#its not directly said but this and him having had children back in the day is supposed to be a hint

[blueblossomrose]

This post is part of the Twisted Parents Series.

Content: Post-canon, fem!afab!mc, fluffy, too much fluffy, twst boys with teenage children. And questionable humor, of course. My trademark.

Notes: So, my country is in summer and here in Brazil summer is naturally hot since it's ahem, tropical country, but this year summer has been ABSOLUTE HELL abnormally hot so I need something to keep from going crazy. Preferably air conditioning on 24 hours, but since I don't have that option, I'm going to turn my frustration into fluffy.

Comments and reblogs are very welcome ♡

Summer Season

The Queendom of Roses had never faced such an intense heat wave. Soon its residents were euphoric, especially certain not-so-eccentric families.

It was frankly absurd. People were already waking up exhausted, walking through the streets like zombies, the heat coming directly from the sun almost like it's melting their brains.

Everything was so hot that it was torture to be outside during the middle of the day.

It got to the point that the air conditioning in Riddle's office simply broke down. He spent the whole day attending to restless children and stressed mothers, amidst sweaty papers and a weak fan that only threw hot air from one side to the other. When he finally got home, sweaty and breathing heavily, his patience was already exhausted.

In this situation, it was absolutely unthinkable to stay home listening to his children complaining about the heat all day. [Name]'s suggestion, said with a carefree smile while fanning her face with a magazine, was that they go to the beach.

Riddle, of course, initially refused. The thought of sand sticking to his skin and the sun that would burn until his whole body was red made him even more exhausted.

But after the insistence of the two of them —his wife and daughter — he had to sigh and give in.

Now, there he was, sitting under a red-and-white striped umbrella, a wide-brimmed hat protecting his fair skin. His blue-gray eyes narrowed as he watched Violete, who was trying to sneak away to the water.

“Where do you think you’re going, young lady?” Riddle asked, his voice firm but not exactly stern.

“Uhhh… swimming?” the girl replied, as if it were obvious.

“I told you about that. Not without putting on sunscreen,” Riddle said flatly, pointing to the bottle in the bag next to him. The girl rolled her eyes and grumbled, but eventually reluctantly went back to her mother to apply sunscreen.

Meanwhile, Alex was sitting quietly under the umbrella next to [Name]. He shared the chair with his mother, who laughed softly at Violete's complaints. Alex seemed oblivious to everything, completely immersed in a game on his old blue Gameboy.

Riddle, from time to time, gave his son critical looks. It's not like he hated Alex's appreciation for video games, but God, did he have to have his face buried in that all day?

Alex had been like this since he was 9, when he got his Gameboy, gift from his mother. Now, at 14, he kept the same device, only changing the case from time to time, as if it were a way to personalize his digital adventure companion.

Violete, at sixteen, It was both what you expected and what you didn't expect from a teenager. Energetic and full of life, with a sarcastic and rebellious streak, her excitement was almost contagious. She had her own hobbies which involved video games with her brother as much as books and cricket. She had already jumped into the water as soon as the sunscreen ritual was over.

The short red strands, which she often curled, were now back to their natural state, flowing straight as they got wet. She was swimming happily, challenging small waves, when she noticed a group of people not far away. Two instructors were helping some tourists climb onto a large board, probably part of those leisure programs offered at the beach – canoeing, stand-up paddleboarding, something like that.

Violete swam closer and watched for a moment, until an idea popped into her head. Turning back to the sand, she raised her voice and called: “Dad!”

Riddle, who was finally starting to relax in his chair, looked up suspiciously. “What now?”

“Let’s get on the board together! It’ll be fun!” she shouted.

“Violete, I’m not getting on that board with you,” he replied immediately, with a seriousness that made Alex let out a small muffled laugh on the other side. [Name], next to him, just raised her eyebrows with a look of “let’s see how long you can resist.”

However, Violete was persistent, and his daughter’s insistent expression – the one she clearly inherited from her mother – eventually won out. A few minutes later, Riddle was in the water, visibly uncomfortable as he was guided to the board by a patient instructor and an overly excited daughter.

"This is a bad idea, Violete," he muttered, already feeling regret setting in as he put on a life jacket. "I'm a doctor, I know exactly how many ways this can go wrong."

"Dad, you need to relax!" Violete replied, smiling as she helped him onto the board, where she was already balanced with impressive ease. "It's going to be fun, trust me!"

But before Riddle could argue, the board swayed dangerously, and he grabbed onto his daughter with a suddenness she hadn't expected. "Violette!" he exclaimed, desperately trying to steady himself.

"Dad, you're pulling me under!" she protested, as she tried to steady them both. Riddle, for his part, was focused on not falling into the water, which seemed increasingly inevitable.

He looked back, seeing [Name] on the sand, waving at them with an amused smile. Alex didn't even look – the sound of the Gameboy buttons continued, indifferent to the family chaos that was happening in the sea.

The minutes when Violette guided the board towards the waves were the moments when Riddle despaired the most, although they managed to at least catch a good wave, even though they were completely unbalanced.

Finally, after a few minutes that seemed like an eternity, the inevitable happened. The board rocked to one side, then the other, and they both fell into the water with a big splash.

When he emerged, wet and irritated, but also, to his surprise, smiling, Riddle heard Violete's crystal-clear laugh.

"See, Dad? It was fun, wasn't it?!" her hands hit the water splashing more water on him.

"Ugh, stop!" even while complaining, Riddle was smiling, sometimes returning the splashes of water on his daughter.

"Huh? Where are dad and Vi?" Alex questioned as he lifted his head, [Name] laughed and pointed, just long enough for Alex to see his dad and sister catch a wave together before falling into the water again. Riddle was almost as desperate as you could imagine while Violete was in front on the board with the biggest smile in the world. A frankly hilarious frame.

The blazing midday sun seemed even more intense that unusual summer in the Queendom of Roses. The oppressive heat made even going out for simple activities like shopping at the Clover bakery a challenge. Still, the frozen treats that Trey made had become a sensation. Artisanal ice cream, fresh fruit pies, and refreshing drinks were flying off the shelves.

One afternoon, sitting at the small oak table in the back of the bakery, Trey rubbed his sweaty forehead as he watched his children play. Tim and Thomas were more interested in hanging out by the fan, while Rose ran around with seemingly inexhaustible energy despite the heat. He glanced over at [Name], who was waving a makeshift paper fan and mumbling something about how hot it's outside. It was then that an idea struck him.

How about take a trip to the falls?

A cool, peaceful place, and the perfect local to cool off.

Rose, being the youngest, immediately jumped up and down with excitement, Tim and Thomas, on the other hand, teenagers already at an age where they'd rather stay home with their phones or their own hobbies, didn't seem so excited. But family trip is mandatory, after all. It was an agreement they made with their parents.

Trey and [Name] arrived at the trailhead with their children, each carrying light backpacks filled with towels, snacks, and bottles of water. Rose bounced excitedly ahead, her small backpack bouncing as she droned on and on about how the waterfalls would be.

Tim, the oldest, trailed slowly, already sweating in the heat, his expression clearly reflecting his displeasure with the hike. “Why couldn’t we just buy ice cream and stay home with the fan on?” he muttered, earning an amused look from Trey.

Thomas, on the other hand, was somewhere in between, half-interested in the hike but clearly dead tired. He walked with his hands in his pockets, backpack and bag on the shoulder.

After a while, the trail opened up to reveal the waterfall. The view was spectacular: crystal clear water cascaded down, creating a refreshing mist that immediately took the edge off the heat. The surrounding vegetation was dense, with bright green leaves and colorful wildflowers that looked even more vivid in the sun.

Rose ran towards the shore, stopping only when Trey called her, asking her to wait while he and [Name] found a good spot for the towel. Tim, sighing, threw himself into the shade of a large rock, lying down like a sack of potatoes. “Wake me up when we leave,” he muttered, eliciting a laugh from [Name].

Thomas, however, took advantage of the distraction. He grabbed a handful of cold water and silently approached Rose. “Hey, Rose, look up!” he shouted, pointing to the top of the waterfall. When his sister looked up, he splashed her with ice-cold water, making her squeal.

“Thomas!” she protested, but she was already splashing him back, starting a water fight that soon involved Trey trying to calm them both down so that they wouldn't fall and hurt themselves on the rocks.

Meanwhile, [Name] was standing next to Tim, offering him a bottle of cool water. "You know you're going to want to get in the water soon," she said.

Tim opened a lazy eye. "Only if someone carries me there."

After a while, Tim gave in to the heat and joined his brothers in the water. Trey and [Name] watched, relaxing on the towel on the floor. Thomas and Rose were now trying to build a "dam" with rocks and branches, while Tim stood nearby, pretending not to care but discreetly helping them find the right branches.

As the time has passed, Trey stood up, adjusting his glasses and getting everyone's attention. "Time for a snack!" he announced, grabbing a small cooler with fruit, sandwiches, and some homemade pastries from the bakery.

Rose was the first to run, still dripping watee, while Thomas and Tim followed her. Like three Gremlins, they sat down and ate despite shivering from the cold from the thermal shock of the ice-cold water on the hot climate.

The end of the afternoon was spent peacefully, with the family resting and enjoying the relaxing sound of the waterfall. When they finally started to pack up their things, Rose complained that she wanted to stay a little longer, but Trey promised that they could return soon, eliciting a smile from her. The walk back was less lively – tiredness had finally taken over the trio, mainly Rose who was the central animation. Trey, with a soft smile, carried her backpack along with his, while [Name] chuckled softly at the funny observations her tired daughter even so made about every detail of the trail.

The hot season brought with it an unexpected relief from Cater’s hectic schedule. The scorching sun made everyone crave a break, and for him, that meant finishing work early and finding something more exciting to do with his family. After all, there was nothing worse than a interview in the sweltering heat, with people feeling sweaty and uncomfortable.

With an excited smile, Cater dragged his wife [Name] and children, Astrid and Rory, to a nature reserve by the sea. The place was perfect for disconnecting from the world. It offered ample space to swim and even snorkel with some of the sea creatures, creating a relaxing atmosphere full of photo opportunities that he loved to capture.

Astrid quickly raised her hand, as if she had asked an important question. “Can I swim with the sharks?” she said with a sparkle in her eyes, her light orange hair lightly blowing in her face as she looked anxiously at her parents.

“Why on earth would you want to swim with sharks?” Rory replied.

[Name] couldn’t help but laugh, trying to lighten the situation. “I’m glad you want to go on an adventure, dear, but I think it would be better to start with something lighter, don’t you think?” she looked at Astrid with a calm smile.

Astrid grimaced, not completely convinced, crossing her arms and looking at her parents as if she were going to continue the argument. But before she could complain any further, a hand appeared underneath her, lifting her off the ground with ease. Cater placed her on his back, with Astrid laughing and squealing with excitement.

"Hey, hey! No arguing, let's just enjoy the moment, how about seeing the manta rays?" Cater suggested. "They like getting close to humans, and they're super harmless. It'll be really cool."

Astrid, with her face already lit up with a wide smile, put the grimace aside, agreeing with her father. She was excited about the idea, even more than with the sharks. Rory, still suspicious, looked at his sister and then at his parents, with a slight sigh. He couldn't deny that their enthusiasm was contagious.

And so the family began their walk to the water sports area, with the sound of waves crashing against the rocks and the summer heat enveloping them all. Cater was happy to be sharing this moment with his wife and children, finally having some time to relax and enjoy life outside the chaos of journalistic work. Over the years, he has learned to appreciate life off-screen more.

To escape the hell that was the city that day, Ace decided that the best solution would be to take his family to a nearby river. Nothing too elaborate, but at least there they could cool off without having to spend a fortune on cold drinks or abuse his magic with cooling spells, which were a luxury that he, as someone from the ministry's accounting department, was not willing to abuse.

For a while, everything went peacefully. [Name] took off her shoes and dipped her feet in the water, relaxing as she watched her children venture further ahead. Lilian had already tied her orange-red hair into a ponytail, while Jasper stood with his arms crossed, evaluating whether it was worth getting in the water or if it would be more fun to tease his sister. Ace, on the other hand, already had his feet submerged and was throwing some water up, enjoying the coolness.

It was then that, out of nowhere, the tranquility was broken.

“So, Dad,” Lilian began, crossing her arms and giving him an inquisitive look, “How many girlfriends did you have before Mom?”

Ace blinked in confusion as he finished stretching in the water. “What? Where did that question come from?”

"You had a girlfriend before mom. And you didn't think to tell us, huh?"

Ace glanced sideways at [Name], who just chuckled, clearly enjoying the situation.

“What have you been telling them?” he asked, arching an eyebrow.

“Me? Nothing!” [Name] replied with an innocent smile. “But your brother loves to tell stories.”

Ace groaned softly. His brother... he should have known.

"Lili, I didn't even know your mother when I broke up with this girlfriend!" he tried to argue to see if his daughter would change the subject.

But Lilian quickly dodged him and kept her accusatory expression. "Even so!" she insisted, now going closer to her mother, as if seeking reinforcement. "Uncle said you were a jerk to mom in the beginning! And what about the other girl?! You were nice to her?!"

Ace ran his hand over his face in disbelief. He had faced powerful adverse situations, being a troublemaker at school… but nothing compared to the fury of a teenage daughter determined to seek justice for her mother.

"Is this an interrogation?" he asked, raising his hands in surrender.

"It depends on your answer," Lilian replied with a frown.

"Look, I wasn't the easiest guy to deal with back then," Ace admitted, scratching the back of his neck. "But I wasn't that bad either, okay?"

"What does that mean?!" Lilian insisted.

Ace sighed. "You know what? I'll ask your uncle what else he's been telling you. I mean, I should be enjoying the water, not defending my reputation from sixteen years ago!"

"Maybe if you hadn't been such a jerk, you wouldn't have to defend yourself now," Jasper scoffed.

"Are you two going to go swimming or keep tormenting me?"

Lilian and Jasper exchanged glances and, without warning, threw water at their father at the same time, this one who gasped offendedly.

"Sweetie, don't be so hard on your father," [Name] intervened, placing her hand gently on Lilian's hair, who was still pouting. "He wasn't perfect, but he learned a lot. And he certainly wasn't the only one who made mistakes." she chuckled, stroking her daughter's hair. "Although he really deserves some of the karma, I'd say."

"Oh, for the love of—!" Ace exclaimed, feigning indignation, while Jasper, on the other side, burst out laughing, clearly enjoying the situation. Ace an his wet hands over his face, as if that could alleviate the embarrassment. "This is absurd! Look here, I wasn't that horrible! What are you three trying to do to me, huh? A public lynching? Lili, I promise you, the only woman I've ever truly loved was your mother. No other woman has ever made me feel like she did, you little brat."

Lilian was still frowning. "Really?" she asked, a little suspicious.

"More than serious," he replied, with that carefree expression he always used when he tried to seem convincing. "And do you know what happens to those who don't believe in their dads?"

Before Lilian could react, Ace grabbed her by the waist, in a quick and agile movement, dragging her straight into the water.

She let out a high-pitched scream, taking everyone by surprise. "DAD!" she shouted, between laughter and protests, as she tried to free herself.

Water splashed around, and Lilian, now soaking wet, laughed loudly as she struggled to escape her father's embrace, but Ace, laughing along, held her tight. "Do you doubt me? Do you really think I don't love your mother?"

"I never said that!" Lilian replied, laughing and trying to balance herself. "But that doesn't justify throwing me in the water!"

Ace chuckled once more, releasing her and raising his hands in surrender. "Fine, fine, little brat. Just don't question my love for you too."

The unbearable heat that had never been seen before in Queendom of Roses was demanding drastic measures from Deuce. He even thought about taking his family to a place like a beach or a river, but when he got home, he found an unexpected scene in the backyard.

The sound of children's laughter and water jets echoed in the hot air. His children and his wife were completely absorbed in the refreshing game with the garden hose. Matthew, in colorful shorts, held the hose tightly, laughing loudly as he shot jets of water in the direction of his mother and brother. Raphael, smaller and more agile, tried to escape by running clumsily, but was hit full on in the chest, making him let out a shrill laugh. [Name] was also soaked, her white blouse now stuck to her body due to the water, and strands of hair stuck to her face as she laughed, trying to shield herself behind her youngest son.

The scene are completely chaotic.

"Hey!" Deuce's voice broke the moment, firm and unexpected. His serious expression made Matthew's eyes widen and lowered the hose, "What are you doing getting your mother and brother wet like that, Matthew?" Deuce asked, crossing his arms.

"Sorry, Dad, we were just-" Matthew started to justify himself, but was interrupted by Deuce snatched the hose from his hands and held it tightly.

A mischievous glint crossed his determined gaze, the same look he used to have in their old delinquent phase. "It has to be this way!" He turned the hose directly on Matthew and Raphael, blasting them with a jet of water strong enough to make them scream and laugh at the same time.

Matthew tried to run away, but Deuce was spot on—he aimed right at the boy’s back, making him squirm in surprise. Raphael, laughing nervously, tried to hide behind his mother, but Deuce quickly changed his target, and soon a cold jet hit [Name] as well. “Deuce!” she shouted, laughing as she raised her arms in a futile attempt to defend herself. “It's not fair!”

“Of course it's fair,” he snapped, amused by the general confusion that ensued. The boys joined in, trying to grab the hose from their father, but Deuce was faster and dodged it easily.

[Name] took advantage of a moment of distraction to run to a forgotten bucket in the corner of the garden. Before Deuce knew it, she had filled it and poured the water straight over his head. The shock of the icy water made Deuce hold his breath for a moment.

"Ah, now you've done it," he murmured, a smile breaking across his face before he charged at them, picking [Nome] up, making her squeal as he picked up the hose from the floor. Raphael and Matthew ran to escape, but Deuce was too fast to them. Within seconds, they were all completely soaked, laughing as if the unbearable heat had been forgotten.

Eventually, the garden became a water war zone, if it wasn't already before.

[ganondoodle]

Those latest Beast!Ganon concepts are really, REALLY Cool! One of my favorite aspects is that they diverge a bit more from the usual "big boar monster" design tropes that we see in canon and incorporate other elements. The wide, flat tail that almost looks amphibic or aquatic is a personal fave, together with the feet being rather wide, and the whole profile being long and low (relatively^^) to the ground makes almost look like some aquatic monster or dragon that rises out of some cursed swamp or something.

Great vibes all around, kudos!

(kept this ask around bc i wanted to add some more concepts for the fight but then id have nothing truly new to put into the big ganondorf post so uuh this is an answer in text now)

Thank you! admittedly, other than taking calamity ganons .. or just its cloud like form really, as inspiration (somewhat beast ganon from twilight princess too, which is my favorite of his canon forms), i think alot of its design is really just ... a "me" thing, i love auqatic animals and the shapes are typical for my monster designs xD (i did want it to be both familiar and different though)

while i cant possibly make an entire attack pattern for him my idea does involve motions like 'swimming' through the ground (turning the ground into malice and swimming through it? straight up burrowing but hes so strong solid stone and earth is like water to him? move this phase to a sandy area so its also a mimic of moldoras? (closest to the forgotten plateau, which is where the end fight is, would be the taobab grassland, which isnt fully sand but more similar, might do soemthign else with that place though, maybe a big horse research site))

(i also dont want all his magical moves, both in beast form and all his other ones, to depend on malice, malice is what fuels his life now, the rage and unbreakable spirit to live, to resist, to not succumb to the schemes of the queen of hyrule of his time, to not fall against this one last descendant of her, he is much more than just hatred but it is what keeps him alive even when he should not be- so as he is skilled in wielding magic, perhaps skills that have since gotten rare (like your friends being the few ones to learn some) he will AT LEAST make use of lightning, if not perhaps even more, perhaps even mirroring what your friends can do directly, just like he will mimic links shiekah tech arm once he 'reforms' his missing arm via malice/taking it from the beast form- ......... and here i go rambling about stuff that will go into the big post ...)

[atyourmerci]

† Repent †

Read pt.2 here

†

Summary: You are sent off on a mission for 2 months. Abigail Anderson, the group leader, resents you for your sexuality until she gets drunk and ends up at your doorstep.

Warnings: smut, MDNI, alcohol usage, sub!abby, comphet!abby, brattop!reader, religion play, oral, fnv, tribbing, dirty talk yurrr, mentions of Owen so sorry, no use of y/n

A/N: Hey my horny sluts, this was very self indulgent fic. Definitely not for everyone but I wanted to play with this internal homophobia abby angle and through hella porn in it<3 hope you like it:)))

†

You were stationed off at a base camp for two months along with a group of WLF soldiers. This group was Issac’s top of the line, best fighters, engineers, and you accompanying as the best medic on line. The area was cased with scars and there was likely to be bloodshed. Issac couldn’t risk letting more than one medic for this long trip but there was no way he was sending a training med to work on his top of line children.

You knew most of the group well since you were always given the honor of fixing them. There were a few girls that kept you busy when there wasn’t a wound to heal. No one you’d keep around for long, you didn’t have the time to start relationships in this job, but a good fuck wasn’t beyond you. Days turned into long nights either stitching lesions or under the next sculpted woman that begged at your knees.

You were used to the attention, you were charming, beautiful, slightly bitchy, maybe a bit overzealous in your work but your forte was needed for these people. The men had attempted their shot with you, but everyone knew where you stood in the sheets. That’s why Abigail Anderson despised you.

It took you awhile to understand, from the moment she found out what you were doing in off hours she resented your lifestyle. Sure, she played it off by saying you were, ‘too distracted for your position’ or that ‘you got around’. Frankly you didn’t understand why she fucking cared. One day drunkenly her best friend Manny had said your ‘ways’ made her uncomfortable.

You knew she had been with her boyfriend Owen for a couple of years, and never left her room without her cross neckless- fuck she’d even shower with it on. That day in the open showers you had seen her look over at your naked body and return her hand to her cross gripping it tight with her eyes closed, leaving in a scoff. You just didn’t understand why her distain for you persisted- you thought it would space off once she got to know you.

After a couple months of backhanded comments, side eyes, and aggression you chose to just distance yourself from her at all costs. Maybe she had gotten the memo since she always requested your secondhand med to treat her, even knowing she wasn’t as suitable.

Once you found out shed be leading the mission for 2 months in close proximity you were blown. You asked Issac to switch you out for your secondhand- but he refused. After days of pestering him, he said he wouldn’t be changing his mind, Abby had asked for you specifically to accompany the mission. Why the fuck would she ask for you was beyond you, but you made it your agenda to fuck with her relentlessly for her decision.

You made sure to chose the room directly next to her so she could hear your sinful cries getting your back blown. leaving your white shirt un-buttoned low enough so your cleavage would spill out when you worked on her, blistering irritated grunts out of her. For someone so worked up about your lifestyle she always seemed to be watching your every move.

Watching you out of the corner of her eye change in the showers, walking out of her room just as you were heavy breathing lip locked with a girl making your way into sin. One time you were stitching a gash on her leg she gripped onto your hip in pain, her eyes trailed to your spilling cleavage before she snapped out of her haze saying, “uhhh- sorry its just painful there. Just fucking hurry up.” Knowing you had phased her you responded in a simple “mhm,” and continued working.

Maybe her morbid curiosity was at play, maybe she was just a fucking homo- but she’d never admit that to anyone and definitely not herself.

A month and a half in the base lagged by, there was only 2 weeks left of the painful glares and snarky comments left from your leader. The area had grown quiet for a while, most of the scars had retreated from your stay. Manny had made the decision for everyone to take the night off, set up a bonfire in the wooded areas behind the abandoned hotel, and get shitfaced on some homemade wine that was finally finished fermentation. It tasted like piss but was strangely intensely stronger than anything you had found in vacant bars.

Once the sun had fallen you were all seated around the roaring fire under the nigh sky. You had downed two glasses of piss wine and were already pretty spent. Abby was perched upon a log across the fire from you, in her usual dominating manspread and arms draped across her meaty thighs, on her fourth cup of sour. The sight was quite shocking- Abby never drank that much, something about the loss of control she didn’t like.

Her eyes were like lasers on you, usually she’d attempt to hide her ever glaring stare, maybe she was too intoxicated to care. All day she was on one, lashing out at people, throwing shit. She was always mildly aggressive, but you had never seen her to this extent.

The girl adorned behind you, pulling at your hips was probably the cause of her disapproving eyes, but this time felt harsher. You watch as she finishes off her glass and returns her eyes back to you with gritted teeth. “Manny hand me the wine,” she barks, her eyes never leaving you. Manny looks at her angered stare, crossing his eyes back to your direction and back to her, “Que pasa amiga, I think you’re good for now,” he says with a laugh.

“Just hand me the fucking wine,” she directs her attention to Manny- some people throw out ‘woahs’ and ‘damns’ at her attitude. Manny hands her the bottle with no reply. “Somebody needs to get fucked already,” you throw out with enough drunken confidence knowing it will rile her up. “Not everything can be fixed with sex, not that you’d understand,” she drives her eyes deeper into your own.

“Well, if I was having the sex you were having, I’d go celibate,” you say causing a guttural laugh from everyone, easing up the built tension.

“Whore,” she retorts.

“Awh someone’s mad her boyfriend can’t make her cum,” you give her a pout.

Her cheeks grow red in anger- maybe embarrassment since you didn’t have to take 2 looks at Owen to know he couldn’t please a women, especially not one of that stature. She darts up from her seat, all but a growl escaping her mouth. She grabs the half full bottle from Manny and takes off.

“What crawled up her ass?” You direct to Manny. He gives you eyes that speak louder than his mouth could utter in a way of ‘you’re the reason she’s so pissed off, you know that’. Maybe you had pushed her too far, but fuck did she deserve it. She deserved to get called on her bullshit for once- everyone just cowered down to her. Sure, she was tall, muscly, and heavily intimidating but you know how to drive the knife right into her.

You enjoyed riling her up, driving her to her very edge. Maybe it was the alcohol talking but you were hot at the sight of her aggression, the way the veins in her arm popped as she ripped the bottle out of Manny’s hand. You weren’t attracted to straight girls, especially not homophobic straights- but you thought of her. Every snarky remark, touching her skin in passings as you healed her danced in your mind.

You brushed off your thoughts, you were just drunk you told yourself. The fire had died down soon after Abby’s fit, everyone was either ready to retire to bed or fuck. You chose the latter with the touchy girl sitting behind you. She was a good one, never had to kick her out after you finished- she knew what you wanted.

You make your way back to the dingy hotel, hand and hand with the pretty brunette. By the time you had made it to your doorway the girl had you up against the door needily. Of course, you let it happen, you were waiting for Abby to conveniently walk out and watch you. She never came out; you were almost disappointed but persisted with the brunette. You made sure to exaggerate every moan, every sinful word, even unsuspectedly convinced her to fuck you against the wall you shared with Abby- just to make sure she would hear.

After orgasming twice, she was out the door, no awkward post-sex cuddling or talking, wasn’t your thing and she knew that. You lay your sleepy drunken head on your pillow ready to sleep. Within five minutes you heard Abby’s door slam shut, and a harsh knock on your door. You knew that you had pissed her off, your job was done so you ignored her calls and nuzzled back onto your pillow with a smirk.

Another knock slams your door, “I know you’re in there, open the door,” Abby huskily demands. You walk over to the door, wearing only your loose tank top and panties. You swing the door open to a disheveled Abby, heavy breathing, eyes half lidded, in a white wife pleaser and loose black sweats, cross necklace adorned by her collarbones. Her muscles looked as if they were pulsing, her abs etched through her shirt.

After seconds of intense glaring, she moves past you into your room without an invitation. “Abby what the hell could you possibly need right now…” you can smell the liquor reeking off her sweaty body, “how much have you had to drink” you say but she quickly cuts you off, “do you really think I cant fucking hear you in here with those- girls?” She says girls with a disgusted flare. “I know you can,” you retort with your arms crossed. “Why are you like that,” she says confused. “Like what Abby? Gay? You can say it- God wont strike you down for speaking it,” you shoot her a smug laugh. “You- you’re fucking insufferable,” she says drunkenly. “You walked into my room; you don’t have to be here.”

She walks up so close to your face you can feel her breath, the smell of sour laced. “I came here to tell you how you disgust me,” she says heavy breathed. “Is that so?” You pierce your eyes into hers, not giving into her intimidation. “Ye-yeah,” she falters at you standing your ground. Her eye contact directs down to your plush lips, she licks her own. You bite your bottom lip to drive into her.

“Why are you such a bitch?” She raises her eyes back to yours, this time glassier, gentler. “You’re mad you don’t scare me,” now you step closer to where you are exchanging each other’s breath. She responds wordlessly breathing heavier than before, lips parted as if she was waiting for something to come out. You stare up into her eyes dragging your bottom lip back into your mouth with your teeth. “Stop fucking doing that,” she demands not moving a muscle.

You give her an innocent pout, “I’m not doing anything Abigail, you can leave right now if you’re so uncomfortable,” trailing your eyes back and fourth from her lips to her eyes. “Give in to me,” Abby pleads almost submissively, her eyes looked like she could cry. “I’m not going to make this easy for you, if you want something take it,” you are eager at this point, still trying to keep your confidence intact.

She gives it a second, probably internally battling, in a huff she mutters “Fuck,” and grabs your face crashing your lips aggressively together. She took the breath out of you, kissing you like she needed it for survival. Both of you are too ravished to process reality. You grabbed aimlessly at her chest needing the friction of her warmth. She forces her tongue onto yours letting a moan escape her mouth. You were done for.

You pull her to your bed never leaving her lips, crashing over boxes and shoes but neither of you falter your embrace. You push her onto your bed, making your way on top of her. Before you can reattach your lips, she pushes a hand into your chest stopping you, “I- I’m not gay,” she says with weary eyes. You simply respond with “okay,” and reattempt to kiss her, she pushes you back again, “okay?” she questions. “Do you want me to me to stop?” You question back. She pulls you in ruggedly, so her mouth is against yours, needy again.

You pull back from her embrace, “I want to hear you say it Anderson,” she shakes her head like a child, like she couldn’t say it aloud. You start to get up from the bed when she pulls you back down grasp heavy and deprived, “jus- just do it, I- I want it.” “Good girl,” you reply and straddle on top of her causing whimpers to flow out of the husky blonde.

You move down to kiss on her neck, biting slightly then licking the wound. You can see her hand white knuckling her cross necklace, eyes shut. Through heavy moans she confesses, “Thi-s is- isn’t right…what you’re doing t- to me.” You smirk into her neck trailing your fingers down her arching chest, “just pretend I’m Owen,” knowing you’ll strike a chord at the mention of her boyfriend.

You go back to her collarbone nibbling and licking as you rise her shirt slowly, exposing her sweaty chiseled stomach. “You don’t fe- feel like him, he doesn’t touch me like this,” before she can finish your hand is under her shirt teasing at her nipple slowly. She throws her head back in a groan, unknowingly bucking her hips into you.

“I’m barely touching you Abby- he’s never done this to you,” you say not surprised, moving your free hand to grip her other nipple. She shakes her head at you in a pout. Seeing her like this, so unraveled and vulnerable made you pulse, you could feel your cunt pooling already.  

While you have her eye contact you move your head down to suck and lick circles around her soft pink nipple, her eyes barely open and mouth open panting. While sucking on her bud you trail your hand down to her sweats, teasing your fingertips at the waistband, but continue down to palm her covered pussy.

Her hips jolt up at your touch, “Jesus fuck me!” she yelps. “You say your prayers with that mouth, huh?” You jab, palming her cunt over layers of clothing. Her hips continue to rut against your hand, her hand continues to grip onto her cross for dear life, the other gripped down into your sheets. “Please… please take them off,” She begs you weary eyed. Since she was getting increasingly pathetic you drag down her sweaty pants to reveal grey boxers, a patch of wet pooled at her pussy. You lay kisses down her thighs and legs as you slowly unclothe her.

Once you pull them all the way down you meet your face at her cunt, wrapping your arms around her thick thighs, she couldn’t stop whimpering at your little touches. You place a slight kiss on her boxer clade cunt. “Fuckkkk,” she moans out. “If I eat your pretty pussy, are you going to repent after?” You say smirking at her desperation. “I- I have to, ke-ep going please,” she pants raising her cross to her heart. “Aren’t you a good little servant?” You drag down her soaked boxers.

You push your fingers into her soaked slit pushing it open to admire her. “You’re so fucking wet fuck,” you say gawking at the ‘straight’ girls mound, her slick running down her thighs. “a- are you going to use your fingers,” she asks in a pant. “We’ll get there,” you say smirking latching your tongue on her swollen clit. “oh my god,” she screams out at the feeling of your tongue against her.

You begin sucking and tracing crosses and circles on her clit that causes her back to arch her back and let go off her cross to grip into the sheets with both hands. “Fuck fuck fuck- you feel s’good fuck me fuck me,” she begins babbling. You start to tease her soaked hole with your finger that sent her hips bucking into your hand to force entry.

“So impatient Anderson,” you taunt her. “Ill do wh-whatever you want just please fuck me,” she begs you now cupping your face with her large veiny hands, her eyes droopy and pout on her lips. “Tell me how much you like getting fucked by a girl,” you pump just the tip of your pointer finger into her entrance. “You feel so good,” she says panting in desperation.

“Not good enough,” you say pulling out your fingertip. She whimpers feeling your retreat. “I- I worship you, yo- you feel so good Ill get on my knees and worship you please baby,” she looks like she’s nearing tears, but the pleading hits you deep in your core. You needed to see her fall apart just as much as she needed to feel it.

Without warning you plunge two fingers deep inside of her cushiony walls, sending her falling back into the sheets, her hands gripped into your scalp. You return back to her clit, watching her chest rise and fall in breath idly, sweat dripping down the creases of her abs. You hear as she mumbles prayer under her breath, maybe she was worshiping her god, maybe at this point you were her god.

You continued nonetheless; it didn’t matter at this point she had submitted pathetically to you. Your tongue laps at her creamy slit, your fingers coating in her slick. “I-m going to cum I- cant take that much longer,” she moans out shaking around your head.

You pull out of her abruptly making her whine out, sitting up on her elbows. “Not yet…” you say getting up taking off your soaked panties and returning to her. She watches you intently, her eyes grow at the sight of your cunt. “A-are you going to let me touch you?” She asks doe eyed. “No, I’m going to rub my cunt against yours, okay?” she sheepishly nods. “Gonna make sure you cum from just my pussy,” she whimpers at your words.

You nuzzle your cunt on top of hers in between her thighs. “You feel so good against me fuck,” she whines. You lazily drag your clit against her as moans now flow out your own mouth. She grips into your hip helping you grind into her, at the slight act of dominance causes you whimper into her raised thigh. “Fuck keep t-talking you sound so fucking good,” her mouth is wide open, beads of sweat on her legs mixing with your own. You feel as your slick combines with hers making a complete mess on your sheets.

“Baby I- I’m so close,” she whimpers gripping so deeply into your hip she was sure to bruise you. “Cum for me pretty girl, be a good girl and serve me,” you pant driving your eyes into the broken Abigail. She begins shaking at your words, falling apart beneath you. “fuck fuck fuck oh my fucking god i-m cu-mming ahhh,” she begins soaking your sheets. Of course, she was a fucking squirter.

You help her ride out her orgasm, gently rubbing down her thigh with your fingertips. “Wh- why is it so wet?” she rises groggily and confused. You giggle at her innocence, “you squirted dumbass, you’ve never done that before?” you cant help but grin up at her beauty and pure innocence. “No never, I’ve never even…you know…reached my peak with someone before,” you look into her eyes in pure shock gapping your mouth exaggeratedly.

“God I really would go celibate if I was you,” you giggle, and she gives you a slight smirk pulling you down on top of her. You circle your fingers across her chest, feeling her breath steady, she drags her fingers through your messy hair. “I’m not going to tell anyone Abby, this can be between us.” You say assuring her. “o-okay,” she responds sheepishly as if there was something else in her throat. Maybe she wanted to say it would never happen again, that her sexuality was intact after your night, maybe she wanted to say she wanted to leave Owen and linger on your skin forever, or maybe she began to repent.

[sanemi-whore]

All Night (Cruel World Pt.2)

Thankfully (for Sanemi's sake) you return from Final Selection alive and well. However, you being apart of the Demon Slayer Corps has his nerves going insane. To assure your safety, you often attend missions alongside him. word count: 15.150 warning: character death, blood, jealousy, cursing, smut, dark themes, aphrodisiac, anxiety, impregnation kink, mentions of abortion @roaringlion @kiki17483

Part One | Masterlist | Final Part

You felt old next to the other Final Selection survivors and the thought causes your heart to ache. You were an adult, far from the young age of 14 - the youngest apart of the survivors. To think children join the Demon Slayer Corps and put their lives at risk in order to help others - you wonder how old Sanemi was when he joined. Or Genya - all of the slayers you’ve met. 

The morning sun shines bright ahead of you and the other five survivors. Your eyes look forward to the mountaintop shrine, a soft smile forming on your lips at the two children standing before the survivors. 

“Welcome back.” they say in Unison. “Congratulations on completing Final Selection. We’re pleased to see that you’re all safe..”

There’s a low sniffle beside you. You hum at the sight - a young boy no older than 16. You recall just how terrified he was to encounter a demon coming at him with such speed that he barely managed to dodge its attack. It was raining that night and the boy's burgundy hair was clouding his vision. You intervene, slashing the demon’s neck. The boy, Shinra, never left your side until now. 

“First we must issue you all uniforms once we take your correct measurements.” the dark haired child started.

“Then we’ll engrave your rank on the back of your hand.” the white haired child continued.

“You then will be given the chance to select the ore that will be used to forge your weapon - swords. It will be 10-15 days before said weapons are ready to use.”

The black haired child claps their hands twice. Above you hear several crows, flocking their wings. You're excited, nearly ecstatic. You recall the many times you’ve been berated by Muichiro’s crow and how she loved him dearly that you wished to have your own. 

A crow flocks onto your shoulders. It flocks its wings several times before stopping, inspecting your face. 

“Now that you all are demon slayers, you are each assigned Kasugai Crows.” the white haired child spoke. “They are used to facilitate communication.”

The black haired child turned away to remove the long, blue cloth that laid above a table.”Now the time has come for you to choose an ore for your sword.” he says, revealing several ore’s for each of you to choose. 

“Shinra.” you call to the boy beside you, still sniffling. “Let’s go choose our Ore.”

Shinra’s eyes are wide as you speak to him, but he nods nonetheless. He follows you closely as each of the survivors inspect the ore’s.  You yourself are none the wiser choosing an ore. You contemplate having laid your eyes upon an ore and just thought it was another random rock.

“Which one should we choose, Shinra?” you smile at the boy. “I sense…that one,” you point to a medium sized ore. “Is a good fit for me.”

Shinra furrows a burgundy brow, “H-How do you know?” he murmurs. 

“I can just feel it.” you respond. You go to grab it.

Shinra’s eyes - a beautiful shade of azure,  widen and he too grabs an ore - the one directly next to yours. “Okay.” he nods. 

Soon you make your journey back to Sanemi’s estate. Your legs are aching for a break, but you do not allow them to stop. Your kasugai crow, who you learned was named Hiyori, now laid upon your shoulder as you walked. She had since grew tired of flying above you once she realized you had no intention of stopping for the night. How could you? You passed Final Selection and now was an actual Demon Slayer. 

The sky was now a dark violet color when you arrived back at the estate. You had many people to see - you agreed to visit Aoi, Sumi, Kiyo and Naho once you returned. You grew close with the young girls, often visiting them when you didn’t have to train until you dropped. You would have to thank Uzui, Hinatsuru, Makio and Suma for your combat training; Muichiro (and Ginko because she wouldn’t allow you to not acknowledge her if you met with him). Mitsuri promised you pancakes one you returned and you were craving them with extra honey - her western cooking was the best you’ve ever had. 

You opened the shoji doors of Sanemi’s estate. It’s quiet inside and doesn’t appear to have anyone in it. You make your way around the estate and hum, Sanemi was not here. 

You didn’t let the fact bother you. Sanemi was a hashira after all and had responsibilities. He could possibly be doing his rounds before he returned home.

You take this time to bathe, allowing all the grime to be released from your skin was refreshing. You’re unsure how long you’ve bathed for, but once your hands begin to wrinkle was when you decided to get out. You were refreshed now, dressed now in a light kimono tied loosely and your hair in a low bun.

You decide to do another round around the estate for Sanemi. You can hear them - faint footsteps.It’s coming from the opposite side of the mansion. Your feet begin to sprint across the cold hardwood floor, a wide smile on your lips.

Sanemi was here, you note, dressed in his usual Hashira attire. He appeared to have just came in from his rounds as you suspected. 

“Nemi!” you exclaim, jumping to wrap your arms around the man. He doesn’t move back an inch, even with the impact of you crashing into him. 

Sanemi’s nostrils fill with your scent - the familiar scent that he had longed to smell for the last week. His nerves begin to calm themselves at your touch, unaware that since you've been gone that he was unable to focus on anything but your survival. 

“I’m back from Final Selection!” your heart is pumping with excitement. “I even have my own crow like you all! Her name’s Hiyori!” you continue to babble on and on about everything that happened during your week, still wrapping him in a tight embrace. 

Your face then crashes into his chest and you’re silent. Sanemi doesn’t notice it at first - he assumes you were overwhelmed with emotions to fully focus on one topic at a time. But then his bare chest feels it. Wet - were you crying?

Sanemi gets his answer when your shoulders shake and his chest appears to be even more wet. He gulps, unsure on what to do. Why were you suddenly crying? Sanemi didn’t deal with emotions well. He hated when the lower ranks would cry, it irritated him to no end. It didn’t help either that they were often crying because of him - but that's besides the point. 

Sanemi places a hand upon your head. “Y/N…” he trails off. “What’s wrong?”

Your face lifts to look at Sanemi. There it was again - the jolt. He hadn’t felt the jolt in his heart in a week and swears he was cured of whatever sickness he had. Your eyes are teary and wet, lashes sticking to one another. 

“I’m so happy!” you sob, lips quivering. 

Happy?

You were crying because you were happy?

Sanemi’s shoulders falter and now, he finds himself wanting to laugh.

“I’m happy that I passed Final Selection and you didn’t waste your time training me.” you continue, wiping your tears away with your shoulder so you wouldn’t have to unwrap your arms from Sanemi. “I’m happy I was given the opportunity to make my own decision and not be fated to one.” you’re continuing to ramble on about how happy you truly were - claiming to be happy to be surrounded by such positive people even if they were working in less than positive situations. 

You do end up unwrapping your arms around Sanemi to fall to your knees. You’re bowing before him, tears not stopping. “Thank you, Sanemi.”

Sanemi gasps, but he doesn’t stiffen. “Y/N, you don’t-”

“I’m grateful that I’ve gotten to train besides you and the other Hashira and slayers.” you’re sobbing full on now, dramatic tears leaking onto the floor. “I promise to make you proud as your tsuguko! I’ll do my best on all my missions!”

Sanemi inhales. His heart is beating rapidly and he’s unsure how to respond to you. To think that he, a Hashira of many years now and had fought demons upon demons…was going to die now due to heart failure. He hoped that Shinobu and Aoi would be the first two to cry at his funeral for denying him (a fucking Hashira at that) service. 

Sanemi’s mind wanders. He’s happy, as well, he supposes. Genya was alive and well, even if he refused to look his brother's way, he often kept tabs on him. Sorai would tell him everything Genya did when he wasn’t on missions. You were alive now, as well. Overly emotional and grateful as ever. Sanemi finds himself silently thanking whatever God there was out there that you wouldn’t be yet another death on his conscience.

Sanemi slams the door of the butterfly mansion open, a feral look upon his face. Naho jumps, her braids swinging around towards the sound. Kiyo’s eyes widen at Sanemi while Sumi quivers. “Where’s Kocho or Kanzaki?” he hisses at the three girls. 

“S-Shinobu-san said-”

“I do not care.” Sanemi dismisses them. He doesn’t see either of the two girls he’s looking for and he turns away from them. He stalks down the halls of the butterfly mansion, in coming slayers flinging themselves into the wall just to avoid him and his wrath. 

It takes another five minutes to find Shinobu and it only took him slamming open three shoji doors. 

“Shinazugawa.” Shinobu’s soft smile doesn’t falter, not even when she’s annoyed with her office being intruded. She leans back in her seat and tilts her head at him. 

“It happened again.” Sanemi exclaims.

Shinobu raises a brow.

“My heart jolted again yesterday. Matter of fact,” Sanemi steps inside the office. “it didn’t stop jolting for another 30 minutes.”

Shinobu snickers. “Y/N must be back from Final Selection already.” she notes, more to herself than as a statement to Sanemi. “Please tell her to come visit us at the Butterfly Mansion for any injuries she may have.”

Sanemi’s eyes are glaring at the younger girl. “What the hell does that have to do with my heart?!” he was growing irate by the second. Each time he came to this place he was kicked out by giggling girls. 

“I’ve checked your heart countless times, Shinazugawa.” Shinobu states with a shake of her head. “There’s nothing wrong with it or you.”

Sanemi sighs and scoffs. 

“Maybe you’re in denial?” Shinobu shrugs her shoulders. 

“In denial?” Sanemi hisses. “You and that other little brat are in denial about my health!”

Shinobu wants to laugh right now, but having Sanemi constantly come into the Butterfly Mansion and scaring the nurses (and the slayers) was becoming overwhelming. 

“My,” Shinobu manages to giggle. “have you…ever thought that your heart is jolting only when a certain someone is around you?”

Sanemi’s eyes squint. “Where the hell are you getting at?”

“That maybe you’ve failed to realize that your heart is jolting because you happen to…like Y/N?” Shinobu doesn’t want to cause Sanemi to convulse by saying the word “love” just yet. “There’s studies that show that boys are less smarter than girls, so I’m not surprised you cannot tell the difference between pain and feelings.”

Sanemi’s ears and neck darken a crimson color and his hands clenched into fists. Shinobu’s now full on laughing at him. He’s had enough of her and Uzui’s constant teasing.

“Fuck off.” Sanemi hisses and then turns to walk away. 

“Shinazugawa!” Shinobu calls before he can storm down the hallway. “I think she likes you, too. So do the rest of the Hashira.” 

Sanemi doesn’t say anything and Shinobu doesn’t expect him to, but the blush on his cheeks don’t go unnoticed. 

Sanemi makes his way out of the Butterfly Mansion and back towards his estate. He managed to bring his breathing calm, but his mind is going crazy. He thinks of you and how each time he was with you, his heart goes insane and his mind seems to go blink. His anger appears to subside when you speak to him with such a soft smile. Your eyes never show any disgust towards him, instead they’re kind and warm.

“Nemi!”

Your voice echoes through his ears from behind him. He hasn’t seen you the last few hours and when he turns, he’s shocked to see your appearance. He swallows, throat quickly running dry. You’re running towards him, a wide smile on your lips. He notes that he’s rarely seen your skin - such smooth skin that now appears to shine underneath the afternoon sun. You’ve gotten your uniform and appeared to be an exact replica of Mitsuri.

“I got my uniform!” you say excitedly when you reach Sanemi.

Sanemi looks away to not catch himself staring too long at your appearance. 

“Is that Y/N-chan?” 

“She’s so cute!”

You’re beaming at Sanemi and he feels just how hot his body begins to feel. 

“Do you feel comfortable?” Sanemi asks. You never showed this amount of skin before.

You slowly nod your head. “It’ll take some getting used to, I suppose.” you respond.

Sanemi licks his lips. His eyes roam around the area to find several slayers looking their way - your way. His nerves were now kicking in at the eyes on you.

“Do I look nice?” you ask him. “I do think it’ll be a little chilly with the uniform, but I think I’ll be alright.” you giggle to yourself.

“Is Shinazugawa-sama blushing again?”

“Why do all the girls go for guys like him?!” a slayer throws his hands in the air.

“Here.” Sanemi removes his haori and hands it over to you. He isn’t looking at you when he does so. “So you don’t get cold.”

“Shinazugawa-sama is such a nice boyfriend!” a female slayer gushes. 

“Who knew he was such a-”

The slayers scurry off when a pair of lilac eyes glare at them.

You take hold of the haori with wide eyes. “But what about you, Nemi?”

“I got more.” Sanemi shrugs nonchalantly. 

“Hm,” you hum, feeling the fabric in your hands. “Thank you. I’ll wear it on all my missions!” you place the haori over your shoulders and sigh happily.

Sanemi’s heart clenches and he inaudible sighs.

“Are you going back home?” you ask him. “I can cook us lunch if you don’t have anything to do!”

Sanemi nods and remains quiet.

“Good! Let’s go!” you hook your arm in his and begin walking.

Sanemi doesn’t mind your closeness, even if it does leave him surprised each time by just how willing you are to be entangled with him. While the pair of you stroll back to the estate in a comfortable silence, he’s thinking about just how nice you did look in your uniform - and how he didn’t like if anyone else thought the same.

When you suggested eating, Sanemi didn’t think you would invite others. You’ve just finished cooking when a knock sounds on his shoji doors. Sanemi doesn’t answer and you’re scurrying off to answer it yourself. The door opens and you’re beaming widely. 

Sanemi wants to scoff when his brother is behind the door - him, for some odd reason Tokito and an unknown slayer with burgundy hair. 

“I hope we are not intruding.” he murmurs to you, eyes only glancing at his brother for a moment. He hadn’t spoken to Sanemi in two weeks - not since the incident. 

You are, Sanemi wants to say, but he only snickers to himself instead. 

“Of course not!” you usher for them to enter. “I hope you all are hungry.”

Tokito remains silent when he sits upon the cushioned floor. He’s seated beside Genya and beside him, the unknown burgundy haired boy.

You go to serve the food for them, Sanemi grumbling to himself. He wanted to be with you - alone - not in his own home surrounded by brats.

You take your seat beside Sanemi and smile at the group of boys. “Please, eat.”

Muichiro wastes no time in doing as he’s told. Genya can feel eyes upon him, the glaring lilac eyes of his elder brother. He tries to think of your words two weeks prior - that Sanemi did love and care for him. It was hard believing you. He never made any attempt to speak with him after the fact and he grew slightly afraid that he would attempt to hurt him again if he tried. 

“I met Shinra during Final Selection.” you tell Sanemi after a few bites of the pork cutlet. “He’s so cute.” you gush.

Shinra’s cheeks flushed crimson at the sound of his name and the compliment. He feels two sets of eyes on him - one from the white haired man who he learned quickly was a Hashira and then the boy with dark hair and a mohawk. They’re glaring, he notes, with such dark eyes and hatred. 

“Look’s weak.” Sanemi retorts, sinking his teeth in the broccoli you steamed. 

“Very.” Genya snorts.

Muichiro turns his eyes to look at Shinra and hums in agreement.

“That’s not nice.” you frown at the three of them. “Shinra’s is a very capable swordsman.”

Genya had no issue with the burgundy haired boy. He appeared to be close in age with him and Tokito. However, if he had your affection then that meant it was taken away from his brother (and him) and he didn’t like it.

“Shinra even helped me defeat a demon, right, Shinra-kun?”

Shinra feels his throat clog up at the amount of eyes on him. He finds himself nodding - even if it wasn’t the truth. You were lying to save him the embarrassment and that caused even more self-pity in him. 

“Is that so?” Sanemi snickers. He leans forward. “He doesn’t even look like he knows how to hold a sword. I’m to believe someone like him helped you?”

You nod your head. You weren’t going to let them bring down Shinra’s self esteem about himself.

“Then maybe you shouldn’t go on missions yourself.” Sanemi states. “If you need help from a weakling.”

Genya watches the way his brother glares at Shinra and now he understands where this was going. 

Sanemi was jealous - for no reason. Shinra was (for now) a weakling Mizunoto, yet you shared the rank with him. You were just lucky enough to have trained alongside several Hashira. Shinra was also only a child while you were an adult and only had eyes for Sanemi - but he knew his brother well enough to know that anyone was competition.

“Y/L-san is an amazing swordsman…woman…” Shinra’s voice is low and barely audible. He’s scared to even look the white haired man in the face but he’s grown great respect for you. “She killed the most demons during Final Selection…”

“How many did you kill?” Sanemi questions. 

“I-I…” Shinra gulps. He hasn’t killed nearly as much as you or the other survivors. He only managed to cut the heads of three - and even that took a lot out of him. 

“How about this,” Sanemi takes a bite of the pork and stands. “you show me just how good of a swordsman you are.”

“We’re eating.” you sigh, watching as Sanemi rounds the table to put (more like snatch) Shinra’s shoulder. 

“It’ll only be a moment.” Sanemi yanks Shinra from his cushioned seat and pulls him to his feet. “I have an extra sword.”

Shinra is visibly shaking in Sanemi’s tight hold. He’s pushed out the door and it causes Muichiro to snort. “Y/N.”

“Huh, yes, Tokito?” you say to him, smiling apologetically. “Is the food alright?

Muichiro nods. He licks his lips before his eyes turn to you. “Please tell Shinazugawa that no one is planning on stealing you from him.” he says nonchalantly. “All the slayers that do voice their attractions are scared of being castrated.”

You laugh nervously, eyes going wide. You feel yourself grow hot with embarrassment. 

“Genya even threatens a few that talk about you suggestively.”

Genya whips his head to glare at Muichiro, cheeks flushed. “I do not!” he hisses, denying rather quickly.

“Yes you do.” Muichiro takes a sip of his drink. “You talk down to anyone that thinks they could speak to Y/N.” Muichiro scoffs. And he was supposed to be the one with memory issues.

You get up from your cushioned seat and nod your head at the two (now bickering, more on Genya’s side than Muichiro) boys. You place a hand on both of their heads and it silences them. “You two are so cute.” you tell them. “Makes me wish I had younger siblings.” your eyes glance outside. You were going to have to save Shinra from Sanemi’s torture right about now.

You bow and excuse yourself and make your way out the shoji doors just as Sanemi swings a wooden sword Shinra’s way. “Sanemi!” you call, eyes glaring at the man. “Leave Shinra alone! We’ve come here for lunch not to train!”

Shinra’s able to dodge Sanemi’s attack by the grace of God, sweat pooling down his forehead and whimpering for whoever to save him.

Sanemi stops his attack and turns to you. You appeared to be upset, eyebrows knitted to a scowl. Your arms are crossed and for a split second his eyes flicker to your breast pressed together. 

“Shinra, let’s finish up your lunch, yeah?” you tell the boy who nods his head, far too excited to be away from the white haired maniac. 

As Shinra enters the house once more, your eyes turn to Sanemi. “What’s that about?”

Sanemi drops his wooden swords and goes to make his way back into his home. You step in front of the man. “You can’t keep harassing the slayers. They’re terrified of you!”

Sanemi scoffs. “If they’re terrified of me then a demon would have their fucking heads.”

You roll your eyes. “You’re a scary man.” 

Sanemi tilts his head and crosses his own arms. “You aren’t afraid of me.”

“Of course not.” you give him a teasing smile. “You’re nice when I’m around.”

Sanemi grumbles; maybe that’s why others would rather you be present if they had to approach him. 

“Promise me,” you begin, coming closer to him. You take his large, calloused hands in your soft ones. “That you won’t keep harassing the slayers. Especially Shinra and Genya.”

Sanemi groans. He likes the soft and gentleness of your hands on his own.

“I can’t promise that.” Sanemi says. “They all enjoy pissing me off.”

You giggle. “But they avoid you!” you exclaim. “Just try.”

Sanemi nods his head with a roll of his eyes. “Whatever.” he mumbles.

You wrap your pinky around his longer one, a tint of mischief in your eyes. “Swear.”

“Swear.” Sanemi murmurs. “Whoever lies will be made to swallow a thousand needles.” the two of you say in unison, a wide smile on your lips and a low one on his.

“CAW! Y/L Y/N is to report to Chiyoda City! A demon has been sighted in the Shrine!” Hiyori soars above you, her wings flapping.

Your eyes widen and you stand to your feet excitedly. “We’re going on a mission? Our first mission!” you were ready for a mission the same day you were given your nichirin sword.- a long sword with a black handguard that wraps right above your hand, offering an amazing grip. The blade is long and shiny against the bright sun - an emerald color shining down the sharpest part of the blade.

“Sanemi’s doing his rounds. I’m sad he wasn’t home to hear.” you feel saddened, but this was your moment to make him proud and assure that you’d come back safe. 

You make your journey out of the estate with Hiyori flying above you, leading the way. You’re pumping with excitement that it’s ridiculous. You were going head first to a demon - but you were bouncing with joy as if you were meeting your husband. You were just ecstatic to kill as many demons as you could and work your way up the ranks. You heard the amount of people wishing to become Hashira, but you’re content not being one. The 9 Hashira you’ve met were more than amazing at their jobs.

You reach the area in the middle of the night, the moon shining brightly and the area quietly. The air appears to be murky and foggy, a low fog that’s nearly blinding. You slow your walk, drawing your blade while your eyes scan the area. 

A sound to your left heightens your senses. More sounds from your right, above and even forward you. Small figures appear, no taller than toddler sizes. They’re demons - eyes black and soulless. There’s scars oozing blood beneath both of their eyes and there's a shadowy smoke that surrounds them as they push closer to you. As they come closer, you note that they appear to be floating rather than walking.

You raise your sword and swing when one shadowy figure lungs at you. You slice at their head, cutting off each one with swift movements - but they appear to never stop coming. It’s as though as soon as you kill one, five more come sprinting after you. Each shadowy figure has their own weapon - a knife, sword, cutlass.

“That man despises you.” a gravelly voice hisses behind you. The shadowy figures disappear and you’re left in complete silence.

You turn around, eyes glaring into the darkness. “Show yourself!” you call into said darkness.

Your feet walk stealthy behind the shrine where what appears to be a large pond is located. The water is still; unnerved. 

“You’re nothing to him!” the same voice hisses, this time besides you and now you sense it. A hand slams against your cheek and you’re sent flying towards the pond. It wasn’t deep, luckily, and you managed to keep your sword clenched into your hands. 

You leep from the pond just as the demon lunges at you. It appears to be a woman. She’s tall, appearing just a few inches smaller than Uzui. Her eye sockets are wide but they’re soulless, no pupils in sight. Her hair is long and flowy behind her, but appears to be wet and stringy. Her skin is a dull gray color and she’s snarling at you.

“Look at you,” the demon snarls, her fingernails gnawing at her skin. “So young and beautiful. No man will ever respect such a whore!”

The demon lunges at you once more and you manage to cut her hand off, long claws falling onto the ground below you. 

A loud, blood curdling scream echoes off the trees, coming from the demon. The sound is unbearable and you’re sure the demon is causing your ears to bleed. 

You got to your knees. 

“What would your father think seeing you now?” a voice says. 

“What about your mother? Your brother?”

The atmosphere appears colder now, the screams of the demon growing louder and louder. 

“What do you think Sanemi would think of you once you die here?” the screams appear louder and you’re certain your ears are bleeding. “When you die here tonight, you will be forgotten - just like your father forgot about you.”

You can feel the anger inside of you bubbling at the taunting words of the demon. “Come with me, I’ll put you out of your miserable misery.”

You lift your sword, trying your hardest to ignore the ringing in your ear. The demon flings itself at you and in one quick movement, you’re dodging its attack and slicing off her other hand. You get to your feet, sprinting towards the Demon. It wails loudly once more, but you ignore the painful ringing in your ears. “Wind Breathing: Second Form!” you lift the sword upwards towards the right and above your head. You release four vertical slashes resembling claws towards the demon. “Claws-Purifying Wind!”

You dash towards the Demon as your attack slashes them, black blood oozing out from their wounds. You make it your mission to get rid of this demon once and for all, raising your sword and bringing it down on the demon's neck. 

You drop to your feet, eyes on the demon's head a few feet away.The screaming releasing from its throat grows silent by the second as the head begins to disintegrate. 

It takes you a moment to move, your mind racing at the words the demon said.

That man despises you.

No man will ever respect a whore.

When you die here, you’ll be forgotten.

You sheathe your sword and begin to walk. Your ears are ringing as you make your way back towards your destination, Hiyori flying above you. By the time you’d return, the sun will be present and you’d hope to come face to face with Sanemi once more. You’ve grown close to the man and it causes you great shame to know that the words of the demon got to you; causing your heart to ache. You no longer cared about your fathers thoughts about you; you dealt with the man for years and his harsh ways. But the thought of Sanemi - someone you considered to be a great friend, even someone you loved dearly - forgetting about you; despising you. 

You exhale, deciding to pick up your pace to get back to the estate - and Sanemi - faster.

Sanemi’s sword slices against the tatami mat, slicing with ease. His mind is on you and when you are due to return. He’s upset that you were set on a mission - your first one at that - while he was out on his own. He’s positive that you were ecstatic and jumping with joy - it causes his heart to beat harder. He regrets not being there to send you off, even when his nerves screams at him to find you.

You’re an adult, he tells himself.

You’re now a slayer, fully capable of fighting low-level demons.

But still, you were someone he cared about.

Sanemi cannot keep his mind at ease when Genya is away on missions, now that he has you and his brother on his mind, he’s sure he’ll never find peace. 

Sorai, Sanemi’s crow, flocks his wings and places himself on a sliced tatami mat. The words released from the crows mouth has Sanemi’s eyes widening and his blood going cold.

Rengoku.

Dead.

Kyojuro is dead.

Sanemi’s right hand clenches his sword in his palm.

“I will annihilate all unsightly demons.” he hisses, turning away to make his way out of his home. His heart is pumping out his chest now and his nerves are screaming.

Kyojuro was a Hashira - a skilled one. What did that mean for you and Genya? You were out on a mission as we speak, too far away to know of Kyojuro’s death but that doesn’t ease his nerves one bit. He feels jittery. His mind is wandering to you fighting whatever demon you were sent out to and returning with serious injuries. His heart clenches when his mind flashes with you covered in blood, body lifeless. 

“Sorai!” Sanemi hisses and his crow squawks. “Go find Y/N.”

Sorai flocks his wings and begins his journey. Lilac eyes follow him until he’s nothing but a mere figure in the sky. 

Sanemi inhales deeply and exhales. He runs a calloused hand through his hair and down his face. He notices that his hand is trembling lightly with nerves.

You release a low sigh when you notice the familiar sight of the Butterfly Mansion. Your body aches and your ears are still ringing, but you manage to make it in one piece.

“CAW!”

Sharp feet landed upon your head.You hiss at the impact, wailing your hands around. “Sorai?” you murmur. “Where’s Sanemi?” you ask the crow. 

“Shinazugawa-sama has sent me to assure your safety!” the crow squawks.

You find yourself grinning. You pet the crows head lightly. “Yes, I’ve arrived safely.” you tell him. “I’m going to the Butterfly Mansion to assure my injuries aren’t severe.”

Sorai squawks again, wings flapping to fly and give the news to Sanemi.

You enter the mansion to find it surprisingly quiet.

“Y/N-chan!”

It’s Naho. She’s crying at the sight of you - did you look that bad?

“I’ll go get Aoi! Shinobu-san is busy.”

You follow behind her to the infirmary. You’re glad you can finally lay down and relax.

You enter the room and groan. You fell onto the nearest bed and sighed.

“You must be in such pain.” Aoi murmurs, eyeing the way your ears hold dried blood. 

“Little bit.” you mumble a response. “Just feel a little…tired.” you close your eyes, lids feeling heavy.

“Okay. You can sleep,Y/N-chan. I’ll give you some medicine for your wounds.”

You’re into a deep sleep by the time you hear Aoi’s words. It felt nice to be able to relax for now and not worry about anything.

Sanemi slams the shoji doors open, causing several nurses to yelp in surprise. 

“Shinazugawa!” Aoi growls, eyebrows knitting into a scowl. “How many times-”

“What happened to her?”

Aoi watches with angered eyes as Sanemi stalks towards your sleeping figure.

Sanemi lowers himself to inspect you. There’s a few scratches on your skin and blood (dried) on the sides of your ears.

“She passed out around 10 minutes ago.” Aoi responds. “Now leave, she needs-”

Sanemi sits on the bed beside yours, deciding to ignore Aoi altogether. Aoi scoffs. She turns her head to the other nurses and nods. They continue to scurry off out of the room. 

“I’ll be back with some medicine for her.” Aoi grumbles and makes her way out of the room.

Sanemi allows himself to breathe now. When Sorai had come back to him and stated that you had returned safely but at the Butterfly Mansion, he had to be sure you were safe. 

It was three hours later when you finally stirred awake. You feel groggily and your eyes are heavy. You yawned, pushing yourself up in the bed. 

“You’re awake.”

You yelp at the sudden voice. “Nemi.” 

Sanemi’s arms are crossed over his chest, eyes studying you.

“How long have you been here?”

Sanemi shrugs. “Not too long.” Sanemi responds. He hasn’t left since you were emitted. 

“Ah,” you lean against the metal frame. “I’ve returned from my mission.”

You’re smiling tiredly at him.

“My heart feels so full and heavy. My mind cannot focus on anything.” you explain. “It’s all so overwhelming to return alive and well.”

“Your ears are bleeding. Are you sure you’re well?”

“Yes.” you nod. “The demon was a very loud screamer.” you giggle to yourself. 

Sanemi swallows. He’s unsure how he was going to tell you about Kyojuro. You’ve grown close to the man and learning of his death would cause you great sorrow, and he didn’t like to see you upset or sad. 

“Nemi?”

“Kyojuro…” Sanemi begins. “...went on a mission before you had. He didn’t make it.”

You tilt your head, ears registering his words. 

“Kyojuro…is dead?” you swallow, throat dry.

It feels foolish to cry for someone knowing that this life was never guaranteed. You’ve grown close to him, sometimes speaking with him whenever you were free. 

“Nemi…” you trail off, feeling your eyes become wet. You feel for Kyojuro and his family and it even feels selfish of you to be scared for Sanemi’s life now. Kyojuro was a Hashira just like Sanemi and if he was ultimately brought to death…

Your legs ache, but you do not hesitate to jump from your bed to where Sanemi sat. You wrapped him in a tight embrace, wet eyes crushing into his neck.

Sanemi’s shocked by your actions. He didn’t know Kyojuro’s death would impact you this much.

You sniffled in his neck. “I don’t want you to ever be in harm's way.” you murmur. Sanemi, Genya, Shinra…you didn’t want to see death for anyone apart from the Corps. 

Sanemi gulps. He places an arm around you to bring you closer. He doesn’t usually touch you - sober, that was - but you were always clingy. He wants to comfort you, to tell you that everything would be alright. He wants to tell you that he wasn’t going to die - but he doesn’t wish to disappoint you with false promises he couldn’t guarantee. 

Sanemi doesn’t speak as he holds onto you, but he’s positive that he too does not wish you to ever be in harm's way - he’s unsure if he would be able to live with himself if you or Genya didn’t come back from a mission alive.

The next few months consist of you and Sanemi attending missions alongside one another, sometimes with other slayers. You want to question why you haven’t been on a solo mission, but you don’t. You assume after Kyojuro’s death, that the Corps would rather keep lower ranks with higher ones, but you cannot be 100% sure. 

However, you wouldn’t complain about being sent out with Sanemi. He was more of a guide, making sure nothing got too hectic for you - and it never did. He allowed you to behead any demons that you saw and the mission was complete. Then the two of you would return back to the estate until the next mission.

Weekly, you would have lunch that you’d cook with Sanemi, Genya, Shinra and Muichiro (whenever they weren’t sent on missions). Sanemi managed to bite his tongue and instead would grumble to himself, but it was progress. You enjoyed cooking for them and saw the three younger boys as little brothers.

Sanemi drew the line when you invited more - Tanjiro was such a lovely boy that you couldn’t help but want to feed him. With Tanjiro came Zenitsu and Inosuke - a brawl ensued when Inosuke insulted Sanemi and Genya retorted, both teenagers throwing insults and punches. But you enjoyed the lunch, nonetheless.

“We have another mission.” Sanemi says during breakfast. “Hiyori delivered it while you were bathing.”

“Ah, is that so?” you bring the sweet potato in your mouth and bite. 

Sanemi nods. “A Hashira is to be present. Me.” he says. “More slayers are attending, as well. We were told to pack a bag - it might take longer than we expect.”

You nod and when the two of you are done with breakfast, you go to pack your bag. It can be classified as an undercover mission, so casual wear is expected. 

It’s not long that you, Sanemi and a group of slayers are making your journey to Shinjuku, expected to arrive right in the evening. Sanemi wasn’t one to make stops, so you managed to pack a few snacks for the long way.

Once you arrive to Shinjuku you’re relieved. The sun was barely shining and you just wanted to find whatever demon was here and kill it. Seeing as the lot of you were expected to be undercover, you’re sure it wouldn’t work out that way.

“You,” Sanemi points to a group of 5 slayers. “find an inn and see what you can gather about our mission.”

The five slayers bow and head on their way. Sanemi’s turns his eyes to another four. “You do the same in the opposite direction.”

There's only you, him and two slayers left - one girl named Sumire and a boy by the name of Roshi. “There’s an inn on the outskirts of Shinjuku. We’ll head there, find a room and change. The sun will fall soon and we’ll have to investigate whatever demon lurks here.”

The inn wasn’t far and a ten minute walk has you four arriving there. It appears to be the nicest Inn in the city for it to be such a long distance from it. 

“Welcome in!” a woman behind the counter eyes the four of you, her eyes recognizing the uniform displayed. “Two rooms?”

“Four.” Sanemi corrects.

“Ah…” the woman leans forward, eyes staring at Sanemi’s chest, a grin formed onto her lips. “I apologize, sir, but we only do couples in Shinjuku.”

Sanemi scoffs. “What type of shit is that?” he hisses. He’s never heard of an entire city only catering to couples.

“We’re known as a honeymoon retreat here.” the lady shrugs. “I do apologize for any inconvenience.”

“It’s fine.” you sigh. “I can room with Sumire-”

“Please don’t.” Roshi whimpers, shaking his head. He wanted to be nowhere near Sanemi - especially not when his annoyance was rising. “I’ll take the floor so Sumire can have the bed - really!”

“Then it’s settled. Two rooms for two couples.” the lady turns to grasp a set of keys in both manicured hands and she dangles them out for you all to grasp.

Sanemi snatches the key and scurries down the hall while Sumire takes the other.

“We’ll get settled, changed and make our way out for the night.” you tell Sumire and Roshi.

“Yes.” Sumire and Roshi reply in unison.

Sanemi slams the door shut as the two of you enter, dropping his bag onto the large bed. 

“The sun will be setting soon.” you note aloud. “Do we have a set plan?”

“There’s obviously something going on here.” Sanemi says. He removes a yukata from his belongings. “Shinjuku was not known to be a couples retreat - not until now.”

“Do you think whatever demons here are targeting couples?” you tilt your head to think. Eating two people would be smarter than one, but still, a demon was stronger than a regular civilian. “It seems to be a lot of effort on the demon's part.”

Sanemi shrugs. Whatever the demon was doing, he’d be sure to put an end to it. 

Sanemi and you roamed Shinjuku. It appeared bright even when the sun was down. You noticed that it indeed was a couples affair - you noticed no one walking alone. What also caught your attention was the lack of children present - or those who were older.

“You two look new here.”

Sanemi’s eyes flicker to the voice.

“We are.” you smile at them, inching closer to Sanemi.

“Oh! How long have you two been married?” the woman asks and now you’re unsure what to say. 

“Honeymoon.” Sanemi responds. “Was recommended by a friend.”

The woman nods her head. “It’s amazing here! We’ve been here twice already. Have you two been to…”

You await for her to continue, but her eyes look as if waiting for you to catch on.

“...Uh…?” you turn to Sanemi who doesn’t even look interested.

“The couples…brothel?”  the woman flushes bright red as she speaks, her husband laughing nervously.

“Couples brothel?”

Sanemi was intrigued now.

“Yes. You have to be approved first - we haven’t.”

“What do you do there?” you ask, unsure of what in the world this mission was going to put you through.

“If approved, you get to be doted on…” the woman is far too embarrassed to continue but you’re sure you get where she’s going.

“Ah.” you nod your head. “I never knew that was something.”

“Yes. It happens every day at a different inn.” the husband says.

“Today should be…”

Sanemi sighs. He has a guess of what inn it would be happening at.

“We have to go.” Sanemi says, stomping off. 

“Sorai.” Your eyes look into the sky at the flying bird. “Inform the other slayers of the demon. Tell them to patrol the streets and make sure no civilians are harmed.”

“Where are we-”

“Back to the Inn.” Sanemi answers your question before you can respond. “That woman insisted on couples because that’s how the demon feeds without getting caught.”

“She chooses her victims strategically.” you murmur. “Not everyone gets accepted.”

“She must know we’re slayers - or at least senses that there’s something off about us.” Sanemi picks up the pace. “Only way to find out…”

Sanemi wraps you in a tight embrace as you both enter the inn. It catches you by surprise - his sudden closeness.

“Hello!” a lady claps her hands at your arrival. “Are you guests here already?” it’s not the same woman as yesterday, you note. 

Sanemi nods his head, arms wrapped tightly around you. “Yes. We’re hoping we can join.”

The woman is nodding, quite aware of what Sanemi is asking of her. “You’re in luck. Our mistress had not yet chosen a couple.” she eyes the way you and Sanemi appear. “I’m positive we found a good choice in the two of you.”

Sanemi swallows. He’s unsure how, but she knows there’s something off about the two of you - you aren’t an ordinary couple. She’s no demon, he would know if she was. 

“Follow me,” the woman motions with her hand for the two of you to come.

You walk, as does Sanemi. He won’t admit it, but having your body against his makes him feel at ease; just knowing you’re close and away from harm.

The hallway is long and seemingly away from the other rooms of the inn. The lights grow dim the closer the three of you step. You were sure it had to do with the demon.

“Go right into the room. The mistress will be in shortly. There are refreshments inside, as well.” The woman slides open the doors and bows as you enter. “Do have some fun while you wait.” She shuts them and you hear her footsteps pat down the hall until they’re inaudible.

“Room’s nice.” your eyes scan around the room, appearing quite large in size and lights just as dim as the hallway.

Sanemi grunts but doesn’t say a response. He sits upon the mat, eyes scanning for any sign of the demon.

You take a seat besides him and inhale. The room was humid.

“Have your sword ready.” Sanemi murmurs. You’re seated besides him, far too close. His noses appear to be heightened, your aroma nearly intoxicating him. He swallows thickly.

“It’s fucking hot.” Sanemi hisses. “Where’s that bitch?”

You were beginning to feel the same way. Your kimono wasn’t tight, but it felt as if it was sticking to you. The air felt so heavy, humid and…you shiver, goosebumps erupting onto your skin.

“I feel weird.” you tell Sanemi after a long moment. 

Sanemi’s eyes turn to you besides him. He notes there’s sweat lining your forehead and you’re panting lightly. Your legs are shuffling together, hands clenching in your lap. He notes that in the midst of your anxious state, you loosened your kimono and beneath it shows your uniform - the same uniform you wore when he gifted you his haori. He’d scream and berate the perverted kakushi for a new uniform just for you to wear both, stating that you didn’t want to be a bother. It wasn’t that he didn’t like the way you looked in it, not at all. He enjoyed it too much, often finding his eyes and mind wandering to places they shouldn’t. 

“You should drink something.” Sanemi tears his eyes away from you to eye the refreshments besides them. There isn’t any water, just wine, but it’ll have to do. “Just enough so you won’t feel parched.”

You nod your head. You wouldn’t be off your game after a sip of wine. You reach for the wine besides Sanemi, a low apology when your arm touches his. It sends a jolt throughout him, this time reaching lower than his heart. 

Sanemi’s eyes are shameless now. He doesn’t hide the fact that he’s watching you. Your hands are shaking as you take the bottle of wine in your hands. You unscrew it and begin to pour. “W-Would you like some?”

Sanemi blinks at the sound of your voice, but he nods. He takes the small, silver goblet from your trembling hands and nods his thanks. He drinks the wine in one swift movement, downing it while his eyes watch yours. He was sure he could have another, and another as long as you served him. 

You aren’t as fast as Sanemi. You smell the wine first before going in to take a sip. It’s good - expensive too. You find yourself drinking the wine keen, enjoying the refreshing taste it gives.

Sanemi’s eyes watch as the wine, a crimson red color, drips from the corner of your mouth and down your jaw, to your chin and drips onto your collarbone. It teases him, he thinks, as it slowly drips onto your exposed breasts.

Sanemi licks his lips and groans. He yanks the wine bottle and pours himself another and downs it. He goes to pour himself another one, but he feels a hand on his wrist.

“You’re going to drink it all.” you say, voice laced with mischief. 

Sanemi inhales. The room was growing hotter.

Sanemi pours the wine, but this time he doesn’t drink it. He lifts it to your own lips, tapping them so you’d open them. You do, gently drinking the wine from his hands. You couldn’t contain the laughter coming from your throat as you do so, the wine splashing onto your kimono.

Sanemi feels hot all over again, his uniform beneath his yukata growing tighter. 

“Nemi?”

Sanemi gulps. “Hm?”

“Do you think I’m hot?”

Sanemi coughs at your question, flushing. 

Why was the room growing hotter?

Why does his clothes feel like they’re sticking to him?

Sanemi was growing confused by the second - why were the two of you even in this room?

“Why do you ask?” Sanemi drops the goblet.

“Because you never say it.” Were you intoxicated now? You didn’t appear to be, your words weren’t slurring and your vision didn’t appear hazy. “Are you attracted to me?” Sanemi feels you come closer. He’s stiff - you had to be drunk. You’re pushing off your kimono, now just only in the revealing corp uniform. He gasps when you climb into his lap, both legs trapping him beneath you.

“You look scared.” You were teasing him. You sit directly onto him, the bulge of his cock twitching when he feels the heartbeat that’s your pussy. “You’re supposed to be the fearless Wind Hashira.”

Sanemi places his hands against your exposed thighs and groans at the smoothness of your skin. He’d often wake from dreams of you and him being in this very position - he’d either have to shower with the coldest water or pump himself until he was cumming. The last option was the most embarrassing. 

“Are you afraid of me?” you’re teasing him again, repeating the same words he said to you in Asakusa. Though he wasn’t pressing himself against you like this, he wouldn’t complain either.

Sanemi groans once more at the feeling of you slightly grinding against him. 

Yes, Sanemi was afraid of you. You made him feel different - the jolting in his heart that dives all the way down to his cock. He often finds himself staring at you, so long that his eyes grow dry and he has to blink just to regain moisture. He often has to hear Uzui’s and Shinobu’s teasing of his feelings for you, no matter how much he attempts to deny it himself.

“No.” Sanemi murmurs, even if it was a lie. 

“Then kiss me.” you lean forward, inches away from Sanemi’s lips. He gulps, licking his lips. Your lavender aroma fills his nostrils and he finds all the sanity he had left gone. 

Sanemi presses his lips against yours, his fingernails digging into the skin of your thigh. He doesn’t want to let you go - whatever this was he doesn’t want it to end. All that clouds his thoughts now were you - your scent, your touch, the sound of you. It intoxicates him that whatever the two of you were initially supposed to be doing in this room has since been forgotten. 

You feel your throat tighten and you’re being lifted. Your eyes shoot open and you’re gasping for air, eyes watching someone - you? It wasn’t you.

The demon had taken the form of you now, leaning against a panting Sanemi. He’s in a trance, you note, not noticing that he was now in the hands of the demon. Her eyes look up at you once for a second and now, your blood is running cold. ‘Lower Rank Six’ engraved into her eyes. 

You struggle to get yourself loose. It’s obvious that the demon has Sanemi in a trance and you were the one that needed to behead the bitch.

“Thank you for bringing me a Hashira.” the demon cackles. “I can show my lord that I am capable of killing a Hashira and then I’ll work my way up. He has given me a second chance just for this moment!”

You struggle against a hooked tail, but manage to get one arm loose to unsheathe your sword. You swipe at it, slashing it so you can release yourself. “Get away from him!”

The demon’s eyes widen but she then laughs. “I’m sorry I have to consume your lover.” she taunts. “Virgins don’t know what to do with a man.” the demon taunts. The air appears to be foggy and once again you feel hot with desire. 

“You’re nothing but a demon that’s going to die here.” you spit at her.

The demon shrieks at your words. “Such a disgusting human! You don’t deserve to be in my presence!”

You swipe your sword to dodge her attack. You needed to get this over with now before you wasted any more time. Your mind was fogging with whatever she’s done, an obvious demon blood art. 

“You’re nothing but a weak lower moon.” you spat back at her with the same venom. 

The demon hisses and sends an array of attacks with her hooked tail. “Wind Breathing: Third Form:” you proceed to release a whirlwind of slashes around you to defend yourself from her attack.”Clean Storm Wind Tree!”  Your eyes focus on her neck - you had to finish her off now. You raise your sword and slash it across her neck, a clean swipe that cuts the demon’s head right off. 

The demon screams at her sudden defeat, but another gush of fog surrounds the entirety of the room just as her head and body harshly crash onto the ground. 

You drop your sword beside you, making your way to Sanemi. His eyes are closed and he appears to be asleep.

“Nemi?” you call, falling to your knees. You place a hand upon his cheek and flinch when his eyes dart open. “Nemi…”

Your words trailed off and neither of you talked, only stared at the other. The room was boiling now, sweat pooling off of your body. You were sure you’d hear a pin drop with how silent the room remained.

“We should…go…” you managed to speak, but it was difficult. Your throat is dry and your ears are beginning to ring. Your clothing is uncomfortable and tight, sticking to your skin like glue. “Nemi…I-I don’t feel good.” you admit to him after another few moments of tortured silence. Your legs are beginning to clench together, the friction feeling good, an electric shock between your legs. 

You knew this feeling, you were no prude. You were sexually frustrated. There was no doubt a wet spot between your legs and the friction of your thighs clenching together brought a temporary satisfaction. You would admit that you touched yourself often when you needed to just to let loose and unwind, but that frustration wasn’t anywhere near how you felt now. 

You scoff bitterly to yourself. To think you endured hellish training to become a slayer just for sexual frustration to be your downfall.

“Let’s go.” Sanemi nods, head heavy. “We need to get our stuff from the room.”

Standing is difficult for Sanemi. His clothing is tight and there’s an obvious bulge in his uniform pants. He allows you to lead the way, his sane mind screaming to not stare at the way your ass moves, but he doesn’t care. He was a man, after all, a man drugged by a demon. He wants to laugh at the circumstances.

The woman is nowhere to be found when you pass the front end of the inn. You assumed she was nothing but a pawn for the demon and was left alive as long as she offered her humans to consume.

Entering the bedroom, you close the shoji doors behind you and Sanemi.

“I hope everyone else is alright.” you murmur to yourself, leaning against the door. “We should probably be heading out-” You stop speaking once you realize Sanemi’s hands are clenching his hair tightly. His chest is rising and falling and he appears to be in pain.

“Nemi-” you reach out to touch him, but Sanmi harshly pushes you away. Your eyes widen at the sudden action. “I-I…are you in pain? I-”

“Leave, Y/N.” Sanemi’s gruff voice startles you. “Go to Kocho and take the slayers with you.”

“I can’t leave you here.” you say. You’re ashamed that his voice turns you on. You hold the edge of your uniform skirt. “You’re in pain-”

“You know I’m not in pain!” Sanemi hisses. His tone would have anyone else cowering, but here you stood with wide (heart) eyes and clenching thighs. “You know what you’re doing to me, Y/N.”

You gulp at his words.

“I’m trying my hardest not to fuck you against the wall.” Sanemi stares at your face. “Leave. Now.”

Sanemi turns away from you and you’re shocked by his choice of words. You’re certain the demon art is affecting him just as much as it’s affecting you. 

But…there it was. The sensation pooling between your legs - the heartbeat taunting you. His words made you wet, you note. It was a warning - don’t come closer, don’t keep trying to help; run away before he’d do something that he wouldn’t do normally. It’s a sort of adrenaline rush to be playing with fire.

“I can help you.” you gulp. You decide to step closer to him and wrap your hands onto his bicep. “I want-”

Sanemi’s fast in his action, gripping your jaw to press a firm kiss upon your lips. He’s holding back, you know, not wishing to hurt you. He knows you haven’t done this before and the sane part of him wants to stop - to not take you while he cannot control himself. “You need to leave, Y/N.” Sanemi’s pleading with you now. He didn’t want to have your first time like this. He’s trembling, all ounce of strength fighting animalistic urges. He almost feels nauseous, mind flashing in all the ways he could take you right now - how vulnerable you’d be beneath him and how good you’d look stuffed with his seed.

Sanemi shakes his head aggressively, wanting to get rid of the perverted thoughts of you, but he cannot. It’s humiliating to think that these thoughts were there before, but with the demon art, it’s completely unbearable. 

You were always the stubborn one, never heeding warning. You raise a hand to place it upon his yukuta. You clench it to pull him forward to press your lips upon his once more. Sanemi’s breathing intensifies in the kiss and still, there’s a little part in him that’s holding back the urges to completely demolish you like the demon art (and him, as well) desired. 

“Let me help you, Nemi. It doesn’t matter how long it takes!” you’re pleading with him now, heavily panting when you release his lips for oxygen. You’re also affected by the demon art, even if your own desires were buried deep. “You’d help me so much. I can do the same.” The sound of your begs drive Sanemi wild, his mind refusing to stop sending the illusions of you in different, perverted positions until he acts upon them.

Sanemi’s hands reach out to touch you, bringing you closer to him. You’re against his chest and when his hands sneak out to touch the curves of your body, he knows he won’t be able to stop. 

Stop - Sanemi tells himself.

You'll regret this.

He’d regret this.

He’s taking advantage of your vulnerable state - this isn’t you, this is the demon art.

You want this - another part of his brain denies the sane part of him. There’s an internal dialogue happening right in his mind.

He wanted this. He’d always wanted this.

He wanted to be deep inside of you - so deep that there wasn’t a way you couldn’t not be impregnated.

You’d be his and his alone - you’d give him the family he desired.

“Nemi, please…”

Sanemi doesn’t hold back any longer, fully succumbing to the demon art that’s blinding his best judgment. Your back slams against the futon, sending shocks all over your body, but you aren’t upset at Sanemi’s sudden change in demeanor. His hands are ripping at your uniform, not caring about any damage it causes. He shudders when his hands finally manage to touch you. The countless times he would touch himself to any little amount of skin you showed him - and now you were nearly nude before him.

Sanemi never wanted to thank a demon before in his life.

You’re moaning when Sanemi’s lips kiss along your neck, tongue trailing along as he does so. His hands are groping your breast, the bandages binding them are ripped apart in seconds and they spring free.

Sanemi’s face is between your breasts in seconds, kissing sloppily. You’re so beautiful. He wanted to admire your beauty as much as he could - there was no going back now and who knows what would happen when the demon art wore off. But Sanemi couldn’t slow his pace now, you made him delirious.

Your body jerks when you feel a warm, wet sensation on your nipples. Sanemi’s tongue suckles on your left while his thumb tugs on the right. It causes you to moan louder, the feeling foreign and you never wanted it to end. 

It wasn’t soon until Sanemi had you fully naked before him. He’s in awe, truly, eyes completely blown out. It’s unclear to him how he could still manage to hold back completely being barbaric when it comes to the sight of you, but maybe it’s the respect he held dear to his heart for you.

Sanemi’s lips kiss down your breast, to your stomach down to your abdomen. He pushes your legs apart and swallows when he catches sight just how wet you were.

You squirm under Sanemi’s gaze, unsure what he was doing. You go to close your legs but Sanemi only pushes them apart further.

“N-Nemi!” you gasp once you feel his tongue flat against your clit. It’s a weird feeling of euphoria that has your eyes rolling. “S-stop!” you’re struggling against Sanemi’s tongue, doing everything in your power to get him to stop. “I can’t take anymore, Nemi…”

Sanemi doesn’t care about your babblings. Your taste intoxicates him just like your scent does. Your moans are so sweet, like his favorite tune playing again and again in his ears. His fingernails dig into the skin of your thigh and he’s bobbing his head back and forth over and over again until you’re sobbing.

Sanemi lifts his head from your swollen clit and licks his lips. He’s hovering above your twitching form and even now as you’re overstimulated with pleasure and sobbing, he cannot bring himself to stop. 

“Nemi…”

Sanemi presses three fingers against your clit, rubbing tauntingly. “You can take it.” he encourages. After all, if you cannot handle his tongue and fingers, how’d you ever handle his cock?

Sanemi rubs a few more times before his fingers inch inside of you. His lips are kissing along your face, kissing along at the tears of pleasure. 

You’re tight and it excites Sanemi. Knowing that he would be the one to deflower you - be the first (and preferably only) man you’d been with. It causes goosebumps to litter his skin.

The feeling of Sanemi’s fingers inside of you hurts - you’ve never done so before. He isn’t going slow either to allow you to adjust, he’s pumping with such force that it compels you into pleasure. 

“I feel weird, Nemi…” you’re panting, feeling the bubbling feeling deep in your stomach. “Stop, I-I don’t wanna cum like this.” your hand wraps around his wrist to stop him - even if Sanemi refuses. “I wanna feel you around me when I do.”

Sanemi’s cock twitches at your words, but he wastes no time.

With hooded eyes, you watch as Sanemi undresses. You hadn’t realized just how clothed he was while you laid completely bare. 

Sanemi’s body was beautiful, chiseled muscles sculpting his entire body. You flush at the sight of his completely nude body - cock erect. Your legs twitch with nervousness..

Sanemi hovers above you. There’s a flash in his eyes - you notice. His forehead is pressed against yours and for a moment his eyes are soft, no longer harboring the feral reaction.

“You’re so beautiful, Y/N.” he murmurs to you. It’s the voice that belonged to Sanemi - not the one under the demon art, but the man that you trained alongside for a year.

You didn’t have the chance to respond. Sanemi is entering you now and your hands go to clench his biceps harshly. It doesn’t hurt him, of course, but the pressure for you is nearly unbearable. Your legs wrap around him tight, hoping he wouldn’t move too soon.

You inhale deeply, trembling with the newfound pain. Sanemi is big - but any cock would be for you. You just hoped Sanemi wasn’t far too gone in the demon’s spell and wouldn’t hurt you too much.

Sanemi’s patience was slowly breaking. He found himself grinding into her for any sort of friction or pleasure. There’s only so much a man like him could take, his mind kept replaying the countless ways he could take you right now and he was truly fighting an internal battle. 

Sanemi thrusted out of you fully to thrust back in. You released a surprised wail, eyes shutting tight. Your fingernails would be another scar left upon his skin.

“I can’t take it.” you cry out, walls completely sore by taking his cock in you fully. The pressure was unbearable and by the looks of the man, he appeared utterly insatiable. 

“You can.” Sanemi’s voice is so raspy and deep that you were positive he was far gone. He continues to thrust deep inside of you that your back hits the futon with each thrust. He’s strong - far stronger than you’d ever hope to be - and getting him to stop was going to be difficult.

You felt the hot tears pool down your cheeks. You were being stretched out far too much for you to keep your composure. You were clenching around him so heavenly that he never wanted to stop - never wanted to be out of you; without you.

“Nemi, please…”

Sanemi’s hips buckled and he halts his movements. 

Keep going - the voice in his mind tells him.

But it’s your sadden pleas that has his sanity coming back - just for a moment. He witnesses your tears falling and his heart aches - was he the one making you cry?

Sanemi goes to pull himself out, but you stop him. You wrap your arms around him and bring him closer to you. His chest is against yours while your lips lined up against his ears. You’re panting, attempting to catch your breath and adjust to his size. 

Sanemi’s arms wrap around your body, the intimate moment was one he wished he could remain in forever; never wishing to let you go. 

“Nemi?”

You clench around him and Sanemi hums a response. You loosen your hold onto him, a signal that you wanted him to continue. 

Sanemi grinds inside of you, his hold on you only growing tighter. He’s deep, never wishing to be anywhere else but inside of you. He picks up his pace, noticing how your cries were becoming moans. 

This is what sex felt like. The pain was slowly subsiding and the pleasure was taking over. You can hear the way your pussy sounds against his pumping cock - wet and inviting, satiating his hunger for you. 

Sanemi releases his hold on you to lean back. His eyes are hooded as he watches the way your breast bounces. He picks up the pace, cock sliding in and out of you - rougher, deeper, faster.

So beautiful, Sanemi thinks. So beautiful and his - all his. The dark thoughts were coming back with each passing second and his sanity was losing to the demonic spell. 

You yourself felt whatever sanity you had left was now leaving. You no longer cared if Sanemi was hurting you or not - what you did know was that now you felt good; so good. His cock pumps inside of you at an alarming pace that would even be considered pleasurable if you weren’t receiving it. 

Sanemi’s hands grip your breast so tightly that he's sure they would leave marks. His eyes fixated on the bulge of your stomach, mind racing with the thought of you round and pregnant with his child. He allows one hand to leave your breast to cup your stomach, rubbing lightly as he fucks you.

“I can’t wait to fuck a baby in you.”

Sanemi’s words would cause you to gasp if you weren’t caught in the moment. Your mind was fucked out with how good he’s fucking you that a baby didn’t seem bad - how the two of you forgotten about the world full of demons and the mission you were currently on.

“Get you nice and pregnant. I’ll take care of you.” He’s now hitting your g-spot as he speaks, eyes completely blown out with pleasure. Your knees are touching your shoulders and you’re positive you’ve never been this flexible before. “I’ll take care of all of our kids.”

You’re crying beneath him, pleasure overwhelming. Your sobs don’t go unnoticed, but he doesn’t care. He’ll fuck you until he was done - fuck you until he was sure you were pregnat with the child he was promising you.

“I want them to look just like you. So perfect.” Sanemi moans at the thought of you full of cum, round with his child.

You’re cumming, writhing beneath him. You’re soaking the futon beneath the two of you, but neither of you care. Sanemi was on a mission - a rampage. Nothing was going to stop him from achieving his perverted dreams.

Sanemi cums deep inside of you, twitching as he does so. He’s panting while sweat pools off of his skin and onto yours.

Sanemi wants more.

He flips you over, face burning into the futon. He enters you like an animal, continuing the brutal pace. He’s fucking into you deeper, your screams echoing off the room walls. If anyone was inside the inn, neither of you cared. He almost wished someone was listening so they could hear how good he was fucking you.

You’re drooling. You could no longer focus on anything but the cock inside of you - and even then you wanted more. Was this what heaven felt like? Paradise? To be stuff so good but the man you adored that you never wanted it to end?

How could you go back to pleasuring yourself when Sanemi knew how to do it so wonderfully?

Sanemi filled you again - three more times before he changed the position. He brought you on top of him and fucked into you, not allowing you any control. The stamina of a Hashira was amazing. He fucked you like a ragdoll, but you had no complaints.

His fucking dragged on majority of the night - against the wall, in his arms, on your back, on your side - every position he deemed fuckable, he had you in.He would hiss such dirty worlds in your ears that you’d convulse into a cumming mess for him.

One things for certain - neither of you wanted this night to end.

Your legs ached, as did the entirety of your body. 

You stirred away, the sun from the open window blinding your eyes.

You push yourself up from the futon, the blanket you were wrapped in falling to expose your naked figure.

You were sore and one look at your appearance has your mind fluttering with memories.

“Nemi…?” you call out to nothing. You were alone in the room the two of you shared the night prior. You scanned the area to find no trace of him - not even his belongings.

Your legs tremble as you stand to your feet. You take nearly 10 minutes to get dressed, but you cannot be blamed. Your body is covered with bruises and marks that hiding it with Sanemi’s gifted haori was difficult, but manageable. 

You make your way out of the room, belongings in hand. You walk past the innkeeper who doesn’t say a word - a different woman from the first two you met the day prior. 

“CAW!”

Hiyori flies above you just as you exit the inn. If you had to guess, it was an hour before noon.

“Y/L Y/N is to report to the Butterfly Mansion for treatment! Y/L Y/N and others to the Butterfly Mansion!”

“Hiyori.” you call the crow, holding out your arm. “Where’s Sanemi?”

“Shinazugawa-sama has left on his own in the morning!”

Left.

Sanemi had left you here?

Alone?

“Y/N!”

It’s Sumire and Roshi, returning back to you appearing slightly disheveled. 

“W-What-”

“Don’t ask.” Sumire’s flushing bright red.

“Please.” Rochi murmurs and you notice none of them can look the other in the eye.

Your mind connects the dots.

You and Sanemi were not the only two subjected to the demon’s spell.

“Did you see Sanemi leave?” you ask the two slayers.

“Yes. Shinazugawa-sama took the others and left. We were told to wait for you.” Sumire exclaims. “Didn’t say much but to wait until you were up to head to the Butterfly Mansion.”

You nod your head. You swallow, heart aching with the realization that Sanemi had left you.

Had Sanemi regretted the night with you? Had he woke up disgusted with your actions that he didn’t even wish to look at you?

No.

Sanemi wasn’t like this. He didn’t run from his issues. He had to go to the Butterfly Mansion with the other slayers. You wouldn’t think too much into it.

But it was hard not to think too much into it, you think. The entire journey to the Butterfly Mansion had left you completely distracted by memories of the previous night and the nervousness of having to face the Wind Hashira once more. 

The Butterfly Mansion was hectic, nurses scurrying around to help while Kakushi lined up to do the same. You almost felt out of place coming here. You didn’t even have any scars from the attack with the demon and it appears Sumire and Roshi were alright, as well, only a bit awkward.

“Are you two alright?” you turn to the two slayers who nod, avoiding contact with the other. “The mission wasn’t as deadly as we expected. The Lower Moon-”

“Lower Moon?!” Roshi and Sumire gasp in unison with wide eyes. “There was a lower moon there?” Sumire questions. 

“We fought off a few demons but they weren’t strong. They might have been only a few years turned.”

You nod your head. “Yes.” you look between the two of them. “Her demon art was…powerful. Are you sure the two of you are alright?”

You see flashes in your mind of you and Sanemi together the entirety of the night.

“Yes.” Roshi’s cheeks are dusty red.

“Yea.” Sumire responds, as well. 

You nod your head and offer the two of them a soft smile. “Okay. Good job on the mission.” you tell them. “Please rest.”

Your eyes watch Sumire and Hoshi scurry away and you release an exhausted sigh. 

“Y/N?”

Your head snaps to the sound of your name. You bow to Shinobu who does the same. 

“Are you alright? I heard your mission was successful by Shinazugawa.”

You nod your head. “Yes. I returned just now.” you wondered what else Sanemi had told her. “It’s hectic here.”

“Indeed it is. Uzui has returned with Tanjiro, Inosuke and Zenitsu. An Upper Moon was defeated.”

Your eyes widen. “An Upper Moon? Are they safe?” you returned seemingly fine after your battle - if you can even call it that, the demon appeared far too weak to be considered a part of the 12 Kizuki. You couldn’t imagine fighting an Upper Moon.

“Recovering. They’re all fallen into coma’s but we’re positive they will recover.”

A sigh of relief comes from your lips. “Uzui-san? Is he here?”

“Was. He left hours before you returned. He has retired as a Hashira.”

You were sure your eyes were going to pop out their socket one of these days. The sudden information was hitting you at each possible angle. 

“I know you’ve grown attached to the younger slayers. Maybe you can come visit them once everything settles down.” Shinobu offers a smile. “Uzui is at his estate with his wives as if he didn’t lose an eye or hand. I’m sure he’d be happy to see you.”

“Huh?!” your hands clench at - yet again - another sudden information. Uzui was a Hashira, so tall and muscular and extremely skilled. 

“Uzui is fine, truly. Rambling on about appearing even more flashy with an eyepatch.” Shinobu giggles slightly. “How are you, Y/N? Shinazugawa was here earlier but nothing appeared to be wrong with him or the others. I assume the same goes for you?”

You swallow and nod.

“Good.” Shinobu scans your appearance. You had the white haori that once belonged to Sanemi wrapped tightly around your frame. You showed no skin - which wasn’t exactly alarming, but you also never appeared so awkwardly nervous. 

Shinobu’s eyes are beautiful, so large and deep purple. Now, however, they seemed to be looking into your soul, searching for your deepest and darkest secrets.

“I should be going now, Shinobu-san.” you bow. 

“Don’t be a stranger, Y/N.” she offers a curt wave. “I love the new glow you have to you.” that tone in her voice - you feel hot with embarrassment. She was teasing you.

“CAW!”

You haven’t been outside for more than five minutes before Hiyori returns. 

“Oyakata-sama has sent for you!”

“Ah.” you sigh deeply. “I suppose I can see what Oyakata-sama needs.”

You made your journey towards the Ubuyashiki Estate, Hiyori soaring above you. It doesn’t take long and upon entering you note that Oyakata has already been waiting for your appearance.

You bow in front of him. “Oyakata-sama. I have arrived.”

Kagaya offers a curt smile. “Y/L Y/N. It is nice to be in your presence once more.”

“The pleasure is all mine, Oyakata-sama.” 

You lift your head, knees remaining on the ground. 

“Congratulations on returning from your mission safely. You have defeated a Lower Moon.” Kagaya praises.

Your heart feels full to be praised. 

“Thank you, Oyakata-sama. But please, it was nothing. Uzui-san and the others are the true remarkable ones.” You still cannot fathom coming in the presence of such a remarkably strong demon. 

“You also deserve praise, Y/N.” Kagaya says. “You managed to defeat a Lower Moon. There’s many slayers who did not have the same fate.”

You nod to yourself. You suppose he was right.

“You would make an exceptional Wind Hashira if the title was not already occupied.” Kagaya compliments once more. “I am content that you, my child, are a part of the Corps.”

“Thank you, Oyakata-sama.” you say, standing to your feet. 

“Thank you, Y/N.” Kagaya said, but before  you could speak, he continued. “Sanemi has transformed for the better. I assume that it is your doing.”

You swallow at the sound of Sanemi’s name. You had yet to see him  and speak about what has happened during the mission.

“I cannot take responsibility for Shinazugawa-san’s credibility. He was always an amazing Hashira before me!”

Kagaya chuckles to himself lowly. “Indeed he was, my child. But behind every great man, there’s a partner. A woman like yourself.” Kagaya lightly pets the crow that sits beside him. His head remains straight forward, body unmoving. “Give yourself more grace, Y/N. You are free to go as you please. Thank you for speaking with me.”

“Y-Yes.” you inhale a response, bowing before turning away. “Thank you, Oyakata-sama.”

The master's words replay in your head as you make your way to Sanemi’s estate. You deserve praise, he said. You changed Sanemi for the better. Did you, though? Sanemi always appeared amazing to you - at any and everything he did. Sure he had a temper but it was never towards you. Maybe Sanemi had taken the swear the two of you made seriously.

Entering the mansion, you note just how quiet it was inside. Where was Sanemi? You knew he returned earlier in the day.

You decided to not dwell on it and bathe. You hadn’t had the chance to upon waking up, only a light wash up. Witnessing the bruises and bites littering your skin causes you to flush at the memory of you and Sanemi together.

Hours had passed since you bathed and since then you had managed to cook dinner for the two of you - Sanemi’s dish had sat cold. You pondered where he could possibly be - surely Oyakata-sama didn’t send him on another mission.

You began to feel as if Sanemi was purposely avoiding you. As days dragged on, you had yet to see him. You continued your training alone, not witnessing any sight of him. You would eat alone without him, always setting a plate down for him that he would eat whenever he did return while you were gone.

It was only when the second week dragged on did Sanemi return, though barely. You caught a glimpse of him entering the bathroom just as you finished dinner. You waited for him to enter, and when he finally had you were left disappointed. He didn’t spare you a glance, entering his bedroom and not exiting.

Weeksn dragged on and you noticed that you and Sanemi no longer attended missions together. Hiyori would come and deliver your own solo missions and you’d go - not having someone besides you had your heart yearning for company. 

While Sanemi obviously ignored you, you would often visit Uzui and his wives. You’d relax at the onsen with them while not on missions, often eating dinner. Uzui was not a fool to notice the look in your eyes - you were attempting to get your mind off of a certain white haired bastard.

You visited Inosuke and Zenitsu, offering them sweets while they trained and waited for Tanjiro to wake. You remained cooking for Shinra, Genya and Muichiro when the three were free, Sanemi’s place at the table untouched.

There was a shift that everyone noticed. Sanemi’s attitude was going back to what it once was - abrasive and rash. The slayers had to tiptoe around him once more, not having you around as their savior. 

The Hashira has since taken note that there was something wrong with you and Sanemi. Shinobu had seen more of the Wind hashira at the Butterfly Estate to heal petty wounds that he'd usually got to you for - when she asked why he was there, he had snapped at her and stated that it was “her job” to do so.

Obanai and Sanemi train together often, now more than ever. He would visit the Serpent estate to train just so he didn’t have to be home - Iguro never questioned him.

Muichiro is air headed and often stuck in his own mind when he wasn’t out on missions. But he recognizes a shift in your behavior. Your eyes are sadder than he remembers them and all he can think to do is do the things he liked to do - with you. He’d watch the clouds with you, not speaking unless you did. He would make origami with you, claiming that yours were trash - it caused you to laugh at his insensitive truth - and would end up gifting you one of his origami pieces.

Mitsuri’s would often feed you, claiming that whenever she was down, she desired to eat delicious foods. She didn’t want to ask anything of you and Sanemi’s relationship, but she just hoped that whatever did happen that it would end soon. 

You were grateful for everyone's attempts in changing your mood and it would be selfish to say that it didn’t work. However, as the second month kicks, you realize just how foolish you feel. Your head has been far too into Sanemi and why he was ignoring you (and your own separate missions) that you ignored your own overall health. 

“Y/N.”

Shinobu tilts her head at you, curiosity in her eyes. Her face turns to a look of concern.

“Pregnant.” you repeat her words.

 Could you even be surprised? You were in the second month since the mission in Shinjuku. The last thing on your mind upon returning was a contraceptive and even when you woke up feeling less than yourself, you still couldn’t accept that you were with child.

“You must think I’m so stupid.” you laugh humorlessly at Shinobu, insect-like eyes watching your every move.

“Of course not!” Shinobu denies. “Why would you think such a thing?”

You inhale deeply. You thought as much because it was what you were feeling. Stupid - pregnant by Sanemi and it appeared now that he wanted nothing to do with you. Stupid for getting pregnant when your occupation was killing demons.

“Y/N. Are things with you and Shinazugawa…good?” Shinobu doesn’t want to pry, but now you were with child and appeared disgusted, concerned and frightened all at once.

You swallow, throat tightening. “Yes.” you murmur, an obvious lie. Everyone has noticed the shift in the relationship between the two of you and now Shinobu has an idea as to why.

“I assume Shinazugawa doesn’t know.” Shinobu states. “Y/N…there’s ways we can go about this now. If you aren’t ready I can assure you it will be painless.”

You blink at Shinobu’s words. You haven’t thought about a moment like this happening - not even the moment between you and Sanemi. When you arrived from the mission, you desired to see him and talk about whatever relationship the two of you had. But Sanemi turned cold, ignoring your presence all together and waving you off whenever you attempted to.

“If you do wish to keep the child, I will inform Oyakata-sama of the predicament and get you off from your missions. Since you’re early in the pregnancy, I’m sure you won’t have to-”

“I want to terminate.” you interrupt Shinobu. The Insect Hashira tries not to appear shocked by your words. She would never judge you for whatever decision you chose. 

You watch Shinobu nod her head. You couldn’t imagine bringing a child into the world now - not while you were a part of the Corps. It also wouldn’t be fair to Sanemi. You lived in his house, after all. He had made his decision when it came to whatever relationship you had and you were now making yours.

It’s nightfall when you return back to Sanemi’s estate and you’re surprised to see him at the table eating and Sanemi appears to be just as surprised to see you. Upon returning home from his rounds, he assumed you were in bed for the night - but he was proven wrong when you strolled through the shoji doors.

Lilac eyes meet yours and Sanemi notes that there’s something wrong with you. He remains silent, as do you. His heart continues to jolt in your presence, hands yearning to touch your soft skin again. 

“Shinazugawa.” you murmur your acknowledgment to him. 

Shinazugawa.

You never called him that, Sanemi things. But he doesn’t have the right to feel away about it.

“Thank you for allowing me to stay here.” you begin. Sanemi drops his chopsticks, attention fully on you. “I’m grateful to have been trained by you.”

Where were you going with this?

“I’ll be taking my leave.”

You turn away from him, Sanemi watching your figure saunter down the hall. He hears your shoji doors open but not close. There’s shuffling in your room and now he decides to get up to see what you were doing.

“Where are you going?” Sanemi’s heart is pounding now at the sight of you holding a bag with your belongings. It’s the first time he spoke to you directly.

“I’ve…decided to leave.”

Sanemi glances away. “Where are you going?”

You shift in your stance. “I’ve spoken to Oyakata-sama. I have a few missions lined up before I leave the Corps.”

Sanemi’s head snaps to you. He’s checking your face for any sign of deceit. He doesn’t find any - instead your eyes are lined with moisture. Your throat is bobbing as if attempting to not cry at the words you’re speaking.

“I’m sorry that I’ve become a burden.”

Reach out to her - Sanemi things.

Hold her.

Tell her she was never a burden.

Sanemi remains silent.

You stroll past him, your familiar scent passing him.

“You don’t have to leave.” Sanemi calls just as you’re a foot out the door. 

You don’t want to leave.

Sanemi doesn’t want you to leave.

Apologize to her.

Tell her how you feel.

Tell her you love her.

Sanemi’s mind races with his own thoughts that he doesn’t realize you’re already leaving.

“Y/N-”  Sanemi follows behind you, pace picking up to reach you. “Where are you going now? After you leave the Corps?”

You feel Sanemi’s hand around your wrist to stop you from walking. 

“Back home.” you respond, unable to look at him. You made your decision to leave and going against that wouldn’t be the correct decision for you.

Sanemi gulps. He releases his hand from your wrist.

“I hope you don’t feel as if it was a waste of time training me. I wasn’t a part of the Corps for long.” 

You were never a waste of his time, Sanemi wants to say, but his mind is racing and his heart is longing for you. 

Why were you going back home to your father? The same man that sold you to someone - that abused you for years on end?

“Thank you, Sanemi. For everything. I must be going.”

Tell her to stay.

Tell her she doesn’t have to leave here - leave you.

Tell her you love her- that you pushed her away because you were disgusted with yourself.

Tell her how horrible you felt that you took advantage of her innocence.

Sanemi doesn’t say anything and instead watches until your figure disappears. For the first time in years, he feels like he could shed tears at the loss of someone he loved.

Final Part

[siolixz]

ღ Of Love and Loyaltyღ

+18

Part 2

<Part 1> <Part 3: final>

Pairings: Oz "The Penguin" Cobb x Reader

Reader takes Victor's place in this story. She and Oz have developed a relationship of sorts and she changed based on everything around her.

Reader is a young girl infatuated with a man decades older than her- who is also very dangerous and powerful (͠≖ ͜ʖ͠≖)👌 pls take everything with a grain of salt. Oz's mom is actually dead in this story. I will write a third and final part to this after the last episode. Everyone in this story is 18+ and consenting 100%.

Enjoy, give some feedback if you want. (>‿◠)✌

Warnings: violence, age-gap relationship, smut(¬‿¬)

You finally made something of yourself. Sure it was all blood money, but you did- you did what you had to do to survive and not only that, to thrive. 

Before leaving he told you to get in the car while he talked to Sofia outside, when you got back he was on his knees- a gun pointed at his face. You acted on impulse and drove the car into one of the guys there; best thing you could’ve done at the moment he told you.

 You would think that planning to escape would distance you from him but it did the opposite- even after wrecking his car, that poor gorgeous car; you’ve never been in one as fancy before- let alone drive it.  

“I’m so-sorry about your car.” you said as you stared at it in flames. 

“Yeah- what're ya gonna do 'bout it- only the good die young.” he came closer to you and grabbed the back of your head- forcing you to look at him. “Don’t be sad about it- you’re worth a thousand more to me.” 

He told you that you two were “really in it now”- and he couldn’t have been more right about that.

He got the Bliss operation back from the Maroni family by burning the mother and the heir apparent to their family- together. His brutality frightened you but If he wanted to rule the mob- he had to be brutal and unwavering in his choices, at least that’s what you told yourself to justify what he had done. Now not only Sofia Gigante was after you, but also Sal Maroni.

In the weeks following you had your own operation- underground, in a sewer system that connected you to all of Gotham, you became Oz’s eyes and ears above ground, traveling on your motorcycle- giving him news about the world above and delivering his money directly in his hands. He had given you your own gun—"just in case someone messes with you"—though you never ended up using it.

 Oz trusted you, even after your attempt at an escape- he moved you two to an apartment on the East Side, one that reminded you of your old one; without electricity but it did its job. In the apartment you got very close to him, you got to know him much better and you changed too in the meantime, you were more confident- more sure of yourself next to him. 

He was all you had, the one person who made you feel like you were the center of his world. One night- he came "home" late, as he often did. You were already in bed, curled up and trying to stay warm when you felt the familiar weight of his body sinking into the mattress. He slid under the covers and pulled you close, and you sighed, finally feeling the warmth and comfort of his embrace.

"The people in charge really don’t give a fuck about us," you murmured, exhaustion lacing your voice. It was a tired frustration—being cold at work and now being cold at home. Winter was coming, and your mind drifted to families with children who needed warmth.

He took a deep breath. The long days weighed heavily on him; managing his people and the constant stress left him drained. Most nights, he would grab a bite, and as soon as his head hit the pillow, cold or not, he’d fall into a deep sleep. You’d take advantage of those moments, cuddling close and pulling his heavy arm over you. Oswald slept like a rock.

"I’ll do something about it," he said, his deep voice vibrating through you. In the weeks you’d been together, you’d learned how to speak to him, how to make him feel powerful—your man, your only one. He was the only man who had ever made you feel this way, and you couldn’t deny the rush you felt watching him command respect when he barked out orders to his men, a cigar perched between his lips. God, he was handsome. Your stomach would flutter every time you caught a glimpse of him, even if only for a second.

He was a towering presence, terrifying when he loomed over you, and seeing him angry was enough to scare you senseless. But it also sets your heart racing for other reasons too.

Before the club, his gaze never strayed from you; now, it was his hands that constantly sought you. He couldn't help himself when you were close, sometimes grabbing you in public like an eager kid in a candy shop. You learned that when he called you into his "office," it meant he was either seething with anger or burning with desire—either way, you knew he’d end up taking it out on you. 

He’d told you more than once that he hadn’t felt this alive in years, and you could sense the shift in everything he did—from the way he spoke to the intensity in the way he fucked you. He had changed.

You told him about Squid- about how he came up to you today- asking you where you got your clothes- “what shit you got cooking” - Oz asked you if it was going to be a problem, you told him no; he could count on you- you won’t let him down.

“You know, I think you’re the only thing keeping me good, doll.” he traced circles on your arm. If you were keeping him good, what was Oz like when bad? The thought sent a shiver down your spine.

You felt his hands traveling under the blanket and beneath the sweater and t-shirt you had on and you proceeded to hiss once they made contact with your skin “your hands are so cold” you said and he chuckled.

The next day, you made true to your promise and met up with Squid- you had a plan, of course you did, you would give him some money and hope he would leave you alone.

Of course the dumb bastard declined the money- of course he tried to intimidate you to “bring him to the big man” or else he was gonna go to the Maronis or Falcones- maybe they would help him; the fuck was he thinking?  That a small-time asshole like him could make a deal with Oz? 

So many thoughts were running through your head, what if you did bring him to Oz? You didn’t want to bother him, he had enough stuff he had to worry about- plus the things Oz would do to him were too graphic to think about. What if you ran? No, he would catch you- probably beat the shit out of you too. Shit.

“Ok, I’ll take you to him.” you said as you were going down the steps, him following. Fuck-fuck you had to shoot him, this motherfucker was going to ruin whatever you had going on.

You had to shoot him, no other time better than now- your pistol was in the front of your jeans. Do it now.  You grabbed your gun from your pants and before you knew it, you turned around and pulled the trigger. 

When you opened your eyes, Squid was gripping his throat- blood was coming out in buckets- he stared at you and your shocked face. Neither of you believing what you just did. Your breathing was becoming heavier and heavier- almost gasping for breath- you just shot someone- he was going to die. 

Oh god, he was dying. You watched as the light drained from his eyes and you didn’t want to stick around to see him pass so you ran- you ran to your motorcycle and then you drove above the speed limit, probably breaking a few laws too until you got underground.

 He was probably dead by now- you just killed him. You never realized that you were crying as well; you ran to his office and thanked the lord that no one was around to see you. 

You opened the door and there he was, wearing a well tailored shirt and a vest- writing something down- money next to him. He quickly looked up as he heard you come in and then dropped his head down to continue what he was writting “Well look who decided to pay me a visit”,  he muttered with a smirk; you tried to control your sobs and when he heard the shallow breath you took to steady yourself- he looked up again “The fuck happened?” he immediately got up and went towards you.

You told him what happened between sobs as he held you on his lap, seated in his chair.  You told him everything; about Squid- how he threatened to go to the Falcones or the Maronis- how you knew you had no choice and while leaning back he told you that it will get easier, this isn’t the end of the world.

“You wanna know something?” He grabbed your face and made you look at him “You did what was right, you protected yourself, what you have. No one can take that from you- I’m proud of you.” Your sad demeanor was gone by now and replaced with the familiar warmth you had whenever he said something like this.

 He kissed you and brought your body and embraced you “You’ve grown so much in these weeks, you’re no longer the kid that used to sneak around buildings-” you kissed him, bringing his lower lip between your lips. You wanted to forget- forget what happened and what you did- he always made you forget all your worries, you only ever thought about him when you were in his presence. He put his arm beneath both of your legs as you were sitting and you almost yelped when he got you on his desk.

“Oz-” Ok, maybe getting him started wasn’t the best idea, whenever you got him going he would forget about the windows in his office or the fact that someone might hear you.

You tried to bring one of your legs between the two of you, trying to stop him “-Oz, when we are home” you tried to reason with the man, even if getting fucked in his office would turn you on in the worst ways and you would be lying if you said that you weren’t getting wet already.

 He loved the power he would hold over you- whenever he would manhandle you in any position he would like or whenever he would order you to do something- you couldn’t lie, you liked it too; sometimes he would have you suck his cock as he solved the men's pay, sometimes he would have you on all fours on his bed- Oz was a man that loved to be in control, to be number one- the best. You knew that. 

He was already getting your jacket off, “Oz-” he grabbed the money from the table and placed it away from you two, before getting back to kissing and groping you.

He grabbed hold of your clothed pussy and from the feeling of his hand there- you raised your butt slightly up and pushed back into him.

 This relationship that you two had, it made you feel like a woman- it was so different than the one you had with Robert, where it was just light touches on your face and small kisses- Oswald was a man, whenever he wanted you, he would have you and it made you feel as if you were wanted and desired- it made you feel alive.

He stopped and you knew someone was probably at the door. Shit- this is so embarrassing, you looked down and without making eye contact, went into the small room connecting to his office- he had a bed there, a small one; not big enough for two people to sleep comfortably but it was something. It was also way more warm in here than outside where everyone else was working. 

You took your sweater off and sat on the bed, while listening to what he was saying to the guy that came in, something about the meeting he had and a surprise. You had to ask him about that, but after he was done with you.

 Your heart was beating out of your ches- the door opened. 

He looked at you and made small steps towards the bed, you were smiling while scooting back- with butterflies dancing in your stomach; wondering what he was gonna do next when he grabbed both of your legs and placed them on either side of him before joining you on the bed- on top of you.

One of his hands immediately went to your ass, giving him easier access to rubbing himself over you and the other one was supporting him.

You wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him even closer as your lips met his. Despite the darkness and heaviness of the moment, he still radiated a magnetic presence—full of charisma as ever, his scent enveloping you in a way that made everything else fade. From the sharpness of his aftershave to the depth of his cologne, he had it all. He started pushing himself even harder against you, where it was almost painful; you moaned in his mouth and against his tongue. 

He raised himself on his knees on the bed, casting a shadow over you and ordered you to take your jeans off and get on all fours while he was taking his vest off and unbuttoning his dress shirt. Your hands were shaking a little bit as you unbuttoned your pants and took them off.

After you obeyed him and raised your butt in the air, he grabbed hold of it- to angle you how he wanted; excitement so palpable you couldn’t help but smile to yourself, almost laughing. You felt him slowly enter you, giving you a few small moments to adjust to his size- you closed your eyes and moaned, you don’t think you’re ever gonna get enough of this man; all of him.

“Oh baby-” he was always so vocal during sex. 

The feeling of him stretching you out and the feeling of him pushing himself in you in and out- whenever he would press himself back in, he brushed up against your g-spot- the sound of his body when it connected to yours was so loud- it made your cheeks burn- you were so wet and he didn’t even touch you all that much, like that night at the club. He had a gun under your chin and you were so wet, who even were you anymore?

You arched your back, consciously making yourself as pleasing as possible for him. The act itself sent a thrill through you, but it also made your cheeks flush with a mix of desire and shy uncertainty- the usual girlhood embarrassment that flushed your cheeks overtaking your body whenever he had you like this. 

When he found his rhythm- while grabbing your waist and pushing you back into him, he’d shower you with praise. “You take me so well… you’re such a good girl—my good girl.” He knew exactly how to make your stomach flip with words like that—this old dog. 

He pulled you back against him time and time again before you felt like it was almost painful, your moans of pleasure mixing with those of pain.

He pulled himself out and got on his back next to you, ”Come ‘ere” you giggled in excitement- he loved whenever you rode him.

You squatted over him- your legs on either side of his body and with one of your hands- you brought his cock between your legs and you watched closely as his stupid grin was wiped from his face when you lowered down on him, mouth open- you gave him a quick peck on his lips. Your legs were almost shaking and a thin layer of sweat covered his forehead. 

From this position you could feel him so deep inside- you started to grind yourself on him- it felt so good; you almost started crying again. 

Oz grabbed your tits from underneath your shirt and was slowly pushing himself deeper in you “You’re my girl- I’m so proud-” he groaned as he said that, this mountain of a man- beneath you, between your thighs; you felt like you held the power “-I’m so proud of you.” 

From this position you could feel him brushing against your clit, the feeling only making you go faster, the thrill of reaching your peak on him taking over “easy…easy” he repeated- obviously, you didn't listen. 

You shifted the tempo, lifting yourself up before sliding back down, causing him to grimace. Without missing a beat, he pulled your upper body down, pressing you flush against him- you pressed your face against his shoulder and he grabbed it- holding it there; the cold feeling of his rings compared to how hot your face was giving you goosebumps.

You felt him adjust his legs and from this position he started to fuck you how he wanted to. He thrived on being in charge, practically reveled in the power it gave him. God, your throat was dry- you were sure you would be sore down there after you two were done.

 You knew anyone walking by could 100% hear you at this point, you tried to be quiet but to no avail with this man. Oz seemed to like whenever people would stare at the two of you and it excited him to think anyone would be listening in.

You brought your face up when he slowed down and kissed him, putting your tongue in his mouth. This felt so amazing but you knew he probably had places he had to be. “Do I make you feel good baby?” you nodded, leaning in to press a gentle kiss to the right side of his face, right on the thick scar that ran from his mouth to his cheekbone.

He was a strikingly intimidating man, his features hardened by a life of danger. You slowly brought yourself down and up- trying to match his movements. 

“You get so tight around me-” he placed his arm over you, bringing you as tight as he could on him. 

One of your hands went under the pillow he had under his head and the other was gripping the side of the bed. His rhythm was becoming sloopy- switching between fucking you and kissing you, on your cheeks or on your mouth; he grabbed your ass in both of his hands, squeezing and pushing you down on him while he fucked you. 

You looked in his eyes, the light from above casting a shadow over them that only added to his allure.  “-I’m gonna cum” you nodded again- words escaping you “Tell me where-tell me” he closed his eyes- you knew he would start with that, the only way he finished was inside you. 

Whether it was your mouth or your pussy. Oz loved when you would describe how he felt in you, how you loved when he would fuck you- how you wanted him to cum in you. It turned him on. It turned him on how embarrassed you would feel most of the time he made you say those things.

You told him you wanted it inside and It wasn’t long before he started his fast pace again and you closed your eyes, trying not to moan as loud as you would like- fuck he felt so good. It mustn't have been long before you felt him slow down and the familiar feeling of his cock pulsing inside of you. You had to drink some water- your throat was hurting. Oz hugged you close to him and while one of his hands was rubbing your back he kissed your forehead- “You feeling better?”.

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

Author's note: Bro you just fucked him AGAIN?

Finished there the story because I KNEW i would start writing a lot and I wanna finish part 2 in time for the finale. I'm sososos excited for it and sad it will end ugh. Anyways hope you enjoyed and thank you to all the people that wrote nice things to me regarding my writing, I've been having some health problems lately and your messages made me feel so much better, truly. Have a nice day :))))))

[rhysandsfavwhore]

Sweet Dreams (pt.2)

Rhysand x fem!reader

content; angsty(ish), fluff

notes; brb gonna go find like 50 words instead of ‘said’ bc in fed up of using it😭

You woke up, wincing at the morning light that shone through the gaps of the curtains. it must have been around six in the morning. as you woke up, you felt a heavy weight on your chest. you looked down and saw Rhys lay on top of you, hugging your waist with his head buried in your chest.

It took you a moment to remember what had happened last night, and a small blush appeared on your face as you looked down at the man currently using your chest as a pillow.

He looked so innocent when he was asleep, and you found yourself wondering if he really was asleep for your confession.

as you admired his childlike face as he slept, you jumped slightly as he groaned, pulling you out of your daydreaming.

Rhys stirred from his sleep after a few minutes, his eyes slowly opening and adjusting to the light. He then seemed to realize that he was on top of you, his arms wrapped around your waist and his head buried against your chest.

He couldn’t hide the blush that suddenly appeared on his cheeks, and he slowly sat up, his gaze refusing to lift from the sheets.

You lay still watching him slowly rise from your chest, unsure what to day or do. “hey, feeling better now?” you said praying he was asleep when you confessed your feelings to him last night.

Rhys nodded, his gaze still trained on the sheets below him. He couldn’t bring himself to look at you, not after everything that had happened last night.

He’d been practically begging for your attention on his lap like a kicked puppy, and somehow, he’d managed to accidentally discover how you felt about him. He should’ve been thrilled, he should’ve confessed his own feelings right there… But he couldn’t. He was afraid.

You furrowed your brows as he avoided eye contact, “Rhys, whats wrong” you questioned wondering if he was still stressed over paperwork or there was something else he hadnt told you.

Rhys was still refusing to look directly at you, and you could almost hear the wheels turning in his brain. He should be happy, absolutely ecstatic after what he learned last night. Yet now he was conflicted, he was overthinking.

“I heard what you said last night,” He muttered out finally, “I was still awake.”

Your eyes widened at his words, panic flowing over you. if he was so upset, does he not feel the same way? have you ruined the friendship both of you have been relying on since you were children? “oh god Rhys, im sorry i thought you were asleep. please ignore what i said, i dont want to make things awkward between us” you blurted out, scared for his response.

Rhys’ eyes snapped up to meet yours at your words. You didn’t want to make things awkward between you two? Did you not mean what you said?

He’d been assuming that you’d be elated that he’d finally heard your feelings, but now you’re saying you want to ignore it?

“You… don’t feel that way about me?” He asked, a hint of desperation in his tone.

you were shocked at his response, you were expecting him to brush it off, say its fine we dont have to talk about it, and go back to his work, but this? maybe he did feel the same way… “uh well no. no i do feel that way but…”

Rhys felt his heart sink for a second, when you had first said that “no,” but then you continued. You did feel that way, but…? But what?

He was looking directly at you now, his eyes practically begging for you to finish the thought.

“but, but if you dont” you carried on, your voice slightly shaking, “ if you dont thats fine but i hope i haven’t ruined our friendship.” you started at your hands and fiddled with the hem of your shirt. now you were the one scared to look him in the eyes.

There was a moment of silence between you two after you spoke, Rhys was unsure how to respond. Did you… think that confessing how you felt was going to ruin your friendship?

This man was practically dumbfounded.

“You.. you think that you telling me that you love me is going to ruin our friendship?” He asked, his tone almost incredulous. “Why would you even think that?”

“well you dont feel the same way, do you?” you asked, confused yet a hint of surprise laced in your voice at his disbelief.

“Who told you I don’t feel the same way about you?” Rhys demanded, his own tone growing frustrated. “For cauldron’s sake, I heard you last night. I heard you say you’ve loved me for who knows how long, and you’re assuming that I don’t return the damn feeling?”

“i dont know. im sorry i just didnt think you saw me as more than a friend” you said hardly above whisper, worry washing over you at his now displeased tone.

Rhys groaned in frustration as he ran a hand through his hair, he wasn’t upset with you, he was upset with himself.

“You didn’t think I saw you as more than a friend…?” He repeated in disbelief. “Did I… did I really do such a poor job hiding my feelings that you seriously thought I didn’t love you?”

You shot your head up, eyes wide. you couldn’t have heard him right, he loved you? after all this time you pined over him in secret, the feeling was mutual? “you- you what” you said in disbelief.

A soft smile appeared on Rhys’ face at your reaction, he was so very amused. Had you really not noticed how desperately in love with you he was?

“You heard me. I love you.” He repeated, a slightly teasing undertone in his voice.

you sat in shock, staring right at him, completely speechless. you had no idea what to say or do, you never expected this.

Rhys watched you sit in silence, and he couldn’t help but chuckle. You looked so confused, so surprised. He felt almost amused at seeing you react this way.

He knew he’d have to push the conversation along himself or you’d probably sit there blinking at him for ages.

“Say something.” He implored, an expectant smile on his face.

“please pinch me” you said with a slight chuckle, closing your eyes in a look of peace, relief.

Rhys’ eyes glimmered with amusement as he gently pinched your arm. “There. Was that proof enough for you, or do I need to pinch you some more?”

“i think you can come up with something better than pinching me” you grinned, reaching your arms around his neck as he still kneeled above you.

A small shiver ran down Rhys’ spine as your hands moved around his neck, drawing him closer to you.

He could feel the heat rising to his face. “And what would you suggest, hm?” His eyes were fixed on yours, his expression practically cocky.

“god are you literally going to make me- ”

You didn’t even get the chance to fully finish your sentence before Rhys’ lips were pressed against yours. His arms snaked around your waist, pulling you closer; his lips moved against yours with a surprising amount of need.

He was clearly holding nothing back.

You started giggling and pulled away, seeing kitts furrowed eyebrows and confused expression. “god this could’ve happened so long ago if we both weren’t so blind” you chuckled at the thought.

Rhys watched as you pulled away from the kiss, and suddenly let out a bark of a laugh at your comment.

Rhys expression turned from amused to smug as he spoke. He was smirking as he said, “we have much lost time to make up for”

[animationmovieshipps]

Drunk Confessions (Opla Luffy X Reader)

"Hey, sweetie, can you get us another bottle?" Sanji asked, before spontaneously laughing again.

"Why me?" You asked pointing to yourself, even though you already knew the answer of that question.

"Because you're probably the only one here who can get to the kitchen without getting lost on the way." Usopp replied, before lowering his glasses and looking directly at Zoro, who gave him the middle finger after taking another sip from the cup.

They couldn't blame you for not wanting to drink so much that you weren't sober anymore, the last time it happened they said that when they took their eye off you for a second, a stranger almost took you away. They said that Luffy beat the man so badly that he had to be hospitalized.

Besides, you didn't like being hungover the next day.

"Okay, I go." You laughed and got up to go to the kitchen, but stopped suddenly when you felt one of them grab your hand.

You turned around and didn't know what to say when you saw it was Luffy. He didn't usually drink, but that night he decided to do something different.

"Don't stay there too long, okay? Or I'm going to miss you a lot." He said. "Do you promise you won't be long?"

You couldn't help but smile, he was even cuter when he was drunk, if that was possible.

"Okay, I promise I won't be long." You said, only after that he let go of your hand and let you go.

You went to the kitchen, grabbed a bottle of whiskey and returned to them, who welcomed you with a round of applause.

You smiled and shook your head, placing the bottle on the table before sitting back in your seat. As soon as you did, Luffy rested his head on your shoulder.

"Hey, I think I want to go to sleep now." He said. "Can you take me to the room, p-p-p...?"

You chuckled, seeing that he couldn't say 'please'.

"Please?" You said.

"That's it, that was the word."

"What a polite young man." You joked, taking his hand and lifting him from the chair.

"Try not to throw him into the sea." Zoro shouted, as you threw him over your shoulder like a sack of potatoes and carried him away to the room. Your daily workout with him was good for something.

With the greatest care in the world, you placed him on the bed and took off his shoes, briefly tickling his feet so you could hear his lovely laugh one more time.

"Wait, w-where's my hat?" He asked, when he ran his hand over his head and saw that the hat wasn't there.

"It's right next to you, don't worry." You assured him.

He reached to the side and felt for the bed, sighing in relief when he touched the hat and felt its familiar texture.

"Oh. It's here." He laughed.

You smiled, looking at him tenderly. If he only knew how you felt.

"Well, sleep well, captain..."

"No! Don't leave now!" He asked desperately when he saw you getting up of his bed.

You were confused as to what else he wanted with you, but you sat on the edge of the bed again.

"What is it now?" You asked.

Luffy made an effort and sat down on the bed again, although his head seemed to be spinning.

"I have to tell you something very important." He said in a serious tone of voice.

"You know you can tell me anything." You assured him.

"I just wanted to say that I love you." He said, leaving you surprised to say the least. You knew he loved dearly everyone on the crew, but he never said with words. "And it's not that little, I love you that much." He gestured to explain what he was saying.

"... That's great, I love you too..." You said back.

"No, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no..."

"Have you said all the 'no's' you had?" You joked, interrupting him.

"Almost, no, no, no." He continued. "I don't love you like that, I LOVE you, I want to marry you and be the father of your children."

You were surprised again, until that moment you thought he only saw you as an older sister, like he also saw Nami.

You had no idea if he was telling the truth or just messing with you, but you knew that people when under the influence of alcohol said whatever came to mind.

You decided to talk to him about it the next day, when he was sober again.

You got up to leave the room for good, but before you did, he grabbed your hand again, this time he pulled you sharply and you fell on top of him.

You no longer had a chance to escape when your eyes met his, you found yourself lost in the light of his gaze.

Somehow, you had to get out of there, or you were going to do something you would regret. You would never take advantage of him, but you also didn't trust that you wouldn't give in to temptation.

"Don't go away..." He murmured in pleading, sliding the tip of his nose along your cheek.

Him not kissing you when your lips were so close to each other made you even more distressed than if he had already kissed you.

"Stop it, come on, we can't do this with you looking like this." You tried to argue, trying to get away from him, but you couldn't. Your reason was constantly fighting against your emotion at that moment.

He ignored you, this time trailing a path of kisses to your lips and finally kissed you.

You were strong, refusing to move your lips. But you couldn't hold it for much more time, you had wanted to kiss him for so long.

The next thing you knew, you were sitting on his lap, looking like you were going to suck his soul through his mouth while your hands roamed his body under his shirt.

His lips felt so soft against yours, when the kiss deepened you surprisingly felt a sweet taste, when you thought it would taste like rum.

Not long after, when you felt his hands undo the buttons on the back of your shirt, you came to your senses again and got off him.

"No, no, I can't let that happen, I would never forgive myself." You said between heavy breaths, still feeling the adrenaline and your body burning up.

"Awww just when things were getting better." Luffy lamented pouting. "Come on..."

"No, I'm not going to do anything while you're drunk." You insisted firmly, bringing your hands to your back and buttoning the buttons on your shirt again. "Now go to sleep, wasn't it what you wanted?"

"As you wish then." He reluctantly agreed, regretting drinking that night. "Can you at least sleep here with me tonight?"

You considered that idea, but soon imagined it was an excuse for him to try to seduce you again.

"... You're not going to try anything again, are you?" You asked.

"No, I just don't want to be away from you." He replied, before laying down on the bed again.

You smiled. That was sweet, but you still weren't completely sure of his intentions.

"You promise?"

"Fine, I promise." He said.

You took a deep breath and lay down next to him, deciding to trust his word. Luffy quickly wrapped his arms around you and threw one of his legs over your body.

As much as it seemed, you didn't feel uncomfortable, his entire body was soft.

You hugged him back and fell asleep at the same time as him, with a happy smile on your lips.

As soon as he opened his eyes, he had to close them again, when the sunlight that came through the bedroom window seemed to intensify the headache he was feeling even more.

He remembered almost nothing from the night before, just that he drank a lot and you had slept next to him.

"Is it a hangover?" Zoro asked, hearing the captain's grunts of pain.

"What do you think?" Luffy retorted.

"Over time you get used to it." Usopp laughed.

"Good morning." You hummed as you entered the room, a mug of hot coffee in your hands.

"Zoro, do you remember that thing you wanted to show me?" Usopp asked, obviously an excuse so Luffy and you could talk alone.

Zoro didn't remember anything of what he was saying, but he left the room with the shooter anyway.

"What is that?" He asked when he noticed the cup in your hands.

"It's for you." You replied, sitting on the edge of the bed and handing him the mug.

He usually preferred milk, but since you brought him that coffee, he wasn't going to deny it.

You couldn't help but laugh when you saw him grimace as he took a sip of the drink.

"Why is this without sugar?" Luffy asked.

"Good coffee to cure a hangover is without sugar." You answered. "Now drink it all to make yourself feel better."

He took another sip, trying his best to avoid tasting it.

Seeing that this was the opportunity to talk to him about what happened the night before, you didn't hesitate.

"Hey, last night..."

"What happened last night?" He asked, interrupting you. "Did I do something stupid to you while I was drunk?"

"Luffy..."

"If that's what happened, my bad, I'm still not very used to it and..."

"Luffy!" You said, briefly covering his mouth with your hand. "You said you loved me and wanted to marry me."

His expression changed suddenly when you said that, not believing that after so long keeping what he felt for you to himself, he slipped up.

"Look, I have a very good explanation for this, let me just..." He tried to explain himself and failed miserably.

You just laughed and leaned over, giving him a kiss on the cheek that made him shut up.

"You don't need to say anything." You said, intertwining your hand with his. "I love you too."

Luffy looked at your interwined hands and then looked at you again, smiling as he assimilated what you said.

He didn't need to say a word, the look in his eyes was worth a thousand words.

[syndrossi]

Reverberate AU Concept #1

Aka "what if Resonant!Daemon woke up in the Stepstones shortly after the twins' conception, resolved the first Stepstones conflict in record time, and flew back to Runestone to convince Rhea to announce the pregnancy as her own?"

I may eventually throw these up on AO3, but for now, enjoy them on Tumblr in their roughly hewn form. (There's a second part/scene in progress but it's not directly related to this one.)

x~x~x

“No,” his son said, his first word and his favorite since.

His grey eyes were fixed on the spoon and its cargo of cooked peas in Daemon’s right hand. With his left, Daemon brought the other spoon to Rhaegar’s mouth, and his other son opened his mouth dutifully for a bite.

Daemon moved the full spoon back and forth, mimicking a roaring dragon descending, and brought it right up to Jon’s closed lips. His son’s stare found Daemon’s, deeply unimpressed.

“There are foods other than carrot,” Daemon informed him with a sigh.

He moved to feed the rejected peas to Rhaegar, but now his other son was in rebellion. Daemon tried another dragon maneuver, and his other son’s purple eyes sparked with delight, allowing access. Two more fiery whooshes of the dragon finished off the peas, and Daemon moved on to the finely-diced carrot, which Jon immediately demanded.

If Rhea were in the room, she would scold him for caving to Jon’s demands, but Daemon had never been able to deny them anything. She could be the villain instead, if she so desired. Jon made short work of the carrot, which Rhaegar ate more sparingly, his eyes drawn to the final bowl, which Daemon uncovered with a flourish.

“This,” Daemon said, dipping the spoons next into the gooey mass of blueberries cooked down to a thick, nearly jam-like consistency, “is blueberry.”

Blueberry was a new, messy favorite for both of them, Jon’s indignation over the insult of peas entirely forgotten as they finished the small bowl in record time. Rhaegar got fussy when he was left sticky, so Daemon was quick to wipe their faces with a damp cloth after.

With the completion of their meal came Rhaegar’s daily demand. “Zaldis!”

Zaldrīzes, the very first word his other son had decided to attempt. Far more ambitious than “no,” but certainly less intelligible.

“If we are to ride Caraxes, we will have to sneak past your mother,” he informed his sons.

She fretted about him taking them out in the waning last days of winter, which was a far bitterer cold here than they would have been in King’s Landing, but he had wanted his first year with them to be as safe as he could arrange. His brother had no reason to assign special guards for them at Daemon’s behest, though perhaps he would have.

At Runestone, he did not need to ask. Daemon had informed Rhea that the enemies he had made in the decisive victory over the Triarchy in the Stepstones might seek to target the twins, and they were promptly assigned their own knight to protect them, her cousin Willam.

It was not the Triarchy he feared, of course, but Volantis. The Free City seeking to steal his children as infants or toddlers now that they were known to the world from a young age was a possibility he would not risk ignoring.

“You must be at your most quiet,” he instructed, to solemn blinks from either. They were bright, even so young, at times seeming to understand him perfectly.

Daemon bundled them into thick furs, taking care to make sure their heads and ears were covered, until only small wisps of black and silver escaped along the sides of their round little faces. He grinned at the sight of them swallowed by the furs, nearly spherical in either arm, and crept out with his bounty, both utterly silent for the entirety of the walk to Caraxes’s enclosure.

There was a trace of warmth in the light breeze, a promise of spring, and the air lacked the bite of months before. When spring came, Daemon guessed, it would come quickly to melt the snow that remained on the ground.

Caraxes snuffed at his sons, and they both happily babbled at the dragon for the few minutes Daemon left them on the ground beside him to fetch his own personal saddle, as he’d taken to calling it. He secured them to it first before fastening the straps around his own chest, and when he was finished, he had one on either side of his back, peering over his shoulders.

Mindful of the maester’s many lectures on how much fresh air was acceptable for infants, he kept the flight short, guiding Caraxes along the northern shoreline before completing a wide circle around the outer perimeter of Runestone, landing back at the enclosure to a welcoming party of Ser Willam and his lady wife herself, her lips pursed in disapproval.

Daemon approached her unapologetically after dismounting, his two passengers giggling their glee at the ride, until her frown began to waver.

“I promised Jon he could have a dragon ride if he ate his peas,” Daemon said.

Rhea’s eyebrows crept up, her gaze shifting to his right shoulder. “And did you, Jon?”

“No!” Jon exclaimed, expressing far too much merriment in his betrayal for Daemon to do anything but smile.

“Rhaegar ate his peas,” Daemon said. “I could hardly leave one of them behind.”

Rhea walked up to him, her intention plain, and Daemon crouched so that she could reach each of their cheeks for a kiss. “You must not encourage your father. He is more than capable of doing so of his own accord.”

Daemon begrudgingly surrendered them to her for the walk back to the castle, their destination his wife’s solar with its large hearth, already radiating heat into the chamber. Tea, piping hot, was brought up from the kitchens, and once Daemon had finished unwrapping his sons from their layers of fur, and set them upon it with their beloved dragon dolls within reach, he poured himself a cup and settled on the floor beside them.

“Did you seek me out for a particular reason?” Daemon asked, knowing that as much as Rhea might fret about the dragon excursions, she no longer believed he would endanger them in any way.

“A raven arrived from King’s Landing.” She grabbed her own cup and sat in one of the chairs by the hearth, tossing him a rolled up slip of parchment. “From the king himself.”

Ignoring the twist of apprehension in his stomach, Daemon broke the seal and unfurled the parchment, scanning it quickly for any unwelcome surprises. The contents, however, though not particularly welcome, were not a surprise. “My brother has a new son. We are invited to King’s Landing.” He handed the letter to her. “He is still set on throwing a tourney for the twins, and plans to tie it with celebrations of his son’s birth.”

If there was one lesson his brother had learned at long last, it was not to celebrate births before they happened.

Rhaegar had crawled to Rhea’s chair to tug insistently at the laces of her boots. She scooped him onto her lap, holding him there as she read the letter herself. “Six moons. Spring will surely be upon us by then. The seas should be calmer.”

“Choppy water is little concern to a dragon,” Daemon said.

“It is to those of us who must travel by ship,” she retorted.

It would be at least two weeks by sea, and even in spring, not a pleasant voyage. Daemon hesitated, then said, “Come with us on Caraxes. The saddle seats two.”

The offer caught her off guard, her eyes narrowing briefly in suspicion as though she thought he was not being earnest. “You have not let me ride with you before.”

You have not asked, Daemon almost said, before remembering his very first arrival at Runestone—less than a decade ago to Rhea, but nearly two for him. He had been bitterly furious about the marriage, escorted there by his own father on Vhagar, as though he might try to flee otherwise. His new wife had borne the brunt of Daemon’s resentment, his interactions with her curt. When she had asked him if they might ride on Caraxes together, he had coldly informed her that such privileges were for Targaryens alone.

“Jon and Rhaegar will want you there,” Daemon said, by way of excuse.

“Zaldis,” Rhaegar said solemnly to her.

“Very well,” Rhea said, her expression now one she often wore in his company—as though she were not quite sure what to make of him. “It would be an honor.”

It was a matter of pragmatism as well. Rhea’s confession to treason on her deathbed had settled any doubts about her truly being his sons’ mother. Here, it was still possible that a whisper or two in King’s Landing about Lady Elys also being present at the family’s summer home at the time of birth could raise suspicion. The more amicable his relationship with Rhea in the eyes of the realm, the less likely anyone would be to question—or question successfully, at least.

Daemon retreated to the desk to write a response to his brother’s letter, a frown finding him midway through. His sons’ sworn shield, Ser Willam, would have to travel by ship, which meant they would be without protection for a time in King’s Landing. Viserys should be able to spare at least one of his Kingsguard until he’s arrived, he decided finally, including a request for such in his letter. He can have his damned tourney in return.

By the time he had finished, both of his sons had started fussing for their linens to be changed, which was one of the few tasks he happily let their nurse handle, taking a small meal of his own before rejoining them in the nursery. They were sleepy with milk when he arrived, fresh from the wetnurse’s breast, and he eagerly reclaimed them, kissing each soft cheek as he carried them back to the solar, where their cradle was kept.

It was an elaborate piece, with an intricate relief of two dragons perched vigilantly at the head of the cradle, sized for two babes, rather than one. He’d commissioned it the very day he had arrived back in Runestone to confront Rhea about Elys’s pregnancy, and if the woodworker had wondered about his confidence about having twins, he had kept his curiosity to himself.

It only saw use during the day, when his sons napped. At night, they slept with him. He had lain awake for most of the first few nights, terrified that he might somehow crush them in his sleep, but that fear had eventually subsided. The fear of someone taking them from him, however—that had not.

He watched them sleep from his chair by the hearth. They stalked you from the shadows before, and struck in broad daylight. Has it begun yet? Do they watch us even now?

One of the posts on his brother’s small council that he had not yet held—and subsequently been dismissed from—was that of master of whisperers. With the Stepstones claimed for now and its crown bestowed upon his brother, he had been promised a favor. A position on his small council would certainly be within reason.

But it would require moving his family to King’s Landing. Once, he would have wanted nothing more than to escape Runestone and return home. But even just the past year he had spent in the Vale, first anticipating his sons’ arrival and then raising them since, had shifted the castle from a hated prison to something almost like a sanctuary.

How do I protect you? He reached into the cradle, stroking the back of Jon’s small hand, which immediately curled around his forefinger in response, his grip strong. Daemon smiled. When will you first demand a dagger to wield?

He repeated the motion with his other hand on Rhaegar, who also instinctively grabbed for his finger. Daemon recalled the first few weeks after their birth, when his younger son would wail whenever he tried to hold him or even approach. That phase had fortunately passed. These days, Rhaegar happily demanded dragon rides and cuddles.

“You have trapped me,” he murmured, keeping his voice quiet so as not to wake them.

He could feel Rhea’s eyes on him from where she worked at her desk. All their marriage, she had built him up as a monster in her head: selfish, cruel, ambitious. When he had hurried on Caraxes to Runestone to find both Rhea and her sister in the midst of drafting their proposal to Corwyn Redfort, he had nearly flown into a rage. Instead, he had confronted her about all that she sought to steal from him, every moment he had mourned since rescuing them from the Vale the first time, equal parts fury and grief.

She had not looked at him the same since. Daemon wondered if she struggled as he did when he tried to reconcile his own hatred for what she had done to him before with her newfound tolerance. That first exchange had been—heated. Daemon’s infidelity, after all, had been the very reason for the pregnancy. Yet she had been willing to hear his proposal and forgo her own honor to offer the twins a life free of the stain of bastardry.

“Do you regret your choice?” he asked, turning to her.

Rhea regarded him with a raised brow. “Have I given you cause to believe so?” She rose from her desk to approach the cradle, gazing down at the twins with a smile that did not fully reach her eyes. “I feel guilty that I may have them, and my sister may not. It is—difficult on her.”

Elys had been forced to stay behind at the summer estate after their departure with the twins, though they had remained there for the first week. Daemon’s jaw clenched, and he shifted his gaze back to the cradle. He did not regret taking them for his own, but the pain and loss in their true mother’s eyes as they had been plucked from her arms for the final time reminded him uncomfortably of his own grief at their childhood having been stolen from him.

“When enough time has passed, I do not see why they should not know the company of their aunt.”

But enough time could very well be another year or two. First she would need to be safely wed, perhaps with another child on the way that would be trueborn and hers to keep.

By the shake of her head, he guessed that Rhea was thinking the same. She reached out her hand toward Jon, only to pull back at the last moment. “I cannot help but feel that I have stolen them.”

And yet you felt no such guilt in taking them from me. He swallowed that old anger, then wondered if it had been her reason for only seeking them out twice a year. Whether they would always feel stolen to her.

“Do not let that stop you from loving them,” Daemon said, earning another of those uncertain looks. He fought back a frown, misliking the sense of being constantly evaluated and reevaluated. “They deserve a mother’s love.”

“Though you would rather it not be mine,” she said with a hint of challenge.

“It does not matter what I want,” Daemon replied, feeling himself grow heated. “It is a matter of what they need.”

Their raised voices had woken Rhaegar, who was peering upward at them now, his purple eyes fixed on Daemon. They had darkened some since birth, from a lilac that had immediately recalled his uncle Aemon, to something closer to the darker violet he remembered. Rhaegar’s brow furrowed, the beginning of a whimper forming in his throat, and Daemon quickly began humming a lullaby as he rocked the cradle back and forth.

Rhaegar settled eventually, snuggling into Jon’s side, and they sat in silence for several minutes as Daemon continued to rock and hum.

“I do love them,” Rhea said eventually, voice lowered to a whisper so as not to disturb the sleeping infants again. “I had grown resigned that I would never have children of my own. To have them, but in a manner so steeped in dishonor, both yours and mine own—”

“They live,” Daemon interrupted. “They breathe.” He leaned in to kiss their tiny foreheads. “How can there be dishonor in that?”

Rhea fell silent, watching them for a time, before leaning in to do the same. As she pulled back, Jon’s eyes opened to fix upon her. The hint of purple in them at birth had since faded, almost lost now within the pensive grey. Rhea stared at Jon, as though trapped by his gaze, then leaned in to kiss his cheek as well.

Daemon overcame his reluctance and rose to give her space. “It is your turn to sing.”

[mask131]

This is about Neil Gaiman's work - this is NOT about the rape accusations, but it is about the aftermath of them. I wanted to make a post for some times now about works you could read that were similar to Gaiman's works if you wanted to go see something akin to his fictional world without directly supporting him. Which would have been a VERY easy post since Gaiman kept listing everywhere the works that influenced directly or indirectly his own novels and creations. But I realized other people were already doing this, so I just thought "Heh, let's not bother with this".

And then I randomly stumbled upon this post which is trending on Tumblr. And this post got me a little mad. Because while I do agree that several of the facts in there should be more well-known and more talked about... I also think this post is quite unfair in its depiction of how Gaiman acted towards his inspirations.

People are currently screaming that Neil Gaiman plagiarized stuff by "taking huge inspiration from things and not crediting people". Except... he did credit people. It's just that his fans never bothered to go look for what inspired him. I was there back in the old days - so I saw exactly how it went. Don't start telling me Neil Gaiman purposefully stayed "silent" about the works that inspired him - I clearly saw how people were just apathetic. Myself when I compiled lists and made posts about all the works that preceeded Neil Gaiman or that he explained were his inspirations for things, people didn't bother and had no interest... but when I made a list of Gaiman's work suddenly everybody reblogged. Whether Gaiman plagiarized or not is not the thing I want to talk about today - but I want to HEAVILY criticize the way people are saying "Neil Gaiman never said he took X from X" when in fact, he did, and people were just too lazy to do their research. (Or, if you take the "Gaiman is a villain " angle, Gaiman counted on the fact people would not bother to read the original books and he won his bet!)

I am deeply sorry for this rant but it is a little trigger for me, since I have been studying and exploring the "chain" of inspirations and rewritings throughout literature and the fantasy genre (half for university work, half for personal hobby), and I have seen people literaly ignore all the bibliographies given to them under titles like "If you want to read more of the sort". [For example the original post talks about how Martin was very honest about how he took inspiration from Druon's book series. Fair. But nobody is talking about how he indeed kind of "plagiarized" Memory, Sorrow and Thorn. A lot of people don't know about this series, despite said series having literaly almost all of ASoIaF's supernatural - in fact, the reason Martin seems to be under-using his own supernatural creations, like the White Walkers, is precisely because they don't come from his mind and they are just a copy of Williams' Norns and he seems to not really know what to do with them. But that's a talk for another day.]

EDIT: I realized the post got very long, so all my personal objections and my argumentative points against the post I linked above will be under a cut. And if you want a conclusion to my long rant below the cut, it is this one: You can shit all you want about Gaiman, but at least get your facts right. It is not because someone turns out to be a bad person that you must feel the need to blast cultural misinformation. Heck, I will directly compare it to how the entire Internet wished and wanted Rowling to have "plagiarized" Gaiman's Books of Magic, because of their similarities, only for Gaiman himself to point out, no, it was not plagiarism, it was just a set of similarities and coincidences due to both works coming from a same British culture with a specific background in children literature and fantasy works. It just happened that people didn't know anything outside of Harry Potter and Gaiman's works and so assumed it was the only two pieces of a much vaster puzzle...

Yes, Neil Gaiman is very derivative. Yes he is very imitative. But he never hid it? He always said he was, he always pointed out the works that influenced him, he always listed the stuff that he based his own works upon - down to sometimes helping these works come out of obscurity when they were too forgotten (like the Lud-in-mist novel?). People are doing a "surprised Pikachu face" today but... he never hid his derivatiness. In fact it was a certain part of the "charm" people found in his work back in the days. He never hid anything, it's just that a lot of people didn't want to see it or didn't care about it...

Gaiman posted an entire page on his blog for American Gods (back in the early days of Internet, he had a blog to follow his writing process for American Gods, weeks after week, you can still find it somewhere) listing the three dozen of books that inspired him/that he took elements from/that he learned stuff from. People can accuse him of having plagiarized Zelazny's work in American Gods because of one scene - Wednesday having Shadow drive into the "Backstage", which is a rewrite of the "driving to Amber" scene from The Nine Princes of Amber. But the accusation of "plagiarism" becomes a bit muddled when you know that A) Gaiman has been screaming for years about how the main source of inspiration for American Gods were all of Zelazny's mythological works and B) He literaly dedicated American Gods to Zelazny, first page you open.

When does an homage becomes too much? When is plagiarism allowed? Is taking after public domain a bad thing? What are the moral consequences of your work overshadowing your source of inspiration? These are questions I am not wanting to answer today and this post isn't about them - plus things are even more complex when you remember Gaiman was one of the most fervent defensers and advocates of fanfiction, reacting positively to it and encouraging people to do it a lot ; as well as one of the main celebrities on Tumblr to warn people to NOT send him fanfics so that it wouldn't cause legal troubles of potential plagiarism.

Anyway, my actual angry rant is below.

I/ Tanith Lee and Sandman

The post that got me angry starts with Tanith Lee. I do agree that it is a shame Tanith Lee is not more talked about and didn't receive as much fame as she deserved. I do agree that Neil Gaiman's work was heavily inspired by Tanith Lee's writing. I do agree Gaiman's work overshadowed Lee's own (for a long time I didn't know she was the first one to do a vampiric Snow-White twist, before Gaiman's own). However I have to recuse the idea that Sandman is a rip-off of Tales from Flat-Earth.

It doesn't help that the person who made this original claim clearly doesn't know very much about either Lee's Flat-Earth or Gaiman's Sandman (with easy to debunk claims like how "Delusion" is one of Gaiman's Endless - no, the character does not exist). For example the poster rightfully compares how the top-dogs of the supernatural pantheon of Lee's Flat-Earth are the Masters of Night, Death and Delirium, wth the Master of Night's physical appearance echoing Dream of the Endless' appearance... However the comparison stops there, unlike what the poster tries to claim, because the Master of Night is a demon who rules over hatred, fear, curses and malevolence first and foremost - and is this world's equivalent of Satan/Iblis - and is not a personification of dreams, imaginations and sleep like Morpheus. Also, unlike what the OP claims, the Demon Princes are not like the Endless, "eternal entities beyond gods" - on the contrary, it is shown by book one the Demon Princes CAN be killed, and that there are gods who are a distinct species far above the Demons.

It is also incomplete to try to claim that having Dream and Death be siblings is a "proof" of Tanith Lee plagiarism... Because Gaiman is very explicit in his narrative of how Dream and Death are transpositions of the Thanatos & Hypnos/Thanatos & Morpheus twinship present in Greco-Roman mythology (Ovid's "Gates of Horn and Ivory" are literaly there in the first issues). Plus, since we do have the original manuscripts and the proposition draft Gaiman sent to DC (it is in the bonus of collected editions and in companion books), we know Gaiman originally had just three Endless in mind, Death, Dream (who was a reshape of DC's Sandman super-hero), and Destiny (who pre-existed in DC's universe), Delirium only coming far later.

That being said, I am feeling very sad for Tanith Lee through the testimony of her friend - how, again, she had trouble becoming a recognized author despite her work being very influential and frequently talked about for the fantasy genre (all the fantasy manuals and guides and encyclopedias of France list her among the authors to be read), and I do feel her distate for Neil Gaiman's work vampirizing hers is very justified. But to jump into saying Sandman is a copy-paste or a full on rip-off of Flat-Earth is unfair and very limiting. Flat-Earth was one of the inspirations of Sandman, but it doesn't own "everything" to it.

Plus, the OP also gets very angry at how Gaiman "never" talked about Tanith Lee and ... you know how I got to learn about Tanith Lee, and how I got encouraged to read her? Through Gaiman's Tumblr blog, where he regularly listed her as part of the authors that inspired him/the fantasy authors he enjoyed/the authors he encouraged others to read. I saw her appear like five different times on his Tumblr, and without him I probably wouldn't have started getting curous about her. So he did talk about her and he did present her as one of his inspirations and favorite authors... At least on Tumblr, and for several years.

II/ Coraline and Thief of Always

The comments mention Coraline and the Thief of Always as possibly being another "plagiarism" of Gaiman... I remember when Neil Gaiman was asked on his Tumblr about how similar Thief of Always and Coraline were, and he simply answered with the fact he and Barker had a similar thought process and came up with akin works though very different in the results.

You could say it is a form of copy or plagiarism (though Gaiman at least did an effort to make Coraline the almost opposite of Thief of Always in several ways). But I will have to point out that that Neil Gaiman and Clive Barker know each other, and that it has been reported, talked about and evoked a lot of times how they hanged in the same circles, with the same people, and exchanged thoughts, and talked about their mutual creations. We know Gaiman talked of the early Sandman issues when they were created with Alan Moore and Clive Barker, while Moore talked of his creation of From Hell. We also know that a part of the Sandman's universe was indirectly created by Barker - as Gaiman explained the idea for naming Desire's domain "The Threshold" came from a story Clive Barker had planned but never wrote, exploring the puns "threshold" could offer.

To my knowledge Clive Barker never claimed that Gaiman plagiarized him or stole from him with Coraline? But I might be wrong.

III/Other details

The comment about the "Lovecraft and Doyle" comparison is clearly taken out of context, because it was literaly about a story which WAS a literal Sherlock Holmes meets Cthulhu fanfiction, "A Study in Emerald". The commenter seems to think this comment applied to Gaiman's entire work? No it does not.

I don't know anything about the Lenny Henry situation, I will have to look for this.

[juniper-sunny]

The Art in the Heart* - Chapter 11

For your first date, Silco has a lot in store for you: a harrowing tale from his past, along with the oddest of surprises...

Happy Ending AU | Silco x Reader | Young!Silco | F!Reader | No [Y/N] | Slow Burn | Romance | Eventual Smut | Fluff | Angst | Hurt/Comfort | Fix-It || SFW | WC: 4.6k

beta reader: @silcoitus <33

ao3 || Masterlist || Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 | Chapter 8  |Chapter 9 | Chapter 10

───────────────── ●◉◎◈◎◉● ─────────────────

Life in the Undercity is short, so courtship rituals are fast and intense, especially for the youth. Maturing quickly is a matter of survival in Zaun, and romance is no exception.

 You have a decent amount of experience yourself, maybe a little less than average. But it wasn’t something you ever discussed with Silco. As curious as you were about that aspect of his life, you didn’t know how to bring it up casually, especially without drawing attention to yourself. Once, Vander had asked Silco how long it had been since his last visit to Babette’s. Your friend had rolled his eyes and retorted coolly, but had still flushed a deep red to the tips of his ears.

 Needless to say, you hadn’t pressed him to answer the question directly.

Sometimes, your shifts at the Embrace involve supervising children. You’ve lost count of how many times kids and teenagers have confided in you about their own relationship woes. Of course, you always listened sympathetically, offering comfort, advice, hugs, snacks, or a shoulder to cry on depending on the situation. But you can’t help but feel an amused awe when a girl around Vi’s age vents to you about a love triangle she’s involved in. 

Now, on the night of your first date with Silco, you curse yourself for not paying closer attention, wracking your brain for any helpful suggestions you could follow tonight. According to one teenage girl you overheard, you shouldn’t kiss until the third date. 

So much for that advice. 

At the time, Silco had seemed enthusiastic when he kissed you back. But you had days to exhaustively replay that moment over and over again in your head. 

Did he really want you? Or was he just caught up in the moment? Had he pulled away too soon? Was he smiling or grimacing?

 You tried to tell yourself that everything was fine. He hadn’t canceled the date, after all.

 But your worries still gnawed on you, late at night when the giddiness and anticipation turned to anxiety. It led to a lot of sleepless nights that worsened the dark shadows under your eyes.

 Then there was the matter of what you’re going to wear. Silco had said he wanted to bring you somewhere “special”, and he was fairly confident that you hadn’t been there already. He refused to give you any more hints, saying that he wanted to surprise you. Was this place in Zaun or Piltover? You’d have to take the answer into consideration when planning your outfit. Undercity garb would be too scrappy for the upper city, but Topside couture would be too fancy for the underground.

 For now, with less than an hour left before Silco is due to pick you up, you put on your nicest dress from the Undercity. It’s sleeveless and clean, light gray with plenty of decorative dark straps and brightly polished brass trappings. A wide, leather wrap pulled tight around your waist helps emphasize your curves like a corset. The dress ends just above the ground, long but still loose enough to be breezy; you can’t help but admire how it twirls flirtatiously when you spin. Your black ankle boots have a low heel, scrubbed clean of all grime from the Undercity.  

To add a romantic flair to your look, you style your hair elegantly and pick out a corsage of nightbloom flowers. The petals are long, silky, and pointed, the outer layer a seven-pointed star of purple and the inner star of red. The green and white stamens complement the pale pitcher plant next to it, its red veins matching the crimson ribbon tied in a bow around your wrist. Zaunite flora might not be able to match the beauty of their Piltover counterparts, but you know that Silco will appreciate you wearing your Undercity pride on your arm.

Just as you throw on a vest jacket, someone knocks at the door. 

Nervous, you force yourself to take some deep, steadying breaths. You still can’t help but run to the door and almost trip over yourself before you open it.

Silco stands there, tall and straight, his handsomely carved profile illuminated by the low sun. He has most of his hair neatly pulled back in a bun, except for his bangs hanging rakishly over his left eye. With his hair out of his face, he looks so dashing that you almost miss the pale gold tie knotted at his throat, tucked snugly under the collar of a blood-red shirt. The tie slips under a dark vest with brass clasps and studs, clinging close to his lean waist. He has his jacket sleeves rolled up to his elbows, showing off his wiry forearms. A picnic basket hangs in the crook of his arm. 

“Good evening,” he says casually, taking a step closer to you. The movement of his lips brings back the irrepressible memory of the kiss, and you blush deeply.

 Even with your eyes turned downwards at his polished, steel-toed boots, you struggle with the impulse to close the distance between you and kiss him. Your shyness wins out and you force yourself to stay put on your threshold, dragging your gaze up his cheekbones before meeting his brilliant eyes. “Hi.” 

He looks at you gently, the softest you’ve ever seen, a light and warm smile playing around his mouth. It spreads into a toothy grin of appreciation when he says, “You’re beautiful.” 

“Thanks,” you stammer out, blushing even deeper. Your face is hot as you turn away from him to pull your front door closed behind you, your hands fumbling with your keys as you lock it. “I like your new hairdo.” 

“Is my hairstyle the only facet of my appearance that appeals to you?” he asks teasingly. 

“No! You look great tonight—I mean, you always look great—but tonight you look—extra great—red is an amazing color on you—” you babble, inwardly cringing at your inability to shut up. “You look good in everything—Topside formalwear is overrated, you know? It’s so expensive for no good reason—” 

He chuckles, extending a hand out to you. You clamp your mouth shut as you take it, savoring the feel of his rough calluses sliding against your palm. He squeezes your hand reassuringly as your fingers intertwine. 

“Thank you,” he says, still amused. He starts walking leisurely, thoughtful and considerate of your slower pace. “Perhaps we’ll have the opportunity to don formalwear on another date. We can show Topside how we wear it better than they could ever dream of.” 

“You’re already thinking that far ahead?” you ask, glad to tease him back. 

“Of course,” he says matter-of-factly. “I’d be a fool to ever let you go.”

“Well, I’m not going anywhere,” you say happily. “Maybe we can go suit shopping someday; you’ll need a bunch when you’re sitting at that fancy Councilor’s table.”

“Is that so?” 

“Yeah; Janna forbid you wear the same suit two days in a row. Then they’ll never listen to anything you have to say,” you say sarcastically, rolling your eyes. 

“I’ll be sure to budget for a new wardrobe when the time comes,” he laughs. 

The stroll through Lower Piltover is relaxed, but somehow so exhilarating. Your enjoyment of Silco’s company is enhanced now that you don’t need to hold back your affection for him. You take every chance you can to touch and compliment him, staying close to his side even when moving around other pedestrians on the street. 

Maybe you’re too hopeful, but he seems to match your energy. His smile never leaves his normally stoic face, his eyes twinkling at you even as the sky dims with the setting sun.

Silco leads you through the cobblestone streets, which gradually empty out as people head home for the night. He approaches a long, yellow-and-black-striped barricade at the end of the avenue. Attached to the barricade is a sign with the words “NO ENTRY – CLOSED FOR REPAIRS” painted in bold letters.

Your date glances around surreptitiously, making sure that no one is watching from the nearby buildings or the sidewalk. 

Then he swiftly ducks under the barrier, pulling you along with him.

You laugh at the thrill of rule-breaking. Silco’s pace quickens into a jog. He looks back at you over his shoulder as you stride to match his pace. His steel-sharp, mischievous grin has your heart pounding harder than the running.

Just as the stone under your boots gives away to wooden planks, Silco skids to a halt. He spins and catches you in his arms as you collide with his chest. His hands are warm on your elbows as he holds you, patiently waiting for you to catch your breath.

“Could you wait here a moment?” he asks. “I’ll be back momentarily.”

You nod, still panting too hard to speak. He turns and strides off purposefully, leaving you to hunch over with your hands on your knees, wheezing with your whole chest. You try to pull yourself together, not wanting to look undignified in front of Silco. But your lungs still burn, scraping against your ribs. You can barely hear the faraway scraping of wood on wood over your own huffing and puffing. A metallic click rings through the air, followed by Silco’s careful footsteps heading your way.

Just as he rounds the corner, you straighten up, retying the corsage around your wrist. You busy yourself with readjusting it, trying to look nonchalant even though your heartbeat hasn’t slowed down yet from the exertion.

“Thank you for waiting,” he says as he comes to a stop in front of you. This time, he offers you the crook of his elbow. You hook your hand around it, glad to be touching him again.

“Is this safe?” you ask, thinking back on the barricade.

“I placed the barrier there myself,” Silco says with a smirk. “Just to ensure that we wouldn’t be disturbed.”

He leads you carefully onto the wooden pier, steering you around large barrels and missing planks where a careless step could have your foot plunging into water. You both walk out onto the end of a dock where three wooden crates have been assembled into a makeshift dining arrangement. The crate in the middle is covered with a picnic blanket. A cheerfully burning candle and two carry-out boxes that you recognize from Jericho’s sit on top of the improvised table. Silco’s basket is tucked next to the boxes, its lid now open to the evening air.

Framed against a deep blue sky tinged with orange and streaked with indigo clouds, the scene is very charming and cozy, a hidden oasis in the Undercity that you’re encountering for the very first time. 

“Welcome! To Zaun’s finest seaside dining establishment: the East Shore Diner,” he proclaims with a grand sweep of his free arm. He speaks with all the gravitas of a circus showman, but he swallows subtly. His glance at you is nervous, turquoise eyes darting between each of yours as if hoping to find your approval there. 

You wonder if Silco has been as anxious as you for this date. A genuine grin spreads unbidden across your face as you squeeze his arm encouragingly. “I can’t believe you were able to get a reservation for tonight! I’ve been on the waitlist for ages.” 

“I may have threatened the owner to ensure a table would be made available for us,” he chuckles. “They’ve saved the freshest catch of the day for our dinner.” He steps ahead of you to pull one of the crates out for you to sit on, as if it were a chair at a more formal restaurant. 

“Silco… thank you,” you say softly as you take a seat on the box. “This is so nice.” 

He smiles at you while he picks up the carry-out boxes, opening the one in front of you first. The delicious smell of sharp spices wafts out of the box, and you look inside to see kebabs of juicy, fatty dark meats from Jericho’s, still warm and steaming. 

“I’m afraid I’m not much of a chef,” he admits. “I’m incapable of making anything on par with your cooking—” 

“You remembered my favorite!” you beam at him. 

He grabs two glass cups from his basket and places them on the table. You recognize them as his favorites from The Last Drop, as thick as crystal and embellished with elegant gold trim at the rim and bottom. After grabbing a flask from his basket, he pours into both glasses with a flourish, the orange drink sparkling in the candlelight. 

“If you’d like some alcohol, perhaps we could stop by The Last Drop later tonight,” he says, finally taking a seat opposite you. “But I know you have a shift tomorrow at the Embrace—” 

“Silco… this is perfect,” you say warmly. “I wouldn’t ask for anything different.” 

Your date is a wonderful companion and friend, polite and charming as always, if a little more flirtatious than usual. When you ask if he brought napkins, he reaches across the table to touch the corner of your mouth with his thumb, wiping a drop of sauce off your face. He holds your gaze as he licks his finger clean, the candlelight dancing in his eyes. It’s only when you blush and look away that he finally reaches into the basket to grab a napkin for you. 

But his eyes flicker to the water whenever he thinks you’re not looking at him. You ask him a question while he’s still chewing, and he turns to gaze at the river, a faraway look in his eyes. It’s the same look he gets while he’s thinking hard about something—something visible only in his imagination, but intangible to everyone else. Even after he swallows and sips his drink, he continues staring out at the horizon. You have to repeat your question a few times before he turns to you with a snap, startled as if he forgot about you. 

“Do you have a date with an aquarian Vastayan later or something?” you tease him. 

“My apologies,” he says, wincing with embarrassment. He focuses all his attention on you now, his gaze intensifying as he reaches across the table to take your hand. You let him, entwining your fingers through his.  

A muscle in his jaw twitches as he scoots forward, leaning towards you. 

“I almost drowned in these waters,” he says quietly. 

Your eyes widen in shock, and you can’t help but gasp. Even though he’s sitting here in front of you, alive and well, your heart lurches in terror at the thought of his near-death. 

“Ever wonder what it’s like to drown?” he asks. “Story of opposites… 

“There’s peace, in water,” he says slowly. “Like it’s holding you, whispering in low tones to let it in… and every problem in the world will fade away.”

You squeeze Silco’s hand tighter, determined not to let him fade away. Hoping to convey how much you care about him, that he can rely on you to pull him out of the depths whenever he needs rescuing. 

As you ponder his statement, you purse your lips. You’ve never experienced a sensation like that before: to be held in the embrace of the elements, an all-encompassing comfort surrounding your whole body, even as they drag you closer to oblivion. It’s too frightening to think of for long. 

You keep your gaze fixed on Silco, patiently waiting for him to continue.  

“But then there’s this—thing—in your head, and it’s raging,” he says with bared teeth at the last word. He continues staring in your direction, but now through you, into the middle distance of some unseen horizon. 

His free hand drifts to hover over the candle. He brings his palm close to the tip of the flame, letting it graze his skin. The blinding flare and Silco’s smooth, deliberate turning of his hand hypnotize you, as if the flame were a puppet he was controlling expertly. 

He clenches his fist forcefully, the flame flickering in the sudden burst of wind.  “Lighting every nerve with madness—to fight… to survive.

“And all the while this question lingers before you… ‘have you had enough?’”

His gaze turns back to the river again. You fight the urge to cup his face in your hands, not wanting to interrupt him. 

“It’s funny,” he continues. “You could pass a lifetime without ever facing a choice like that… but it changes you forever.” 

You bite your lip. It’s hard to fight back the instinct to get up and hug him, to hold him tight and never let him go. But you know he would feel smothered by your concern.  

“You said… this place was ‘special’ to you,” you say carefully. “Is it okay if I ask what happened?” 

“A platoon of Enforcers pursued me here. I had no choice but to take shelter in these waters,” he says simply. 

“That was brave of you,” you say in awe. Everyone from your side of the bridge knows that the Piltover River is engorged with pollutants from Topside’s industrial operations. The water is slick to the touch, swirling with colorful oils. It’s unsafe to drink, much less submerge oneself wholly in. 

“It was here that I learned, I had to take control of my life,” he says grimly. “To become what they cannot kill. 

“To be shown your own weakness is a gift… one that I would like to share with you.”

“Are you telling me that I’m weak?” you ask jokingly in an effort to lighten the mood. You bite your tongue, cursing yourself for your poor timing.  

He stands abruptly. You raise an eyebrow at him when he takes off his jacket. His vest is next, and he folds his clothes neatly before placing them on his chair.

 Just as you begin savoring the sight of him in his tight red shirt, he whips off his tie and begins unbuttoning his top.

“What are you doing??” you ask in alarm. As reluctant as you are to look away from Silco undressing, it still feels wrong to ogle. You clap your hands over your eyes when he untucks his shirt. When you catch a glimpse of his lean, pale torso between the gaps in your fingers, you clamp your eyes shut.

 The rustling sounds of his undressing continues, now joined by the clinking of his belt buckle. Followed by the snap of metal clasps on his boots being loosened, then the quiet creaking of wood as Silco walks lightly towards you. 

“Let me show you,” he says earnestly. 

“Show me what?” you blurt out. You don’t have to look at him to know that he’s extending a hand out to you. 

“Do you know how to swim?” 

“Maybe,” you squeak out, too agitated to give him a straight answer. “You want to go in the water, right? Go ahead—I’ll watch our stuff.” 

Silco’s breath on your forehead startles you; you hadn’t sensed him leaning in so close. He presses his lips to your cheek, soft and lingering, whispering your name imploringly. 

You crack open your eyes and peek at him. Even though you can only see a sliver of his face, his gaze is intense and adoring, too earnest to refuse. 

“Fine,” you sigh in defeat. “Do I have to take my clothes off too?” 

“It’s better to be unencumbered by them,” he says with a delighted grin. 

“If you wanted me to take off my clothes, you could’ve just asked—” you grumble under your breath. 

“Pardon?” 

“Nothing!” you exclaim too loudly. “Just—just get in the water already, Silco. I’ll be there soon.” 

He waits for you to lower your hands before he plants another excited kiss on your temple. In his haste, he clumsily bumps against your forehead, jostling you in your seat. 

Just as quickly, he runs gracefully towards the end of the pier, his long limbs streamlined as he raises his arms and brings them together above his head, fingers forming a sharp point to pierce the river. The splash is quiet, reminiscent of a paintbrush dipping into water. 

You get to your feet slowly, stretching to get some blood flowing after sitting for so long. The night is cool, and you rub your arms for warmth. But a quick, surreptitious peek at Silco’s neatly stacked clothes confirms that he stripped down to his underwear. For the sake of fairness, you do the same, stacking your clothes next to his. You carefully untie your corsage and lay it on the table. As a precaution, you blow out the candle. 

When you stand on tiptoe to scan the water, Silco is nowhere to be seen. You walk carefully to the end of the pier, one small step at a time, conscientious of splinters stabbing your bare feet.

“Silco?” you call out when you reach the edge. 

A breeze gusts past as if in response. You shiver as the chilled wind brushes against you, goosebumps sprinkling across your skin.

You kneel down cautiously, then take a seat. When you dip a toe into the river, you flinch at the cold. Ripples unfurl and spread across the surface as you slowly, slowly, lower your foot into the water, adjusting to the temperature. 

Eventually, the water’s chilly void becomes a tolerable caress. You kick your feet in boredom, watching the reflections of the moon and stars distort on the river’s surface.

A strong grip closes around your right ankle.

You’re yanked off the pier. 

Your heart leaps into your throat. Wind rushes past you. 

You crash into the water with a shriek.

Dark oblivion surrounds you completely, bubbles dancing all around you as you scream. A muffled sound comes out of your mouth only to be smothered when the river floods it. You gag and try to cough out the greasy, bitter liquid, flailing every which way to right yourself. The water already coalescing into a film against your rapidly blinking eyes.

Disoriented, you spin around, unsure of which way is up. Panicking at the thought of your corpse sinking into the depths, Silco and your friends never learning of your demise—

Something takes hold of your sides. You instinctively kick out, your foot colliding painfully with something long and thin.

Before you can kick it again, the thing’s grip on you tightens, solidifying its hold on your waist. 

You’re propelled to the surface, limbs dangling uselessly as you resign yourself to your fate.

But your head crashes through the surface. You spit and sputter out mouthfuls of water, taking in heaving breaths of rejuvenating air. Your arms thrash wildly as you struggle to stay afloat.

In between the dripping locks of hair plastered against your eyes, you see Silco. His mouth is open in laughter as he swims towards you.

“You’re alright, sweetheart,” he chuckles.

You cough, hard and hacking, throat scraped dry despite all the water you almost swallowed. “Help!!”

“Pedal your legs,” he instructs calmly, still smiling. “Spread your arms out and push downwards. The water is your cushion, not your enemy.”

You shake your head furiously, water drops whipping off your head. “Bastard—!”

“You can do it,” he says encouragingly. 

You panic as your chin dips underwater. Out of desperation, you follow his advice.

Instead of flailing your legs, you pedal. The water doesn’t resist, and your legs glide through the river easily. Your splashing becomes less frantic as you find a rhythm to push against the surface, more efficiently keeping you afloat.

All the while, Silco watches you patiently. You cough one final time as you find your footing, so to speak. Treading water adequately, if not gracefully.

Finally, he swims to you, closing the distance as his hands find your waist. His hold feels familiar, and you frown even as your arms automatically wind around his neck.

“Did you pull me in?” you ask in a hoarse voice.

He nods, still mirthful. “I only meant to ‘sweep you off your feet’.”

“Dummy,” you say, headbutting him in exasperation. “I could’ve drowned.”

“I would never let that happen,” he vows solemnly.

You snort in annoyance, but you don’t pull away from him.

You’re so close to him now. It’s different from that time in the councilor’s closet, when you were forced into his proximity by necessity. You could let go and swim away; as unorthodox as his teaching methods are, you no longer feel helpless in the water. 

Instead, you’re hypnotized by the sight of Silco dripping wet, dark hair sparkling like dewy grass on a misty morning. Droplets sliding down his temples to trace his cheeks, dripping off his nose and chin. The moonlit gloss of water on his lip that you’re aching to taste. His turquoise eyes brighter and clearer than the dark azure of the river.

You cling to him, a tall buoy in the river, solid and warm against you as you hug him close. Shivering as your bodies align, your breasts pressed flat against his chest.

His fingers glide against the waistband of your panties as he wraps his arms around you.

He hooks his chin over your shoulder. His warm exhales tickle your skin.

You cautiously coil one leg around his waist. You’re rewarded with a sharp, surprised inhale from Silco when your cunt grazes his pelvis.

Your other leg hooks around him, slotting him perfectly against you, a key nestled into the lock of your embrace.

The temptation to kiss him feels different this time. To open the floodgates of not just affection, but lust as well. The craving of feeling his skin against yours with nothing between you, the friction of your bodies warming you hotter than a bonfire. Even now, you almost wish you had stripped fully nude.

It’s the next step you’ve wanted to take with Silco long before you kissed for the first time. But now that you’re at the threshold, there’s something about it worth savoring, just before you take the plunge. The contradiction of bobbing peacefully in the river with him, entwined in silence even as your heart hammers underneath your rib cage. The slow caress of his hand on your side even as his cock hardens against your cunt.

You nudge your nose against the shell of his ear. Blinking water out of your eyes as you drag the tip of your nose against the contour of his cheekbone.

Pressing the bridge of your nose against his.

He swallows hard. Water drips from his chin to outline the tendons of his throat.

Waiting. 

Wondering.

Wanting.

You kiss him.

Bursting with desire, it’s more disorienting than when he pulled you off the pier. Marveling at the novel sensation of him dripping wet, kissing him dry while reacquainting yourself with the shape of his lips.

He responds just as eagerly, a devouring hunger in the movements of his mouth against yours. Groaning as his tongue fills your mouth, wet, heavy, eager to taste the inside of you and forgo all other flavors forever and ever.

His fingertips dig into your hips, nails biting into your flesh. Water splashes as he insistently grinds his cock against you, furious at the barrier of clothing between your bodies. 

You gasp as your shoulders dip below the water, sinking without the aid of Silco treading water. He kicks out impatiently, as if staying afloat was less important to him than kissing you. 

“Take me home,” you beg, so breathlessly that you’re not sure if he heard you.

He moans deeply as you capture the corner of his mouth in a kiss. You drag your lips against his cheek, settling on the hinge of his neck and jaw. You plant yourself there, eyes closed as his soft, damp hair brushes against your brow.

“Are—” he stutters, breath hitching. “Are you sure?”

You gently trap his earlobe between the tips of your teeth before letting go, whispering in his ear:

“Yes.” 

───────────────── ●◉◎◈◎◉● ─────────────────

If you liked this fic, please reblog and/or leave a comment! My inbox is also open to requests for both sketches and drabbles, or just to chat. Feel free to say hi :3c

Chapter 12

[sad-sweet-cowboah]

Hi, I'm new on your blog and I don't really know if you still take requests for your one-shots, but I'd love to see Arthur get all sweet and maybe fall in love with a girl who owns a dog. We all know he loves dogs and maybe that's how they meet? He sees the dog and goes to pet it and them meets the girl and the rest is history...

I love your writing tho, spent hours reading your stuff and I'm so in love with the way you portray Arthur🧡

HEY THERE!

Thank you so much for the compliment and I apologize for the super late response, I hope you didn't think I was ignoring you!

This is a cute idea and I pieced this together little by little over the past few months when I had the time/energy to do so.

It was a gorgeous day. The bright sun beamed through the azure sky, bathing the land below in its warm rays. 

The local park was teeming with people enjoying the day just as much as Arthur was. He sat content on a bench while the world continued. Picnics in the field across the way, children playing and laughing in the nearby playground. Young couples walking with one another, and of course the occasional jogger. 

He leaned back, taking a deep, relaxing breath. A faint floral scent drifted across in a breeze that carried through a flower bed next to him. His eyes slid shut, not opposed to taking a nap at the moment. It's not like he had anything better to do on a Saturday anyway. No work, no chores, no worries. 

He'd drifted off for a moment when a cold, wet nose nudged his hand and his eyes snapped open, his gaze flicking to a rather happy looking Yellow Lab. The dog was pushing against his palm, looking to be pet. 

Arthur chuckled and smiled, raising his hand to oblige. The dog excitedly shoved its head beneath Arthur’s outstretched hand, immediately leaning into the complimentary ear rub. 

“Hey there...” Arthur glanced underneath for a split second. “Boy.” 

The dog backed up and dipped his head down to retrieve a well-worn tennis ball and placed it in Arthur’s lap, looking up expectantly. Arthur laughed a little. “Wanna play fetch, huh?” 

He picked up the ball, the dog’s eyes focusing on his hand. He stood up, waited, and threw it directly in front of him. The dog took off immediately, bounding after the ball with breakneck speed. He caught it just a moment later, and galloped right back to Arthur, dropping the ball at his feet. 

Arthur chuckled and just now noticed the leather collar adorning his new canine friend’s neck. “Your owner know you're over here?” 

“Brody!” 

As if on cue, the dog’s head turned toward the feminine voice calling from a few yards away. Arthur followed his gaze to see a pretty woman with a leash in hand. 

Her eyes met his, and she gave him an apologetic look. “I'm sorry, is he bothering you?” 

“Not at all,” Arthur chuckled again, glancing down at the pup whose name was apparently Brody. “He's a good boy.” 

The woman jogged to close the gap between them, her eyes flicking to the dog, then back to him. “We’re working on our recall,” she explained. “Except he thinks the first person he sees must be his friend.” 

“I'm glad I can make a friend,” Arthur said with a small smile, rubbing Brody’s head. “Really, it ain't a bother.” 

There was a smile on her lips. She bent down and clipped the leash to the collar. “Well, thank you for being his friend at the moment.” 

Arthur’s smile matched hers. “Any time.” 

As the woman and Brody headed off, Arthur watched while the smile remained on his lips. He loved dogs and missed having one, but hadn't had the heart to seek another after his faithful companion, a hound named Copper, passed away a few years ago. A twinge of sweet, sad nostalgia tugged at his heart. A sigh passed his lips and he sat back down, momentarily lost in the memory of Copper before enjoying the rest of the day. 

--- 

“Sit,” 

Brody’s ears pricked at the command, his hind end planting into the grass with his eyes focused on you. 

The hand that held his tennis ball lifted, and his brown eyes immediately focused onto it, his body vibrating with the beginning of his tail wag. 

“Wait,” you say, lifting a finger with your free hand. Then, you toss the ball. Brody watches and his muscles tense as if ready to chase it. 

“Wait,” you repeat, drawing out the word. He does so, tightened like a bowstring ready to snap. 

Another second passes. “Go get it!” You command. 

You waited for a few seconds, watching for a streak of blonde to pop out from the dense green. 

Nothing. 

“Brody!” You called out. His recall had gotten better over these past few weeks. “Brody, come!” 

Still nothing. 

You sighed in annoyance and jogged toward the thicket, navigating through a small path between two large bushes. You emerged on the other side to a wider path covered by the maples and oaks that lined it, giving immediate shade from the bright sun. 

You glanced left and right, seeing no sign of the meathead of your dog. “Brody!” You called again, adding a sharp whistle to your command. 

As if on cue, up ahead you heard a bark. Your attention snapped forward to a small clearing not too noticeable between the trees. Crossing the path, you barreled into the clearing to see your dog happily harassing someone who sat at the base of one of the trees. 

“Sorry!” You call automatically, surging forward to grab onto Brody’s collar before the Lab could tackle the poor guy to death. 

“S’alright!” A voice chuckles, and you pause, realizing it sounded vaguely familiar. 

Heaving Brody back, you took a better look at the man and realized it was the same one your dog pulled into an impromptu game of fetch a few weeks ago. You smiled in recognition, and then noticed a sketchbook laying haphazardly on the ground. 

“Oh no!” you exclaim, immediately hooking Brody to his leash. “Did he ruin anything?” you gestured pointedly to the book, your eyes skimming for any damage. There didn’t seem to be anything noticeable. 

The man glanced at his sketchbook and gingerly picked it up, brushing off blades of grass from the paper. “Don’t look like it,” he said observantly. Your gaze fell to the page, which you now realized had a drawing on it. 

You automatically leaned forward, taking in the detail. It was a sketch of the park, a view of the field you were just in through the trees here. It only took up half the page and you wondered if there was more to be added, and then you noticed a dirty paw print right underneath. 

A groan passed your lips. “Oh, I’m sorry about that,” you gestured exasperated to the print. 

He only smiled. “S’okay, it’s his contribution.” 

The joke and his easygoing demeanor eased some of your frustration, and you smiled a little. “Then...you might as well draw a dog bursting from the bushes,” you giggled. 

He laughed, reaching to give a hearty pet on Brody’s head. “He don’t mean it, do ya?” 

Brody’s body wiggled in excitement, and almost jumped onto him if you hadn’t held the silly dog back. “Seriously though, I’m sorry for this. I’m glad he didn’t ruin your sketchbook.” 

“It’s only a book, I can always get another if that were the case,” he replied, tucking the sketchbook under his arm. “N’ I’m always happy to see my friend.” 

It took you a moment to remember that’s what he referred to Brody as the very first time they met. “And he was very happy to see you too...” you trailed off, realizing you didn’t even know the guy’s name. 

As if he read your mind, he responded with, “Arthur.” 

Arthur. You smiled wider and introduced yourself to him. “And of course you already know Brody.” 

Arthur tilted his head in greeting. “He reminds me of my old dog, Copper.” 

“Really?” You say with interest. “Was he a crazy Lab too?” 

Arthur chuckled again and shook his head. “Nah, Hound dog actually. But he had the same personality, jus’ wanted to love on everyone.” 

“That’s the best kind of dog,” you reply, watching as his smile shifted. It was a slight change, but you could tell it was a look of remembrance. 

You also noticed other things too. A tinge of green in his eyes almost completely eclipsed by a light blue hue. His hair, a light brown almost shone blond in the patch of sunlight streaming through the trees. It looked soft. His cheeks had a few days’ worth of stubble, but that didn’t cover the hard cut of his jaw. He wore a blue flannel that hung open over a black shirt, the sleeves rolled almost to his elbows. He completed the look with a pair of blue Wrangler jeans and what looked like black cowboy boots. 

He was...pretty good looking, if you had to say yourself. 

“He was,” Arthur agreed, catching your eye. There was another shift in his expression. This time, it was a look you recognize. He too was viewing you in the same manner you were viewing him just now, studying the minor details. His eyes slid from your face and quickly flicked down your body, back up. It was such a quick glance that you had to appreciate him not lingering below your neck. 

A silence fell between the two of you. It wasn't awkward nor uncomfortable, but you were unsure how to even continue the conversation. 

“I should get back to our game,” you say, glancing down at Brody. 

Arthur nodded, and in his other hand, he held out Brody’s ball. You blinked in surprise, not realizing he held onto it the entire time. You reached for it, your fingers gently brushing his for a split second. 

Brody watched the exchange with intensity, waiting for it to be tossed again despite being currently on his leash. Arthur pat his head again, another smile forming on his face. “Maybe next time I oughta show up with a ball of my own, huh feller?” 

“I'm sure he’d love that,” you said with a grin. 

“Then I'll see ya next time,” he replied, giving you a two-fingered salute. You weren't sure why, but that little gesture made your heart flutter. 

“Next time,” you agreed, wondering exactly when ‘next time’ was. 

--- 

The following days your walks in the park led with the small hope you’d run into Arthur again. Though you didn't see him, you weren't going out of your way to actively search. Still, the tiny seed of disappointment that appeared at the end of each walk didn't deter you.  

Truth was, you wanted to get to know him a little more. He was probably one of the friendliest strangers you've ever met, and it was a bonus that he loved dogs. You thought back to the last encounter, and the sketch of the park he was working on. You wouldn't have pegged him as an artist from his demeanor and style. Hell, he seemed more like a casual cowboy. But you knew better than to judge a book by its cover. 

You continued walking along the path, only partly paying attention as Brody happily strode alongside you, his ball in his mouth knowing that his daily game of fetch would be soon. Your eyes lazily scanned the landscape, not really focusing on anything as more thoughts churned in your mind. You knew you had some chores to do after this, including tending to the lawn that started to grow too tall. Some dark clouds in the distance however might delay that, unless you were quick with-- 

The sudden feel of the leash going taut surprised you, and you barely had enough time to regain your balance before Brody made you face plant into the path. Steadying yourself, your other hand grabbed the leash and held tight. 

“Brody!” You snapped, watching as he tried to win the tug of war battle, tail going a million miles. Glancing ahead, you saw what got him excited. 

Who got him excited. 

Your shock was just enough for your strength to falter, and Brody ripped free, charging toward Arthur in pure excitement. Brody jumped up on the man, as Arthur expertly managed to keep whatever he was holding out of your damned dog’s reach. Arthur’s face was full of delight, laughing as Brody continued the happy assault. his paw managed to catch Arthur in the crook of his arm, making the man spill what looked like iced coffee all over the ground. 

You lunged for his leash, yanking him back with all your might. “God damnit, Brody!” You growled. “Enough!” 

All that time spent training for what, your dog to get overly excited over this man? You stared at the ruined coffee in dismay, and then looked up at Arthur, expecting to see irritation all over his face. Instead, it was just amusement. 

“I'm so sorry,” you gasped, heart pounding from the sudden exertion. “I can get you another drink!” 

Arthur glanced down at the coffee, then back to you. There still was no annoyance or exasperation on his face like you expected. “No use cryin’ over a three dollar coffee,” he said with a small shrug. 

“Still,” you said, finally managing to get Brody to calm down at your side. “it's my fault my idiot of a dog made you drop it.” 

Arthur gave a small chuckle. With a slight shake of his head, he replied, “He's jus’ excited.” 

“He knows better,” you insisted. “And please, let me buy you a new coffee. Three dollars or not, I know what it's like to go without your daily caffeine.” 

The smile on his face widened slightly. “If you’re insistin’,” he said thoughtfully. “Then I'll buy you one as well.” 

This caught you off guard. “Uh, that's not necessary, Arthur. I'm—” 

He waved away your refusal. “S’only fair. Besides, seems like you need the energy to keep up with this one.” 

Only fair for what? You had to wonder. The question played on the edge of your tongue, but the way Arthur gazed at you expectantly...it drew you up short. His handsome features weren't lost to you, and you remembered that time beneath the trees, caught up in examining the finer details. The way he did the same... 

Realization struck you like a bolt of lightning. “Are you...asking me out?” You asked suddenly. 

Arthur’s smile turned sheepish, his demeanor slightly folding in a picture of shyness that reminded you of a middle schooler. “Hopin’ you'd say yes,” he said in a roundabout way of answering your question. 

Heat flushed in your cheeks as your thoughts spiraled. This was completely shocking and unexpected, but not at all unpleasant. Hadn't you offhandedly wished you could run into him again? 

“Uh...yes,” you finally breathed out. “I'll go for a coffee with you.” 

Arthur was beaming. 

Youd just managed to get home to drop Brody off before the telltale roll of thunder boomed through the iron clouds. A gust of wind followed, pulling along the scent of rain. The coffee shop Arthur told you to go to was thankfully a few blocks away, which meant a short trip in your car. 

Parking just a half block away, fat raindrops began their descent just as you hustled toward the shop. You made it through the door just before the torrential downpour began, and you sighed in relief before facing the interior of the shop. It was cozy, with a color scheme of warm oranges and browns that somewhat reminded you of the desert. The counter with two baristas were along the back wall. A few small tables scattered around the open floor. It wasn't really busy, the shop sporting what seemed to be just four other people. It was early afternoon on a weekday, so the small crowd made sense. The storm outside muted the interior noises, setting an even cozier ambience. 

You heard your name called, and you glanced over to the corner to see Arthur waiting for you. Smiling at him, you approached and stopped just a few feet before him. “Hey again.” 

He greeted you with a smile of his own and a tilt of his head. “Looks like you didn't get caught in the storm,” he observed. 

“Almost,” you said with a shrug. “Guess that ruins any chance of sitting outside.” 

“S’alright, I don't mind sittin’ inside,” he said, moving up to the counter to which you followed suit. 

The both of you placed your orders, and Arthur whipped out his wallet and paid for yours before you even had a chance to unzip your purse. Despite your efforts to decline, he insisted and paid for your drink and a snack. After retrieving the cold drinks, he led you to a small table pushed up against one of the windows.  

At first it was quiet. It’d been a while since you’d been on a date, and you idly toyed with the straw of your drink to better mix the concoction settled at the bottom before taking a sip. It was good. 

Glancing up, you saw Arthur was doing the same, his eyes cast down at the drink before him. There was a sheepish, almost shy look on his face, reminding you of earlier when first asking you out. It seemed without the intervention of Brody, Arthur was a man of few words. 

He looked up then, meeting your gaze at an instant. “How’s your drink?” he asked. 

“It’s good,” you responded, wondering how else to combat the awkwardness slowly rising. “Yours?” 

“No different than the one before,” he said with a small smile. 

Earlier shame from Brody’s misbehavior flooded your cheeks. “I’m so sorry. Brody’s usually so much better than that. I don’t know what about you makes him go crazy.” 

“Must be my winnin’ personality,” he joked, picking up the blueberry muffin he’d purchased and took a bite out of it. 

That made you smile a little. “I suppose it is,” you thought back to your previous encounters. “Did you finish that sketch from before?” 

Arthur paused for a moment, no doubt trying to remember. Finally, he nodded. “Wanna see?” 

You blinked in surprise, wondering if you’d somehow missed the large sketchpad. Before you could glance around for the obviously missing item, he pulled out his phone from his pocket. It took a moment before he turned the screen to you, producing a photo of the familiar sketch. The scene of the park seemed to appear more detailed than before, along with an addition that surprised you. 

The pawprint Brody had so kindly bestowed on the paper had been faint but noticeable before, but now it seemed more prominent. Your brow furrowed, wondering if his paw had been dirtier than you remembered that day. Upon closer inspection, though, you saw that wasn’t the case. 

Careful strokes and shading showed that Arthur enhanced the pawprint, blending it effortlessly into the rest of the sketch, appearing as if it were intentional. 

You once again blinked in surprise. “You...outlined the pawprint,” you said rather dumbly. 

“Thought it’d be neat,” he responded nonchalantly. 

Somehow...that warmed your heart. It perhaps was an insignificant little thing. Arthur could have just ignored it entirely or drawn over it, or hell, even scrap the entire drawing afterward. But he didn’t. He incorporated your dog’s “contribution” into his art without a second thought. 

Your heart stammered a moment, and once again you found yourself at a loss for words. 

“I also...” Arthur reached with his free hand to scroll, showing another image. “Drew him.” 

Your eyes focused on the new drawing, your breath catching in your throat. He seemed to capture Brody in a moment of play, the glee on the dog’s face apparent as he chased a tennis ball through the bushes. 

“That...” you swallowed the well of emotion that rose. Why did that affect you in such a way? “That’s amazing, Arthur. You’re really talented.” 

“Thanks,” he said, pulling his phone back. “A dog like him really leaves an impression on ya.” 

A small giggle bubbled from your mouth. “In more ways than one, apparently. I’m glad you like him, even when he’s being a pain in the ass.” 

The chuckle he gave matched yours. “He’s a good friend, n’ I hope I can see more of the both of ya in the future.” 

Heat swarmed your cheeks and your gaze dropped to your drink, your heart humming beneath your ribcage. The smile on your lips was shy. “As long as I get to see more of your art,” you replied, peering back up at him. 

He dipped his head in a nod. “I think that can be arranged.” 

[therealslimshakespeare]

Dear John || Tell me you didn’t

Dear John || Masters of the Air fanfiction

Series Summary: Major John Egan wasn’t the pen-pal sort but a couple of hours into a dark night full of writing condolence letters he finds himself wondering why he never tried his hand at the nicer forms of correspondence. Who better to reanimate his numb inspiration than the glamorous Miss Lana Tierney? -the army’s girl next door, the pinup so prolific she was practically a wall paper print and Bucky’s long-standing cinematic crush. It’s not like she’ll read it anyways, tucked up in luxury in Beverly Hills with carts of tedious fanmail burned in her back yard each day, his letter will get lost in the mix. It’s harmless. That thought -and the booze- may loosen his pen a little too much but it’s alright, it’s not like she’ll read it. Right? Right.

Circa: August 1943

Plot: Gale Cleven learns that not only did his best friend send dubious fanmail while blind drunk, he seems to have singled out with his indomitable luck the one starlet of the silver screen capable of matching his depravity

Warnings: 18+ for suggestive and crass content, it’s pretty much two boys acting like a couple of girls at a sleepover deciphering a dirty text from one’s crush

My thanks to my baby Bri for literally being the brains behind the plot and for Christi for assuring me this ain’t trash. We shall if y’all share those sentiments…

The referenced letter link 💌

“Tell me you didn’t.” Gale managed to keep his tone calm but he’d be lying if he didn’t admit his fingertips had gone a little chilly.

“I-“ Egan threw his arms out as if a better truth might form with a little more gesticulation but nothing came, “I did, Buck.” he admitted.

“You wrote it blind drunk.” Gale reminded him with urgency, as if the reminder of its ill calculated circumstances could snatch back his letter from out of Lana Tierney’s posh mailbox.

“I did!” He agreed, ��-And I sent it blind drunk. And I never thought she’d read it.”

“I saw you eat it!” Cleven’s voice was growing angry, “I made you-“

“That may have been a botched first draft to Donny’s folks instead.” Egan winced.

Both of them lapsed again into silence, staring warily at the unopened and daintily addressed envelope in Egan’s hand like it might explode at any moment.

“You sonuvabitch.” Gale breathed, two frantic pink splotches appearing on his cherub cheeked face, judgment and disbelief making a whirlpool of his eyes. “Can’t leave you alone for a minute. What all did you even say?”

“I didn’t tell her about ACORN!” John vowed like a child swearing to their sibling regarding secrets kept from mother, “I mean, i called her that but I didn’t explai-“

“-John!”

“-and I said a lotta nice things too, I think, but, I also-“ Egan scrunched his eyes up as if to either better recall or maybe banish entirely all memory of his sentiments, “-I may have mentioned wanting to give her children.”

“JOHN!”

“It can’t have been that bad, she wrote back!” Egan defended with wounded hope, holding up his still sealed prize. “Buck, swear to God, I never thought she’d read it.”

Gale slumped down next to him on the bed as if the ordeal in voyeuristic stupidity had taken something out of him. “Maybe she didn’t.” he suggested grimly. “Maybe it’s from her attorney tellin’ you to never contact her again.”

He was enjoying ruining this moment a little too much, and now Egan was growing angry he had waited to open it until confiding in his friend. Not a little anxious, and not a little smug, Egan flipped the envelope over, ready to tear its flap. That’s when he saw the kiss print. “Ha!” he barked, flipping it back up and shoving it directly in front of Gale’s crossing eyes, “Do lawyers leave lip prints?” he questioned cockily and when Gale pulled far enough away to ascertain for himself, he gave a conceding nod.

“Huh.”

“Yeah, huh.” John goaded but his heart beat a crazy and skittish rhythm as he slipped his finger inside the fold and tore at the slip.

Lovely, scented, gold embossed stationery came into view, it made Egan question how well he had washed his hands the paper was so white and pristine.

“Well?” Gale kept to a respectful distance of half a foot away from his friend on the bed, and being a good sort of man, he was not snooping or side eyeing private correspondence.

“Uh, yeah, right.” Bucky rallied himself and unfolded the missive fully, forcing his eyes to focus on deciphering charming, school girl cursive. “Get over here, Buck.” he griped at last as it was hopeless to make headway between his own nerves and Cleven’s hovering presence.

Gale didn’t move and Bucky didn’t expect him to so he scooted over herself, smashing him on the edge and held the letter out as they both leaned in.

“Dear John, -I’m sorry Major Egan, I just had to.”

“Oh shit.” Bucky swore in realization.

“She’s funny.” Gale’s tone was ever so mild.

“Nah she’s, Buck, she’s quoting me back to me I told her -nevermind, let’s see-“

They peered back at the letter together, Cleven more invested that he’d ever admit and Bucky’s heart doing the oddest little flips at the realization that someone gave enough of a damn to write this sorta thing back to him.

“Heartfelt.” Gale murmured her choice of words for Bucky’s letter aloud with something close to relief, only to be then followed by a groan- “you did not write the word ‘knockers’ in a letter to a woman!”

“You're right, you’re right,” Egan ducked his head, repentant, he wouldn’t have been the least surprised if he got a wallop from Cleven for it, “awful of me. I admitted it even then. She admits it. Let’s move on.”

“RACK!” Cleven growled moments later in growing disbelief. “Jesus, John.”

“Oh don’t act better than all of it, you know she’s got the best melons out there-“

“-you’re the one who felt compelled to write a nice young lady and tell her as much.” Buck stabbed an accusatory finger dangerously close to Egan’s nose, “And used vulgarities while at it.”

Egan gave a defensive shrug and began his reading anew. “She said she’s fizzing…over making babies.” he whispered, “With me.” John was awed and this time Cleven had no rebuttal, just ever growing wonderment on his ever reddening face. “And she says here, look! she says you’re a bad boy for breaking us up that night! HA!”

“She’s being polite Bucky,” Gale cautioned, worried at where this surge of confidence might lead, “she didn’t admit to remembering a bit of it. They send girls to school to let fellas like you down easy.”

“Aww, now she says to give ya a kiss.” Egan cooed, saccharine and wicked, “See, she’s so nice and you’re the one who’s awful, doubting her like that. She says to give ya one if you’re the sort to take it well, are ya Buck, huh? Are you? Huh?”

“No, no! Jesus, get off me!” Cleven exerted every bit of his wiry strength to lug off the sudden onslaught of Egan’s heavy embrace as they folded together back onto the bed, John’s mouth making sickening smooching noises against Cleven’s baby smooth cheek, mustache a foreign and terrifying tickle on his jaw. “Get the hell off me, what is wrong with you?”

“I’m riled, just like her, that’s what’s wrong.” Egan replied vehemently, pulling his face away but keeping a perturbed Buck beneath his greater weight. “And maybe one day you’ll know what that feels like, Goldilocks. See, says right here: *I can feel my pulse somewhere besides my wrists* Do you hear that?” He demanded, still holding the letter aloft as Gale looked up at him with the sort of patience people reserve for lunatics liable to murder them at the least hint of movement. “I’ve made her horny.” he spelled it out and Gale’s face somehow flushed an even deeper shade of scarlet. “She wants to know what acorn means.”

“Don’t you ever tell her.” Gale warned.

“Why not?”

“It’s not even a good acronym, it’s misspelled and missing a whole word.”

“She wants it to be ‘salacious’ -says so herself.”

“No way.”

“Yes way.” Bucky flipped the letter over for Gale to see and judging by the panic in his eyes he caught more lines than that one alone.

“Jesus.” he repeated, it was starting to sound like a genuine beg for divine intervention. “Get off me.”

That itching physical impulse to roughhouse remained but Egan obligingly rolled to the side, aware Buck didn’t have what would cure his own riled self. “She says she enclosed something for the morale, said to keep it safe. But there’s not anything else. You see anything else?”

“I don’t.” Buck sounded worn down but he made an effort to look around amongst the sheets.

“Julia Jean.” Egan pondered, “Says that’s her real name.”

“Yeah, well, maybe now you can stop calling her acorn every damn time she comes on screen.”

“Don’t count on it.” Egan grinned back.

“Maybe it’s still in the envelope.” Gale suggested, tentatively picking up the air mail slip and handing it to Bucky.

Egan sat up and shook the paper between them, wondering if it was really something worth hiding from the censors like some OSS spy shit. A couple of shakes and sure enough, some slippery little card shaped thing fluttered out of a crease and wafted to the ground, settling between Buck’s boots. John’s stoic young friend bent over and retrieved it, but not without his entire spine stiffening like he’d been hit as soon as he’d caught it.

“Jesus.” it was more of a wheeze this time. Gale’s slow hand raised it and passed it over.

There wasn’t anything to say, not when confronted with such perfection. Not even a shielding arm to cheat him of the whole display, nothin’ at all but a carefully cropped photograph of the ripest pair of-

“Goddamn.” John’s tongue finally materialized a sentiment and he heard Gale’s appreciative sharp intake of breath beside him as if he’d forgotten to breathe here lately. “They’re wonderful.”

“Yeah.” Gale’s own throat sounded dry as dust, “W-we should probably stop starin’.”

“Whadda ya think she sent ‘em for?” John laughed, a rough, victorious laugh, never once dragging his admiring eyes away from them or ceasing to thumb over the shiny print. He could almost feel her warm, giving flesh under the pad of his finger, could almost imagine the pebble of a rosy nipple responding to his swipes.

“Yeah, they’re alright-“

“Alright? Alright!?” Egan repeated, incensed for his beloved’s reputation, “THESE ARE THE BEST TITS IN THE NATION!”

Gale actually looked mildly chastened, especially as his eyes strayed guiltily back to the photograph like twin marbles gravitating to the corner of a box when tipped.

“I know you haven’t seen many, Buck,” Egan goaded him further, “but take it from me -they don’t get better than this. And you better enjoy this look, it’s your last, she told me to keep them safe. So see this? These? This pair? S’why we fight, Buck.”

“Don’t be crass, John,” Gale stood up abruptly, less angry at his friend than at himself for his momentary lapse of discipline, “we fight for the people we love.”

“Course we do,” John grinned, “but I also happen to love these, told her so myself.”

“You didn’t-“

“I did.” Bucky was pretty chuffed, bouncing on the edge of the bed like he had her seated in his lap right now, “Everybody’s got to have a goal, Buck, you wanna marry Marj and I wanna aggressively come on ripe knock-“

“-A.C.O.R.N. yeah, yeah.”

“Acorn.” Bucky grinned in agreement.

“You gonna admit to her you didn’t know knockers was spelled with a k?”

“I did, too! Just couldn’t make it work.”

“Still doesn't work.” Buck informed, but his smile was returning, he’d not been this close with Bucky for this long not to learn to roll with the differences and appreciate that what made his best friend tick was a very different sort of morale than his own. “I’m happy for ya, John.” he conceded, as he turned to leave, “But when you write her back -and you gotta, she’s been too kind -promise me you’ll be a gentleman about it. Apologize, like the man I know you are. Drink got the better of you, just, explain it that way.”

“Uhuh.” John gave him a sober nod, still a little dazed this wasn’t some fever dream. “Kinda already did. In the one I sent.”

“She wasn’t deterred.” Gale mused, “Either you were shit at it or she’s-“

“Zesty.” Egan deduced, sucking his teeth with a manic gleam in his eye.

“Yeah, as an orange peel.” Gale snarked and walked away, past the rows of empty beds and outside into the rain, “I’ll leave you to it.”

Bucky fell back against his mattress, sudden peace and aloneness giving him a chance to soak it in a second time, carefully reading over it all again, savoring each quip, each earnest prayer and naughty subtext. Which naturally led him back to admiring her little picture, groaning in unrestrained appreciation for her assets. She’d hinted about him taking it to his bunk -well wasn’t he fast to obey! Something possessed him to flip it over and there in the corner of the photograph, written in tiny little script, were doodles of music notes along with the ever so familiar lyrics:

“Beat me daddy, eight to the bar.”

John threw back his head and let out a roar of appreciation for finding a mirrored soul. “Oh Julie Jean, honey baby, don’t you worry, I’ll beat out somethin’ for ya, that’s for sure.”

💌💌💌💌💌💌💌💌💌💌💌💌💌💌💌

Thank y’all for reading, hope you enjoyed! Feedback is a writer’s life blood, please scream at me, I thrive off it. 💋

Taglist (Lemme know in a comment below if you’d like to be added or subtracted for MOTA fics)

@stylespresleyhearted

@ab4eva

@earth-to-lottie

@suraemoon

@blurredcolour

@steph-speaks

@crazymadpassionatelove

@rubyfruitjungle

@taestrwbrry

@storysimp

@javden

@sexualparkour

@jointherebellion215

@sunny747

@ask-you-what-sir

@xxanaduwrites

@pretty4u

@yorkshirekiwi

@waitedforlove743

[carolperkinsexgirlfriend]

Steddie Upside-Down AU Part 55

Part 1 Part 54

Alright, tell me what’s going on with you.” Dr. Owens says, smiling down at Will all genially. Steve doesn’t trust it. “Tell me about this episode you had?”

Will shifts his eyes over to Steve, looking guilty and small. Steve reaches out across his own bed to grab Will’s hand, squeezing lightly until he turns back to the doctor. “I was on Mirkwood–” he starts, shifting his eyes toward Steve guiltily before darting them back. “I heard this noise, and it was like I was back there.”

“What were you doing on Mirkwood, honey?” Ms. Byers asks, eyebrows furrowed as she holds onto Will’s other hand.

Will’s eyes shift again, transparently guilty as he says, “I was just with Steve.” When Ms. Byers looks his way, Steve nods, and Will slumps bonelessly into his bed.

The doctor’s staring intently at Will’s face, like he’s trying to dissect every microexpression, looking for cracks. , the paper spitting out of Will’s machine, needle thing writing its squiggly lines at an alarming pace. “Did you see anything?”

Will looks down at his knees, bare beneath his tissue paper hospital gown. “No,” he says it quietly, almost ashamed. “I don’t think anything really happened. I was just scared.”

Steve squeezes his hand again. He lets his heart bloom when Will squeezes back.

“Alright,” Dr. Owens says, smiling that same untrustworthy smile, “thanks for sharing, kiddo.”

They’re shuffled out of the exam room in short order, left abandoned on benches in the hallway like children while Uncle Wayne and Ms. Byers have the adult conversations. Even though Eddie’s long learned Uncle Wayne will tell him word for word what he was told, Eddie’s still made a habit of pushing his ear against the door, catching snippets of conversation where he can while Steve and Eddie giggle at his antics.

This time, his face goes serious, dimples nonexistent with the straight slash of his mouth as he eyes the door like he’s going to wrench it open and start beating someone.

“Eddie?” Steve calls quietly, not wanting to draw attention to his sleuthing.

Eddie looks his way, face grim. He eavesdrops a few seconds more before slinking back over to Steve and Will, jamming his ass in the nonexistent space between them.

“What did they say?” Will says. Steve leans forward to look at him around Eddie’s big head. His eyes are big and wide. He looks scared.

“It’s all bullshit,” Eddie says, shifting on the hard bench. “I didn’t hear it all, but they said it’s gonna get worse because the anniversary of, uh, you know is coming up.”

He doesn’t look at Will when he says it, though. He’s looking directly at Steve, and Steve knows they’re both thinking of the same thing. The looming shadows, the thing he’s caught glimpses of, towering over buildings, eclipsing the sky. The way he’s there less and less as the days pass.

Eddie’d taken away his keys the week before, and it was supposed to get worse?

“–and we’re just supposed to pretend it’s not happening?”

Ms. Byers voice drifts through the door, high-pitched in her stress. Will’s shoulders hunch until Eddie wraps an arm around them and pulls him in. He holds his other arm open behind Steve’s back, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively until Steve leans in with a roll of his eyes.

Eddie squeezes them both tight enough Steve can feel it in his deep tissue and begins shaking them around like a dog with his favorite toy. “There! One big happy family!”

When Will starts laughing, Steve does, too. He can’t help it. There’s just something about Eddie Munson that makes him feel like he swallowed fizzy lifting drink and can’t get off the ceiling of Willy Wonka’s chocolate factory.

But then Uncle Wayne and Ms. Byers walk through the door. Uncle Wayne looks as deadpan as usual, but Ms. Byers looks one second away from her head exploding.

“Is he serious?” she asks, running her hand through her hair, yanking it the rest of the way through when it gets stuck on a knot. Steve winces, scalp tingling in sympathy.

“Anniversary affects a real thing,” he says, looking down at all three of them with pensive eyes that settle on Steve a little too long for him to be comfortable. “It’s as good a ‘planation as anything, ain’t it?”

Ms. Byers sighs. She sweeps her eyes over all three of them, looking remarkably like Jonathan in that moment with the way her eyes go intense and seem to look right through you to the secret heart of who you are.

Seeming to come back to life, she hops up to them and holds out two hands. “Come on, sweeties, up we go!”

Will and Eddie take her hands without hesitation, and she begins to pull them up. Eddie’s arm stays around Steve’s shoulders, so he’s pulled up along with them. Ms. Byers almost falls with the combined weight of three growing boys before Eddie drops her hand, laughing sheepishly as he stands on his own two feet.

“Come on, boys,” Uncle Wayne says, leading the way down the hallway. “Some of us have got places to be.”

They all fall in line, hurrying out of the building they all hate. Steve doesn’t breathe easy until they're all packed away into Wayne’s truck and well into the forest. The woods are lovely, dark and deep, and all that other shit Eddie’s always spouting off that Steve only pretends to understand.

Eddie rubs the pulsepoint of Steve’s wrist gently enough to make him shiver before taking his hand and letting them settle in the cramped space between their legs.

And miles to go before he sleeps, Steve squeezes Eddie’s hand.

Part 56

Taglist: @deany-baby @estrellami-1 @altocumulustranslucidus @evillittleguy @carlprocastinator1000 @1-8oo-wtfbro @hallucinatedjosten @goodolefashionedloverboi @newtstabber @lunabyrd @cinnamon-mushroomabomination @manda-panda-monium @disrespectedgoatman @finntheehumaneater @ive-been-bamboozled @harringrieve @grimmfitzz @is-emily-real @dontstealmycake @angeldreamsoffanfic @a-couchpotato @5ammi90 @mac-attack19 @genderless-spoon @kas-eddie-munson @louismeds @imhereforthelolzdontyellatme @pansexuality-activated @ellietheasexylibrarian @nebulainajar @mightbeasleep @neonfruitbowl @beth--b @silenzioperso @best-selling-show @v3lv3tf0x @bookworm0690 @paintsplatteredandimperfect

[transalphabf]

Post 666

in honour of my 666th post on this blog i think you all deserve some devillish porn

Finding yourself bound to an altar, your legs and arms cuffed in cold iron, splaying your cunt to the cool air of the moonlit night, terror grasped you.

The chanting around you was enough to make you feel fear, but the air seemed to extinguish for a moment, after their voices reached a fever pitch. You realised you were no longer alone in the summoning circle you had awoken in.

Before you stood a monstrous figure. Goat headed, large scaled wings rising behind it, you clamped your mouth shut, not wanting to scream and force its attention on you.

Your head whipped to the side when you heard gurgling noises around you, and the robed figures dropped down one by one, until the only sound that remained was your own breath coming in quick puffs, and the low, heavy breathing of the demon before you.

With a huff, the metal dropped away from your wrists and ankles, and you hesitantly sat up. The creature watched you, scarlet eyes gleaming in the light of the full moon, before offering you a hand.

“Come with me, and you shall wear a crown. Come with me, and be the bearer of my spawn, you shall live a life of luxury, that which you had not imagined.” It- no, he said. You swallowed. “You shall wish for nothing, and I am bound to this mortal plane for as long as you are, so no harm shall fall upon you.”

Your hand shakily reached out, and he took it in his own, warm, large hand. A spike of arousal ran down to your cunt just from that touch.

“We shall consummate here, and then depart for our new home.” He informed you. Your eyes ran down, unsure what awaited you, but his enormous cock throbbed before you, and you had an idea of what it would be.

He knelt down, and a long, dextrous tongue left his snout, toying with your clit, before pressing into your cunt, lapping at your tight hole, pressing deeper, licking places that you could never have imagined being touched by anything but the largest of cocks. You came pretty quickly, shaking, gripping his large curved horns as you felt the tip of his tongue run against your cervix, and press into your g-spot simultaneously.

It was almost too much, so when he lay you back on the cold stone altar, resting his cock over your stomach, so you could see how deeply filled you’d be, your mind was too stricken with lust to realise that it would end up directly in your womb.

But perhaps that’s what his tongue had been preparing you for.

He pressed in, corrupting your formerly pure body with his hellishly hot cock, inch after thick agonising inch searing you from the inside, forcing you to cum just from the flared head bumping against your g-spot on its way to batter your cervix.

When finally the tip pressed insistently on your cervix, you were mewling and making the most unholy noises.

His goatlike nostrils flared, and with a rough, hard thrust, his enormous cock breached your cervix and began fucking your womb right away, his clawed hands gripping your hips, drawing blood a little from how hard he held you.

Not that you minded.

Your mind was filled only with the pleasure, and the idea of him filling your womb with his corrupting seed, becoming his infernal broodmare, giving him a legion of demonic children, being his pleasure toy day and night.

You came again, and again, as he fucked you for what seemed to be hours, and as the sun began to rise, when your womb could take no more and your body on the verge of giving out from pleasure, you felt his cum pour into your womb, his enormous cock pulsing the thick rivulets into your womb, knowing that without a doubt he was impregnating you.

Which just served to make you cum once more.

After that point, you lost consciousness, but awoke in a fine bed, with black silk sheets and a soreness that you couldn’t place.

Was it a dream?

The figure lying beside you was a handsome man, dark hair, a goatee which should have looked out of place, but seemed to suit his slumbering face.

There was no denying it though, this was the more human form of the demon that corrupted you.

With a smirk, you sought to touch his cock, and it began to harden as you lined it up to ride your demonic master.

https://ko-fi.com/sigtryggr if this post made you cum, please consider supporting or tipping me via ko fi

[221beloved]

"Don't do that!" - "But..."

(Link to ao3)

Sighing John opened the front door of 221 and hurried to step into the warmth, leaving the constant drizzle of the day behind.

It had been an exhausting day at the clinic. Since it was getting colder – and wetter – noses were running and throats itching, and on top of that John had treated three crying children. Three of them. Not that he had something against kids, but once they were crying, it was hard to stop them. At least when they were at a clinic.

But his shift was over now, and he was looking forward to a warm living room, a fire, a steaming cup of tea with some snacks and a cuddle with his love.

A smile was manifesting itself on his lips while he climbed the stairs, taking in the comforting smell of his home, of his life.

When he opened the door to the kitchen, however, he stopped dead, his eyes narrowed, and he glared at the man in his dressing gown, bent over the kitchen counter, a biscuit on its way to his mouth.

“No!” John growled, his voice low and dangerous, and Sherlock froze. His head turned slowly towards John and big, round eyes met his, blinking innocently.

“Don’t,” John pointed his finger at him. “Don’t do that!”

He took a step into the kitchen, peering behind Sherlock and confirming what he’d feared.

“This is the last biscuit, isn’t it? The very last of the biscuits I’ve bought three days ago, for me, by the way, and from which only you’ve been eating over the last days, skilfully distracting me whenever I planned to have one myself. You are not eating that last biscuit!”

Sherlock blinked at him, then his hand started moving again, bringing the biscuit closer to his mouth.

“No!” John shouted, and Sherlock froze again.

“But…”

“Ah ah, I bought them. You buy your own, or at least let me have some the next time. This one there, it’s mine. So don’t you dare!”

Sherlock just continued to blink at him, John stared back. Sherlock blinked some more, John didn’t falter.

Then Sherlock’s expression became determined, and before John could realise what was going on, the biscuit was gone, disappeared into Sherlock’s mouth.

John could only gape for a moment, while Sherlock straightened and smirked at him.

John’s brows drew together. “How dare you… well, you’ll see.”

With that he turned on his heels and marched down the stairs to knock at Mrs. Hudson’s door.

When he came back up not three minutes later, he was carrying a tray loaded with flour, sugar, eggs, milk and other ingredients needed for baking.

“There,” he said, almost dropping it on the kitchen table. “You’re baking now. Biscuits. And you won’t get a cuddle until I’ve eaten one.”

That seemed to get through to the detective, who’d been extremely unimpressed until now. He gaped at John, mouth hanging open, eyes wide, looking seriously betrayed.

John shrugged and turned to go into the living room.

“I told you not to do it.”

He settled down into his chair, thinking about reading some pages, when he saw Sherlock stomping towards him. He positioned himself directly in front of John, towering over him, arms crossed behind his back.

John looked up at him. “What, I thought you’d be busy right now?”

Sherlock bent down towards him, tilting his head.

“You didn’t say anything about kissing. Only about hugs and cuddles.

John opened his mouth to protest, to clarify that a cuddle included the things that came with it, such as kissing, when Sherlock’s lips touched his.

And John was helpless. He’d longed for this touch of lips all day, for this soft caress of warm skin, for the hot breath, and oh, for that slick tongue to drive him mad.

His resistance crumbled almost immediately, and before he knew it he was grabbing Sherlock by the lapels of his dressing gown and pulling him down onto his lap.

“You cheated,” John panted after what seemed like an hour of kissing.

“You cheated too,” Sherlock mumbled, tucking his head under John’s chin, his cheek pressed against John’s chest.

“You didn’t bake them yourself, you just bought them.”

“There I thought you’d rather bake them yourself than leave the flat.”

There was silence for bit, then a mumbled, “Well, you might have a point there.”

John chuckled.

“I guess I should be baking then…”

Sighing Sherlock lifted himself up from John’s lap.

“You damn well should be,” John grinned. And he got up as well to follow Sherlock into the kitchen.

Just for support, of course.

--

Please tell me if you want to be added or removed from the list!

@flufftober @meetinginsamarra @a-victorian-girl @lisbeth-kk @topsyturvy-turtely

@keirgreeneyes @the-reading-lemon @totallysilvergirl @helloliriels @221bug

@quiscustodiet @willamholmeswatson

[badwolf-gallagher88]

Day 27 - Kidnapped/Captured

The rope burnt into Elrond’s flesh, searing his wrists and rubbing them red. He stumbled slightly, tripping on the tree roots that littered the forest floor. They lay concealed under rich green moss and leaf debris, lying in wait like the bodies of shipwrecked victims under dark water.

Adar, pulling the rope over his shoulder, turned to glance at the struggling prisoner. He tugged especially hard, almost forcing Elrond to lose his footing once again.

As Elrond staggered his next couple of steps, Adar jerked the rope once more. Desperately unbalanced, the elf fell to his knees, in order not to occupy a position any more humiliating than that.

Privately, Adar smiled.

“We camp here for the night. So your pathetic little mind doesn’t decide running to the pretty little she-elf is the best idea, I will be ensuring you cannot act on such impulses.”

He grasped Elrond by the shoulder, shoving him so his back was against a tree. Quickly, Adar bound the elvish commander. As he stepped back to admire his hard work, he was met with a defiant glare from the younger elf. His hair fell into his eyes, still marred with the blood and sweat of battle. One particularly deep cut slashed directly down his cheek. 

Adar knew the wound should be treated, but despite his status as prisoner, he still feared his captive’s wrath. Elrond was reticent to understand the need for alliance in a war such as this, and deeply mistrustful of Adar’s children. His hatred of the Uruks was rivalled by few - and the Uruk's love for those who did not welcome his family limited. He had already expended much of his patience with the lady Galadriel.

Still, what must be done could not be avoided.

He said nothing to Elrond, but busied himself making a fire and setting up camp. From the small bedroll he had brought from the Uruk’s main camp, he removed a skin of wine. First he took a swig, then tore a small rag of fabric from the frayed edge of his roughspun. He bathed the black fabric in wine, then turned back to his prisoner.

“Your wound must be cleaned. Even your kind must not risk infection. Many of our blades are poisoned.”

He crouched down, bringing the cloth to Elrond’s face. The captive pulled away, spitting at Adar’s feet.

Adar sighed, sitting back on his heals. When Elrond’s eyes met his, they blazed with fire and frustration. There was a sorrow in his gaze, an anger tinged with fear and inflexibility. A devastation at seeing his lands burnt to the ground and no way to end the disaster. The purposes of his people were being crushed beneath the feet of Sauron, but the foolish boy could not see beyond the scapegoat Adar provided.

This time, he reached out with both hands, securing Elrond’s face as he wiped away the blood with the wine-soaked cloth. His cheek was left a delicate pink, both from the wound and the wine’s red stain. The tart vinegar of grapes replaced the tang of blood, a mild, pleasant aroma.

“Why do you care?”

Startled, the Uruk looked upon his captive. Was it not obvious?

Imperceptibly, he shook his head, confused.

“I am your sworn enemy. I am of no real tactical advantage kept prisoner - you would have wished for Galadriel, or the High King if you needed information. I am a commander without an army. I am reckless, and foolish, and…” he paused, then resumed at a yell.

“MY PEOPLE, they are dying. Most are probably already dead. The knowledge of a thousand years, the findings of Celebrimbor, are all ashes, and y-you expect me to… what? Rest easy while other people fight my battles? Uruk, you are -“

He was cut off Adar’s hand across his mouth.

“I am a father. I protect.”

He said nothing else, but removed his hand, and Elrond did not speak for some time. Adar came to sit behind him, his back resting against the rough planes of the tree.

In the darkest hour of the night, when even the stars fade into its inky blackness, Elrond believed Adar to be sleeping.

“I had no father,” he whispered, unaware that his words were heard.