#kinda proof read

[simporado]

‼️ nsfw, mdni please

self-indulgent baku being down bad for reader ^q^

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Bakugo closes his eyes to bask in the feeling. The feeling of shame? Or the feeling of his hand stroking is cock harder than he did the last time again? He's not really sure.

The thought flies away when he cums, his mind blanks at nothing but your face. His seeds splattering onto his pants and on his naked stomach. He falls down on his back, sweaty and panting. A hand goes over his eyes as he calms his breathing down.

"Fuckin' ridiculous." He huffs to himself, shaking his head as if disappointed in himself or to clear his head. He pushes his bangs out of his sweaty forehead as he gets up from his bed to go shower.

Its already almost a year since you've invaded his thoughts. and It's been about— actually he doesnt know since when he's started jerking off to the thought of you.

The first time he had ever looked at you this way was when that stupid dunce face and fuckass perverted grape tricked you and the girls into wearing that shitty cheering uniform. He thinks he probably wouldnt give a shit about those uniforms, had you not bumped straight into his chest that day along the halls, feeling left behind as all the girls had already gone out wearing those outfits.

You had looked stressed then, he remembers. He surmises its because you were wearing something different, and had none of your classmates with you.

"H-Hey, watch where you're fucking going!" He stammers a little, but makes sure to sound normal.

"A-Ah, sorry." is all you had said to him before hurriedly running out to the field to where the rest of the girls were.

He didnt know it then, but that was when he started noticing you.

It had only been stealing glances at you since then, until you had been partnered with him during no-quirk sparring.

Aizawa had you paired together that day. He huffed before getting into his fighting stance, and you did the same. You were in a ponytail, and seeing your hair up was already doing things to him, but he had to focus.

He’d lunged in first, and at the first half of your spar, he seemed to have the upper hand. Then, you started to finally hit back and dodge his advances. He noticed immediately that you were studying how he fights. And he sports a somewhat crazed smile at the realization.

Infuriated and probably turned on, he fought harder, and so did you. But alas, he still ended up winning. He had you immobilized on your stomach on the ground. His hand pinning your arms a bit painfully on your back while he straddles the back of your thighs. Your is face squished against the mat floor of the gym. You grit your teeth in pain caused by Bakugo restraining you, but its also mostly in annoyance.

"You lost, shitty nerd—" he manages to say before hearing the whistle. His hold relaxes a bit, but you struggle and kick his rear, he stumbles forward a bit. He puts his hand in front of him beside your head to break his fall, but his crotch ends up grazing against your ass.

He freezes for a millisecond then shoots up instantly and left. He lets out an audible 'tch' before immediately walking away trying to look casual, despite his reddening ears.

He sighs as he closes the shower, then steps out to dry himself and get changed.

It was around after dinner time, and he's just about ready to go to bed. He heads down to the dorm kitchen to get himself water for his room. Surpisingly, no one else was down there in the common rooms.

Or so he thought, as he almost jumps when he sees an ass sticking out in front of him on the floor. It seemed like you were trying to reach for something from under the sofa.

"The fuck are you doing?" He asks, voice gruff. He kinda hopes he doesnt sound weird. You pull back to look at him, hair tussled.

" 'Was trying to get my phone." is all you say, your lips pouting a bit.

Bakugo's eye twitches. And his cock. Your eyes flicker down for a second.

"Fuckin' move over," He says before bending down to get your phone for you.

“Ah, but you don’t have t—“ but you r protests were futile already as Bakugo lifts the couch, making sure to show off his strength and biceps (thank god he wore a sleeveless shirt tonight) your way in feigned nonchalance, and grabs your phone with the other. This doesn’t go unnoticed by you, of course.

He was about to hand you your phone, but stops in his tracks when he looks down and sees what was on your phone screen.

It's a picture of him shirtless. A bit dirty and sweaty, probably during one of his hero work.

You move immediately to snatch your phone but Bakugo's reflexes are too quick. He raises an eyebrow at you. "You took this?" he asks, smirking.

"Izuku did." you shake your head, correcting him. You cross your arms and tilt your chin downwards to glare up at him. His eyebrows only shoot up higher at the information.

"This what made you drop your phone and got your ass out trying to get it back?" He asks, the smirk on his lips growing into a grin.

You glare at him, cheeks burning. You jerk your chin towards him. "You cant say shit about me when you've got a hard on. 'That because of my ass?" You ask, eyes glaring at him but he can see mischief and lust in them.

A groan rumbles deep in his chest before stepping close to you. "So what if it is?" he growls mostly out of struggling to keep his cool. He sees you slowly smile up at him at his answer, and you’ve never looked even more gorgeous. His heart thunders aggressively against his ribcage.

"I'll meet you at your room to help you with that." is all you say then turn to head to the elevator, not before snatching your phone in his hand.

He lets out a breath he didnt know he was holding. Snapping out of his stupor, he moves quickly to get his water bottle filled before sprinting to his room like a horny lovesick fool. God, you really will be the end of him.

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a/n

proofread it a bit, but probably still scuffed. i didnt bother at first because i thought i didnt like this piece enough. i see yall want a part 2… lmao i shall try. pray that my ovulation takes over me 🙏

[awearywritersworld]

when you knock on gojo's apartment door with a tear stained face and wobbly lips, he doesn't waste time.

and by that i mean he doesn't ask questions. he doesn't check the hall to see if anyone's around. he doesn't acknowledge the lateness of the hour.

no, he barely even processes the state you're in before he's pulling you against his chest.

and he holds onto your frame so tightly, as if you're his lifeline. though in this particular moment, it's undoubtedly the other way around.

the air surrounding the two of you remains quiet until he hears you stutter out his name.

"what happened?" he asks gently.

"i-i'm just overwhelmed," you mumble against the fabric of his shirt. "i don't understand why things always have to be so difficult."

even though you aren't entirely positive you're making sense, he hums in way that makes you feel understood.

"do you wanna talk about it?"

you shake your head no. the thought of having to discuss your problems evokes an uncomfortable feeling of dread in the pit of your stomach.

you just want to be held, and gojo is happy to oblige. "alright."

he doesn't say anymore, nor he does he move an inch, save for the small circles his thumb is drawing against your shoulder blade.

he stands there with you until you decide to pull away from him and really, he doesn't mind one bit. he's positive that there isn't a single thing in the world more deserving of his time.

[cowboyemeritus]

I Will Make You My Angel (Papa V Perpetua/Reader)

“So, you feel like causing problems tonight,” he asks, which, in the language of your play, translates roughly to, “Ready to suffer?”

You just roll your eyes again. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Bring it.”

tags: brat taming, slapping, spanking, use of a belt, aftercare, daddy kink for a split second... dw about it

Read on AO3

Notes: this started out as a stream of consciousness post i made like a week ago... how did we get here

First, you didn’t give him a good morning kiss. Strike One.

Then, you didn’t hold his hand in the van to the arena. Strike Two.

Now, you’re ignoring him. He’s just wobbled his ass off in front of thousands of people, and you’re fucking ignoring him.

Strike Three. You’re out.

It’s late by the time the after party wraps. It’s even later when you arrive back at the hotel. Perpetua’s nerves are shot, worn thin by the long day and all the challenges it has presented. Logistical issues, technical difficulties, misbehaving ghouls; the silent treatment is the very last thing he needs. He would have liked to have had you on his arm tonight, to show you off to the sleazy music execs that had come to kiss his ass, but you’d chosen to be selfish, setting yourself down in a corner and scrolling on your phone for hours, hardly paying him any mind.

Your Twitter feed better have been interesting.

He flops down on the bed, a groan wrenching itself out of him as the tension in his body is finally allowed an escape route. You don’t acknowledge him, checking your phone again before setting it down on the nightstand and shuffling over to the closet. With your back to him, you start undressing for bed, and his blood boils just a little hotter. If you won’t engage with him, he should at least be allowed to ogle you a bit.

He should also rest, prepare himself for the next ritual, but the itch has taken hold of him and won’t let go. His skin crawls, thinking about everything that’s gone wrong today and everything that will go wrong tomorrow. This new life of his, it’s more than he ever could have dreamed of, but it’s just so much, all the fucking time. And he doesn’t ask for a lot, just that you show up, be present, give him a little support when he needs it. You’re normally so, so good for him. He doesn’t understand why-

Every racing thought in his head comes screeching to a halt when you unzip your dress, a sexy leather thing that hugs your curves just right, and pull it down. Perpetua watches carefully, pulse quickening, as the action exposes the purple silk and black lace beneath. The set is new and, as he suspected, it fits perfectly, the bustier giving your tits the perfect amount of lift while the garters and stockings make you look like something out of a 50s centerfold. It’s old-fashioned refinement; the good shit. His cock throbs at the sight, and for a fleeting moment he’s able to take pride in his excellent taste. He knows what suits you, often better than you do. Then, that feeling is replaced by seething rage.

You have the gall, the audacity, to wear his colors after how you’ve acted today?

“What is that?” He asks, heartbeat thrumming in his ears. At long last, you notice him, turning your head in his direction.

“Um, my underwear?” There is disinterest, even a little judgement, in your gaze, like he’s some old pervert creeping on you at a bar. Anger pangs in his stomach, like hunger.

“Yeah,” Perpetua says, trying to sound casual. “Looks good on you.” No response. “I wonder where you could have come across such a thing.” At this, you give an exaggerated roll of your eyes.

“I found it,” you state, the words barbed with sarcasm. His jaw tightens.

“How?” You blink at him, confused.

“What do you mean, how? I just-”

“Found it,” he questions, “with your eyes glued to your fucking phone all day?” Now you turn your body towards him, revealing more of the getup. Perpetua wants nothing more than tear it off and have you now, but there’s something to be said about taking his time, about making you really earn the punishment he so desperately needs to dole out.

“What are you, my dad?” You scoff, turning your attention back to your dress, putting it on a hanger and racking it next to a neat row of his shirts. “I don’t know why you’re being such a dick. The show didn’t go that bad.”

Before he knows what he’s doing, he’s up, stomping over to where you’re standing. He grips you hard by the shoulder, spinning you face him.

“So, you feel like causing problems tonight,” he asks, which, in the language of your play, translates roughly to, “Ready to suffer?”

You just roll your eyes again. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Bring it.”

In an instant, his gloved palm is connecting with your cheek. It’s hard, but not enough to leave a mark. Still, your head jerks violently to the side as he completes the stroke, the clap echoing off the walls. A heavy silence falls over the room, and it’s only then that he considers what this might sound like to a concerned neighbor. He doesn’t have time to dwell on that, though. You hang your head for a beat, take a few, steadying breaths, and then look back up at him. Your pupils are blown wide, and the way you’re pressing your lips together tells him you’re fighting back a grin.

This, of course, had been your plan all along: to get him riled up and then let him blow off the steam. You’re far too smart for your own good. You know him too well, can read his moods too easily, and like a little pixie, you use this talent to make mischief when he most desperately needs a distraction.

“That fucking hurt.”

He’d be lost without you.

“It did?” Still in a vice grip, he marches you across the room, throwing you down on the mattress. Delight curls in his gut at the sound you make, the breath knocked out of your lungs. “On your knees. I’ll show you hurt.” You remain motionless, glaring back at him. “Come on.” He grabs you by the hips, manhandling you into the desired position. His mouth waters as he takes in the sight of you, decked out in his colors, your ass in the air like it’s a prize and your face in the sheets to shut you up. “It’s late. You think I want to be doing this at two in the fucking morning?” You shake your head sheepishly. “Yeah, of course not. But if I don’t deal with you, who will?” He peels off his gloves and then reaches for his belt buckle, noting how your thighs press together. “Who will do a fucking thing if I’m not around?”

You smirk. “Heavy is the head that wears the mitre, huh?” As he’s pulling the band of leather through the loops, you let out a little laugh. “You know, you could always switch with Copia if you don’t think you can handle-”

The belt cracks against the back of your thigh. You jolt, crying out, and it’s as much an exclamation of pain as it is a moan. Perpetua looks between his hand, knuckles blanched around the leather, and where he’s just struck you. The skin is already welting up in a fat, pink streak, a few tiny, red dots blooming over broken capillaries. It’s such a captivating image that, for a split second, he forgets he’s supposed to be angry. Then you shift uncomfortably, giving him an expectant look, and he has to fight to come back to himself.

“Don’t-” He so badly wants to kiss that bruising flesh, to soothe the wound with his tongue. It takes a long, deep breath to steel him. “Dirty your mouth with his name again, and I’ll make you wash it out with soap.” He teases the folded end of the belt up your other thigh, brushing over your core, and you shiver. Princes of Hell, you’re already soaked through. “Got that, follettina?”

“Yes, Papa.” Perpetua scoffs.

“Now you feel like showing me some respect.” He shakes his head, pinching the bridge of his nose and encountering the warm metal of the mask. With his free hand, Perpetua reaches for the clasp at the top of his head, then, seeing you watching, decides against it. He glowers at you as his hand instead finds his scarf, pulling it loose, before undoing the top few buttons of his shirt. Beneath the layers of fabric, his skin is overly warm, bordering on sweaty.

“We go until I say we’re done,” he states, bringing the belt back to your buttocks. “You can still keep count if you’d like.” At this, you swallow hard, shuddering, and it fills him with a perverse sense of pleasure, heat flaring at the very base of him. He knows you’re just the tiniest bit afraid; in moments like this, it’s hard not to be, even when there’s desire in it. What he loves about you, though, is that you trust him, letting him guide you through the fear to the pleasure at its conclusion. That you’re willing to put your body and safety in his hands is an intoxicating feeling, and swept up in it, Perpetua finds that he’s done holding back.

He brings the belt down on your ass. You bury your face in the mattress to stifle a moan. He does it again, and this time it’s a scream. He strikes you one more time before the itch takes over and he no longer cares to keep track. Then, its blow after blow, the sound ricocheting off the walls like gunfire. His treatment is imprecise, uneven, striking wherever meets his fancy, until your ass and the backs of your thighs are red and criss-crossed with welts. You take each hit like a champion, hardly moving save for the arching of your back and an occasional buck of your hips.

He’s listening closely for it the whole time: miserere, the hard stop. You’ve never tapped out before, but maybe this is it. Maybe this time he’ll overdo it. The worry is always there, lingering in the back of his mind despite your assurances. But you’re resilient, far more so than he, and even when your yelps and moans turn to sobs, you don’t bend. You never do. You take it all, his rage, his pain, and you swallow it. You transform it into focus, productivity. Even now, his head already feels clearer.

You’re a martyr. Perpetua ought to have you canonized.

“That’s enough.” His chest is heaving, sweat beading under the mask. He’s so hard it hurts, every nerve alight with pleasure. It feels like he’s vibrating. It’s exhilarating.

You flop onto your side with a groan. You’re panting, sniffling, twitching a little, but there’s a blissed out look on your face, a grin spread wide across it. Tears stream down your cheeks, taking your makeup with them.

“Papa…” It’s all you can manage before breaking out into a fit of laughter. Oh, he’s gotten you good. You reach blindly for him, and in spite of the scene his heart skips a beat.

“I’m right here,” he coos, taking your hand and planting a gentle kiss on your knuckles. It flops back down when he lets go. Shakily, you bring the appendage closer to your face, cracking an eye open to examine it. There’s a smear of his black lipstick on your skin, and with a pleased little hum, you press your lips to the mark.

If he had a soul, surely it would leave his body.

“Oh, my love, look at you.” You’re utterly ruined. Unable to resist, he palms at himself through his pants. This does not go unnoticed, and you let out a needy whine. Perpetua snickers. “Yeah? You’re not done yet? You need me to fuck you, too?” A hungry look in your eyes, you nod. At this, he clicks his tongue, though he’s already reaching to undo the laces restraining him. “After all you’ve done today, you think you deserve that?” Your eyes go wide, then well up with fresh tears, and he feels his cock kick as he works to free it.

“Please,” you whimper, suddenly coherent again. “I’ll be so good tomorrow.”

Perpetua imagines you’ll spend most of the day recouping on the bus. There’s not much trouble you can really get into there, unless you rope the ghouls into your schemes. Lucifer save him if you do.

He lets out an embellished sigh. “How is it that you can be such a little shit, and yet I still let you walk all over me?” At last his cock springs free, flushed an angry red and pulsing with the beating of his heart. “You’re spoiled.” He gives himself a few slow, teasing strokes, making a show of pulling back the skin to reveal the head, already slick with precum. “Absolutely rotten.”

The despair on your face quickly transforms into a smug, satisfied grin. You giggle, batting your eyes coquettishly. “I know.” Perpetua just grunts, planting his free hand on your hip and shoving you onto your stomach. He makes quick work of unclipping the garters, then hooks his fingers under the waistband of your panties and tugs them down. You shimmy a little, assisting him in the endeavor. Letting go of his cock, he drapes himself over your prone form, planting his knees on either side of your body, and you hiss a little as the coarse fabric of his pants rubs against your skin. One hand threads into your hair, pulling your head up off the mattress, while he holds the other to your lips.

“Spit,” he commands. “It’s all you’re getting.” With perfect obedience, you probe around in your cheek with your tongue, gathering as much saliva as possible, before letting it dribble out into his palm. Perpetua takes his shaft in hand again, slicking himself up with a few lazy strokes, then adjusts his position so that he can drag the tip through your folds.

“Baby,” you whine. You try to spread your legs enticingly, but you’re trapped under the weight of him, pinned to the bed like a butterfly. “Plea-” Perpetua cuts you off, burying himself to the hilt with a single, punishing drive of his hips. The sound that comes out of you cannot possibly be human, halfway between a moan and the yowl of a cat in heat. Still, he gives you no quarter, no time to adjust, before he begins jackhammering into you, chasing his pleasure with reckless abandon.

“I’ll fuck you, alright.” He tugs on your hair and groans, feeling your cunt ripple. Somehow, even after all this time, he’s still never quite prepared for the way you two fit so perfectly, like puzzle pieces clicking together. “But don’t think for a second that I’m letting you finish like this.” You let out a delicious sob, your entire body convulsing beneath him. Even through his clothes, he can feel the heat radiating from your mortified flesh, and the mental image of what your backside will look like in the morning is like a punch in the stomach. Pace faltering, he comes to the jarring realization that he’s not going to last very long. You must be able to sense it as well, because you press your ass into him with each thrust, trying to meet him halfway.

“God, you fucking-” He groans, gut twisting as you clench around him. “You little fucking whore, always causing problems.” The day’s events rearing their ugly head again, Perpetua feels his temper flare. Burying his face in the crook of your neck, he takes a deep breath, the sweet scent of your hair grounding him. “I missed you tonight.”

“I’m sorry,” you pant. “I’m so-” A particularly brutal thrust has the head of his cock punching into your cervix. You gasp beneath him, fists balling in the sheets.

“You should always be by my side. Always.” There’s never a moment when he doesn’t want you near. It’s maddening at times, how badly he craves you. “You looked so fucking good tonight. I wanted to take you right there, in front of all those fucking imbeciles, but you kept yourself from me.” He’s rambling, as he tends to do when his end is closing in. “How dare you. How fucking dare-” Suddenly, he’s tumbling over the edge. Hips jerking, his vision goes white, the ecstasy searing down his spine as he spills into you. It’s like every negative feeling he’s had over the last twenty-four hours is purged at once, leaving blissful nothingness in its wake.

He really, really needed this.

When the world comes back into view, Perpetua heaves a sigh. The fatigue in his bones is making its presence known again, a heaviness washing over him as the last traces of his climax ebb away. Feeling wobbly, he disengages carefully, rolling onto his back so that he doesn’t collapse on top of you. He lays like that for a moment, eyes shut, hands folded over his stomach. Fuck, what a night. What a day. What a week. What a life. He knows he needs to get up, drag himself to the bathroom and get the ointment for your ass. He needs to wash off his paints and the sweat that’s accumulated under the mask before he breaks out, but he’s so fucking exhausted, and sleep is already wrapping it’s velvety tendrils around his consciousness, pulling him down, down, down…

Your lips ghost against his hairline, and then the tip of his nose. Perpetua cracks his green eye open and finds you hovering over him, smiling gently as you brush a few locks of his hair away. He’s just beaten your backside black and blue, but there’s nothing in your gaze but adoration. Your eyes are still puffy from crying, your makeup smudged and running down your face, and he swears you’ve never looked more beautiful.

“Feel better?”

What you’re still doing with a nasty, selfish old thing like him, he’ll never know. In the beat silence that hangs between you, he thanks the Old One, any power that feels like listening, that you’re here.

“I do,” he says, propping himself up on one elbow to press his lips to yours. It’s the first time he’s properly kissed you all day and it hits him like a drug, a newfound energy coursing through his veins. “Thank you.” You chuckle softly, leaning in for another kiss. Your hands find the clasps at his temples, and under your experienced fingers they click open easily. When you pull the mask away, placing it gently to the side, it’s like a weight has been lifted off Perpetua’s shoulders. With you, he doesn’t have to perform, to be Papa. Himself is enough.

“Of course.” Another quick peck on his cheek. “Now, let’s get you to bed.” You start to get up but he quickly stops you, one hand finding the back of your head and pulling you in again. He nips at your bottom lip once, twice, before he’s licking into your mouth with a pleased little hum. You groan, squirming next to him on the bed, and when he ultimately pulls away, there’s a thread of saliva connecting you.

“Not just yet,” he purrs. You swallow, eyes darting over to the clock on the nightstand, then back to him.

“It’s late, babe. You don’t have to-”

“What kind of man would I be if I left you needing like this?” He barks out a laugh. “If the Clergy found out, I’d be excommunicated.” Perpetua sits up, putting a hand on your shoulder and guiding you to lay on your back. Then he slinks down to the ground, kneeling on the carpet as he grabs your hips and pulls you a little closer. “Relax. Let me take care of you.”

You nod. “Okay.”

Satan below, your cunt is a sight to behold, all slick and pink and throbbing just for him. His arousal echoes distantly at the sight, and for a moment, he laments the limitations that come with his age. A rivulet of his spend is already leaking out you, and the animal part of his brain screams that this is unacceptable. If he were a younger man, he could easily fuck another load into you, but those days are long gone. Time has given him experience, though, and he has other ways of keeping you full.

With his hands on your knees, he parts your legs a bit wider. Finally, he touches the tip of his tongue to your clit, giving it an experimental, little kitten lick. Your entire body tenses, like you’ve been shocked, and it sends a thrill through him.

“Oh! That’s…” He doesn’t give you time to finish the thought, sealing his lips around the bundle of nerves and sucking. Your hands fly to his head, fingers twisting in his hair as your hips buck up into his mouth. “Fuck, that’s good. Fuck, baby.” He doesn’t need the encouragement; the taste of you — both of you —  has him hooked already. Perpetua draws a few circles around your clit before he descends, prodding at your opening to coax out more of his seed. With his tongue he scoops up the mess, and when his eyes flick up, he finds you fixated on him, your lower lip caught between your teeth. Grinning, he opens his mouth, letting you see the evidence of his climax, and you shudder. Then, he works the appendage inside you, fucking his cum back where it belongs. The tip of his nose bumps against your clit while he does this, and the noise you make will surely result in a complaint, but he couldn’t care less. Anyone who takes issue with this can eat shit and die.

Eventually, he replaces his tongue with a finger. Your body accepts it greedily, pulling him in like you’re trying to become one mass, and so he gives you another. He crooks the digits just right, delighting in the way you sing for him, heady and full of want. You’re fluttering already, the cocktail of pain and pleasure helping you along nicely. A lock of his hair falls into his face, and before he has the chance, you brush it away for him. Perpetua’s heart swells. It’s a simple gesture, but the gentleness of your touch stands in such stark contrast to the earlier violence, it makes his head spin.

“You perfect thing, taking it so well. You’d let me do anything to you, wouldn’t you?” You hum an affirmative that quickly turns into a moan. He plants a sloppy kiss on the inside of your leg, leaving a smear of cum, spit, and paint behind. “My darling girl. Sei la cocca di papà, vero? Say that you are.” For all the needless bullshit the Clergy has put him through, he will be forever grateful to them for making him learn Italian. It’s become his secret weapon, a surefire way to have your toes curling in a matter of syllables. As expected, your back arches off the bed, thighs squeezing around him.

“I’m yours,” you gasp. “I’m your girl.” He rewards you by attaching his mouth to your clit once again, suckling and teasing it with his tongue while he attacks your sweet spot with his fingers. Your manicured nails dig into his scalp a little harder, battered legs quivering. “Oh, fuck. Fuck me, fuck-” With a breathy cry you come undone, thrashing wildly against Perpetua’s face. He works you through it, unrelenting until you tug on his hair, whining. One last kiss on the softest part of your thigh and he pulls away, his knees protesting as he gets up off the floor. Your chest is heaving, beads of sweat sparkling on your flushed skin, and Perpetua suddenly wants to take back his earlier declaration. The sight of you like this, a beautiful, fucked-out mess, should be for his eyes alone. Not even the Devil, he thinks, is worthy of such a privilege.

Your tired eyes flutter open once your breathing finally evens out. Catching his gaze, you smile, eclipsing the sun in your radiance. You start to sit up, but Perpetua is quick to push you back down.

“Stay here,” he requests. “I’ll be right back.” You nod, flipping onto your stomach while he tucks himself back into his pants. Then, he shuffles to the bathroom and gathers the necessary equipment: a wet washcloth, a glass of water, your makeup wipes, and the healing ointment. When he returns you’re naked and half asleep already, the rest of your undergarments strewn about on the bed. The bruising on your backside is beginning to set in, decorating your flesh with splotches of deep blue and purple. He stares at it for a few moments, face pulled into a grimace. Maybe he did take it too far.

“‘M just fine,” you mumble, reading his mind. “Really.” Snapping out of it, he makes tending to you the focus of his remaining energy, lest he spiral further. He hands you the glass and you accept eagerly, draining it in one long, slow sip. Then you take the wipes, attacking what remains of your makeup while he gets to work on your lower half. With the washcloth he cleans the mess of his release, paints, and your slick from the inside of your thighs. He’s overly careful, as if you’re made of glass, reluctant to inflict any more pain now that the scene is over. When that’s done he takes the tube of ointment and squeezes a generous amount onto the tip of his index finger, the herbal scent of it filling the air. You start a little with the first touch, but quickly relax as we works the balm into your skin, sighing with relief as it takes effect.

By the time Perpetua is finished, you’re asleep. He’s about ready to collapse next to you but forces himself up, dragging his feet back to the bathroom. He does a half-assed job of removing his paints, his eyes still rimmed with black as he strips off the rest of his clothes. Both of you (him especially) reek of sweat and sex, but a shower can wait until the morning. You have to hit the road early, but he’ll be a diva and make the whole crew wait if he has to. He has his priorities.

You grumble a little when he moves you to the head of the bed and tucks you under the covers, but otherwise don’t stir. After hanging up his shirt and jacket he flicks off the light, stumbling in the dark to join you. He’s finally able to indulge in the closeness he’s wanted all day, pulling you into his arms. The weight of you on his chest is a comfort after the long day you’ve both had, and soon, he’s slipping into the realm of sleep as well.

Without a doubt, tomorrow will have its own set of challenges, new problems for him to deal with. For now, though, he’s content, knowing that whatever comes his way, you’ll have his back. You always do.

[definitelynotanalien]

cooparenting nagi with ex bf reo - part 2

“It’s my day with Nagi.”

The purple haired boy objects, grabbing onto Nagi’s hand and pulling him towards him. In spite, you grab onto Nagi’s other side and hold him in place.

You’ve reached a standstill. Reo’s not willing to pull Nagi any further, perhaps in fear of injuring the star striker, and you don’t have the strength to fight a soccer player, especially one that’s your ex.

Reo and you are in an intense staring match, daring the other to falter for a moment and to take their rightful place below the other.

A thinly veiled tension fills the air, and Nagi squirms underneath both of your grips. “We agreed I could have him on tuesdays.” You interject, suddenly yanking Nagi towards you with the force of a baby gorilla.

Nagi groans at the sudden movement, obviously uncomfortable. As much as he tolerates this arrangement, sometimes Reo and you could be such a hassle.

Reo glares, and pulls Nagi back into his place next to him. “That was before soccer practice was moved to tuesdays.” He explains, gripping onto Nagi’s arm hard enough to leave small crescents in his pale skin.

For a moment Reo regrets introducing you to Nagi when the pair of you were a thing, if he hadn’t then this would’ve been so much easier and he wouldn’t be forced to deal with whatever this is.

“Still! Don’t you think I deserve a bit of notice?” You spit out.

The purple haired man rolls his eyes, “I sent you a text, but you still have me blocked.”

You tug on Nagi once more, somewhat successfully getting him on your side. “Perhaps that’s because last time I unblocked you, you spammed me with drunk messages at 2 in the morning.” You scoff, half tempted to pull out your phone to show him the proof of the annoying shit he’s sent you.

“That’s because I had a very important victory the day before!” Reo defends.

You narrow your eyes, “Still! You didn’t have to drunk text your ex!”

“Just, give me Nagi. Please?” Reo responds vulnerably, looking down at you with the cutest doggy eyes.

You falter, rolling your eyes at his sincerity and releasing Nagi in seeming agreement. His fluffy white hair seems to call for your hand, and his round sleepy grey eyes and fluttery slowly closed. He looks exhausted and adorable, like the little brother you never had.

You turn towards Reo, “You gonna go now?”

Reo pauses, still holding Nagi, for a moment he seems to flatter as if he wants to stay inside the apartment, as if he wants to go back to you. But he turns to leave.

“Bye, have a nice day. I’ll give you Nagi on Thursday.” He responds, his back facing you.

Reo closes the door, and the two of you part once more.

[over-and-over-and-over-and]

i can't stop thinking about deity ! shauna , who's favorite plaything jusstttt so happens to be you

[mdni, eventual smut - tw, biting, blood, chasing, shauna typical shenanigans]

her love is so encompassing- she leaves gifts and sends blessings, answering your prayers the second they leave your lips. her new pass time is watching you from afar, even if you're 100% safe- she just likes to see you... and you know it's her because who else would the introverted brunette not so subtly staring at you be? especially considering no one else could see her.

slowly, she started creeping into your dreams. your nights were typically filled with large forests, deep wilderness which seemingly could go on forever, until you find her in a small clearing, fiddling with something resembling a short dagger.

"took you long enough."

her words were sharp, like torns, and yet her presence was warm. you make your way into the clearing, sitting beside her as she continues to work. the two of you would entertain a brief conversation, one which would quickly fall flat as it was apparent she preferred the quiet. you didn't mind, you could comfortably sit and say nothing for a while as well, although it was hard to ignore the way she was observing you.

the dreams only grew more intense- it started with her hands roaming across your body as if she hadn't seen a human before, or at the very least hadn't interreacted with one in a while. she would trace every inch of your body, running her fingers over every nook and cranny as if she was trying to commit you to memory. eventually her hands would grow braver, pushing you against the dirt as she would climb on top of you.

next she would kiss you, ravenous and hungry as if she wanted to eat you whole. it was mostly teeth and underlying frustration as she pushed your further into the dirt, her roaming hands busy at work until they eventually found the waist band of your pajama pants.

and now she was overworking you, pushing you to the edge again, and again, and again. she moans at your little sounds, wolfishly grinning everytime you insisted you couldn't take it anymore. and then she would start again, pushing you further as she insisted she simply wanted to see how far a human could go, and how she knew you could keep going as you had been doing great so far.

her favorite, however, was hunting you. she'd chase you through the never ending forest, intentionally pacing herself so you'd tucker yourself out and fall right into her hands. she could run after you for hours, howling like a monster and tackling you into the dirt just alike. she loved when you fought back, taking the chance to sink her fangs into your shoulder to subdue you, lapping up the blood while you squirm and writhe beneath her.

night after night she consumes you like a starved animal- chews you up, spits you out, sweetly smiling at you all the while.

a god has to entertain themselves somehow.

[dollyonm0lly]

Hi, I love your things to much💕💕

So I was thinking maybe Lucius has also an niece, the daughter of commodus

No one knows of your existence, you are a concubine for the emperors. They have more but your their favorite. Then one day Lucius wanted to help you escape, you did not and told the emperors of it. Normally they are never soft doms, but this time they are and you are praised for what a good girl you are to them

Soo, soft stuff for you guys!! Or I tried at least, lolol, im still very sick, so this did wonders to me. <3 The reader in this one is kinda pathetic tho, not sorry.

“Love you, my Emperor… Love you so much…” – Both Emperors hear you say in your meek voice, like a song to their ears, you can feel Geta's warm hand on your cheek, caressing the soft skin of your face, which subconsciously seeks more of his affection, rubbing itself against his palm like an abandoned kitten would, your tongue obediently sticking out of your mouth, which he wastes no time in placing his thumb on top of, letting you explore it with your lips passionately. You close your eyes, feeling the pleasurable sensation of fingers running through your hair, combing your strands, untangling them, massaging your scalp. You try to sharpen your senses, focusing on their sweet aroma, Caracalla's hand massaging your head, urging you to lean even more towards Geta's hand, making you lose yourself more in their caresses, it's delicate. It's special, you feel special in this moment. You were good today, very good indeed.

“Nooo…” – You meow in disappointment when you feel Geta's hand start to move away from your face, instantly following it with your head so as not to lose its warmth, surprisingly Geta allows you to do so, on normal days, he would have brushed you away and slapped you across the face for your incessant neediness. You smile at today's change in attitude, just as you feel like purring when Caracalla starts spreading kisses in your uncovered cheek. You feel so loved by both of them, you wish that every day would be like this from now on, even if as an unattainable dream, you know why they are acting like this, you're not getting all of this good treatment on a silver platter, you earned it, deserved it, even though you had to sacrifice some things for others, you are content with your choice.

This feels good, you did good, you think to yourself, you don't feel guilty. You swallow hard, an audible gulp, you try to push that look of hurt and betrayal to the back of your mind. His look of hurt and betrayal. He seems like a ghost in your life now, you can feel the weight of guilt on your back, making you have to shake your head from side to side to shake off the negative feelings. It was worth it, it was worth it, it was worth it, it was worth it… You repeat in your head, until everything becomes clear again, until you can again feel the comforting caresses on your body, welcoming you. Finally, you are welcomed.

“We plan to make love to you today, my dear” – Geta says, taking your mind off other matters and focusing on both Emperors again, you open your eyes to admire him, he has what you would say is the closest to a sweet smile on his features than you will ever see from him. You can feel your heart skip a beat, turning to jelly in Caracalla's arms, who now holds you a little more firmly against his body, almost placing you on his lap.

“Make love?” – You question curiously, your voice dreamy with false expectations, never in the many years you have served them have you ever heard of this lovemaking thing.

“Don't you love us?” – You hear Caracalla questioning in your ear, pretending to be hurt by your question, his head rubbing against your neck, his hair tickling your face, like a puppy.

“I do…!” – You respond instantly, surprised that they would even ask you that, oblivious to the manipulative tone behind it. You did everything you did out of love for them, and out of love for the attention and affection they can provide you, in times like these, they are the only ones who could provide the minimum of security for you and your well-being, they make sure you know that, the certainty that nothing would happen to you as long as you are in their favor.

Silence falls, you can feel the words you want to say on the tip of your tongue, but uncertainty makes you hold them back for minutes longer.

“Do you love me…?” – You ask both Geta and Caracalla, you can't contain the anticipation in your voice, even if it's weak and hesitant. You are met with laughter from the twins, they laugh at your question, they think you're such a box of surprises, you really were born to be an entertainer just for them!

“You are so cute” – Caracalla says, it sounds mocking, just like their laugh, and it wasn't the answer you were hoping to receive, but even so, it makes your heart warm inside your chest. They think you're cute. They think something of you, you are something. Your happy little smile earns you a pat on the head from Geta.

“Cute indeed…” – Geta responds in agreement, both twins exchange glances, Geta licks his lips before smiling at you – "Why don't you get more comfortable for us, dear?” – He gestures to the bed, encouraging you sneak further back.

Caracalla helps you with that, taking the initiative to crawl to the headboard of the bed himself, resting his back against it, his pale legs spread wide to create the perfect space for you. He calls you over, patting his thigh twice, and you are drawn to him like a moth to light. You shyly walk over to him, turning to lay your back against his chest, with the two of you sitting in this position, he wraps his arms around your body, hugging you close, the easy access allowing him to bury his nose in your neck, laying his forehead on your shoulder. – "Help me get these off” – He says in a controlled tone, trying to be loving, you appreciate that, normally he would have impatiently instructed you, as if you were the fool for not knowing what he wanted before he even asked, or he would have pushed you and taken them off himself. You lift your hips off the bed a little, making it easier for him to remove your panties, doing so delicately with the tips of his fingers on the elastic, letting you feel the fabric slide over your skin until it is completely removed, earning you a little kiss of thanks on your exposed shoulder.

You miss the way the twins look at each other or how Caracalla hands your panties to Geta, who puts them in a place on the bed that he can remember later on. But one thing you don't miss is how Geta now also approaches your body, trapping you, his hands resting on the headboard that Caracalla leans on, trapping both your head and his between his arms. On Caracalla's lap, you open your legs, inviting Geta to settle between them, something that he gladly accepts.

“Let's get you all prepped and ready, dear” – Geta says as he admires your face, his hands going down to the bottom of your robe, lifting it to give him a better view of your body and intimacy, meanwhile, Caracalla does the same, letting your robe slide down over your shoulders, leaving kisses on the new free skin, your bust now exposed to the cold air of the room, your robe becoming a mess that only covers your torso and nothing more. You watch the way Geta takes his two fingers, the index and the middle one, between his lips, sucking them with intent, his eyes never straying from yours, Caracalla's own fingers already at work, moving down your body until they reach your lower lips, opening you for his brother, the cold air hitting your pussy.

Geta and Caracalla prepare you carefully, both watching attentively as your entrance slowly gets used to the intrusion of Geta's fingers, Caracalla stimulating your clitoris with his, every now and then you watch as he spits on his own hand before stimulating you again, they love the way you are always so tight, you crush their cock in the most perfect way possible. – "Must take good care of this cunt, it's my favorite one" – Caracalla growls, licking a drop of sweat that previously ran down your face, you giggle happily in the midst of pleasure, yours is the favorite, no other.

“She liked what she heard, she almost cut off the blood circulation in my fingers” – Geta jokes, referencing to the way you clenched and squeezed his fingers when you heard the compliments, you love it when they compliment you, you wish they would do it more often. – "How would you like to be taken today, dear?” – He questions, letting you make some of the choices, tonight will be about you and what you want, that's what they agreed between themselves.

“Want to be hugged…” – Embarrassed, you confess, you didn't expect such a needy response from yourself, however, this is a unique chance, unfortunately, you recognize that, you can't let the shyness of being so emotionally dependent on them take over. You need their embrace like you need air, you hate to be truthful to yourself.

“Awfully romantic, huh” – Caracalla chuckles, Geta arches his eyebrows in agreement, neither daring to question or stand against your decision. Geta helps you sit more precisely on his brother's lap, Caracalla's cock now rubbing at your entrance, you hold him by the base of his penis, slowly introducing him inside you, earning a moan from both of you when he reaches the end, you can feel it almost hitting your cervix, reaching all the perfect places in your pussy. You rest your head on Geta's chest, getting used to the feeling of his brother inside of you, as does Caracalla, who tries to control himself by resting his head on your back, it is a difficult task for both of them, being so patient with your body, normally they wouldn't prepare you or at least wait for you to get used to the feeling of intrusion.

A few minutes pass, your breathing gradually regulates, your pussy starts to want more instead of trying to repudiate what's in it, you look at Geta, and that's all he needs for confirmation, getting closer to you, you do the same to him that you did to his twin, holding him at his base, your delicate fingers feeling his pubic hair rise in goosebumps with the touch, and you bring him to your entrance, he lets you do everything in your own time, watching as you slowly insert him too in your pussy. It's a tight fit, you feel like you're being torn in half, and as tears stream down your face, a groan is heard from Geta and Caracalla, oh, how they love the feeling of being milked alive by you and your fucking perfect cunt, you can feel Caracalla's nails digging into your arm unconsciously, something he tries to alleviate by distributing kisses on your back. They hurt you so lovingly that you can almost pretend it never hurt.

As agreed, they embrace you, Geta wraps his arms around your waist, while Caracalla's make your hips their home, both pressing you against their own bodies, making you become inseparable from each other. You let one of your arms fall over Geta's shoulder, resting there, while the other wraps itself around Caracalla's head, playing with the strands of hair on the back of his neck, pulling him into a fervent kiss, his tongue tasting your mouth as if there was nothing more delicious, his moans being straight sinful on your lips. You rub your lower body against Geta's, seeking to stimulate your clit against his pubic mound, his hair there becoming sticky with your fluids, he mercifully helps you, letting a globule of saliva come out of his lips into the middle of your bodies, lubricating your movements more, earning him an animalistic moan from you and the separation of your kiss with Caracalla, starting one with Geta as naked and raw as the past, the carnal desire speaking for itself. Your minimal movements still do a lot to stimulate the cocks inside you, earning a unanimous moan with every rub you make or every adjustment, soon, you find yourself seeking more of that exciting feeling with the taste of heaven, moving your waist so that you start to ride them gradually.

It's almost too much, the way they let you make your own rhythm, your own dance, just helping you stand on shaky knees ready to give up, but you can't, you can't stop, you need that release that's so far away but so close that you can take it in your hands. You can barely see them anymore, your eyes close, you let yourself drown in the sound of skin slapping against skin, the sticky feeling of sweat, the profanities and compliments, the kisses, caresses and wounds, if you try hard, you can almost focus on the various I love yous that come out of Caracalla's mouth, who barely realizes who he really is when the pleasure is too much, and they would accuse you of being the romantic one, you laugh in your head.

You hear Geta's moan of pleasure mixed with pain as the hand on his shoulder begin to scratch and tear at it, drops of blood running down his bare, pale back. But he barely protests, being a good girl really does have its perks, huh. If being a good girl is always going to result in you having the affection of your Emperors and a free pass to do things without being punished, maybe you should rat people out more often, you let your mind wander as you reach your climax, writhing between their bodies, both of them letting their cocks impale you inside to your heart's content, you would have them forever in you if you could, their cocks are just made for you, a gift from God just for you.

“I love your smell.”

“I love your eyes.”

“I love your body.”

“I love your voice.”

"I love your breasts.”

“I love your curves.”

“I love this fucking pussy.”

You hear them say, one after the other cumming inside you, painting your walls white, and your body red with each touch. You feel disgusting. You feel loved.

“Do you love me?” – You ask again, between gasps, just like them, you feel your vision start to darken, you feel so safe that you could fall asleep right now, a groan of discontent as they disconnect from inside you. Everything is almost like a pitch black, you feel them cleaning you, you being gently laid on the bed, something clothing fabric like cleaning your pussy and everything that runs out of it.

They open your lips, shoving the fabric into your mouth. Oh, it must be your panties, you assume even with your clouded mind. It tastes like your fluids mixed with their divine cum. You suck on it like a pacifier, bodies intertwining with yours on the bed.

“Yes.”

“Very much so.”

[onismdaydream]

i love fics where sukuna takes over yuji's body during sex and he makes a snide comment about how his cock size but i'm... i'm thinking of sukuna who sees yuji's thick cock, his swollen tip leaking precum, and sure, it's not as big as sukuna's but it's impressive. compared to the size of a regular human? yuji is massive and sukuna can't help but touch and see how good he can make both of them himself feel.

taking over control when yuji is starting to drift off to sleep, his guard lowering just enough to let sukuna slip through the cracks. yuji wants to protest, wants to yell at the curse and fight back, but sukuna just starts palming himself and the words die on yuji's tongue. curiosity overtakes both of them — a silent agreement settling between them.

it's an odd feeling. it's yuji's hand and his cock but at the same time, it's not. and it's sukuna moving and touching but it feels different than when he stroked himself before — in his own body. yuji's hands aren't calloused and rough the same way sukuna's are, his touch softer, his palms smoother as he moves up and down his shaft. more precum dribbles out than sukuna's but it makes the slide so much easier, makes his cock wet without needing as much spit.

they're both quiet, uncharacteristically so. sukuna's breathing becomes more labored and yuji has to fight to keep any sounds inside him. the last thing either of them want is to give ammunition to the other, something to hold over their head about how much they enjoyed this.

his hips thrust up into his hand, eagerly chasing the friction his fist provides, a desperation evident that sukuna isn't used to. yuji's body is so much more sensitive than his own, but it feels nice. his body is on fire in a way he never imagined it could be, the blaze spreading to his stomach until it consumes the last of his resolve. his cum is thick as it shoots out, splattering onto his abs and covering his hand.

no words are exchanged, just a simple retreat back into the depths of yuji's mind, and yuji is left with his chest heaving and a mess to clean up.

[wonuwonder]

Mingyu’s large frame covering you as he pounds into you 🥴🥴 Do whatever you want with that 👀

content: smut, size kink, unprotected sex (wrap it up pls), bulge kink(? soft dom!mingyu, fem reader x mingyu, lowercase intended, anything else lmk! MDNI

so we all know how mingyu has the biggest size kink right? it’s impossible for a guy as big as him to not have it in my opinion. and specifically, with the size of his hands and how they cover your whole tummy.

having you writhing beneath him looking tiny compared to him would drive his thoughts absolutely wild, and seeing the way his cock’s outline in your lower abdomen would drive him to the edge instantly.

“you look so pretty like this, taking my cock like a good girl” you could only moan in response. thrusting in harder just to see your face squinting in pleasure, trailing and pressing his hands over the outline of his cock below your bellybutton. he could cum at the sight. “so pretty all fucked out, i can see myself inside you” another harsh thrust.

“ah- fuck gyu” you grabbed onto the bedsheets pulling them hard to get over the feeling.

his hands would trail all over your body, feeling every inch, playing with your tits, squeezing them, taking one of your hard nipples into his mouth, and then the other, while pounding into you. you lock your arms behind his head and pull onto his hair as you feel yourself approaching your orgasm. your whimpers and loud moans letting him know.

he pulled your legs roughly against him, gripping your thighs with his fingers, his thrusts becoming harder while slowing the pace. grabbing onto your waist now he moved you over his length, making the back of your thighs slap harshly against his.

“m- gonna” you start gasping for air, squinting your eyes shut.

“look at me, look at me when you cum baby” he demands and tugs your chin, making you look at him. your pussy clenches around him one last time and you let go.

“mingyu!” you scream his name as he rides out your high, reaching his, he comes a bit after you, still pounding into you, his cum dripping out of your aching pussy, the overstimulation watering your eyes.

[saturnsconstellation]

@rosekillermicrofic | day 25 | prompt: attack | word count: 815 |

“What. The. Fuck.” Regulus stepped into the dorm, and Evan knew at that moment there was no way to escape.

“It’s really not that deep…“ Barty laughed nervously from behind him, the little baby in his hands squirmed in protest of Barty’s protective hold. “We can explain-“

“Barty!” Regulus yelled, “There is a child in your arms!”

“It just happened!” Barty attempted to explain; it was a shit explanation, Evan thought, but he wasn’t technically wrong. It had just happened.

Regulus closed the door behind him; he began to move closer to the pair as he dropped his bag to the floor, “How in Salazars name does something of this nature… ‘just happen?’” He questioned, his hand stretched out to touch the baby. Evan unconsciously took a protective step frontward, just as Barty held her out of Regulus’s reach.

Evan cleared his throat, “We… heard about a ritual that would — allegedly — be able to produce offsprings for wizards and witches who are infertile.” His voice sounded strange even to his own ears at his declaration; He frowned, not being sure what to say, “I suppose we wanted to just… try it out.”

“Try it out?!” Regulus threw his hands up in disbelief. He looked up at the ceiling, running one hand through his black curls, “You two heard of a ritual that could create children- and you… what? Wanted to see if it worked?”

Barty huffed, “We didn’t know it would work! What? Do you think we wanted to be stuck with a child at 16!?” Evan could tell the baby disliked his words by the tone of her whine; apparently, Barty could too. He held her closer, and pecked her forehead softly as he mumbled half-hearted apologies.

Regulus sighed, he rubbed his eyes as his other hand rested on his hip. “Is she healthy?” He asked, taking another step closer; Evan allowed him to move past him.

Barty nodded, he hesitantly moved her away. Regulus watched as he did so, his eyes rolled in annoyance, “Could you please let me look at her? It’s not like I’ll attack her.”

“Can’t you see with your eyes?” Barty grumbled, he maintained eye contact with the other boy. Regulus was about a whole feet smaller, but his ability to intimidate remained strong.

Evan sighed, “Barty.” He said, his tone demanding.

Barty obliged, clearly still hesitant; Regulus inspected the small child thoroughly, occasionally grabbing her hands or feet — sometimes opening her mouth and using lumos to peek inside. She began to become restless, as Regulus did his check up, she squirmed and cried in agony.

“Alright, alright that’s enough, she isn’t liking it!” Barty intervened. Evan chuckled as he turned and shushed her — he mumbled something about Regulus being a stupid prick and she laughed.

Regulus crossed his arms over his chest. Evan came to stand beside him, “How long have you had her?” Regulus asked.

“She showed up this morning. She literally just- appeared, Regulus. It was scary, one moment we were sleeping and the other she was crying and-“ Evan sighed, his shoulders slumped, “it was a bloody nightmare.”

Regulus laughed at him as he shook his head. “Sounds a lot like a teen pregnancy,” he snorted, “or… a teen pregnancy… ritual? How does that even work?”

“It wasn’t easy,” Evan started, “It was kind of like a blood ritual, but we needed baby things and we had to say affirmations and remember nice childhood memories? It was really strange. We honestly didn’t believe it would work.”

“Why?”

“The ritual is famous for being too difficult for the average wizard, and we’re still in school. I don’t know, it seemed like a fun idea.”

“Of course it did,” Regulus mocked, “Tell me, what are your plans now that you have a child? Does she even have a name?”

Evan thought it over, his hand running through his locks, “I have no idea,” he confessed, “as for the name… we haven’t thought about it yet. I’m sure Barty would want something generic and mild like Sarah or something.”

Barty suddenly turned, looking between the two boys and back to the little baby in his arms. “I reckon Rosie’s hungry.”

Regulus let out a bark of laughter, but Evan’s face fell in disbelief, “Rosie?” He inquired, “That’s the name you chose?”

Barty’s cheeks went red, “Yeah? Rosie? Rosie Rosier? It’s cute.”

“Rosier?”

“I’m not letting her take Crouch! That would be a hate crime.”

Rosie let out a loud laugh, she wiggled in Barty’s arms excitedly — her big green eyes were wide and her nose wrinkled. Barty gave her a crooked smile, kissing her hair at the top of her head.

“So we’re keeping her, right?” He questioned, rocking Rosie back and forth.

Evan glances back at Regulus, who continued to watch the whole scene with a shit eating grin.

Evan sighed once again, “Yes. We’re keeping Rosie.”

[bum-tan]

Just finished watching all 7 seasons of Rick and Morty for the first time ever !

Bonus meme +

[nullians]

Not sure how to phrase it but. Imo it’s fine to go against canon if you have the self awareness. But if you think you are right and get mad when people point out that your interpretation clashes with the source material? Take the L and move on. Nobody has to stick to canon but at least don’t spread misinformation?

[wildstar25]

While it goes fairly similarly to how it would in game, there's a lot of backstory related nuance that kinda shifts the entire vibe of their reunion... this is fairly long so im putting it under a read more

When the Exarch told Arsay her next destination would have her hopefully meeting with Y'shtola, Arsay was beyond excited. After the twins, Y'shtola was the next person on Arsay's list that she really, really wanted to see. She rode that enthusiasm through the entire trip into the Great Woods. Not even Emet-Selch's pompous attitude and unwanted presence could cut through Arsay's cheer. Which was likely for the best, had she not have her best friend to look forward to she'd likely have wanted to rip the ascians head off rather than entertain conversation with him.

They found themselves surrounded. Arsay's humour was NOT appreciated by Thancred 🙄. Emet made a show about leaving them to their fate. And then she heard it, the voice Arsay had been wanting to hear all day, though called by a name not her own.

It took a moment for Arsay to process it all: The new look, the fact that all these people seemed to be at her command, her intense hostility... Still, it was Y'shtola! Y'shtola through and through! Arsay's heart nearly jumped into her throat once her brain caught up to her other senses.

(I love how from far away the pixels make it look like Arsay had a big open mouth smile. She was so excited to see her friend! Were she not at multiple arrow/magic staff point she'd be running up to give Y'shtola a hug.)

Arsay thought perhaps this was a prank? A little unlike Y'shtola but then again she did have a darker sense of humour. Plus Y'shtola knows Arsay likes a good gag now and again so maybe...? But sadly Y'shtola again seriously insisted they were sin eaters so that couldn't be the case. Arsay was at a lost for words- a rarity for her.

The mere suggestion that Y'shtola could have forgotten Arsay... her heart deflated like a balloon, all the joy it once held rushed out in an instance. Personally I think Urianger was covering his ass here trying to mask his knowledge of the light corruption. Still there was no way he knew just how devastating his words were to Arsay.

No, Urianger couldn't have known that Arsay had spent much of her life believing herself to have been forgotten by her parents as they left her in the south seas for greater adventures. That they wrote her but a single missive, where in which they promised to write more. He couldn't have know how, when no other letter arrived for her, she took it as a sign of being unwanted; not worth keeping their word for. He wouldn't have known much of what Arsay does, she does in hopes to touch the life of another in such a way that they might dare think of her from time to time, even if only in passing. Urianger wouldn't have a single clue how a simple notion spoken in whisper could send Arsay down an immediate spiral.

Arsay stares at Y'shtola, hands held firm in the air, praying for Urianger to be proven wrong.

Once before has Arsay's soul been knocked clean of her body, and had it not been for the absence of said body in her immediate vision she would have sworn it had happened again. She felt numb. Any other word spoken after "The one I know not." was static to her. There was no rational thought happening behind those wide eyes. Not even a slim chance that Arsay could be considering that something was perhaps wrong with her. All she could think about was the immense and sudden heartbreak she was actively experiencing.

Meanwhile, Y'shtola struggled to come to terms with what she was hearing versus what she was seeing. Before her was a figure so immense of light aether, how could Urianger words possibly be true? She knew Arsay's aether. Such brilliance was not something she'd readily forget. In fact, she'd go as far as to say it's image plagued her mind despite her best wishes along with equally inconvenient and unsavoury thoughts. Y'shtola had been awaiting the day Arsay's aether came into view once more for gods know how long. Yet he insists that this unknown figure before her is that very same person; that this was her Warrior of Light. As much as she did not want to accept it what other rational explanation could there even be?

Y'shtola stood aback, her harsh tone wavered as she stammered in disbelief. Again she scrutinized the strange light infused aether. Though she could discern that it vaguely held the form of a person any potential detail was obscured by an intense glow that radiated from it's core. She supposed perhaps she could picture her memory of Arsay slotting into the blurry silhouette... oh by the twelve. A chill runs down her spine. Y'shtola has never been one to panic, yet if this is truly Arsay before her then that can only mean terrible, terrible things.

With the initial shock worn off things begun to come back into focus for Arsay including Y'shtola who's gaze was fixated on her, clamouring for answers. As if on cue her voice returned to her. Despite this not being the reunion Arsay had imagined, out came the words she would have said regardless.

Not a hint of resentment carried through her tone. If anything, she sounded as if she was amused by the situation. As much as it hurt to think that the person Arsay considered to be her best friend had forgotten the appearance of her aether (something she understood as being unique to her); Arsay couldn't help but feel like she should have anticipated it. Sure, it had only been a month for Arsay, but it was three years for Y'shtola. That's quite some time to be apart. More than enough for Arsay to no longer be relevant enough to be recalled from time to time in Y'shtola's daily life. The irony of it stung. Arsay had only just begun to believe she wasn't as forgettable, as insignificant, to others as she feared... Funny how things turn out. She felt foolish to have overestimated the depth of their friendship. Guilty too for burdening someone she cared for with her own lofty expectations. Arsay only had herself to blame for this outcome. One would think she'd learn her lesson by now. What a laugh. Compelled by this joke only she was privy to, a short chuckle escaped from her lonesome smile.

The familiar voice rang through her ears and stirred her heart. There was no denying it. Her friend was finally here ...And Y'shtola welcomed her with an ambush. Delightful. She breathed out a heavy sigh. This was not at all how Y'shtola had wanted their meeting to go but she'd not let herself be vexed by such things. She pushed the tinge of dissatisfaction to the back of her mind. Arsay of all people would understand the things one must do to protect others. This greeting would be water under the bridge to her in but a tic. What mattered most is that the Night's Blessed were no longer under any (immediate) perceived threat. Her dear friend's aether on the other hand... Her head began to swirl with questions. Questions surely the Warrior of Darkness could soon help her attain the answers for. The thought alone brought it's own sense of relief. A smile tugged at the corners of Y'shtola's lips. There was no denying how happy it made her knowing her wait was over.

The tension in the air settled along the fur on Arsay's tail. She gave Y'shtola nod of acceptance, mindlessly forgiving her when in truth the apology felt hollow to Arsay. It wasn't at all what she wanted to hear but it wasn't as if hearing anything else from Y'shtola would help ease her nerves. It is what it is. At the very least, she was happy that Y'shtola looked to be in good health. Best focus on that for now.

--

Arsay and the rest followed Y'shtola from a distance quietly through the woods. Even through the canopy strong light polluted the forest floor. It gave Arsay a headache, much like everywhere else she had been to on the First. She often relied on her headband to block out the worst of the sun's rays back home but it did nothing to defend her light soaking eyes from the ambient brightness. She had been getting used to it but for some completely and totally unknown reason it began to feel worse.

Now and again Arsay would spot Y'shtola looking back over her shoulder towards her. Each glance had Arsay suddenly anticipating, hoping, that Y'shtola was about to call her over, and when that did not happen it made Arsay like a fool all over again. Foolish, and then frustrated. A degree of frustration that could be easily alleviated were she allowed to wander off and drive her knives into whatever foul beast first crossed her path. Alas, Arsay had to stay with the pack and sit with her growing bad mood she was not supposed to have. Her cheeks began to feel weary from the smile she kept plastered on her face.

~

Y'shtola guided the scions along the path to Slitherbough at a steady pace. Though she maintained a lead on them by no means was she walking fast enough that Arsay couldn't catch up should she want to do so. That's what Y'shtola had come to expect from Arsay; if the opportunity presented itself, Arsay would not hesitate to encroach on Y'shtola's personal space. It was a habit Y'shtola was not all that fond of initially- it was overwhelming for someone who more often kept to herself- but in due time Y'shtola found herself yearning for Arsay's touch. A terrible yearning which only grew stronger in its absence. Though she tried with all her might not to, Y'shtola would quickly glance back at the group only to be disappointed that the insufferably bright glow of aether was just as far from her as it way before. For Arsay to be so unlike herself... perhaps it was not only her aether which has been afflicted. The thought gave Y'shtola pause, the roots of worry began to sprout within her.

She also had to admit there was the slim chance that being held at weapon point and accused of being a sin eater had upset Arsay. But, It could have been worse. At least Y'shtola didn't frame her for regicide. Y'shtola's brow furrowed. There was no way Arsay could actually be mad at her. Y'shtola has given her colder shoulders than that in the past and Arsay had brushed it off without issue. It had to be something else.

--

Be it her worry for Arsay or due to her general dismay of the earlier happenings that she could not seem to shake, Y'shtola was no longer in the mood to let sleeping dogs lie and Thancred had made the unfortunate decision of opening his mouth. She'd not been a fan of how he had been conducting himself to say the least. Nor was she willing to let his inability to move on rob a young girl of her autonomy. Tongue as sharp as ever, Y'shtola made her opinion clear and sent the man running with his tail between his legs. Minfillia too sulked out not long after.

~

Arsay, bearing witness to this, felt just awful for Minifilla (as she called her). The smile she had held onto dropped the instant she heard the cave doors close. While Arsay is usually in favour of Y'shtola's tenancy to speak her mind so openly, all the aggravation that had been stewing inside her had now suddenly come to a boil. She had to lash out. She wanted to be mad at Y'shtola, for anything, because Arsay still felt deep down like it wasn't right to hold her responsible for the thing she was actually upset about.

"Really, Y'shtola? You had to bring that up just now?" Arsay crossed her arms, unimpressed. "You're the last I'd consider to come to Thancred's defence." Y'shtola's eyes narrowed, "I am not indifferent to Thancred's troubles. Nevertheless, I will not apologize for holding him to a higher standard after all these years. He has ever been a man of considerable resolve, and that is what I will continue to expect." "Then I best warn you: expectations only lead to future disappointment." The accusatory tone in Arsay's voice made Y'shtola tail twitch. "Excuse me? Arsay, what has come over you? You've not at all been yourself. Pray tell, have you felt any considerable changes since defeating the light-" "Perhaps, Y'shtola, you should be more concerned with how you have changed." Arsay cuts her off with a hiss.

Silence. You could the tension in the air with a knife. Arsay turns on her heels, "I-." she stops herself when she heard the crack in her voice. With a click of her tongue she flees out through the cave doors as fast as she could.

Urianger, who had been a fly on the wall for their heated back and forth, clears his throat. "Should thine wish be to give chase, thou can entrust in me the beginning duty of reviewing the tablet." Y'shtola let out a sigh. "I realize I am not as I was on the Source, but I cannot say I regret the decisions that allowed me to come this far." She proclaims largely for her own sake before turning to Urianger. "Allow me a moment to settle this. I shall return shortly."

--

All of that finally leads into this scene which actually the first time I ever tried to pose and write a story type scene. So excuse the slight jank of it (and the fact that Arsay's character voice has absolutely shifted some since then. Also ignore the fact that Arsay is wearing the darklight bracers in that old pose. It was taken at a point before I was using mods and I was still figuring out Arsay's shadowbringer glam- they were a hold over from previous expansion's glams)

the director commentary for their make up is Y'shtola finally accepts that Arsay is mad at her but is still defending her actions because it was the right call at the time. Again she tries to explain that Arsay's aether is fucked up in a way only to be cut off by Arsay airing out one of her deepest insecurities- her begging for validation. It's only then that Y'shtola realizes what exactly Arsay is upset over- and that her friend had absolutely 0 clue as to the light corrupting her aether. In a moment of absolute kindness from Y'shtola: instead of explaining then and there of Arsay's suspected light poisoning, she tells Arsay exactly what she wants and needs to hear. (And its this act of kindness that later becomes the catalys for Arsay realizing how much she loves Y'shtola upon learning about the light corruption and putting two and two together that Y'shtola was way nicer to her then she could have been in that moment.)

This is like maybe the 1st time Arsay has a public-ish breakdown and it really is "out of character" for her. But I cannot stress enough how much this shit triggered her and how bad she is at handling negative emotions. Like she really has a problem of not letting herself feel bad about anything and all that pent up stress gets funnelled directly into fighting. Its super cool and normal if you think about it and totally healthy if you ask her. When she cant channel that rage through her knives it escapes other, less productive ways. She did immediately felt awful about snapping at Y'shtola. Even if she wanted to be mad at her it wasn't right and Arsay knew this. Literally hearing that Y'shtola cared about her and thought of her was all she needed to put herself back into order. Y'shtola, still worried about Arsay's aether, was more than willing to move past this awful reunion of theirs and continue on just as they had been back before she was sent to the first.

And from there everything is pretty much normal! They made up, Arsay caught up to Minifillia and Runar, Y'shtola went to work on the tablet, story stuff happens, Arsay has her oh moment, they get together and so on.

Thank you so much @darkmadorz for giving me the excuse to write about this!

[lancerthatisntfree]

hands

small freelancer/gavin fic. extremely self indulgent

// tags / info: freelancer is nonverbal here , not a lot of speech , gavin speech very short

inspired by @vegafan69 ‘s one hand kissing post with them

—————————————

Hands.

It was an odd body part, honestly. Easily recognisable, used in every aspect. But it wasn’t anything special.

To Freelancer, at least.

Their hands weren’t anything special. Sure, they used them often, they could do magic or.. whatever with them. But it wasn’t special to them. Wasn’t appealing. Just a body part that they tended to hate more than others.

Scanning their own hands, seeing all the scars; dulled cuts and skin that never really fully healed around their nails. They closed their hand into a fist, opening it before closing it again. Their brows furrowed slightly.

They weren’t the comparing type by any means, but they couldn’t help but visualise their hand against their friends. Lasko’s hands are smooth, soft. Huxley’s are a little rough, but nice nonetheless. Damien’s was a little frayed around the edges, calloused, but they liked it. Gavin’s were perfect. But theirs? They hated it.

Maybe it was the scars violently reminding them about what they’ve been through. Maybe it’s the memories that they hold. Maybe they didn’t like it just because it was apart of themselves. All options considered, they slowly put their hands on their knees. Eyes flicking to one hand to the other and back again. Their lips pressed into a frown.

“Freelancer?”

They didn’t bother to look behind them. They knew that voice. That comforting voice, always at their side whenever they needed it. For some reason, he always knew when to come. It was sweet until they wanted alone time. They felt Gavin’s weight on the bed as he sat next to them, and he stayed quiet for a while, as if awaiting something from them. A sentence, confirming if they were okay or not. When they didn’t speak, he frowned.

“You okay?” He tilted his head, and they, in turn, shook theirs, a clear no. He sighed. He hated seeing them upset. Some part of him hurt when they did. His hand hovered above Freelancer’s shoulder, awaiting permission to touch them. They leaned into his hand. He wrapped an arm around them and brought them closer.

He pressed his lips against their forehead, eliciting a small “Mn..” sound from them. Their head moved to rest on his shoulder. “What’s wrong?” Gavin softly asked, earning Freelancer to finally look at him. They looked exhausted, dark rimming under their eyes. Gavin’s heart ached. They looked at him with a certain softness they really only showed him. They glanced down and lifted their hand.

Gavin tilted his head as his other hand that wasn’t holding Freelancer moved to hold their hand. He ran his thumb across their knuckles and they shuffled closer to him. “Don’t like them, do you?” Gavin asked hesitantly, and they nodded, looking embarrassed; glancing up at him before looking away. His brows furrowed slightly before gently lifting their hand up to his face.

He pressed a kiss into their hand. Freelancer quickly looked back with softly flushed cheeks. Their hand felt warm. Gavin’s eyes lifted to look at their beautiful face, looking at them with such admiration through his eyelids. Freelancer’s lips pressed together as they increasingly became flustered. But.. feeling better, as well.

Gavin pressed another kiss to their hand, on a knuckle. Another kiss on each finger. Another kiss in the middle of their hand, his hand idly rubbing theirs in small circles. “I love your hands.” Gavin mumbled against Freelancer’s skin. “I love every part of you.” He added, pressing his lips against their skin once more. They couldn’t take their eyes off of him.

“You’re so beautiful.”

Each kiss was punctuated with another word.

“Gorgeous” , “Pretty” , “Stunning” , “Heavenly”.

“There’s no part of you that I don’t constantly desire, my Deviant.” He hummed against their hand, pulling away as he moved to kiss their cheek. They leaned into him, hands holding his.

“I wish you could see yourself the way I see you. But until then, I’m gonna be here reminding you,” A kiss. “that you’re the most perfect person I’ve laid my eyes on.”

“I love you, Freelancer.” Freelancer stared at him with soft eyes. “You don’t need to talk. I know you love me too, my dear.”

They smiled as they pressed a kiss against his lips.

Looking down, seeing their hand intertwined with his; in that moment, they didn’t feel so bad about it anymore.

[wavesoutbeingtossed]

Randomly thinking about “tolerate it” (narrator voice: it was not random) and how under the cloak of fiction it is ostensibly inspired by works like “Rebecca” (which Taylor said she read during the 2020 lockdowns I believe?), with the line of “you’re so much older and wiser” indicating that the speaker is significantly younger and inexperienced compared to the person she’s speaking to and a pretty direct reference to the plot of the book.

But I saw something somewhere once that stuck with me about how it might not be referring to relative age between the characters but chronological age as in the passage of time in a relationship. And that made me think about how in a contemporary context, it might not necessarily be referencing an actual age gap between the two characters, but rather a sarcastic or cynical response to the man’s claims that he has matured (“you’re so much older and wiser [than you were before/than you were when we met/etc.]”), which then made me think about that line in relation to the woman. And that it could be taken like, “you act like you’ve matured so much in our time together and like you know everything, while I’m supposedly still stuck as the girl I was when we first met.”

Which then made me think of the “right where you left me” of it all and did you ever hear about the girl who got frozen time went on for everyone else she won’t know it and the bit in Miss Americana where she talks about how celebrities get frozen at the age at which they got famous, and how she’s had to play catch up in a lot of ways not just in her emotional growth but kind of in general. (Which also made me wonder if she’s ever been called out for immaturity/lack of curiosity/lack of education about things in her life…)

Which then made me think about the rest of the song, and @taylortruther’s posts yesterday about “seven” and “Daylight” and the way Taylor idealizes her youth yet contrasts it with an almost sinister reality in its wake, and the line, “I sit by the door like I’m just a kid,” because the discussion raised that her relationship let her recapture some of the childlike joy and wonder she’d lost. So this line is a double-edged sword: the speaker sits by the door with childlike hope that the person will come home and cherish her, but on the darker side, feels like the child dealing with the monsters she doesn’t have names for yet and the feelings of isolation she felt as she aged.

I’m not saying the song is necessarily autobiographical; like most of the songs on folkmore, it’s clearly a fictionalized story based on media she’d consumed and created, but we know a lot of the fictional songs were infused with her own feelings and experiences and… This idea swirling in my head picked up steam and now I kind of can’t stop thinking about it. Sorry but I’m a little obsessed now.

Like maybe it might start to shed light on why she identified so strongly with the novel in the first place…

[serensama]

Picker Wheel Fic

Grab an OC, any OC, then spin the picker wheel three times. Now write a paragraph or three about how the OC is using those things to either kill someone or seduce them.

Warning: Keanu Reeves is on the wheel, but you’re not allowed to seduce or kill him.

Thank you @thedissonantverses for the tag lovely <3

I have the wonderful task of now creating something that contains a broken flower pot, a tampon and a broken underwire bra. Here we go then O_O (It was meant to be a blurb but then became this because I have issues, clearly. Someone send help. A brevity coach… if they exist.) ((It was meant to be about Lucanis x Rook (Lilya de Riva) but blame me for not completing my Illario smut, which actually starts similarly now I think about it hahah oops))

Rating: M-ish? (slightly nsfw?) Word count: 2.7k (sorry... let's pretend it's 3 paragraphs long).

Tagging: @rookamell @jenn2d2 @nyx-de-riva @introvertedfangrl @woundedsoul12 @pixiedurango @apothe-cary @azdesertwillow @hightowerqueen Open tag to anyone who sees this, please tag me back so I can read your work <3

---

Rook threw the door open, happy to be home after what was probably the worst day of her life. 

She had been living out of her suitcase for the last three weeks as she had been in Rivain for work, but thankfully she was going to be on a plane home in a matter of hours. Unfortunately, she realised that the last clean bra she had was her least favourite. It pinched everywhere, and the wire always tried to stab her- why the hell did she even pack it? Why did she even still have it?! Rook grumbled as she surveyed her final clean outfit and cursed her lack of planning. Her stockings had a run in them, and the garter belt she brought along was fraying- probably seen the last of its good days. Her shirt was the one that gaped at her chest, offering anyone beside her a free show if she buttoned up or left it undone. At least the evil bra looked cute; that was the one upside. 

When she went to turn her phone to airplane mode before take off, she realised she had missed a call and quickly listened to the message, it could have been from her stepfather’s doctor with news about their recent bout of tests. But no. It was her boss. Firing her via voicemail, even though she managed to secure the deal between the Nevarran Watchers and the Rivani Lords. She threw her phone back into her bag and scoffed at their “deep regrets”- yeah, they were so regretful they packed her belongings and told her that they could “be claimed from the security desk”. She groaned and readjusted her bra and shirt, when the thin bit of fabric holding back her left underwire snapped, allowing the metal to finally stab at her skin. Fantastic. 

Rook fought the urge to order every tiny bottle of alcohol the plane had.

… and to top off her run of good luck, of course, her luggage was the last one to come out on the carousel… with two missing wheels! 

Fan-fucking-tastic! 

Her right garter was unclipped, and her stocking had started to roll down her thigh; her tits were squished, and the band was starting to dig into her sides, the underwire moving and stabbing her as she held and balanced her suitcase uncomfortably throughout the terminal, otherwise, she risked scratching the floor. The one mercy she had was her ability to call the head of security, her bestie’s long-time partner- Taash, who spent 10 minutes (as the taxi fare kept running!) telling Rook how they were already looking for a new gig elsewhere after finding out what they did to her. ‘No one messed with their family like that.’ 

Rook was unsurprised to see that her office drawers had been unceremoniously thrown into a box with her favourite orchid, a bottle of aspirin sticking out from the soil, and a few of its leaves torn off by the items surrounding it. Perfect. Her mother had gifted it to celebrate her promotion the last time they were up, even though she was so disappointed that her daughter refused to join them in the family business. Her stepbrother was already running it; there was no need to worry… besides, she couldn’t imagine working with Viago. She had tried it once during university, and they almost came to physical blows. She had a company mug in her hand, ready to bash him over the head with it, and he had some window cleaner he threatened to pour down her throat. As if they weren’t already in their twenties when it happened.

She kicked her suitcase through the doorway and watched it skitter across the floor before following it and closing the door with her foot. Her handbag slid off her shoulder and fell to the floor, her shoes kicked off haphazardly as she walked through her wonderful but now outrageously-overpriced-now-she-was-unemployed apartment. She balanced the box on her hip as she opened her bedroom window to the fire escape to let in some fresh air. Rook shoved the box on the windowsill and started to remove her clothes, wanting nothing more than to slip into her oldest, most comfortable sleep shirt and curl up on her sofa to watch some trashy reality TV. Maybe order some pizza. And Chinese food. And some ice cream. 

Off came the jacket and the pencil skirt, but she took her time to unbutton her shirt, one by one as if she were in a trance. She had never been fired before… she didn’t even get the chance to fight or discuss why it was happening… that stupid company wouldn’t have been able to do any of it without her connections to begin with- 

A loud crash broke her out of her reverie, startling Rook, who jumped on the spot. She looked up and saw that her very carefully placed box of stuff had fallen into the fire escape. With a long, exasperated sigh, she shimmied out onto the landing, careful not to step on anything that may have fallen out of the box. She crouched down and let out a pathetic whine at the sight of the loose soil and broken parts of her flower pot that had covered almost everything she owned in dirt, laughing to herself when she found one loose tampon in the mix that looked entirely clean… if it were not lying on the filthy fire escape. 

“Is that you, Paloma?” 

Oh good god, no.

From below her, she could see her neighbour pop his head out of his window and try to get a better look at her. Illario Dellamorte. An infamous playboy from a rival company, but a close family friend. They had known each other since they were children, and the man still wouldn’t give up his stupid nickname for her, after seeing her at their first communion all dressed in white. It didn’t help that, in between all their years of pointless bickering, there was an undeniable attraction between them and that every time they got closer to crossing that line, something got in the way. Business. Friends. Her dating his cousin. Him dating her old university roommate. Then his cousin and her roommate got together, and for a second, they were on the same side… but it was just never… right. So they continued on with their stupid squabbles and harmless ribbing. It was tradition, it was comfort. 

But god, how she wished he wasn’t so damn handsome. 

“Yeah, Illario. It’s me.” “What was that crash? I was about to come up and check you weren’t getting robbed- thought you were getting back tomorrow?” she heard him say, his voice strained, probably from making his way out of his window and up to her. “Oh, it’s nothing,” she called back, rushing to put back all her stuff into the slightly warped box, promising herself she’d be back later to sweep up the soil after she had had some dinner. “Just a flower pot; you don’t have to come up-” 

A pair of shiny black shoes came into her view. Rook looked up his long legs to see the man with his hands in his trouser pockets looking down at her with the same smirk she always saw on his face. Damn him. White dress shirt unbuttoned to his chest and sleeves rolled up to his elbows, it was as if Lucanis or Neve had personally told him her weaknesses just to torture her. “Let me help, Paloma,” he said without his characteristic snark, before squatting down and helping to clean up the mess. “But you hate getting dirty. Even when we were in the sandbox, you complained about the sand getting on you and your clothes getting gross,” she replied, dumbfounded, watching the man pick up her dirty pens and lip balm without complaint. 

“I’ve grown up a lot since playing in the sandbox with you, Paloma,” Illario smiled at her (actually smiled. Not smirked. Or Leered. Smiled!). He wiped his hands on his expensive pants and picked up the box, nodding his head toward the window to usher her back inside. He followed her easily, Rook cursing him for looking like the perfect gentleman cat burglar as he climbed through her window. After he placed the box safely on the ground, she picked up the broken flower pot and plucked the orchid from it, tutting sadly as she brushed away the extra dirt from its roots. 

“Do you mind if I wash my hands?” “Oh, no! Just head into the bathroom- second door to the left.” Rook headed to her ensuite and plucked a vase out from under her sink, filled it with water and hoped the orchids would take to their new home… or at least survive long enough until she got her ass out to the hardware store to pick up some soil for it. She washed her hands and caught a glimpse of herself, and gasped. She was still in her unbuttoned shirt, her pretty but sadistic bra and torn-up stockings… Ilario, the bastard, had seen her like that and said nothing! Pretended everything was fine! She desperately searched for a towel or robe in the bathroom and swore at herself for doing the laundry before she left and having nothing to cover herself with. And even worse, even if she did, Illario would know that she was embarrassed by the whole thing and would tease her relentlessly about it for months to come. 

Booze. She was going to order a shit ton of booze too. 

Rook mentally slapped herself for probably flashing half of the street when she went onto her fire escape. She took in a deep breath and tried her best to soothe her anxiety with the knowledge that he had seen her in a bikini before. For all intents and purposes, he had seen her naked when their parents put her and Illario in a bath together when they were babies. The stupid photo of them proudly displayed on her mother’s dressing table- both of them with matching bubble bath “hats” grinning up at the camera. 

Then, as if she hated herself, his damned words replayed in her head- I’ve grown up a lot since playing in the sandbox with you, Paloma. By the way his muscles rippled under his fine shirt, and his suit pants stretched over the breadth of his thigh as he bent down to help her… she had to admit those days were truly long behind them. 

Illario walked back to her room and knocked on the open door, keeping up the pretence of being polite. “All done. I was about to head out the front door, but realised I didn’t have my keys with me and would have to go back out through the window. You all good here?” She nodded and thanked him and followed him to the window to close it behind him. Before she could lock it, he pushed the pane back up and leaned on the windowsill, a look of absolute incredulity painted across his face.  “Are you serious right now, Paloma?” he asked, staring into her eyes. Were his eyes always that blue? 

Focus, Rook. God damn it.

“What?” she took a step back, not wanting to be so close to him that she could feel his breath on her skin. And there was so much exposed skin for her to feel it on. 

“You’re going to let me go, looking like that, looking at me like that- without a damn word? Nothing?” She swallowed and watched as his eyes traced the lines of her throat. “What did you want me to say? I already said thank you. You want me to say it again? Thank you, Illario. Goodnight.” He huffed out with a bitter laugh and shook his head, his immaculate bun still perfectly in place. How come her hair never did that? Ah, shit focus, Rook!

“How can you let me go, when you are so obviously trying to seduce me?” Rook snorted and laughed. Seduce? Seduce him?! The arrogant, self-centered asshole. 

She leaned forward, their fingers touching on the windowsill and their noses barely an inch apart. Her dark eyes narrowed at him as she reminded herself that she shouldn’t head butt him to teach him a lesson on humility. Last thing she needed was to be carted to the ER over his shoulder, dressed as she was. “Oh yes, of course! I am trying to desperately trying to seduce Illario Dellamorte. Yes, standing here in a pile of dirt, and a box of such sexy things like gum and my loose tampons, in my worst pair of stockings and broken garter belt, in a mismatched underwear with a bra that is trying to literally stab me in the heart as we speak… yes, you’re right. Take me now, Illario. My loins are all a fucking flutter for you.” 

“About time you admitted it, Lilya.” 

He closed the distance between them and kissed her, pushing further into her room so he wasn’t crouching at her window. Her mind was racing, telling her it was a bad idea, that whatever was between them should have stayed unexplored and they were going to regret it when they ultimately broke and couldn’t look at each other again- ending over 30 years of friendship, or whatever it was they had. 

“Illario-” “Whether in the finest evening gown or my old shirt that I know you stole and still wear, you are always seducing me. Whether you mean to or not. No matter how hard I fight it, it’s always been you and me in the end. And yes… even next to a box of tampons and dirt and old, delinquent underwear- you are every bit a vision and the woman I have always lov-”

“Ow- fuck!” Illario paused, his eyebrows raised at Rook’s exclamation. She wedged her hand into her cleavage and wriggled it around before pulling out a long, curved piece of metal, sighing contentedly as she dropped the offending underwire to the ground. 

“S-sorry,” she said, offering him a sheepish smile. “I wasn’t lying when I said it was trying to stab me.” She pulled down the centre of her bra to show the angry red marks on her chest to show him. The youngest Dellamorte clucked his tongue as his eyes scanned her chest with something akin to concern, chased by a flash of hunger. “My poor Lilya,” he whispered, his eyes flicking back up to hers and holding her gaze to watch her reaction, to check for any hesitation from her at all. Finding none, Illario pressed his mouth to the sensitive flesh, dragging his lips along the line of red marks that started from just under her right breast, his thumb tugging at the cup slightly to allow him better access. Rook sighed and drew him closer to her, a new and very different type of embrace than those they had shared in the past. 

Bad idea. The worst. But Rook was really tired of pretending that she didn’t feel anything for him, lying to herself that only friendship or friendly rivalry existed between them. Weary of faking that she didn’t know that Illario had bought the apartment from the original tenant for an exorbitant price just to be able to live there when he had heard she moved out of the loft she and Neve once shared. She was over ignoring how she would go out whenever she knew he brought a new partner home, or act like she never heard him swear at her whenever she’d bring someone to stay the night. She was done trying to believe the days they would randomly meet out on the fire escape to watch the skyline, to share bits of their dinner or drinks or gossip meant nothing- the way she’d fall asleep on his shoulder and he would stay there until she woke up as he didn’t want to enter her house without her permission- until she wanted him to… 

Rook brought her left leg up onto the windowsill, Illario catching on to her silent invitation. With deft fingers, he pulled down the errant stocking, bending down to kiss the top of her thigh when he pulled her leg free from her hosiery. She pinched at the back of her bra to unclasp it, holding the damned thing up against her as her last means of cover.  

“I was just about to order dinner, Illario… would you care to join me?” 

He chuckled and grinned widely, baring his perfect white teeth like he wanted to eat her. 

… Maybe he did. 

“I thought you would never ask.” 

[itspileofgoodthings]

Actually Pride and Prejudice is much more about change in perspective / how things come across than it is about Darcy becoming a wildly different person at the drop of a hat, I say for the umpteenth millionth time.