#its all little things ISH but its just more intrusive over time

[haonqq]

God my memory is definitely getting worse

[urprettylittlething]

Creamy Treat

Yandere - Gojo Satoru x CursedKitty! Reader x Geto Suguru

A/N - More CursedKitty content for you guyss, this one was a request from a lovely anon <33 I apologise if its terrible I've literally never given a bj before in my life, but alas I hope you enjoy, this one is more Gojo centric since I've done one for Geto, but he does appear at the end, someone also requested on ao3 for a Gojo centric one, also so sorry I take so long to do them, its just how I run lmao, Thank you guys so much for all the love so far <3333 I love you guys so so much, please leave comments I love reading them and replying <33 My inbox is open if you guys have any more ideas, doesn't have to just be for cursed Kitty, but I also have a little Sukuna x cursed spirit animal reader somewhere in my notes if anyone is interested ;), I'm also very big on Toji right now too

summary - Gojo teaches Kitty how to give a blow job.

warnings - Dubcon/Noncon-ish, this one is more heavy on extremely dubious consent, he gets a little rough, lots of praise though, he gets a little scary for like 2 seconds, very vague references to punishment, very vague yandere vibes here, cum, and cock lol, Kitty gives a bj, he fucks her mouth, also shoves his fingers in her mouth, he rubs her ears, Kitty purrs around his cock, he pins her arms down too, I think that's everything let me know if it isn't

genre - Oneshot drabble thing

wc - 1.8K

~spelling and grammar already fixed~ (hopefully)

Gojo was sprawled out on the couch, head leaned back against the top while staring at the ceiling, arms dangled on either side over the edge of the couch and his legs were spread wide in front of him. And over his lap was their precious little kitten. 

She was laying belly down on the couch, ass and legs over one of his legs while her head perched on the other. 

She was dozing, and Gojo was bored. Suguru had left on a little solo mission around an hour ago. Gojo wasn’t worried, it wasn’t meant to be difficult or anything and Suguru said he would stop for food on the way back. But he was taking forever. 

At least in Gojos eyes.

His pretty kitty was happily dreaming the time away, tail gently curled around her waist, ears twitching and flickering every few minutes. Mouth open a little as she breathed. When he leaned over to check on her he caught the briefest glimpses of her tongue resting in her mouth. Supple and pink, glistening a little from her saliva.

The temptation was strong, to just shove his fingers in her mouth and watch her choke on them. Spluttering and gagging and drooling. And with that thought came more, shoving his cock down her throat. Having her choke and splutter on that. Her pretty little tongue lapping up his cum when he finishes.

His head rolls back again when he feels himself straining in his pants. He can’t fuck her pretty pussy since him and Suguru did that a few hours ago. She’s probably still sensitive and he doesn’t feel like breaking their shiny new toy just yet.

Maybe he could fuck her mouth after all. All she’d need is some practice.

His head picks itself back up again as he gazes down at her. Fluffy ears still twitching atop her head. With one hand he reaches down and brushes his fingertips against the soft plush of her lips. 

That little pink tongue of hers pokes out to lick her lips before retreating. Gojo huffs before gently prodding his fingers into her mouth slowly. Sliding down the length of her tongue at a comfortable distance, not choking her just yet.

He leaves his fingers still, feeling her tongue caress his fingers in curiosity at the new intrusion. After a few seconds Kitty whines, eyes fluttering open ever so slightly. 

This is where he starts thrusting his fingers in her mouth, gently at first before picking up speed the more she awakes. 

“C’mon Kitty. Time to wake up. Got a really big problem here for you to take care of.”

Kitty swallows reflexively around his fingers from the saliva build up. Sucking on them gently in her confusion, tail uncoiling itself from around her waist and ears twitching to life atop her head, perking up when Gojo utters some more words.

He tilts his head slightly, “Now that you're nice and awake, how about a treat for my pretty Kitty? You’ve been so good lately, haven't you?” His fingers slide out of her mouth.

She immediately perks up. Ears alert and tail swishing around behind her at the word ‘treat’. 

Gojo smirks, picking her up from under her arms and depositing her on the floor in front of him. She sits down comfortably on her knees.

“It’s a lollipop, a nice big lollipop just for you! It even comes with a special surprise, with cream inside. But you have to work for it!” He tells her, looking down at the eager Kitty while spreading his legs even further. 

When Kitty nods her head with her eyes shining, only really understanding the word ‘treat’ and ‘cream’, he reaches down and tugs his trousers over his ass and partially down his thighs. Just enough for his hand to slip into his underwear and tug his heavy, leaking cock out.

Kitty sits up even more eagerly now, recognising the situation even just a little, as well as his cock. Gojo knows that they’ve fucked you a few times already, and he knows that you at least have somewhat of an idea of where the thick white stuff they leave in, or on, you comes from. But he can pretend a little, teaching Kitty how to give a blowjob is getting him all worked up.

Kitty is sitting up and staring at his cock while he pumps it quickly to get himself going. She’s aware that it’s what gives her pleasure sometimes, but she’s never really seen it. Stopped to look at it or anything.

When he feels nice and ready, he coaxes her down. “Go on baby, give it a lick, nice and gently.” 

She stares for a second, watching his hard cock throb, flushed a pretty pink with little beads of liquid gathering at the top. She perches her hands on his knees, leaning up to flick out her tongue and take a quick lick.

Gojo’s breath catches for just a second before he urges her a little more, “C’mon Kitty, gotta do more.” His eyes are starting to become lidded, a light flush taking over his cheeks as he settles further into the cushions below him. 

Her ears perk up in interest before she takes another little lick. Then another. And then longer ones, more harsher ones. The slight salty taste along with the texture had her intrigued. 

Gojo had his eyes locked on her face, on her little pink tongue gliding up his cock. Starting almost from the base and finishing with a flick just under the head. His eyes closed for a second, enjoying the ministrations from her tongue.

On the head of his cock, little droplets of precum had gathered up enough so begin sliding slowly down the head. Catching Kittys interest. And after one more long lick up the length of his cock she leans up to put her lips over the head of his cock and suck.

Gojos eyes flew open, his hips thrusting up at the unexpected pleasure and cock twitching in delight. 

Kitty had pulled back for a second, taking the time to taste him on her tongue before she leant forward again when more started to form. This time when she wrapped her lips around his head and sucked he was prepared. Breath only hitching before getting deeper. The light flush took over his face making its way down his neck. 

He watched the confused face she was making before she tried sucking harder. He grunted, “Gotta’ use your tongue kitty.” 

Her ears swivelled in the direction of his voice, eyes looking up at him from her position on the floor, the head of his cock being suckled on like an ice lolly.

He could feel the way the tip of her tongue hesitantly reached out to glide along what's currently in her mouth. 

His head leaned back again, closing his eyes and just enjoying the pleasure he was getting. It was fun not having to do the work all the time.

After a few minutes of this Kitty was becoming more and more agitated it seemed. He hums, “Want your cream, huh Kitty?” 

She pulled away, lips now swollen and red, strings of drool pulling its way between his cock and her mouth. She nods, ears almost downturned from not getting her creamy treat yet. 

Gojos mouth suddenly twists up into a smirk, a thought has entered his head. “Okay baby. You’ll get your cream.” He suddenly sits up from his slouched position, reaching down and grasping onto her wrists, pulling her hands under each leg on either side. Effectively pinning her arms down, making them immobile. 

“Lean forward for me. There's a good girl. Gonna’ let me fuck your tiny mouth, are you? Of course you are. My good little Kitty.” Gojo murmurs, one hand cupping the back of her head and guiding it forward. 

With her mouth already open and lips wet with drool it was easy to just slide his cock right into it. “Now, don't use your teeth. Or you’ll get punished, got it?” His voice had taken an edge to it, her eyes peering up at his while she blinked. 

His eyes were shadowed, a serious aura taking over him whilst her ears flattened. A small whimper hummed around his cock before small nods were given. He knew she got the message.

He hums, “Good girl.” Hand burying into her hair at the back of her head before he started thrusting into her mouth. 

Gently at first, before gradually picking up speed, the amount of drool made for an easy slide in and out of her mouth. And with her hands tucked away under his spread legs, she couldn’t push him away or scratch at him either. 

Sure, he could feel her wrists squirming under his thighs. And sure, she was having trouble breathing. Choking on the little air she was getting, tears building up in her eyes before spilling over. Her ears kept flattened to the sides of her head, tail swishing wildly behind her. 

But god, did it feel good. 

He was still being kind though, not thrusting all of his cock into her mouth. He reached forward, bringing the other hand to one of her ears and rubbing. “My pretty Kitty.” 

The second he felt the vibrations beginning to hum around his cock his eyes widened. 

Gojos just found his new favourite thing.

With the gradually frantic thrusting, paired with the purring from him kneading into the base of one of her ears, he knew he wouldn't last very long. 

His breathing grew deeper, sweat beading upon his brows while they were furrowed. Grunts and praises spilling from his mouth as his balls tightened and his cock twitched. 

“Gonna’ get your cream. Give it to you. Been such a good little Kitty for me. Perfect… Fuck. Good girl.. Good, fucking-.. Fuck!” He cursed, throwing his head back as his hips stuttered while emptying his load into Kitty's mouth and down her throat. 

Cock sliding out from between her lips he looked back down at her. Hand paused in kneading at her fluffy ear. And what a sight she was. Face red and eyes watery, lips puffy and wet, saliva glistening on her chin, all as she sputtered and gasped. 

His other hand that was buried in her hair at the back loosened its tight grip, gently threading through the strands as she leant her head against his knee. Gradually gaining her breath back.

“So good. Pretty Kitty.” He praised gently, almost murmuring before a voice spoke up from the doorway.

“Well wasn’t that just a sight.” Suguru practically purred. 

Gojo turned his head to look at him, raising a single eyebrow in response. 

Geto huffed with a smile on his face, the plastic bag full of snacks rustling as he set them on the floor. He stepped forward into the room, reaching for his zipper.

“Come now, Kitty. Open wide for me.”

[atinylittlepain]

Chapter One

jackson!joel miller x witch!oc

series masterlist

series playlist

He thinks he might fall in love with her. She can't let him fall in love with her. Or: a reimagined take on an infamous Practical Magic au by yours truly.

wordcount | 6.1K

series content info | 18+ slowburn-ish, strangers to friends to lovers to estranged acquaintances to ???, discussions of death and grief, a little magic, just a little, jackson era joel and all that entails, eventual smut, angst obviously, and love that requires a little elbow grease.

a/n | yeeeehaw, here we go. I have to just say, it was so damn fun writing this, and while I haven't gotten started on chapter two quite yet (hello, finishing undergrad, you thankless wench) I'm real excited to get started soon. As always, I'd love to hear what you think, thank you for reading.

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

He doesn’t understand this world of a town. Two months, maybe three, actually, and still not used to any of it. Not used to warm water and light switches that work. Not used to three whole meals, not used to whole anything. Tomatoes and peaches, sweet snap peas, the taste of summer. Not used to people living so closely and not trying to kill each other. He feels like a livewire strung taut, waiting for the shoe to drop, for the catch of it all. He’s starting to think there is no catch. And if there is no catch, he’s worried he’ll get too comfortable, too soft.

The people of Jackson live a different life. May as well be on a different planet. And as such, they treat him and the kid with a pitiful patience and a cautious distance. Careful, feral animals, still being housebroken, still learning not to eat with their hands and swear in the dining hall. Still learning not to flinch, or do much worse, when a friendly hand is placed on their shoulders. This strange world, strange life he’s walked into, and he’s pretty sure it’s not for him. But he wants it to be for Ellie, so he tries. 

In this world, help is expected, and given freely. White-knuckling isn’t requisite, there are things that can be done for a fever besides waiting it out, ways to relieve a little suffering. Time and space, a luxury, he thinks. And so when the kid came home with a bloom of welts on her palms and up her bare shins, unaware of how easily poison ivy can spread, there was, for once, something he could actually do about it. 

Tommy was the one who clued him in. The little shop that sits a few storefronts down from the Tipsy Bison which, in all honesty, he had never paid any mind to. He doesn’t get out much to begin with though, so that says very little. Unassuming, peeling blue paint and tall windows obscured by bursts and blooms of plants. A piece of smooth wood has been turned into a sign hanging above the door, letters seared into the grain. Apothecary.

He calls out, hesitant when he steps inside, unsure now if he came at the right time. No one in sight, the shop sits perfectly quiet, still, just the hum of a fan tucked into one of the windows, sending a faint shiver through the plants around it. He’s admittedly surprised by the sight, not that he had been expecting the clinical white of a pharmacy. Still, the shock of green all around him, warm clay pots on wooden benches, vines and leaves spilling over the edges like languid limbs in repose. Lush and strange, he steps further into the shop, foliage brushing against his shoulders, the cool, damp smell of earth. He calls out again, still silence.

There’s something that looks like an old checkout counter further back, a rusted-out cash register that now has thin vines growing along and in between the keyboard. The remnant stub of a receipt sits in its mouth, he thinks he can make out 2003, ink all but faded away. But the strangest of all things, as he’s studying the slumped machine. Someone else joins him. Or something else. 

“Well, look at you.” It doesn’t exactly startle him, more like a small kick in his chest at the intrusion. Like black ink, sleek and shine and slipping up onto the counter, all ease, perched and staring at him. He thinks a bit idly to himself that he hasn’t seen too many cats in the last two decades. And this cat looks well taken care of, maybe even a little prim, if a cat can look such a way, sitting on its haunches and looking at him, unblinking, unwavering, and a little unsettling. Little impulse, before he can think too hard about it, he holds his hand out, a scratch between the ears that’s rebuffed as soon as it’s accepted, little snit and swipe, the sharp pin prick sting of blood over his knuckles. He presses his other palm over the small throb, the cat long gone by the time he has half a mind to look for it. 

“Did she get you?” Now that does get a jolt out of him. Animals are easier. But people, well. He looks to his left, then to his right, deeper into the shop. He sees her hair before he really sees her. Piles of curls, gray starting to bleed through all that darkness. She’s standing in a doorway he hadn’t seen before, the cat rubbing its cheek against her shin. Somehow, he feels like he’s been told on, thick flood of something warming up the back of his neck.

“Just a scratch, think I deserved it though.” Somewhere around his age, he thinks, maybe a little younger. Her eyes do a lift and crinkle when she smiles, stepping closer to him. He sees the same years he recognizes in his own face, though she certainly wears it better, tempered smile, glasses getting pushed up into her hair, more mane now than anything else. What was he here for again?

“You’re Joel Miller.”

“I am, how did–”

“Tommy told me he was sending you my way. I didn’t know a person could come with a warning label.” Something southern in her voice, little twang, little twinge. Her words rasp just a bit, and it sounds like kindness, like a sharpness that could turn sour, though she keeps it sweet, tilt of her head, sweet. 

“I guess my reputation precedes me then.”

“It’s a small town.”

“I’m starting to catch onto that.” The cat has taken an insistent twine between his legs, chewing at his shoelaces, until she, still nameless to him, hooks her arm around its belly, easy as anything, and Stevie’s a little curious is all, sending the creature slinking off and away from them, disappearing between all the green. 

“I’m sorry, older I get the less I remember my manners. I’m Maggie.” Palm extended, and when he takes it, it’s like that thing he and Tommy used to do as kids, bored out of their minds and making a game of shuffling in their socks, fingertip shocks to the backs of each other’s necks, just a quick gasp of static, there and gone.

“Tommy said you could help me out with something for poison ivy?” Oh, she says, mostly pantomime when she takes her hand back and wipes it on the thigh of her jeans, is it for you? He’s surprised how easily that makes him laugh.

“No, it’s, well, it’s my kid, got it pretty bad.” 

“Your daughter is in luck then. I’m almost sure every kid in Jackson under the age of sixteen gets it at least once, and I treat every single one of them.” A slip, a stutter, because did she? Did he? He must have, right? Must have used that word, daughter, for her to say it. Even though he’s pretty sure he didn’t, pretty sure of his pause, but he can’t give it any more thought because she, Maggie, has already turned heel, a cursory look over her shoulder at him that tells him, yes, he should be following her further back into the shop. 

“So, witch hazel is going to be your daughter’s new best friend. Soak a little of this into a cloth or towel and dab it onto the rash a few times a day, you really can’t overdo it though.” He’s trying to keep up, really, nodding and mmhmming as she hands him a small bottle, already onto the next thing, her glasses now sliding down to the end of her nose as she looks through drawers and cabinets, plucking out things that look like old shoe polish tins, jars covered with cloth toppers. A mix of method and madness, a grace to her movements, though something skittish is threaded through. Bird of prey, he thinks, something of fierce and feather in all that motion.

A combination of workshop and kitchen makes up what he thinks is the backroom of the shop, large butcher block taking up most of the middle of the room, back door propped open with something that, frankly, looks like an urn. An impressive-looking range spans the back wall, and he thinks that, maybe, in the before, some kind of restaurant. But now, very different means to very different ends. 

“Alright, this’ll help most with the itching. It’s a bit potent, so just tell her to take a little bit, warm it up between her palms, and rub it over the worst spots.” Ultimately, he’s left with a bottle, a small tin, and a few sachets of oatmeal bath soak, only half sure he got all her directions, trying to balance listening to her, and letting his eyes wander over all the cabinets, dried plants and variously odd containers spilling out from everywhere. Head spinning, already spun out actually, and he can’t help but wonder how he’s just now meeting this woman, a strange sense that she’s important, though why, or to whom, he isn’t sure. 

“That should have Sarah all cleared up in about a week, but if it’s still persisting–” 

“I’m sorry–” Whatever he’s sorry about, it cracks and fails in his chest. Like he’s been winded, or maybe wounded, a sort of deep suckerpunch shock hearing that name come from a stranger’s mouth. He has to clear his throat before he speaks again, posing it like a question, you said Sarah? And there’s a peculiar thing that happens in the silence, the quick pass of her eyes over his face, pull of her brow like she’s the one that’s confused. But whatever it is, it’s gone just as quick, lines smoothing, a smile so small it can only be apologetic. That queasy twist in his gut has loosened, but there’s still something unsettled, that lingering static all over his skin. 

“I thought I heard that was your kid’s name, but judging by your reaction I  must be getting people mixed up again.” She says something else, something about taking care, a lot of folks around here pass through my hands, sometimes they blur together. He believes that well enough, still uncertain about the rest, though too skittish to do anything other than drop it. That name isn’t for anyone else, not even a bird of prey, so he keeps it folded up close and tight between his ribs and lets out a sigh to blow out all of his held breath, slumping civility.

“No, it’s alright, I’m not too good with names myself.”

“Well, there hasn’t been much need for that in this world, don’t you think?” 

“I guess not, though I’m getting the sense it’s a little different around here.” It seems like a nervous thing, a pulse point reassurance in the way she brushes a hand back through her hair, lets her palm curl at the nape of her neck for a moment, then hand to wrist. Never still, she’s done it a few times now just standing here talking to him, though her words come easy, if not a little sharp, a single, high note of a laugh.

“Oh yeah, I’m afraid you’re gonna have to work on that, unless you wanna hurt some poor bird’s feelings, you know.” Wave of her hand, you know, and the thought occurs to him, errant, that this is the most normal conversation he’s had with someone since deciding not to leave. And quickly after that, the thought that he doesn’t hate it, this, doesn’t hate normal, doesn’t want normal to stop. For once, he feels like he can do normal. For once, it feels easy.

“Any advice?”

“What, on assimilating?” That word rolls languid and loose off her tongue, making a joke out of it as she pronounces each syllable, that sour twang pitching up another key. He nods, try me.

“Give it time, the names that matter will shake out eventually. In the meantime, just avoid direct eye contact and the rumor mill will leave you alone, relatively speaking.” 

“That right?” Shrug, sigh, she tilts her head to the side, smile going slanted and shoulder hiked, it’s been working for me, kinda, sorta. His eyes trail the slope of her collar bone, bare now with how the sleeve of her shirt has slid a little askew. Sunspots, a silver knick of a scar, paper thin and fine.

“Ellie, that’s, um, well, my kid’s name.”

“Got it, and you’re Joel.”

“And you’re Maggie.”

“Look at you, already getting better at it.”

“Is that short for something?” 

“Unfortunately, my mother saddled me with Magdalene.”

“Don't hear that one often.”

“Nope, she was a little, well–”

“Eccentric?”

“I was going to say righteous, but that works too.” 

“Religious then?”

“In a way, yes, you could say that. You too? Joel sounds very bible-y.” 

“My folks were, I never really acquired a taste for it though.” 

“Hmm, amen.” Easy, easy, easy, until time does that thing it always does, starts to fissure beneath that delicate freeze. She glances at her watch, a polite sigh, and he notices the thin band on her finger, a foolish drop of disappointment souring his stomach, trying, and failing, to double check if it was her left, if it was her ring finger. Not that it matters though, not that it would, or could matter. Already on the move, something about a colicky baby I have to go check in on, leading him back out to the front of the shop, and he finally remembers the bottle and tins he’s holding, what he came here for in the first place. 

“I appreciate all this, really, just name your price and–”

“Oh, no, consider it a welcome gift. I hope Ellie starts feeling a little better.” And he wants to accept that, her kindness, and how easily she offers it. But there’s no muscle left in him for that, weak and wilted and wary of shoes dropping, catches, and being caught. Whatever remains in its place, she notices it, that nervous hesitation, that one step back, that shifted glance toward the exit, softening some of her sharpness. And it’s not pity, because he knows pity, seen a lot of pity in these few months he’s been here. No, not that, something simpler and saner. Seeing and being seen, the cool slip of relief from it. 

“I might have an idea for a trade if you’re up for it.”

“What’d you have in mind?”

“Tommy said you’re handsy–” She stops herself with a gasp that sounds like a hiccup, seemingly just as stunned as he is by the word, hair falling in her face with the shake of her head, little laugh, little brightness. Handy, oh my god, I meant handy. 

“I’m sorry, clearly I don’t get out much, lord.” All hands, talking with her hands, palm to her forehead, then back through her hair, quick flickers, he tries to track that ring through its orbit, a dizzying  effort. Hummingbird hands, a woman who is all wings.

“It’s alright, reckon you’re still better at this than I am.”

“On the contrary, I think you’ve been the picture of civility.”

“Will you tell Tommy that?” 

“I’m sure I can put in a good word.”  He’s lingering, or maybe she is, or maybe they both are. Not used to this, taking time for time’s sake. 

“I am though. Handy, I mean, if you need help fixing something?” She does, she tells him, stair railing that’s come so loose she’s worried she’s going to go right through it one of these days. And it’s been twenty years since he’s been in a world in which people worry about the upkeep of their stair railing, but it’s an easy fix, he tells her, he can do that, he tells her. Sunday? Sunday works fine. They shake on it, stepping out of the shop into the mid-day glare of sun, her with a deep canvas bag hanging off her shoulder. She squints at him, it was nice meeting you, and he says the same, and finds himself actually meaning it. But there’s still something strange slicking up and down his spine, he’s reminded of it watching her walk off in the other direction, though he’s not really watching her any more, but the people she passes by.

Small town, close town, everyone knowing everyone else, names pinned down under thumbs. Ellie had let out a loud what the fuck when a stranger greeted them, by name, the first time they went to the dining hall for dinner. He’s been feeling a similar way about all the greetings, all the good neighbors doing what good neighbors do. But Maggie gets none of that walking down the block. No smiles, no tipped chins, no knowing and being known. He swears he even sees a few swept away glances, a few steps back the closer she gets. If it bothers her, she doesn’t show it, a sort of easy sway to her gait, walking hips-first, there, and there, and then gone when she turns a corner. Strange, and stranger even, when he looks down and notices that the puddle of black ink is chewing on his shoelaces again. 

Little trouble, yellow eyes that round and narrow on him, he takes one step, and little trouble follows him, close on his heels. He imagines that they’re putting on an absurd show walking down the main drag of town, him stopping every few steps to turn around and see that yes, little trouble is still following him, though at an admittedly respectable distance, settling back on its haunches and staring him down every time he glances back over his shoulder. Little trouble follows him all the way to the front steps of his house, seeming to finally lose interest in favor of a bee humming lazy around a patch of weeds. The last thing he sees of little trouble is pink-padded paws batting at dandelions, curled-lip grin and white fang chewing on stems, beheading thick yellow manes. 

… 

She lives on the other side of town. Older builds, he thinks, been here longer, windows with glass that warbles a little in its age like melted sugar, and deep-set porches washed with dark blue shadows in the early morning light. Cottonwood trees sway and dip, old limbs that arc and curl over the cracked-up sidewalk, slumbering giants making the sounds of all the small life it hosts. It’s a side of Jackson he hasn’t seen until now and it reminds him of a younger, simpler time. 

The town follows an old rhythm, late starts on Sunday. There’s even a church somewhere, though he’s not particularly concerned with finding it anytime soon. It’s still early enough, however, that he’s one of the few people already up and out. She told him to come as early as he wanted, really, I’ll be up. And he sees for himself that she was being honest, because when he walks up to the house she told him to look for, he finds her waging a zealous war with a rose bush in her front yard, and it doesn’t seem like she’s winning. 

When he told his brother he had taken his advice, he was met with a surprising amount of interest, talking quietly over a shared drink and well, what did you think?

I didn’t realize you were waiting for my report.

She’s a little different is all, does things her own way.

Well, she got the kid fixed up. 

I had no doubt she would.

I’m helping her on Sunday with something, as a trade.

Oh?

Stair railing in her house is loose. Been a long time since I thought about stair railing.

Wait, you’re going to her house?

Yes.

Into her house?

I’d presume so. Is that a problem?

No, just surprising. 

Why’s that?

She keeps to herself, not exactly one to make friends, though I don’t blame her with the way– well, people can be cruel, I guess.

What’s that supposed to mean? 

There’s talk, stupid stuff really. For what it’s worth I like her just fine.

Talk, his brother said. People spinning stories out of fear, or maybe something weaker than that. He’s been gathering up some of that talk all week, enough of it to make his head spin. The only thing he’s sure is truth, Maggie was here before Jackson was even called Jackson, just a nameless group of people that somehow managed to survive, until it became something else entirely. The rest, however, weft and warp of fact and fiction. Plenty of good words, broken bones set back in place and flu seasons weathered, babies born and grown, though the praise seems to be given with a reluctant respect, skittishly, but, well. But, well, something strange about her, isn’t there? He’s heard plenty of strange too. Strange, the way she talks to the wind, and the way it seems to listen. Strange, that cat of hers, with lingering eyes that watch and watch and watch, a shadow showing up in all the close, quiet places. Strange, whatever it is she keeps on the stove in the back of her shop. He asked Ellie if she’s heard anything, and she, pleased with herself, offered up a fantastical report of flight and dancing naked under the full moon, a perfectly tall tale he could imagine the children of Jackson passing around a classroom. 

One thing he hasn’t heard anything about, the ring and whichever finger she wears it on. His right, her left, she’s still wearing it this morning, simple silver glinting and a pair of garden shears aloft in her hand. She smiles sheepish when she sees him, like she’s been caught doing something she shouldn’t be. 

“Those are pretty.” She doesn’t seem to realize he’s talking about the roses, big white blooms that she absently looks at over her shoulder, scoffing, her mouth screwed to the side. 

“They’re useless is what they are, taking up too much space and overcrowding the rest of my plants.” As he gets closer, stepping beyond the gate and into the front yard, he sees the errant chaos of her work, stray petals and entire threads of flowers lopped off around her feet. She’s a little breathless as she speaks, back of her hand to her forehead to wipe stray salt, and he wonders how long she’s been out here at this.

“Not a fan of roses then?” 

“To be honest with you, I don’t know where these are coming from. It seems like I cut them back and by the next morning they’ve taken over even more.” She gives a weak stab to the flowers that remain intact, a shake of her head as she abandons her work, and he shouldn’t, just here to fix her stair railing, he shouldn’t, but he already is, already saying the words before he can think about keeping his mouth shut, you’re bleeding.

“What?” He gestures, at least having half a mind not to touch, his hand hovering somewhere in the vicinity of her forearms. Long, thin welts where he’s sure the thorns got her, and maybe he’s a little startled by her breathing out oh, those fuckers, and this again, on the move again, and expecting him to follow her up the porchsteps and in through the screen door and just let it slam or it won’t close all the way. She’s already tramped further into the house and he finds himself utterly unsure of what comes next, shuffling a little in the hallway she left him in, head tilting with the sound of a faucet turning on somewhere, pipes groaning. 

Another truth he gets to see for himself, Maggie has lived here a long time, all the acquired detritus of life that only time can allow, that leaving washes away. Paintings dripping off the walls, a craned-neck glance into the rooms around him revealing worn-looking furniture, shelves of books and little nothing things, trinkets and half-melted candles. And more plants, more plants everywhere. 

“So, the stairs.” The stairs, in question, are an easy enough fix. How nice, he thinks, to know what is needed, and to know exactly where to go to get it, a few tools and materials only a ten minute walk away. She tells him to make himself at home, let yourself in, I’ll be in the back, I’d warn you about my guard dog but she’s not very good at her job. The guard dog in question is rubbing its whiskered cheek against the leg of her jeans, thrumming a purr so loud he thinks it’s at least partial performance, yellow eyes skewing up at him every now and again. 

The work itself makes up the morning. Methodical, monotonous work that allows his mind, and his eyes, to wander. Whatever that ring on her finger means, he’s nearly certain that nobody else lives here with her, except for the cat who spends the first few hours sitting on the bottom step, watching him. As for Maggie, he catches glimpses of her, in and out all morning between what looks like a sunroom and the backyard, never still, always something in her hands, always moving like she’s got an important destination to get to. She comes back inside just as he’s finishing his work, dressed down in a tank top now, all her hair pulled into a precarious knot at the nape of her neck. His eyes linger on bare collar bone, sun high in her cheeks, even though he tries not to. 

“I completely forgot to ask if your kid is feeling better.” He tells her that she is, tries for a joke about teenagers and all their drama that just feels weird in his mouth, though she still smiles at it. And he feels it again, just the same as when he met her, that tug, that want to linger, even though the work is done, and she’s thanking him for it, and even he, and all his dormant manners, knows that’s his cue to leave. 

“I was about to make some lunch if you wanted to stick around?” He shouldn’t.

“Yeah, okay, thank you.” And so he stays for lunch, and so there’s tomato sandwiches, thick and bursting, summer sweet and savor on her back porch, wiping dripping ripeness off on the thigh of his pants, a hum in his throat to be enjoying something like this. 

“How’s another week of domesticity suiting you?” Words that crackle with a half-grin, her cheek cupped in her palm, a picture of afternoon haze, sleep and sate, and he finds himself being lulled by the sight, little slump back in his chair.

“Don’t think it’s something I’ll get used to anytime soon.”

“That’s to be expected, I don’t think anyone ever fully gets used to it though. Not unless this is all they’ve known.”

“Where were you before you came here?” It’s a question that borders on prying, he apologizes and you don't have to almost as soon as it’s out of his mouth, but she waves the apology off, it’s a little complicated. And she tells him that this is where she lived in the before, right up until the after, and that she, like so many others, got funneled into a quarantine zone in the earliest years. 

“Were you ever in one?”

“Boston, for a while.”

“Then you know how maddening those places are.” Bird of prey, trapped in a cage. Bird of prey, who flew back home. Bird of prey, who found that a few other people had the same idea.

“It wasn’t called Jackson back then, wasn’t called anything, just people, you know.” Until it became something else, something bigger, and a little more serious, and if that bothers her, she doesn’t show it. And now he really is prying, asking after her accent that surely doesn’t come from the mountains. He’s not wrong, she tells him.

“I moved here when I was, oh, maybe nine? My parents, we lived in Mississippi before they passed, and when they did I was sent up north to live with my aunt.” It’s an old wound, whatever pain that remains from it has been transfigured into a sort of tired nostalgia around her eyes, the tempering of her smile. She’s quick to brush it away, a bright laugh and a shake of her head, I think I just told you all my secrets. He knows that isn’t true, though warmth still starts to unfurl in his chest. And when she asks him the same questions, he offers the same piecemeal parts of the whole truth. Offers Texas, and his brother, and a halfway truth about Ellie. Shards and fragments passed between each other’s hands, it surprises him how easily he has given his to her. 

“I guess we’re not strangers anymore then.” 

“No, I guess not.”

“I should– I feel the need to warn you.” Like she’s not sure how to put these words together right, brow pinched low and smile slanted nervous, you might not want to spend too much time around me.

“Why’s that?”

“People around here like to talk.”

“Right.”

“And they like talking about me.”

“I’ve noticed.”

“And I don’t want– you seem like the kind of guy who just wants to keep his head down and get by.”

“You’re not wrong.”

“I’d like to be friendly, but I don’t want to take that from you.” The word friendly does something unpleasant in his chest. He does his best to ignore it.

“Why’d you invite me to stay?”

“Because I like talking to you and because I’m selfish. Because I wanted to.” And there’s something else, he thinks, something else unspoken behind her grin. Because he hasn’t made up his mind about her in the same way everyone else has, at least not yet. 

“I have heard things, about you, I mean.”

“I’m sure you have.”

“And I have questions.” She sits back in her chair, an edge of a challenge in her jutted chin, palms turned up and open, try me. But given the chance, he doesn’t know where to begin, which thread to pull first. What comes out, ultimately, isn’t even a question, but plain and blunt observation. This is a big house.

“It’s just me, and Stevie. I’ve offered up rooms to folks around here, haven’t gotten any bites so far.”

“But it wasn’t always, just you.” Absent-minded, she spins that silver band with her thumb, another wound revealed. 

“I was married until I wasn’t.”

“Before or after?” He doesn’t know where this is coming from, this plainly brash openness, though she doesn’t wince, doesn’t recoil from it, just as steady as he is.

“After, about a decade after. You think you’re in the clear and then, yeah.”

“I’m sorry.”

“There’s nothing to be sorry for now. Ask me something else, why don’t you? Something more interesting.” Wave of her hand and a clipped laugh that’s more like a sniff, tender, don’t touch, don’t dig into that wound any deeper. 

“People say you’re strange.”

“Strange.” Dragging out the word, letting it crackle with a grin that’s all teeth, little laugh on the end, picture perfect amusement in how she tilts her head at him.

“That you can do strange things.” 

“That’s kind of a nothing word, isn’t it? Strange?”

“I thought you were gonna answer my questions.”

“Oh, I will. You’re gonna have to be a little more precise in your language though.” Back and forth, back and forth, why does he like this so much? Dragging his palm down his jaw to stop the spread of anticipation, heat-hazy in the mid-afternoon sun.

“That cat of yours, for starters.”

“Mmhmm?” Raise of her brows, voice high in her throat, and he has to huff, do I really have to say it?

“Are you referring to the rumor that my cat spies on people and reports back to me all their wicked, little secrets?” 

“Sure, yes.”

“That cat right there?” His eyes follow her pointed finger out into the tall grass of the backyard, where the cat in question seems to have contented itself with tangling its paws in a loose length of twine, belly-up, writhing around in all that green. Maggie snorts.

“Oh yeah, she’s a real mastermind, you better watch out, she’ll be visiting your bedroom window next.” 

“Then what about the rest of it?”

“I’m afraid you’ll have to be more specific than that.”

“I’m glad you’re finding this so amusing.”

“Mmhmm, I really am.”

“I feel foolish even saying it.”

“If there’s a word you’re skirting around, and I think there is, it’d be better if you just come out with it.”

“This really is a nothing word though.”

“Oh?”

“Made up, make-believe.”

“Are you sure about that?” 

“Frankly, I’m not sure of anything about you.” She hums, chin cupped in her hand and her elbow propped on the small table between them, her brow dipping in mock consideration of his words. He can see that she really is finding all of this entertaining, something in her eyes like a squinted challenge, ghost of a smile twitching in the corners of her mouth.

“How about I say the word I think you’re thinking of?” Spiraling words, circling each other, he nods, and she purses her lips, getting ready for some kind of lift off. 

“People have told you my cat is strange.”

“People have told you I’m strange.”

“People have told you I do strange things.” Yes, yes, yes, he nods with each statement, and her smile only seems to brighten.

“Joel, have people been telling you I’m a witch?” And that’s it, isn’t it? Foolish, and he doesn’t know why that word has seemed to stick in his mind. Maybe just because he’s heard it from enough mouths in the last few days that it almost makes it seem plausible. Maybe he’s lived in a world turned inside out on itself long enough that there is very little imagination that hasn’t been eaten away by reality. Maybe he’s just like the rest of them, looking for any way to explain someone who doesn’t do things the capital-w Way they are supposed to be done. Maybe he’s still thinking about Sarah, and where Maggie could have possibly plucked that name from. And maybe that word is just holding the place of something else, an uneasiness he feels around her, though not unpleasant, just other, and so very unlike any other. He opens his mouth to speak, but decides against it, and this seems to amuse her most of all, sharp smile now softening, no longer playing at a game because they’ve both caught each other now, haven’t they? 

“That’s what people say.” 

“And you? What do you say?” 

“Does it matter?”

“If we’re going to be friends, yes, I’d like to know what you think.” Friends, they’re going to be friends. When did that happen? He thinks that may be the strangest thing of all. 

“I think I don’t know enough yet to tell you what I think.”

“How judicious of you.”

“I think you’re different though.”

“Well, I think you’re different too.”

“Why?”

“Most people wouldn’t have gone past the front porch, and here you are staying for lunch.”

“I don’t mean to impose or–”

“That’s not what I meant.” The words are kind, but they’re also a conclusion, enough, for now, enough. He watches her get up and collect both their plates before he can think to move, and then another kindness, touch, her palm on his shoulder as she passes behind him, there and gone. He’s a stranger to touch that isn’t economical, or clinical, or plainly violent, and he finds himself unsure what to do with that, though inexplicably wanting more of it. 

She thanks him again for the fix to the railing, and he thanks her for lunch. He lingers, and she lets him, helps with the dishes, checks the railing one more time. I’ll see you, she says, walking him out onto the front porch, and she does it again, touch again, somewhere at his elbow, as simple as anything. The roses are still raging in her front yard, a whole wave of them. 

Somewhere in the middle of his walk home, he realizes the cat is following him, second shadow slinking low to the ground, dipping her head when he turns around, pretending at predator. He keeps walking, pays little attention to her pursuit. He’ll get used to it eventually. He thinks he already is.

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

taglist: @suzmagine @joelsgreys @vee-bees-blog @noisynightmarepoetry @kungfucapslock @iloveenya @evolnoomym @wannab-urs @survivingandenduring @thereaperisabitch @schnarfer @jessthebaker @tobethlehem

[eyes-of-mischief]

weekly fic recs | 34

fandoms: bsd, dbh, hq, tgcf, svsss

bsd

Who Needs Money Anyway? (Spoiler Alert: It’s Us) by fandomsandshit

Their funding has been cut.

Akiko stares blankly at the sheet Haruno is holding out to her, hands sweaty and shaky, and resists the urge to scream.

It’s been a long time coming. As much as she hates to admit it, Akiko is honestly surprised it took this long for them to lose some of it; what with the monthly shootings, consistent suicide attempts and general shenanigans of the Agency members.

But how on earth are they going to make enough money now?

---------- (modern-ish au where the ada causes too much property damage for proper funding, and so yosano leads them into the wonderful world of twitch streaming to make money)

A Study in Mafia Black by eluvion

If he’s being honest, good and bad don’t matter so much to Ranpo as truth does. Good and bad are subjective, clouded with human error, and honestly, they’re quite boring. Mystery has always been more interesting than morality with the way each string weaves together, creating a tapestry of crime, blood and ash writing their own story. Dazai is still as much of a mystery as he was at first glance, and Ranpo is just as ready to pick apart the truth from whatever plays behind those eyes.

Or; a friendship, of sorts, between the two smartest members of the Armed Detective Agency.

dbh

preconstruct by aworus

(graphic depictions of violence)

Connor’s preconstruction software is activating much more often than he’d like. Who knew an android problem could actually be so human?

(Five times Connor has intrusive thoughts and one time he tells someone about it.)

hq

a dictionary definition by shoutowo

“Well, yeah!” Bokuto says. “When I say stuff like ‘the world’, sometimes, like, in my head, I’m really only imagining one person.”

The interviewer looks like she hit the jackpot. Bokuto doesn’t notice. “Can we get a name?”

-

or, Akaashi is Bokuto's world. This creates more problems than it solves.

tgcf

centuries since paradise by parsnipit

Xie Lian has spent long enough around sirens to have some grasp of their communication, and some of it is even a little similar to mer noises. This sound, for example, is like the one podmates use to call for each other—curious, beckoning. He suspects it means much the same thing for sirens. Has this siren lost someone, maybe? Hopefully it will find its lost someone soon, so Xie Lian can go back to sleep. Then, because nothing good can ever happen to Xie Lian, the siren peeks beneath the overhang. It hangs its head over the jut of stone, its hair billowing like a crown of ink and the yellow sclera of its eye bright against the black. That singular eye catches on his, its pupil dilating, and Xie Lian stiffens.

Windmaster's Heavenly Confections by IceEckos12

Eight years after a personal tragedy derailed his life, Xie Lian is hired to work at the local candy shop, Windmaster's Heavenly Confections.

He has no idea what he's just gotten himself into.

Including: cooking disasters, reunions with old friends, and the sweetest possibility of romance.

A Wolf’s Snare by UmbraSoleil

(explicit)

By all accounts, Hua Chengzhu is a terrifying, wicked king. But, as much as Hua Cheng is feared, he is also favored.

So then why would such a man request to marry him—the prince of a kingdom in decline? Xie Lian did not think he would ever be able to understand.

Then, during Xie Lian’s escort to his betrothed, a peculiar spirit tethers itself to him; a youth who calls himself San Lang.

-

“You’ve kept me waiting for a very long time.”

svsss

Into This Wild Abyss by Lbhs_left_tiddie (HungryPoet)

(explicit) (graphic depictions of violence, rape/non-con)

Shen Qingqiu stood at the edge of the cliff, his back lit up by the fiery light of the Endless Abyss. The blood from the wound on his chest spilled out between his fingers, splattering onto the shattered remains of Xiu Ya laying at his feet. When he looked up, his expression was half-wild with the heat of battle, shoulders heaving with his ragged breaths, and his eyes, which were normally like green jade, glowed blood red-

-The very same red shining from the demon mark etched onto his forehead.

Or: Shen Qingqiu is the protagonist of PIDW

[squeezysreservoirofcookies]

to explain myself under the cut:

p3 would probably cook those horrid tiktok/generally bad (or socially unacceptable) recipes with the expectation that it'll be good. there's like a 50-50 chance the food'll be actually good or it'll be the worst thing your eyes and tastebuds have experienced

oh sir dude on the other hand would literally be like that trope of a child making a heinous concoction of a """meal""" for their parents as a well-meaning surprise. he'd straight up be like "honey i made dinner just for you 😍" and it's borderline poisonous semi-radioactive material schlop

p1 probably already has a decent amount of canned food/mres/frozen pre-prepared food at the ready, as i imagine having extreme paranoia would make you not wanna get take-out often. plus i imagine that while he could cook, he just chooses not to since it can be kinda draining sometimes (take it from me, someone who occassionally likes to cook every once in a while). that and actually intrusive thoughts could get concerning for him. On a good mental health day though, he'd be at 'can cook the basics' tier

i dont think nottem gives that much of a shit enough to put in any amount of effort to ever cook himself anything decent, let alone a basic dish. I feel like MAYBE the one time he would cook something is if uh idk he's on a date?????? but even then thats questionable dsfhhsddsfh

I know corkscrew isnt technically canon but THIS IS MY POST, I MAKE THE RULES HDSFHD but i feel like corkscrew would be too impatient to cook anything decent, or he's like drunk 80% of the time, which would make cooking a little risky. also i imagine him cooking would be like that one meme video of a lady going "now add 2oz of vodka" then proceeds to pour half the bottle in like its nothing dsfhds

P2 and P4 both would only cook those easy to make, simple recipes that dont require much ingredients or preparation but for entirely different reasons. P2 is mainly bc i can see him just being too exhaused and stressed after a day out in paradise, so why add more to that? thats even if hes hungry considering the fact he ate like all the towns pizza and donuts hsdfhdjs. with p4 on the other hand he's just enjoying the simple stress free life, so why be so snooty and pretentious, especially over something he'll inhale anyway?

Recidivist and Widowmaker, based on their loose descriptions, I feel probably wouldn't have much motivation or generally aren't very hoity toity. they just want to make their dinner and so be it if it's simple, life is already difficult to them as it is. heck theyd probably just order take out or some shit. post-nottem's rein of terror, they largely wouldn't really care about cooking anyway so bare minimum it is.

Movie Dude is literally the one postal dude regional varient that actually has some sembalance of his shit together, so i imagine that in an ideal situation, he could probably cook you up a nice homemade meal. it's not gonna be food network-type worthy, but man you WILL like it

Psychocop, esp. pre-nottem's supermassive scp k-class senario, probably seemed like the kind of guy that had his dookie together and enjoyed making himself a nice dinner anytime he could make something. post-nottem's 360 noscope against humanity attempt, i can definately see him making his comrades something thats actually fucking good bc he got tired of seeing them make shitty basic ass food by themselves that wont help them out in the long run during their own rein of terror

Redux would still have the same-ish issues that P1 has, but i feel like redux would try to improve himself and try to overcome them anyway since he just wants to live a happy life just like everyone else. because of that, i imagine he'd like take cooking almost very seriously, wanting to take time (if he can) to make himself a good ass meal as a form of self-care. it would be so much so that if he ever had to be ur roommate, you'll have the bestest fuckin homemade food in ur whole damn life when he does feel like cooking. like literally lifechanging in a way. obviously he wouldnt use stupid boujie ingredients or dumb shit like that but my god you will FEEL boujie just eating it. he'd obviously have his off-days where he'd get take-out or go for pre-made but homemade makes him feel a bit better

[wasabito]

hate to love you | dabi x reader

18+, minors dni please! 

wordcount: 2.4k

tags: smut, rough(ish) sex, fingering, slight choking, Dabi’s lowkey manipulative

synopsis: did your traitorous heart make the stupid decision to fall in love with him again, or had you always been his to keep?

“You seriously can’t keep coming here whenever you feel like it, Dabi,” you whisper while scrubbing at your weary eyelids, “If someone sees you, you’re gonna get me in a lot of trouble.”

A true statement and yet it takes no further prodding or convincing at all for you to crack open your window at three in the morning, and allow your ex to clamber through the fire escape. There are sirens blaring in the distance; the high-pitched wailing of fire trucks are a familiar sound, especially in this part of the city. You’ve told yourself that intrusions like these are exactly what you deserve for not cutting him off like the cancerous leech that he is.

Willpower alone can’t keep you from wrinkling your nose, considering how his clothes smell of ash under a faint layer of nicotine. It tells a far better story of his recent crime than anything he could ever say out of his mouth. These days you don’t bother asking. There isn't much of a point in doing so when all you are sure to receive is another sugar-coated lie.

“Don’t be like that, doll face,” he smirks. “I’ve gotta lot more tact than you’re giving me credit for. ”

Terrible, you think. And shameless too. Yes, Dabi is undoubtedly these things, but for all of his depravity and lack of care, you still can’t find it in yourself to turn him away.

He cracks a little smile at you, like he’s read your very thoughts. “What? You don’t trust me anymore?”

You don’t respond, and simply climb back into bed, pointedly ignoring the dark stain of blood on his coat. He may have your heart, but your trust is something you vow to never let him have again. With classes resuming for the semester, you are far too preoccupied with internships and scholarship applications to entertain an ex-boyfriend slash wanted criminal, especially one recently associated with The League of Villains.

It had been different back when he was just some nameless petty criminal, but these days his face was plastered all over the news. That wasn’t the kind of person you ever foresaw yourself getting involved with and yet here you are.

You hear the rustling of clothes and figure he’s probably going to steal one of your oversized hoodies again, all the while leaving his bunched up coat in the laundry bin for you to take care of later. It would give him all the more reason to return to your apartment under false pretenses.

Over the past few months you’ve learned to anticipate his tricks, it’s the only way you can keep yourself from living the rest of your days behind bars. Aiding and abetting is what this is… if you were to ever be caught, you’d have to say he forced you. That you had no choice. That you feared for your life.

“You seriously mad at me or what?” He drawls. The thud of his heavy boots echo through the room, but a quick glance over your shoulder tells you that he’s merely taken them off. Dabi pins you with a stare, brows quirked like he’s genuinely confused, if not mildly annoyed, but that doesn’t shake you. You only freeze when you feel the mattress dip under the weight of his knee.

The warmth of his breath ghosts your cheek as he says, “Scoot over.”

Is he serious right now? Why should you let him back into your bed after all he’s put you through?

“No.” you turn away, “Just take whatever it is you need and leave.”

There is silence for a few seconds but you know he hasn’t moved yet, not even an inch.

“C’mon, angel,” he pokes your side playfully, gazing unwaveringly at you from under his hooded eyelids. “I’ll be out of your hair before you even wake up.”

Chewing your lip, you heave out a sigh, and shift forward to make enough room for him to join you. No matter what you’ve said in the past, he’s always been the one in control. You feel like such an idiot, merely posturing while Dabi holds the reins.

He slides in behind you, pressing his body against yours; his arms looping around your waist in a way that is so familiar a pleasant hum nearly falls from your lips. You realize belatedly that he’s shirtless and the fabric of your tank top is far too thin to block the feel of hard sinew and muscle pressed so nicely against your back. Your shaky resolve crumbles to ruin in the presence of his blue flames.

Dabi continues to chat you up, regardless of your lack of response. You’re surprised. He isn’t usually so talkative, but apparently outmaneuvering the cops and getting away scot-free has a way of raising one's spirits.

Your body is slotted against his like a puzzle piece, like you are made for one another. Mid conversation his warm hands palm the fleshy skin of your stomach, giving you a soft caress. So caught up in the feel of it, you almost miss his next words.

“—missed you.”

Your thoughts stutter. For the briefest of moments, you think the words have come from you, but they surely haven’t.

Dabi presses a light kiss to your neck, as if to show that he means it—that in the month spent apart, he had missed you more than anything. And you can't help but shiver; you blame the staples on his chin that are cold in contrast to the heat from his mouth.

His kisses become firmer, and more intentional as he lures you into a feeling of contentment. Your body remembers him oh so well—and it wants what it clearly shouldn’t have.

“We aren’t together anymore, Dabi,” you rasp, “We shouldn’t even be doing this.”

And why not, a tiny voice chimes in the back of your head.

There are several, logically sound, and pragmatic reasons as to why you shouldn’t let Dabi fuck you into next week. It’s a shame, really, you’re far too tired, far too bewitched by this man to really sum up the effort to name them. Not even for your own sake.

“Just a quickie,” he mutters, lips brushing the shell of your ear. One of Dabi’s hands dip between your thighs and he knows he’s won when you part them without thought.

He squeezes the fat of your thigh like he’s done so many times in the past, fingers digging deliciously into your skin. “Mine.”

His fingers encourage you to loosen up a little, as he grinds his clothed dick against your ass.

The trail of kisses start from your shoulder and lead up to your jaw. All the while, Dabi keeps his other arm around your waist to hold you close. He sinks blunt teeth into the crook of your neck, licking languidly at the crescent shape left behind. He continues to nip and suck on the skin there until your heady moans leave you breathless and whiny. But none of it is enough to get your attention off the way he prods you with his index and middle finger through your shorts.

“You sound so sexy, baby.” he chuckles, “You gonna make more of those pretty sounds for me, hm?”

You don’t have an answer, simply put, you can’t think of anything else right now, other than the hand slipping past your panties, rubbing slow circles against the hood of your clit.

“Da-Dabi, please... more,”

At the sound of your wanton voice, Dabi sinks two fingers into you, thrusting his long digits, and coaxing you until you’ve soaked them with your juices. In response, you grind down against his hand, thighs clenching. He hits you with a series of slow pumps each time his wrists twist. You reach forward and grip his hand, wanting nothing more but for him to curl his fingers and hit the sweet spot.

“I know, babe, I know.” He murmurs, kissing your neck, but instead of continuing, Dabi pulls out you. He shifts until he’s quite literally looming over your form.

Though the room is mostly dark, the street lamp outside your window casts a slant beam of orange light into the bedroom. It’s more than enough for you to see Dabi’s grin, and the way his lips pull back to reveal a row of perfect teeth.

He’s handsome, even with the scars, and damaged skin. You could even argue that Dabi is increasingly more handsome because of them.

“You’re lookin’ at me pretty funny,” he says while straddling your hips. “Got something to say?”

You’ve been more silent than usual during this entire exchange, barely saying more than a few whispered pleas for more, but the heat in your belly grows. Heart pounding and tongue dry, you somehow manage to maintain eye contact.

Dabi was your first. The first person to make you feel wanted and alive. The first to bring you to the precipice of mind-boggling pleasure until you were quite literally seeing stars. It’s true that he was an asshole, and it’s true that this new route he’s taken scares you more than anything. But when you look at him, your heart insists that this is still the same man you had fallen for.

“Handsome.” You mumble, averting your eyes. “I was just thinking… about how handsome you are.”

At that admission, you take his fingers, the same he’d just fingered you with, into your mouth and swirl your tongue around it, sucking lightly. Dabi shudders. His blue eyes seem to glow with want and... something else that you can’t describe, but it’s tender and unguarded.

Dabi pulls his fingers from your mouth, replacing them his own. His lips shift against yours, tongue prodding until you open up. Looping your arms around his neck, you pull him flush against your chest, dragging him into your orbit. You aren’t certain when he had become the very moon on its axis, keeping the tides and seasons of your earth in perfect rhythm, but you do know that the emptiness you feel without him isn’t normal.

Fumbling hands follow the shirking of jeans. At some point your thin little top is pulled off and tossed into a corner. And soon enough, he’s pressing himself into you. The tip of his cock is just barely past your folds before you’re taking him in.

“Fuck!” Dabi braces a hand on your pillow. The other rests on your throat with a slight pressure, enough to make your walls clench around him.

It’s been a while for your ex; you can tell by the way he keeps his bottom lip trapped between his teeth. It shouldn’t surprise you, but it does anyway, because you’d thought he would have moved on to someone else by now.

Dabi’s brows are pinched, and he’s being rougher than usual, still you get the sense that he’s savoring this. Like it’s his last meal. Like he may not ever get a chance like this again. It’s ridiculous for you to lament the final nail in the coffin of your relationship with Dabi, especially considering all the shit he’s caught up in now.

But, unfortunately, your heart operates on a separate plane from the rest of you.

It wants what it wants.

His hips snap forward, knocking into yours in a rapid pace that has tension knotting in your gut. You wrap your legs around his hips, high off the feeling of him so deep in you. The drag of his cock in your pussy has your toes curling. The pleasure is so much you can barely think. His groans and your choked back whimpers fill the room. You even attempt to bite into the back of your hand, just to keep them at bay, but Dabi isn’t having any of that.

“Don’t you dare hold back. I wanna hear you tell me how good I make you feel.”

The look in his eyes is so fervent and heated and feral, it sends a shock of pleasure straight to your core. Your thighs are coated in your own slick enough for him to slip in and out with ease. He smirks, licking his thumb and pressing it against your clit, eager to get you off. Your hips jerk in response to the way he’s rubbing and fucking you all at once.

“Dabi,” you cry out. “Yes!”

Sweat licks at your brow causing the little fine hairs around your hairline to stick to your skin.

Dabi presses his face right into your neck, and with each throaty groan that escapes his lips, you feel your gut twist with yearning. You reach up and grip his hair, causing him to groan even louder as he fucks you into oblivion.

“You feel so fucking good, angel, goddamn you’re gripping me so damn tight, fuck—” his babbling continues and you know he’s getting close. Dabi knows it too, so he slows down enough for him to reach around his back and grasp your ankles from around his waist. “You want me to fuck you harder? Hm?”

“Please—I want you so bad.”  You’re almost there, you just need a little bit more. Hearing you say those words makes Dabi chuckle.

He parts your thighs as far they can go, pinning them to the mattress. You hadn't thought it possible, but in this new position he sheathes himself even deeper than before, so much so, that your pussy milks him for all he has, walls spasming uncontrollably around his cock. The cry that falls from your mouth is smothered by a pair of lips.

Your orgasm hits you like a freight train and soon Dabi’s hips are stuttering against your own. He pulls out quickly, cumming all over your stomach, with a growl and a stroke of his hand.

For a moment the room is silent, save for your harsh breathing. Dabi collapses at your side, all fucked out and sweaty. His eyes never leave yours, even as he battles with fatigue.

As for you, the ache between your legs is a pleasant one you don’t bother complaining about as you clean yourself in the bathroom.

Upon return, you find that Dabi is sitting up in bed with a contemplative look on his face. You don’t ask what he’s thinking, instead you pull him into your arms and allow his head to rest against your chest.

If this is your last official night together, you’d rather spend it in his arms than alone.

🖤

[speechlessxx]

Naïveté (Ransom Drysdale x Reader)

Summary: Ransom loves control and his sweet, innocent plaything doesn’t know better. 

Warnings: DARKish Ransom with hints of soft Ransom but not really, this fic is lowkey a mess, a little uncomfortable situations, unprotected sex, implied AGE GAP, angst, mutual obsession, choking, Ransom is a little off (but what’s new), Sugar Daddy/Baby relationship, innocent reader, implied Dom/Sub dynamic, loss of virginity, poorly written attempt at SMUT

Word Count: 4.7k

Please do not read if anything makes you uncomfortable. 

READ WARNINGS

This is my first time writing smut. Please don’t hate me. 

Something a little different from what I usually write (?)

“You’re not going to see him again, are you?” your friend, Joey, asked you. Worried, judgmental lines sprinkled across his young face as he stared at you. You frowned and shook your head as you brought the straw of your iced coffee to your lips. “Good.” He muttered. “That guy was a creep.”

“He's not that bad,” you argued. 

“(Y/N), he was the worst thing that could’ve ever happened to you,” Joey scoffed as he drank his drink. “I’m just glad you kicked him to the curb before things got too intense.” 

You stayed silent and nodded, taking another sip from the straw. Joey began to talk about your friend group’s evening plans to hit up this bar, but your mind was taking you somewhere else.

You couldn’t tell Joey the truth. It’d disappoint him. It would anger him and jeopardize your friendship. 

But you couldn’t admit that Ransom Drysdale had a hold on you, and you didn’t want him to let go.

As an aspiring writer, you were interning at Blood Like Wine Publishing under Ransom’s uncle, Walt Thrombey. In a twisted turn of events, Walt took a liking to you.

Your doe-eyes and bright optimism intrigued him. He always fluttered around you like a moth to a flame and always had off-putting conversations with you.

It started with his hands on your shoulders, rubbing them in a way that made you uneasy. Then, it was pushing your hair to the side to expose the back of your neck, or his hands that would slither down to the small of your back. Everything about the man made you uncomfortable, but you’d never spoke out against it in fear of losing your internship. 

One day, Walt invited you over to his grandfather’s manor. “A family party,” he explained. And though you were afraid of accepting – calling it an intrusion – Walt insisted. “A chance to meet a world-renowned author,” he said. How could you refuse?

You met Ransom at that party. From the moment you walked through the doors, he knew he had to have you. He was a brat that way.

Walt was too preoccupied with arguing with his father to introduce you to the family. So, you kept to yourself, finding sanctuary in Harlan’s nurse, Marta, who looked just as out of place as you did. 

Unbeknownst to either of you, Ransom was listening in on your conversation – stalking you as if you were his prey.

Marta had explained to you that she was very fortunate to work with Harlan and that he was a kind man. Ransom couldn’t help but rolled his eyes when Marta had brought up how she and his grandfather were great friends. Blah, blah, blah, he thought as she droned on.

Then, he heard you open up about yourself. 

About how your scholarship was barely covering your tuition and how you were too late to apply to housing, so you had to live off campus in a ratty apartment whose rent was too much to handle on a monthly basis. You told Marta about how your part-time job at the local coffee shop next to campus was barely paying you enough for groceries, let alone the rest of your expenses.

The gears inside Ransom’s devious mind began to turn as a plan started to form in his head.

When Marta had been whisked away into a conversation about immigration with his father, Ransom found the perfect opportunity to meet you.

“I’m Ransom,” he introduced.

“(Y/N),” you greeted, offering your hand. He took it and brought it to his lips. Your cheeks flushed. Where all the Thrombey men this welcoming - this comfortable?Ransom smirked at your reaction.

Similar to his uncle, his hand found its way to the small of your back as he maneuvered you to the back door. Perhaps, it was simply a Thrombey gesture?

It was easy to navigate through a conversation with you. You were a good listener, Ransom was a great talker. The conversation went by smoothly as Ransom droned on and on about himself (something he was really good at). 

“I have too much money. I don’t know what to do with myself,” Ransom had joked, steering the conversation in his favor.

You chuckled, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear. “I wish I had that problem.” Ransom responded with a hum, encouraging you to open up about your financial troubles (though he knew it all from eavesdropping earlier).

“I think I have the perfect solution to both our troubles,” Ransom proposed. 

And the rest was history. 

-=+=-

No one close to you knew the exact extent of the relationship. You tried to create the narrative that you met Ransom through Walt and the relationship just blossomed.

You were embarrassed to admit that Ransom was paying your rent, tuition, and giving you a weekly allowance that helped you get by.

Joey had even joked that working for the Thrombeys was changing you when he noticed your sudden change in labels. You had forgone the Forever 21 sales section and wore the luxury brands that Ransom deemed worthy to be draped over his angel.

When your friends met Ransom - the man keeping you afloat by sharing his own riches – they knew something was up. Though they didn’t have a clue about the financial aspect of the relationship, they knew that Ransom was bad news.

They’d tell you he stared at you like a piece of meat. He’d watch your every move as if he were engraving your very image in his mind. Joey would tell you he didn’t like the way Ransom had a grip on you every time you were together. 

“He’s possessive and not in a cute way,” Joey warned you, but you shrugged him – and all your friends – off.

You’d tell them that Ransom loved you... But were you trying to convince them or yourself?

Your friends saw through Ransom. They saw how he was taking advantage of your innocence and your naivete.

When you told Ransom of your friends’ opinions, he told you to ignore it, so you did. But as time went on, it was clear that their reluctance to be accepting of the relationship bothered you. You blamed it on the age difference. (You were still in college and Ransom was in his mid-thirties). But it was more than that and your friends didn’t quite know how to explain it to you. You were just so in love with the guy - who were they to dictate your love life? They just cared about your well being. 

So, Ransom commanded that you lie to everyone. “Tell them we broke up,” Ransom told you. “Just a fib to get them off your back.” When you showed reluctance, Ransom said with pleading eyes, “do it because I love you.”

You were always too trusting for your own good.

But you couldn’t see that. You saw Ransom as your white knight – your savior. He made sure whatever balance your scholarship left was paid for. He even got you out of that ratty apartment and into a better one that was worth the expensive rent. It was closer to campus, too, so you didn’t have to ride the bus. He kept you fed and clothed. Ransom kept you afloat. 

You were afraid to let him go – afraid that his interest would fade, and another girl would be the apple of his eye. What would happen to you then? So, you tried to become everything Ransom wanted. You depended on him after all...

Just like he planned it.

-=+=-

The ride was silent. The text on your phone read Harlan’s manor. Need you here. NOW.

The driver asked you if you wanted him to turn on the radio. He was just as eager to ease the tension, so you gladly obliged. When he arrived at the family manor, he even told you, “good luck, miss.”

You gave him a nervous smile. What were you stepping into? (And were you prepared for the aftermath?).

You didn’t bother to knock on the door. He was already waiting outside for you. A cigarette in his hand. You frowned as he extinguished it against the brick wall.

“Ransom, hey,” you offered him a smile.

He didn’t return it. He had a scowl on his face and something on his mind. His face scrunched up in aggravation. He only gave you a hard stare. His blue eyes staring at you in the dark night.

He eyed you up and down. You wore a white lace dress from whatever designer (he didn’t care). He liked white on you and you knew that. It made you look like an angel – his angel. A symbol of purity – something you naturally were.

“You’re late,” he said. His voice was hard, matching the expression etched on his face. Hard and disapproving.

“I… I was with Joey,” you explained. “He was getting suspicious, so we went on a coffee date – “

“Did I ask?” Ransom snapped. “It’s part of the agreement. You make yourself available to me 24/7. That’s why I pay you so much.” You gulped as you adverted your eyes, unable to hold his angry glare for too long. He let out a sigh and held out his hand. You glanced at him, uncertainty written all over your face. “I’m not going to wait forever, (Y/N).”

“Sorry,” you muttered and took his hand. Ransom pulled you to him. His lips smashed against yours and you cringed at the faint smell of smoke.

You put your hands on his shoulders, trying to push him away – trying to catch your breath. But his grip tightened. “Kiss back,” he muttered into the kiss, growing impatience at your insubordination. Reluctantly, you did as you were told. After long minutes of the uncomfortable session, he pulled away and eyed you again. “You look gorgeous.”

“Thank you,” you said, your voice hushed. You wiped your mouth with the back of your hand. “Why’d you asked me to come?”

“I was bored,” he shrugged. What he didn’t say was, there’s a situation I can’t handle, so I need something I can control around me or else I’ll lose my mind.

“So, I’m entertainment?” you joked, nervously. He laughed a bit. You looked into the house through the windows. You could hear faint chatter and cheers of happy birthday. “It’s someone’s birthday?” you asked.

“Harlan’s,” Ransom nodded.

“Oh, I should probably pop in and – “you began walking towards the door.

“Don’t,” Ransom ordered through clenched teeth, and you froze in your tracks. Your hand was grazing the cool metal of the doorknob. You pulled your hand away and walked back to stand in front of Ransom. “Good girl,” he muttered, an arm slinging itself around your waist. “We should get out of here.” He whispered, stealing another kiss from your sweet lips.

“My friends are at this bar tonight,” you offered. “We could stop by.”

“And let them know we’re seeing each other again?” Ransom laughed, dryly. “I’d rather not let them turn you against me.”

“No one could ever do that,” you assured him.

“Let’s go to my place,” Ransom muttered. “Something I want to show you.” He said as he nipped at the exposed skin of your neck. You yelped in surprise as a strange feeling shot through you.

Ransom has invited you over once or twice before. Most of your outings usually ended with him dropping you off at your apartment. He didn’t normally offer to take you to his place or swing by. The offer was spontaneous – different.

You smiled and nodded, not wanting to piss him off more than he already was.

He led you to his Beamer. The ride was silent, and Ransom didn’t bother to try to ease the tension. No music. No conversation. Just a hand that rubbed the inside of your thigh in a manner that unsettled you.

Sure, Ransom was handsy at times, but he kept his distance from your most intimate areas. He’d always had to have a hand on your waist or your hand gripped in his. The most he’s ever done to make you uncomfortable was when he wrapped his hand around your neck to keep you from turning away when he kissed you. That was it.

In truth, Ransom saw you like a delicate doll. Such purity and innocence should be maintained. But tonight, Ransom was losing control – his chat with Harlan left him spiraling. 

The only thing he still had control over was sitting in the passenger seat of his car.

-=+=-

His home was just as you remembered it. Large windows, large spaces, large rooms. It was clean, for the most part. A few clothing items discarded on the floor, some hung on chairs. He shrugged off his dark grey cardigan and hung it on one of the chairs, joining the other clothes.

Ransom led you straight into his kitchen. He fetched a beer and a bottle of water. You were never much of a drinker. Ransom knew that. He stared at you as you wrapped your lips around the bottle’s opening and drank it carefully. He was still deciding – trying to make up his mind.

Should he ruin his little plaything now? Or shall he wait?

“You said you wanted to show me something?” You asked.

He nodded. “It can wait.” He walked over to you. You were leaning against his kitchen island. He plucked the bottle from your hand, placing it to the side along with his beer, and brought his hands to your hips.

“Rans – umph!” You yelped as he effortlessly lifted you up onto the counter. “What are you doing?” You asked him with a small, nervous laugh. Your face heated up as each of his hands settled to both of your knees and spread them. When you tried to fight against his grips, Ransom just slotted his waist between your legs. “Ransom?” You asked as he placed one hand on your waist and the other at the back of your neck. He hummed quietly. His eyes didn’t meet yours. They simply stared are your lips. “What cha doin’ there?”

He didn’t respond. He captured your lips with his and you were too stunned to react, so you simply mirrored his actions.

Sometimes Ransom got like this. Sometimes he wouldn’t talk and he’d just assume you’d read his mind. But tonight, your minds weren’t in unison.

You were under the impression he just needed physical contact (which was true). You thought he just needed comfort and you were more than willing to give it to him.

But tonight, Ransom wanted something much more than simple kisses and a few touches.

You tried to pull away to catch your breath, but Ransom pulled you back. He licked at your bottom lip, wanting entrance, but you refused him. So, in retaliation, Ransom yanked your hair which made you yelp. He took the opportunity to shove his tongue into your mouth. He didn’t need to fight for dominance. You just sat there with your mouth open, unsure of what to do – unsure of how to react. He had never been physical with you – he had never tried to hurt you.

The kiss was heated. You wished it were passionate or loving, but it wasn’t that. It was something else entirely.

Desperate to catch your breath, you bit on his tongue. It was a mistake. One that you’d pay for. But you were desperate.

He pulled away suddenly. “What the fuck!” He snapped.

“I’m – I’m sorry, Ransom – I just,” you stammered, unable to explain yourself. “I – I couldn’t breathe. I’m sorry, Ransom.”

Your eyes finally met. His bright blue eyes were dark like the night sky. And it was then you understood what Joey and all your friends told you. He stared at you like he was starved and you were the only thing on the menu.

“You little, ungrateful bitch,” Ransom spat. One of his hands wrapped firmly around your throat, tightening slightly and cutting off your oxygen. “You breathe when I let you. You live because I let you. The clothes you wear, the food you eat, the fucking apartment you live in – it’s all because I gave it to you. You could at least show some appreciation.” 

His grip tightened until you could see tiny black dots peppering your vision. And then suddenly, Ransom let go.

You fell forward into Ransom. Your head in the crook of his neck and hands on his shoulder. You were coughing and sputtering out apologizes, unsure of what else to tell him.

“You’re gonna show me some appreciation, baby,” he cooed but his voice was nowhere near comforting. It was taunting. “Alright?” You nodded. “Okay, c’mon,” he hoisted you up. Panicked, you wrapped your arms around him and your legs around his torso, afraid he would drop you. “I got you, sweet angel… I got you.”

You weren’t sure where he was taking you until you were laid on soft, satin sheets. You opened your eyes and saw Ransom standing at the foot of the bed. He pulled his sweater from his body and you felt your jaw drop. Why would he hide his toned physique beneath sweaters? It was a mystery to you.

He smirked when he caught you ogling him. He was always so cocky.

“How?” you murmured. He cocked an eyebrow up at you. “How am I going to show you?”

Ransom’s smirk widened as he reached down for you. His fingers lightly traced the neckline of the dress. “I think you know,” he muttered. 

Your heart thudded against your chest in realization. You tried to scoot away from him, but Ransom leaned his body forward, encaging you.

“You don’t want to make me mad, baby, do you?” He whispered, his tone still taunting. His hot breath against your ear. You closed your eyes and shook your head. “Good. Because I don’t think you want me to take away all the nice things I’ve given you, right?” You nodded. “Take off the dress for me.” He ordered, releasing you.

You did as you were told, not wanting to make him angry. His breath hitched when you revealed yourself to him. He always knew you were beautiful. The idea of you being untouched – unclaimed – made blood flow straight to his member.

His expert fingers made quick work of your bra clasp. He discarded your brassiere along with his sweater and tutted at you when your hands instinctively went to cover yourself up. He pried your hands away from your chest. 

“Don’t cover yourself up, angel,” he told you, leaning forward and leaving a trail of sloppy, wet kisses down your neck. He kissed the bruises that were forming from his grip moments ago. He scolded himself for damaging the delicate skin of his angel.

He kissed down your collarbones and found his way to your breasts. He took his time worshiping your body. There was no rush (the night was still young). 

As his lips worked on one of your mounds, his fingertips toyed with the other. You couldn’t hold back the moans that were escaping you and the heat that presented itself in between your legs. 

Everything was so foreign to you. All you could do was toy with the hair on the back of Ransom’s head and moan his name.

He moved one of his hands to cup your clothed sex. He felt the increasingly dampening spot through the delicate material and moaned against your nipple. He stared up at you as he continued his assault. Your eyes were closed tightly and your mouth formed an ‘o’ shape as you continued to let out soft moans. The sound going straight to his crotch.

In one swift motion, Ransom was able to pull your underwear down your legs. The material fell to the floor and he kicked it to join the rest of the discarded clothing. He pulled away from you to admire your body, splayed out on his bed like an offering. Your cunt glistening in the pale moonlight, calling his name. He fumbled with his belt as he shoved his slacks along with his boxer briefs down.

Your eyes finally opened and were met with the intimidating appendage. Long and thick. Fear suddenly flooded through you. It wouldn’t fit. Was this worth it? Was surrendering your virginity to Ransom – your white knight, your savior – worth the luxury? Worth the money?

“Don’t be scared, angel,” Ransom muttered as he leaned over you. You were shaking. He shushed you as you thrashed around. “I give you so many things, baby girl,” he said lowly, his voice turning into a growl. “At least give me this in return.”

You sniffled before nodding. You were afraid though you weren’t sure what frightened you more. The menacing crazed look on Ransom’s beautiful face or the fear that you were about to lose your virginity.

Ransom’s hands traced the curves of your body, leaving goosebumps all over your skin. And then one of his hands carefully rubbed against your folds, finding your clit expertly. You felt your muscles clench. He rubbed it in tight circles, causing electricity to run through you. 

As much as Ransom was eager to be inside of you, he didn’t want to hurt his angel. He had to prep his sweet, innocent angel. He wanted his angel to enjoy this.

Your breathing was shaky as you slowly gave into the feeling. He shifted in his position and carefully thrusted two fingers into your cunt. You gasped at the sudden intrusion. You threw your head back as he stroked your inner walls, exploring your untried canal.

“You’re wet, angel, and we barely begun,” Ransom said ever so cockily. You moaned in response. No words could form. You tried to bite onto your bottom lip, trying to silence yourself. But Ransom tutted at you. He slapped your clit and you yelped in surprise. “I want to hear every sound.” He ordered before scissoring your opening, attempting to stretch you open. The wet, slick sounds accompanied by your moans were all too addicting to the man that hovered over you.

You felt helpless and pathetic. You were putty in his hands. He felt you clench around his fingers when he curled them, brushing against a certain spot. He smirked as he continued to play with that spot and thrusted a third finger into you. You mewled against him as your hands fisted the satin sheets.

“Ran – Ransom,” you panted, eyes watery. “Something’s – something’s happening…” you moaned as you felt a coil within your stomach snap. You screamed as your orgasm crashed through you. Ransom smirked watched you drip around his hand. He pulled away from your pussy and your eyes widened as he slowly brought his fingers to his lips and sucked away your juices.

“Want a taste?” he asked you. You didn’t respond as he brought one of his fingers and brushed it against your lips. He then leaned down and stole another hungry kiss, sharing your taste.

While you were distracted from your previous orgasm and from the kiss, Ransom pumped his member and lined it up with you.

Catching you off guard, he pushed in. You shuddered in pain, pulling your lips away from him as your eyes widened in pain. The stretch itself was unbearable.

He pushed his tip in and you nearly shrieked. “Ransom – “you whimpered. “It hurts – It hurts!”

Ransom simply shushed you and kissed your lips. “Relax, angel… just relax for me.” You tried to do as you were told but found it quite difficult. He continued to push in inch by inch and you were afraid he was never-ending. “You’re so tight,” he murmured against your lips. You bit your lip as tears started to prick in your eyes.

And finally, he bottomed out. You had never felt so full. You swore you could feel him in your stomach. 

Ransom looked down to where you were both connected and groaned. He loomed over your body as you willed your muscles to relax around him. “Hey, hey,” he said, softly, using one of his hands to turn you to face him. “You’re doing so good for me, baby,” he praised and began to pull out.

His strokes were gentle. Pulling out only a few inches before thrusting back in. Only when the pain begun to dull and your whimpers turned into moans again, did Ransom pick up the pace. The slapping of skin and his groans. Everything started to feel cloudy. You felt as if he were tearing you apart, but your body welcomed the pain that was turning into pleasure.

Your arms wrapped around his neck as you hung onto him as he ravaged you. You continued to mewl and moan into his neck as you felt the same coil in your stomach tighten. Your walls clenched around Ransom and he knew you were close again. He reached back down to your clit and rubbed it again.

“C’mon, baby, come for me,” Ransom urged you as he thrusted. He thrusted all the way in and grinded against your sex. You moaned as you tensed, the coil bursting once again. Ransom groaned as you tightened around him like a vice, milking him and throwing him off the edge with you. He filled you up with his thick cum, but he continued to pump into you, painting your walls – marking you as his.

You were a breathless, sweaty mess as he pushed you into another orgasm with his thrusts. You were convulsing and twitching underneath him, fighting to stay conscious. You felt Ransom pull out completely and felt your mixed juices drip from your pussy. Your vision was hazy as your head turned to the side, eyes fluttering close.

Ransom winced when he looked down. Your blood covered his length and was splattered all over your lower body. He sighed and looked at the clock. It was late, but he knew that there would still be guests over at the house. It was the perfect time, especially with you falling asleep.

“You did so good for me, angel,” he whispered to your sleeping body as he wiped your blood away with his sweater. He decided that he’d deal with the bloodstained sheets when he returned. You were most likely still going to be knocked out. 

He pressed a kiss to your lips and smiled. Even in sleep – even after being fucked – you still looked like an angel.

When you awoke, the sheets had been changed but you were still stark naked. Daylight was trickling through the windows. Ransom emerged from the bathroom door. “You’re awake,” he smiled wickedly at you. You returned a shy smile when you realized he was only in a towel with water droplets painting his Adonis-like body. You looked away as he dressed himself. He smirked. You were still bashful as if the night before he wasn’t buried deep inside of you.

“Did you leave?” you ask. Your heart dropped at the thought.

He shook his head and relief washed over you as he sat next to you on the bed. His finger gently traced your jaw before leaning in to give you a kiss. “I was here all night, all morning, too,” Ransom lied. “You’ll attest to that right?”

“What?”

“I cleaned you up after we had sex,” Ransom told you. “Changed the sheets and then held you throughout the night. I told you I loved you and I thanked you for allowing me to be the first - and only - man inside of you .”

“Right.” You nodded, blushing at his words.

“I didn’t leave you, angel.” Ransom promised. “I was with you all night, all morning.”

-=+=-

“Where was Mr. Drysdale the night of his grandfather’s death?” the prosecutor asked you.

You looked around the courtroom and met Ransom’s blue eyes. He gave you a small nod, knowing you won’t let him down. He did this all for you – so that he can continue taking care of you – after all.

“Uh,” you muttered into the microphone, “he was with me… at his house.”

“Mr. Drysdale’s statement says that he asked you to join him at the manor the night of Harlan Thrombey’s birthday party, yet no one in the family saw you?”

You nodded. “Ransom – Hugh – was already outside when I arrived. I wanted to go inside, but he told me not to and he asked if I’d accompany him to his house.”

“So, you can account to Mr. Drysdale’s whereabouts the whole night?” The prosecutor prompted. “There were no times that he stepped out? Even when you were asleep?”

You nodded. “He was with me all night, all morning, too.”

Ransom smiled at you when you met his eyes. Good girl. He thought. His sweet little angel still under his control.

[megsironthrone]

Meg's Game of Tales: Tale 7

*Familiar characters are NEVER mine! The original "The Little Mermaid" was written by Hans Christian Andersen.*

Warnings: Part 1/2, angst-ish, mentions of magic., Little Mermaid AU

Pairings: Eventual Theon Greyjoy x fem!reader

You bit back a sigh as your father's harsh words went in one ear and out the other. You knew he was angry, but you couldn't bring yourself to care. You just didn't see what the big deal was. No one had seen you. Not really. You were careful. But you couldn't help it. Curiosity had always been your weakness. You wanted to know about anything and everything. That included the surface and the humans that lived there.

"Yes, Father," came out of your mouth when your father finished his typical tirade. It was the same thing every time so you pretty much knew it by heart now. Without another word or even a look at him, you swam away, your (f/c) tail propelling you forward as fast as it could.

It wasn't that you didn't like living under the sea. It was beautiful and fun. A place untouched by war or famine. A place where a mermaid could swim and sing and enjoy life. But you were drawn to the surface. Humans were beautiful. They invented wonderful things and you wanted to know more. You father and siblings could never understand that. Still, you always made sure to stay out of sight. That is, until one night.

A terrible storm had you at the surface again only this time, you were at least attempting to help get the creatures closer to the surface to safety. That was when you saw the ship. It was larger than anything you'd ever seen on the surface, but it was caught out in this storm. Even from a distance, you could see it beginning to break apart. So you did the only thing you could think of. You swam closer, eager to help if you could.

It looked like the majority of the people were already pulled under or were floating lifelessly upon pieces of the shipwreck. However, you saw the head of one of them bobbing in and out of the surface of the ocean. You swam as quickly as you could over to him and pulled him to shore just as the sun was beginning to rise.

You glanced down at the face of this human, completely captivated by him. Curly light brown locks were sticking to his forehead and water was trapped in the short beard that decorated his jaw. His shirt had opened a bit to reveal a smattering of light brown curls along his chest, along with several scars. He was such a beauty to look at, you nearly forgot that he wasn't breathing properly. That is until he took one large breath, making you jump slightly.

You were fidgeting as his eyes began to open. For some reason you couldn't explain, you needed to see his eyes. You just had to. Your patience was soon rewarded with the sight of the most stunning blue-grey eyes you'd ever seen. However, you didn't get to look long. You heard a voice calling out to someone. That was your cue to get out of there. Before the man could say a word, you dove back into the sea, hiding as quickly as possible. Once the man was out of sight, you smiled to yourself.

That was why your father had been yelling at you. For saving that human. Not that you were particularly paying attention to what he was ranting about. Your mind was elsewhere. On that human. That beautiful human. You needed to see him again. But it was hopeless. It wasn't like you could live on the surface...Or could you?!

It was insane to even think of it, but there was a way. You knew that. You bit your lip as you contemplated it. Could you really go against your father and seek her out? It might have been your only chance to see your prince again. With one look back at where you'd left your father, you made up your mind. You had to see the Red Witch. Melisandre.

The sea seemed to grow darker as you approached the place Melisandre was supposedly banished to. The water was cold and you could hardly see in front of you. Still, even as the cold began to seep into your bones, you kept going. This was your only chance.

"Come in, child," her soft yet strong voice beckoned from deep within the grotto. Shivering, you swam closer to meet with someone you weren't expecting. Despite all the rumors, Melisandre was quite beautiful. You'd heard she was a twisted and ugly crone. That anyone who looked at her would have nightmares for the rest of their lives. This was far from the truth and you'd have to have a talk with those people about making such horrible assumptions.

"Forgive my intrusion," you began softly, "I was hoping-"

"You were hoping I could help you," she cut you off, "I can, of course. With the help of the god I serve." She swam over to the wall of the grotto, plucking a vial of something from the rocks. "This will allow you to become human for three days. Only three. Before the sun sets on the third day, you have to get that human to kiss you. If you do, you shall remain human forever." Your heart leapt in your chest. Human forever? You could spend the rest of your life out of the sea.

"A-And, if he doesn't kiss me?" An almost wicked smile made its way to her lips. "Then the Lord of Light shall demand payment. Your soul." You became light-headed at the thought. Either the prince fell in love with you or you were going to die. Was it worth it?

"Three days?" She nodded. "Three days or my soul…" you muttered. "Yes. Of course, there is also the subject of payment." You let out a sigh as you wondered how much you would be willing to sacrifice to finally achieve your dream. "I don't have anything." Melisandre swam closer to you and brushed her long finger along the column of your throat. "The Lord of Light does not ask for much. A small sacrifice you will hardly miss. Your voice."

"My voice? But how can I-"

"Do not underestimate your ability to get your point across. Women have an unspoken language when it comes to those they are attracted to, do they not? And, should the prince kiss you before the end of the third day, your voice will return to you." You only let your mind work for a moment. You knew you'd never get another chance like this. So, you nodded.

You could feel her magic working as your voice was practically ripped from you. "You may want to start swimming." It took a moment for your mind to catch up to what she was saying. Then you realized that if you weren't close to the surface when the magic took effect, you could drown. You gave her a quick nod of thanks and then began the long swim up to the surface.

You swam as fast as you could. You could just make out the rising of the sun above the water when you felt your tail beginning to change. The pain was almost excruciating, but you kept moving. The pain would surely disappear once the magic was done. You just needed to break the surface of the ocean before that happened. So, you pushed on. You could feel your lungs start to burn as the foreign need for air began to take over. Your vision began to tunnel, but still you kept swimming. Finally, after what felt like hours, you broke the surface, gasping for air for the first time in your life.

(a/n: There will be a 2nd part to this tale as well! That's 3 so far that will have continuing parts! If you'd like to be tagged, please let me know.)

[creepy-crowleys]

((To expand a bit on Crowley’s answer:

Crowley’s past experience with Anima: A Dream to Kill Arc, Picks up at the end of The Sound of Children, through I Walk Into Empty, and culminates with the end of the overarching mission What Was Missed. Expanded on with some of the Buzzing’s and John’s lore for the Manufactory. Mind the missions for blood, gore, torture, dismemberment, and child death, among other things.

In Summary: For my purposes and interpretation, Anima is Gaia’s successor, the Buzzing’s infant queen. Given that Gaia seems to have failed to produce a successful heir up to this point and may be on her last attempt, the Buzzing are a little more invested in Anima’s survival than they might ordinarily be. Crowley being the closest available Bee, she took the brunt of their agitation and they ended up driving her further than she was physically capable of. No one’s fault, really, but between the three(ish) of them, they created an ugly feedback loop that put Crowley out of commission for an extended period.

Crowley is still uncomfortable around Anima to some degree. She likes kids in general! She’s naturally protective! But she’s also aware of the Buzzing asserting some pressure there, and it scares her. They’ve apologized and assured her they’ll be more careful, but it’s still an incredibly uncomfortable feeling knowing just how much control they have over her from within.

Crowley’s past experience with John: All throughout the Black Signal Arc in Tokyo, which is also the name of his lore entries. Escalates substantially in Nightmare in the Dream Palace, where he scares her so badly.

In Summary: John was a follower of the Morninglight, a cult that, in its deeper levels, reveres the cosmic horror entities that are partially responsible for Crowley’s world existing. John in particular was groomed to deliver a bomb to the cult’s co-founder as part of a power play that failed so spectacularly that John managed to reduce himself to cosmic smear on reality. He exists in a state somewhat similar to his gods and the Buzzing, but is unable to physically manifest himself - a voice with no mouth.

Crowley came across him while investigating the bombing.

In the Dream Palace, a love hotel, there’s a room that allows its visitors to view the memories of previous occupants, and Crowley made use of it to learn John’s story. Unfortunately for her, he noticed the intrusion and, due to his new nature, was able to retaliate. It was an incredibly violating experience, having her memories dug through and tampered with, and feeling every second of him slithering around in her head. She ultimately killed herself in a last-ditch effort to get away from him.

John and Crowley have interacted, for better or worse, several more times since - and as badly as some of those encounters have gone, she still can’t get that one out of her head. Of everything she’s faced, John is one of the one’s she’s most terrified of.

Crowley’s past experience with Kingsmouth: Dawning of an Endless Night Arc. They were Crowley’s first assignment, and some of the first people she’d interacted with so heavily since breaking away from her aunt. She’s known these people for nearly four years now and loves them all dearly for it. They’ve all known about the death sentence hanging over their heads this entire time, but the thought of potentially executing it in trying to save them was still horrible.

Also she was attacked monster dogs in the process and that didn’t go over well at all.))

[megalony]

Teacher’s pet- Part 17

I haven’t written this series in a while but it feels so good to get back into it, thank you for all the lovely messages asking about this series, I hope you will all like this next part. Feedback is always appreciated.

Taglist: @lunaticspoem​ @butlegendsneverdie​ @langdonzvoid @jennyggggrrr​  @radiob-l-a-hblah​ @rogertaylorsbitontheside @chlobo6​ @rogertaylors-lipgloss​ @sj-thefan​ @omgitsearly​ @luckytrashgooprebel​ @scarsout​ @deaky-with-a-c​ @killer-queen-ofrhye @bluutac​ @vousmemanqueez​ @jonesyaddiction​ @rogahs-drowse @milanosaurus @httpfandxms​ @saint-hardy​ @7-seas-of-fat-bottomed-girls​ @mrsalwayswritex​ @rogerina-owns-me @hellsdragon​ @im-an-adult-ish​ @crazylittlethingg​ @allauraleigh​

Series taglist: @im-an-adult-ish @gwilymleeisbae​ @k-k0129​ @haileymorelikestupid​ @glittrixvibe @youngpastafanmug​ @ultraviolencezs​

Series masterlist

Summary: (Y/n) teaches at the school Ben’s boys go to and they soon start a relationship. But they have their ups and downs with the problems Ben faces with his boys and how quickly the relationship progresses.

Enjoy.

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"When daddy gets back, we go home?"

(Y/n) turned on her heels to look behind her when Finn's voice could just be heard over the radio. The four-year-old had been pottering around upstairs for a while but (Y/n) had started to focus more on the songs playing on the radio than the sound of her youngest boy hurrying about, unsure what he should do.

(Y/n)'s eyes glanced over to look at Gwilym before she headed over to where Finn was standing in the doorway, either too anxious or simply unsure about whether he should enter the room or not.

This was the family's fifth day in their new house but both Carter and Finn needed more time to get used to it. Carter didn't like change, it unsettled him and a new house meant getting used to a new room and different surroundings. The living room had a strange layout, he had to get used to the utensils in the kitchen being in different drawers, the dining room was different and so was the garden. (Y/n) and Ben were wallpapering and painting the house so every room was new and foreign and Carter didn't like it yet.

He got to choose what colour he wanted his room, where he wanted his bed and his tv and where he should have a shelf for his figurines and books. But it was figuring out the right place for everything that was unnerving Carter. He didn't know where the right place for everything was, he had to work it all out and have it looking perfect.

For the last four days Carter had scarcely come out of his room, mainly staying put to watch tv and rearrange everything. His room was the only one in the house so far that he was getting used to so it was the only room he wanted to stay in.

With Finn it was different.

He didn't mind that the house was being decorated or that things were in different places and it was new surroundings, he cared that it wasn't home. Finn had been too young to remember the first house he lived in with Ben and Lucy and his brothers but their old house was the one he had grown up in, it was a safe place for him and he had to feel safe. This new house was somewhere he would have to get used to and try and make it feel safe, he wanted to go back to their home, he didn't want to stay here.

Getting the house and moving into it had been done quickly but quietly, the boys were told they would be moving but Ben and (Y/n) had sorted everything and started moving things before telling the boys exactly what day they were moving to try and make it easier. They didn't overthink or panic about it because they didn't have much time to panic.

"Baby, I know you want to go back to the old house, but this is our new home, when it's all finished it will feel better I promise. Why don't you stay in here and help decorate with me and uncle Gwil?"

It had been a little easier for Finn to try and adjust because he was still sharing a room with James. Someone had to share a room and Carter needed to be on his own so he didn't lash out and the baby could hardly share with any of the boys because it wouldn't be fair. James and Finn were close and James didn't mind helping Finn when he was unsettled or panicked so it was the best option for them to share a room. Carter had one of the smaller rooms to himself, the boys shared a bigger room, (Y/n) and Ben had their room and then there was another small room that was for the baby.

Finn looked around the room as he stayed stood on the threshold like he was too afraid to actually take a step forward into the room. The boy's rooms had been decorated first to try and help the three of them settle in, now they were working on the baby's room before doing their own room and then working their way downstairs. It was going to take a while to get the whole house decorated the way they wanted it but at least if they got the bedrooms done it would be easier and more settling for the boys.

With Ben being called into work today due to being short staffed, Gwilym had offered to help with the decorating. The baby's room was being painted dark cherry blossom with one feature wall that had already been painted magnolia to give a bit more light into the room.

"No." Finn shook his head, staying put in the doorway. He wasn't too keen on painting, it seemed rather boring and very time consuming.

If James was still at home today then Finn would have been more settled, he could have watched tv or played games with him but James was with Ellie for the day since he hadn't seen her in over two months. And Finn knew better than to try and play with Carter when he was unsettled as it was.

"Why don't we take a break and get something to eat?" Gwilym spoke up, putting down the paint roller in his hand. They were about due a break by now and it might settle Finn if they watched some tv and had something to eat. "You go down and pick something out to eat and I'll come down in a minute."

They watched the youngest boy nod, looking a bit calmer as he turned and headed to the stairs and disappeared from sight.

"One more coat of paint and it should be done." (Y/n) spoke quietly as she rubbed the back of her hand against her forehead. With Gwilym being taller than (Y/n) it was easier for him to paint the top of the walls where (Y/n) couldn't reach, stretching up wasn't an option either with the weight of the baby. Both Ben and Gwilym had tried telling (Y/n) to take it easy but she wanted to paint because the quicker it got done the sooner they could get on with the rest of the house.

"I think another coat should do it, but I think you need a break. Me and Finn will make some dinner, you sit down."

Gwilym ran his hand through his hair, brushing the curls out of his eyes before he moved to put his glasses back on that had been stuffed into his pocket to prevent them from being coated in paint.

"I'm fine-"

"Ben said you didn't feel well this morning, you think I want the wrath of him if he finds out you've been overdoing it today? Sit down and rest, please."

Gwilym and (Y/n) had been friends since she started at the school and he and Ben had been friends for years, they were both close to Gwilym's heart. On the one hand he knew that (Y/n) would stop and rest when and if needed, she wouldn't push herself too far. Gwilym would never want to try and control her or tell her what to do. But on the other hand he knew that sometimes she would push through phases of feeling unwell or under the weather and he knew how protective Ben was about his family. Gwilym wouldn't want to be around if Ben got annoyed that (Y/n) hadn't taken it easy like she should.

"Hmm, fine." (Y/n) narrowed her eyes playfully with a tired but playful smile as she took a few steps over to sit down on the rocking chair in the corner that was draped with an old paint-stained sheet.

(Y/n) wouldn't admit it but it did feel better to sit down and rest for a bit, stretching up to paint the walls or bending down to get the bottom near the skirting boards was tiresome. And she couldn't allow herself to stop until the first coat of paint was done or it would dry funny and patchy and that would grate on her nerves.

Her eyes followed Gwilym as he raised a brow at her before he made his way out of the room, leaving her to sit and listen to the radio which she had forgotten was still playing in the background. She leaned her head back until the wooden back of the chair was resting lightly against the base of her neck to support her head. Her eyes fell closed to try and relieve the headache slowly beginning to form behind her eyes and she slowly shifted her weight from her heels to her toes to slowly rock the chair.

All morning (Y/n) had felt her headache come and go like it was testing her, visiting her to see how she would react to the intrusion and it didn't help matters how much the baby was shifting like she couldn't seem to get comfy.

A sigh passed through (Y/n)'s lips before she pushed herself to stand up, wondering if having a drink might take away her headache in case she was starting to get dehydrated. Weaving around the pots of paint and rollering boards, (Y/n) moved to get her drink that rested on the windowsil next to the radio. The room was starting to look more homely now that the first coat of paint was finished and (Y/n) knew once they'd got some pictures put on the walls and everything in its place, the room would look much better.

The one thing that (Y/n) didn't like about moving was how impatient she became. She wanted to paint and decorate the whole place in one day, she wanted to put up pictures and place books on shelves and make it feel like home. Downstairs wasn't even started yet so there was no way (Y/n) could start putting up pictures yet which made her agitated and impatient.

There were three canvas pictures that (Y/n) was desperate to put up in the living room, they were of Ben and the boys and all four of them were smiling and laughing in the pictures and they were something that would make it feel more like home for them all.

(Y/n) also knew that once their girl was born, she wanted to get a canvas picture of her and have it on the wall above the cot.

Putting the glass back down, (Y/n) took a moment to look out the window which showed the drive and front garden. Her hand moved to rest on her lower stomach when she could feel the baby shifting again proving that she simply couldn't get comfy today which in turn made (Y/n) uncomfy.

Her eyes focused on the light grey carpet she knew they needed to change and her feet slowly padded around the paint, not wanting to spill any since they had gone ahead and painted without any sheets being put down on the floor to protect the old carpet. But her free hand quickly reached out for the cot resting unused on her left when she could feel the room starting to spin.

Tilting her head down, (Y/n) tried to breathe deeply and see if it would take away the feeling that was as if a fog was clouding her mind and stirring trouble behind her eyes. She slowly shuffled her feet to try and get to the rocking chair, knowing it would be better to sit down than to keep standing and let the blood drain from her head.

(Y/n) didn't know what her foot got caught on, she didn't see what snagged at the toe of her slipper but whatever it was made her toes bend completely under her foot which felt like it snapped in half as it folded over itself. The top of her foot scraped against the carpet as the bones clicked either into or out of place before her body was suddenly tumbling forward off balance.

There was nothing around that she could use to steady herself and her eyes immediately snapped closed from both the pain and shock and from instinct when she started to fall. Some sort of gasp or even a screech instinctively left her lips before it felt like everything was turned off.

She could hear the static in her ears like the radio had lost its signal but turned its sound up to the max. Her eyes were tightly closed to the point they were stinging but it took (Y/n) a moment to realise she was no longer falling.

She knew for certain that she was motionless now and she was no longer flying forwards through the air, but she didn't remember stopping.

Opening her eyes was a struggle, they felt like they were weighed down like coins were pressed down on her eyelids to prevent her from seeing something. And the rest of her body felt heavy and was trembling like she was feeling the after effects of an electric shock. She could see the painting tray a few feet in front of her and the curved foot of the rocking chair was next to her. Everything felt numb and heavy but (Y/n) forced her arms to move so that she could shakily grab the seat of the rocking chair, she needed to pull herself up from the awkward way she was laying. She had to get up and check herself over to make sure she was okay, she couldn't lay here like this.

"Mum, did you knock something over again?" Carter's voice barely reached (Y/n)'s ears that still felt like they were full of static.

The eldest boy walked out of his room and up the three small steps that led to the upper two rooms. He leaned his head around the room on the right before moving towards the nursery room since he knew they had been painting that room this morning. But Carter froze in his tracks, his eyes blown wide with confusion and fear when he looked at (Y/n).

She was on her knees in front of the rocking chair which her arms were heavily resting on and she was trembling. It looked as if she was going to be sick or even faint and Carter could see that her eyes weren't seeing everything properly like her vision was blurring.

"Mum?" There was a lot of concern in Carter's voice but his expression was rather neutral. He didn't seem able to express any emotion but anger in his face and right now he looked unfazed but sounded scared and was stunned and unmoving.

(Y/n) wanted to talk, she wanted to try and tell Carter she just felt dizzy and had tripped. She wanted to calm him down and reassure him she was fine, but the only thing she could do was close her eyes and let her head fall onto her arms that were resting on the chair. Her throat was constricting and her head couldn't formulate a sentence or allow her to even move any more than this.

Carter's brows sank down until they were almost resting in his eyes as he pressed his lips together tightly. What was she doing? He could feel a bout of anger burning through him because she wasn't telling him what she was doing, she was kneeling like she was praying but she looked ill. Curling his hands into fists, Carter huffed his next breath before he turned on his heels and jumped down the three steps to get onto the hallway. He took long strides and rounded the corner to the right before he stormed down the stairs and swung round the bottom of the bannister.

He skidded a few times when running through the hall to reach the kitchen where he could hear Gwilym and Finn chatting away.

"Uncle Gwil, mum's sat on the floor and she won't talk to me. It sounded like she kicked something but she won't move."

A frown etched onto Gwilym's features and his eyes narrowed at Carter behind his glasses. It was always necessary to take Carter's words with a pinch of salt, especially when he tried to explain something because he could never say what he meant or explain what he had seen. He sounded cryptic a lot of the time like he did right now and he looked angry as if (Y/n) was purposely ignoring him which Gwilym knew she wouldn't do.

"Um, right... Finn why don't you sit and eat at the table? I'll go talk to your mum."

Gwilym didn't know what was going on but he knew he didn't like the sound of it, there was a bad feeling in his gut telling him that this wasn't going to be good. He headed over to Carter, resting a hand on his shoulder before he bypassed him and made his way upstairs to go and see (Y/n).

The moment Gwilym reached the nursery his body recoiled in shock and his lips parted but no words came out. He moved like he'd been pushed into the room, stumbling forward but catching himself before he moved to bend down on his knees beside (Y/n) who felt more awake than she did moments ago. He cautiously moved his arm to wrap around (Y/n)'s upper back and placed his other hand on her arm, trying to coax her to look at him and tell him what the problem was.

"(Y/n), what's wrong?" He sat back on his legs and leaned up a bit straighter when (Y/n) slowly straightened up and moved so she was no longer resting her head on the chair.

"I- I tripped a-and fell..."

When her eyes locked with Gwilym's it was like he was trying to have a silent conversation with her because he knew Carter was stood in the doorway, but (Y/n) couldn't work out what he was trying to say.

"Let's sit you down and make sure you're okay." Gwilym took it as a good sign that she wasn't sobbing in pain or cradling a part of herself that was hurt but he still didn't like how she seemed like her mind was somewhere else. She looked drowsy which told him she had blacked out or fainted even if it was only for a few seconds. He knew that look well, he had experienced it a few times in his life.

Moving his arms, Gwilym made sure they were securely around (Y/n)'s waist as she slowly moved her trembling arms until her hands were holding Gwilym's upper arms. She nodded and closed her eyes for a moment as she tried to plant her feet properly on the floor so she could stand up. Gwilym took most of her weight to help stand her up but he froze in place when a moan left (Y/n)'s lips and her head fell forward into his chest.

"Does something hurt?"

"N-no... oh no..." (Y/n) breathed through her words before it sounded like she was choking on a sob. Her words sparked worry in Gwilym and he shifted her in his arms so he was holding her against his chest, not wanting to risk her falling to her knees and hurting herself again. But he could feel himself starting to shake when he saw that (Y/n) had moved her hand to press to her stomach.

She didn't?

"Gwil i-it- oh, it hurts."

She'd fallen and hit her stomach on something. She could have hurt the baby, the pain might be something to do with the baby.

"Okay, (Y/n) listen to me it's okay, let's get you sat down and then we'll take things from there. You could have just grazed yourself, it might be nothing." She may have just caught her stomach on something very lightly, it might just be something that would bruise and cause no problems so there might not be a reason to panic yet. If they got her sat down and calmed down, they could see if the pain got worse and then take things from there, probably go and get her seen by a doctor just to make sure.

When he felt (Y/n) nod against his chest, Gwilym took a deep breath before slowly shuffling (Y/n) back and carefully setting her down in the chair she had been leaning up against moments ago.

"Carter, why don't you go-"

"No! I wanna stay with mum." Carter took a few steps into the room to show that he didn't want to leave in case (Y/n) wasn't well but at the same time, he didn't want to get too close in case she didn't want him to be here. She might be like Ben and wouldn't want Carter to see her in pain, he didn't want to go but he didn't want to upset (Y/n) either.

"Why don't you go and check on Finn and then bring me my phone so I can call your dad, let him know what's happened?"

Carter debated Gwilym's words, wanting to stay desperately but he also wanted Ben to come home. Ben always said that he took care of everything and that he looked after them all, if (Y/n) wasn't well then she needed Ben here so he could look after her. He pursed his lips before he nodded and turned to hurry downstairs, the thought of Ben pressing on his mind more and more.

"Can I take a look?" Gwilym crouched down beside (Y/n) before he motioned to her stomach, not wanting to touch her or try and check her over if she was in too much pain or felt too uncomfortable.

When (Y/n) nodded through gritted teeth, Gwilym slowly moved her shirt up so he could see her stomach. He pressed his lips together into a thin line as his nails dug into the palms of his hands so he could trya nd remain calm. The left side of her stomach was starting to mix red and white in an odd but large shape. If he had to guess, Gwilym was rather sure that she had fallen hard and smacked her stomach straight into something. There was no graze and no cut but she was bleeding under the surface of her skin, but there was no way for him to see if it had done any damage to the baby except for the pain that seemed to be getting worse.

"I think we should get you checked out, just to be safe."

(Y/n) didn't have the will or the nerve to argue because the pain was getting worse and when the baby moved it only made the pain increase and an uncomfortable feeling start to arise. It felt like her side and her lower stomach were on fire and the fire was slowly starting to spread and get worse. It was overpowering the pain in her foot which was throbbing from how awkwardly it had bent when she fell.

"Finn's watching tv, can we call dad now?" Carter's sudden interruption made them both jump before Gwilym nodded and reached his hand out for the phone in Carter's grip.

"Yeah, I'll call him now but I need to stay up here with your mum while we sort a few things so can you go and stay with Finn please? If he comes up here and sees your mum's hurt he'll get scared and we don't want that."

If they were going to take (Y/n) to hospital then they needed to sort out the boys. James would be coming home later this afternoon and none of the boys could be here on their own. If Ben couldn't come home from work then Gwilym needed to take (Y/n) to get checked out and taking the boys with them wouldn't be the best idea. Gwilym didn't want Finn finding out just yet because he would get unsettled and frightened and he also didn't want Carter listening to him talking to Ben because that would unsettle him too.

Gwilym pushed himself to his feet, trying to smile at Carter to calm him down before the eldest left the room, slamming the door behind him to show he wasn't happy about being told to leave.

Anxiety started to dwell up in the pit of Gwilym's stomach, he'd never had to call Ben before when he was at work. (Y/n) had only done that once and that was a few weeks ago when he had to come straight from work to the school to talk to Carter. Gwilym had no idea if Ben would actually answer or if he would be too busy and if he didn't answer then they would have to find someone to look after the boys so Gwilym could take (Y/n) to get checked over.

If that happened then Ben would be a nervous wreck when they got through to him and said they were at or had been to the hospital.

A sigh of relief left Gwilym's lips when he heard Ben's voice on the other end of the line, he had answered.

"Hey mate... look, I know you're at work but something's come up... no, the boys are fine, um, (Y/n)'s had a fall... well I think-"

Gwilym stuttered through his words, trying to stay calm and not overpanic Ben because they didn't know if something was drastically wrong yet or not. But he stopped himself short when (Y/n) made a noise that sounded like she was stuck between crying and wanting to scream. When he looked at her, she was doubled over in the chair to the point she was surely going to fall off and land on her knees. Her right hand was pressed tightly against her stomach and her other hand was gripping the arm of the chair, her chin tucked tightly into her chest.

He tried to follow her line of sight, pulling the phone away from his ear so Ben's concerned words didn't deafen him. But when Gwilym tried to see what was wrong and he looked to where (Y/n) was looking, a shiver ran down his spine and he jumped when (Y/n) started to sob.

"Ben, I think (Y/n)'s water just broke."

[jonroxton]

can you talk about chlark beyond chloe? personally i think it's weird that the writers kept adding kisses and weird romantic moments without any pay off. i don't know much about the fandom back then but i think the writers were baiting fans since clark/chloe seems to be the second most popular ship after clex. second i personally think chloe would never be happy with clark or anyone tbh and she doesn't seem like the type of person who would have kids so the finale was weird to me.

this got looooong :)

0. it WAS weird, and the choice to never not once go for it with them was to the story's detriment. I'll get into it a little later on in this post.

Re: shipping in sv fandom. there was definitely drama (clana was HUGE when the show was airing and every ship was basically derailed by it lol) but I stayed in my clois lane with a small circle of fandom friends much like I do now. a good measure of clois fans were fans of lois and clark from other mediums, come to sv just for lois and clark, myself included. we were pretty insulated as a fandom even back then. I do remember seeing more Chlark after the S5 finale (when Chloe kisses him goodbye), but those dropped off after Jimmy was introduced right away in S6. The most drama I encountered was with Chloisers: Chloe fans who believed wholeheartedly that Chloe was Lois. They hated SV!Lois and were convinced she would die so Chloe could take her name and job and place by Clark's side, thus a Chlark endgame. this was a popular theory amongst that fandom even into s9, when the clois ball started to roll for true.

bait and switch

a lot of Chlark is rooted in this notion that chloe WOULD be the best thing for Clark, the ideal Lois, the true best friend, the human hand guiding him through Earth's troubles. she would be could be the BEST possible lois archetype for Clark. it's not a wrong interpretation. she was specifically written as a lois-and-lana-proxy (teenage lana is a reporter in some AUs and even some as an adult as a tv correspondent) and she's given many lois-ish traits (tenacious, secretly crushing on clark and in denial), but this interpretation is deeply flawed. first, because lois does eventually enter into the picture and she has her own defining traits that, when compared to chloe, make chloe seem much shallower than realized. secondly, within the complete context of the story, her position in the greater narrative is not as ~the one who got away, the way it did very early on in S1-S4, but one who clark tolerates.

they're friends because clark is forgiving and chloe has staying power. their friendship is riddled with insecurities and unknowns the characters create for themselves. their dynamic is defined by conflict, not resolutions. this is not made easy by the fact that chloe is such a strangely written character, but ultimately she is positioned as a counter to clark achieving his happiness. not a thematic narrative foil but an obstacle clark eventually relents to.

2. and it has been so from the get-go

S1 is the best season for them and the single season which actually considers Clark's side in this dynamic. everything about them later on can be explained with how they are in this season. and that's the problem. when they're 14 it's nice teen angst drama and works perfectly to establish the dynamic. when they're 24 it's at best a pattern, at worst regression. we expect certain behaviors, dismiss them too, when it's children, at least I do. clark and chloe never move beyond the dynamic they establish in s1 and early s2. in essence, clark and chloe remain children around each other. they have many discussions in the later seasons that make at least one appear petulant.

so S1 clark has just been told the greatest secret of his existence and he imprints on lana hard that same night (right AFTER jonathan tells him, he meets lana at the graveyard and talks to her for the first time EVER, a lot of childhood imprinting going on in SV). all of s1 follows clark's heartache over lana, watching her from afar and figuring out a way to be near her. this pain is exacerbated by the fact that he believes he caused her her greatest grief: the death of her parents via the meteor shower which he arrived in.

here the first beat of the chlark dynamic is established: chloe's job and passion – the wall of weird and her pursuing the meteor infected oddities of SV - directly affects clark in a negative way (he's suicidal for much of s1-s3). so her crush on him is countered with her unknowingly causing him great grief. om top of that: clark becomes part of this passion of hers and she eventually begins to pursue him as a story to be uncovered, very superman yes. here tho, it causes nothing but strife for them and paints chloe in an awful light (and clark too, highlighting his refusal to open up). I personally enjoy this aspect of them in s1. bc they're so young I give em a free pass and it's a good conflict playing around with old superman tropes, but it makes for a fraught friendship.

3. the second beat

is that neither chloe's crush on clark, nor his asking her to stop pursuing his truth, do anything to stay her. her tenaciousness becomes intrusiveness and inconsideration (many of her accomplishments irt the daily planet are directly bc she betrays clark). she simply will not listen to her friend and does not believe his livelihood and autonomy is worth losing a story over. this is literally the opposite of comics/live action lois lane, who in various versions drops the clark reveal story to protect him. this passion turns vindictive pretty early for chloe, who eventually pursues stories about clark out of jealousy and entitlement (against lana also).

4. the third beat

is that clark doesn't ever see chloe as romantic prospect except this time in s1. the tornado trapping lana pulls him away from any solidifying of the clark/chloe dynamic, and that's that. but we know clark was willing to go for it in early s2 when he apologizes to chloe about running off on her. it's chloe who decides not to go on with the relationship. clark is visibly confused, but also 15 so he can't see that chloe is putting on a brave front to protect herself from clark running off again. I liked this too as it's another play on superman tropes, but my sympathy for them stops here.

5. and stays here

these beats are the entirety of this dynamic. everything about chlark can be distilled down to their childhood. it's why I don't hate them completely, bc I have a lot of love for kids who hurt in such a way and that time is never easy. in s8 (I think its s8) when we get a flashback to when they meet as kids (more imprinting!). little tenacious cute chloe kisses insecure clark bc of the funny awkward tension, acknowledging it, and then immediately takes it back because they're better as friends. (also they’re like 11 lol)

every single romantic moment with them is undercut either by chloe herself, or by the presence of other storylines/romances the writers wanted to pursue. the lack of integrity in chloe and the lack of interest in clark, regardless of how sincere their connection or how messed up, is a central part of their dynamic that needs to be reconciled with their friendship. and its exhausting bc there is never a point they are ever truly comfortable around each other.

6. to a fault

knowing the secret doesn't change chloe's methods. it doesn't make chloe clark's great confidante. if anything, it complicates matters for both because their relationship then becomes about the greater good and clark's great destiny. everything chloe does becomes about that, which in theory sounds awesome, but is executed much the same way as s1!chlark: by reiterating behaviors that highlight the negative aspects of that loyalty and the negative aspects of their characters.

the single time they do actively examine what this loyalty means and how chloe's hero complex complicates things for chlark is with s8 and davis. she protects davis with the skills of subterfuge and secrecy she developed as clark's friend. and it costs her jimmy and a lot of her personal integrity as a character. tho ironically it makes chloe the strongest she's been as a character. this is the first time clark is forced to view chloe as an enemy and he never quite recovers from discovering the dark depths she’s willing to go to. 

it's an arc dealing with the established beats: how far chloe is willing to go for a kryptonian (very far), how much she's willing to do for him (A LOT and all of it illegal), and what it costs her (jimmy). it deals with her jealousy (always second choice) and her motivations (uncovering the truth). this great want that she struggled with for years is turned on its head and examined, revealing just how weird and dark her hero complex is because obviously davis is not clark. davis/chloe served to highlight more than any other arc how it's really too bad that clark never saw her that way, because she has so much love to give and when channeled, it's a great force. only it's a great force for evil. clark has to confront that it’s not just lex but his other closest friend who is willing to go so far. they backtrack hard in s9 and s10 but they keep this underlying wariness in clark towards Chloe throughout. it’s not anything new, but it’s no longer subtext that clark doesn’t fully trust chloe.

7. And that's the rub

in the end. chloe and clark have many storylines they're in together and chloe's important.... to develop clark and as a counter to clark. clark never instigates anything, not once, for 9 years! when the show did give us Moments TM, clark is reacting, not actively making choices to connect to her. if anything, clark is incredibly awkward about chloe when they become intimate. he doesn't seem to know what to do with her crushing on him (the elevator scene is a great one to show just how awkward chloe makes him feel). more than that. clark never tells her his secret. and later on, chloe doesn't tell him half the crazy wild shit she does to protect him bc she knows he would disapprove. I still hold that the only reason they work is bc clark is a forgiving character and would give her chance after chance after chance. that's the watsonian explanation, but the doylist explanation is that the writers just never cared to explore them beyond this point.

8. and what was beyond that point?

they would've been a great counter to lexana in S6 and early clana (clark finally having a gf who knows). it’s playing the clark/Chloe as a straight lois/clark proxy before actually pursuing lois and clark. it could’ve been the precursor to davis and caused an even more personal conflict! the kiss at the end of s5 was their chance. they could've written chlark devolving much the same way lexana did in s6 (or not). but again. the writers never went that far and clearly never wanted to. it kept chlark forever in this stage of childhood friendship always on the brink of collapsing, tittering either way. it's also tough to speculate bc clark's just not into her. in fact he becomes more and more wary of her, to the point where he believes she can do horrible things, and he's right. the stories continually make their methods complete opposite.

they go out of their way to show chloe realizing how happy clark is with lois. and even play a joke on the fandom by literally turning her into lois and seeing the sparks between her friends. it's almost... cruel but it does serve to show how clark is when he's smitten and he's never looked at chloe that way except during the dance when they were kids. other unrequited dynamics have at least some spark from the desired, but nil from clark. clark is into chloe in late s1, but she shuts him down, and when he seems to be into her again (damn that s5 kiss was a good one lol), she shuts him down again. it's just a weird writing choice all around, and that they kept nuggets of it throughout the show is the thing I cringe at most whenever I rewatch.

9. bait and switch 2

with hindsight it is definitely ship baiting and that sucks for that dynamic bc without it their friendship would’ve been the stronger, or at least not full of so much negativity. all it did was remind everyone that chloe’s been duped since she was a kid and that clark is both stupid and strange for never noticing and letting her get away with shit just bc she’s the most loyal. I don’t ship them and even I get frustrated lol

[tentoriwrites]

Cider and Honey

Rating: General Audiences          Fandom: Final Fantasy XIV

Relationships: Haurchefant Greystone/Warrior of Light

Characters: Haurchefant Greystone, Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV)

Language: English           Words:1748          Song:  "Broken Heart of Gold (acoustic)" One Ok Rock

Summary: Haurchefant comforts the Warrior of Light in their hour of need in a sweet way. Non-gendered Warrior of Light.

Author’s note:  TIL the Japanese version of Haurchefant is completely different than the English version. So I'm going to make two versions of the same scenario. This version, the sweet version, features English Haurchefant.

The last few dying embers of a once roaring fire now simmered in the fireplace. They gave off very little warmth and even less light. Morning would not come for some time and even when it did, it would not offer comfort. No, the sun would only serve to cast harsh light on the reality of the situation the hero of Eorzea now found themselves in. Even the moon seemed unwilling to cast its glow upon the suffering hero.

There they sat on one of the softest and plushest couches they ever felt. Only in Sultana’s bedchamber had the furniture felt so luxurious. And so, it had only served to remind them of their failure. To her and to everyone else. That is what led them to sitting in the middle of a couch, in their bedclothes with their knees to their chest, face buried in their knees. A desperate bid to stave off the metaphorical darkness that threatened to consume them.

Everyone liked to think the Warrior of Light was made of stronger stuff than mortal men. But the truth of the matter was they were made strong because of their friends and comrades. Tempered like steel by their desire to protect the ones they held precious. Bereft of the thing that gave them strength, the weight of the world pushed them closer and closer to the watery surface of despair. They knew. They knew if their head should ever go under, it would be the end of everything. So, they persisted in treading those waters, as best they could, alone in the darkness.

Light steps on the polished marble floors spoke to someone or something stirring elsewhere in the manor. A quiet gasp pulled the Warrior of Light’s face up slightly, but they saw no one through their vision blurred with barely constrained tears. So, they dug their fingers into the flesh of their leg to take their mind off the tears that threatened to spill free and buried their face in their knees again.

A dull thud on the table beside them pulled the hero from their stupor once more. A tray with a steaming cup of beverage and a vial of white-ish liquid caught their attention. They slowly and absently looked around but felt a warm weight on their back before they found a person. They followed the person with their eyes as the shadow moved from the back of the couch to the fireplace. They threw a pair of logs on the embers and blew gently for several long moments until a small fire kindled once more. The warrior didn’t need to see a face to know who their nursemaid was.

“Haurchefant…” The name was barely more than a hoarse whisper, giving away everything they had hoped to hide.

The Elezen jumped as if startled and quickly spun around. He looked one part relieved, one part deeply apologetic.

“Pray excuse the intrusion, I did not mean to wake you. It would not do for the reputation of the Fortemps name if the Warrior of Light caught cold while under our stewardship.” Haurchefant whispered as he gave a slight bow.

“I wasn’t asleep.” The hero unfolded slightly and wrapped themselves in the blanket.

“Then pray excuse my presumptuousness but I suspected that might be the case.” He reached out and picked up the vial on the tray. He gently pressed it into the warrior’s hand. “A weak sleeping potion.” He gestured to the mug on the tray. “Mulled cider. Mulled wine is a more traditional Ishgardian drink, but I have found it does not do as well washing down medicine.” His characteristic enthusiastic smile graced his face.

“Thank you. You have done too much for me already.” Their voice was nothing short of despondent.

“And yet…” Haurchefant sat down at the end of the couch looking rather melancholy. “I feel as if you ask not enough of me.”

“How could I possibly? If not for you, we would have nowhere to go…” The hero turned part way so they could look at Haurchefant better.

Though the Warrior of Light was quick to say so, Haurchefant was just as quick to shake his head in protest.

“I have done nothing more than any self-respecting knight would have.” Haurchefant took on a far-off look as he stared at the fire. “Though some of Ishgard’s citizens would argue otherwise I have a very firm belief of what it means to be a knight. To protect those who cannot protect themselves. To fight for those who cannot fight for themselves. To save those who cannot save themselves. There is no greater honor for a knight.” His eyes came into focus again as they leveled on the warrior. “In truth… I will forever be in your debt.”

“How? For Francel? I would have saved him anyways. He was suffering because of a great injustice!”

Haurchefant pressed a finger to the hero’s lips in part to remind them it was late and to be quiet, but also to make them stop talking altogether. “Though I may have been sequestered at an outpost in the middle of nowhere, I am neither blind nor ignorant.” His finger hovered over long before slowly sliding down to take one of the hero’s hand in his. His gaze followed that finger, lingering where it lingered until it settled on their entwined fingers.

“As you so ungentlely learned from Ser Aymeric in your first meeting, many of my brothers and sisters see the Dravanians as the only threat to Ishgard. All others are relegated to other nations or a distant future they imagine will never come. But… I…” His gaze drifted up to meet the hero’s again. “I understand your defeat of the primals was vital to the salvation of all of us.”

His free hand came up to take the warrior’s chin. “You have saved my life more times than I even know. Pray, let me save yours this night. Not as a knight, but as Haurchefant. As the man who treasures you more deeply than even you know.”

Wide eyes and flushed cheeks greeted Haurchefant’s words. The warrior tried to look away but their eyes could find nothing else to look at but him.

“Whatever it is you need, whatever would have me do to ease the burdens on your shoulders, speak it and I shall do everything in my power to make it so.”

“I…” They took a deep breath and closed their eyes moment so as to compose themselves. To find any words at all to offer under the intensity of his earnest gaze. “Stay with me for tonight, please.” They slowly opened their eyes.

Haurchefant had nothing but a warm smile on his face. “I have one condition. You must rest. If you think yourself incapable on your own then do take the medicine I brought.” He freed his hand from your grasp and pulled the warrior’s hand up, still holding the elixir.

“All right.”

The acquiescence seemed to fill Haurchefant with a great measure of relief. After watching the warrior down the whole bottle and place it back on the tray he took a corner of the large blanket to wrap around himself. Then he wrapped the warrior up in the rest of the blanket.

“Come rest your head on my legs.” He patted his thigh gently.

If they had not been so sleep addled by the potion, the Warrior of Light would have been a bit embarrassed. Their current state found them taking his offer readily. They curled up on themselves and made themselves comfortable by laying across his whole lap. Their face nuzzled into his stomach and they breathed deep of the scent of the fresh linen material of his bedclothes and his skin. As if out of instinct they grasped one of his hands and hugged it for dear life. This earned them a quiet chuckle from the Elezen. He carded the fingers of his free hand through their hair slowly.

“Though I would much rather see you smile, if you must cry then pray let me always be there to wipe your tears away. Would promise me that?”

“I… I will only ever cry… with you… Haur…che…fant…”

“I just don’t understand where they both could have gone without anyone noticing!” Emmanellain’s boisterous voice seemed to echo off the walls. “Was the Warrior of Light not pledged to help us with our duties?”

“You are hardly one to speak of completing one’s duties…” Artoirel retorted quickly.

The brothers and Honoroit rounded the corner and found one of the parlor doors opened. “It would seem our honored guest is waiting for us.” Honoroit suggested as the made to enter the foyer.

Instead of seeing a dressed and ready Warrior of Light and Haurchefant waiting for them, they found the pair on the couch in a similar position they fell asleep in. Though now the warrior was hugging Haurchefant’s waist, his hand was still resting in their hair.

Artoirel quickly grabbed Emmanellain and Honoroit by the shoulders and yanked them out of the doorway.

“Haurchefant! That sly dog…” Emmanellain sounded put off by the sight he just beheld.

“If you were not possessed of such profound ignorance, you would have clearly realized from the way Haurchefant spoke they shared a unique relationship!” Artoirel hissed between his teeth as he shoved the younger men down the hall.

“By Halone, what is going on?” Count Edmont looked bewildered as the trio haphazardly fumbled down the hall.

“I suggest you do not take any visitors in the parlor this morning, Father.” Artoirel offered no other explanation.

“Haurchefant! I thought you said that was a weak sleeping elixir! Wake up! We overslept! I’m supposed to go with one of your brothers today!”

The sound of clamoring from the parlor preluded a pair of thunderous steps changing in tone to match the various flooring types. Suddenly, the Warrior of Light came scampering out of the parlor followed by Haurchefant. The warrior stepped on the edge of the blanket and proceeded to slide into the wall face first. They then fell backwards on to Haurchefant sending them both to the floor in tangle of limbs and blanket.

Count Edmont pinched the bridge of his nose and closed his eyes. “I trust you would like naught to be said of this?”

“Yes, please.” The Warrior of Light answered rather sheepishly.

“Then we shan’t speak of it again. Do ready yourselves for the day quickly.”

[voidcat]

Intrusion

– 3: level 5 of friendship (wc: 1.8k)

prev ; next ; m.list

a/n: a filler-ish type of character. according to my ao3 a/n i kinda felt out of this chapter by the time i sat down to write so yea,,, + the text copy pasted from ao3 again so bolds and italics may be gone.

>[Hey I’ll go to the café a little earlier and sit around for a while. I’ll send you the address and you can meet me there.]

>[btw they don’t only serve pastry so if u r hungry after practice, you can eat there.]

>[k bye see ya]

You were up hours before you received a message from Iwaizumi. A simple “Good Morning.” blinking at you from the corner of your eye. Sending a short reply, you went back to your book. The house completely silent, save for your creaking footsteps; your parents have already left, typical as always.

It was odd for you to be up before your alarm. You brush the possibilities off, trying not think too much about it. The air feels nice and the chirping of birds isn’t exactly distracting, I might as well do some reading. That is how you decided to begin your day, pushing all your thoughts aside and entering a brand new world.

The heavy silence starting to weight on you after a while, you change your clothes, send these texts to Iwaizumi and head out.

Finding a good spot to sit by the window side, in case Iwaizumi cannot find the place, you order a drink as you pick your book up where you left off. You must’ve dozed off because you don’t realize him until he sits down.

“Hey.”

“Oh, hi. Glad you could make it.” It’s weird to see him without the school uniform now. The tshirt looks like he changed into it after practice. The jacket hanging from his seat and the bag by his side, both carrying the trademark colors for Aoba Johsai sports clubs indicating your assumption further. His face seems redder than usual, he must’ve left a short while ago.

You stare at one another for a moment. “So, how was practice?”

“As usual. We tried switching positions and had some 2-against-2 matches a little.”

“Ah, that… sounds good? I think. No, maybe a bit intense too? I’m not sure.” Shaking your head as you speak, you can hear him chuckle, probably at you.

“How about your morning?”

“As usual.”

“So you do wake up before noon on weekends, huh.” You can’t help but smile at that.

“Except for that part, then.” You look up to find him smiling at you warmly. This only makes your smile bigger.

One of the staff approaches your table and drops a single menu between the two of you. When will cafes stop assuming two people of the opposite sex as a couple and bring only one menu?..

Iwaizumi makes a gesture, signaling you to take a look and choose first.

“You go ahead, I have some inside information on their products.” You say with a smile as if you really are sharing a top secret. What’s up with the never ending smiles today? It couldn’t possibly be because of meeting with him, right? No way. And yet, the smiles appear before your face all natural, feeling familiar; so you let it keep happening. Change once in a while never killed anybody.

Eyes wandering around, examining each furniture, each plant, the expressions people wear; trying to distinct the source of each smell, guessing what it is, you wait for Iwaizumi to choose. The air is calm, no one is too loud and you can hear relaxing songs playing through the speakers. I hope the harmony of this place isn’t disturbed during the rush hours, you can’t help but think.

Getting tired of the pastel ambiance after a while, you divert your gaze back to Iwaizumi. Only to see a frustrated face staring at the menu he’s holding. He almost looks like it insulted him or better yet, attacked him. Your hand reaches to it before you can realize. You lower the menu a little.

“Need help?” He almost looks embarrassed to nod does it any way.

“Yeah, I’m torn between Americano and filter coffee… But what exactly is the difference between the two?” The excitement inside you hard to conceal, your hands jump into the air, digits spread wide.

“Oh, oh! I know this!” The look Iwaizumi gives you makes you stop. He seems… at ease. He has one of these small smiles you’ve witnessed before. There’s also a hint of something in his eyes, a gleam is there sure and a little bit of playfulness, but also something else you can’t put your finger on. Whatever it is, it suits him and you’d like to see him like this more often. You shake your head at your last thought.

“No, don’t give me that look. I only know about types of coffee because one of my friends is a caffeine addict.” And so you start to talk about different types of coffee, milk and espresso ratios, all in detail.

Five minutes into speedtalking about coffee and you give up at the look of defeat you are met with. “Just order Americano, you seem the type any way.”

“Hey, what’s that supposed to mean?” You ignore the question.

A minute of waiting and awkward stare passes, then another minute of ordering is added to the pile. Iwaizumi, following your advice and ordering Americano, you asking for chai latte and the ‘cake of the day’. You two fall back into silence.

No conversation starters coming into mind, your eyes keep wandering around. Stealing glances at him once in a while, only for the both of you to make eye contact and immediately diverting your gazes, the unsettling silence starts to take its toll.

“I… I need to use the restroom.” You dash out before he can say anything, hoping the door you saw earlier does lead to the restroom. Splashing water to your face to calm your nerves, why would my nerves even be not calm in the first place??, you slowly head out and pray to whatever force out there that your orders have arrived.

You’re either lucky or you’ve used up your daily dose of luck because your prayers seem to be answered. The steam coming from your beverages is numbing and the cake looks heavenly to you. Light cream between the layers and on top, surrounded with fresh fruits and some jam spilled over the plate to make a twirling shape for a good presentation…

There are two sets of cutlery.

Because bringing a single menu was not enough and they just had to bring two sets of cutlery, still assuming you’re a couple. Not to worry, it’s not worth losing your cool over. You take a deep breath and sit as you breathe down, a not so genuine smile plastered on your face.

“So, how is the coffee?”

“Good. I suppose you were right about ‘my type’” he does air quotes as he speaks. Another smile breaks free of your mask.

“If it’s any consolation, I usually prefer coffee without sweeteners, so it is a little my type too.” A knowing nod at that.

“And the cake?..”

“Well, it looks good. You can try if you want, they did bring another fork anyway.” He doesn’t too eager at that. Cutting a part of the cake and putting it to one side of the plate, you shrug and start eating.

An easy flow of conversation comes after.

It starts with something that catches your eye in the street, starting to look through the window and creating fun little scenarios, the air around you gets warmer.

Excitingly pointing at a cat passing by, Iwaizumi learns how fond of cats you are, even so that you have one at home.

Inspecting the trees nearby and trying to guess what species, you find out he has an eye for it. He knows most of the trees and flowers out there.

He asks you your favorite genre to play on piano and in return you ask him his preferred sports drink. It goes like this. Beverages already drunk, cake long eaten, you two get lost in small things and what-nots.

The sun at the top, shining through and drowning the world under its golden light, everything seems to be at peace. Not a single customer around talking too loud, or maybe they do but you’re too out of it to notice… The temperature just right, your thoughts at bay, all harmless. Almost as if it’s a regular weekend day-out, the way it feels so familiar.

Feeling relaxed and loosened up, ready to doze off to sleep at any given moment, you slowly find yourself getting lost in pale green eyes, and vice versa.

Whatever unseen force that was holding the entire place, including you, in a calm trance, falls apart at the sudden sound of an unwelcome beep.

Both of you reaching out to your phones, you see a notification alert

Staring at your screen for a while, a sincere smile blooms on your face, giddy with excitement and happy, you feel unstoppable at that very moment.

“Good news I hope. Care to share?” Iwaizumi’s words reach your ears a few seconds too late. Still holding your phone with both hands grinning like an idiot now, you shake your head a little.

“You need to reach level 5 of friendship with me to access this story, sorry.” You can see him laughing lightly at the back of his hand.

“What’s so funny?”

“Oh nothing. It’s just… I expected at least a level 10.” It’s your turn to laugh now, and so it seems.

“You’ve listened to me playing the piano. That gives you a 5 level headstart already.”

“You’re really that secretive about that?” All that joy from a moment ago has died down and replaced with confusion. You avoid his eyes and focus on a spot near him again, just like the first time.

“Secretive is not the best choice of words. More like… insecure? I guess, I’m not sure.”

“Well, that’s just dumb.”

“I- What? Excuse me?!”

“I’ve said what I said. You already play well and only a fool wouldn’t notice the way you give your all as you play. There is no logical reason for you to be insecure about that.”

“Yes but- you see…” Words die out at your throat, hand hanging in the air.

Another thing you learn about Iwaizumi Hajime right then and there. He is honest and as harsh as truth can be.

You wonder if he is like that all the time, if he is as open when it comes to himself. Or does he hide behind a façade like the rest of the world.

Noticing how tense you are getting, Iwaizumi ends your misery at last, asking about the book you were reading and you two fall back into another quiet chatter of everything and nothing until you  call it a day.

[marshmallowprotection]

Yes more custom mcs I'm off my artist block and now theres no stopping me from doing this

mJust a warning, this custom mc is…uh, triggery to say the least.

Triggers: Abuse, suicide, abusive relationships, depression, overall things like that (+Rika being manipulative) 

I can understand if you dont want to look at this, its not that heavy in terms of descriptiveness, its just mentions and stuff, excluding when its described of this mc being locked in a small dark closet without food for hours…and when her brother murders her father after he murders her other five sisters…;-;

This is also a match up request (im sorry, i know, this is like the third i have sent, i just like hearing other peoples ideas and stuff and whilst im thinking this  mc might be able to go with saeran…i dunno, saeran needs a rock and she needs a rock, idk if they can be rocks for each other, idk just with their trauma they might end up just hurting each other, plus uh suit saeran times…eek. that would just trigger her REALLY  badly considering its so similar to the “locked in closet without food in the dark” thing. since. during suit times. if following ray’s route. she would be locked in her room without food for two-ish(?) days…;-;)

Also yes unfinished sketch of her ^ kind of went with a lolita/victorian style for her, since Mint Eye gives lolita/victorian style fantasy vibes (Magenta is LITERALLY a castle, like, come on Rika, did you have to make it so obvious?). 

Full Name: Sayaka Yamato

International Age: 21 (AS) 22 (OS)

Korean Age: 22 (AS) 23 (OS)

Nicknames: Madi (Yoosung, Zen, Jaehee)

Koko (By Seven)

Blood Type: AB+

Sexual Orientation: Heterosexual

Marital Status: Single [Shipped With ???]; Has a Unrequited(?) Crush On Ray; Has Had A Previous Relationship

Ethnicity: Japanese

Nationality: South Korea

Religion: Shinto

Birthdate: May 6th, 1994

Zodiac: Taurus

Height: 5′0 ft (152 cm)

Weight: 95 lbs (43 kgs)

Status: Alive (All Routes Except V’s)

Deceased (V’s Route)

Occupation: Affiliated With Mint Eye 

Hobbies: Playing The Violin, Gardening With Ray Occasionally, Singing, Dancing

Likes: Flowers, Music, Dancing, Being Praised By The Savior, Ray, Baking, The Ocean, Flower Crowns, The Sun, Long Hot Showers

Dislikes: The Dark (Severe Phobia), Being Called “Darling” (Trauma Related), Ice Skating, Small Rooms (E.g. the size of a small closet; Trauma Related), Crowds, Smoking, Alcohol, The Unknown, Being Alone With Her Intrusive Thoughts

Affiliations: Mint Eye

Relatives: Father (Deceased)

Mother (Deceased)

5 Older Half-Sisters (Deceased)

Older Half-Brother

Background: Sayaka is a girl from Japan who moved to South Korea with her older brother when she was 14. Sayaka was born the youngest of 7 siblings, 6 girls (including herself) and one boy, who was the eldest. Her and her siblings were all born into a abusive household, their mother being a woman who slept around, making all of her children half siblings, and the one man who was there, the father (Sayaka does not think of him as her father) of the eldest child, sexually abused his daughters, whilst the mother sexually abused the only son. Sayaka’s childhood home reeked of alcohol and smoke, and whenever she misbehaved even a little, she was locked inside one of the smallest closets of the house for hours on end, without food. When she was 14 her “father” seemed to have snapped (he was already mentally fucked up, its not like he suddenly became this way), murdering her 5 sisters in front of her eyes, and then her mother, and before he could kill her, her brother (who was apprehended him, took his knife, and killed him. Her older brother then took her and ran as far away as he could, eventually managing to move her and him to South Korea where they started a new life. When Sayaka was 19, she met a man (who was 5 years her senior) who she fell in love with and moved in with him. However, once again, Sayaka was abused, mostly sexually, however. Due to her boyfriend always calling her “Darling” and due to the abuse she underwent, her main PTSD trigger is whenever she hears the word “Darling” or is called such. One day, Sayaka meets Rika by chance in a park when on a walk with her boyfriend, and Rika eventually manages to separate the two. What follows is Rika forcibly making Sayaka break up with her boyfriend, and Rika making Sayakaa trust her by telling her about her own experience with sexual abuse. Sayaka eventually becomes part of Mint Eye, becoming one of Rika’s “favorites” as she likes to say in a sort of bragging tone. Many could mistaken Sayaka being in love with Rika because of how much she seems to fawn over her, when in reality Sayaka love lies with Ray. Sayaka and Ray met in the gardens of Mint Eye whilst Sayaka was watering a Lily of The Valley, and ended up slowly becoming friends because of their shared love of flowers and gardening. Sayaka ended up developing a crush on Ray since he was her first friend and the first man (besides her half-brother, who she honestly never was very close to due to him working all the time to support him and her) to not hurt her in some way. 

In V’s route, when Rika chooses to destroy Magenta, Sayaka decides to stay in Magenta. This was in search of suicide, and also to stay with Ray. She dies in the explosion whilst shielding Ray from most of the blast. 

I match you with... 

Zen!

You’re the kind of person that’s desperate to find a sense of peace in your life and you’ve never known what it feels like to live in peace. You’re haunted by the past and what those demons mean to you. It’s hard to cope but you’ve kept on living because that seems like the right thing to do... you’re lost, for the lack of a better word. 

Nobody’s ever put you first or given you the chance to see that you are worth loving and you have a life with meaning. If my brain didn’t scream, Zen, I’d be inclined to agree with you on the Ray front. It’s simply because you seem like you need someone that will hold your hand and remind you that you’re beautiful and that you never deserved to go through what you did. He would be very soft and sincere with you, not pushing you once he realized that you were the type to feel skittish and unsure of yourself around others. He just wants to see you smile and laugh, so expect him to extend his hand to you when you aren’t sure what it is you want. 

I think he’d love your style and your way of presenting yourself to the world. He can appreciates someone who seems to thrive in their style and what makes them happy. He’s always complimenting you and reminding you that he thinks the world of you at the end of the day.

[crystaljins]

But why not me?

Characters: Jimin x Reader

Word count: 3.7k

Synopsis:   You are friendly with the Prince of a neighbouring planet and Jimin has some things to say about it.

Arrangedmarriage!au-ish

Notes: So an anon requested Jimin + prince and I thought... what about Spaceprince!Jimin? Again another 1000 follower request and hopefully this one is fun!!! It’s something a little different, at least.

Warnings: Jealousy. Immature characters. Verbal fighting.

The gardens of Lutania are some of the prettiest you’ve seen in this quadrant of the galaxy. The planet boasts unique bioluminescent flowers as part of their unique flora and great care by their scientists were taken to implant that DNA into imported species from other planets to give them the ability to fluoresce. The gardens are an accumulation of these lovingly cultivated species. They sit on the fringe of the palace grounds where the public can visit at will without interfering with the operations of their government, encapsulated in a neat bubble-like enclosure where the temperature, humidity and oxygen levels are carefully controlled. It is the closest to the outdoors that you can reach on this planet without your suit since you have not yet adapted to their atmosphere and you have no plans to stay long enough to do so.

“Are the gardens to your liking, my lady?” Beside you, the Prince of this planet has his hands neatly folded behind his back. A deep black cloak hangs off broad shoulders- it shimmers as it flutters behind him, catching the lighting of the luminescent flowers. You smile thinly. You have corrected Namjoon multiple times that you are Captain of the Royal Guard of your own government and are to be addressed as such, but you are beginning to suspect that it may merely be a translation thing. He, of course, is not actually speaking your native tongue- it is the communication device lodged neatly in your ear that translates his words at the same rate he speaks them. Perhaps the formal title has no other alternative in your language. So, this time you choose to hold your tongue rather than correct him. It is kind of… nice, if you are being honest, to have such a delicate and lovely title as “lady” attributed to you. Especially after the hurtful conversation you had had with your Prince earlier that morning. Today, you do not wish to be Captain. You do not wish to be an intimidating, highly respected civil servant who people whisper nasty things about in the hallways of the palace back home. You just want to enjoy the pretty gardens and not think about handsome Princes who only cause you heartache.

“It’s beautiful.”  You say warmly. “I can see why your people take such pride in it.”

Namjoon smiles and bends at the waist to examine a flower that hangs into your path. It resembles a rose but fluoresces a deep blue. The petals only glow at the base where they attach to the stem, however- the edges are dark and curl outwards and the effect is a rather nice gradient of light on each individual petal. He runs his fingers gently along the edges and a sweet smell fills the air.

“I had been meaning to take you to see these gardens at your earliest convenience. I… have greatly enjoyed your presence on this mission.” Namjoon offers hesitantly, and that brings you to pause. At this stage in your career, you’ve dealt with quite a lot of princes and bureaucrats trying to butter you up, thinking that perhaps you can sway the results of diplomatic meetings when you accompany Prince Jimin. But it does not seem that Namjoon is doing such a thing- no, he seems so warm and friendly. More genuine than the prince of your own planet, although perhaps that is just your own frustration speaking. Prince Jimin had not held himself back during his harsh words that morning, after all. You don’t know where he’s scampered off to after saying such things to you, but you much prefer Namjoon’s presence anyway. Namjoon does not hold the power to break your heart and cannot hurt you the way that Jimin did that morning. He’s the far safer option- Jimin can go off gallivanting as far from you as possible. Currently you couldn’t care less if he plummeted off the edge of a cliff.

“Well, thank you for making my time enjoyable as well.” You say, firmly pushing the thoughts of your prince out of your mind. Now is not the time for distractions even if his words from earlier will not cease replaying in your head. “It is rare that I am afforded such a beautiful sight on expeditions like these. Usually we are confined to the indoor areas where the meetings are to take place.”

“Well, if you don’t mind remaining indoors again tonight, I wouldn’t mind your presence beside me at dinner tonight.” Namjoon admits, almost sheepishly. This also catches you off guard- you are not sure why the Prince has taken such a sudden interest in you. Out of curiosity, you want to accept, but you know that you cannot.

“Unfortunately, I must-“ You begin, ready to launch into an explanation.

“It is her duty and role to sit beside me.” A third voice cuts off your explanation and both you and Namjoon turn in surprise to find the Prince of your planet staring you down with an unnecessary intensity. You blink a few times before turning to Namjoon.

“What he means is, as much as I would like to, unfortunately I have obligations to fulfill in coming here, and part of that is remaining by my prince’s side.” You offer in a way that is hopefully more tactful and polite than the blunt and intrusive statement that Jimin has just offered. The nerve of him! Like he has a right to speak to you the way he did this morning and then come barging in here like this. Prince or no prince, he has no right to be behaving in such a manner, especially when in conversation with another prince of a planet just as prosperous and peaceful as his own.

Namjoon offers a cursory glance at Jimin who has his arms folded across his chest. He offers Namjoon a slight arch of his brow, a challenging look that irks you. You cannot imagine how Namjoon must feel to be on its receiving end.

Prince Namjoon is seemingly the more mature and kinder being, for he merely extends an arm towards Jimin and offers a bow. It is a symbol of peace and acquiescence amongst his species and you are stunned and embarrassed that he is forced to offer such a gesture to your rude and obnoxious Prince. Jimin looks guilty, at the very least, and he offers a deep bow in return.

“I am sorry to have interrupted your duties.” Namjoon says to you, and he does seem to be genuinely apologetic. “Perhaps, in the future, you could come visit again when you do not hold any duties and we could-“ He suggests, but Jimin cuts him off by stepping forward.

“I’m sure the two of you can organise that at a later date when (Y/N) is not on duty, but unfortunately she has some important matters to discuss with me. As much as I do not wish to interrupt, I’m afraid her company is required.” Jimin says. You are relieved that the translation device which Namjoon is wearing does not convey sarcasm or you would surely have an intergalactic dispute on your hands. You are almost tempted to deny the existence of such things to discuss since you have no desire to speak to Jimin but you know you cannot afford to portray dissonance amongst your team.

“Oh. I’m sorry. I did not realise that she was required.” Namjoon says apologetically, confirmation that Jimin’s vitriol is not being conveyed through the translation device. He bows and offers you a sweet smile. “(Y/N) we will have to meet another time. There is so much I wish to discuss with you! You will have to tell me about some more of those strange planetary customs the next time we meet.” He tells you fondly, referring to an earlier conversation the two of you had had.

Jimin is stiff-shouldered until Namjoon is out of earshot and then he quickly whirls around to glare at you.

“I can’t believe you!” He cries. “I’ve been scouring this bloody palace, worried that something had happened you were in here? On a date with a prince of another planet?” He demands. You feel yourself bristle in anger.

“You don’t have any right to speak to me like that! He requested my presence, and as you so astutely pointed out this morning, I am Captain of your royal guard, and as such it is my duty to approach everything with diplomacy on this mission.” You snarl in response. “You seemed quite intent on duty earlier when you were being rude to Namjoon!”

“Namjoon?” Jimin cries. “You’re on first-name basis with the Prince now? And planning dates and extra vacations here! Why not just marry him?”

“Maybe I will!” You cry. “What right have you to be upset if I do?”

Jimin’s anger deflates and he shoves a hand through his hair in distress. His hair, normally neatly combed back off his forehead, is in disarray as it often gets when he is upset. He’s changed out of the normal uniform you all wear on expeditions such as these- he’s exchanged the military garb, a tight fitted dark green jacket that fits squarely over his shoulders and heavy-duty pants, for the flowy, darker attire of this planet. You like how he looks in his strict military garb, but you prefer the way he looks with the fabric that seems to wash over him like a waterfall and the loose fitted, airy shirts. He looks carefree in the attire, and less like he carries the weight of an entire planet on his shoulders.

“I…” He says, clearly trying to come up with the words. “I…”

He falls silent, clearly at a loss for words. Every other time you’ve fought, you’ve always made allowances for him. You’ve known Jimin since your days back in the academy- he had been put through the same brutal military training as you, as is the custom for all able-bodied young people on your planet, and the two of you had become quite close during that time. Close enough for you to develop feelings for the handsome prince, but you were a dime a dozen in that sense- there was not a single person in the academy who had not fallen for Jimin’s charming looks and big heart. He had this innate power to pull people to him. And so, he never noticed your feelings nor did he ever show any signs of reciprocation. And you’ve always been so blinded your feelings that you’ve let him step all over you- like the time he wanted to sneak out to meet with a young lady who lived in the city, a nobody that his parents definitely wouldn’t have approved of and despite your insistence that he had duties he must meet, he had begged and pleaded until you’d given in. Or when you’d been promoted to Captain of the Guard over him thanks to your dedication and commitment to the position and he hadn’t spoken to you for a week out of jealousy and disappointment. He’s not a bad or thoughtless person. Jimin is just used to getting what he wants thanks to his charisma and handsome face and he’s as used to taking from you as you are to giving in to him. You’ve always made excuses for him and the selfish things he does but this time it is too much. Your heart is tender and you cannot keep allowing him to hurt you the way that he does.

This particular fight has been brewing for months. It began when conversations began amongst your government over who would be an appropriate candidate to marry their prince. It is customary for the King and Queen to step down when their heir is of an appropriate age to lead, so that their guidance and wisdom is available as the new King adjusts to the role. And that day is fast approaching for Jimin- soon he will enter his second quarter, the age where on is considered mature enough to lead. Already he has been taking on more important roles, such as visiting foreign emissaries and making trips such as this one to Lutania to negotiate trade routes and peace treaties. And so, it is only natural that discussions of who would be Queen alongside Jimin would come into play. Some of the government workers angled for their own offspring to be Jimin’s partner, desiring the prestige and respect that would come for their children. Others were suggesting that perhaps someone from another planet, which would lend military strength to your planet and also gain you more respect in the Intergalactic Alliance.

It had been the King and Queen who had first brought up your name. As head of the military, a match between you and Jimin would win him the respect of his armed forces and demonstrate the strength and unity of your planet. It also meant that they had a direct line in communications with the Intergalactic Alliance, who preferred to liaise with the head of military of your planet rather than its rulers. Intergalactic prestige can only mean good things for your planet, which has no unique exports or riches to offer.

Oddly enough, Jimin had not been the one to oppose the idea. He had been scarily willing to sign his life away, which considering he had once admitted you were as attractive to him as the tiled flooring of the Meeting Room in the palace, was surprising. You had even overheard him discussing with his friend Taehyung about how maybe it wouldn’t be so bad- a list, pointing out that you aren’t unattractive, you’re well-loved by your people and you’re easy enough to get along with. Imagine that! Having such a convenient list of why he should marry you. You wish it were that easy for you.

And so, it had been you to politely decline the suggestion when you were summoned to the throne room to discuss the matter. Jimin had stood beside you with his head bowed like his parents were about to announce their decision to execute him because despite the convenient list, it is still not a pleasant thing to be forced into marriage. Perhaps you should have been overjoyed when they suggested you marry him. After all, your feelings for him are no secret to anyone with function optic spheres and they were offering you everything you could have ever wanted!

But this isn’t what you wanted. To give up the position you had worked your whole life for, to step into a high responsibility role, just to have a sham of a marriage where the husband you loved did not feel the same way? The thought of being married to a man who thought of you as a convenient way to tick some boxes sickened you. Jimin, however, used to getting what he wants and accustomed to having everyone adore him the second he stepped into a room, had not taken the news well. Finally, after numerous fights where he had tried to find what exactly made him so lacking that you would refuse becoming Queen to avoid marrying him, it had culminated in the fight the two of you had had that morning.

You’re not even sure what set him off- one moment you had been mentioning that Namjoon was positively considering the trade deals Jimin was proposing after a long but impromptu conversation with you the night before, and the next moment the two of you were screaming at each other. You can’t even recall most of what you said to each other, but it had ended up with you storming off. You had run into Namjoon then who had seen your distress and suggested a peaceful walk in the gardens to calm you down.

“I’m so tired of this, Jimin.” You say softly. “Aren’t you sick of fighting? Are you really that upset that I won’t marry you?”

“Yes.” The words are whispered so softly that you almost miss them. You blink a few times as you second-guess whether it was your imagination or not.

“What?” You ask aloud. Jimin sets his jaw and straightens. His fists are clenched so tightly that they shake, and his knuckles go white. He meets your gaze head on with dark eyes. Your people are known for fierce, dark eyes that seem to hold galaxies in them and the look that Jimin gives you certainly reflects that. His eyes catch the light of the luminescent flowers around you and you’ve never seen a more beautiful gaze.

“I’m upset. I’m upset that you can talk with Namjoon and smile and laugh with him like he’s the most charming person in the world and then look at me like I’m the dirt beneath your shoes. Am I really that repulsive?” He demands. His expression is tortured. “At first I thought that maybe you just didn’t want to be queen… I could live with that. It is because I am the prince that you refused. It hurts that you do not want me but I can live with that. But then, we come here, and Namjoon is a prince. Of the same standing as me. To speak and laugh with him is the same as speaking and laughing with me and yet you won’t do it. You treat me like I am diseased. So it must be me- something must be wrong with me that you do not want me. Why don’t you want me?”

You stare at Jimin in incredulous silence. You had not suspected such distress to lurk behind his anger over the past few weeks. You had assumed that Jimin’s ego had been bruised and that is why he has been treating you with such disdain, but suddenly you see that it’s not the case. You’ve hurt him- really, truly hurt him. And you’d been withholding your true feelings to protect yourself, but to have hurt the man you love so deeply… You swallow and inhale deeply.

“I don’t want a marriage of convenience.” You say softly. Jimin stares at you in confusion. “I… I did not want an empty marriage where our names are joined on paper because it looks good to the public. That… that is just too cruel. To love a man who sees me as a means to an ends.”

Jimin is silent at your admission. Perhaps he does not know how to respond. But it is far more likely that he simply does not understand.

“It wouldn’t be an empty marriage.” Jimin admits quietly. Now you are the one struck speechless. When you do not respond, he continues on desperately. “I chose you. I asked my parents whether it could be you. At first it was just because I didn’t want to marry a stranger and I know you better than anyone else. But then… then it became something else. You would smile at me or you would support me on our missions and all I could think was that there was no one better suited to the role of queen. There was no one else I wanted to be by my side when I did those things. And my friends disagreed. Everyone suggested that I marry someone who could grant us more power or better trade routes, or one of the court ladies who are groomed for the role. So I pretended that you had all these features that made you the perfect candidate to be my queen, but the truth is, they were just excuses. It’s because I wanted you. No, because I want you.” He steps forward, and when you do not step away, he clasps both his hands around yours. He raises them gently to his forehead and shuts his eyes. It takes your breath- it is an intimate and loving gesture, between your people, the kind of act of affection only shown between husbands and wives. “It wouldn’t be a paper marriage because I… well, because I love you.”

He raises his eyes and you see something in his gaze. Something warm and tender and suddenly the weeks of fighting make sense. It was because Jimin was hurt. He thought he was being rejected repeatedly and then you were so friendly with Namjoon… It does not excuse his behaviour, but you understand it.

“I thought you were merely upset because I had hurt your ego. You once said I had the sexual appeal of a tiled floor.” You point out. Jimin laughs, and steps in a little closer. His expression is warm and open when you do not push him away.

“That was when we were young and still in the academy! How many years ago was that? People and feelings change, my edese.” He tells you and your eyes widen at the adoring title. The look in his eyes matches the affection of the pet name. He tilts his head, as he awaits your reaction. You clear your throat awkwardly and look away. If it is a time of confessions, perhaps he is waiting for you to explain yourself.

“I have no interest in Namjoon.” You finally say. “Our mission required diplomacy and I treated him as such. And… you are not…. You are not repulsive. Far from it.”

Joy sparks in Jimin’s eyes and he laughs.

“I suppose that is as close as I will get to a confession of love from you.” He finally says. “Very well then. Perhaps… perhaps when we return from this endeavour… Perhaps we can reopen discussions on my marriage?” He suggests tentatively. It takes a lot of courage, which is amusing considering the fact that you are the literal head of the military of your entire planet, but you offer him a tiny nod, stepping forward to recapture the hands that had released yours.

“If… if you want me. As your love and not as a convenience.” You finally say, meeting his gaze and allowing the feelings you had been repressing for many, many years to surface. Jimin’s lids flutter beneath the intensity of your gaze. “Then that sounds like an excellent idea.”

Jimin smiles and steps forward as if to embrace you, but you hold a hand up to stop his advance.

“After we settle the trade routes here.” You say with a wide smile.

You can hear him complaining behind you as you turn away towards the exit of the gardens. He cannot get everything he wants in life, though.

Just most things.

[balancingdiet]

trembling hands

Detective Conan & Magic Kaito Characters: Kaito/Shinichi Words: 1300 ish Required Fic: Tabula Rasa Extra: (1) (2) (3) (4)

Kaito unintentionally invited Shinichi to watch his performance at the hospital.

For the past year, Kaito had been volunteering more times than he had combined when Aoko was still... around. It might seem Kaito wouldn't have any problems when he'd held so many of these performances already, but there was still one issue he had yet to solve.

Being in the hospital setting, Kaito couldn’t use his doves so that would reduce the number of tricks he could do, but that was never his concern; he'd already curated new tricks over the weekends and practiced last night, and Kaito just had to work a little on the timing since it was likely he'd overrun the thirty minutes session... but that was not the current concern either.

Sitting on the couch in his living room, Kaito stared at his trembling hands.

They had been like this the whole morning.

A flap of wings and a dove landed on the armrest. Being the most intrusive and shameless dove Kaito ever owned, he knew it was Tamago before he had to look.

“You just had your breakfast,” Kaito reminded.

Tamago didn’t answer. It continued to look at him, its red, beady eyes emitting a sense of curiousness that only Kaito would recognise.

Ignoring his companion, Kaito slowly clenched his fists, willing them to stop shaking. For consolation, at least Kaito's situation didn't get worse and had been improving over the months; comparing to the first few weeks when he returned as a volunteer, it wasn’t just his hands but his whole body that would be shaking, and there were a few times when the mere thoughts of going to the hospital could set his lungs on fire.

Fire—

Tamago cooed.

Kaito sighed and leaned back to lay his head on the couch. “I’m fine.”

If it was even possible, Kaito would’ve thought he saw Tamago rolled its eyes.

Kaito glanced at his clenched fists. They were still trembling, but luckily there were still a couple of hours to go before he had to leave his house. Maybe by then, he should be—

Kaito’s ear twitched as he straightened on his couch and glanced towards the direction of his kitchen. He swore he heard the faint sound of a door opening.

And now there was the sound of the door closed.

Kaito sprinted towards his kitchen and peered through his windows that faced his backyard. If only the previous owner of the house had constructed an extra window pane on the right, Kaito would have a perfect view of Shinichi’s backyard too. Instead, Kaito had to press his face near the glass and crane his neck out, just barely catching a glimpse of Shinichi’s empty-looking backyard. But it wasn’t empty, per se.

Shinichi was there.

“Huh?” Kaito raised an eyebrow. “What is he doing?” he wondered aloud. Kaito would rather believe Shinichi was there to bury a dead body than to take care of his tragically, overcrowding plants.

Kaito had no plans to be a detective, so he grabbed a watering-can under the sink as a disguise and headed out to get the direct answer he wanted.

Shinichi turned at the exact second Kaito stepped onto his backyard.

Now from a better angle, Kaito could see what Shinichi was really up to: He was holding a mug, which Kaito dared to bet his precious card gun that it was filled with coffee. So he was drinking with a perfect view of his dying plants. Truly a wonderful experience it must be.

“Good morning, neighbour.” Kaito put up a hand. “What coincidental timing.” He pointed down at his watering can, hoping Shinichi would buy his excuse for his appearance.

It seemed Shinichi did. “...Morning,” he muttered.

Maybe Kaito should have waited a minute later before coming out, just so the caffeine would kick in for Shinichi or something— Hah, would that have mattered to Kaito anyway? He answered his own thoughts by strolling towards the fence and closing their distance, feeling carefree indeed.

Shinichi made no move to go closer to the fence, though he didn’t make any move to go back into his house too. But the most shocking thing of all was that Shinichi spoke first when Kaito finally reached the fence. “I never knew you’re a morning person,” the detective said, sounding stumped as if this was a case he was trying to solve.

“You’re right, I’m not.” Kaito propped an elbow over the fence. “It’s just that I have something on later so I woke up early for it.”

Shinichi raised an eyebrow. It was either Kaito’s words or the caffeine had finally kicked in; he looked much more awake now. “What do you have?”

Funny enough, Kaito didn’t realise his hands had stopped shaking until they started again. He was glad that Shinichi could only see his elbow from his view; Kaito’s hand was hanging over the side of his own fence. 

Really, Kaito should have expected Shinichi’s question...

Ah, the feeling of regret. How nostalgic.

Kaito could lie, no doubt; it was one of his many talents to make his answer turn out to be a joke without trying. But this time he knew there was no point to lie. Not because Shinichi was smart enough to call him out, Kaito believed Shinichi couldn’t care less about the truth too.

“I have a performance at a hospital,” Kaito said.

“Oh.”

“Feel free to come visit. No entry fee, obviously,” Kaito smirked. And it was like he was blabbering—from the ironic nervousness of hoping his anxiety wasn’t going to be triggered—as he told Shinichi the time and which hospital it was before the detective could even say if he want to come or not.

Shinichi simply hummed to the information and went on to drink his coffee silently, which Kaito didn’t know what it exactly meant, but it wasn’t until ten seconds later than Kaito realised Shinichi wasn’t going to speak anymore. As expected.

And stupidly, at the eleventh second, it somehow occurred to Kaito and made him wonder why he even approached Shinichi in the first place. To annoy the detective early in the morning? Like... a distraction? Yeah, that seemed like the only plausible reason. And if so, Kaito should start to think of his exit to end this; this was dragging a little too much.

Luckily, it was also one of his many talents in making it seemed effortless like a joke, too.

“Eh, detective. Can you hear that?”

Shinichi glanced up from his mug and stared at Kaito. “Hear what?”

“The cries from your plants because they’re dying.” Kaito pointed at Shinichi’s pots before hiding his hand back behind the fence (they weren’t shaking again, but just in case).

Shinichi rolled his eyes. “Like I’ve said, they’re still well and growing.”

“Like I’ve said, it’s actually overcrowding and that means bad.” Kaito shook his head.

“...Hey, did you hear something?”

Kaito blinked. Was Shinichi trying to play some kind of Uno reverse-card ploy at him? “What?” Kaito asked warily.

Shinichi snorted. “It’s the sound of your roses crying because they're dying from thirst and not growing, thanks to you.”

Kaito had heard and withstood many kind of insults (courtesy of Hakuba for fulfilling some on the list), but no one had yet to mock about his roses before. Now that Shinichi was the first to check that box, Kaito finally knew what it was like, and indeed, it was ridiculously funny.

Not true, but funny.

Kaito made a show by laughing and wiping an invisible tear off his eye. “You’re hilarious, detective.”

Shinichi watched in disdain. “I’m done with you," he said, briefly checking his watch before chugging the remaining coffee. "I'm going to work."

“Yes, justice and murder awaits.” Kaito waved with the watering can in his hand. "Goodbye."

Shinichi didn’t return the farewell, as per usual, and left for the door to his kitchen before closing it behind him. Kaito could see Shinichi’s shadow moving back and forth in the kitchen from his window, but only until Kaito heard the sound of Shinichi’s car starting in front, he finally dared to allow his face to relax and his plastered smile fell.

Leaning against the fence, Kaito braced himself and looked at his hands.

For now, they weren’t trembling anymore.

// “You came,” (Kuroba) said, his statement sounded more like a question. It wouldn’t be as absurd if it wasn’t Kuroba that invited him to come in the first place.

“You asked me to,” Shinichi muttered, clearly remembering the exact moment when Kuroba did: With a propped elbow over their fence, he'd disturbed Shinichi’s quiet morning and told him he was free to come to today's event. //

-Chapter 12