t feel romantic feelings for anyone.”

Reporter: “Can you elaborate?” *Holds mic up to his face.*

Marvel: *thinking of how he can make this make sense* “Well, you see I… don’t have a brain! So I’m not really able to feel things like that.”

Reporter: “ -Oh. Uhm.” *Shocked and looking to the camera man before looking back at Marvel.* “Well—”

Marvel: *Cuts her off* “Okay, bye!” *Flies off fast.*

[crueltyserpent]

When she introduces us, she’s either my girlfriend or my mom. She’s neither of course, she killed my mom and my girlfriend so long ago at this point. Sometimes I think she chooses whichever she thinks will make me more uncomfortable; it’s not like whoever she introduces us to will live long enough for their thoughts on it to matter. If I were to choose a name for what I am, I would probably go with captive. Victim also comes to mind, but it’s hard to feel like I’m the most victimized person in the room when she’s cutting off the fingers of a naked woman one by one.  At least she’s not making me eat them this time. The “here comes the airplane” bit with raw human flesh isn’t nearly as funny as she thinks it is.

If I guess why she keeps me around, why I’m not dead in a ditch somewhere like every other poor bitch who get’s her attention, I’d guess it’s because simply torturing attractive women to death every other day doesn’t fully sate her appetite for cruelty. Sure, her ability to wring physical pain out of a stranger is staggering, but there’s a special type of satisfaction she gets from the form of psychological torture that is only possible to inflict on someone she keeps close for an extended period of time. I don’t know if she chose me because something about me was uniquely appealing to hurt or she just liked how my dick felt inside her, but at this point I’m fairly confident she’s sunk too much work into messing with my head to casually replace me.

The woman bleeding out on the floor is the owner of the Air BNB we’re staying at, a chipper blonde thirtysomething who was now karmically paying for the fact that nothing in her life had ever gone wrong before. I used to vomit seeing a girl taken apart like this. Now it’s boring enough that I can sit on the bed reading a romance novel while barley acknowledging the poor cunt’s slowly decreasing number of body parts. This is an easy one, relatively speaking. I don’t really have enough emotional energy left to feel bad for well to do women a decade older than me who’d never give me so much as a smile if I weren’t a customer.

I call myself a captive, but it’s not like I couldn’t walk out of the room if I wanted to, physically speaking. She wouldn’t stop me, she’d continue her ruthless execution and not even remark on me leaving. I was never bound (except for sex), never locked in a room, always free to go where I wanted. It had just been incredibly clear to me that if I ever made an attempt to do something she disapproved of, she could make my life so much worse than it already was as her unwilling partner in crime. One time she had left me alone for three months, letting me think I was free, only to return and kill every single person I had met and liked to any degree. I was trapped with her because she had created a situation where helping her murder people every few days was the decision I could make with the lowest innocent body count. And it meant that sometimes women like this died instead of the cute queer girls my age who used to blow me in alleys. Seeing someone I might have been friends with in a different life die was a whole different story to something like this.

I turn the page, working my way through a particularly arbitrary love triangle as I hear the death rattle. I don’t remark on it, but I’m not at all surprised when my bloodstained captor sits at the foot of the bed, looking at me with those hungry eyes. Don’t get me wrong, this woman is evil, the worst person I could even imagine who I would do anything to be free of.

She’s also probably the hottest person I’ve ever met. She was the first woman ever to be hot enough to make me cheat on my girlfriend, in what was either the greatest mistake of my life or the sole decision that kept me alive, depending on what would have happened if I turned her down. Her nude body sprayed with fresh blood is a powerful sight, and her toothed smile makes me shiver as blood rushes between my legs.

“Anything spicy happening in your book, honey?” She asked in a soft, motherly tone, her hands moving to undo my belt buckle. I hate how much her sexy mom routine works on me. It’s humiliatingly effective. I should be anywhere else right now, doing anything else, doing anyone else, but as she rides me, her other victims blood dripping off her chest over my face, I can’t do anything but whimper in enjoyment.

[wyvernest]

Oh my god I saw your requests were open and I love eveything you write<33

I See many fics where Miguel is the one who is jealous, but what if the tables turned and the reader is the one who is jealous, maybe she’s a civilian and she feels like he’d be better of with a spider person who understands his work better? I’d love to see him feel sad that his love feels that way can you tell I like pain lol

Thank you so so much<33 wishing you all the best for your exam! I’m sure you’ll do amazing!

shameless

pairing: bf!miguel x f!civilian!reader

warnings: jealousy, fluff, suggestiveness, public display of affection

summary: you're worried that miguel might be better off with a spider-person, but he is eager to reassure you (and everyone else) that you're more than enough

a/n:thank you and i hope you like it! im thinking of making a part 2 with balcony sex above nueva york let me know if yall would want it<3

divider by @cafekitsune

You are aware of the so called disadvantages of him being your boyfriend.

He is handsome, no doubt. But that means a lot more than being able to watch him work around the HQ, swinging your legs and wondering how you landed him.

It means having unfamiliar eyes linger over him more than you'd be able to tolerate. Flirty looks and remarks thrown at him like he's magnetic, regardless of everyone knowing he's with you.

Even walking through the glassy hallways and cloud scratching towers of Spider Society is a stab in the heart. 

Noticing all the single spider-women look him up and down, eyelids heavy with the seconds that passed as they unabashedly stared at his physique; his broad back, the bulky arms and toned thighs, at the way the muscles underneath his suit rippled with every heavy step he took, not letting his weight drop lazily on each foot but rather walking with the energetic strength of a man with insane stamina.

You couldn't stop a venomous surge of anxiety mixed with the most sour amount of jealousy from dripping into your nerves as you met their gazes, seeing how beautiful and charismatic they all were.

How agile and gracious they were, swinging by just to blow Miguel a fleeting kiss.

And you certainly couldn't stop wondering if he'd be better off with one of them. One of his kind. One that would be able to swing alongside him, to practise with him, to accompany him.

One that would understand him better than perhaps you ever could.

You know he loves you, or else you wouldn't be together. But the idea that he maybe even once looked at all the women lining up for him and thought they'd be interesting to try is gutting you out.

And he starts noticing it.

Of course.

He isn't oblivious to how you straightened your back or curled your arms around his when another spider woman passed you with flirty looks or remarks. How you'd shut down and become awfully quiet when you two would get home following one of these encounters.

He couldn't bear to see you unhappy. Some of the times he even felt the sharp sting of guilt poking into his heart, knowing that he was the reason others were upsetting you.

More so, your bond.

You are heading towards his lab at HQ, walking beside him, heart pounding intermittently with anxiety and bubbling anger. Eyes darting around you swiftly, like those of a feral feline making sure no other animal is preparing to jump her and snatch her food from her.

Suddenly, two flowy silhouettes shoot mile long webs far up into a tunnel bridge, only to drop down and swing right past you and Miguel. 

Purring out a simultaneous "¡Hola, Miguel! Looking good today!", reaching their hands down to him while boasting perfect balance with their webs tied to their ankles, they disappear into the distanced skyscrapers of Nueva York, with echoing giddy laughters.

Miguel doesn't move his head in their direction, already way too familiar with such interactions, and already too interested in hearing only one particular ¡Hola, Miguel! - yours.

Only your focus isn't on him. Your mind is running wild with how talented they seemed to be, how flexible and enticing. Already imagining him, playfully swinging with them, his force and precision perfectly matching their grace and melodic rhythm.

A dance you could never participate in.

What you also fail to see is the frown on his face as he turns to you, intrigued and finally ready to catch you off guard.

"¿Qué pasó, amor?" (What happened, love?) He leaned into you, dragging you by your arm to stop you behind a glass pillar. 

You're hauled out of your reverie, eyes widening in panic as you think of something less pathetic and embarrassing to say than the truth.

"Hm? Nothing, I just think they're nice to look at." You motion with your head the direction the two women swung in, clarifying. "Everytime you bring me here, it's all so … breathtaking." You internally wince at the excuse, pulling the best poker face you could muster.

He takes a deep breath, annoyed but patient.

"You know you can tell me anything." He assures you, voice low and whispered so as not to embarrass you in front of the spiders passing by. He is aware that the place isn't the most fitting for the conversation, but any other time he'd tried to coax it out of you, you dismissed it with a "It's nothing. I'm just feeling off today."

Truth be told, he had his suspicions. He is by no means unacquainted with the ways of women, and without a single condescending bone in his body when it came to you, he wants you to spit it out so you could talk about it. So he could untangle the knots in your heart, the doubts about him and your relationship.

"I know." You reply shortly, something in you dying to snap out and tell him everything, but instead, you shut it down at the last moment and decided to leave it at that.

"Then why don't you?" He looms over you, unintentionally, but you start to feel utterly cornered. Your heart is drumming out of your chest, and you are more than certain he can at least hear it. His face reveals his disappointment, however hopeful and attentive he wants to seem.

And just like that, your fronts break down.

"I'm - Don't get me wrong," you trail off, not looking him in the eye. You feel his warm breath fan over your forehead, getting dizzy from the sudden proximity. "I love this place. All the work you put into it.." Your eyes meet his for a fleeting second. "But sometimes it reminds me of how different I am.", You pause, waiting for a response. When he doesn't interrupt, you continue, "How I don't fit in,... here, beside you."

"What is that supposed to mean?" He looks almost pissed, as if you had told him he doesn't fit in. As if he was the one that didn't fit you.

"I mean I'm not … them. I'm not a spider."

"I'm aware of that." he retorts, ironically. "When did that stop me from loving you?". His tone is scolding. He is trying to maintain an unaffected demeanor so you would keep talking, but inside, his heart cracks at your words.

Your face heats up, surprised.

"It's not that." You have to actively stop yourself from leaning into his body and hiding into the warmth of his embrace, so that maybe all the jealousy and worry will wash away. But he deserves an explanation, now that you've admitted your feelings. "They know a side of you that I can only imagine. How it feels to be…like you."

His face softens, full of love and pity.

"I'm the odd one out here." You spit out, frustrated with his silence. "I can't give you everything they can!"

"I don't want what they have." He answers quickly, sincerely. You find it hard to believe, even though he's never lied to you.

To you, he's perfect. He deserves everything. Everything he could get.

And you're not enough.

"Escúchame." (Listen to me) He leans closer into you, his breath hot on your face. "Estoy enamorado de ti." (I'm in love with you.) "I only need you to be happy." 

You finally meet his gaze, full of consideration and fondness. You pray to whatever god hears you that he means it, because you're too far gone in your love for him to go back now.

"What will it take for you to just relax and stop being jealous, hm?" He whispers, smugly and amused. It's clear that he's flattered with your sentiments and possessiveness, but wants to nonetheless fix your issues.

You feel yourself getting immersed into the scent of him, his body heat radiating onto yours. You don't quite know the answer yourself. He grabs your waist right above your hips, sending shivers up your spine. Pulling you closer to him, he moves his head to your ear.

"What if I kissed you right here, right now? Let everyone know that I love you, and only you."

Miguel was very clearly overjoyed with the excuse to show you some public affection, especially if it meant having you so flustered and pliant beneath him.

"Would that make you feel better? Knowing they'll be the jealous ones now?"

You nod, more or less consciously, lifting yourself up on your tiptoes almost reflexively.

His warm and eager hands on your waist strengthen their grip, lifting you further up against his body as your feet lose contact with the ground, your chest meeting his. His lips are soft and tender against yours, dancing in a slow, passionate kiss. With your eyes still closed, you hear a few gasps near you in the hall; some happily amused, some offended.

But you don't care. All you care about right now is how he's tilting your head to the side with one of his palms at the back of your neck, slipping his tongue into your mouth and deepening the kiss. 

You continue to make out without a care in the world, just for the whole Spider Society to receive a much needed reminder that Miguel O'Hara is taken. 

His hands knead the supple flesh of your lower back, making your hum softly into his mouth, your own arms curling around his neck in a vicious hold.

When you least expect it, you feel one hand descend swiftly, leaving you no time to react as he grabs at your ass hard, so hard you jolt up against him, eyes snapping open in shock.

Without moving his hand, he presses his nose to your pulse point, exhales sultry on the sensitive skin.

"I have another idea."

[florencemtrash]

The Ballad of the Shadowsinger

Azriel x Reader Oneshot

“Because I’m waiting for my mate to call me home.” The Shadowsinger said, “Because I’m waiting to die.”

Warnings: ANGST with a happy ending, mentions of attempted SA and suicidal ideation (they're very brief, but please do read with caution)

Author's note: I finished this at 3am last night and I think it's pretty apparent... buuuuuut I'm going to post it anyway. Enjoy...

The Shadowsinger arrived one winter night, curling into existence on the border of town like cream through coffee. Jadhan was only a boy at the time - painfully human with a broken leg that had never healed properly. The Midlands were a terrible place for a child to grow up - a place where the only thing more unstable than the ground was its sense of safety.

But things changed when the Shadowsinger arrived, bringing with him gold and the brutal violence required to scare off the bandits and murders that slipped in from the nearby Lordship. And when the Lord came for the Shadowsinger’s head, it was the fae male was the one who walked away from the fight. Except it wasn’t a fight. It was a slaughter.

Jadhan was thirty-seven now with three young boys that had come in a cluster, forcing their way into the world one after another. Sasha had never been quite pleased with him for that, but her love for her sons and her husband outweighed the pain and hardship in the end. 

The boys - Mikhail, Alzhar, and Zhik - ran around the tavern, ducking beneath tables and barstools while their height still allowed it. The Shadowsinger watched them with the faintest of smiles as they clambered about, begging for more attention from his shadows. 

There was little known about the Shadowsinger this deep into the Continent, but whispers still passed through the mouths of travelers at the inn. The most common piece of gossip was that he was a Prythian outlaw - banished to the Continent after attempting to kill his Lord. Jadhan didn’t know - and he figured he would never find out. 

The Shadowsinger was so quiet that no one even knew his real name. They all called him Shadowsinger - Shadow for short. He disappeared into the woods at night and stalked into town come morning, but give a shout at any time and he would be there, flying overhead like a black stormcloud. 

“On the house, Shadow.” Jadhan said, dropping the glass onto the sticky counter. Whisky neat, two fingers - just the way he liked it. 

The Shadowsinger picked it up, swirling the amber liquid around like he hoped it would start talking to him, “You say that every night.”

“That’s because a free drink is the least I could get you.” Jadhan tipped his head towards the rickety stage where the local songbirds were setting up. The singer, Phaedra, had her eyes on Shadow, sending love and gratitude his way like a flood, “Phaedra’s been telling everyone what you did for her. You know, with the Morois boy.” 

Shadow grimaced, taking his first sip. He grimaced again. The whiskey was home-brewed and tasted like it. Everyone in town said a shot of the stuff could kill a man, but Shadow was hardly a man, and more shadow than fae.

Lev Morois had had his eyes on Phaedra for a while now. And he didn’t like to be denied anything, especially women. Normally he traveled to the Lordship for his fill, and he would have been better off going there last night. Instead he’d forced his way into Phaedra’s home… and Shadow had made sure he’d never be able to hurt a woman like that ever again. 

“How old are your boys now, Jadhan?” His voice was deep and smoky.

The trio neared closer, as if they knew they’d been summoned. The eldest, Mikhail, nearly crashed into the countertop, forgetting he had to bend down now. A tendril of black shadow shot out, muffling the blow and corralling him back out onto the open dancefloor with the rest of the children. 

Jadhan sighed and rubbed at a burned spot on the counter, “Too old, and growing faster than weeds.” 

It was a sweet pain for Azriel to see the three brothers romping around. It was almost winter and soon enough they’d be wrestling in the frosted fields, shoving snow down each other’s shirts, and hurling it at each other's heads. 

When was the last time he’d seen his brothers? Cassian had stopped by twenty-five years ago, shocked and scared to see Azriel looking so wretched. The next time Azriel’s shadows had warned him, and they’d sent Cassian away.

Rhysand was a different story… he’d never forgiven Azriel for what he’d done - and rightfully so - but that didn’t make the pain any easier to swallow. That didn’t make Azriel miss them any less.

He tossed the rest back and, to Jadhan’s surprise, he let the barkeep refill it.

Again.

And again.

And again.

Phaedra’s voice crooned over the crowd, settling over drunk men and women like a warm blanket until it was time for their sober partners to drag them home. Those who were alone either settled into the hard booths for a nap or resigned themselves to a stumble home in the dark. They’d all make it to their beds in the end - The Shadowsinger would see to that.

He dropped a gold coin onto the counter - triple what the night’s libations actually cost. It was the briefest of stumbles that had Jadhan gripping onto the male’s shoulder and forcing him back into his seat. 

Azriel wasn’t drunk. It would take an ocean of human liquor to get a fae drunk and then some. But he was starting to feel something.

“I got a pinch of ambrose from a merchant passing through.” Shadow’s eyes snapped up to Jadhan, who only raised his hands in surrender, “Hey, hey, hey, I know you don’t drink my whiskey for the taste, so I thought I'd put something in there to remind you of home. Something to loosen you up like liquor is supposed to.” 

The Shadowsinger winced at that word: Home.

“Very well.” He said.

The boys had gone home with Sasha hours ago, and without them running about with their usual compatriots, the tavern seemed dull. Now was no longer the time for dancing and riotous laughter. Now was the time for the sad drunks and those who didn’t want to go home.

But Azriel wasn’t drunk and he desperately wanted to go home.

It was the shame that kept him rooted to the stool like a stubborn weed… that and Rhysand’s promise that if he ever laid eyes on Azriel again, he’d rip the wings off his back. 

Jadhan seemed to understand that about him, leaning over the counter on sturdy arms thick as tree trunks. His leg was still lame, always had been and always would be, but that had never held him back much.

“What’re you doing here, Shadow?”

His hazel eyes flickered up. 

“What’s it been? Twenty-five years you’ve been in town now?”

“Thirty. Exactly.” 

So that was why the Shadowsinger had drank so much that night. It was to commemorate the sad, terrible anniversary of his banishment to the Midlands.

“Don't you think that's long enough? I don’t mean any offense, but don't you have anywhere else to go? Friends? Family?”

The male gritted his teeth and Jadhan had the sinking feeling he'd just poked the bear.

“I thought I was wanted here.” 

“Of course you are. Hell, we’d all be dead or piss poor if it weren’t for you.” Jadhan shook his head, “I don’t know what you’re running from - if you’re a thief, a murderer, a treasonous bastard or all of the above-” 

Shadow flinched, actually flinched, and Jadhan knew it was all of the above.

“But whatever it is,” He continued, “I think you’ve made up for it.” 

Azriel stilled, shadows continuing to swirl around the wet, empty glass in front of him.

How he wished those words were true, but only a human would think thirty years was a long time. They were nothing if not optimistic.

“No. I haven’t.” Shadow said flatly. Silence stretched between them, thick and heavy, until Jadhan finally sighed and went to clear the glass.

“I had a mate.” He whispered the words so quietly, Jadhan almost didn’t hear him. 

His thick eyebrows disappeared into his receding hairline. He didn’t know much about fae customs and the ones he did know about were often violent, strange, or both… usually both. But he had a great deal of respect for mating bonds and understood they were prized above all else to fae.

“Had?” 

Shadow’s lips flattened into a thin line and Jadhan could have sworn his eyes began to brim with years. 

The Shadowsinger nodded stiffly.

“Dead?”

Shadow gritted his teeth and nodded once more, wings drooping low enough to brush against the sawdust packed floor.

Jadhan sighed so deeply he seemed to shrink into himself, and Azriel was once again struck by how quickly humans aged.

Silver streaks were already beginning to color his temples and his leg was getting stiffer and stiffer each day. It wouldn't be long until he was forced to swallow his pride and buy a cane like Sasha had been suggesting.

It seemed like just yesterday Jadhan had limped his way into the woods, calling out for the Shadowsinger with a copper coin clenched in his fist and a bargain to make. 

Kill my father, and I will do anything you ask of me. Anything at all.

There had been such determination in the little boy’s body that Azriel hadn’t hesitated to fold his small fingers back over the coin and then do what he had been told… to do what he’d always been told to do. 

“I’m sorry, Shadow.” He shook his graying hair, “I’m so sorry.” 

Azriel grimaced, fists tightening until they turned pale, “Don’t feel sorry for me. Don’t you dare.”

He frowned, “And why not?”

The Shadowsinger stilled and got quiet again, “Because it was my fault. I killed her.” 

Jadhan, for all his mortal naivete, didn’t look surprised at his answer. He only twisted his mouth to the side in thought before asking once again, "Why are you here, Shadow? Why don't you leave?"

Azriel looked at him, hazel eyes filled with despair.

He would never tell Jadhan this, but he’d always been envious of humans for one thing - they could die of old age. They could be killed easily. So easily that all it would take was one flick of Azriel's wrist and Jadhan would be no more.

Fae were not so easy to kill, and their only end was a violent one. Maybe that was why Rhys had banished him to the middle of the Continent where life was harsh but simple, and fae were nowhere to be found.

No one here was strong enough to kill him. Azriel would know - he’d spent the first five years on the Continent searching for a way to die and getting into so many bloodbaths it had lost its luster.

“Because I’m waiting for my mate to call me home.” The Shadowsinger said, “Because I’m waiting to die.” 

___

There were many reasons Azriel built his house in the woods. Firstly, he liked the privacy Secondly, when the nightmares came, there was no telling the damage he could do. 

Tonight’s dreams were especially violent and cruel to him. 

Elain appeared before him, sweet and delicate as a dove and despite knowing better, he couldn’t help but follow her into the darkness like a fly to a carnivorous flower. It wasn’t her fault - he should have known better than to drag them both into this mess. She’d been reckless, hungry for some semblance of control in this new and strange world, and he had been all too willing to play the role of the selfless knight. 

When she kissed him it felt wrong, but like every other night, he was too powerless to push away. This was how it had happened, and there was no changing that.

She whispered against his lips, “Thank you for coming for me.” 

Azriel’s stomach twisted, because two people had gone on the mission into Beron’s lair, and two people had come out. Azriel had wrapped his arms around Elain’s silky body after saving her, and left you behind.

He followed Elain further, chasing her shimmering pink skirts onto the Autumn Court battlefield where she dove into the grasses and disappeared. 

This was where it truly went wrong. 

He caught sight of you on the hill, blood blooming like roses from where the ash arrows pierced your flesh. Your wings were gone and you leaned too far backward, still feeling their phantom weight against your back. That was what it had taken to bring you down. That was what it had taken for Beron to break you.

It was like a bolt of lightning running through his body when the bond snapped into place. Your bruised eyes shot open and you fought against the chains, horror freezing your heart. 

Azriel would know, because he felt it all.

“AZ! NO!” 

Beron’s ax caught the light as it came down on your neck and this wonderful thing he’d dreamt about for over five hundred years was snatched away from him. 

Azriel shot up in bed, skin slick and suffocating under the blankets. He kicked them off his body, taking big, desperate gulps of air as his stomach and shadows settled down. 

He rubbed his chest, feeling that hollow space where the bond used to be. 

He’d had you for less than a minute… he should have had an eternity with you. You should have had an eternity with all of them. 

On the day you died, Rhys and Cassian had also lost a sister. Feyre and Nesta had lost a best friend. Cassian may have been quick to forgive him, but Rhys could never. He’d already lost one sister. Nothing could have prepared him to lose you too. 

Shadows swarmed around him and he already knew his powers had wrecked the roof once again. Moonlight streamed through the newly made hole in the ceiling, pooling around his shaking form. He imagined it was the Mother staring down at him with her unblinking eye. Disappointed. Angry. 

The mating bond had been utterly wasted on him. 

“I’m-I’m sorry, Y/n.” He gasped out, trembling. He wrapped his wings around his shaking shoulders, as if that would be enough to shield him from what he’d done. 

Once again he was that little boy trapped in the cellar. Abandoned. Unloved. Alone. But this time he deserved it.  

“Please. Please.” He begged. He begged for the madness to take him. He begged for an end to his eternal life. 

“I want to come home.” He sobbed. “Please. I want to come home.”

You stood before him at the foot of the bed - a vision that had arrived three days after coming to the Midlands and never left. You looked at him sadly, your white dress hanging still despite the breeze that flowed through the room. But you didn’t say a word. You didn’t say anything at all. 

___

Jadhan was fifty-five now. The Shadowsinger still came to the tavern every night, drank his whiskey on the house, and left once the songs were over. 

Mikhail had left at eighteen, chasing after opportunities on the edge of the Continent. Zhik had died the year before - the youngest and the weakest of the trio. Not even the Shadowsinger could fight the cold that came for him in the Winter and stole him away before Spring. 

Now it was Alzhar and Jadhan that ran the tavern. Alzhar who poured the Shadowsinger his drinks.

“On the house.” He said, sliding the glass along the countertop. Whiskey. Two fingers. Just how the Shadowsinger liked it. 

“Thanks, Alzhar.” He raised the glass in the air before tossing it back in one shot, grimacing. Either he was getting older, or the whiskey had gotten worse. 

Snow flurried past the windows, more rain than anything else. 

“Happy Solstice day.” The Shadowsinger said with the faintest of smiles. 

“Happy Solstice day.” 

It was no grand holiday in the Midlands, and it certainly could never hold a candle to the festivities that were going on in Velaris, but still, Azriel would take whatever comfort he could get. 

Phaedra had quietly retired from singing, opting to strum along with her guitar in the background. But her daughter led the band now, a vibrant star in the midst of these quiet lands with a smoky voice that was only rivaled by her mother. 

“Happy Solstice day, everyone!” The tavern-goers cheered and a new generation of children shrieked from their spots closest to the stage. “Now I know it’s not looking too great outside, but we all know what dear old, Phaedra says.” 

“Are you calling me old, Miss Devra?” Phaedra hollered, red painted lips turned down in a frown. 

“I’m calling you a dear, Mama. You’re still as young as a rosebud in April.”

“That’s right!” Alzhar whooped. Phaedra winked and blew her future son-in-law a kiss.

Devra’s smile was positively radiant, “Alright, alright well whatever. She says daisies look brightest when they’re down in the shits, but that’s not really the most appetizing turn of phrase now is it?” 

Everyone erupted in a mixture of laughter and cheer.

“Come on now, Dev.” Alzhar called out, “You’ve kept us waiting long enough. Sing!”

She rolled her eyes playfully, “Well since you asked so kindly,” She cleared her throat and began to croon,

“When my mama first warned me you’ve got trouble on your tail, I told her foxes are quick runners and my heart ain’t just for sale. I won’t be wooed by sweet flowers or sugar tea on ice, I just want someone who’ll love me and who’ll never think twice. I’ve-”

The tavern door burst open, letting in a howling blast of night-chilled air tinged with rain and frost. Everyone cringed back except Shadow, clutching at their thick coats and gasping at the sight of the being that came in from the darkness.

The female was anything but cold with her shining, warm eyes and radiant skin. She glowed like she'd been brushed with an otherworldly glimmer. She was sunlight shooting through crystal. 

Dev stopped singing immediately, her hands slipping from the worn out strings with a strangled thrum.

The Shadowsinger stumbled, actually stumbled, to his feet, and the world seemed to fall silent.

Shadows shot out towards her, curling around her legs and licking the hem of her midnight blue coat. She was the moonlit darkness given form, delicate and fierce at the same time. 

“Azriel.” She breathed out, finally giving a name to the nameless fae. “Azriel.” She repeated, still in disbelief.

The Shadowsinger - Azriel - walked forward without a sound, his scarred hands shaking at his sides.

She looked ready to throw her arms around him. Whether it was to embrace him or strangle him was yet to be seen.

Before she could make a move or say anything further, he dropped to his knees, head bowed and trembling. He swallowed thickly, keeping his eyes trained on the floor between her feet like he was scared to even look at her straight on.

If he had been looking at her, he would have seen the horrified shock that parted her lips and widened her eyes.

He pulled out that sleek obsidian blade he carried with him everywhere. The knife seemed to hum, the silent sound reverberating through the room and causing the air above it to warp.

Everyone knew that that knife was as much a part of him as his wings. But he held it out to her now like an offering, wings stretching open so that everyone could see the orange glow of the fire through the thin membrane, and the tendons that flowed through them like rivers.

Alzhar looked to his father in confusion. Was this some fae custom he wasn't aware of? Should they all be bowing to her? Perhaps she was their queen.

But his father only let out a slow breath, shoulders sinking down.

The Shadowsinger was the picture of reverent misery, and he would let her take whatever she wanted for her revenge.

His wings.

His life.

Anything...

Because I’m waiting for my mate to call me home.

That was what the Shadowsinger had revealed to him years ago, and Jadhan had never forgotten it. 

Because I’m waiting to die.

Her beautiful face crumpled, then turned resolute. She ignored the blade, grabbing fistfuls of his shirt and hauling him up to his feet. Azriel’s eyes blew open in surprise.

“You bastard. You absolute bastard.” She said, her silky voice shaking, “I’ve been looking for you for years.” 

“Y/n,” Azriel whispered reverently, “I-” 

She slammed her lips against his, swallowing whatever desperate apology had been about to escape his mouth.

The Shadowsinger froze, then slowly melted into her touch, wrapping his arms around her waist so tightly it was a miracle her ribs didn’t snap. Shadows swirled around the pair in a perfect mixture of light and dark - like moonlight bleeding through winter clouds. 

No one in the tavern could stand to look away. They were absolutely transfixed. Some great power was moving in the world and they could feel it. Magic or not, it demanded to be felt.

When the two fae finally pulled away from each other, gasping for breath, something in the earth seemed to crack open and shake the ground, releasing pressure that had been building for hundreds and hundreds of years. 

Tears slipped out of her eyes, salty and not entirely unwelcome. 

“Oh, Az.” She whispered, cradling his face with one hand and clutching her chest with the other. The Shadowsinger was weeping now, curling into her like a vine seeking sunlight, “How could I have forgotten this?”

He buried his face in her neck, breathing in the scent of elderflower and mountain pine like a man starved. His shadows grew around him, thick and powerful. And before anyone could even let out a strangled gasp, they disappeared with a whisper of smoke and shadow.

You reappeared in darkness, holding Azriel’s shaking body against you like an anchor to a ship. 

“I’m here, Az. I’m here.” You gently shushed him, tangling your fingers through his hair.

You scanned the room finding nothing but a rickety bed and a dresser in the corner by way of furniture, and a small pile of firewood against the wall.

Moonlight streamed in through the roof and you held out a hand, latching onto the rays and weaving them together so tightly they filled the room with a silver glow. 

“Az.” You whispered, all your attention turned back on him, on your mate. "Az." You gently shook him, pressing fervent kisses to his temple until he finally lifted his eyes.

Azriel looked exhausted, purple bruises shading the hollows beneath his gorgeous eyes. 

“How-” Azriel gasped, “How is this-” 

“Bryaxis brought my body to the Cauldron.” You finished, equally out of breath, “It took him years to put me back together but… he did it. He did it, Az.” 

Azriel closed his eyes, sinking to his knees. This time you let him fall. And you fell with him, climbing into his lap so he could bury his face in your wind-swept hair. 

Home.

You smelled like home to him.

“Promise me." He begged, "Promise me you’re real, Y/n. Please, promise me. I’ll-I'll do anything." He could feel you on the other end of the bond, your heart pulsing and alive. But… he didn’t know if he'd be able to survive if he woke in the morning to find that this was all some terribly perfect dream.

“I’m here, Az. I’m here.” You replied thickly, “I’m here and I’m whole.” You tugged off your coat, throwing it somewhere behind you, and pulled down the neck of your sweater. A thick line of scar tissue wrapped around your throat, one of the many physical reminders of the horrors Beron had put you through. 

Azriel stilled, one hand daring to trace the pale flesh with a feather-light touch. “I… I did this.” 

“No...No.” You whispered, brushing away the moisture that had collected on his cheeks, “You didn’t do this, Az.”

“I left you behind.” His voice broke. “I took Elain and I left you behind. Y/n, I’m so sorry. Please, I’m so sorry.” 

You flinched and closed your eyes. It was one of your worst memories to date - the sight of Azriel’s broken face as the first ash arrow caught you in the back and brought you to the ground. The second was what had done you in, piercing through the membrane of your wings and digging into the ground, pinning you there.

Azriel had only gripped Elain’s golden form closer to his body. He could only fly one of you out, and in that moment he had made his choice and leapt into the sky. 

Azriel felt your emotion through the bond and desperation flooded his system once again. 

He couldn’t lose you. Not again. Not like this. Not when he had so much to make up for. 

“I know what I did, Y/n. I know it was unforgivable, but I swear to you I will do anything you ask. Whatever it takes. If you’ll just give me a chance, I- ”

“Shhhhhhh.” You shook your head, pressing your finger to his lips and silencing him. “I forgive you, Az.” You said, cupping his face.

He immediately leaned into your touch, craving the feeling of your soft skin against his.

“I don’t-I don't want to think about that anymore. Trust me, I’ve spent the last half a century agonizing over it.” You said, smiling without humor.

His hands rubbed up and down your back, tracing the ruined remnants of your wings and silently begging you to explain.

You hesitated, collecting your words and speaking them carefully, “I would have come sooner but… I was so scared and confused about everything. My body didn’t feel like mine anymore without my wings with-'' Your hand flew up to your throat on instinct. 

Azriel gently pulled your fingers away, kissing the pads of your fingertips all the way to your palm, and then your wrist. His lips brushed against the pulsing vein as soft as a feather. It was such a small point of contact, but it grounded you to reality.

 “I couldn’t remember anything. It was like… like I was starting from scratch. Building my life from the ground up.”

Azriel repeated the gesture with your other hand, soft lips skimming over your skin until you shivered, “I’m sorry I wasn’t there.” He whispered softly, “I should have been there.” 

“You didn’t know.”

“I should have known.” 

You looked at him for a long time, drinking in the sight of him and refamiliarizing yourself with his face. He did the same with you.

He looked tired and thinner than you remembered, the elegant planes of his face now harsh and sharp. But buried beneath all those years of loneliness, he was still there - your Azriel. The male who never did anything in half-measures. The male who couldn’t help but make some of the most impulsive decisions you’d ever seen in your life, and also some of the most careful. 

Gods, you’d missed him.

You'd missed talking to him and laughing with him. You'd missed the simple joy of being in his presence and the way that the world seemed to fall with hush whenever he entered a room.

“I came for you as soon as I remembered.” You brushed a strand of inky black hair from his forehead, and then flicked him. Hard. “But you just had to go and disappear on the Continent without a trace.” 

That wasn’t completely true. He’d left bloody, brutal footprints for a while, but those had dried up too quickly. 

The smile Azriel gave was weak and dull, but it was a start, “I’m sorry I kept you waiting, Y/n.” 

“That’s alright." You murmured against his lips before kissing him, "You can make it up to me.” 

Azriel’s heart leapt in his chest, and the bond responded in kind, singing louder than a choir of a thousand songbirds. Even after all this time, even after everything, the Shadowsinger hoped. 

“Y/n-” That light began to dim, hateful voices whispering in his ear that he was unworthy of you, that he would destroy this chance at happiness just as swiftly as he’d done the first time, that he would ruin it all, “I don’t deserve-”

“Stop it, Az.” Your words were soft but commanding, “I don’t care about what you think you deserve or don’t deserve. I want you. I want my best friend back. I want you back.” You wiped the tears from your cheeks, “I want you back in Velaris, and if it turns out I’m still pissed at you for everything, we’ll figure it out, ok?” 

You took a shaky breath and Azriel looked up at you in awe. He gathered you in his arms and captured your lips in a softer, more gentle kiss. A kiss that said, I’m tired. I’m so so tired and for the first time in my life I’m going to force the voices that tell me terrible things to be silent.

And it worked for a spell, but Azriel was pulling away again, looking guilty. 

“Rhys-”

“I’ve already handled Rhys.” 

His brow arched up every so slightly. Your guilty eyes flitted to the side.

You loved Rhys like a brother, and you fought with him like siblings do. That was why the last thing you'd done before leaving Velaris was force him to lift the banishment... and then you'd punched him in the face.

“I wasn’t exactly happy with him when I found out he banished you to the Continent. And to the Midlands too. I’ve heard it’s terribly boring here.” 

Azriel smiled, and this time it was a genuine one full of love and relief, “Everywhere is terribly boring without you. And terribly painful.” 

“That’s a very good answer.” You replied, feeling that a great weight had been lifted off your chest.

He held you in a gentle caress, tracing your brow bone and the curve of your lips and committing the feeling of you to memory.

This was real. This was real. This was real.

You both folded in on each other like paper houses laid to rest, until you were tangled up on the floor. There was a perfectly functional bed not even four feet away, but even that seemed like too much effort after everything that had happened. 

Azriel wrapped his wings protectively around you, settling down with his head against your chest so he could hear your heartbeat. You hummed in tired contentment, peppering his forehead with kisses as your eyelids began to droop. 

“I want to go home, Azriel,” You murmured, “I want to go home with you.” 

Home. 

Azriel swallowed thickly, “We’ll leave tomorrow first thing in the morning. I promise.” 

You opened a bleary eye, examining your mate quietly, “Do you not want to say goodbye?” 

Azriel kissed your chest, right over your heart. Thirty years ago he would have said yes. He would have taken time to get his affairs in order and to make sure Jadhan and his sons, Phaedra and Devra, and the rest were taken care of. But things had changed, and he knew that no matter what, they would be alright. They would live and travel and fall in love. If they were lucky, they’d experience the joy of dying in their sleep surrounded by loved ones at the end of a long and eventful road. 

“No. No, I don’t think so.” 

You pressed one final kiss to his forehead, absorbing him in the warmth of your arms. Azriel sighed, hanging onto the golden thread in his chest that wrapped around his soul and bound him to you. 

“They’ll be ok, my love.” You murmured.

And so will we. You whispered the promise down the bond, soft and gentle. 

He closed his eyes, pressing the words I love you into your skin.

“I know.” He whispered to the night sky once your breathing had evened out, “I know.” 

That night at the tavern felt like a dream - the kind that left you groggy and awestruck when you initially awoke, and then slipped away like water cupped in a child’s hands. 

Everything seemed louder than before, even though the townspeople walked about in a contemplative daze. It was the forest. That’s what it was. It hummed more brightly. The blanket of power that had rested over the treetops for decades had lifted overnight. 

No one spoke of the events aloud - they were too aware of the enormity of what they’d witnessed - but they all knew the truth.

The Shadowsinger had finally been called home. 

___

“Quick!” Alzhar’s eldest son, Samu, called out to the twins. They hobbled over as quickly as their stout legs could carry them. 

“Samu,” Niran whined, “I’m tired.”

“Papa said to be back by dark.” Rhaan reminded them all. The only trademark that separated him from his twin brother was the flash of blond through his ruddy brown hair. White-tailed deer they called him.

“I want dinner.” 

“Me too.” 

Samu looked over the hills where the sun was sliding down the sky like rain on a window.

“But we haven’t found the house yet!” He protested.

“We’ve been searching for days.”

“Yeah, we’ve been searching for days.” Niran parroted.

“Of course we have!” He threw his hands up in the air, “Did you really think the Shadowhouse would be easy to find?” He clicked his tongue in disappointment, shaking his head, “Go back if you’re so scared. I’ll look for it myself.” 

Niran and Rhaan looked at each other, identical frowns pulling at their lips. They wanted to prove their worth, but they were still younger than Samu, and their hunger mattered more.

“We’re telling Mama you didn’t listen.”

“I want your dessert.”

“Wait, no. I want it. Can we share?”

“I’m not sharing!”

Samu smiled triumphantly and stomped further into the woods, leaving the twins to their usual bickering.

The little boy sprinted back home hours later, a gleeful kick in his step. The sky was already turned pitch black, but the Mother had sprinkled out the stars like salt to guide him home.

Devra stood in the doorway with her hands on her hips, swollen belly blocking out the roaring firelight like an eclipse. 

“Where have you been?” She gasped out, grabbing Samu’s head and holding him close to her stomach. Samu loved when she did this, convinced that his newest sibling would talk to him first. 

Niran and Rhaan wanted another brother to tussle with, but Samu was hoping for a sister. She could tussle with them too, he was sure.

He ignored her question, grabbing her hand and hauling her back inside, “Papa! BaBa! I found it! I found the Shadowhouse.” 

Niran and Rhaan popped out from their bedroom, clambering after their older brother as he dragged their mother along.

Jadhan and Alzhar looked up with relief. Jadhan’s hair had turned white as snow in his old age and hints of gray were beginning to sprout from Alzhar’s temples.

“Papa!”

“Samu, what have we told you about staying out past-”

“The Shadowsinger left something for you and Baba.”

“What?!” Jadhan sat up straighter, grimacing at the painful twist of his leg. He motioned his grandson closer, helping him climb onto the bed.

The little boy dropped the blue-velvet bag into his outstretched hands, leaning back on his heels with rapt attention. Samu, being the boy that he was, hadn’t opened it on the whole journey over and was now buzzing to learn what secrets it held within.

Jadhan was immediately startled by the weight of the parcel. 

“Open it!”

“Wait! I want to see!” 

“Help me up!” 

Alzhar and Devra relented, picking up the twins and leaning close. Their own curiosity was itching to be satisfied.

Jadhan opened the bag and tipped it over spilling dozens of gold coins onto the quilt. Devra gasped, her hands flying up to her mouth. Alzhar didn’t bother hiding his shock, his mouth agape. 

It was more money than they’d ever seen in their lives, Jadhan didn’t concern himself with it - he hadn’t had to worry about money in a long while. Instead, he picked up the slip of paper that had also fallen out, carefully unfolding it with trembling, wrinkled fingers.

For all the drinks “on the house” and for your son, Mikhail, who traveled to the edges of the Continent and made it possible for my mate to find me and bring me home.

Scrawled on the lower edge of the paper were more words, cramped and small like they’d been jotted down as an after-thought. 

Also, your whiskey is absolutely disgusting. Never let anyone else drink it.

Everyone stilled, watching Jadhan carefully. 

Without warning, the old man tipped his head back and roared with laughter.

Samu leaned back in surprise. His grandfather was a naturally solemn man, and he'd never heard him laugh so loudly and so fiercely.

Alzhar reached for the slip of paper, skimming the words quickly.

"No!" He cried out in disbelief, "Stop! This can't be. Devra, look-"

One by one the adults fell into fits of roaring laughter, collapsing onto Jadhan's bed or onto the floor. Even the boys cheered - confused but happy to be part of whatever story had just finished unfolding.

Jadhan was seventy-one years old when he died, and he died laughing, surrounded by his family at the end of a long road.

Down the street in the tavern, the band was still playing the same old songs, although they were being performed by yet another generation of songbirds. But, there was one new addition to the repertoire.

A song penned by Phaedra and aptly named The Ballad of the Shadowsinger years before her quiet passing. 

It was always the last song of the night. Always. And it ended like this: 

Come Solstice day

Come wind or rain

Now calls the heather

The Midlands will have no reason to dismay

For the Shadowsinger has been called home again

___________

Another author's note:

I feel like I threw in so many new human characters so I made a family tree. Ha!

Also, please enjoy the small essay I wrote last night after writing this oneshot...

From last night:

Listen, some red flags are just pale orange scraps of fabric when you’re an immortal non-human being who’s been alive for hundreds of years. Don’t come for me. I’m so tired. It’s 3am. I should sleep. 

Ok, note from Florence B at 3:16am because I am making CONNECTIONS. Not all of this was intentional, but maybe it was? Maybe I’m just stringing connections after the fact.  Maybe I’m a genius. Probably not, but still. I’m so tired, guys. Why am I doing this right now? I should be sleeping but I can’t sleep so I’m going to do this instead.

Buckle down folks for the essay I am about to write: 

I have my qualms about the ACOTAR books, as I’m sure most people do. Don’t get me wrong, they’re wonderful reads and it’s the series that got me back into reading after college, but they’re not perfect by any means.

One thing I think that gets brushed under the rug (especially given how ALL the batboys fall for girls who are literally in their late teens/mid-twenties - it’s a major red flag but we forgive because it’s fiction) is how DIFFERENTLY fae experience time. LIke, these fuckers live hundreds, if not THOUSANDS of years. The only way they die is if they get killed, like purposely poisoned or stabbed or whatever have you. I tried to write this/touch upon this when Azriel describes how he’s jealous of Jadhan for his humanity and how no matter what, Azriel is stuck potentially living an ETERNITY with the reality of what he’s done. It’s why for me - personally - all the stuff about the mate bond driving males mad or the choice that Rhysand and Feyre make to bind their lives to one another kind of makes sense. Like, if I was faced with an eternal life sentence in a world that was as brutal and cruel as the ACOTAR universe is, HECK YEAH I MIGHT BIND MY LIFE TO SOMETHING/SOMEONE I CARED ABOUT! I’M NOT DOING THIS SHIT ALONE! You’ve gotta retire from the game at SOME point. 

I know I probably made things really confusing by introducing a whole host of human characters spanning several generations (re: the family tree up above), but as I previously mentioned, I thought it was important to do this to contextualize/compare the lifespan of a fae to a normal human. While Jadhan is growing up, getting a job, getting married, having kids, Azriel is still struggling with his banishment to the Midlands and his own sense of self-worth. The line about Jadhan approaching Azriel and offering him money to kill his abusive father who broke his leg was thrown in there later on around the 1am mark. And I didn’t think of it much - I just wanted a reason for Azriel to know Jadhan personally throughout his life from childhood to old age. BUT! Now that I think I’m thinking about it more, it makes sense that Azriel would be able to accept Y/n’s forgiveness so quickly. He sees a lot of himself in young Jadhan and by helping him escape his abusive father(albeit by violent means) and watching him grow up into a strong man and a good father, Azriel’s helping heal his own inner child. 

The kids! Oh my goodness I love the kids so much. Once I threw the first kid into the story I thought - fuck it, we’re going to make the parallelism painfully obvious with Azriel seeing himself, Rhys, and Cassian mirrored in Mikhail, Alzhar, and Zhik. Then of course I had to bring things around full circle and give Alzhar three boys and a girl on the way (yes, Devra is pregnant with a girl and Samu is going to shower her with all the love that Rhys gave his own sister). 

Finally, I’m going to address any comments about Y/n forgiving Azriel too quickly. 1) I feel like it is a universally acknowledged/unacknowledged truth that no one hates Azriel as much as he hates himself. And no punishment could ever be worse than the self-loathing he feels for himself (NOTE: people, if a partner/romantic love interest/friend/crush/whatever EVER says this kind of stuff to you, drop them like a two-ton boulder. That’s a major red flag, but once again this is a fictional man/fae so we can let it slide). 2) Once again, these fae are literally HUNDREDS OF YEARS OLD. I can only speak for myself when I say this, but I feel like if I had known and loved someone for that long, I would be willing to forgive a lot and trust that time might be able to heal deeper wounds than humans are used to. Time is precious to us humans, we can’t always afford to wait and hope for things to get better on their own, but fae can. 

Are those all my thoughts? I think those are all my thoughts. It’s 3:47am now. Oh jeez. To future me: I’m so sorry if you have to read this and it’s bad and you have a coffee-fueled headache all day because I fucked things up for us. 

[short-honey-badger]

Peppermint Tea 36 - Hibiscus 1

Summary: The bun in OUT of the oven. Mihawk and Shanks meet another female they'd burn the world for.

*warnings* childbirth. I'm no doctor so I tried my best!

Notes* There’s a lot that happens in this chapter! I've got one more planned to wrap this monster of a fic up and then an epilogue with an open ending if I want to come back to this and do little one-shots or what have you. I really hope everyone who's been with me through this has enjoyed! ❤️❤️

Peppermint Tea Masterlist-> HERE

A scream rips from your throat, chest heaving as tears stream down your face when pain arcs up your back. Both of your hands are occupied, Mihawk on one side and Shanks on the other. This was hour two of your labor, the Red Force having arrived on Sphinx Island just in time for your water to break, sending you and the two men that had done this to you into a panic. Mihawk did a good job of hiding it, but Shanks could see the anxiety lingering in those golden eyes. The redhead wasn’t doing a great job of hiding how worried he was, but he was here and that was all that mattered right now. 

Marco, bless him, stood at the end of the table, hands gloved and surgical mask on as he peeked between your legs, “Just a little more, _. I can see their head, you’ve got this.” 

The ex-commander of the Whitebeard Pirates hadn’t thought that he would wake up this morning and deliver a baby, especially a child made from two of the most powerful men in the Grandline, but here he was. Not that he was complaining, mind you, he was a doctor, and that meant it was his obligation to help those in need. After having the three of you in his office, he decided that they needed all the help they could get. 

You grit your teeth, brow furrowing as you do as instructed. There was so, so much pain, and if you hadn’t been coated in your boys’ haki, you were sure you would have burst into snowflakes after the first contraction had hit. You weren’t used to pain. You had always been careful your entire life and cautious, so this was excruciating. You gripped their hands harder, nails biting into their flesh as you pushed again. 

The morning after your reunion with Shanks and Mihawk, they had taken you aside and listed off the men and women who they knew to be doctors. You had immediately declined the help of Tony Tony Chopper, not wanting an underage reindeer to be the one to deliver your baby. Crocus and Dr. Kureha were too far away, and closer to your island than where they were now, so that had left Marco the Phoenix. 

Shanks had told you that he was a good man, and one that could be trusted to keep you and their daughter a secret, so in the end, it had only been logical that they would contact him and see if he could help. The redhead had grinned and disappeared, only to come back with a snail transponder that was already ringing. 

Ca-lick

“Shanks, this better be good and not another attempt to get me to join your crew.” 

The redhead had laughed sheepishly, especially after seeing the looks that his treasures had sent him, one of curiosity and the other annoyed. He hadn’t ever mentioned to them that he had tried to recruit the Whitebeard member. 

“No, no. Nothing like that. I’ve actually got a favor.” 

There was a curious pause on the other side of the phone, and then Marco’s exasperated voice. 

“...What kind of favor?” 

Seeing the hesitation on Shanks’ face, you rolled your eyes and snagged the snail away from the redhead. Mihawk couldn’t have been more proud. 

“Hi, Marco. My name is _. I’ve known Shanks for a while now, and well. I’m having his baby, and he said that you could be trusted. So, could you help us?” 

There was another silence over the phone, and if they were at Sphinx, they would have seen Marco’s jaw drop in shock, and then smooth a hand over his face as a weight settled over his shoulders. 

“That’s some favor. You must be something special to have gotten him to stay loyal.” 

You couldn’t help but laugh, though you glared at the redhead, who wilted further when Mihawk joined you with his own piercing look. 

“I can’t take all the credit, I had some help keeping him in line. You’ve met Dracule Mihawk right?” 

All you knew about them knowing one another was what the warlord had told you about Marineford, which was before the two of you had met. You understood that it was a huge battle between the navy and pirates, and you’d been surprised that Mihawk had fought for the Marines at first, but he’d explained what his duties as a warlord entailed, so you kind of understood. It’d make you giggle when he admitted he left, he refused to say escaped, when Shanks had shown up. 

“...An emperor and a warlord? Should I be worried about my health?” 

You could hear the joking tilt in Marco’s voice, and it made you like him even more. The two of you spoke for a while longer, the doctor in him coming out and inquiring about your health before he’d given the okay. 

“Sounds like to me you’ll arrive at Sphinx about the time for you to give birth. Stay off your feet as much as you can these next weeks, and I’ll send Shanks the coordinates to the island. It was good to meet you, _.” 

You’d smiled and thanked the doctor, and then ended the call. Mihawk had taken it away to set aside, and then the two of you rounded on Shanks, twin glares that had the redhead shrinking away. 

“I think we should remind our dear Shanks why he stays loyal to us, don’t you think, my dear?” Mihawk had rumbled and advanced on the other man, a possessive gleam in his golden eyes. You’d gotten quite the show that morning. 

“Fuck both of you,” you snarl hotly and glare at both men, eyes alight with fury as you take short, stuttering breaths, trying to keep yourself from passing out from the pain. Marco was a doctor, and a good one at that, but childbirth wasn’t something that he did very often, so he didn’t keep very strong painkillers on hand, “We’re never having sex again.” 

Shanks can’t help but laugh, though it ends with a wince when you squeeze his hand so hard his bones ache. He didn’t realize that you had such a good grip. 

“You say that now, my love,” Mihawk murmured beside you, and you gave him a smile full of teeth. It was not a nice one. 

“I’ll castrate you both.” 

Marco glared at all of them, eyes narrowing in on the two men, “And I’m going to help her if you two don’t stop distracting her. Come on, _. You’re almost there.” 

You scream again and put all of the strength you’ve got left into the next push, and then you feel a sudden relief, fluid and blood leaking from between your legs. All you want to do is sleep, but then you hear a piercing cry, and all that exhaustion leaves you in that moment. Your eyes snap open, and you look across the room at Marco and the screaming baby that he holds in his arms. 

“Oh.”

You pry your hands from your boys and hold out your shaky arms, tears of elation in your eyes when Marco rounds the bed and offers you the bloody bundle. You feel something in your chest click into place when he settles the babe against your chest, and then Shanks and Miihawk are there, pushed close so that they can see, too. 

“A healthy girl. Already has a good set of lungs on her,” Marco says, and you raise the blanket that holds your daughter, cleaning off the gunk that clings to her little face. You smile when she opens her eyes, and then hear a gasp behind you. You look up to see Mihawk staring at their daughter with a rapturous look on his face, ringed eyes wide as he reaches out to gently rub his thumb over her cheek. 

“Your eyes, darling,” you say, and then you are wiping at her hair, expecting the red of blood to fall away and reveal dark hair, but the tint just doesn’t want to leave. You lick your lips, eyes going wide as you look at Shanks, “And your hair.” 

Marco watches the happy couple, throuple, really, with a small smile, though he is a little confused because that’s definitely not how genetics work. He wonders if it had something to do with you. Regardless, the three of you had made a beautiful child, and he was sure that she would turn heads when she got older. He steps forward with an apologetic look. 

“Not to break this up, but I need to stitch you up, _.” 

You grimace at what he says and reluctantly hand your daughter off to MIhawk who takes her with gentle hands. He steps back and Shanks takes his spot, offering you his hand when Marco crouches between your legs to clean you up. You wince at the feeling, but it is nothing compared to birthing your daughter. 

Mihawk stares down at the babe in his arms. He can’t seem to take his eyes off of her, for she is the sweetest, and most beautiful being he has ever laid eyes on. She is pale, fair-skinned like her uncle Tomura, but her eyes and hair were all his and Shanks. She was a perfect combination of the man and woman that Dracule loved, of all three of them. For the first time in decades, he feels his eyes grow wet, a lump in his throat as he holds his daughter close. He would burn the world for her if she so desired. 

“Mihawk,” you call to him softly, and he is at your side in an instant. You reach for him and pull him close so that you can press a kiss on his cheek. Shanks is next, and then the three of you are staring at the babe that rests in her father’s arms. She stares up at the blurry figures that she has felt all her life, garbles some nonsense, and promptly closes her eyes. You snort and Mihawk pulls away, reluctantly handing her over to Marco when the doctor asks for her. 

“I’ll just be in the other room. Just a quick check-up and I’ll clean her for you, too,” He assures them, and then he is gone, leaving the three of them alone. 

“How are you feeling, baby?” Shanks asks and crouches by your bedside, dark eyes curious and concerned. You give him a tired smile, eyes feeling heavy. 

“I’m okay. Exhausted and still hurting, but it’s not bad right now,” You murmur, and despite your tired mind, a thought pops up, “We never thought of any names.” 

Shanks laughs, the sound a little wet, and you look over to see tears in his eyes as he reaches out to cup your face in his hand, leaning in to press a kiss to your brow, “We didn’t did we?” 

“I did,” Mihawk says, and rolls his eyes when his two lovers give him a look, lips turning up in a tiny, bemused smile. 

“Care to share with the class?” Shanks grumbles, and Mihawk flicks the other man’s forehead in retaliation for the attitude. 

“Joyeuse,” He says as Marco enters the room, and you reach for your daughter, settling her against your chest and watching her latch with a fond expression, though your eyes widen when Mihawk continues, “Dracule Hibiscus Joyeuse.” 

“Bit of a mouthful, but I love it,” Shanks says, and you nod, still in a bit of a daze. You flick your eyes over at the redhead who is smiling so wide that it would blot out the sun, “We’ll call her Joy for short.” 

“Darling, what do you think?” Mihawk asks, and you can hear a hint of nervousness in his tone. Wanting to dispel that quickly, you smile up at him, eyes filling with tears once more. 

“It’s beautiful, but Dracule? Not Delemur?” 

He’d told you your family name on the night he had come clean about his connection to your past. You weren’t complaining, but you were just a little confused. You blink when he smiles down at you, leaning forward to kiss you before he pulls away. 

“Of course, darling. You will take my last name as well, once we find someone to bind us.” 

Bind us. 

“You mean you want to get married?” you blurt a little too loud, and wince when Joyeuse makes an unhappy sound before falling silent again as she nurses. 

Mihawk suddenly looks a bit taken aback, and you watch him lick his lips and stand straight. You realize that other than that awful day you sent them away, this was one of the only times you’ve seen the peculiar man nervous. 

“Yes, if that is agreeable to you.” 

Shanks can’t help but laugh at the scene before him. He and Mihawk had talked about this before, and since he didn’t really have a last name, it only made sense that you would take the warlord's name. 

“Look at what you’ve done, baby. Got the hawk all worked up,” He teases with a grin at the other man, “Relax baby, you know that she’ll say yes.” 

You don’t even have to think about it. You’ve imagined this far too many times to ever say no. 

“Of course, I’d say yes. Why would I not?” You ask, and the warlord looks away, a blush staining his cheeks. 

“Our past, my love. I would understand if you would not want to marry the man who lied to you for so long,” He says, and you soften immediately. You adjust Joyeuse in your hold and reach out to snag his hand, holding it tightly and bringing it up to kiss his knuckles. 

They had talked about their mistake of keeping secrets in the two weeks it had taken to make it to Sphinx Island. They had promised to never lie to you or each other, vowing that, even if it was something that would make the other mad or upset, it would be spoken about. 

“It would make me very happy to be your wife, Mihawk,” you say, and your tone is soft, but brokers no room for any kind of arguments. 

Shanks beams when he watches the warlord swoop down and seal his lips against your own in a kiss. It makes his chest alight with happiness to see the two of you and his daughter like this. He had a family now, and there was nothing in heaven or earth that he wouldn’t do for them.

You yawn loudly when Mihawk pulls away, feeling the exhaustion creeping up again. Your daughter has eaten her fill and you allow the warlord to take her away when you look at Shanks, brow furrowed. 

“Don’t you want to hold her?” 

The redhead licks his lips. He wants more than anything to hold his daughter, but he doesn’t think he would be able to do it properly or without hurting her. So he gives you a weary grin and gestures to the empty sleeve at his side, “I don’t think I can, sweetheart.” 

Dracule frowns, looking stern, “Nonsense. Sit, Shanks.” 

The redhead does as ordered quickly, recognizing that no-nonsense tone that his lover adopts when he refuses to back down on something. He steps closer and adjusts Shanks’ arm, and Marco helpfully hands over a folded towel to make a sort of nest in the crook of his arm before Mihawk carefully lays his daughter against the redhead’s chest. 

Shanks can’t help but hold his breath, eyes wide and fearful when she is sat down. He tightens his arm, worried that she might fall, but Joyeuse just makes tiny baby sounds and drools against his shirt, content as can be. He doesn’t realize that he is crying until his eyes go blurry, his lip tucked between his teeth to try and stop the sob that wants to wrack his chest. 

“Gods she’s so tiny, “ He whispers, and Mihawk snorts from where he stands behind him. He leans down to reach out, trailing the back of his knuckles along her cheek. Joy opens her eyes at the touch and glares up at her fathers, which only makes Shanks let out a wet snicker. 

“She already has your looks, Hawkeye.” 

You watch them from where you lay in the bed, heart light with contentment. You can’t help but think that her name fits your daughter. She would bring these two men so much joy in the years to come, and you couldn’t wait for the three of you to get back home and discover what parenthood entailed. However, thinking about your home makes your heartache. You would no longer be safe on your island. Too many people knew about it now, and you were certain that the Big Mom pirates had destroyed everything that you had worked so hard to build. 

“Hey, what’s wrong? Not in too much pain, are you?” Marco asked when he heard you sniffle from the bed. Shanks and Mihawk zeroed in when you sniffed again and raised a hand to wipe at your eyes. 

“It’s manageable right now. That’s not what I’m crying over. My home, my island isn’t fit to raise her, not anymore,” you say and by the looks on their faces, they knew it to be true too, “Where are we going to go?” 

You don’t think you could live on a ship, and while Gloom Island could have been an option once upon a time, Mihawk had gotten word that the warlords were to be disbanded after the mess that happened in Dressrosa. It was a relief that he and Perona hadn’t been there when the Navy had shown up to try and arrest him via Buster Call. It had infuriated the now ex-warlord to know that his home for the past decade had been destroyed, all that knowledge lost to the ages, all his worldly possessions lost to the sea. 

“You can stay here for a while? Sphinx is too poor to be on the navy’s radar, and the people here won’t pass up the added protection,” Marco suggests with a shrug, “Plus I’ll be able to keep an eye on you and Joy.” 

It’s not a bad idea, but it still wouldn’t be a long-term solution. Regardless, you gave Marco a kind smile and dipped your head in a nod. 

“Thank you, Marco. I’ll make sure they stay on their best behavior.” 

Shanks makes an affronted sound and Mihawk rolls his eyes at your quip, lips pursed in a pout, though he’d never call it one. 

“We’re not that bad,” Shanks grumbles petulantly, and his daughter fusses at the tone. He winces and drops his tone into a whisper, “Sorry sweetheart, your momma is being mean to your daddy.” 

You roll your eyes at them and share a look with the doctor who laughs and goes to step out of the room, “I’ll be back in a while. I’m going to see if I can’t find you a house to settle down in. I won’t be far if you need me.” 

-----

Marco indeed finds the four of you a house near the shore that’d been abandoned for a while. It needed some work done, but it wasn’t like the Red-Haired pirates were doing much right now and had gladly volunteered to fix it up. They had fallen head over heels for Joyeuse once they had been able to meet her. Marco had kept you in the small operating room for a week, just to make sure that you and your daughter were healthy enough to start moving around. 

You needed help, a lot of help actually, but Shanks and Mihawk jumped into action the second that they noticed you needed something. Joy grew stronger every day she was in the world, big golden, ringed eyes curious about everything around her. Her hair had darkened as well, and now was only a shade darker than Shanks’ own. You couldn’t help but wonder how else she would change as the years passed by. 

Mihawk and Shanks flanked the two of you as you waddled into your new home. Shanks’ crew had done a fantastic job with remodeling the house. It was quite a bit more modern compared to your cottage, but that didn’t bother you. You were just happy that you could sit down on a comfy couch while your boys took care of Joy. 

Yasopp, who had taken one look at her and burst into tears, blubbering about how cute Usopp had been when he was born, brought down your fur children, and they would finally be meeting your daughter. 

Hank carefully crept forward, nose sniffing loudly. He had known that you were carrying a pup, had known even before you did, and it filled the old dog with glee to know that you had finally given birth. He carefully climbed up the couch, his upper body close to his mother, and took in his new sister with big brown eyes, and then glanced up at you when your hand came down on his shaggy head. 

“This is Joy, Hank. You’ve gotta protect her like you did me, okay?” you whisper and the dog whines, nudging forward to sniff at the pup and memorize her scent like he has done for you and the two men who had become a part of their family. Hank would make sure that nothing would come to harm his baby sister, he was the eldest after all. 

A loud meow introduces his little brother, and Hank watches the orange fluff ball jump up on the couch, big golden eyes searching out their mother when he finally realizes that there is something in her arms. Sukuna eyes the babe, eyes narrowing as he flicks them up to you and yowles again. 

Joy grumbles and cracks her eyes open, meeting the gaze of the loud thing that wouldn't let her sleep. Sukuna and she stared at each other for a while, the cat slowly deciding that the kit wasn't too bad since she was being so quiet, and began to loudly pur. You can't help but laugh softly when Joyeuse goes straight back to sleep. 

You adjust your daughter so that you can scratch behind the cat's ears, and Sukuna just purrs louder for you. It makes you happy that they had accepted Joyeuse so quickly into the tiny pack that the three of you had been, and couldn't help but think about how much it's grown in the past couple of years. 

What once had been just you and Hank had turned into you Hank and Mihawk. And then he had brought in a tiny, angry kitten and an ornery goat. Shanks had come along as if he was always meant to find your tiny island and with him the gift of your chickens. There was just one thing that you felt that was missing. Your brother, Tomura. The man that you could hardly even remember. 

“Darling, is something wrong?” 

Mihawk's voice brings you out of your thoughts and you glance up to give him a small smile, shaking your head. 

“Nothing wrong, per se, but… Mihawk you told me about my brother. I want to meet him again. Joy should know her uncle.” 

The ex-warlord purses his lips. He hadn't mentioned the marine because he was selfish and wanted to keep you all to himself, but he should have known that you would ask about your brother at some point. 

“He is waiting for us at your island. I didn't want to overwhelm you with someone new after what happened,” He says and joins you on the couch, taking Joyeuse when you hand the babe over so that you can stretch your arms over your head. 

“Then I'll talk to Marco about my brother coming here,” you say, and Mihawk gives you a look over his daughter's head. 

“He is a vice-admiral in the navy, my love. Do you really think that would be wise?” 

You frown and cross your arms over your chest. You don't want to do anything to get Marco in any kind of trouble or put Sphinx in the eyes of the military, but Tomura was your brother. You couldn't just leave him out of your life, “Can I call him, at least?” 

“Who do you want to call, sweetheart? The most important people in your life are right here,” Shanks teases when he walks into the living room. He'd been busy catching up with Marco and getting the down low about what was happening around the island. Turns out not much. 

“My brother, Shanks. I want to get to know him again, and he deserves to know that he's got another family member,” you tell him and the redhead makes an ohhh sound, his dark eyes wide as he smiles. 

“Don't worry about that, baby. I called him before we even made it to Sphinx. He'll be here in a week or two,” Shanks says proudly, and shrugs at the annoyed look that Mihawk gives him, “We can't keep them apart forever, you know.” 

Mihawk sneers and rolls his eyes, “And why didn't you mention anything?” 

Shanks just beams and steps close to you, sliding his arm carefully around your stomach as he presses a kiss to the side of your head, “It wouldn't have been a surprise if I had.” 

You snicker and tuck yourself closer to the redhead, elated that you would see your brother in the next coming weeks. Your life has changed so much since meeting Dracule Mihawk, in ways that you'd never expected, but you wouldn't give it up for the world

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[cascade05]

Sweet Little Sugar ✧ Benny Cross

Warnings: Lots of self-doubt and depreciation from our main girl, not a x reader cause it read better with specifics, mentions of injury but nothing graphic, mentions of abuse but again not too in depth, a couple swearwords lol, not really proofread, kinda long, and maybe an ooc Benny Cross not sure lol

Annalise didn’t have much in life. She didn’t have the looks most men went for, or that’s what her dad told her. Untrendy long brown hair she often kept back in a messy braid rather than the puffy bouffant hairstyles most women her age had. Her dad said she was sloppy. She knew a hairstyle like that would get messed up at work. 

He didn’t like her freckles either. Said the fact she was covered in them made her look unkempt and dirty. He said she was undesirable and nothing like her busty blue-eyed mother. Annalise just liked to think she was average. She didn’t have much in life. Didn’t have a mother no more–only God knows where that woman had run to once Annalise was born. They weren’t too wealthy either; house bit on the simple side, clothes a bit on the worn, out-of-fashion side. Her dad said it was because she was lazy. Annalise liked to think she was doing her best. She didn’t have much in life, like she said. Just had herself, her drunken deadbeat dad, and her best friend who got into far too much trouble. 

A trail of smoke wafted through Annalise’s stuffy old bedroom. She never used to care for the smell, but now she didn’t mind so much. It reminded her of him anyway. Was a bit of a comfort now actually.

“I’m fine,” he insisted, his voice a bit rough from the long silence between them–the disuse. 

He was always good at hiding his pain behind a wall of quiet and a face handsome enough to make a nun swoon, and as hard to read as a dirty secret. But his voice had traces of concealed pain, and Annalise could see the wince he tried to hide when he sat up in her bed.

She coulda scolded him for that; for moving and getting grime on her baby blue comforter, along with cigarette ash. But she didn’t. Instead, she focused on cleaning up the cut on his stomach from whatever altercation it was that he got into. Maybe that was why they got along so good; she and Benny. He was always hurting and she was good at patching people up–lord knows she had plenty of practice with it herself. “I’m telling ya, should see the other guy,” Benny mumbled through his cigarette. His lazy words were met with a disbelieving snort and the press of an alcohol-soaked rag on his stomach. He leaned his head back and took a good long drag of his cigarette. Annalise would’ve said it was to hide the pain, but part of her wondered if he really felt pain or just pretended to. With the amount of times he snuck into her room covered in cuts, bruises, and whatnot she’d assume he didn’t really feel them.

“Well,” she dabbed the wound with care, “if he looks half as bad as you, then I’d say he looks pretty awful,” she mumbled. He chuckled quietly, and Annalise looked up to meet his blue eyes when he did. She looked back down. “What’d you fight about this time? Was it about you wearin’ your colors again?”

That was usually what it was about; Benny refusing to take off his jacket because he was proud to be one of the Vandals, and he was loyal as a dog to Johhny.

Benny chuckled again, dry and rough. She oughta get him some water, she thought, but she continued with his wound for now. He lifted a calloused hand, using it to gently tilt Annalise’s chin so her big green eyes would look at him. “Not this time, sugar,” he assured her.

Benny shrugged lazily at her confused look, dropping his hand and leaning back against the headboard of her bed like it was his. He wouldn’t mind if it was–wanted it to be his too.

“The bastard insulted you,” he said like it was obvious.

“Insulting me?” she echoed quietly. He gave a lazy nod as he took another drag of his cig. Annalise watched, her green eyes falling to his neck, watching his Adam’s apple as he leaned his head back and blew out whisps of smoke. They twirled in the air and Annalise watched them dance as guilt filled her chest down to her fingers.

She never liked when Benny fought, but he fought for the gang–for a family. For something he believed in. She couldn’t tell him to stop–well she could but she’d never expect him to listen. She’d never tell him anyway, because he felt a loyalty to Johnny; to the Vandals; and she wouldn’t try to get in the way of that. Wasn’t her place anyhow. They were friends is all.

But when he fought for her, it was different, because she could say something about it. And she always did because like her father always said, she wasn’t worth it.

Annalise looked away and inhaled slowly before releasing all the air in a huff. She grabbed a roll of dressing and went about wrapping the cut in his abdomen. “Just let ‘em talk…” she whispered. “Ignore ‘em,” she added, knowing Benny wouldn’t be Benny if he ignored something like that.

“Never,” was his scoffing reply because he was Benny. Benny was a bulldog; would chew and tear whatever threatened what was his. 

He was protective by nature and Annalise was at the damn top of what he’d keep respected and safe. Always had been ever since she had stumbled in front of him on the road so long ago; beaten and bloody but so concerned about him when he had crashed after swerving to avoid her. He’d fought for her ever since, and not a thing in the world would keep him from continuing to do it. Not even the sweet girl herself.

Benny watched her as she worked, admiring her focus. He reached out and brushed a loose strand of her hair out of her face. She looked up at him when he did, holding his gaze for a moment before looking back down. 

“Just..” she drifted off and fumbled with the bandaging in her small hands, “don’t want you hurt… cause of me… is all..” she muttered.

Silly girl never seemed to get he’d bleed dead for her, no matter how many times he told her.

Annalise stood from the bed. She grabbed the bowl of dirty, bloody water and walked into her bathroom to freshen it up. Benny watched her go, his gaze tracking her small frame in wonder–always did. She was such a different little thing… never dolled up, never dressed fancy, and yet he’d never seen anyone more beautiful. He took another puff of his cigarette, blue eyes on the half-closed bathroom door.

After a few moments, he put the cig out and stood from the bed, ignoring the sting of his bruises and cuts in favor of following after Annalise. She stood in front of the sink, her gaze on her hands as she repeatedly rinsed and rung out the rag in hopes of getting most of the blood out.

It took a few tries, but soon the water was clear enough. She rinsed out the bowl and began filling it, leaning her head back with a quiet sigh.

Annalise caught her reflection in the mirror and she felt self-consciousness slip its hands onto her shoulders. Look at you, it seemed to say. Look at you… And she did look. 

At her face; the countless freckles couldn’t hide the dark circles under her eyes. They were years in the making and not so easily erased. Nothing could hide the sleepless nights, and nothing could hide the exhausted results from them.

Her plain brown hair was pulled back as it always was, only it was a bit messy, tousled from sleep. 

And she was wearing a nightgown, a simple light blue thing that was a bit small and a bit worn. The straps were thinning, and the material was threadbare in a few spots.  She could use a new one, but all her money was spent on keeping her and her deadbeat dad afloat.

Look at you, it said again, in all your pathetic, useless glory…

Benny watched her in the mirror. Watched her look herself over. Something was wrong, though he wasn’t sure what. Slowly, he walked closer, stopping only when his bare chest hit her back. He leaned closer, a hand on the counter on either side of her and trapping her in. Benny pressed his nose to the crown of her head, inhaling and taking the sweet scent of her in. It was a gentle, sweet, clean smell, one that had him closing his eyes and relaxing–always. It smelled like her. His Annalise.

“You good, sugar?” he asked into her hair, his voice a quiet rumbled against her back.

Annalise’s response was a small nod. She wiped her face, though there were no tears on it, and turned around to give Benny a small smile. When she smiled, a little dimple always appeared in her left cheek–burned her skin. Imperfection.

The smile was supposed to be reassuring. Was supposed to tell Benny that she was alright. Maybe it didn’t work, but Benny didn’t say anything and Annalise was glad. He just sat on the closed toilet as she directed and she was grateful. Annalise brought the bowl closer and then moved to stand between his legs. She looked down at Benny for once, and gave another small smile–this one more shy and honest than the last–before she tenderly went to work cleaning his face. She could say she was okay, but Benny knew better. Benny kept his steady gaze on her, blue eye tracing the lines of her face like fingers tracing brail–like he needed to read, to know what the lines meant. He could read her fairly well by now, and he knew something was on her mind–probably the same something her worthless father drilled into her pretty little head on the daily. She wouldn’t listen to him when he refuted it, not right now, so Benny kept quiet. 

He moved his hands from his lap to her thighs then up to her hips, his calloused hands catching on the thin fabric of her shift. Benny brought her closer, close enough her knees bumped against the toiled lid. He tilted his head back, allowing her easier access to his face. “How’s it look, doc?” he questioned with a lazy grin, watching his girl through half-lidded eyes. Loaded question, Annalise thought. Benny always looked good, even when he was beat to shit. Something about red on his pretty, scruffy face just made sense. Granted, it was always better when the blood wasn’t his. She looked from the cuts to his blue eyes–they must be sharper than the blade that hurt him. Annalise let out a small huff of amusement and shook her head with a fond smile. “Like you got beat up,” she said soflty, brushing some of his blond hair from his face.

Benny’s lip curved slightly at her response, a low chuckle rumbling in his chest. His hands shifted against her hips, moving up to the dip of her waist and then to her back. Those blue eyes of his moved down to Annalise’s hands and he leaned his head forward a small bit. “Nothin’ I ain’t dealt with before, sugar.”

He took her free hand in his–marveling at how small they were, yet how they were clearly working hands. Benny wasn’t sure how Annalise managed to get a job like she had; a sweet little thing like her doing demanding, hard work. He often wondered how she convinced her boss to give her the job. His thumb gently rubbed over her palm, tracing up to her fingers before he moved her hand in his and rubbed along her knuckles. He gave her hand a little squeeze before bringing her hand up and pressing his lips to the back of it, brushing a kiss over the patch of freckles found there.

Annalise watched him. She lowered her eyes when he kissed her hand, as if not seeing the feeling in his eyes would quell the feeling in her heart. “Benny…” she whispered, a soft reprimand she didn’t even mean.

He only guided her forward to straddle his lap. Annalise sighed but let him move her there. Her toes grazed the tiled floor as her legs hung off his thigs. Content, Benny moved her hand back to his lips and kissed her palm before placing it on his chest, above his beating heart.

Annalise’s fingers curled slightly against his warm skin. She shyly looked up at him through her lashes, pinching her lips together when she found he was staring at her. He held her like that for a few beats; his hand over hers while he languidly rubbed up and down her side with his other. She almost couldn’t feel his touch with how distracting his gaze was. He looked at her like she was the most precious thing in the world because she was. She meant more to him than anything. Sometimes he wondered if she meant more to him than riding with the Vandals did. Sometimes he wasn’t sure.

“I did it for you, ya know,” he whispered, leaning a bit closer. “The fightin'… the bleedin’... all of it for you, Annalise.”

Annalise pulled her lower lip between her teeth as she looked away. “I know,” she whispered.

Her thumb absentmindedly rubbed against his chest, feeling his warm skin and heartbeat. “I know…”

She was worried about him again, and it made Benny huff quietly. He brought a finger to her chin and turned her face to his. “You worry too much, sugar,” he told her quietly.

“Well…” Annalise moved her hands to fiddle with the blond hair on the back of his head while his hands moved to rub along her slides, catching on her nightgown, “you do a lot to make me worry,” she whispered.

He couldn’t argue there because she was right. He got into trouble a lot. Never backed down from it and never ran. Did more harm than good for him most times, but he’d never change it because he was confident in his abilities to make it back in one piece. To… “Never gets bad enough that I can’t make it back to you,” he assured softly.

Damn Benny Cross… she thought when her heart fluttered like it always did with him. Her eyes fluttered and she met his gaze. Annalise clenched her teeth behind closed lips before looking away before he saw the way her green eyes watered. “I know,” she whispered again. Whispered because maybe she didn’t think she deserved that; someone who wanted to fight for her. And maybe she had rejected Benny so many times because she thought he could do better. Maybe she didn’t think she was worth it, but she knew Benny wasn’t lying. Not Benny.

Benny could read her like a damn book. He could see the way her face warmed due to the swarm of negative emotions welling up in her chest. He could see the way her pretty green eyes turned to glass and the way her shoulders sagged. 

And like always, he knew what she was thinking. She was thinking what she always thought when he voiced his feelings. He knew she thought she wasn’t worth it, and she had rejected him so many times because of it, saying he could do better and leaving it at that. And man did it hurt, more than a cut to his side or a snapped tendon in his ankle. Even now it hurt–always would till she made it go away with sweet words and soft touches, ones he’d dream about until they finally came to be.

Benny leaned forward and gently pressed a kiss to her jaw and then to her cheek. He sighed quietly, warm breath fanning on her skin. It would be futile to try to convince her she was perfect–worth more than anything else. Worth too much really, too much for a guy like him to deserve, but God did he want anyway. 

It was her good for noting dad’s fault, and he’d wanted to kill the abusive bastard more times than Benny could really count, but his sweet girl always begged him not to and he couldn’t say no to her, no matter how hot his anger ran. So he pressed another kiss to her skin and mumbled against her; voice raspy and a bit more hurt than he had intended. “Gonna tell me you’re worthless again?”

Annalise shook her head, a small pout forming on her lips as she mumbled a quiet “no.”

There wasn’t much of a point anyway. He’d just confess to her again and tell her what he thought, and she’d hurt him by rejecting him again despite the warmth in her chest and ache in her heart.

“Not gonna say that,” she whispered before lightly pushing on his chest. He leaned back, per her silent request, and she went back to cleaning his face.

Benny gave a low chuckle that reverberated through his chest. He’d heard it all before anyway; she’d reject him after some line about how worthless she was–a line of shit her shit-for-nothing father beat into her skull. She’d say no to a date, but she never said no to this because she was a sweet thing who never belittled his feelings even when she was rejecting them.

“I love you,” he said quietly, not missing the way her body shifted at his words. Not missing the tensing of her thighs around him.

He smiled; small but true; up at her and placed his hand on her thighs, fingers sliding under her nightgown just a small bit. Never further.

Annalise paused, not because she was surprised by his admission because she wasn’t, but because her heart skipped again. Stupid Benny Cross… 

Annalise pulled her lip between her teeth before letting it go and going back to wiping the grime from his skin. “I know,” she whispered.

“Always gonna love you, Annalise.” “I know, Benny.” And she’d always love him too. Maybe one day she’d be able to tell him properly.

To make those dreams real.

[jasonsknight3]

Unwanted help

AK jason Todd x sweet waitress reader

Warning: Contains violence, slight gore, aaaaaaand weapons (figured I needed to start putting warnings.)

Gotham had always been a dark place with even darker shadows. A sweetheart like yourself would be swallowed whole, or at least, you should have been. Lucky for you, you’ve only been subjected to unwanted catcalling and unauthorized touches. Most of it happens at your diner job. However, most of the women there waitressing had been there a long time and came to your rescue. Tell them off if you will because unfortunately you are the shiny new toy. Originally you came to Gotham for a college education, and to get away from home. To your dismay you had to drop out. Not because you were dumb or anything it’s just, well, you didn’t have the money. It just didn’t work out. Your life has come to be what it is now. Being stuck in a waitressing job. At least you made good tips and enough money to still live in your apartment.

After a harsh shift you were instructed to lock up the dinner. Which wasn’t supposed to be your job tonight. It required more effort than people would think. Make sure dishes were done, the place was clean, turn off lights, make sure chairs were put up, all the other micro things that added up. As soon as you locked that final glass door you hastily made your way to your bus stop. “No. No, no, no, no!” You cry as you see the bus just pull away from your stop. “Wait!” You shouted running even faster only for your desperation to be ignored. “No.” You weezed as you came to a stop, your hands resting on the top of your knees as you fought to catch your breath. Sitting up you looked around, nothing but an eerily quiet street, dim streetlights, and trash. This could easily become a dangerous situation for you. You weighed your options. Taxi was out of the question, you learned from others not to carry cash on you, you couldn’t go back to the dinner, it was closed and it’s not like anyone could help you there and you boss would tanya Hyde if he saw you sleeping in a booth the next morning, no one you knew was awake at this hour, that left only one option. Walking. Taking a breath you prepare yourself for the journey home clutching your purse close.

Cautious was an understatement of your behavior. Looking around Constantly, jumping at tray cats and trash that crinkled in the light wind of the night. About six minutes into your 15 minute walk an extremely alarming sound of someone crashing on the pavement around an alleyway corner. Shortly after the sound of pained groans followed. Your heart hammered in your chest, should you help? What if it was a trick for kidnapping? Should I just leave? You wandered to yourself. Against better judgment peeking around the alley corner you see a man who was crumpled over on the dirty pavement. The man started to get up on his hands and knees, slightly shaking with a groan. His voice sounded odd. Upon closer inspection you notice this man was wearing a red mask that had a slight glow to it, armor, an interesting jacket, and boots. Along with the gray and black suit was red. Blood. An alarmingly large amount of blood stained his gear. Out of instinct you approach him “sir, I’m here to help. I’ll call-“ a soft clicking sound took your attention to his raised hand that had a gun in it. A small gasp escaped your lips. “Get lost.” The man said the mask does not allow any clear emotion to be heard or recognized. Freezing in place you take a breath and continue to talk to him. “You're hurt, bleeding. I’d hate to leave you like this.” You reasoned. “I don’t need nor want your help. Leave the ambulance out of it too.” An odd request but you didn’t worry too much about it at the moment. “Please, you’ll die if I don’t get you help somehow?” You argued. “Very unlikely.” He was certainly stubborn. “Well…” you thought for a moment. “At least let me take you somewhere safe so you can patch up.” The man didn’t reply this time but he lowered the gun and then put it in its holster.

Sticking your hand out to him you hoped to encourage him further to accept help. He looked at it for a moment before getting up himself with a small growl. His legs wobble a little, automatically you rush to his aid tryi go to ease his strain. In a split second she shoved you off hard enough you slammed to the brick wall. You couldn't help but cough and wheeze. Singly he knocked the wind out of you. You honestly would have fallen flat on your back had the wall not been there. “Don’t touch me!” He yelled falling in one knee from the entertainment it took to push you that hard. Still leaning on the wall you catch your breath and push through the itching pain you felt on your back from hitting the rough brick wall. “I wasn’t going to hurt you. I promise.” You explained quietly. He mumbled something as he got back up and started to walk out of the alley. “Lead the way.” He demanded. Cautiously you walk up to him. “Okay, I’ll do that.” Glancing at him you ask. “Is it alright if I give you a hand? Just to make sure you don’t fall.” A moment of silence passed before he sighed and lifted his arm which you went under and had it around your shoulder and started taking him to your home.

A fifteen minute walk turned into a longer one but when you made it to your apartment and got inside you sat him down on the couch. “Go get a med kit if you have it.” He wasn’t very nice to be honest . No manners or since of please and thank you. In your bathroom you searched all the cabinets and finally found the med kit. How would he use it, you didn’t have anything in there besides bandaids- Neosporin, Peroxide, and some burn cream that was in a little rectangular bag. Well at least it’s something you reasoned. When you were in the living room there he was, helmet off, top gear off, and his compression shirt off. Nothing but skin. Skin that had scars, some flat, some slightly rose above the rest of the skin, heck, some of them even looked like the shape of barbed wire. As if sensing your presents he looked at you. A fairly masculine face, hooded iceberg blue eyes, his face has major scars. One that crossed from his cheek over the bridge of his nose and up, two on his lips, and a big J on his left cheek. “Well…” he said expectantly. When you got closer you noticed in his hand he had a needle and thread already working on sewing himself up. Setting the box down on the couch next to him you step back and watch. With tactical precision he was patched up within minutes. “Got any pain meds?” His voice was a little gravely and tired. “Yea, I have some.” Again you moved from your spot and headed for your medicine cabinet. Searching through it you found it, some ibuprofen. Turning around you yelp as your eyes are met with the stranger standing dangerously close to you. As soon as he had your attention his hand reached out and held your chin tight as he yanked you close. Eyes wide you stare into his own. “Listen well. You keep this to yourself. You never saw me. You never saw my face. If I ever…catch wind that you spouted out you saw me, I will not hesitate to kill you. I promise I’ll make it slow.” His grip tightened just to emphasize his point. “Got it?” In your lack of responding, he nodded your head for you. “Is that a yes?” You managed a yes through your squished cheeks. “Good.” Taking the medicine he let go and headed to the living room. After a moment you follow suit. He was putting his shirt back on, along with his gear. “Wait- you should rest.” You protest, you hate the thought of him not making it home safe. “I can handle myself, lady.” With that he put on his jacket and helmet. Opening a window he looked at you “don’t forget, you snitch, I’ll find you.” His voice modulated. As quick as he came he was gone. In the silence you just stared at the window questioning everything. There was something different about him. As scary as he was part of you hoped he’d come back.

You brought him to your home, your safe space, a place he would start to visit often and just maybe call it his own.

Got motivated to do a quick sketch, had to hide the hands by cropping the photo…😭

@eva-sparda20

[imaginesforeveryone]

Arranged (Part 1)

Pairing: Finn Shelby x Y/N Warnings: Swearing, slight angst, drinking, some racist comments summary: You were the youngest child of you fathers, being part of a mob family in the heart of New York, your family had many enemies in the city, and even further away, and your life was about to change after a Peaky Boy barged into your life.

Finn’s POV

“Finn! get a move on it. We have to be at the church in 30 minutes!” Finn heard his Aunt Pol yell from the hotel door. This was the day that he so much dreaded. The day where his big brother married him away to a family that he needed to become alliance with. He had no idea who his bride was. He had no clue what she looked like. All he knew is that she is a Gotti. One of the most notorious mob families in New York. He finished up getting ready, grabbing his suit jacket and pushing past his Aunt Pol. 

“Hey.” Pol said following behind him. 

“Finn. I’m speaking to you.” She said grabbing his arm. 

“What aunt Pol?” He said turning towards her with a whole bunch of sassy. 

“I’m going to need you to tone down that sass with me boy.” Pol said looking up at him with daggers. 

“Sorry Aunt Pol.” He said breathing out a deep breath. 

“What is wrong child?” She asked. 

“Pol. Im being married off to a fucking wop for one and for two its the fucking Gotti’s. I also have no clue who this women is. So excuse me for being nervous.” He spoke before turning to keep walking. 

“Finn, you had to know the day would be coming that you would be married off to someone. You’re a fucking gypsy for christ sakes. It only comes with time.” Pol said following next to him. 

“Yeah, Pol I get it.” He said not arguing with her anymore because there was no point. 

“You never know she could be the most beautiful women you laid your eyes on. Don’t be a little sissy. You’re a Shelby, and us Shelby’s can make anything work.” She spoke pinching his cheek before getting on the elevator.

Y/N POV

“Suck it in.” The maid that was behind you holding the strings of your corset to began pulling it tight on you. As she did so, you had to catch your breathe quickly. 

“Fuck Amy. ” You breathed out to her. 

“Beauty is pain love, I’m sorry.” She said as she did up the corset. Women stood all around you making your hair perfect, and making sure your make up was on perfectly. It was just about time to get your dress on, but you mother wasn’t there yet. Starting to freak out a bit, you paced around the room in just your corset, heels, panties, stocking, and a garter. 

“Love calm down. It will be okay.” You heard the soothing sound of your mothers voice behind you. You smiled turning around and giving her a huge hug. 

“I’m going to miss you.” You whispered to her trying not to cry so you didn’t mess up your make up. 

“I’ll see you, don’t you worry your pretty little head. Now let’s not mess up this beautiful masterpiece with tears and smoothering.” She said taking a step back looking at your hair and make up. 

“Now come.” She said walking towards the big windows that overlooked New York City, and where your dress hung. It was nothing too crazy, simply white, silk, with small beading on the side to complement your already existing curves. You stood as your mother opened the dress so you could step into it. Shimmying it up your body and it laying so perfect upon every part of you, with an open back showing off the family crest tattoo you had directly on the top of you neck. She grabbed your veil that fell way longer than your dress, but brought the whole thing together. 

“Mom.” You almost whispered. 

“Yes darling.” She said as she fluffed out the veil to see how it will look when you walked down the aisle. 

“I’m marrying a Peaky boy right?” You asked her. 

“Yes darling.” She said little chocked up. 

“Will I be safe?” You asked. She took a few steps to round to the front of you. 

“You will be more than safe with them. As much as I’d love for you to stay in New York, sadly thats not how this arrangement works. But, they have agreed for us to come to England to visit you, and for you and your husband to travel here. This day is a cause for a big alliance in our families history.” She said gently caressing your face. You smiled at her. 

“What if he’s ugly?” You asked with a slight giggle. 

“I don’t think a Shelby boy can be ugly love. Its just not in their genes. But hey, it might be your luck.” She said with a pinch of your cheek and a giggle. 

“Alright, lets getting going.” She said rounding behind you to pick up your veil and follow you down the stairs of the church, to meet your father, who stood behind a closed door that you would enter in moments time to your new life. New husband. New family. 

“Hi, Daddy.” You said from behind him and holding your bouquet in your hands. 

“Oh, la mia bellissima figlia.” He spoked with a slight tear in his eyes. Which was weird for you to see because he was the most feared man in New York. 

“Come on love, let’s get your out there.” He said pulling your veil of your face.

“Don’t let me fall daddy.” You spoke quietly.

“Never, neonata.” He said with a smirk. As the piano sounded, and the doors began to open slowly, your stomach became in knots.

wow, that’s a long walk

You thought to yourself looking down the aisle. Everyone stood up around you, as you got closer you could see the face of the man you were about to marry. Definitely not ugly, definitely looks so innocent. Him being a Shelby it came to a surprise to you. 

Finn’s POV

“Arthur fuck off.” He spoke to his best man, who stood next to him at the alter trying to make him more nervous than he already was. 

“I’m just messing little brother. But really what if she’s ugly. What if she has big man feet that could trample you over.” Arthur whispered to him. He looked over at Thomas who sat the closest to the aisle and closest to the alter. 

“Look at all these fucking wops man. We waited long enough once, now look at us, waiting again. Full circle aye?” Arthur said nudging him to help calm him. 

“You’ll be fine brother. It will be great.” He spoke out once more. 

“Arthur shut up.” Finn heard Thomas say as he bent over the railing that separated them from the aisle. As he sat down Finn heard the piano begin, and everyone rise. He fixed his tie a bit, and the single flower that was pinned to his tux jacket, and making sure his hair was slicked back perfectly. Watching as the doors slowly opened, and seeing a very tall Italian man, arm in arm with a very short, women who had a veil covering her face. Clearing his throat he watched as she moved down the aisle. As she neared the end, her father lifts the veil and gave a kiss on either side of her face. Which he was in awe about. Looking over at Arthur for confirmation as to what he thought. He gave confirming face to him. 

Y/N POV

Finally walked down the whole length of the aisle, feeling like it just took you 20 minutes to do so. Your dad lifted your veil and kissed both cheeks before taking your hand and the man taking a step down off the two stairs you had to get up and putting his hand out to help you up. Causing a small smile to spread across your face, and also one spreading across his freckled cheeks. Hand in hand you looked at each other as the priest read from the Bible and having you say the words to the man that stood in front of you. 

“Do you Finn Shelby, take Y/N Gotti, to be wife, to have and to hold, in sickness and in health?” He asked looking over at Finn. 

“I do.” He said as he slipped the most beautiful ring on your small finger. 

“Do you Y/N Gotti, take Finn Shelby to be you husband to have and to hold, in sickness and in health?” The priest asked motioning to you. 

“I do.” You said with a smile and taking Finn’s hand in yours and sliding the gold band around his thick finger and taking his hands into yours. 

“You may now kiss the bride.” He said as he closed the Bible and stepped back. You smirked up at him as he towered over you to lean down and kiss you. The whole place erupted. More from his side then yours, but that’s okay. As you kissed him, it felt, right? He was soft, not what you expected of a Shelby boy. Pulling away from you he smiled and took your hand in his leading you down the aisle once more as everyone threw bird seed at the two of you. You giggled and finally making it out and into the car that sat waiting for the newlyweds to enter the car.

I think this might work. You thought to your self as you look at Finn.

[blakeswritingimagines]

KINK LIST With Benjicot Blackwood

A = Aftercare (What they’re like after sex)

As soon as it's over, Benjicot is as sweet as honey to you, constantly trying to give you all the love in the world and make sure you're comfortable and relaxed. He'll give you a lot of attention and try his hardest to hold conversations with you, as hard as it becomes. He's also very protective so, if he notices a small little bruise on you, he's gonna worry about it so much and try to gently caress it to ease your pain. If you want to stay in bed a little bit, he'll stay with you too, holding you closely.

B = Body part (Their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

His favorite parts of himself are his eyes, he thinks they look very kind and gentle which reflects his personality well. For his partner, he loves your hands the most. He finds them so soft and delicate, he loves holding them whenever he can and kissing them affectionately.

C = Cum (Anything to do with cum basically… I’m a disgusting person)

He doesn’t mind cumming on your stomach, chest, or breasts. It feels good to release there, knowing that you will carry his essence around all day.

D = Dirty Secret (Pretty self-explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

One of his dirty secrets...is that sometimes, when you're alone, he likes to play with himself while watching you. Seeing you go about your day, unaware that he's fantasizing about fucking you senseless, gets him so hard. He's jerked off to thoughts of bending you over the kitchen table, spreading those luscious thighs wide open, and pounding into you until you scream his name.

E = Experience (How experienced are they? Do they know what they’re doing?)

He isn't exactly inexperienced. He's been with some women before, but none of them have ever meant anything to him. With you, however, it's different. There's something about the way you move, the sound of your moans, the taste of your skin that makes every touch feel new and exciting. He knows how to please a woman, and he takes great pride in making sure you're satisfied.

F = Favorite Position (This goes without saying. Will probably include a visual)

His favorite position would definitely be doggy style. He loves seeing your ass high in the air, jiggling with each thrust, feeling the clench of your pussy around his cock as he pounds into you. The sight of your tits swaying back and forth, the way your hair falls over your face, it drives him wild.

G = Goofy (Are they more serious in the moment, or are they humorous, etc)

In the heat of passion, he's usually quite serious. His focus is entirely on pleasuring you, making sure you're enjoying yourself as much as he is. But afterwards, once the intensity fades away, he might crack a joke or two. He loves seeing that playful side of yours come out, the one that laughs at his silly antics and teases him right back.

H = Hair (How well groomed are they, does the carpet match the drapes, etc.)

He keeps his hair neat and trimmed, usually styled in a simple yet elegant manner. It matches the rest of him – clean-cut, attractive. But underneath those clothes lies another story. He's got plenty of growing muscle hidden beneath his armor, toned from years of training and combat.

I = Intimacy (How are they during the moment, romantic aspect…)

When it comes to intimacy, he tries to make it as special as possible. Whether it's lighting candles, playing soft music, or whispering sweet words in your ear, he wants you to feel cherished and adored. He takes his time exploring your body, savoring every curve and crevice, determined to bring you to heights of pleasure you've never known before.

J = Jack Off (Masturbation headcanon)

When he masturbates, it's often late at night when everyone else is asleep. He'd lie in bed, hands roaming over his own body as he thinks about you - your smile, your laugh, the way you look when you're caught off guard by desire. He strokes himself slowly at first, imagining those soft lips wrapped around his throbbing member instead of just his own hand.

K = Kink (One or more of their kinks)

He has a few kinks that he's not necessarily proud of, but can't help indulging in now and then. One of them is voyeurism - getting turned on by watching you undress or touch yourself when you think no one's looking. Another is a bit of light bondage - maybe tying your wrists together with a silk scarf, pinning you down and taking control until you're begging for release. And let's not forget his love of dirty talk - describing in vivid detail exactly what he wants to do to you, how he wants to make you feel.

L = Location (Favorite places to do the do)

His favorite place to make love to you is probably the four-poster bed in his chambers. The massive wooden frame provides a sense of grandeur, and the plush mattresses ensure a comfortable ride. But he also enjoys taking you outdoors, finding secluded spots amidst the rolling hills and verdant forests surrounding his home. Sometimes he'll lay you down on a blanket spread across the grass, making love to you under the open sky with nothing but the sounds of nature for company.

M = Motivation (What turns them on, gets them going)

The sight of you, glowing and panting, is enough to get him hard in seconds flat. But there are certain things that really turn him on - like seeing you dressed up provocatively in lingerie or high heels; hearing you moan his name as he thrusts into you; feeling your nails digging into his back as he claims your mouth with his own. And don't even get him started on the idea of dominating you completely - taking charge, telling you exactly what he wants from you and how he wants it done.

N = NO (Something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

There are a few things that would definitely turn him off. For starters, he hates it when someone tries to use him solely for their own pleasure without reciprocating. He needs to know you're enjoying yourself too, otherwise it feels empty and unsatisfying. He's also not a fan of public displays of affection, preferring to keep his intimate moments private. And finally, he draws the line at anything involving pain or humiliation for its own sake - if it's not consensual or serves some greater purpose, he's not interested.

O = Oral (Preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc)

Benjicot is quite skilled with his tongue, able to bring you to climax with ease. He loves the taste of your arousal, savoring every drop as he laps at your folds before delving deeper to stimulate your clit. He's particularly fond of going down on you after you've come hard on his cock, drinking down your juices as he continues to pleasure you with his mouth and fingers. In return, he adores having your mouth on him, craving the warmth and wetness as you take him deep, your tongue swirling around his shaft and teasing the sensitive underside.

P = Pace (Are they fast and rough? Slow and sensual? etc.)

It depends on the situation and mood. When you're alone and have all night ahead of you, he tends towards slow and sensual – lingering kisses, gentle touches that tease rather than satisfy immediately. But once he's inside you, his pace quickens considerably – long powerful strokes designed to hit all your sweet spots over and over again until you're writhing beneath him in pleasure. If time is limited or you're caught up in passion, however, he can be quite rough – pounding into you fiercely as he chases his own release.

Q = Quickie (Their opinions on quickies rather than proper sex, how often, etc.)

He doesn't mind a quickie now and then, especially if they're caught up in the heat of the moment or pressed for time. But he prefers to take his time with you whenever possible – he finds true satisfaction in exploring every inch of you slowly, savoring each reaction and response. That said, he knows life doesn't always allow for leisurely lovemaking sessions... which is why he's learned to make the most out of whatever time they have together.

R = Risk (Are they game to experiment, do they take risks, etc.)

Ben is definitely game to experiment and willing to take risks when it comes to your sexual encounters. He loves pushing boundaries – trying new positions, introducing toys or restraints into the playtime, even roleplaying scenarios that might seem far-fetched at first glance. As long as it's something you're both comfortable with and enjoy doing together, he's ready for anything.

S = Stamina (How many rounds can they go for, how long do they last…)

He has impressive stamina, able to maintain his performance for several rounds without tiring easily. His endurance allows him to prolong the pleasure – whether it's taking you over and over again or keeping you satisfied with oral sex until you're both exhausted. He takes pride in being able to please you for hours on end if necessary.

T = Toy (Do they own toys? Do they use them? On a partner or themselves?)

He owns a variety of toys, including vibrators, dildos, butt plugs, handcuffs and blindfolds. He enjoys using them on himself occasionally - especially when he wants to experience something different or needs some extra stimulation. He also uses them on you sometimes – either during regular lovemaking sessions or when you're feeling particularly adventurous.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

He does enjoy teasing you now and then, finding delight in leaving you wanting more before finally granting your desires. This could mean denying you orgasm until he decides you've earned it, or deliberately focusing attention on your erogenous zones just enough to keep you on edge without fully satisfying you. He finds the anticipation and desperation you feel in those moments incredibly arousing.

V = Volume (How loud they are, what sounds they make)

He isn't shy about making noise during sex – moans, groans, gasps of pleasure or pain, depending on what feels good to him at the time. Sometimes he'll whisper dirty words in your ear or growl encouragingly against your skin as he thrusts into you. The louder noises tend to come when he's close to climax.

W = Wild Card (Get a random headcanon for the character of your choice)

In addition to his physical prowess, Benjicot also possesses a sharp wit and a dry sense of humor. He's known to crack jokes during intimate moments – whether it's making light-hearted comments about the positions or quipping sarcastically when things get too intense. It helps keep things fun and lighthearted despite the raw passion between you.

X = X-Ray (Let’s see what’s going on in those pants, picture or words)

His cock is 7 inches long, uncut with a slight curve towards the tip. It's always hard and leaking pre-cum. He always has a thick load of creamy white cum that drips out when he orgasms.

Y = Yearning (How high is their sex drive?)

His sex drive is exceptionally high – he craves intimacy and satisfaction constantly. Even when you aren't actively engaged in lovemaking, he often finds himself thinking about how much he wants you – what he'd do given half a chance to satisfy his urges. It fuels his desire to please you every time they come together physically.

Z = ZZZ (… how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

He tends to fall asleep fairly quickly after sex – exhaustion setting in from the intensity of their activities combined with the deep relaxation that follows release. His body still tingles with lingering sensations as he drifts off, leaving you alone in bed with thoughts swirling around in your mind about what just happened.

[say-hwaet]

The Dynamic Between Arthur and the Marstons (long post )

I guess I should say there are spoilers, just in case…

After playing the story through several times, I have to say, that Arthur Morgan is one of the best characters ever written. Aside from his development, there is so much depth to him, and regardless of his honor, there is so much to unravel.

I’ve been thinking about the relationship that he has between the Marstons, meaning John, Abigail, and Jack, and it really makes sense as to how Arthur acts the way he does around them in the beginning and all the way to the end.

A lot of his behavior, I think, stems from the loss of Eliza and Isaac. It is my opinion that he himself was torn between living a full life with them and remaining loyal to his gang, and before or by the time he had made a choice, it was too late, as they were killed in a robbery. This had haunted him since and it made him extremely bitter. Later in the game, he tells Rains Fall that he realized that he didn’t get to live a bad life and have good things happen to him. I also think that he was with Eliza after Mary had broken their engagement. I can get into my support for this later, but that isn’t what this post is about.

I think that Arthur was angry with John out of jealousy. He is the “golden boy” and clearly was Dutch’s favorite at one point. Not only that but after Arthur loses his own son and lover, John and Abigail get pregnant and he takes off for a year. He abandons his family, which Arthur takes personally. Arthur had tried to do right by Eliza and Isaac and still failed. So when John has Jack and is within the circle of the gang to help and support him, he takes off. Arthur gives up a potential life with Eliza and Isaac for Loyalty to the gang and John throws it all away. When John comes back, Dutch welcomes him with open arms, and Arthur believes that he would have been held to a different standard if he had come back after being with Eliza and Isaac for a long time. And it doesn’t help that John treats Jack like crap in the beginning of RDR2.

Arthur, imo, was a good father to Isaac when he was present. We can see this in how he treats Jack. In Arthur’s journal, he writes how he should have married Abigail, but due to his feelings for Mary, he didn’t. I’m not sure why after years of not hearing from Mary he would say this, but meh. Perhaps, the hope of starting over, or that she did pop in again at some point (which is how Abigail might have met her?). Anyways. I think he says he should have married her so that she would have someone to rely on and that he could be the father Jack needed. He cares about Abigail, but I don’t think it is anything beyond that. Arthur seemed to me not to be one to be with a woman without some sort of relationship, based upon how he treats women and the prostitutes in Valentine, so I don’t think he was ever with Abigail. Even so, Abigail relies on Arthur, and while he puts up a front, he gives her money for clothing and spends time with Jack. Heck, he even tells John to step up and be a dad. In some of Arthur’s conversations with John, he tells him that he can’t be two people at once. He’s speaking from experience. I think he’s subtly telling John he needs to make a choice as to what life he’s going to live. Hosea and Arthur both tell Abigail and John to leave at parts of the game.

When Jack is kidnapped, and eventually rescued, I think it is one of the most heart-wrenching missions and scenes. I can see it in Arthur’s body language that he longs for the family that he once had. He’s alone in his pain and when everyone is celebrating, Arthur doesn’t sing with the gang; there isn’t even the option to do it like it does other times. Even in my first playthrough, it seemed so sad to me. Everyone was drinking and singing, but Arthur just looked so sad.

So, it is at this point that John starts to step up, and Arthur starts to show symptoms of his illness. When he learns of his diagnosis, Arthur’s eyes open to the reality of the gang’s downfall, and he acknowledges the doubts/reservations he has about Dutch’s plans and schemes. He isn’t blindly loyal anymore. He tries to get John, Abigail, and Jack out, so that they can have the life that he had lost due to loyalty to the gang. He continually tells John to get out and that it would mean a lot to him. In his journal, after rescuing John from prison, he writes in his journal “…We’ve argued over the years, but I’ve grown to care a little for [John]. He’s less of a fool than he was, and maybe he can have the luck that has eluded me. Jack is an innocent little boy. In him, I see what I missed [meaning Isaac]. We did it.” This speaks volumes to me about how he feels about them in the end. He sacrifices himself to let John live. And though it isn’t forever, Arthur dies believing that he made it, and that matters. And hopefully, he could finally be at peace and see Eliza and Isaac again.

I could keep going, but I think I am too long-winded. I guess that helps when writing fleshed-out fanfiction stories, but not for posts. LOL

Would love to hear other thoughts or opinions, I’m always keen for a discussion.

[schizosamwincester]

Dean knows about love. He's seen the movies. At 3 AM, when Dad's not home, Sam’s out like a light, and Dean can't pass out no matter how hard he tries, he watches chick flicks. He's not quite sure why. He doesn't like them. How could he, when they're so obviously fake? Still, in the middle of the night, he never wants to watch a real movie. Instead, he'd rather try and figure out what romance is.

Like in the movies

900 words, Aromantic Dean Winchester, Dean Winchester/John Winchester, very underage

I didn't think I was going to get a fic out for aro week! And then this just happened.

Full text on ao3 or below the cut:

Dean knows about love. He's seen the movies. At 3 AM, when Dad's not home, Sam’s out like a light, and Dean can't pass out no matter how hard he tries, he watches chick flicks. He's not quite sure why. He doesn't like them. How could he, when they're so obviously fake? Still, in the middle of the night, he never wants to watch a real movie. Instead, he'd rather try and figure out what romance is.

A lot of the time, they hate each other at first. At the very least, they're complete strangers. They spend more time together, and that helps a little, but it's never what does it. There's always that one magical moment when they know. The actresses' eyes are dreamy and far away as they list everything wonderful about the men. The actors make wild proclamations about everything they'd do for the women. They quit their jobs, piss off their families, or run away from everything they've ever known just to be together. It all seems rather dramatic to Dean.

Of course, Dean doesn't need movies to teach him that love is strong. He knows that from Dad. Dad spent almost eight years chasing the thing that killed Mom. That's what real romance is—traveling all across the country so your wife's killer feels a fraction of your pain.

Dean’s never felt anything like that before.

Dad says it's normal. He'll grow into it. Before long, Dean will run after anything with tits. Dean isn't quite convinced.

Yeah, Dean is young, but he's attended more schools than most kids could imagine. Every year, at every school, the girls don't shut up about their crushes. The boys do it now, too. There's always some guy talking about asking out Cindy Washington or Sarah Smith. No matter who it is, she's always so much different from all the other girls. Dean can never see it.

Dean has better things to worry about. That's all it is. There's always training to do, and someone has to look after Sam. Dad even lets him help with hunts every once in a while. Besides, even if Dean wasn't so busy, there’s still no point in crushes when he's always gone in a couple of weeks. He just knows better than to waste his time.

Still, Dean's met plenty of kids who weren't normal. They all still found someone cute. It wasn't long ago that Sam came home talking all about Kylie Mansfield. If Sam could have feelings for girls, why not Dean?

Dad was wrong. Dean isn't normal at all.

Dean knows what love is. He's felt it before. It's not the mushy romantic stuff that happens in the movies. It's not even about girls.

When Sam gets off the bus and sees Dean, he smiles wider than any kid Dean’s ever met. Dean wakes up every morning to find Sam cuddled up to him, holding on so tightly that Dean couldn’t wriggle free if he wanted to. Even when Sam gets angry, it’s only a matter of hours before he comes up to Dean’s bed with his eyes glued to the floor. “I’m sorry, Dean,” Sam will say. “I love you.”

Dean swears that whenever Dad is gone, colors just aren’t as bright. The sun rises later and sets earlier, and school drags impossibly slowly. Even if Dad leaves enough money to get pizza and burgers every night, it doesn’t matter. They taste the same without him around. Dean's heard people say things like that before, but not about their fathers. In the movies, it's always lovers.

A few years ago in Wisconsin when the shtriga got Sammy, Dean found it in himself to pull the shotgun off the wall. His stomach sank through the floor and he couldn’t breathe, but he still needed to keep Sam safe. When Dad burst in a moment later, scared it away with a single shot, then pulled Sam into his arms? That was love. It means much more than flowers and chocolate, at least.

If anyone really, truly knows what love is, it's Dad. Dad’s felt love for longer than Dean's been alive.

In movies, when you love someone, it's not enough to hug or kiss each other on the cheek. You hold each other tightly, until it’s more than just a hug. You share the same bed.

Growing up, Dean slept beside Sammy. He doesn’t anymore.

No girls ever make Dean's stomach fill with butterflies. No girl ever grasped him so tightly that he couldn’t breathe. These days, every time Dad is nearby, Dean swears his heart will burst out of his chest.

If Dad loves him, why wouldn't Dean love him back? It isn’t as if Dean wants anyone else. He's found the chance for something new. He might as well take it.

Besides, Dean does love his father. He knows that for sure. That's why he runs around the neighborhood twice a day, cleans the guns until they shine, and hides his limp at school on the days that Dad is home.

Romance is silly. Dean knows that for sure. He doesn't have the brains for fancy speeches, and he would never give his heart to a stranger. But for Dad? Dad is everything to Dean. If he wants a love like the one in the movies, Dean will give it to him. It's the least he can do.

[i-arch-my-backula]

I don’t know how to write fics so I’m just gonna give the idea of Burlesque!Reader x Lestat (2022). The time is set in the 20s, shiny costumes, bright lights. Think of a bar sorta. Idk what you’ll do w/this due to lack of info but yeah. And also the reader is female

ok, byeeee. Love the fics btw

Shinning star: Lestat De Lioncourt x fem! Burlesque! reader

I am so so sorry this took me forever to do, life has been a bitch recently, and my laptop, which I write and post on, his slowing down and I'm pretty sure it's going to die soon. Anyway, I hope this is to your liking. Normally I would post this on my other, NSFW account, but because the request is here I'm posting it here.

Content includes: Cis fem reader, reader and Lestat jerk each other off, reader sits on Lestat's face, vampirism, strong language, not proof read, MDNI

It was one of those nights that Lestat found himself alone. He’s already fed on two people early into the night so he’s not too hungry at the moment. Feeling that boredom really gnaw into his mind he decides to check out one of the speakeasies in town. After getting in he buys a drink, to keep up appearances. Music is playing, people are dancing, everyone is having a wonderful time. 

It’s only about two minutes later before someone on stage comes to announce a new performance. 

“Ladies and gentleman, I’d like you to give a warm welcome to tonight's performer, you know her, you love her. The divine Y/N!” He says, walking off stage as you come on, wearing a very revealing outfit, something that’s basically a large beaded belt that also covers your sex, and two beaded circles over your breasts held up with thin ties. A small garter on one of your thighs and a headband with a large feather over your hair. 

You smile and bow on stage before you start your performance, moving your hips and arms in a very sexy manner. Men hoot and cheer for you, so do some women. Most eyes are on you, but Lestat knows that only his are going to matter after you’re off the stage. He can already feel himself getting aroused at seeing you like this. The music playing starts to match the movements you’re making. The way you dance makes it seem like you've been dancing like this for years and years. 

He crosses one leg over the other, forgetting about everything but how much he wants to be with you. To have you all to himself, to hear those beads on your costume move with each sway of your hips and pop of your chest. Your movements are almost hypnotic, every eye in this speakeasy on you and your performance. Lestat has seen many burlesque performances in his life, some stick out in his mind, but yours, he knows that it’s never going to leave his mind. 

You do another slow turn as your hips move in their hypnotically sexual manner, it’s hard to not be seduced by your moments, especially in that outfit. Men clap and whistle, a few of them cat calling you, but you pay them no mind, having gotten used to that kind of attention after the years and years you’ve been doing burlesque. 

Your eyes meet with Lestat’s as you face the audience, your hands reaching above your head as your chest moves up and down. Lestat holds his hands in his lap, one leg crossed over the other. His impulse told him how wonderful it would be to keep you forever. To drain you only to filter you back your blood through his own. How you’d look so perfect with his fingers on your clit and blood on your mouth. But he had to squash that impulse, knowing that he has Louis and Claudia back at home. But maybe…Just maybe…Claudia could use an aunt. Oh but Lestat can’t be reckless. He can keep you alive tonight. Have you as a one night stand, spare you from the death and the even worse pain of being a vampire.

The music from the live band swells as you’ve gone back to looking at the audience at large, your hips moving and a smile on your face. Lestat knew exactly what he was going to do now. As your performance ends and you give a bow to the crowd, Lestat moves with his inhuman speed, searching out for your dressing room, and he finds it. As you walk off stage and put on a silk robe, he waits for you, sitting in your dressing room. 

You open the door and see Lestat inside. 

“Good evening belle.” He says, shutting the door behind you and locking it, making you turn around and stare down at it before looking back at him. Lestat slowly stands up, walking up to you. “You were such a wonderful sight on that stage. I had to come and meet the wonderful woman who made me stir.” He says, his hands finding their way to your shoulders, slowly sliding off the robe. 

“Well I’m sorry to say that I’m just a dancer here. There’s other places you can go to find what you’re looking for sir.” You reply, taking off your headband, your costume making soft jingling noises as you move. “You’re very, very handsome. I’m sure you could find any woman here who would love to spend the night with you.”

“But you’re not any woman.” Lestat says, his head tilting slightly as he looks down at you, his blue eyes lapping up every detail of your body like how a thirsty dog laps up water from a bowl. “As the French would say. Tu es une vraie déesse.” He recites, moving his hand out for you to take. Hesitantly you put your hand in his and he lowers down his lips. Pressing a kiss to the back of your hand. “I am Lestat De Lioncourt.”

“I am Y/N L/N.” You say, giving him your stage name. He’s a very, very handsome man. Maybe having a little fun after tonight’s performance wouldn’t be the worst thing. After all, what else were you going to do? Go home, sleep the night off, wake up tomorrow and do the same things over and over again? Why not indulge yourself. Let the flesh instruct the mind. “Well Mr. Lioncourt. I’ve heard that European men know how to please women better than anyone else. Can you help me confirm that?” You ask playfully, letting your robe fall off your body fully. 

Lestat chuckles and moves back, sitting down on a little chair in your dressing room. “Oh please chérie, let me show you the pleasures of the night.” He moves his hands to his pants, rubbing his growing bulge. You slowly move your hands to your back and undo the clasps to your top. Then you slide off your bottoms, fully exposing yourself for the French man before you. Slowly, your walk towards Lestat, adding some dramatic flare to your walk, which he seems to deeply enjoy. 

Once you reach him on the chair and sit on his lap, Lestat moves his fingers to your sex, using his thumb to rub your clit. You moan and rest one of your hands on his shoulders, your other hand moving to his pants, undoing his belt and pants. Soon you’re able to reach his cock. After spitting on your palm you start to rub his sex with your hand as he rubs your clit with his fingers. 

“Oh you’re doing so good for me chérie.” Lestat coos in your ear, holding you close to him as the two of you keep up the mutually pleasurable movements. “Just like that~ Oh yes you’re doing such a good job for me~” He mumbles in your ear. 

“You’re making me feel so good Lestat.” You moan back to him, pressing kisses along his jawline. Suddenly, Lestat stands up, holding your legs against his waist. 

“I want your perfect body on my face Mon cher~” He moans in your ear, carrying you over to the couch in your dressing room. He lays down and you quickly move to hover your aching cunt over his face. Lestat puts his hands on your hips and guides your body lower and lower until his lips are wrapped around your clit. 

You moan and shut your eyes, grinding your sex against his face, feeling the pleasure wash over you in waves. No man has ever made you feel this way before. God bless this French man and his perfect mouth. Your fingers tangle in his hair and Lestat’s noises are muffled but still audible. His mouth slowly opens again and his tongue roams around your cunt, before returning to your clit. 

“Fuck I’m close~” You moan, leaning down slightly, trying to steady yourself against the pleasure Lestat is giving you. Just seconds after you say that, you come. The pleasure you’re feeling is unlike any pleasure you’ve had before. Lestat helps you ride out your orgasm. Slowly pulling you down to lay on top of him. He starts pressing kisses on your neck and you pull your head back, letting him have more access to it. After a longer, more tender kiss, you feel him bite your neck. 

[hurtm3pls]

Sooo this pair of tits knows its place! This isn’t its first blog. Don’t fuck around, and we’ll have a good time.

I’m owned by Lord-of-Dom!

What are the colors for? TITLES are colored because they’re titled. The BLUE is the most important part of the sentence, for lazy readers (boooo), you should read all of it

List of kinks (yay🥰):

Misogyny (because good girls know their place)

Pain (cunts should do whatever a Man says,, especially if it’s as its expense)

Hard kinks

Degradation (teach me my place!!)

Objectification (of me, don’t be excessive)

Humiliation (your inferiority hole means you don’t get to have dignity)

Race Play (White Superiority, because They’re simply better.🤷🏾‍♀️) (purposely left it White, see what I did there:))

Patriarchy (what would we dumb cunts do without Men?? Don’t strain yourself thinking about it, sweetie.)

Body Shaming (another excuse to tell me how pathetic I am)

Praise, actually. (Mix it in with the degradation and I PROMISE You will baffle me)

Breath Play (You control how much I breathe? Yes??)

Male Superiority (again, Men run the world. women have tits instead of brains)

female inferiority (because we just are)

Cnc stuff (somno specifically)

Hypnosis (I would love to be in a trance and drooly for You!)

More stuff my small girl brain can’t think of (my brain cells dripped out of my cunt, what can I say?)

Rules!!!

Nothing above the neck

I don’t post the clothes I wear

Nothing but titty pics to people that aren’t approved by @the-invisible-brand (bestie) or @lord-of-dom (Massa)

Skim my bio and pinned every week or so, I add things all the time

Hard Limits (don’t make me block you)

Actually getting caught

Involving family

Unsolicited dick pics

I’ll let you know if I think of more

Scat

Soft Limits (maybe, be gentle)

Toilet play

Piss play

Rape play (is that what it’s called?? I accept threats and edge to them I promise)

Stalking (be GENTLE 😭)

Give me time I’m sure there’s more

Why should You send me an ask / task / submission? (Please do)

It’ll make me happy

It’ll probably make you happy too

Remember to be icky and mean and degrading and humiliating 🥰😵‍💫

I’ll probably send you a nude as a thank you :)

What if You want to message me? (You totally should)

Go for it! I need you to have an on/off switch for kink, or at least pretend to. Unless you want to be blocked or ignored?

I like big words, feel free to give me punishments if You think it’s TOO big

WHO can message me? (Use common sense)

Don’t be stupid. While I have nothing against trump supporters, if you genuinely discriminate in real life, I want nothing to do with you (except maybe a convo to understand why cause that’s just interesting to me. What about other people makes them inferior?? You’re still wrong I’m just curious)

Don’t be a minor

Anyone else checks out!

I adore talking to other subs! Let’s bully each other for Men’s amusement, Kay?🥰

Do I have a personality outside kink?

Hell yeah! Anime is amazing, books are amazing, I’m learning American Sign Language & Spanish. I love chatting I’m both!!

Things You should know (should’ve probably been higher on the list but I’m not redoing it)

I am not very friendly unless we've already become friends. I think i'm bitchy. I don't like small talk.

Images of me will be tagged #🐒

I’m a switch! When I tell you I love making other cunts drool and drip because their small brains can’t handle someone even pretending to be smarter—it’s not my fault they fall apart when someone calls them out on being a pathetic (as they should be, being cunts and all)

I’m in uni. That’s all you need to know.

I live at home cause it’s close to college, don’t give me outrageous asks

I’m on and off inconsistently: I don’t want to be addicted to porn. So I usually drop it for a few weeks, but each relapse lasts longer than the last one 😵‍💫

I’m owned by lord-of-dom!🥰🫶🏾

I have tinnitus. I have ringing in my ears 24/7, it’s an utter headache. It induces headaches and dizzy spells. I have earbuds, but I don’t like using them for hours on end.

I don’t have social medias

I entirely forgot I got distracted coloring my intro

Thanks for reading this far! Have a treat.

Sucking on udders is still cute, right?

[questionableratatouille00]

ᴘᴀʀᴛʏ ʟɪᴋᴇ ᴀ ʀᴏᴄᴋꜱᴛᴀʀ

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Fem!Reader

Summary: Bucky hated Stark parties. He knew that. But how much is he able to take before he breaks?

Note: This is my submission for day three (sensory deprivation/overstimulation/isolation ) of @ailesswhumptober!

Warnings: Alcohol, drinking, cursing, descriptions of symptoms of being overstimulated.

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Bucky felt his breath get shorter as the loud music blasted through the Compound’s party area. He was technically an Avenger, which meant he was required to go to these stupid things.

God, he hated them. He hated the way the smell of alcohol flooded his nose and the way the loud music made his head hurt and the way the obnoxious lighting made his eyes sting and the way—

He took a deep breath. The collar of his suit felt too tight around his neck. He felt like he was suffocating, and like all eyes were on him, waiting for him to snap. He shifted his legs, trying to find a more comfortable way to stand. Then he shifted them again. Unable to find comfort in any way he stood, he found his irritation growing.

He desperately wanted to shut his eyes and go hide in the elevator, but he knew how strange he’d look, and his feet were planted in the floor anyway. He felt himself inhale a little every time a drunk person stumbled nearby. Stark’s parties were known to have…handsy people in attendance.

Bucky scowled as the overhead lights flashed again and again and again, only increasing his stress and headache. He eyed the room, unconsciously checking for threats. When he caught himself doing so, he bit his bottom lip, ashamed. He knew he was safe and that he was in the Avengers Compound. So why didn’t his brain?

He felt an overwhelming amount of shame as he realized how tight his metal fist was clenched. He surveyed the room yet again, this time in search of you. Where were you?

He looked for you for what felt like years, even though it only could’ve been seconds. His legs felt hollow, like straws. He wondered if he looked out to other people, which only added to his stress. Did he look fidgety? Or maybe too stiff? Was he swaying or rocking, or did he look frozen?

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You laughed as you took another sip of your drink, listening to Sharon’s story. Natasha laughed with you, also sipping on her own drink.

“Speaking of boyfriends,” you smile, “I have to go find Bucky.”

“Where is he, anyway? I haven’t seen him all night.” Natasha realized.

“I’m sure he’s around here somewhere. I’ll see you guys later, alright?” You shouted over the loud music, setting your drink down on the party-area-kitchen counter as you walked into the main area.

You looked around the crowd. People danced in clusters, and you quickly found Thor in the crowd, his large build and height setting him apart. His booming laugh was louder than the music, and you were about to walk over to him before you noticed the group of women he was talking to. Better leave him be, then, you thought as you grinned.

You spotted Steve, talking to Sam off on a balcony area. You began to walk towards them before you spotted your metal-armed boyfriend off in a corner. You studied his stance, his expression. He shifted uncomfortably every few seconds, like something was irritating him. He looked stressed, his face contorted in a pained expression, though it was clear he was trying to hide it. He maintained a neutral demeanor for the most part, but whenever he looked to the ground you could see his true expression.

You began to cross the dance floor, stepping past dancing couples and groups.

“Bucky?” You called over the aggressive beat of the song currently playing.

His gaze flicked to you, his jaw set and her stare hard.

“You okay?” You questioned, tilting your head.

“I’m fine.” His voice was short, snappy.

You took a step back, raising your hands in surrender. “Okay. Okay.”

A look of regret crossed his features as he opened his mouth to speak. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it to sound like that.”

“I know. What’s going on?” You invited the conversation, hoping that he could at least try and express what was bothering him.

He opened his mouth to speak, but he closed it. He did this a few times as his gaze shifted around the room, never staying on one thing for longer than half of a second. You noticed how tense he was, how rigid his stance was.

He rotated his neck a bunch, like he was trying to escape the collar of his suit.

“Hey, come with me.” You offered him a hand, and he took it gingerly.

You lead him to the hallway that connected with the rest of the Compound, the security robots not stopping you after they quickly took a facial scan. When you did this, you made sure to stay away from large clusters of people or the speakers and lights.

Stepping into the closest room you could find, which happened to be a conference room, you shut the door behind the two of you.

“Is that at least a bit better?” You kept your voice quiet. He nodded, running his right hand over his face. You grabbed an unopened water bottle off of the little counter in the corner of the room, handing it to him. “Drink some of that.”

He did as he sat down in one of the office chairs. You knew the serum dialed his senses to like, eleven, but you didn’t know how bad it could get.

You waited in silence for a little while, not wanting to make the situation worse.

“I’m sorry.” He said after a while.

“For what?” You asked genuinely.

“For snapping at you. And then making you leave the party. And then..this.” He gestured around vaguely.

“Buck, I don’t care about the stupid party. You matter much more to me than some rager.” You smiled. “I don’t really care for them that much, anyway. I could have cocktails with Nat and Sharon and whoever else whenever. I’d rather be here, making sure you’re alright.” You reassure.

He smiles softly, and his eyes tell you what he’s thinking: I love you.

“Wanna head up to our room? My feet are killing me.” You suggested.

He nodded. “Yeah. C’mon, I’ll carry you.”

“Nuh-uh.” You grinned.

“Uh-huh.” He got up from his seat, and you squealed as you tried to get away. The laughter emanated from the two of you echoed as you raced down the halls.