#letting myself do one a day because I do have life more's the pity but they will all get answered!

[ravencromwell]

18, 19, 25 for Holland please! - Pink

@pinkcupboardwitch here you are, under a cut because I cannot stop talking and some of these became mini fics ;)

 18. How do you think they were as a kid?

Constrained and _desperately curious. He can't talk and draw attention to himself in public once his eye turns, because there's only Alox to defend him. He gains this reputation for surliness, but an utter bubbling well of observations as soon as they walk in their door. "I think those were kittens, real _kittens under the food stall. And did you see the fruit? Was that real blueberries Alox did someone really get blueberry seeds from somewhere and make them grow do you remember when Mama said they were sweet, back when there was more spring and she and Papa could get them?"

Just fundamentally the world is wondrous let me clasp every bit of it in my tiny hands— the times, later, when Athos is almost bearable are when he needs a second pair of hands skilled in magic to experiment on something and he's too busy being curious to get in Holland's space and there's a moment when they both get caught up in _oh, magic. the world. what have you can _actually do that _how _astonishing hours spent with magic or the city, alone, with Athos, with someone else, are rare desperately hoarded joys.

But even as a kid, he's _so very sensitive to other people's annoyance: "Sometimes we don't want to see the fucking rainbows when there's no _roof Holland." Goes quiet at the tiniest sign of disinterest or boredom from his conversation partner. If he loved Talya and Vor for _nothing _else he adores them because they're both fundamentally _good with people, and even if they're bored (they're not he's eighteen and twenty-eight respectively and it's fucking endearing how _curious and prone to delight over the slightest thing when he feels safe to emote, he still is, in this world of all places. Vor's family talked about a magpie, all fierce and hoarding and that's Holland to a tee; Talya agrees, even if she doesn't have the words.)

He's very emotionally restrained. When their mother stops coming home, Alox slams doors, shouts, curses, red-eyed and desperate. Holl is so quiet it eventually catches Alox's attention. He's only six brats should cry Alox is twelve and he's crying. But when he goes over, Holland says: "She never comes when you cry. Don't like-" and he rubs his temples and down the bridge of his nose, which Alox guesses means a pounding head and snot everywhere.

When he's happy about something, it's beautiful. The way he laughs or smiles so it fills his entire face or throws himself in a desperate tangle of limbs to hug Alox so tightly over those inherited books Alox can barely breathe. He hugs like that too when Alox has been away on business, as though if he pulls him tight enough against his tiny chest, he can shield him from all the outside dangers even though it's _Alox's fucking job that's his baby brother it makes something twist and break in Alox's chest, the way he wants to protect _everyone.

Like the fucking meat. The day after Alox takes him to his first Kosik execution, there's more meat than usual in the stalls, and it's _cheap. Holland is silent as Alox buys them two large skewers, but when they arrive home, he shakes his head and there's something _hard in that face Alox doesn't think he could move with coaxing or shouting or even a hard shake to snap his brother back to knowing this is the world they live in and you do what you do to sleep full for once.

"Aren't you sick of bloody beets?" he asks just to try. "I am."

"No."

"Have it your way. More for me then."

And Holland turns away, refusing to look until Alox loudly starts shuffling blankets to tell his fool brother it's all gone and Holland scrambles to press close against his back.

(The rare times he cries as an adult, it's at the loss of some moral tether like that—being _so hungry he eats the meat etc. rather than anything physical or even emotional.)

19. The most random ship you've seen with them?

I am going to shamelessly abuse this question to talk about two fics I adore with relationships not so much random as that I would never have sought on my own.

The first is the magnificent @bluecichlid 's Nothing Alike. Through a confluence of circumstances, Holland ends up getting pulled into a mystery plot during the Vortalis years to save Kell's immensely foolish adolescent hide. I _adore this fic to _pieces for a million reasons; Holland's love for Makt; the hints of Holland Vor friendship; that the injustice Arnes perpetrated is never forgotten even as Holland is forced to work with Arnesians; the Holland pov! which is marvelously _judgy and _side-splittingly funny. But for the purposes of this question. There is this friendship between Holland and the captain of the Arnesian guards, sparked off by this exchange:

Isra cleared her throat. “I understood you were here for a purpose, not just to gawk?”

Holland looked at her in surprise, and then something approaching pleasure.  He had not expected to find a worthy adversary here. 

“Nice cuffs,” he said, nodding to the set hanging from her belt.  The runes carved into them matched that of the sword at her side.  Magic dampening .  “Are those for me?  I like the designs.  Good spellwork.”

They continue to frigidly snark at each other, but beneath it, they're both trying very. very hard to be good people and they can't help but notice that beneath all their differences, they have a remarkably similar moral compass.

You have to understand: I'm ordinarily a very "Holland is focused on Makt" human; him finding commonality with Arnes is just. not my usual readerly jam. But these two, as the fic unfolds? I can't explain it without massive spoilers, but *clutches the bond they form* Best unlikely brotp of this fucking fandom.

The second: of all the Holland ships, Kell/Holland--platonic or romantic--is probably the one I seek out least; it goes back to that whole: empathy with Arnes not _usually my jam. But! _fuck there are certain verses where I'm just *swooning in a heap*

There's this one fic!!!! involving Holland and Kell writing epistolary poetry where I tore through the entire rest of the drabble collection like a raccoon in a trashbin whispering "But no! no you can't *leave it there* we need the five plus one where they keep missing one another and then they don't and they _kiss." because in the context of this *particular* verse! the empathy and connection is _so _intense I just shake with awe over the portrayal. Also, FUCK the poetry is so GOOD!

Honorable mention has to go to another of the author's fics, which does the best job I've ever seen showing Kell and Holland finding common ground without _ever forgetting that one is Arnesian and the other Maktahn.

[To the several mutuals with an interest: no, I have not started either the longfic of hers or SKGY saving for when I'm in the right immensely angsty mood but GOD her drabbles are _sublime].

25. When do you think they acted the most ooc? That final confrontation with Kell in ADSOM. Let me preface this by saying I absolutely believe Holland had mild to severe suicidal ideation most of his life (he bleeds pointlessly into a river do I need to say more here?) made substantially worse by the Danes. But look at how _calculating he is all the other times he actively plans to die. The execution: meant to lure Osaron in. Using the Inheritor: meant to do something for someone he is coming to feel some kind of way about, whether it's merely a debt of obligation for the river rescue, or an apology because he didn't know the collar would kill Rhy too, or a genuine desire for some kind of interpersonal relationship doesn't matter: he feels a bond for Kell and so grants him the mercy of not killing Rhy. Going back to White: meant to reawaken his world.

Now, I know all those moments are post Athos's death, but for a dude who talks so much about how he wants to die, when Osaron gives him that choice, his mind _immediately goes back to the person he once was and how he'd wanted to save his world. Which makes me think that was never as deeply buried an ambition as he says. And there's a major difference between feeling like a coward because you "want it to be over" more than anything (perfectly normal feeling, in my very humble opinion when consistently tortured by the Danes for seven fucking years anyone's overriding desire would be to see an _end) and actively planning to die.

What does that bar achieve (other than giving Schwab a body so Kell doesn't have to go into Black?) It doesn't save his world. It doesn't even fulfill the desire he says all feeling had been "distilled: to see Astrid and Athos Dane suffer." I'm very open to being convinced I'm wrong, but from where I sit? All his character motivations fall apart in favor of plot.

ETa: thank you to the brilliant Butterfly whose points in tags made me realize I wasn't clarifying a very necessary canon fact to understand my salt. "Keeps fighting" later in this little brainchild is because Holland _knows from earlier in the book when Lila bashed his head in with a metal bar there are two ways toget out of this fight; he can let Kell kill him, or be unconscious. Thinking long-term, there's a way to take himself off the board long enough to let Kell get to the Danes and not _die. If it weren't for the fact we know! unconsciousness is an antidote to the Soul Seal--and so does Kell *grumbles*, then wht Holland does would make all the sense in the *world*

You wanted to talk about Holland's vengeance: let's talk about Holland ending up in Black London without being ooc.

He keeps fighting Kell until Kell, desperate to get too White and knowing he can't win tries a half-mad trick. Slams the Stone against Holland's chest and demands the Seal _cease. Holland says the Seal can only be ended by death, but Kell knows a secret he doesn't: Vitari is powerful enough to quite literally resurrect people; it defies the rules of magic. Kell's will alone could never overpower Athos, but Vitari? Pure, chaotic magic drawn to Antari? A very different story.

(The effort swamps Kell's veins in black and he might have ceased to exist beyond Vitari's vessel had Holland not broken the fingers Kell clutched around it even as he trembled with something that might emerge as laughter or tears or both if there were only time. "Athos will have woken Astrid when the Seal shattered."

"M-maybe he's dead," Kell murmurs and Holland heals Kell's hand between the laughter he can't keep back at such nonsense.

"You can't be that naive. Astrid is yours and Delilah's. Maybe with both of you, one will survive. Athos is mine. We attack together."

 Later, life blood coating the courtyard beneath him—because if Athos was to suffer the indignity of _dying at the hands of his _pet, he was bringing Holland along—he swears an oath: to walk into Black with Vitari and die, so long as Kell gives his vow that when his brother is king, they will open the doors for his world. Little as he trusts Arnesians—or Kell's vow on their shared Antariness, what other way is there, with Astrid's plan destroyed? Until Osaron promises that he need only rely on his strength, resolve, and willingness to be bound again.

[solxamber]

Making Up After an Argument With: Vice Housewardens + Kalim

part 1 with overblot gang + rollo

more hurt/comfort for the soul!

Trey Clover:

It had been days since your argument with Trey. Days of agonizing silence. Days of avoiding each other in the hallways, sidestepping glances in the cafeteria, and pretending not to exist when you crossed paths in class. It was ridiculous.

You could barely even remember what you had argued about. Something about cake batter consistency? Or was it his relentless calmness in the face of your very valid cake-related frustration? Regardless, this had gone on long enough.

And you? Well, you were dramatic by nature, so if you were going to apologize to Trey, it needed to be big. Monumental. The stuff of legends.

So you did what any normal person would do: you put together an apology that could have come straight out of a Shakespearean tragedy.

The setting: Trey's dorm room.

The plan: Apologize with flair.

The execution? Well… here goes.

You kicked open the door to his room—literally, because who needs normalcy when you’re trying to make a grand entrance?

“TREYYYYY!!!” you wailed, throwing yourself to the floor dramatically as if you had just collapsed under the weight of your own misery. You didn’t even bother getting up—no, you stayed there, prone on the floor, arms stretched out in a cross shape like you were trying to summon a deity.

Trey looked up from his desk, eyes wide in utter disbelief at the absolute spectacle in front of him. His glasses slid down his nose slightly as he blinked, staring at you as if he couldn’t decide whether to laugh or be concerned.

“...what are you doing?” he asked, his voice slow, measured, and cautious. This was so much even for you.

You grabbed a pillow from his bed, clutching it to your chest as you rolled over dramatically, eyes squinted in faux despair. “I have wronged you, dear Trey,” you moaned, as though you were performing an award-winning monologue on stage. “I have been a FOOL, a BRAT, a mere shadow of the decent human I once was. I came here to THROW MYSELF at your FEET and beg for FORGIVENESS!”

Trey blinked again. He was so calm that it almost made you want to scream. This was serious! You were performing your soul out right now!

You pushed yourself up to your knees, crawling a little closer to him, throwing your arms up to the ceiling. “I have spent these past few days in agony,” you continued, voice now filled with the heavy weight of tragic longing. “My life without you has been like a cupcake without frosting! Like tea without sugar! Like—like… a world without your glasses to reflect the sunlight into my soul!”

Trey pressed his lips together, clearly fighting back a smile. You continued, undeterred.

“My heart is broken, shattered, like the eggs we once cracked together to make the finest sponge cake. And now… now, Trey Clover, I come to you, humble and pleading. I ask you to take pity on this poor wretch who was too blind to see the treasure before them. Forgive me, Trey. Please. Don’t let me die from this—this unbearable torment!”

There was a pause. A long one. Trey stared at you with that soft, almost amused expression, and then he sighed, shaking his head as he got up from his desk.

“You’re ridiculous, you know that?” he said, walking over to you. He crouched down beside you, his tone gentle despite the absurdity of the situation.

Still fully committed to your performance, you grabbed his hands and held them to your chest, staring up at him with wide, imploring eyes. “Ridiculous for you, Trey. Only for you.”

He finally broke, a chuckle escaping his lips as he looked at you, shaking his head. “Alright, alright. Get up. You don’t have to be so over the top.”

You hesitated, playing up the pause before you dramatically threw yourself onto him, burying your face into his stomach like a child seeking forgiveness. “I won’t get up until you forgive me!” you cried, muffled against his shirt.

Trey let out a sigh of fond exasperation, patting the top of your head like you were an unruly puppy. “You’re impossible.”

With a final chuckle, he pulled you up to your feet. “I forgive you. You don’t have to grovel,” he said, his voice warm, but there was something in his eyes that looked a little distant, a little… sad?

That’s when the theatrics faded. You could see it, plain as day, the little dip in his expression, the way his smile didn’t quite reach his eyes. Something wasn’t right.

You tilted your head, watching him carefully. “Hey… is something wrong?”

Trey blinked, glancing away for a second before letting out a small sigh. “No, it’s… it’s nothing. Really.”

You stepped closer, lowering your voice as you rested a hand on his arm. “Trey, come on. I know you better than that.”

He hesitated, then ran a hand through his hair, glancing out the window before he finally spoke. “It’s just… I didn’t know if you’d come back.” His voice was quieter now, more vulnerable than you’d ever heard it. “I thought… I don’t know, maybe you’d decide that I’m not as interesting or… exciting as some of the other people around here. I’m just the guy who bakes and keeps everything running smoothly.”

You felt your heart twist at his words. Trey, always so calm and collected, always in the background, thinking he wasn’t enough? How wrong he was.

“Trey…” you said softly, stepping even closer now, so close that your forehead was practically brushing his chest. “You’re wrong. You’re everything I want. You’re more than enough.”

He looked down at you, surprised by the sincerity in your voice.

You reached up, cupping his face gently in your hands, making him look directly at you. “You don’t have to be flashy or dramatic or anything else. I don’t want that. I just want you. The Trey who cares, who listens, who’s always there when I need him, even when I’m being a total idiot.” You smiled softly. “You’re steady, and that’s what makes you special. Not everyone else.”

Trey’s eyes softened, and for a moment, he just stared at you, like he was trying to process your words. Then, with a small, almost shy smile, he pulled you into a tight hug, wrapping his arms around you as if he was afraid to let go.

“Thank you,” he murmured into your hair, his voice low and full of emotion.

You squeezed him back, your earlier theatrics now a distant memory as you felt the warmth of his embrace. “I mean it, Trey. You’re perfect the way you are.”

There was a moment of quiet, just the two of you standing there, holding onto each other. It wasn’t grand or dramatic—it was simple, and honest, and perfect.

And then, because you couldn’t help yourself, you whispered, “Plus, your cakes are way better than anyone else’s.”

He laughed softly, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “You really are something else, you know that?”

You grinned against his chest. “Only for you, Trey. Only for you.”

Ruggie Bucchi

The silent treatment between you and Ruggie had stretched on longer than either of you expected. And it was killing you. The worst part? Neither of you was budging. Stubborn as all get-out. But you weren’t just any regular person—you were extra. If you were going to break the silence, you’d do it in the most dramatic, over-the-top way possible.

And what was Ruggie’s greatest weakness?

Food.

So, here you were, standing at the doorstep of Ruggie’s dorm with a feast in your hands. You had collected everything from the cafeteria—pies, cakes, sandwiches, chips—anything edible that would appeal to his sense of taste, because this wasn’t just about an apology; this was an event.

And like any event, you were about to turn this into the most theatrical, food-based apology in the history of NRC.

You knocked on his door three times. The door creaked open slightly, and Ruggie peeked through the gap, eyes narrowing when he saw you standing there. “What do you want?”

He still sounded salty. But, of course, you had prepared for this.

“I come… bearing gifts,” you said, lifting the massive tray of food with all the grandeur of a royal presenting treasure to the king. “A peace offering! An apology! A banquet for the ages!”

Ruggie’s eyes widened as he took in the sheer amount of food. “What is all this?”

“Our reconciliation,” you declared, dramatically. “I come humbly, with my arms full of all that your stomach desires. For I have wronged you, Ruggie Bucchi, and I must beg for forgiveness in the only way I know how—with food.”

Ruggie stared at you, lips twitching as if he wasn’t sure whether to laugh or kick you out. “You’re being ridiculous.”

“I know,” you wailed, feigning anguish. “I’m a fool, Ruggie! A foolish, foolish person! But a fool who knows that you won’t stay mad when there’s a perfectly good tray of sandwiches right in front of you.”

He arched a brow. “You’re bribing me with food?”

“Absolutely.”

He crossed his arms over his chest, staring at you as if sizing you up. “What if I say no?”

Without missing a beat, you plopped yourself down on the floor, placing the tray on your lap. “Then I’ll just sit here and eat everything in front of your door until you feel so guilty, you’ll have to forgive me.”

There was a beat of silence before Ruggie snorted, unable to keep the smirk off his face. “You’re crazy.”

“And yet… you haven’t closed the door,” you shot back, giving him a sly smile.

Ruggie let out a long-suffering sigh but stepped aside, allowing you into his dorm room with all your extravagant offerings.

Once inside, you laid the food out on the table as if setting up for a feast. Plates and bowls and trays—everything perfectly arranged in the most ridiculous spread you could muster. You turned to him, arms open wide like a game show host revealing the grand prize.

“For you, my dear, a meal to rival kings!” you announced with a flourish. “And also my heartfelt apology.”

Ruggie eyed the spread, trying to keep his expression neutral, but you could see the gears turning. You knew him. He wasn’t one to say no to free food, no matter how petty he was being.

“I’m listening,” he said, finally, leaning against the table as if he wasn’t already plotting which dish to devour first.

You placed a hand on your heart, staring at him with as much sincerity as you could muster. “Ruggie, I’m sorry. I was being a brat. I didn’t mean to snap at you over something so small, and I definitely didn’t mean to let it drag out like this.” You paused, grabbing a sandwich and holding it out to him as if it were a peace token. “Please forgive me?”

He looked at the sandwich, then at you, and then, after a long moment of hesitation, he snatched it out of your hand. “Fine, fine. You’re lucky I can’t stay mad when there’s food involved.”

You grinned, relief washing over you. “You’re easy to bribe.”

“You’re easy to apologize to,” he shot back, taking a huge bite of the sandwich. “But yeah… I forgive you.”

You relaxed, plopping down into a chair across from him as you watched him devour the food with the same efficiency that he handled everything in life. But there was still something in his eyes—something that looked a little off, even though he was joking around now.

And then, almost as if reading your thoughts, Ruggie spoke.

“Hey,” he said, his voice quieter now, less playful. “I… I gotta admit something.”

You blinked, straightening up a little. “Yeah?”

Ruggie leaned back in his chair, staring down at the sandwich in his hands. “I know we fought over something stupid, but... I’ve been thinking. I was scared, y’know?” He let out a bitter laugh. “I thought maybe you were realizing you could do better than someone like me. I mean, look at me—I’m always hustling, always trying to scrape by. Penny-pinching, scheming… I’m not like all those rich, flashy guys you’re surrounded by.”

His words hung in the air, and your heart squeezed at the vulnerability in his voice.

“Ruggie,” you said softly, standing up and walking over to him. You placed your hands on his shoulders, making him look up at you. “What are you talking about? I don’t care about any of that. I care about you.”

He frowned, glancing away. “Yeah, but… it’s hard not to feel like I’m just some background guy, y’know? Like you’d get tired of me eventually.”

You shook your head, feeling a rush of affection for this boy who always acted like he had the world figured out but was still so worried about being left behind.

“You’re wrong,” you said firmly, cupping his face in your hands. “You’re not just ‘some background guy.’ You’re everything to me. I don’t care about money or schemes or any of that. You’re smart, you’re funny, you make me laugh every day, and you’re always looking out for me, even when I don’t deserve it.”

Ruggie’s eyes softened, his lips parting slightly like he didn’t know what to say.

You smiled, leaning down to press a gentle kiss to his forehead. “And besides,” you whispered, pulling back just enough to meet his gaze, “if you think I’m gonna find someone better than the guy who can steal a whole feast from the cafeteria without getting caught, you’re seriously underestimating how much I value your skills.”

That finally earned a chuckle from him, his shoulders relaxing as he let out a breath he’d been holding. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Only for you,” you teased, planting another kiss on his cheek, then another on the tip of his nose, and then—just because you could—one more on his lips.

Ruggie, now thoroughly kissed, wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling you into his lap. “I guess I can’t stay mad at you, huh?” he murmured, his voice soft now, all the tension from earlier melting away.

You smiled, wrapping your arms around his neck as you rested your forehead against his. “Not when I’m this cute.”

He snorted, nuzzling into you. “Yeah, yeah. Just don’t make a habit out of fighting with me, or I’m gonna get spoiled from all these fancy apologies.”

You grinned. “Deal. As long as you promise to remember that you’re more than enough for me.”

Ruggie looked up at you, his usual mischievous grin returning, but there was something warmer in his eyes now, something softer. “Yeah. I’ll remember.”

And with that, you pulled him in for another kiss, sealing the apology and the promise with a little extra love.

Jade Leech:

The silent treatment between you and Jade Leech had been going on for far too long now. And, sure, you could be stubborn. You could match his pettiness tit-for-tat. But at some point, even the most ridiculous battles need a ceasefire. And this particular cold war was starting to wear you both down.

The tension had grown so thick it could probably be bottled and sold as premium-grade eelskin moisturizer. You weren't sure what had gotten you both so worked up in the first place—something about a miscommunication over a rare mushroom and your tendency to call out his cryptic grins. It snowballed from there.

But today, you were going to be the bigger person.

Which meant it was time to break the ice. And not with any ordinary apology—oh, no. Jade Leech wasn’t a man swayed by simple words and chocolates. You needed something grander, something that spoke to his peculiar interests and refined tastes.

And that's how you found yourself in the local black market—er, highly exclusive specialty shop—shelling out way too much money for some ultra-rare terrarium material. You didn’t know what it was, exactly. It was glowy, mossy, and something Jade would probably coo over like a proud parent. Perfect.

And you had a plan. Not just any apology plan—oh no, you were going to kill this with a one-two punch of heartfelt apology and a sweet gesture that no petty argument could stand up to.

That evening, you found yourself standing outside Mostro Lounge with your rare terrarium goods tucked under one arm and a small, handmade "I’m Sorry" cake under the other. Because if there’s one thing Jade Leech loves, it's weird, rare plant materials.

The Mostro Lounge was quiet, the perfect setup for your grand gesture. You pushed open the door and slipped inside, only to find Jade sitting at one of the tables, clearly deep in thought.

You cleared your throat loudly, and his eyes flicked up to meet yours, narrowing slightly. Oh, good, he was still feeling salty.

"Jade," you called out in a dramatic, over-the-top tone, walking toward him like you were making a royal entrance. "I come bearing gifts. The finest of gifts." You carefully set the rare terrarium material on the table before pulling the cake out of the box with a flourish.

Jade raised an eyebrow, his expression carefully neutral. “Ah, how… thoughtful. And what, pray tell, is this?” he asked, eyeing the mossy material as if it were an amusing trinket.

You straightened up, grinning. “A rare moss that only grows under the full moon in the volcanic pits of the Obsidian Islands. I fought off twelve merchants for it. I might have bruised a kidney in the process, but hey, it's worth it for you."

Jade blinked, but his lips twitched. "How charmingly excessive," he said, though his tone was still icy. “And the cake?”

You set the cake down with a proud smile. “Homemade. No eels were harmed in the making of it, I promise. Consider it a peace offering… because, you know… maybe we’ve been a little ridiculous?”

Jade’s eyes slid back to the terrarium material, then back to you, and you could see that familiar glint of amusement cracking through his carefully composed exterior. “A little ridiculous? Hmm, perhaps that’s one way to put it.”

You rolled your eyes. “Oh, c’mon, Jade. We’ve both been petty, and it’s getting us nowhere. You don’t want to be in this weird stalemate forever, do you?”

He tilted his head, regarding you with that infuriatingly polite smile. “I was under the impression that this was a competition to see who could hold out the longest. But perhaps I underestimated your resolve.”

You groaned, but before you could say anything snarky back, Jade’s gaze softened. He looked down at the cake, then at the terrarium material, and sighed—a sound so small and uncharacteristically vulnerable that it made your chest tighten.

"Truth be told,” he murmured, “I was beginning to think that this was the final straw. That I had ruined something good by being… well, myself." His voice dropped in volume, and for once, there wasn’t a hint of teasing or sarcasm in it.

You blinked. Wait—what?

Jade Leech thought you were going to leave him? You? Sure, you'd had fights before, but this one was different, wasn’t it? Still, the way he looked at you now—guard down, that polite mask starting to crumble—it hit you like a ton of bricks.

“Jade…” You set the cake aside and moved toward him, gently tugging him into a hug. “I’m not going anywhere. You don’t get rid of me that easily.”

For a moment, he was stiff, still clinging to his composure. But then, ever so slowly, his arms wrapped around you, and he buried his face into your shoulder.

“I didn’t realize how much this argument was bothering you,” you said softly, running your fingers through his hair. “I thought we were both being silly, but… I should have known better. I should’ve just apologized sooner.”

Jade was quiet for a few long moments, his arms tightening around you. When he finally spoke, his voice was softer than you’d ever heard it. “I wasn’t sure if you’d come back. I thought perhaps you’d realized you deserved better than… well, someone like me. Someone so focused on... mischief."

You leaned back just enough to cup his face, forcing him to meet your eyes. “Jade Leech, do you honestly think I’d walk away because you’re… what, a little mysterious? Please. I love that about you.” You smiled, brushing a thumb over his cheek. “You’re smart, and you make life interesting. You mean the world to me.”

Jade’s eyes widened slightly, and for once, he looked genuinely surprised. Then, slowly, a small smile crept onto his lips—soft, real, and free of his usual smugness.

“You have quite the way with words,” he murmured, leaning into your touch.

“I’ve been practicing,” you teased, before leaning in to press a gentle kiss to his lips.

Jade melted into the kiss, and when you finally pulled back, he looked more at ease than he had in days.

“Thank you,” he whispered, his forehead resting against yours.

You kissed him again, softer this time, before pulling him into another tight hug. “No more silent treatment, okay? Next time, let’s just talk things out before it gets ridiculous.”

Jade chuckled softly, nodding. “Agreed. Though I must say, your dramatic apology was quite entertaining.”

You grinned. “I aim to please.”

And with that, the two of you spent the rest of the evening laughing, eating cake, and—most importantly—making up. The argument was forgotten, and all that remained was the warmth of knowing that, no matter what, you and Jade would always find your way back to each other.

Kalim Al-Asim

It was completely out of character for you and Kalim to fight. Kalim Al-Asim—the boy with the heart as bright as a thousand suns—wasn’t exactly the type to harbor negativity. Arguments just didn’t happen between the two of you. He’d smile, laugh it off, and find some extravagant way to make peace, usually involving some form of spontaneous celebration or showering you with gifts.

But this time, something had gone awry. The fight had left a sour taste in your mouth, and, even more surprising, you had given him the silent treatment for days.

Days! As if that was even possible. Kalim had tried to make things right, sending you lavish gifts, offering up trips to the oasis, and practically begging with those big, shimmering eyes. But you had stood firm, giving him the cold shoulder. It wasn’t until now, while pacing your room, that you realized just how ridiculous it all was.

Kalim wasn’t a bad guy. He wasn’t even remotely deserving of being treated this way. Life was too short, and giving Kalim the silent treatment was like trying to dim the sun itself. It was painful, unnatural, and only left the world a little darker.

You had to apologize. But you couldn’t just say sorry. Not for Kalim. No, you had to do something that would reach deep into his soul, something that screamed, “I am sorry for being a fool and depriving you of my radiant presence!”—in true Kalim fashion.

The door to Scarabia swung open with a flourish, and you marched in, carrying your “apology” in the most dramatic, over-the-top way possible. In your arms was a golden tray, laden with every dessert known to man.

Sweets from the farthest reaches of the desert, cakes stacked like miniature mountains, and the crown jewel: a massive tower of Baklava, glistening with honey and topped with an edible diamond (you might have gone a little overboard).

Kalim was sitting by the fountain in the common room, looking forlorn. But when he saw you approaching with this ridiculous confectionary masterpiece, his face lit up like a firework display. "Wha—? What’s all this?!" he asked, scrambling to his feet.

You set the tray down with a flourish, sweeping an arm dramatically over the display. “Kalim Al-Asim! I come bearing a humble offering. It may not be enough to express the depths of my regret, but I hope you can find it in your heart to forgive me!”

Kalim’s face softened immediately, the ghost of a grin pulling at his lips. "Aww, you didn’t have to do all this! I was just about to apologize to you, I swear!"

You shook your head dramatically, pretending to wipe a tear. “No, Kalim! I’ve been a fool! Life without your smile is like the desert without water—a barren wasteland of misery! Please, let me make it up to you with this absurdly lavish, entirely unnecessary, but very tasty display of affection.”

He burst into laughter, his eyes sparkling with amusement. “Okay, okay, you’re forgiven! You didn’t have to go this far!” He gave you a playful nudge, already eyeing the tower of sweets with a twinkle in his eye.

Naturally, Kalim being Kalim, his first instinct was to throw a party. “This calls for a celebration!” he exclaimed. “Let’s invite everyone over, get the music going, and—"

But something was off. His words were as excited as ever, but his smile—his smile didn’t reach his eyes. Normally, Kalim's enthusiasm was infectious, a hurricane of joy sweeping everyone up in its path. But now, there was a dimness to it, like someone had put a filter over the sunshine that was Kalim Al-Asim.

You narrowed your eyes. “Wait a second.” You grabbed him by the arm, dragging him toward his room without explanation.

Kalim, too surprised to resist, blinked as you pulled him inside, shutting the door behind you. “What’s going on?” he asked, still trying to piece together what was happening.

“Sit,” you commanded, pointing to the bed. He sat, confusion still written all over his face, and you kneeled beside him, hands resting on his knees. “Alright, spill it.”

“Spill what?”

“You know what,” you said, voice softening now. “Your smile… it wasn’t right. That’s not your real smile. What’s wrong, Kalim?”

He hesitated, looking down at his hands for a moment before sighing. “It’s just…” He trailed off, fiddling with the fabric of his pants. “I don’t like it when we fight. And I keep thinking... maybe you deserve someone better. Someone who won’t make you mad in the first place. Someone who’s smarter, more… competent. I always mess up, don’t I? And you shouldn’t have to deal with that.”

Your heart clenched, and you felt a surge of both love and exasperation well up inside you. How could he think that? Him, of all people? You reached out, grabbing his face in both hands and squishing his cheeks together. “Kalim,” you said sternly, “You listen to me, and you listen good.”

His cheeks were smooshed, making him look utterly ridiculous, but he nodded as best as he could under your grip.

“I don’t want someone else. I don’t want someone more ‘competent’ or ‘smarter.’ I want you, Kalim Al-Asim. You, with your big heart, your endless optimism, and your ability to turn every day into a celebration. You mean everything to me, and no amount of silly arguments is going to change that.”

You released his cheeks, and he blinked at you, wide-eyed. “Really?” His voice was muffled and still slightly smooshed.

“Really,” you said, smiling warmly. “You’re my sunshine, Kalim. Life would be so boring without you.”

Before he could say anything, you leaned in and peppered his face with kisses—on his cheeks, his forehead, his nose, anywhere you could reach. He laughed, the sound bubbling up from deep within him, and you could finally see that brightness returning to his eyes. The real smile. The one that could light up an entire palace.

“Okay, okay! I believe you!” he managed to say between fits of laughter, his arms wrapping around you in a tight hug.

You buried your face in the crook of his neck, breathing in his familiar warmth. “I’m sorry for being petty,” you murmured. “I love you, Kalim.”

His grip tightened around you, and you could feel him smiling against your hair. “I love you too. And hey, no more fighting, okay?”

You nodded against his chest, feeling the weight of the past few days lift off your shoulders. “No more fighting. And no more throwing parties after apologies, okay? Let’s just… enjoy this.”

He chuckled softly. “Deal. But can we still eat the Baklava tower?”

You pulled back, grinning. “Obviously.”

With that, the two of you sat there for a while longer, tangled in each other’s arms, basking in the warmth of reconciliation. And for the first time in days, everything felt right again.

Rook Hunt

You had been giving Rook the silent treatment for far too long now. At first, it was easy to ignore his poetic attempts at reconciliation—his dramatic speeches and flowers left in odd places (your shoes, under your pillow, even in your lunch). You had to admit, the guy was persistent, but you were stubborn. Stubborn, and maybe a bit petty.

But you missed him.

Which is why, today, you’d decided it was time to apologize. And not just any apology. No, no, no. This was Rook Hunt, the king of extravagance, drama, and all things flamboyant. If you were going to apologize, it had to be big.

You strutted through the hallways with purpose, a plan in place. Rook wouldn’t know what hit him.

When you finally found him, he was in the courtyard, gazing wistfully into the distance like some sort of Renaissance painting brought to life. Of course. Typical Rook.

You cleared your throat loudly, enough to get his attention. When his head snapped toward you, his eyes widening, you saw the hopeful glimmer in them. But you didn’t let him speak—not yet.

“No need for words, Rook Hunt,” you announced dramatically, extending one arm out wide and placing a hand over your heart as if you were in a Shakespearean tragedy. “For today, I come to seek your forgiveness!”

Rook blinked, clearly confused but intrigued. That was your in.

“I have wronged you, my dearest huntsman,” you continued, falling to your knees in a sweeping motion, as if you were collapsing under the weight of your guilt. “I have ignored you, punished you with silence for far too long, and for this, I am truly repentant.”

By now, Rook was staring at you, utterly captivated by your performance, which only encouraged you to go bigger.

“I have been petty, unreasonable, and blind to your affections,” you said, throwing your hands to the sky as if appealing to the heavens themselves. “But today, I seek redemption! I beg of you, O Rook Hunt, forgive me, for I cannot live another day without hearing your flowery prose, without basking in your eccentric glory!”

Rook’s lips twitched, and he brought a hand to his mouth, clearly trying to hold back a laugh. But you weren’t finished.

“To prove my sincerity, I offer you a token,” you declared, reaching into your pocket and pulling out a single, crumpled daisy. You held it up to him with both hands as if it were a royal gift. “A humble flower, to represent the fragile beauty of our love. Please, accept it.”

Rook stared at the flower, then at you, before finally, he cracked. His laughter spilled out, echoing in the courtyard. He dropped to one knee in front of you, his shoulders shaking with amusement. “Mon trésor, only you could outdo even my own dramatics.”

You gave him a triumphant grin, still holding out the flower. “So… am I forgiven?”

Rook’s eyes softened as he reached out, taking the daisy from your hand as if it were the most precious thing in the world. “Forgiven? You were never truly condemned, mon amour.” He leaned forward, pressing a soft kiss to your knuckles, his usual playfulness shining through.

“Good,” you said, relieved. “I was running out of material.”

But just as you were about to stand, Rook moved faster. In a blink, his arms wrapped around you, pulling you into the tightest hug you’d ever experienced. You were practically squished against him, and while you appreciated the affection, it was getting hard to breathe.

“Rook…?” you managed to mumble into his shoulder. “I can’t… breathe.”

But he didn’t let go. If anything, he hugged you tighter, burying his face into the crook of your neck. “I thought I had lost you,” he whispered, his voice low and shaky in a way that caught you off guard.

You paused, your heart sinking at the tone in his voice. Slowly, you pulled away, struggling a bit against his grip until you were able to meet his eyes. “Rook? What’s wrong?”

He sighed, finally loosening his hold just enough to let you move, but he didn’t let go entirely. His gaze flickered to the ground for a moment before he finally spoke. “I was afraid,” he admitted, his voice uncharacteristically small. “Afraid that my eccentricity… my quirks, my passion for the unusual—had finally driven you away.”

You blinked in surprise. Rook, of all people, thinking you would get tired of him? The man whose energy practically radiated confidence, who seemed unshakable?

“Rook…” You reached up, cupping his face in your hands and forcing him to look at you. “I love your quirks. I love how weird and dramatic and over-the-top you are. It’s what makes you you.” You leaned in, planting a kiss on his cheek. “And I wouldn’t change a single thing.”

His eyes widened, but you didn’t stop there. You kissed the other cheek, then his forehead, peppering his face with kisses until he started laughing softly under the onslaught.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered between kisses. “I was being petty, and I took it too far. I never wanted to hurt you like that.”

Rook shook his head slightly, but he didn’t pull away from your affection. “You have no need to apologize, mon cœur. I just… I couldn’t bear the thought of losing your light.”

You pressed a soft kiss to his lips, lingering just long enough to make your point clear. “You’ll never lose me,” you said firmly, your forehead resting against his. “Not for being who you are. I love you, Rook. Every part of you.”

A soft smile spread across his lips as he leaned into you, his arms wrapping around you once more—though much gentler this time. “Je t’aime,” he murmured, his voice full of warmth. “More than words can express.”

You grinned, pulling back just enough to kiss the tip of his nose. “I love you too, you dramatic dork.”

He chuckled, holding you close, and for a long moment, the two of you just stood there, wrapped in each other’s arms, sharing quiet kisses and soft words.

It was, in its own way, the most perfect apology you could’ve ever given.

Lilia Vanrouge:

It had been days since the argument. Days! And you could practically feel your willpower disintegrating with every second that passed.

It was completely out of character for you and Lilia to fight. Normally, Lilia’s mischievous grin could melt away any tension between the two of you, but this time, something had gone awry. The disagreement wasn’t even over anything important, but you both had dug your heels in out of sheer stubbornness. Now, the silence stretched on like a never-ending opera that had lost its charm halfway through Act 2.

You were on the verge of cracking. If there was one thing you couldn’t handle, it was seeing Lilia go a whole day without teasing you or giving one of his random, nonsensical life lessons. And now? There was just silence. Deafening silence.

Even worse, Malleus had started giving you the look. You knew the one: his trademark “kicked puppy” expression, like you had personally thrown a thunderstorm over his parade. Every time you walked by, his wide, draconic eyes would lock onto yours, as if begging for you to fix things with Lilia.

The final straw came one evening, after Malleus lpoked at you like you had just told him all the gargoyles were being demolished.

That was it. You couldn't take it anymore.

Lilia was sitting in the Diasomnia common room, reading some old tome, looking as composed as ever. But you knew him better than that. His usual mischievous sparkle was missing, replaced by an uncharacteristic somberness.

You needed to apologize, but it couldn’t just be any apology. No, this was Lilia Vanrouge. You had to match his energy with something equally as ridiculous and dramatic.

So, you walked into the room, threw yourself onto the ground, and sprawled out like a dramatic character in an ancient tragedy, arms spread wide, face contorted in over-the-top despair. "LILIA!" you wailed, your voice echoing off the stone walls. "I cannot bear it any longer! The weight of my guilt crushes me like a boulder atop my fragile soul! Forgive me, or I shall wither away into nothingness, a mere shadow of the person I once was!"

Lilia looked up from his book, eyes widening slightly at the sheer spectacle of your apology. You threw an arm over your face, dramatically flopping onto your side, as though consumed by your own sorrow.

"If you cannot find it in your heart to forgive me," you continued, "then I shall simply expire here and now! Right here, in the common room! My ghost will haunt these halls forever, wailing tragically, and Malleus will be even sadder than before!"

Lilia finally broke into a grin, setting his book down and crossing his arms, clearly amused. "Oh, dearest, you really are laying it on thick, aren’t you?"

"I’m serious!" you declared, sitting up with dramatic flair. "Look at me—this is the face of someone who’s very sorry! And if I have to do more, then I will escalate! I will serenade you in the courtyard! Or... or bake you something!" You paused. "Actually, no. I wouldn't subject you to my cooking. But something dramatic will happen!"

Lilia let out a laugh, the tension that had hung between you two finally dissipating with his amusement. "Alright, alright. I believe you." He stood, walking over to where you were still sprawled out on the floor like some sort of tragedy-stricken poet. "You are forgiven."

You blinked up at him, suddenly feeling a rush of relief. You stood, brushing yourself off and giving him a lopsided grin. "Thanks, Lilia. I missed you."

But just as you were about to revert back to normal, Lilia's expression shifted—his amusement fading into something softer, something deeper. His hands, usually light and playful, gently gripped your arms as he looked at you with an intensity that made your heart ache.

“Though,” he began, his voice uncharacteristically quiet, “there’s something I need to say.”

You blinked, tilting your head as he continued. "Your recklessness... it scares me sometimes," he admitted, his playful tone gone, replaced with genuine vulnerability. "I’ve seen too much, lost too much over the years. And I worry. I worry that one day, you’ll be the one I lose. And I can’t... I can’t stand the thought of that.”

You opened your mouth to respond, but he kept going, his grip tightening slightly. “I’ve lived for so long, but you—you’re the brightness in this endless existence. I never thought I’d find someone like you. And now that I have, the thought of you being the one that got away—” He shook his head, his voice faltering. “It terrifies me. So I’m begging you… stay. Stay with me. Forever.”

Your heart clenched at his words. It was rare for Lilia to be this open, this raw. He always wore his playful mask, but right now, that mask had completely fallen away, leaving only the ancient fae who had seen too much and was so afraid of losing more.

Without thinking, you surged forward and wrapped your arms around him, hugging him tightly. "I’m not going anywhere, Lilia," you whispered into his shoulder, squeezing him as hard as you could. "I promise. As long as you’ll have me, I’m staying."

He clung to you, his small frame surprisingly strong as he hugged you back, as though afraid that if he let go, you might disappear. You could feel his breath hitch, and you pulled back just enough to look at him, your heart breaking at the sight of the unshed tears in his eyes.

Gently, you leaned in and began peppering his face with soft kisses—on his cheeks, his closed eyelids, his lips. “I love you more than words can express, Lilia Vanrouge,” you murmured between kisses. “I’m sorry for being petty, for making you worry. I’m staying. Forever.”

Lilia smiled through his tears, leaning into your affection, his fingers gently brushing your hair as he held you close. “You’re far too good to me,” he whispered, his voice a little shaky. “Thank you.”

You hugged him tightly again, resting your head against his shoulder, and for a long moment, the two of you simply stood there, wrapped in each other’s arms. The fight seemed so far away now, the pettiness and stubbornness replaced with a warmth that filled you both from the inside out.

After a while, Lilia pulled back just enough to look at you, his usual mischievous grin finally returning to his face. “Though, I have to admit, your dramatic apology was rather impressive. I might have to start a new trend of grandiose reconciliations.”

You laughed, feeling lighter than you had in days. “Don’t get any ideas. I don’t think I could top that performance.”

“Oh, don’t worry,” Lilia teased, pulling you in for another kiss. “I’ll handle the dramatics from now on.”

And with that, you melted into his arms once again, the fight nothing but a distant memory as you basked in the warmth of each other’s love.

Masterlist

[frances-baby-houseman]

I would have bled out in the parking lot

Amber Nicole Thurman's death is on Trump's hands

Bess Kalb

Sep 17

In 2019, about six weeks after my first child was born, I found myself on the bathroom floor in a small, but nonetheless unsettling puddle of blood.

“Oh no,” I remember thinking. “I just did the laundry.”

I called out my husband’s name, but the sound caught in my throat. The pain I felt inhaling to get enough air out of my lungs to yell the two syllables in “Char-lie” jabbed my guts like a bicycle spoke to the abdomen.

So I was quiet, trying to keep breathing in a way that didn’t move anything inside me, and the pain pulsed a bit, then steadied, then dulled, then evaporated into whatever hell ether it came from.

Because there is no G-d (unless there is, in which case I abbreviated His name so as not to desecrate it, and also thank you, King of the Universe, for subscribing to this newsletter) this was the one time in my life I hadn’t brought my phone with me to the bathroom.

I decided to sort of slither-lumber to the door like a lame harbor seal, because I didn’t want to stand and loosen the spoke that had just stabbed me. I reached for the knob and let the door creak open.

The cat was there, looking at me right at eye level, keenly aware what was happening, and completely unmoved by it.

“You are dying,” he blinked, “Pity. Have a nice time.” He sashayed away.

Fortunately, our house in Los Angeles was small enough that from the bathroom door one could see everything. My husband was sitting on the couch with our infant, and I knocked on the open door to summon him. Within one one thousandth of a second, he set the baby on the (since-recalled) donut pillow and was holding my head.

I sat up. I breathed. No pain. I took a picture of the bloody mess on my husband’s phone, texted it to myself, he found my phone, then I texted the picture to my OBGYN.

Apologies for being graphic, but within the puddle there was something roughly the size and shape and color of a fig.

“Is this ok?” I said to my doctor, the bicycle spoke scraping lightly at my insides again from all the lumbering.

“Come in,” she replied.

Within two hours, I was in the waiting room of her office, accompanied by my terrified but SMILING mother, who was still, as is the Jewish custom, in town for “a few days or so” after the birth.

An ultrasound which felt like the finger of Satan himself revealed there was retained placenta in my uterus. If I hadn’t come in, there would have been more hemorrhaging, then sepsis, then whatever the cat foretold.

The next day, I was in surgery getting a Dilation and Curettage.

I went home, pumped the anesthesia milk, then fell asleep perfectly fine, my sweet newborn cooing merrily in the bassinet next to his alive mother.

Amber Nicole Thurman’s story was the same as mine, but it happened to her in Georgia in 2024, not California in 2019. She was a Black woman in a healthcare system that disproportionately kills Black women, especially postpartum. In 2021, the Black maternal mortality rate was nearly three times the rate it is for white women. Post-Roe, the toll is and will continue to be staggering.

Because post-Roe, the procedure that saved my life, the D&C, is something doctors cannot perform in states where matters of life and death have been left up to non-medical Christian-supremacist superstitions.

I know the pain Amber Thurman felt when that placenta dislodged and carved its tiny, treacherous hole in her uterine wall. I know the terror she felt when she saw the blood, and the rush of dread when she thought of what her child would do without her.

And when I vote in November for Kamala Harris and every progressive down-ballot candidate, I will do it because she can’t. And I will do it so that women in Georgia and Idaho and Texas and North Dakota and South Dakota and Utah, Arizona, Nebraska Iowa, Missouri, Arkansas, Louisiana, Mississippi, Alabama, Tennessee, Kentucky, Indiana, Florida, South Carolina, and West Virginia won’t have to meet the same completely preventable doom.

This election isn’t just about Amber Thurman. Every day of my lucky, breathing life is about Amber Thurman. Because the only thing that separates us, is one of us bled out under the right Supreme Court.

Let’s raise absolute federal hell about it.

-- From Bess Kalb's newsletter The Grudge Report. I pay for this substack -- though it's free-- and think this is a message worth sharing far beyond her newsletter.

[essentialthyme]

Jellyfish really doesn't pull any punches, does it? Every new episode, it tugs at my heartstrings in a way I wasn't really expecting.

By now, it's clear that Yorukura is much more than people were expecting at first glance, but I find myself being pleasantly surprised every week.

Jellyfish refuses to let you get cozy with your preconceived notions of one of their characters, which was expected with the main girls, and an episode focused on Miiko? I confess I was less than excited about it. But they don't relent, they say "silly, there's always more to a person's story."

I confess that I went "oh, what the fuck" when she revealed her age because, well, I already think the whole idol thing is kinda embarrassing, and to have a whole ass adult doing it? Oof, right?

And maybe a different anime would gladly relegate her to a comedic role, a self-proclaimed rival that never really stood a chance, a character aiming for laughs that strikes pity more often than not, but here they give her an entire life and make you confront her as a full blown character.

She is 31, she is divorced, she has a daughter. She is a single mom working who knows how many jobs, and trying to be an idol in the meantime. She manages to give her daughter a good and comfortable life. She makes high quality clothes for herself and her daughter. She isn't withdrawn, or absent, and she clearly loves her daughter very much. She puts her daughter first.

When the episode comes to a close, instead of the second-hand embarrassment I was expecting to feel, I'm left with my heart warmed.

What this show offers is beautiful.

What an incredible episode to have watched today.

Happy Mother's Day

[soft-beams]

hiii! i read your fic about reader x vi where the reader passes and omg it broke my heart so…for the sake of my sanity! can we have a pt 2 where it expands on the days afterwards and how vi grieves ! alsooo if you could maybe a time skip where vi either moves on (that girl would NEVER) or she stays single until she herself eventually passes :(( anyway thank u sm!

hello! first off, thank you for reading my fic, and i'm sorry to have broken your heart 🥺 i just had that idea rolling around in my head, and i couldn't help myself. ;-; but i'd be more than happy to do a pt 2 where we look into how vi copes (she Does Not Cope).

tw//mention of character death (reader), vi x f!reader

part 1

--------

Life instantly becomes meaningless after you die. It's as if the world is void of colour, leaving everything in shades of grey.

It's horribly depressing, but it makes sense. You were what gave her world meaning, you were what give her world beauty and now...you weren't there anymore.

So what was the point of anything?

She slips into drinking again, heavy liquors that numb the pain and made the grey world go away. She's angry, she's fury as she punches anyone who dares look at her for even a second too long. She's tired, exhausted and all she wants to do is sleep. But sleep isn't kind, it eludes her and when she's able to catch it, all she sees behind her eyes is you.

You laughing.

You smiling.

You holding her close and telling her everything is going to be alright.

You.

"You can't continue on like this," Caitlyn says, having appeared at Vi's door five minutes ago. She's a concerned friend, her brow furrowed with worry. "You...this isn't what she would want." She struggles for a second to find the right words. "She'd want you to heal and find some sort of peace and—"

"You think I don't know that, Cait?" Vi interrupts and she sounds exhausted. Her voice is hoarse, dry from thirst and sucking in too deep breaths when she cries. "You don't think I know she wouldn't want this for me?" She gestures around herself, at the mess of her small apartment and the mess that is herself. "I...try so hard to even get up in the morning but it feels so fucking pointless because she isn't here when I open my eyes."

Something akin to pity flickers through Caitlyn's eyes as she watches Vi slump down onto her bed, her head in her hands.

"I loved her for so long," Vi murmurs. "Since I was thirteen and didn't even know what love was." She lifts her head to stare at the ceiling. "And when I finally gathered up the courage to confess to her at sixteen, I was so happy when she returned my feelings." A weak smile curves her lips as she lowers her head, looking right at Caitlyn. "We had plans. We talked about how we were going to leave this place and explore the world. See what we could bring back to Zaun to make it better. We were going to take Powder so she could finally fly on one to those airships and..." Vi trails off, going quiet.

Caitlyn finds herself at a loss for words, unable to compile what she feels for Vi into speech. She knows how grief feels. She's more than aware of how it crushes and consumes you. When her mother died, she didn't know what she was going to do. How she was going to cope when someone so important to her was gone.

She can relate to Vi to some extent but to lose someone you loved with your entire heart, soul and mind...

Caitlyn very slowly makes her way over to Vi and sits beside her. Then she places a careful hand on her shoulder and says, "I'll never be able to fully grasp how you're feeling, and I won't pretend to even try. But...think of her and ask yourself if this is how she'd want you to waste your days."

Vi thinks about it, lets Caitlyn's words dance around in her head before you appear in her mind's eye.

"I'd be real pissed if you just laying about doing nothing," you say, frowning with your arms crossed. "I mean, I'm glad you love me enough to wallow so hard but fuck, Vi."

Vi laughs wetly, tears already forming in her eyes as she stares at you, wistful.

"Shut up," she mumbles before her chest is shuddering with heavy breaths, a thick sob leaving her throat. "I just...I just miss you so much. You weren't, fuck, you weren't supposed to leave."

Your frown turns into a sad smile, and you look away, as if trying to hide your own tears.

"I know, honey, I know," you reply, words thick on your tongue. "And I'm so sorry for leaving you, you know that, right?"

Vi nods, wiping away still falling tears.

"But I don't want you to live this way, sweetheart," you tell her. "Fighting every day and getting shitfaced. I thought we were past this after your pitfigher phase."

That pulls a genuine laugh from Vi, with a snort and all, as she cackles. That has you laughing too, your grin wide and toothy, and God, you're so beautiful.

Even in death.

"I'm losing my mind, aren't I?" Vi says as she looks up at you, and you move your head to the left and right before shrugging.

"Maybe a little bit, but that's fine," you reply before leaning in close, and Vi sighs desperately as your foreheads touch. "But you've never been truly sane."

Vi reaches for you and swears she can feel the warmth of your skin beneath her fingertips.

"I love you," Vi rasps, eyes closed tight as she holds you close.

"I love you too," you mumur, and Vi feels your hands smooth over her cheeks. "So do me a favour and try and be happy, okay? Go outside and do something that isn't reckless drinking and violence. And take a damn shower, you're gross."

Vi snorts, smiling. "No promises."

"Idiot." Your voice is loving and fond as it slowly disappears in an echo.

"...Vi?" Caitlyn's voice replaces yours and it's here that Vi smiles, albeit sad but a little bit happier.

"Yeah, this isn't how she'd want me to waste my days," Vi replies before slapping her knees and standing up from the bed. "I'm gonna take a shower and...maybe we can do something?"

Caitlyn stares at her for a second before smiling.

"Yeah, of course we can."

That's my girl, Vi hears in your voice as she goes to the bathroom, and that gives her the extra push she needs.

[writingreadinglurkingandsmirking]

Hold Me Down (Is This A New Start?) - Rafe Cameron x Reader

Summary: After a long, hard day of work you just want to go home and go to bed. But, when you get a persistent knock on your door from Rafe fucking Cameron. you know you’re gonna have a long night ahead. Letting him in, after two months of not seeing him, you fully anticipated a screaming match. But, you got something much different than you bargained for—much better too.

CW/TWs: brief angst, brief mentions of Rafe being on house arrest lol, feminine pronouns used, gorgeous/sweet girl/baby/darlin' as nicknames, toxic behavior, canon-adjacent Rafe, mean-ish Rafe, smut, piv sex, oral sex (male receiving), impact play, (not really) lowkey daddy kink, brat reader, dumbification, degradation kink, praise kink, overstimulation, breath play, unprotected sex (be safe I am nawt your mom gn), allusions to a pain kink for sure, mushy gushy sweet ending, not highly edited or reviewed

Words: 8.1k+

Note: 18+ MDNI, really just fucking don’t. I wrote this one in first person because writing in second person irritates my very soul. Uhhhh so this kinda came out of left field and I did nawt plan on writing this but here we are! But such is life! Anyways…back to regularly scheduled programming.

It had been a long day - too long. There was something exceedingly exhausting about living paycheck to paycheck that the average person didn’t understand. There was nothing quite as specific as the exhaustion that you encountered by overworking yourself day after day, week after week, month after month, all for nothing. Because that’s what this all amounted to. Nothing. Nothing extra at the end of the week to take home, nothing to do anything nice with. Just nothing. And nothing sucked the joy out of your day like knowing you’d have to get up the next day and do it all over again.

When I’d finally gotten home from a shift that didn’t end until almost the crack of fucking dawn - a good twelve hours after I was supposed to have gotten off shift - there was not a thing I wanted more than to sleep. Still, even as I sat on my fucking couch, my woes could not end. There was a loud, demanding knock on the door.

The first time I ignored it.

The second time I ignored it.

The third time, an annoyed voice accompanied the knock.

“Baby, open the fucking door,” came the snarl from the other side. I groaned and ran my hands down my face. I really didn’t want to deal with Rafe today. Not like that had ever deterred him before. “Baby, come on. Listen. Please. The cops are fucking trolling around outside. Baby, please open the door.”

I groaned and pulled myself to my feet, opening the apartment door. Standing there, looking at pitiful as ever was Rafe fucking Cameron. The bane of my existence. My more-or-less on-again-off-again boyfriend—though I’d sooner bash my head against the door than admit that. I glared at the ass who had done nothing but make my life harder since he’d entered it. Then, I stepped to the side and let him in. He stepped in and closed the door quickly, locking it behind him. He turned to me and pressed an absent-minded kiss to my forehead before going to sit down on the couch.

“You look like shit, darlin’,” he said. When he even had the decency to look up and notice I was there.

“Thanks,” I said dryly. I looked down at his leg. His ankle monitor looked fucked. “What the fuck did you do this time?”

“Just a little mod,” he said casually. “I needed to get out for a minute.”

“Why did you come here?” I demanded. “Did you stash more fucking coke in my house I swear to fucking God I will kill you. I am not catching a fucking charge for you, asshole.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Why would I leave my coke with you knowing that you’d throw it out, baby? That’s just bad business. Besides, darlin’ the cops aren’t outside for me some loser is probably getting caught selling a few doors down again. And hey? It’s a crime to want to see you now, darlin’?” he asked, winking.

“No. But it is a crime to skip out on house arrest, Rafe,” I said blandly. “And I know damn well that you’re not here because you want to see me. I’m just convenient to you like fucking always.”

He rolled his eyes as if I were being the dramatic one. “What’s wrong now, gorgeous?” he drawled. “Always seems like there’s something these days, hmm?”

I clenched my jaw. “Fuck you, Rafe. Get the hell out,” I snapped.

Rafe frowned. Stood again and walked over to me. He placed his hands on my hips, refusing to leave. I, in turn, refused to look at him. “Look at me, darlin’,” he demanded. Reluctantly I did. “What’s wrong?” I didn’t answer. He brushed my hair back from my face and just kept looking at me. “Come on, sweet girl. Tell me…what’s wrong.” He smiled to himself when I still didn’t answer. “You know better than anyone I’m not going to leave until you tell me, baby…so come on…what’s wrong with my sweet girl?”

“Fuck you,” I repeated weakly, pulling out of his arms. I plopped down on my couch, curling into myself and closing my eyes. “Just fucking leave when you see the cops are gone. I can’t be bothered today.” The asshole had the audacity to laugh at my words. “Shut the fuck up, Rafe.”

Dramatically, Rafe sighed and knelt down on the ground in front of me. I felt him grab my knees and pull me to face him. I had no choice but to unfurl, otherwise, I would’ve fallen into him, which I had no interest in doing. So, I leaned back into the couch, trying to ignore the heat of his hand sinking into my cold legs through worn jeans. It was hard to ignore that. Hard to ignore any of him, really. And he knew that. That’s why he only waited through my stubborn silence for a few minutes.

“Come on, baby,” he hummed. “Tell me what’s wrong. I’m sorry I’m a dick, darlin’…you know I care.”

I laughed weakly, eyes still closed. “No. No, you don’t,” I said flatly.

He ignored my words and kept rubbing my legs. “It’s so fucking cold in here, baby,” he commented. “And your legs are freezing. Your heat not working?”

“No, it's working. It’s just too fucking expensive to heat this shitty goddamn apartment and I’m not forking over more money to the cunt landlord,” I said sharply, glaring at him. “Did you suddenly forget what life is like if—” I cut myself off, shaking my head.

He had the audacity to glare back if you could believe it. Then, he slapped my inner thigh. “I told you to call me if you needed help,” he hissed. He slapped my other thigh. “The fuck are you doing? What game are you playing at, baby?”

I pushed him away from me with my foot. “A game where I don’t need to rely on a man who is a fucking wannabe felon,” I snapped.

He rolled his eyes and got to his feet. “Newsflash, baby, you do need me,” he said, sounding way too smug about it.

“Fuck you, Rafe. I need a bullet to the brain more than I need you,” I sneered.

“That’s cute.” He continued on like I didn’t even speak in the first place. “I could give you that, if you want. But that doesn’t change anything about it, darlin’. You need my money, you need my cock, you need my love. You’ve said it yourself that no one gives it to you as good as I do. And I know you haven’t been looking which means you’re still as invested in this as I am. So.” He grabbed my chin, forcing me to look into his eyes. “When I tell you if you need my fucking money to heat your stupid apartment because your ass is too stubborn to move in with me…then you fucking call me.”

“You are not my fucking father,” I snapped, pulling out of his tough.. “Like I said. Bullet to the fucking brain before this shit anymore. I’m sick of it.”

“I don’t know. You do call me daddy a lot,” he mocked. He smiled down at me, but there was hardly any warmth to it. “But, oh? You’re so sick of it, hmm? You want to be brainless?” He laughed. “Well, I can make you brainless without having to put a hole in your pretty little head.” He wound his hand tightly in my hair, pulling my face towards his while I sharply inhaled. “And you’ll remember exactly why you’re not done with me, gorgeous.”

I glared at him. “I haven’t seen you in two months. The last time I did see you, you called me a stupid, worthless cunt and told me that you never wanted to see me again. And you think you can just show up here and get me to listen to you?” I demanded. I felt my face heating with my frustration. “Just like that? You think you’re…you think you’re worth me listening to?” I laughed. “Like I said. Fuck you, Rafe. I deserve…I deserve so much better than this. Than you.”

There was a mocking pout on his face. He reached out and grabbed my face again, squeezing my chin. “You think you’re going to find someone better than me?” he asked incredulously. He let out a laugh. “And where do you think you’ll find someone like that?” I didn’t answer. I refused to give him the satisfaction. He chuckled, but then his face went serious. “I’m sorry that I haven’t seen you in months, darlin’. I’m sorry that I said I never wanted to see you again. I was pissed, sweet girl. I didn’t mean it.”

“Oh you never mean it,” I said, the sarcasm’s impact dampened by the tearful sound of my voice.

He moved his hand from my chin to cup my face. I hated myself for it, but I did lean into the touch. “Come on, sweet girl…don’t be like that, baby,” he said. He leaned forward and dropped a kiss to the side of my neck. “You know that I love you.” Another kiss, followed by a short nip. “I’ve been busy, darlin’. That’s all. I’m sorry. I should’ve called, sweet girl. I know that. I’m not mad.”

“You were mad,” I accused, glaring at him.

“I was mad, baby,” he said, deceptively calm. “I was…frustrated that you wouldn’t let me take care of you. I just want what’s best for you. But I’m not mad anymore.”

“Well maybe I’m mad at you,” I retorted, harshness still lessened by the teary voice and the way I leaned into him.

“That’s okay,” he practically cooed. He pressed another kiss to my neck then moved so we were face to face, just a breath between us. He smirked, eyes drifting down to my lips and then back up. “You can be mad at me as long as you want, sweet girl. Just as long as you tell me that you love me.”

I sighed and closed my eyes. “No,” I said stubbornly.

“Come on, sweet girl, please,” Rafe purred, stroking my neck with his hand lazily. “I love you, darlin’.”

“I love you,” I said, voice breaking. My eyes popped open and I felt the tears in them.

Rafe’s smirk didn’t waver, but his eyes did soften. He let out a hum and wiped a tear that slipped. “There’s my sweet girl,” he cooed. He leaned forward and pressed a long, languid kiss to my lips. “Let me make it up to you, baby.” Another long kiss—lazier this time. “Let me apologize for calling you names, baby.” Another kiss. “Remind you that you’re my special, sweet girl.”

I huffed. “Oh so you wanna fuck me and suddenly I’m not a stupid, worthless cunt then?” I spat, voice dripping insecurity.

Rafe rolled his eyes so hard I was shocked that his eyes didn’t stick in the back of his head. “You’re not a stupid, worthless cunt. You’re my sweet girl and you know it,” he drawled. “I was a little fucking high when I said that. I didn’t mean it. I’m sorry.”

I gave him a withering glare. “Oh and you’re not high now?” I asked even though I could already tell he wasn’t. He gave me a flat look and I deflated, leaning back, covering my face as I leaned against the arm of the couch. I sniffled. “Okay, I’m sorry. That wasn’t fair. I didn’t mean it.”

He chuckled dryly and rubbed my leg gently. “It’d be fair if you did,” he drawled. He squeezed my leg. “And it’s fine that it’s not fair, sweet girl. I wasn’t fair. So.” He grabbed my legs and lowered them both to the floor. He gently pried my legs open leaning further into my space, hands dancing up both my thighs now. “How about I be real nice and make it up to you?”

“No,” I said stubbornly, glaring half-heartedly down at him. I felt his hand toy with the waist of my jeans, dancing just over the button. “I don’t want you to.”

Rafe raised an eyebrow, unconvinced considering I’d begun to lean into his space more, opening my legs to give him more space to occupy, more space to get closer. “Oh?” he posed, tone almost mocking. “You don’t want to?”

“No,” I corrected, grabbing his hand, putting it back on my hair to silently prompt him to grab it just as he did before. “I don’t want you to be nice.” I glowered at him .”It’s been two months, Rafe. I need…”

He let out a low chuckle, eyes dark with quickly emerging lust. “Fuck, darlin’, tell me…what do you need?” he asked.

I blinked slowly, still looking right into his eyes, intoxicated by him already from such a short time together. “I need you to take care of me like you always do,” I said quietly.

Immediately, his hand wound tightly through my hair and he rose to his feet, forcing me to tilt my head up. I felt my breath hitch in my throat as I looked up at him, my eyes wide and wanting. I bit my lip, eyes trailing slowly down his body, to his belt at my eye level, and then back up. He chuckled again, grinning down at me. He wound his hand a bit tighter in my hair making me let out a squeak as he dragged me just a bit closer to his body.

“You need me to take care of you?” he posed, tone just shy of mocking. “Need me to help turn off that gorgeous fucking brain of yours, baby?” He used his free hand to trail down my cheek, fingers briefly touching my neck and stopping there. “Need me to fuck you stupid, sweet girl?”

Taking a shaky breath, I reached out, hand loosely holding his belt buckle. “Yes,” I said breathlessly.

I reveled in the sudden, sharp sting in my cheek. “Try again,” he warned, voice raspy.

“Yes…please fuck me stupid, daddy,” I said, batting my eyes up at him. “I don’t wanna think anymore.”

“Fuck,” Rafe muttered, his voice raspier still, thick with lust. He chuckled and loosened his hand in my hair before dropping it. He took his shirt off and then knotted a hand back in my hair. “Okay, baby. I’ll take care of you. I’ll take care of my sweet girl.” He stroked my cheek gently with his free hand before moving it to his belt buckle and undoing it with ease. He then smirked down at me, inclining his head. “Well? Take me out, darlin’.” I glanced down at his open belt but he tutted, tilting my chin back up. “No, baby. Keep your eyes on me.” His request was one that was most easy for me to accommodate considering I felt like I’d die if I looked away from him.

My hands trembled as I reached forward, taking the belt off of him. I was ready to throw it to the side but Rafe held out a hand. Without even questioning it, I placed it in his hand. He then set it to the side and gestured with his head at me to continue. Which, I happily did. I heard him let out a quiet chuckle as I undid the button on his pants and brought down the zipper without breaking eye contact. I almost hastily pulled down the fabric until it sagged the rest of the way down. I raised my eyebrows at Rafe in a silent plea.

“What, baby?” he asked, amused, tightening his grip on my hair. I let out a weak whine and pouted. “What? You gotta tell me what you want, sweet girl. Use your words.”

“I wanna see your cock,” I responded, hooking my hand on the hem of the waistband of his boxers. I tilted my head to the side, jutting my bottom lip out further. “Please, daddy.”

He let out a dark chuckle. “Okay, baby,” he drawled. I hummed, pleased with myself, and looked down, prepared to take his boxers off. But, he tutted, turning my head up with his grip on my hair so I’d meet his eyes again. “Nuh, uh, darlin’. Keep those gorgeous eyes on me still. Don’t you dare even think about looking at my cock yet, baby. Just get it out.”

“But—” I began to complain before being silenced with another warning slap on the cheek making me whine and pull back slightly; not that Rafe let me get very far.

“No but, baby. You listen to me. Be a good girl,” Rafe warned, tone darkening. “You know I want what’s best for you, right, sweet girl?” I nodded through teary eyes, looking back up at him. He cursed under his breath at the sight, tightening and then loosening his hand in my hair once more. “Good girl, baby. Such a good fucking girl. Now, get my cock out. And don’t even look at it.”

I shivered at the order but complied. I reached and used two fingers to gently drag the fabric of the boxers down until they too gave way, falling down past his knees. Using every bit of restraint I had, I kept my eyes locked on his, refusing to look at his dick even as it hung directly in front of my face. Rafe hummed, his free hand moving from his side to wrap around himself, pumping lazily. I swallowed, biting my tongue as a reminder to keep my eyes up. A mocking laugh fell from Rafe’s mouth at the sight and I felt my stomach tighten.

“Oh there’s my good girl,” he cooed. “She can finally fucking listen, huh? So proud of you baby. Little slut that you are, I didn't think you’d be able to do it.” I let out a tiny whimper at his words, feeling a growing, heated pit of arousal low in my stomach. I shifted slightly, just barely able to keep my eyes from falling down. He chuckled again and pursed his lips. “How about you take your clothes off for me baby? Then I’ll let you look all you want at your favorite part of me.”

“All my clothes, daddy?” I checked. He nodded. I all but raced myself to do so. I whipped off the shirt I had on with ease and shimmied out of my jeans easily enough. Sitting there in my bra and panties, Rafe told me to stop and so I paused, looking up at him. “Yes, daddy?”

“Nothing, darlin’…just wanna look at you a minute,” he said, eyes dark with lust. “So fucking pretty, baby. God on fucking high, can’t imagine what I did to deserve such a blessing.”

“Stop,” I dismissed, blushing.

“Nah, baby. You’re a fucking twelve-course meal and I plan to have all of ‘em,” he dismissed, stepping closer and grabbing my chin. “And you aren’t gonna say some dumb shit like that again. We clear, baby?”

“Yes, daddy,” I murmured, feeling his thumb ghost up to trace my bottom lip. My breath hitched in my throat and he seemed to remember himself.

He pulled away and smirked down at me. “Bra and panties off. Let me see that pretty pussy, darlin’. Been missing it so much while I was gone,” he purred. I shivered at his words but peeled them off, shivering at the cold feeling of the air against my nipples and the cool fabric of the couch against my exposed core, quickly growing wet. “Fuck you’re so pretty. Look at you…all this…just for me.” He came closer again—even more this time—and his hand loosely went around my jaw, jerking my head up. “You are just for me, aren’t you baby?” I nodded immediately. He glared, his voice gruffer. “Words, darlin’. Or I might not be inclined to be too nice to you.”

“Yes, daddy,” I said breathlessly, wide-eyed. “All yours. Just for you.” I felt my heart beating rapidly in anticipation of seeing Rafe smile down at me. “Daddy?”

“Yes, baby?” he asked, hand still hooked around my jaw.

“Can I look please?” I asked sweetly, pouting up at him.

His lips quirked into a smirk and he narrowed his eyes looking at me, appraising. “I don’t know, baby. You think I should let you?” he asked.

“Please,” I said, pouting. “I just wan’ you. Want to see you. Wanna have you.”

“Awe with my sweet girl saying all that, well how could I say no?” he drawled, removing his hand from my neck to trail back and join the other in my hair. “Go ahead and look, darlin’. Take as long as you’d like.”

Ever so slowly, I broke my eye contact with Rafe, trailing my gaze down to his dick. Rafe’s confidence even as he stood bare as the day he was born was one of the things that had initially attracted me to him. But, looking at him now, lazily pumping his hand over his cock while he smirked down at me? I don’t think that I’d ever been quite so down bad for him. Which was…concerning, maybe? Pathetic, perhaps? But I didn’t care. At that moment, with his long, thick dick just hovering right in front of me, all I could think about was how badly I wanted him. Of how long I’d wanted him…of how long I’d waited.

“What? I don’t even gotta fuck you to turn that pretty brain off anymore?” he said, voice an alluring growl as he let out a dark sort of chuckle. “Got you so trained to take my dick you don’t even try to fight it, do you sweet girl?”

I shifted at his words, suddenly feeling my core flutter at his words, clenching regrettably—miserably—around nothing. His smirk increased tenfold at that and he stepped closer so that there was practically no space between us, not that there had been much before. Now, his cock stood proudly just next to my face. Again, ever so slowly I raised my eyes to meet his again. And the desperation must’ve been clear in my gaze if the smug, self-satisfied look in his were anything to go by.

“And this was supposed to be for you,” he hummed. “My dumb little baby won’t be able to think for herself and tell me what she wants when I get started, will she?” I let out a pathetic little whimper. “You just need something in that sweet little pussy and your perfect mouth, huh?” His eyes trailed down to my lips, briefly displaying the heated desire he was feeling before moving to meet mine again. “Tell me one thing, darlin’, okay? Think your cute lil’ brain can take that?”

“Yes, daddy,” I said, voice coming out breathy. I squirmed slightly, squeezing my thighs together to avoid doing something like grinding on the couch and making him stop this before it even started.

“I don’t have too much patience before I gotta get in that tight fucking cunt, gorgeous,” he drawled. “So…tell me. You want me to eat that pretty pussy? Or do you want to choke on my cock?” He grinned, sharp-edged and shark-like. “It’s up to you.” An aborted moan came out of me at his words. The answer for me, right now, at least, was obvious. I glanced down at his dick and then back up. “Nuh uh, darlin’. You tell me which one you want.”

“I want you to fuck my throat,” I whined, looking up at him wide-eyed.

Rafe chuckled, hands tightening in my hair. “I’ll give you a pass on not addressing me properly this once because you said something so sweet, darlin’. But don’t do it again,” he said, half-mocking, half-warning. I nodded eagerly. One hand released my hair. He pat my cheek and then held my jaw tightly between two fingers. “That’s my girl.” The possessiveness dripped off his tone. “Now be good for daddy and open that fucking mouth.”

My mouth fell open without much thought after that. He grinned as I left it open, tongue sticking out just the way he liked it. His thumb pressed down on my tongue, head tilting slightly to the side as he looked at me. I moaned at even that simple feeling, my body practically trembling with want for him. But, for a good few long moments, that’s all he did, slowly pressing his thumb more against my tongue. But, after a few moments, he drew it away, using his free hand to lazily pump his cock—still only half-hard—in his hand. I inhaled shakily, eyes looking at his heavy cock, knowing the weight and feel of it without even touching it.

“Mmm,” Rafe said, letting out a leisurely sigh as he jerked himself off in front of me. “You want my dick, sweet girl?” I nodded eagerly, tongue still shamelessly hanging out of my mouth. “You want me to make you choke on my fucking cock, baby?” Again, I nodded and he groaned. “You’re so fucking sexy, darlin’, fuck.” I watched with rapt attention as a bead of pre-cum leaked from the tip of his dick. I heard Rafe chuckle not a moment later. “Holy shit are you drooling, baby? Fuck, you really want this dick, huh? Well, I don’t wanna leave you wanting.”

Rafe used the hand in my hair to bring my head closer and anchor it in place. His other hand still held his dick that he was bringing towards my awaiting mouth. The second I felt the tip of his dick touch my tongue I groaned in appreciation at finally having something, feeling myself growing wetter and wanting. Already, with him not even having touched me yet, I was a mess. Rafe knew it damn well too. He chuckled, slapping his dick against my tongue making me inhale sharply then let out a tiny little whimper.

“Should I stop teasing you baby?” he said, voice measured, even, and entirely unaffected—as if he were in a business meeting and not getting ready to ruin my throat. “Should I make sure you lose your voice tomorrow now?” I nodded as best I could while ensuring that his dick did not fall from my tongue which just made him let out another low groan. “Alright, then, baby. You asked for it. Time for you to put that fucking mouth to work.”

I barely had the time to inhale before I felt Rafe’s heavy member settling against my tongue. I let out a breathy moan, reflexively hollowing out my cheeks and bobbing my head to take him further into my mouth. I moved my hands to touch him and he slapped them away.

“No fucking hands,” he grunted, pulling my hair so I’d look up at him before pushing me down to the hilt of him, nose settling against his pelvis. He cursed and I felt his dick pulse in my mouth as he looked down at me, eyes dark and wanting. “So fucking pretty when I’m stretching your fucking mouth open, baby. Look at you. So fucking good.” My core fluttered again at his words, clenching and unclenching while I felt myself starting to dampen the couch slightly the wetter I got. “Gonna fuck your throat now, darlin’.”

With the minimal warning issued, he thrust heavily, pulling out of my mouth almost entirely before thrusting entirely back in. I forced myself to breathe through my nose, relaxing before something unfortunate could happen like my gag reflex being triggered. I moaned around him, using my tongue as little as I could find myself able to when he started to consistently, aggressively thrust himself to the back of my throat. I whimpered at the feeling, grinding absent-mindedly against the rough fabric of the couch, letting my tongue trace along the vein on the underside of his dick.

Rafe caught sight of my desperate rutting against the couch and he let out a dark, slightly breathless chuckle without interrupting the pace of his thrusting. “God, look at my desperate fucking baby. What, is daddy not taking care of you fast enough? Fuck,” he grunted. “You wanna grind like a desperate, needy, brainless little toy? I should make you fucking get off of my thigh without me touching you?” My choked whine of displeasure at the threat made him let out another mean sort of laugh. “Don’t worry, darlin’. That’s gonna be for later.” I let out another whine at the promise then. “Yeah, baby. Gonna make you get yourself off on my leg and then I’m gonna eat your pussy so good. Gonna make you cum for me at least five times before I stop. I’ll fucking tie you up if I gotta, gorgeous. Gonna make my sweet girl so overstimulated she’s not gonna think ‘bout anything but my fucking cock…my fucking mouth…my fucking hands.” Each word was punctuated by a pointed thrust down my throat. “As if you think about anything else, my dumb little fuckin’ baby, yeah?”

When he pulled out of my mouth entirely, releasing my hair, I reflexively gasped in a breath of air, eyes wide and watering. I looked up at him. But, Rafe was still non-plussed by how fucked out I already was. He wasn’t even pausing, barely breaking even a bead of sweat across his gorgeous, obscenely perfect body. No, instead, he knelt down in front of me, one hand making its way immediately to my pussy and finding my clit like two ends of a magnet attracting to each other. He let out a low tutting sound, shaking his head at me as I bucked my hips against his hand before I could stop myself.

“So fucking sloppy, pretty girl. Is this all for me?” he asked, his voice both teasing and harsh. “Barely even done anything to you, baby. You’re just that much of a needy little fuckin’ slut for me, huh?” I let out a high-pitched keening noise and he hummed, wrapping his hand around my throat to make me focus on him even as he slipped two thick digits inside of me. “You want me, baby?” His voice was husky, rasping and his alluring eyes were locked intently on me.

“Yes, daddy,” I whined, voice weak around the whining and moans that I couldn’t help but release as he finger fucked me into oblivion. Even with so little direct stimulation, I felt my legs starting to tremble and my stomach starting to tighten, coiling and ready to barrel quickly towards release. Rafe could tell too based on the way my pussy was practically trying to swallow his fingers whole. “Please.”

“Please what, sweet girl?” he cooed, pretending like he didn’t already know damn well what I wanted.

“Fuck me,” I begged.

“Oh but you sound so pretty when you’re whining, gorgeous,” he groaned. “And I need you to be nice and fuckin’ ready for me. So I need you to cum for me before I fuck you.” My stomach tightened further just on the edge of sweet, sweet release that I’d been missing the past two months while he was missing on fucking house arrest. “Okay, baby?”

“Okay,” I sobbed, hips trying to buck even as he used his massive hand to direct my hips to keep the rhythm he wanted, the other tightening around the outside of my throat, making my eyes roll.

“Good girl,” he huffed. He paused his speech a moment, his fingers moving even faster, making me choke out a sobbing moan, head falling back until he squeezed my throat again in warning, making me lift my head. He then issued a command. A single word. “Cum.”

And who was I to disobey?

The coil in my stomach exploded into a mirage of light behind my eyes as they rolled back. I felt a slightly shrill shriek erupt from my mouth more than I actually heard myself. And all that I could think of beyond the veil and haze of pleasure was the feeling of Rafe’s hands, his skin so close to me. He supported my body as I slumped against him, both of his hands moving to rest low on my hips.

“Good job, gorgeous. You look so fucking pretty falling apart for me,” he encouraged, his voice an appreciative, warm grumble of affection. His hands ghosted up and down my sides. “You ready for me to fuck you, pretty little thing?”

“Yes, daddy,” I said, letting out a long, shaky sigh. I reached out, hands trailing up the planes of his solid chest, leaning my head on him to listen to his steady, calm heartbeat. “Thank you, daddy.”

“Of course, baby,” he said. I could hear the smugness in his voice but I didn’t care. He leaned me back on the couch and moved to get up. I let out a whine of dissatisfaction and grabbed his hand tightly, pulling him back towards me. He looked amused as he raised a brow. “I have to go get a condom, sweet girl.”

“No,” I said stubbornly.

“No?” he asked.

“Have you been fucking bitches on house arrest?” I asked, bottom lip jutting out.

He reached out, pulling my lip down and looking at it in undisguised intrigue. “No,” he admitted.

“Well, then you haven’t worn a condom with me before. So fuck’s sake, Rafe just fuck me,” I demanded.

Rafe’s eyes had a hardened sort of glee to them. His hand moved before I registered it and my head turned as his palm made contact with my cheek. Again, my core clenched around nothing. This time, I bit back the moan that threatened to escape.

“Who?” he warned, sounding all too happy to remind me of my place.

“Fuck me, daddy,” I reiterated, still with an extreme attitude. “Fuck me, don’t pull out cum in me, I don’t care. Just fuck me, daddy.”

“Drop the attitude,” Rafe said, a final warning.

“No,” I spat, knowing exactly where it would get me. You know, right where I wanted.

Instead of slapping me again as I’d first expected, Rafe tilted my head up with just his pointer finger under my chin, his shark-like smile back again. “Do you want to be punished, baby?” he asked, sounding all too eager. I offered no answer. He used his free hand and slapped me, harder this time. I couldn’t bite back the moan this time, or the way that my hand tried to drift between my legs. He caught my wrist easily to stop me. “Answer me or I’m gonna stop. I’ll walk out the fucking door, darlin’.” My bottom lip quivered at the thought, chest heaving. “Do you want a punishment, baby?”

“Y-yes, daddy,” I admitted after another stubborn moment.

“Well why didn’t you say so, darlin’,” he cooed sarcastically.

In a flurry of movement, Rafe sat on the couch and had me over his knee. My bare, soaked cunt made contact with his hard knee and I choked on a moan at that feeling. I barely had time to register the change in position before he landed his first hit on my ass. I yelped at the feeling, reflexively trying to squirm away from the pain, even as I felt a jolt of pleasure at the feeling. Rafe held my hips in place easily with one hand, keeping me firmly on his lap, and used the other to lay a hard slap against my ass, making me yelp again.

“That feel fucking good baby?” he grunted, slapping me again. I didn’t answer, a sharp, hissing inhale coming from my mouth. Another slap. Another whimper. “You should be fucking thanking me for this, darlin’. Disciplining your unruly fucking ass. Making you my good girl.”

“Thank you, daddy. Thank you, thank you. Please,” I whimpered, reflexively trying to squirm once more when his hand made contact with my ass yet again.

“Please, what, sweet girl? Remind you that you’re fucking mine? Oh, I am gonna, darlin’. This is just part of it,” he ground out. I could feel his rock-hard cock pressed against my side and I was torn between wanting it stuffed in my mouth and my pussy. Both thoughts escaped from my mind entirely as he landed another slap against my ass.

“More,” I ground out through clenched teeth, barely able to resist the urge to grind against his thigh and knee with the desperation that I was feeling.

“Needy little slut, you are, huh?” he asked, amused. His hands stopped their cyclical pattern of slapping my ass to rub the abused flesh for a moment. I felt his hand move between my legs more, teasing my entrance with his fingers. Naturally, I opened my legs for him. He chuckled at that. “Can’t wait to be stuffed with me, can you? Already brain dead to everything but me, aren’t you, sweet girl? You’re just my little plaything right now, aren’t you?” I buried my face in the couch and let out a groan, feeling his hand circling my clit again, lazily, not creating enough friction to do anything.

“Daddy, please,” I whined.

“Don’t worry, pretty little thing. I know just what you need to cum again. I decided I need two from you before I fuck this sweet little fucking pussy,” he grunted. With sudden and almost startling accuracy, Rafe slapped me again. This time, his hand made contact not with my ass but with my pussy, the sharp slap making me gasp and jerk from the pain. I let out a half-aborted scream and rocked back into his palm, panting from surprise. He openly laughed. “You didn’t think I forgot how much you liked that, did you, darlin’? Remember that real fucking well? So I’m gonna take care of this pussy just the way I know you need it.” I let out a breathy moan mixed with a cry as he spanked my clit once more. Again and again and again he did it until I felt like I was dripping sweat on my whole body and my pussy was soaked with my juices—the couch too for that matter. “Fuck me, baby, your pussy is so pretty all puffy like this. She’s just crying for me. You want me so bad your poor fucking brain can’t handle it, can it?” I let out a pathetic little whimper, unable to muster much more. “I tell you what, darlin’. You cum from me slapping this pussy and I’ll fuck you til you pass out if that’s what you want. You wanna do that for me?”

“Yes, yes, yes,” I gasped immediately, hardly even grasping the words just knowing that I wanted the pleasure that had been slowly building to finally reach its fucking crescendo.

“Good girl,” he said before unleashing a series of slaps to my pussy in a pattern that I couldn’t have anticipated if I were in his damn brain myself.

This time, as I tumbled over the edge of pleasure, I wailed, jerking against his hand. I collapsed against Rafe’s leg as the aftershock of the second orgasm washed over me. I gasped for air like I’d been drowning and I felt Rafe’s hand tracing up and down my back lazily. As I caught my breath, he placed a final sharp slap to my pussy making me let out a weak yelp of complaint. Without being too gentle, Rafe maneuvered me off of his lap and over the arm of the couch. He let out an appreciative groan and I lifted my head to look back at him. I was startled to see him lifting the belt. My eyes widened as I felt him wrap it around my wrists, quickly binding me.

“You’re not getting away from me, gorgeous. Not when I finally get to fuck my pussy again. You’re nice and ready for me,” he said, sounding almost absent-minded as he spoke to me. He grunted as he slid into me with a single thrust. When he bottomed out we both let out moans—his low and mine high and keening—and I felt my body shake. “Fuck. When you can feel your legs I’m gonna fuck you so hard in doggy you’re gonna not walk the day after. But right now I just gotta finish the job, baby. Gotta turn your fuckin’ brain off forever.”

With that, he started to purposefully piston his hips, holding my bound wrists behind my back for better leverage. I was nearly boneless, shrieking in pleasure as his hot, throbbing cock stretched me open and brushed against each and every nerve ending just right—at least that was how it felt. How he felt. His thrusts were deep and slow and pointed. I sobbed against the feeling, wanting to rut back into him to make him speed up. But, I couldn’t muster the strength. So I just let him fuck into me at his own pace and I felt myself starting to build towards another bout of pleasure—this bound to be even stronger than before if the stars already behind my eyes were anything to go by.

“Daddy, please,” I sobbed, not knowing if I wanted more or less stimulation, more or less pleasure, from him.

Regardless of what I wanted, Rafe didn’t say anything. He grunted out a noise of acknowledgment that I’d spoken then doubled down in his efforts to make me cum again. And when he wrapped his arm around my throat again, tightening quickly and entirely, it was over. This time, as he forced me to a third orgasm, I was actually sobbing, tears running down my face from the fucked up amount of pain and pleasure entwined in being so overstimulated in such a short period of time—especially after so long away from him.

“There’s my good fucking girl,” Rafe said, voice slightly hoarse as he slowed his thrusts to a stop.

He still hadn’t cum himself, his dick fully pulsing inside of me with how hard he was. I dreaded what that meant, even though I also fully anticipated what I knew would come. He gently undid the belt from around my wrists, releasing me, and then eased himself out of me. He flipped me around on the couch and I looked at him with big watery eyes.

“Please no more,” I said, tears slipping down my cheeks. “It’s too much, please.”

“Come on, darlin’,” he cooed, pressing kisses to my cheeks. “Come on, sweet girl. You can give me one more. Been missing my pussy so much. You know I need one more from her.” Another series of kisses, the last one a long and lingering, filthy one to my lips where his tongue entwined with mine and we both pulled back needing air. “Please, baby. One more for me.”

His hand moved down, gently tracing my clit, making me jolt. Already I was so sensitive, so overstimulated. But, the impossibly sweet and imploring look on his face? The hunger he had for me? It was impossible to deny.

“Okay, daddy,” I agreed, sniffling.

He leaned his forehead against mine, grinning. “That’s my girl,” he said softly.

He hitched my leg up over his hip, settling between my legs on the couch. He used his free hand to grip his cock, looking down at us. He gently slapped the head of his dick against my clit once, twice, a third time until I whined and he chuckled, reaching over to press a short kiss to my lips to shut me up. He ran himself up and down my slit over and over until I was shivering and he saw a tiny dribble of new arousal dripping from me. He let out a low moan of his own and then sank into me in one, hitching my leg up again so he could thrust as deep as humanly possible.

“There you are, gorgeous. There’s my beautiful fucking girl,” Rafe praised, pressing a kiss to each cheek, to my lips, and to my forehead as he steadily thrust into me. “So fucking perfect for me. So fucking good for me, baby.”

“You feel so good, daddy,” I said, eyes rolling back and then curling as he pressed down on the slight bulge in my stomach only present because of him. “Thank you, daddy.”

“Anything for you, baby. Fucking anything,” he grunted. He ground slower against me instead of thrusting for a few moments. “You don’t get to keep me from my pussy anymore, baby. I gotta fucking be with you.”

“Wanna be with you, daddy,” I babbled in agreement.

“Good fucking girl,” he huffed, pressing down on the bulge again making me whimper. I felt his dick pulsate again and I tightened around him habitually making his breath hitch. “You gonna cum for me one more time, baby? I’m so fucking close.”

“Yeah, daddy, I’m gonna cum,” I whined. “Please can I cum? Please, please, please?” I begged.

“Fu-fuck yeah,” Rafe stuttered. “Cum with me baby.”

And this time, as I fell across pleasure’s razor edge once more, Rafe fell with me. I felt as he came inside me, hot and deep. My eyes rolled at the feeling, almost addicted to the mere feeling of him being so close and intensely part of me at that moment. I held him without realizing it, nails digging into the skin of his back as I held him against me, ignoring the fact that I was trembling like a leaf.

“So proud of you, my sweet girl. So good for me, gorgeous. Love you so much. So good for me.” Those were the first things I was coherent of hearing again when the whooshing in my ears had faded. They were the sweet praise that Rafe was offering. He went to move—to pull out—but I held him to me still, almost wrapping myself around him like a koala to stop it.

“No,” I denied. “Don’t move yet.”

“Okay, baby,” he agreed. “I won’t pull out. Do you want me to hold you?” I nodded. He carefully moved us. I winced as he adjusted us so that I was sitting up and in his lap because it made him deeper for a moment still but as we settled that faded and I just melted into his chest. “I’m so proud of you, baby. You did so good.” He stroked my skin and hair for a moment. “I gotta get you cleaned up, sweet girl. Get you some water.”

“Not yet,” I denied again, eyes closed as I leaned against him, as much of my skin touching him as possible. “Take care of me in a minute.”

He chuckled. “Oh? You’re gonna let me take care of you?” he asked.

“Yeah,” I answered absent-mindedly. “Fine. You can take care of me, Rafe. I’ll stop being stubborn.” I needed his help. He’d been right about that when he showed up, I was adult enough to admit that. And I knew that he loved me. That he meant it from the best place.

“Really?” he asked, disbelieving. “You’re gonna move in with me? Let me take care of you? Just like that? All I had to do was fuck you like that?”

“Yeah. That’s all you had to do,” I agreed, far too exhausted to explain the complex detail of it in truth. I let out a breathless laugh though, a thought occurring to me when I felt a cool bite of metal and plastic on my leg. “Well, as long as you don’t get arrested for busting out of house arrest.” I cracked open my eyes to give him a smile.

“Shut up, I'll be fine,” he muttered. His hands held me closely, tightly, possessively to him. “You don’t get to take it back. I get to take care of you now. To make sure you’re safe. You’re gonna live with me, sweet girl.”

“Okay, Rafe,” I agreed softly, reaching up to stroke his cheek gently. He leaned into the touch and I smiled. “I will.” I leaned forward and pressed a soft kiss to his lips, laying my forehead against his.

“I love you, baby,” he murmured, so quiet I could barely hear it.

“I love you too,” I replied, just as quiet, just as simple.

He smiled at that, the sight making his eyes go warm and sweet. “Alright, then, gorgeous. Let’s get you cleaned up and get the fuck out of here,” he said. His smile morphed into a cheesy sort of grin—the kind I rarely got to see. “Let’s go home.”

For once, I couldn’t disagree. And I couldn’t help but echo the cheesy smile. “Okay, then, Romeo,” I teased. “Let’s go home.”

[ode2rin]

“what would you do without me?!”

he knows it's a joke. 

from the way you say it, your voice carries a light teasing tone, feigning irritation, contrasted by the upward tug of your lips - anyone can tell it's a joke.

joke or not, gojo satoru, your lover, will never willingly entertain the thought of a life without you - even for a minute.

but still, he gives it a thought, not needing more than three seconds to realize he definitely knows the answer.

i’d be done for. 

he chuckles softly at his plain-speaking thought, trying to play it off as if he's merely laughing at himself for his culinary mishaps. “well, i guess i'd starve to death or burn myself and the entire place down attempting to cook.”

you laugh along, not sensing the underlying truth in his words.

but gojo can't shake off the haunting possibility that your joke opened a door in his heart and mind. damn, it's a joke – for heaven's sake. he needs to act like it is one.

except that one day, it might not be just a joke anymore. 

and god, may it have mercy, because nothing will ever terrify him more than the thought of losing you.

being the honored one will carry no meaningful weight at the brink of losing you. it will be empty words – because when he had you, honor was to have you in his arms, and being the chosen one meant being loved by you. consequently, without you means to lose himself and everything.

there was a time in his life when gojo satoru was painfully convinced that there was nothing more left to lose in him. in the chaos of his world as the strongest jujutsu sorcerer, he had lost everything. 

until you. you happened. and suddenly, he had everything to lose. 

everything he can lose is here, cooking in his kitchen, humming to a familiar tune while making breakfast exactly like how he wants it.

so, you can’t blame him. you can’t take it out on him to ponder too much on a silly joke. 

“why are you standing there looking at me like that? it’s okay, i forgive you for wasting six eggs.”

“i said i’m sorry! don’t worry, i’m going to make it up to you with dinner tonight,” he declares with a wink, hoping his playful charm masks the depth of his thoughts.

“dinner… like food?”

“wh- of course?! baby, what were you even thinking?!”

“you winked! what was i supposed to think?!”

“is this who i am to you, my love?!”

“oh shut up, satoru!”

gojo’s playful gaze lingers on your flustered face, taking in every detail, every nuance of your being. and he can't help but wonder how you manage to hold his heart in the palm of your hand without even realizing it.

he can't be without you. not now, not ever. 

fate is never kind to anyone, but if by chance it takes pity, let it be on him. of all, he deserves that pity, does he not? 

because to answer your silly joke, he’d be utterly and infinitely done for without you.

note. i just... love him these days.

[lila-lou]

✨ His only exception - Pt. 6/? ✨

Summary: 12 months ago, Butcher went above and beyond to have you join his team. You had a simple office job at Supe Affairs. The same thing every day, working from 9 to 5 and watching Butcher and his team defeat one renegade after another. One evening, however, something changed.

Pairing: Soldier Boy x Reader

Warnings: Language

Word Count: 2515

A/N: This is part 6 of “His only exeption”.

English isn’t my first language, so please be lenient. 💙✨

You could both hear Frenchie, but neither you nor Ben wanted to be the one to look away first. Be the one to give in. For once, Frenchie realized he was out of place a little quicker than usual and ran away before things got too messy.

“I definitely don’t have to fucking justify myself to you. I'm fucking Soldier Boy. I don’t have to justify myself to anyone”, he stood in front of you with broad shoulders and looked down at you.

“That’s not the point”, you raised your voice, but you were put in your place faster than you would have liked. With his forearm on your chest, he pushed you against the wall next to the door.

Once again he was portrayed as the bad guy, even though all he wanted to do was help. Wanted to do the right thing. Ben thought you were different, that you saw something good in him, but obviously he was wrong.

“I think i went too soft on you. Know your fucking place or I’ll make you”, he growled threateningly, fixing his gaze on you for a moment longer. He shook his head pathetically, the corners of his mouth hanging as he heard your heart start to race. “Fucking pathetic. Like all fucking women”, he hissed, releasing you with a firm jerk.

Ben had to protect you both. Despite all the hate and anger within him, or perhaps because of it, he still behaved like a soldier.

He had to protect you from losing your life because of him or his actions, and he had to protect himself from being abandoned and disappointed by a woman again. He wouldn't let something like the the thing with the Russians happen again. Whatever made him want more from you, than your mouth around his cock, wouldn't be allowed from now on.

It was Annie who broke the silence between the two of you by entering the room. “Hey (y/n). How are you doing? How you feeling?”, she gently stroked your forearm. Your eyes stayed on Ben for a moment, but he fled, leaving the two of you alone.

"Good. I guess”, you mumbled, watching Ben leave.

Annie pressed her lips together as she saw your longing look. “Nuh-uh… (y/n)… Seriously. You don’t want this, trust me”, she sighed, looking at you with pity. “He’s not one of the good guys”.

“I don’t know what you mean” you murmur, wrapping your amre around your torso. Lost in thought, you chewed on your bottom lip as you continued to look at the door to the room.

“Mhmm, sure. Now try again”, Annie murmured.

Your eyes met Annie's and unfortunately revealed too much of what was going on. Feelings, that you neither could nor wanted to place, were boiling inside you.

Shaking your head slightly, you sighed, thanked Annie for looking out for your well-being, but then left the room.

After a long shower, you slipped into fresh clothes and walked past the living room, where Ben and the others were sitting, to leave the apartment. “Oi, where are you going?”, Butcher called to you, craning his head. A football game was playing in the background. “Just out. I need some fresh air”, you crossed your arms and looked into the living room from the door. “I don’t think that’s a good idea”, Butcher replied, putting his beer on the table. "Should I come with you?", Annie looked at you.

Ben was listening to your discussion about whether or not you should go out alone, but he acted as if his attention was just on the television.

“I’m a Supe now. What’s going to happen?”, you shrugged, earning a snide mockery from Ben. “You have something to say, huh?”. You narrow your eyes at Ben, who is sipping his bottle of whiskey. “Oh, absolutely not, Dollfface. Go out and have fun”, he gave you a fake smile. Butcher looked at the two of you and knew something was off. Why would Ben react like that to what you just said? But he couldn't put his finger on it. “All fucking amateurs”, Ben chuckled, standing up with his whiskey. Before he walked past you into his room, he stopped right in front of you and leaned so close that his lips touched your ear. “You'll notice soon”, he whispered, winking at you and leaving you confused.

“See you later”, you mumbled after a while to Butcher and left the apartment.

Ben should have told you, but he didn't. He didn't even know why. It would have been much safer for you to know.

You walked through the dark and empty streets, lost in thought, for over two hours. Aside from desperately trying to discover your abilities, you were busy trying to understand Ben's behavior. One moment he was kissing you, the next he was treating you like a worthless piece of shit. He had saved your life, but he was also the one who had put it in danger. You felt like you were hanging on a rope that he tightened or loosened at will.

But what did you actually want? In any case, you didn't want to be a Supe. Never. And now you have the crap. And then the whole thing with Ben. It felt like you hadn't had any other topic on your mind for weeks than him. It wasn't that you were in love with him, but rather that you tried to find justification in all of his actions, despite your actual dislike for Supes. Not seeing him as the bad guy. Like Annie. Or the others. You knew there was something good in him somewhere, even if he really didn't make it easy for you to stick to your beliefs. Despite your best efforts, you just couldn't put your finger on what made you so attached to Ben. Of course you had a similar sense of humor, often similar opinions and views and of course Ben was really good looking. But that wasn´t enough for… You couldn't even finish your thought, and probably wouldn't have wanted to, when suddenly someone landed on the floor behind you. With a force that almost knocked you to the ground.

“Well, look at that. Who do we have here?”. The Supe puts his hands on his hips behind you. “What is a beautiful young woman like you doing here all alone?”. Your breath hitched as you turned around to make sure it was who you thought it was. After you had been looking for him for months and there was no greater mission than to finally catch him alone and take him prisoner, the son of a bitch just stood in front of you.

"Are you speechless?", Homelander cocked his head to the side before taking a few steps towards you. You needed to somehow regain your nerve. “Homelander. Wow. What an honor”, you accomplished your acting masterpiece and bowed slightly. "Mhmm, all nice and polite. Well-bred. I’m almost thrilled”, he gave you a bright smile. “Of course you know who I am, but would you like to tell me your name?”, he was now standing directly in front of you. You knew that even as Supe you wouldn't stand a chance against Homelander. “(y/n)”, you said, quieter than you planned as his scent invaded your nose. Normally you wouldn't be so awkward and intimidated around Supes, but Homelander was different. Not only was he stronger than all the other Supes, he was also crazier.

“Pretty name, pretty girl. But seriously. Don't you know how dangerous it is out here this late? With the psychopath Soldier Boy on the loose”, he shook his head and clicked his tongue. You almost raised an eyebrow at his statement, but you stopped yourself at the last moment. He of all people said Ben was a psychopath.

“Oh, I'm a Supe too, it's okay. But thanks”, you waved and were about to leave, but Homelander’s laughter stopped you. "You? A supe? Hardly, darling. I can smell your human blood from miles away. Not to mention your off heartbeat”, he placed a hand on your shoulder.

Your eyes met and as a cold shiver of the bad kind ran down your spine, Homelander's pupils moved quickly and repeatedly left and right as his eyes narrowed. It seemed like he was trying to concentrate. His mouth opened and he raised a finger before putting it thoughtfully to his lips.

With much effort, Homelander could hear the Compound V in your blood and feel it pulsating under his hand on your shoulder. But it wasn't pure V. It was mixed. He frowned in confusion and surprise. And from one second to the next his expression was ice cold. How could you be alive with compound V in your blood and still be human? What were you?

"Who did this? Why are you still alive?", he pulled on your arm so hard that it almost broke. As shocked as you were, there was absolutely nothing you could do. Especially not when Homelander grabbed your jaw and squeezed it tight. "Answer me!", he roared before being thrown backwards with great force.

When you turned around, you saw Ben. Well, the pissed off version of Ben. With quick and heavy steps, he walked determinedly towards Homelander, who stood up again within seconds. "You did that!". He knew as soon as he recognized Soldier Boy. “If you want to fight, then fucking fight! But do like a man and stop scaring little girls, like a little pussy”, Ben hissed and swung his shield, but only hit the street, which immediately opened up as Homelander quickly turned to the side. "What was your plan?", Homelander looked at Ben with his crazy eyes and wide grin. Ben swung again, but missed his target again. “Did you want to equate her with us and it didn’t work? Maybe I should try it".

That was all Ben needed to escalate. With anger flaring within him, he lunged at Homelander and started a actual fight. Meanwhile, trying to ignore your dizziness and racing heart, you fished your phone out of your pocket and called Butcher.

"We'll be right there, darling", Butcher grinned on the other end of the line before gathering the others and heading out.

The minutes before Butcher and the others arrived seemed like hours. And all you could do was watch helplessly as Ben and Homelander beat each other to death.

However, when Ben was on the floor with Homelander on top of him and you saw Homelander's eyes start to glow red, you knew you had to do something. Ben’s chest began to glow too, but you knew he wouldn’t recharge in time. As if guided by an invisible force, you grabbed the nearest stick from the ground, run towards the two of them and ram the stick into Homelander's ear. He roared, fell to the ground and while you were still on top of Ben and his burning chest, Ben pushed you away with all his strength before finally exploding.

It was a blessing that Butcher showed up at that exact moment and with great difficulty catched you before you hit the ground. While Annie sprinted off with Hughie to find Homelander, Butcher handed you off to MM before he and Kimiko ran into the cloud of dust surrounding Soldier Boy.

“It’s okay, I can stand”, you murmured. MM carefully lowered you to the ground, keeping an eye on you as you frantically asked about Ben. You started to run, but Frenchie stopped you with a hug from behind. “Wait”, he murmured and like MM, looked expectantly at the dust that was slowly but surely dissipating.

It seemed like you couldn't catch your breath until you saw Ben walking towards you. As always, unharmed. When he arrived with Butcher and Kimiko, he brushed the dust off his suit and looked around. “Fucking pussy. Hiding somewhere”, he cursed under his breath as he continued to look out for Homelander, not noticing how his arm had found its way around your waist. He held you protectively, just inches away from his body as he scanned the entire area. Butcher looked at the two of you thoughtfully, but was brought out of his thoughts by Kimiko, who nudged him with her elbow as Hughie and Annie returned. “There’s no sign of Homelander", Hughie announced between heavy breaths. "Fucking amazing!”, Butcher cursed loudly and hit the nearest lantern so hard that it fell over and shattered with a loud crack.

As Butcher and Hughie discussed what to do, you only now became aware of Ben's tight grip on your body. You looked up at him, breathless. Only when your eyes met did he lower his arm and take a step away from you.

A few minutes later you were in the backseat of Hughie's car with Ben. Annie at the wheel and Hughie in the passenger seat.

“How did you even know where I was?”, You looked sideways at Ben as he swallowed a few pills so he wouldn’t have to endure all this shit sober anymore. “Don’t bother”, he murmured, crossing his arms and closing his eyes, hoping you would let the subject go. “The fuck, Ben. Why can’t you just talk to me?”, you raised both hands angrily. "Why can't you just shut the fuck up?", he replied monotonously, his eyes still closed.

You just groaned in annoyance because you knew he wouldn't tell you anything in front of Annie and Hughie anyway. His moods would probably give you whiplash at some point.

When you got home, you wanted nothing more than to fall into your soft and warm bed and forget the last 3 days. Unfortunately, Butcher had other plans. First he wanted to discuss what had just happened.

The meeting went slowly. And while Ben could at least get drunk and snort one line after another, you had to endure it all sober and tired. You felt like you were at marriage counseling as Butcher paced in front of you and the couch, you answered questions, and Ben either sniffed oder drank.

When Butcher finally left you alone after almost an hour, you followed Ben into his room.

“(y/n). Seriously. What the fuck do you want?”, He groaned in annoyance as he sank onto his bed and you closed the door behind him.

“I wanted to thank you. For saving my life. Again”, you sighed, dropping your hands. “And", you walked over to him and sat down onto the bed next to Ben. “I want to know what all the Supe Blood stuff means. Homelander said I wasn't a Supe. What am I? What have you done to me, Ben?”.

———————————

A/N: Please let me know what you think.🥰

-

Part 7

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Taglist: @deangirl96, @thatgirljayy, @suckitands33, @deans-spinster-witch @mimaria420 @kaz11283 @uncle-eggy

[lovelytsunoda]

954 // logan sargeant

summary: florida man fucks shy college girl. or, back home in fort lauderdale y/n’s welcome home party is sabotaged by her race winner brother, and it gives her a bit of a complex. at least her brothers best friend is there to make her feel better about it.

pairing: logan sargeant x female kirkwood! reader

warnings: straight up smut, kyle kirkwood is a lot to handle in large doses (but we love him anyways), feelings of anxiety, minor sibling rivalry, body image issues. i am going to hell, littered with spelling mistakes because of how fast I was typing and pure laziness to go back and fix it

author's note: 954 is the area code for fort lauderdale. and technically kyle kirkwood lives in jupiter, but for the sake of the story let's pretend he's also from lauderdale.

she sat at the edge of the pier, jeans rolled up past her shins as she started off into the horizon, watching the sun dip below the ocean line.

“it’s your party, what are you doing out here alone?”

she rolled her eyes, pulling her feet out of the water before following the voice. “why do you think? kyle hijacked it. I’m back home for less than a day and he’s already stealing the spotlight again.”

that was the way it always went in the kirkwood household: y/n came home from school, and everything was great, and then kyle waltzes in and suddenly everything is about him again.

logan shook his head, settling onto the pier next to her, a gentle hand resting on her thigh. she shrugged it off, anxiously twisting one of the rings on her hand.

“you know he doesn’t do it on purpose, right?” logan soothed “he loves you, and he hates that you feel like this.”

“i know. the inferiority complex is all me.”

“it’s not a complex, and your feelings are valid.”

she shook her head. “everyone tells me i shouldn’t have quit karting. even when it made me hate myself.”

she sighed, laying down on the pier, worn wood scratching at her skin, but not splintering against her baby pink tank top. “what am I doing with my life, logan?”

“hey, look at me.” logan encouraged, fingertips against her chin to angle her face towards him. “you are doing great things. deans list every semester, you’re a great artist and I’d be shocked if firms weren’t lining up to hire you as a litigator.”

“you’re just saying that.” she refused to meet his eyes. logan was kyles best friend, for god sakes. she’d crumble under his stare, his touch.

“but I’m not.” logan insisted, gripping her face now, making her look at him. she needed to know how wonderful she was, and he was going to be the one to tel her. “you are smart and funny and all kinds of wonderful, kirkwood. any guy would be lucky to have you, and anyone else should consider themselves blessed to have you as a friend.”

“you really mean that?”

“why would I lie to you, y/n?”

she barely had time to respond before logans lips were on hers. she was hesitant at first, unsure if logan really knew what he was doing. unsure if he was really kissing her because he wanted to or because he pitied her.

the intrusive thoughts didn’t stay long, however, as she snapped to attention and moved her lips against his, wrapping her body around his.

“jesus.” logan breathed. “those jeans make your ass look incredible. well, your ass always looks incredible, but these jeans are really doing it for me.”

she laughed at how red logan's face was, a shade that looked more salmon under the sunset. the pier was digging into her skin, and she was starting to get uncomfortable, logan's lips along her neck not quite enough to distract from the discomfort of what she was sure would become a splinter if their activities were not relocated.

somehow they made it to her bedroom without being discovered by the partygoers, much less kyle. the fairy lights tacked to her dusty pink walls were the only light in the room as logan backed her up against her bookshelf, securely caging her body against his.

she felt safe in logan's arms. protected.

"i've been crazy about you for years now." logan growled in between kisses. "every night i came over to watch panthers games with your brother, and you were there in those tight little jean shorts, laughing and giggling with your friends. or when i'd stay the night and you'd walk past his bedroom door to get to the bathroom in the middle of the night, your skimpy silk top falling down your shoulder just enough to give me a taste of your gorgeous body. do you know how many times i've jerked off to the thought of you in kyle's bathroom? you're stunning, y/n. don't let anybody tell you otherwise."

her mind was reeling, and she couldn't find the proper words as she tugged at the collar of logan's button down shirt, pressing her lips back to his. logan sargeant was interested in her.

logan saw her for her, not just as kyle kirkwood's baby sister.

clothes were shed, buttons ripped off shirts. her head was spinning, elated and giddy and she couldn't find the words to tell logan how incredible she felt as his large hands squeezed her breasts over the mesh padding of her bralette.

she gasped, logan taking that chance to slip his tongue into her mouth, his fingers grappling for the clasp on her bra.

all at once, reality came crashing back down on her. she pulled away, hands flying up to cover her exposed breasts as the pale fabric tumbled to the hardwood floor.

she wouldn't meet logan's eyes, scared to know what he thought of her naked body. scared to see him stare at her and not know what he was thinking.

his eyes softened, the lust drawing back as concern seeped in to his irises. "y/n, pretty girl, you don't need to hide yourself around me. who made you think that you weren't sexy as all hell? i never want you feel like you have to be shy around me."

he gently gripped her arms, guiding her towards the wall length mirror hanging on the back of the ensuite door. logan stood behind her, lifting her chin so that she would meet his eyes in the mirror. placing his hands over hers, he gently pulled her palms off her breasts, exposing her bare torso to the soft lighting in the room.

"look at you beautiful you are, y/n. i'm serious."

"you're just saying that so you can get your dick wet." even as she said it, she knew it didn't sound like she meant it.

but even still, staring at herself in the mirror, all she could focus on was the way that she looked: the stretch marks on her breasts, the smattering of freckles up her arms (or were they moles, like the two on her back?).

"what will it take to show you how sexy you are, y/n?" logan rasped, undoing the button on her jeans. "should i make you watch yourself as i touch you?"

"yeah." her voice was shaky. "i think you should show me how sexy i am. clearly, i need reminding." where was this sudden boldness coming from?

"that;s my sexy, shy girl." logan cooed, tugging her jeans down her legs, kissing over her ass and down her leg before coming back up, eyes hungry at the sight of the young woman in front of him, panties hiked high on her hips and fairly see through as he slipped a hand over teh fabric and between her legs, teasing at the dampness beginning to form.

she gasped as logan slicked up his fingers, slipping them inside of her in one swift movement, working around the fabric of her cheeky panties. she was breathing hard, biting her bottom lip as she took in the sight in the mirror: logan's fingers flexing in and out of her, arousal running over his pale skin, his face contorted in concentration as he growled down her ear, telling her how tight she felt, and how good she was for him.

her own skin was rosy and flushed, a sheen of sweat beginning ro form as she felt her body heating up. there was something sinful about watching herself in the mirror, finally allowing herself to let loose a moan.

"that's my girl. don't get shy on me now, i want to know that you feel as good as i do." logan groaned, sucking on her neck. "touch me, baby. i know you want to. feel how fucking hard i am for you."

she loosened her grip on logan's wrist, internally grinning at the nail marks that she left behind in his skin before slipping an arm behind her, cupping his bulge in her hand.

she was floored. she knew logan was big (she could always see the outline in his swim shorts, forcing herself to stop staring before he noticed) but knowing that she had this effect on him?

it was a powerful thing.

"jesus, logan." she whined. "i need it inside of me."

logan's eyes sparkled. "what do you need inside of you, sweetheart? i need you to say it for me." he started pumping his fingers faster, his other hand moving to fondle her left breast, tweaking the rosy bud of her nipple between his fingers.

she sighed heavily, feeling her legs turn mushy as she leaned back against logan. "need your cock." she mumbled, unsure if she could speak any louder.

"what was that, darling? don't be shy now, i can't give you what you need if you don't tell me, love."

fuck you, she thought, biting her lip hard enough to draw blood. she was clenching around his fingers now, unsure of hoe much longer she'd be able to last. but she needed him inside of her, felt like she might die if he wasn't.

"your cock!" she shouted. "please, logan, i need your big cock inside me, please, god, i need it."

why did she say that? she should never have said that. it made her sound desperate. but in a way, she was desperate, wasn't she?

logans fingers stopped their ministrations, pulling out of her and taking a trail of her juices with them. she thought her eyes were going to roll back in her head before logan laid her down on her queen bed, her hair fanning out behind her as he started to undo his jeans, resort shirt still hanging off his frame, face flushed and covered in a sheen of sweat as he licked her arousal off his fingers.

"do you have condoms, kirkwood? because i really don't want to have to go digging for them in kyle's room."

"please don't talk about my brother when i want you to fuck my brains out."

logan smirked. "not so shy now, are we, my sexy girl."

"shut up! go the ensuite, top vanity drawer on the left. you literally cannot miss the box."

she could have laughed, lying back on the bed and kicking off her panties as logan ran, half naked and dropping his resort shirt behind him, to the ensuite.

he stumbled back, tripping over discarded clothes and the fluffy carpet, triumphantly holding the box above his head.

"the whole box? how much do you think you're getting tonight, sarge?"

logan raised an eyebrow. "call me that, and i'm going to make you forget how shy you are and have you scream my name all night long."

[unemployedhockeyfan]

Not All Breakups Are Equal

Summary: Lando and Eloise, two best friends. They'd been there for one another for as long as they could remember. But, just a few short weeks change everything.

Warnings: angst I guess

Notes: Hi! This is a first for me, so please share your feedback!! Let me know if you want a part 2!!

[1.4k]

This was not how it was supposed to end. 

We were supposed to be friends until our dying breaths. If I let my true imagination wander, it wouldn’t have ended just like that either. If I was honest with myself early on, he would have been the man I saw as I walked down the aisle. 

But here we are in his way-too expensive Monaco apartment. 

“Eloise, I don’t understand why you are so pressed about this,” Lando shouted in my direction. 

The issue was nearly nonexistent three weeks ago. Lando, my best friend, had been seeing a new girl. I had tried my best to try and get to know her — it is what I always did when a new woman entered his life. 

The key is that I tried. She didn’t want any part in being my friend. Only a few days after I had met the new fling, I found out what she had to say about me. 

None of it was good. Honestly, most of it was vile. She’s so fake. She’s just jealous because he will never look at her like that. He just pities her. I’ll make him forget her name. 

As my mind continues to be clouded by what my best friend’s new girlfriend thinks of me, I’m thrust back into reality. Lando and I are shouting at each other — something we never used to do. Really, this may be the first time it’s ever happened. 

Max, a mutual friend to both of us, is sitting awkwardly on the couch. He clearly wishes he was anywhere but this apartment. I can only imagine what Lando’s neighbors are thinking at this moment. 

“How could I not care, Lando?” I yelled back.

“She was joking,” Lando responded. 

This wasn’t a joke. A joke is between friends. A joke isn't supposed to leave you crying on the bathroom floor. 

A joke isn’t supposed to end a friendship. 

“She was not joking, Lando. She was serious. If you cannot support me, if you cannot tell her that it’s not OK to talk about me like that, I’m not sure we can be friends anymore.” 

I can’t believe those words just came out of my mouth, and by the look on Lando’s face, I don’t think he can either. 

“Eloise,” Lando said before he paused to take in my emotions. 

I felt the tears rolling down my face. I hadn’t even realized the tears had started to come. But how could they not? A 15-year friendship was only a few words away from ending. As I had made the proclamation, I glanced to my side and saw Max’s mouth agape. 

The three of us — the three musketeers — had been side-by-side-by-side for as long as I could remember. My twin brother had grown up karting with them, and while Lando and Max were friends with Rory, there was something about the three of us that clicked more. 

I watched from the sides as they grew up and chased their dreams and I watched as Lando made his Formula 1 debut. 

Along the way, I had apparently caught feelings for the British driver, too, but I’d never openly admit that. 

Max suspected it, though. 

“You can’t seriously be thinking about ending our friendship over this?”

“I don’t know, Lando. I think we’ll always be friends, but I can’t be an active participant in your life if she is too. I need to protect my own mental health.” 

Lando’s eyes were beginning to be rimmed with tears. 

I cannot believe I’m the person who’s making him cry. When he and Louisa went through their breakup and I saw how sad he was, I vowed that I would never be the reason for his tears. 

But, here we are and I’m making him cry. 

The longer I stand here in his kitchen, though, the more I start to think about it not actually being my fault. He’s the one who invited his new girlfriend into his life. She’s the one who said negative things about me. I’m just protecting myself. 

“No, Eloise, you can’t just walk out the door.”

My mind was so cluttered that I didn’t even realize I had taken steps toward his front door — that I had one hand on the doorknob. Here I was, though, a simple hand movement and step away from walking out of Lando Norris’ life. 

“I’m sorry.”

I twisted the handle, opened the door and walked out. 

I was three steps down the hallway when I heard the door slam closed. I paused, part of me hoping I’d hear his voice call out. All I wanted was for him to follow me out into the hallway and fight for me to stay. 

As I stood three feet away from his front door, it was silent. He hadn’t followed me, Lando was still in his apartment — likely gazing down at his kitchen counter with Max equally shocked sitting on the couch. 

It was silent. 

I glanced back at his apartment, willing the front door to open. It never did, so I turned back around and walked toward the elevator. 

This was it. Our friendship was over. No, our friendship was paused. I wouldn’t let it be over, at least not in my head. 

No matter how much it hurt, no matter how much sleep I lost over it, I was going to always tell myself that Lando was going to come back. I didn’t care if it was him coming back to me as a single man or if he entered my life again with the same girlfriend as long as she agreed to be kind to me. 

As I stepped out of the elevator and into the lobby of Lando’s apartment building, I braced myself for the evening chill. Before tucking my arms into my body, I wiped away the tears that seemed neverending at this point. 

Only seconds after stepping outside, I heard my name being called. 

“Eloise! Eloise! Stop, please, Eloise!” 

It wasn’t Lando, though. It was Max being the friend he always is. 

“Where are you going?”

It was a valid question, I don’t live in Monaco. Well, not officially. 

My job allows me to work remotely, so I truthfully live wherever Lando happens to be that week. That’s over now. 

“Um, I’m not really sure. I may just show up at the airport and see where I can get a flight. I just can’t be here.” 

The look on Max’s face is one I hope to never see again. I knew at that moment that Max had always known. He knew about the crush I started harboring when we were only 13 years old. 

“Eloise, I’m not going to stop you from leaving. I cannot imagine how much you’re hurting right now, but please know he does love you.”

“No, Max, don’t say that! Please, my heart can’t entertain that idea — not anymore.” 

“But he does, Eloise. He just doesn’t reali…”

“Max, stop,” I shouted to interrupt him. “Please. I need you to not say what you’re thinking. If he loved me, even if he didn’t realize it, he would never let me feel like this. Even if he wanted to still see her, he’d tell her to be kinder to me.” 

Max just stood there. He didn’t know what to say. To be honest, I didn’t really know either, but he knew enough to at least pull me into a hug. 

That’s when I lost it. The tears started flowing and it seemed like nothing would stop them. Max laid a kiss on the top of my head, he’s always been another brother to me. He gave me an extra squeeze before placing his hands on my shoulders and pushing me away slightly. 

“Just let me know where that plane ticket gets you, OK?”

“Always.” 

With that, I turned away from one of my two best friends, with the other several floors away, and began to walk. I didn’t even have my suitcase. I guess I’d have to text Max about that one because I couldn’t turn back now. 

It was just after midnight by the time I arrived at the airport — I had thankfully found an empty taxi despite the late hour. 

As I approached the counter in the airport, the employee gave me a quick glance before her eyes returned to the screen in front of her.

“May I help you?”

“I’d like to buy a ticket.”

“To where?” 

I froze, I still hadn’t thought this far. I could go home, but that would be the first place Lando looked. For as much as I wanted him to chase after me, I still didn’t want to be easy to find. 

On a whim, one place came to mind. 

“New York. New York City.” 

[suzannahnatters]

Let Your Knights Weep

One of the big things I've had to train myself out of when writing medieval historical fiction?

The stiff upper lip.

This used to really bewilder my editor, who for some time attempted to nudge me away from having my grown men weep and wail and blubber, but for me it's an essential part of the setting. Whether in grief or fear, medieval people did not hold things back.

Here are some of my favourite quotes to explain.

First, a couple from two great 20th century medievalists:

CS Lewis in his Letters put it this way:

“By the way, don't 'weep inwardly' and get a sore throat. If you must weep, weep: a good honest howl! I suspect we - and especially, my sex - don't cry enough now-a-days. Aeneas and Hector and Beowulf, Roland and Lancelot blubbered like schoolgirls, so why shouldn't we?”

Dorothy Sayers, in her fabulous Introduction to her translation of THE SONG OF ROLAND, speaking of Charlemagne discovering Roland's body on the battlefield:

Here too, I think we must not reckon it weakness in him that he is overcome by grief for Roland’s death, that he faints upon the body and has to be raised up by the barons and supported by them while he utters his lament. There are fashions in sensibility as in everything else. The idea that a strong man should react to great personal and national calamities by a slight compression of the lips and by silently throwing his cigarette into the fireplace is of very recent origin. By the standards of feudal epic, Charlemagne’s behaviour is perfectly correct. Fainting, weeping, and lamenting is what the situation calls for. The assembled knights and barons all decorously follow his example. They punctuate his lament with appropriate responses:

By hundred thousand the French for sorrow sigh; There’s none of them but utters grievous cries.

At the end of the next laisse:

He tears his beard that is so white of hue, Tears from his head his white hair by the roots; And of the French an hundred thousand swoon.

We may take this response as being ritual and poetic; grief, like everything else in the Epic, is displayed on the heroic scale. Though men of the eleventh century did, in fact, display their emotions much more openly than we do, there is no reason to suppose that they made a practice of fainting away in chorus. But the gesture had their approval; that was how they liked to think of people behaving. In every age, art holds up to us the standard pattern of exemplary conduct, and real life does its best to conform. From Charlemagne’s weeping and fainting we can draw no conclusions about his character except that the poet has represented him as a perfect model of the “man of feeling” in the taste of the period.

OK, now let's dig into some quotes that I found just in Christopher Tyerman's Chronicles of the First Crusade and Joinville's Life of St Louis:

Truly you would have grieved and sobbed in pity when the Turks killed any of our men....

As for the knights, they stood about in a great state of gloom, wringing their hands because they were so frightened and miserable, not knowing what to do with themselves and their armour, and offering to sell their shields, valuable breastplates and helmets for threepence or fivepence or any price they could get....

When Guy, who was a very honourable knight, had heard these lies, he and all the others began to weep and to make loud lamentation....

They stayed in the houses cowering, some some for hunger and some for fear of the Turks....

Now at vigils, the time of trust in God’s compassion, many gave up hope and hurriedly lowered themselves with ropes from the wall-tops; and in the city soldiers, returning from the encounter, circulated widely a rumour that mass decapitation of the defenders was in store. To add weight to the terror, they too fled…

In the course of that day’s battle there had been many people, and of fine appearance too, who had come very shamefully flying over the little bridge you know of and had fled away so panic-stricken that all our attempts to make them stay with us had been in vain. I could tell you some of their names, but shall refrain from doing so, because they are now dead.

I could go on looking for quotes in all the other medieval literature I've read, but that would be beyond the scope of this Tumblr post.

In the meantime, this leads me to make some comments on how trauma was perceived.

In Jonathan Riley-Smith's The First Crusade and the Idea of Crusading, the author discusses the mental breakdowns suffered by the first crusaders during the second siege of Antioch, which caused many of them to flee at the moment of direst need:

In these stressful circumstances it is not surprising that the crusaders were often very frightened. At times, indeed, they seem to have been almost paralysed by a terror that they themselves could hardly comprehend. … When the crusade was bottled up in Antioch by Kerbogha's relief force it was gripped by such blind panic that there was the prospect of a mass break-out and on the night of 10 or 11 Juney 1098 Bohemond and Adhemar had the gates of the city closed. It is worth noting that many of those whom later chroniclers, writing after the events in comparative comfort in Europe, vilified for cowardice and desertion seem to have been treated more charitably by their fellow-crusaders, who must have understood what pressures they had been under.

--

In conclusion: the way we feel about things today in the English-speaking isn't necessarily the way people felt about things in the past (and this goes for other cultures, real or imagined, too). I'm continually catching myself writing people with stiff upper lips and emotional reservations, and having to remind myself that the culture was different back them. If a grown man wanted to weep, he could. That's a good thing. (Oh, and my medieval historical fantasy? Check out the Watchers of Outremer series on Amazon or wherever books are sold!)

[talas-starlight]

Scarred Spirits - Zuko x fem!reader (pt.7)

Summary: reactions from team avatar when they find out your ozais assassin

warning: mentions of scars, not very happy gaang, mean katara!, angst

masterlist: here!

most previous part: here! (all other parts can be found in my masterlist!)

authors note! hello!! idk if anyone will be reading this but if you are welcome!! i haven't posted to this series in YEARS so please forgive me as I'm very rusty at writing but please enjoy!

Unified screams erupted upon Appa. “YOU’RE WHAT!”

“Aang what have you done! You literally let a murderer on Appa! She’s going to kill all of us! Katara was right, and I can’t believe I ignored her.”

“I KNEW IT! Quickly Aang, land Appa and let’s get her off!”

Unable to take it anymore, Toph lost her cool. “Can you knuckle heads shut up! I highly doubt that she will kill us, why the hell would she listen to you guys fighting all the time when she could end her misery by taking you out.”

Reality hitting Sokka and Katara, they finally piped down, allowing Toph to continue.

“Look, what you said is highly questionable. I’m not saying that I trust you, but you’re going to have to give us more information than that or else I’ll throw you off myself. Got it?”

You sighed. At least someone in the group had more sense. “Yeah, of course. What would you like to know?”

“Well for starters a name would be great. Oh and maybe, I don’t know, how and why you’re the Fire Lords Assassin?!”

You almost wanted to pull Katara’s braid for the irritating look of satisfaction on her face. “Right okay… well my name is y/n. uhhh and I was forced to become his assassin when he caught me after I broke into the palace three years ago.”

“That’s it?! Nuh uh lady. I know he’s the Fire Lord and had done some awful things but why would he do that to a child?! You’re either lying or somethings still missing.”

There was a lot to weigh up. To suddenly reveal everything about you would be too much and would get you thrown off Appa anyway. Yet to reveal nothing wouldn’t let you gain enough trust to even last a day. Leaving you to share the one thing you knew so little about yourself that you didn’t care if they knew and hopefully enough of a miserable, pitying tale that they’d let you off the hook for the time being.

“My parents aren’t in my life, they never were. I don’t know who they were or why they did it. All I had was my trainer, Zemin. In his time, he was the most notorious Assassin in the entire Fire Nation and when he retired, he never took on any students to carry on his legacy - if you could even call it that. Every other trainer was ecstatic because this meant that their students would earn the most bounties. Until there was me. I don’t know why he took me in… he just said that he found me as in infant and regretfully took me from an islands rocky shore maybe to sell me off somewhere. I suppose he realised he could make even more money from me if he trained me until I could pay off debt for him raising me. I did the one thing assassins could do, kill. All the money I ever earned from each bounty went straight to him. Luckily enough, I learned quickly, and I got to my final payment when I was 13, then he would have set me free.”

Horrified, Aang couldn’t believe what he was hearing. There was nothing like this in the Air Temples growing up. “Luckily enough?! How in any universe is that lucky!”

“Most assassins in the Fire Nation, and others, are stuck paying off their guardians or trainers well into their adulthood. Because of… certain tactics and advantages, I became quite popular if you could put it that way and most of the people, I had to take care of were…” Halting, you knew that if you verbally said some lives are worth more than others, Aang would probably go into cardiac arrest.

“Well, some had more people wanting them gone so the bounty was higher.”

“How does this have anything to do with you working for the fire lord! I don’t see why Zemin would let you go if you were doing so much for him.”

Your strength was fading. You hated yourself for how much you scretly enjoyed having people around that weren’t as idealistic as those in the Fire Nation.  “He didn’t. I got an anonymous mission to take out a high general in the palace. So high, that it was going to be enough for me to finish my debt.” After not being met with screams you felt reassured to continue…. they seem to be taking this well…

You took a deep breath. Here goes nothing. “On my way out, I got caught in the middle of an Agni Kai. The fire lord wasn’t too pleased I killed one of his generals or interfered with punishing his son. Yet somehow in his psychopathic mind he saw it as an opportunity to pledge my allegiance to him.”

The silence amongst the group was short lived.

“YOU MEAN ZUKO?”

“YOU KILLED SOMEONE.”

“AND YOU ACCEPTED?”

You scrunched your face. Maybe this was a bad idea to tell them. But it was too late to go back. “Yes, it was Prince Zuko in the Agni Kai, that’s how he got his scar. Yes, Aang I did kill the general, but to be fair I haven’t killed anyone since then… And Katara if you were being tortured every day for 8 months, I’m sure you would wear down too.”

The waterbender was unsatisfied with your answer. “Unbelievable! Of course, you did! Everyone has a choice in this world, and you chose the fire lord. You’re nothing but a coward.”

“My life was on the line! You don’t know anything about me.”

“Oh please, y/n. I do. I know everything! Sure, you were raised to assassinate others, but you can’t expect me to believe you didn’t know what you were doing when you were standing before Ozai. I would have stayed in a life of suffering than go with him.” Shaking her head, she pierces you with a disgusted look, “You’re no better than Ozai. No better than Azula.”

As Appa continued to glide through the ever-ending expanse of the sky, it seemed nothing could break the suffocating tension that encompassed everyone upon his saddle.

Toph was the only one to speak up. “Didn’t you hear her Katara? She hasn’t killed anyone since then! She’s surviving. If you ask me… she’s braver than any of us, you never know what could have happened to her if she got caught not actually killing her targets!”

Irritated Katara only grumbled, turning away while leaving the two boys to think about how they felt about you. Despite giving them answers, they still had so many questions.

It was undeniably clear that Katara has made her mind up about you, and you were sure everyone else was the same despite the earth benders attempts at comforting you. Hence, as you sat there across from the four of them, you were the first to break eye contact, turning your head to the side as you searched for something to focus on out there in the sky. Bird, a cloud, anything. You didn’t have the heart, the courage, to argue against what she said.

Unknown to you, Aang shuffled closer to you scared that his angry friend might hear him going towards you. His words only just loud enough to hear above the wind he whispered to you… “Its okay y/n. I don’t really understand what you’ve done or what you’ve been through but when youre ready.. you can tell us.

That was the first time your heart ignited a comforting warmth.

As Appas soft paws skilfully landing on the hard earth, you felt your heart drop inside you. What do I do now? Mind racing through all the possibilities, Toph seemed to have decided what to do before you could even stand.

“Hey! Come with me.”

Jumping off Appas saddle you landed on your feet with such a skilled silence, Toph had to sense your heartbeat to even realise you were next to her. Setting off towards where she’d set up her sleeping area, it was best you stuck closely behind.

“Don’t think about what Katara said, she doesn’t get it.”

“How so?”

Stalling in her tracks, she turned her unseeing gaze towards you. “She doesn’t know what its like to be born into a life that you don’t want. And she definitely doesn’t know how hard it can be trying to escape it.”

Unsure with how to reply, humming in understanding was the best you could come up with.

“Just stick with me and you’ll be fine. I know you most certainly don’t need me, but I’ve got your back.”

The next day had gone by agonizingly slow. With Toph trying to teach Aang earth bending you were left to your own devices since Katara decided to tag along. Although you found yourself tailing Sokka as he went his own way looking for food unaware of your silent giggles seeing him get stuck in the ground.

“...big things eat smaller things. Nothing personal. But this time, it didn’t work out that way…I admit it, you’re cute…”

You decide to finally reveal yourself, tired of your lack of entertainment. “What are you doing down there Sokka?”

Letting out a girl like squeal, he’s horrified at getting caught in this position. “Nothing!”

“You look like you could use some help.”

“I don’t want help from you!” You dismiss it. Surely he has no other choice but to make himself acquainted with you.

“Yeah, right. It’s funny, you’re probably the third person that has ever said that to me. The second in about the span of 48 hours.” you cant help but divert your attention towards the cute animal annoying him. “Aweee look at this cutie!”

“Get away from it!”

“Why should I do that?”

“Because I don’t want you to hurt it!”

“Please, I actually quite like animals. They’re a lot better than humans anyway.”

“I- well… fine! Just go away?”

You scoff, “Why’s that?”

“I don’t like you!”

“Hmm… is that so.”

“Yes, of course it is!”

You’re done feeling sorry for yourself. “Are you sure you don’t like me, or do you feel that way because of your sister?”

“I- well… argh! Fine! I don’t know.”

“Well… why don’t you talk to me and work it out for yourself? If you still dislike me so much I’ll leave you be and get someone to come help.”

A  silence fills the distance between the two of you.

He sighs, caving in, “So.. this Zemin guy. Did he REALLY not give you a choice?”

Looking up, you stare at the clear sky. “I learnt early on in my training that I didn’t have a choice or options in life other than what he wanted. Any exercise I rushed through, half assed, or tried to skip through when he wasn’t looking came with consequences.”

“What kind of consequences?”

“The kind that keeps all of my clothing and bindings on so I don’t constantly get pitiful looks or too many questions.”

He scoffs, “prove it”

Staring at all your layers you sigh, “don’t say I never warned you.”

Peeling off all your layers one by one until your down to just your tank top and pants, you decide to take off your face mask last. Your eyes meeting Sokka’s, you notice him swallow thickly. But its you to break the ice first. “In all fairness, most of them are now from Ozai. The older they look… well I’m sure you can work it out for yourself.”

“b-but-“Fuck why did I have to make him uncomfortable.

Unable to take it any longer, you pull him out from the hole in the ground. “Its fine.”

You turn to walk away after helping him, but he grabs your scarred wrist, the feeling of the textured skin making him internally wince. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have made you expose yourself like that. Its horrible that you had to experience that… hell we look the same age!”

“Everyone is on different paths. Look, lets just forget about it..”

Sokka feels like he could bust into tears “No! you don’t understand. I’ve seen the effects of the fire nation… hell they took away my mum. I still remember it, sometimes I have weeks where I keep reliving it in my nightmares, only finding peace when im awake. Its like im being haunted. But- but you?! You have to face it whether you’re awake or asleep”.

Squeezing your eyes shut, you can’t handle the intensity of his words. Theres nothing you can do. Nothing you can say. You hug him. You don’t remember the last time you held someone. It feels weird, almost wrong. But as he squeezes you back, tightening the embrace, you understand one thing. You have an understanding with the water tribe boy, despite how dark it may feel.

Hours pass by as you sit with sokka talking about useless topics until the other three join you once more. Feeling weariness in their gaze, you realise you forgot to put your layers back on. Now everyone can see your face and scars.

Only Aang has the courage to speak with you.

“Hey. Uhhh, y/n?”

“Yeah?”

“I just… I’m sorry for not speaking much with you since yesterday. I didn’t mean to, it was just a lot to process personally! Growing up with the Air Nomads, I was taught that killing is wrong and that under no circumstance should that be the answer. If I’m completely honest with you, I still stand by those teachings and to have someone who has… killed… so close to me and the people I care the most about is… unsettling.”

There it was. You knew despite how much he was trying; you knew he wouldn’t be able to see past what you did. What you are.

“I understand. I don’t blame you, or anyone for reacting the way they are, and I know what it feels like to want to protect those who mean something to you.” You glance at Sokka, remembering how he understood.

“Just… please understand that I’ve realised what I did was wrong and while I can’t change everything that I have done, I’m trying to move away from that way of life. I don’t want to be a killer anymore. I’m trying my best to fix it.”

“I know…. Its just-“

“You don’t trust me.”

“What?! NO! I mean…. I don’t know. You clearly have good inside of you but it’s hard to look past.”

“I get it. I’ll head off then, the world needs you Aang and I won’t be the one to stand it your way.”

“No! stop! Please! I know I said it’s hard for me to do, but I clearly see you trying your best. I know you won’t hurt me. I just… I suppose I need to open my eyes more. See you for who you are now, what you’re doing now.”

But what if you can’t? What if I’m still that person, no matter how much I try to shove it away. This is what I have been made to become?

“Okay.”

Letting out a nervous quiet laugh, he glances back to everyone. “okay well… lets eat!”

Zuko stares at the sky in the heavy downpour. “You always through everything you could at me. Well, I can take it. And now I can give it back!”

Lightning cacks in the sky before his eyes.

“Come on!”

“Strike me! You never held back before!”

Met with only the sound of the world around him, he feels helpless. Lost. Alone.

Screaming out, Zuko falls to his knees as the rain and guilt encompasses all of his senses.

His voice scratchy from screaming, he can hardly croak out… “You never held back from her."

taglist: ​​ @mangoberry43​​ @eridanuswave​​ @slythergirlimagines ​​​ @whiskeywinter89​​ @simplyfandomish @khaleesi-of-assassins​ ​ ​ @calciumcow @ilovespideyyy @callums-keith @nnon-it-up @blackhood5sos @chewymoustachio @tiffy119 @reclusive-chicken-nugget @lozzybowe​ @scarletemeterio​​ @simpinforsukka​ ​ ​ @sokkassuki​ @spearbatty @kaylove12

[loonavrsl]

241128 [💌] Yves' letter to fans for her 7th debut anniversary

Hi! I just arrived home after finishing dance lessons. It's a pity to have the day pass by as soon as I arrive, and so I write. It had snowed just like this, on that day. Coming home while stepping on the soft snow, I briefly glimpsed my past self. I used to get called over by teachers at school and be scolded for grasping at clouds, because I wanted to become a singer. On the two-hour ride home aboard the 1002 bus, the pitch-black darkness outside the window seemed just like my future. What if I really was chasing clouds? Those times, seemingly in my grasp but never quite, would always scatter like the morning fog. Meanwhile, I shed my school uniform and the first digit of my age changed, but my days were cruel. I'd walk an hour's distance to save money on fares, shedding the snow piled up on my shoulders and listening to Haseul's "Let Me In". I vividly remember myself wiping the damp screen with shattering cold hands, looking at that album cover again and again, running to my part-time job. I don't think I could ever forget being accepted to the company I'd been rejected from twice, and coming face-to-face with Haseul. I think it was an incredibly big happiness to be able to do the music I like, together with the precious relationships that I'd never have met if it wasn't for the group. True happiness can only be felt after experiencing misfortune, did they say? Maybe the heavens were jealous, or maybe I did wrongs in my past life, but after spending a year that felt like a decade, I was standing on the stage alone. They also say that no pain is meaningless. Even though my past self may have been upset, I'm assured that that has made me a little more sturdy and resilient. But why does a corner of my heart ache. Perhaps it is aimed towards you all. Have you ever seen a shooting star? When I blew out my birthday candles, I'd often try to get as many wishes in as possible and the candle would drip onto the cake. One night, at the shooting star rushing towards me in the sky I'd just looked up at, I wished without hesitation: 'Please let everyone be happy'. I don't know if that wish is still valid, but like the meteor headed to me then, perhaps I too am rushing towards that happiness that I don't know of yet. Please don't hate me. I am not a bad person. Tonight, I hear those words that I endlessly repeated and repeated inside myself for six years, like an echo. Now, when the vestige of those echoes fade, I want to speak anew in a calm voice. Thank you for loving me. Someday, when this resonance ends, I'd like to impart another new set of words to you. On this silent night with the world covered in white snow, leaving my clamorous heart behind; to you, to whom I want to give only love.

Translation by: litell_johnn

[leftoverghosts]

you are coming down with me

hand in unlovable hand.

You learned quickly that just because someone says they're leaving doesn't mean they actually go. Patrick's on his way to being the greatest washed up tennis prodigy you've ever known, but that doesn't mean he's unwilling to drag you down with him. The worst part about it all, is that despite your protests, you're really letting him derail your life willingly.

find part one here.

patrick zweig x reader. patrick x tashi. mentioned tashi x art.

warnings: reader is lowkey terrible, like let patrick breathe idk. gaslighting. angst. like angst for the sake of angst. more sex. not for minors. p in v sex. some curse words. use of she/her for reader. no use of y/n. patrick sleeps with reader for a bed. not beta read.

nori says: hiiiiiii, again. who knows where all these words came from! send me ideas if you want to! i opened my asks. xoxo.

word count: 3,898

2008, August. Watermargin House, Cornell University.

You lay there, staring at the ceiling as Patrick's voice drones on about his latest frustrations with the tour. The familiarity of this scene is both comforting and suffocating - how many times have you found yourself in this exact position, listening to him vent while your own emotions simmer beneath the surface?

"I just can't seem to get my rhythm back," Patrick sighs, running a hand through his curly hair. "Ever since that fight with Art, it's like I'm not even the same player anymore."

The mention of Art's name sends a pang through your chest. You remember the whispers that circulated last year, rumors of a falling out between the once-inseparable duo. But you hadn’t pressed Patrick for details, afraid of what truths might come spilling out.

"Have you tried talking to him?" you ask, your voice carefully neutral. "Maybe if you two cleared the air-"

"It's not that simple," Patrick cuts you off, shaking his head. "There's too much history there, too many things left unsaid."

You swallow a scathing remark, literally biting into your tongue, knowing that engaging with his self-pity will only prolong this unwanted conversation.

Still it takes every ounce of patience to fight the urge to point out the irony in his words. Isn't that the very essence of your own relationship with him? A tangled web of unspoken feelings and missed opportunities?

You remind yourself that you just want to enjoy spending time with him. After all, he's driven five long hours from Flushing to Ithaca just for this visit.

"Besides," he continues, oblivious to your inner turmoil, "I don't need Art to be a great player. I just need to focus on my own game, push myself harder."

"Why don't you just give it up?" Your annoyance reaches its peak as you move in closer to him on the bed, trying to reason with him.

"What?" Patrick sits up abruptly, his eyes flashing with anger.

"Tennis." You grab for his hand, desperation creeping into your voice, but he pulls away. You meet his gaze unflinchingly, refusing to back down. "You're miserable, you're lost. Is this really the life you want? My parents were talking and my dad could hire you at the company. He likes you, mostly, and it would be better than working for your own father."

"Why were they talking about me? Why do they care?" he asks, his tone laced with irritation.

You shoot him a look that says ‘because of me’ and he sucks in a sharp breath.

"They're concerned.” You sit up, embarrassed, “I'm concerned."

"Yeah well, we're not together. I told you," he points a accusing finger at your face and you swat it away. "I told you that one day you would try to make me give up tennis. But you still don't understand, do you?"

"Maybe I don't want to?" Your voice cracks as tears threaten to spill from your eyes. "Look at yourself, Patrick! You're always here, taking advantage of me whenever it's convenient for you. You're using me for a place to stay."

"And what about you? You want me to be just like you?" He scoffs incredulously. "Losing sleep over school and choosing a major just to please your daddy? Sorry for not letting daddy dearest buy my way into some fancy university. God, you're insufferable!" He explodes with anger. "I don't see you complaining when I'm earning my keep. You sure as hell scream loud enough. And now, kicking me while I'm down? That's just low, even for you."

His words cut deep and your anger flares up inside of you. Yes, some nepotism may have been involved, but you worked hard to get into Cornell. Just like Patrick worked hard on tennis, with less impressive results.

"You know what? If I'm so insufferable and can't seem to say the right things, why don't you go and fix whatever mess is going on between you and your lap dog? That Arthur guy?" You spit out the name with venom.

"I don't have to take this from you." Patrick makes a move like he’s going to get up and leave, but he really just shifts away.

You both know he’s got no where to go.

You close your eyes and sigh, before opening them again to glare at him. "No, you don't have to take this. But look around, Patrick. I am the best thing you've got. You act all high and mighty on that horse of yours, but it's made of piss, shit, and broken dreams. It's crumbling beneath you. You need to grow up."

There is a tense silence as you both struggle to catch your breaths. And then, unexpectedly, he speaks again.

"Art."

"What?" It’s your turn for confusion.

"His name is Art. Not Arthur." He mumbles, dark eyebrows drawing together.

"You're kidding me." You actually laugh, mouth opening so wide he can see your uvula.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to make light of the situation. I just...I don't know." He trails off. "You would get upset if someone mispronounced your name.“

"You’re a child, Patrick." You shake your head in disbelief.

He opens his mouth to retort, but no words come out. Instead, he slumps back against the pillows, his shoulders sagging in defeat.

2010, May. The Statler Hotel, Cornell University.

At your graduation earlier that day, Patrick caused quite a stir when your name was called. His boisterous cheers echoed through the crowd and caught everyone's attention. Even your mother joined in, both of them overflowing with joy as you crossed the stage to receive your degree. You couldn't help but beam with pride, grateful for their support.

However, as the day progressed and you sat down for dinner with your parents, tension began to simmer between them and Patrick. Despite your best efforts to keep things light and make jokes about physically harming anyone who might ruined this special day, it was obvious that money was a sensitive subject.

Patrick's professional success may have been stagnant, but he seemed to have no shortage of money. His flashy watch and designer suit only added fuel to the fire. Your father couldn't hide his curiosity about Patrick's financial situation, while your mother fiercely defended him.

Despite your father's disapproving glances towards Patrick, he played the role of the perfect boyfriend, charming both you and your mother with ease. But you couldn't shake off the feeling that something wasn't right. As everyone made small talk, you could feel Patrick's possessive gaze on you, making you blush every time his pinky grazed near yours on the table.

It was like waiting for a ticking time bomb to explode.

You’re not, not together.

Patrick calls you his partner and you smile along, but the arrangement is still new and sometimes unpleasant. He can be distant or unavailable at times, but for now that's fine because you have your own busy life. You’ve found a happy medium, it's all that really matters.

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷

He had barely taken his hands off of you the second you were alone.

His tongue swirls around your clit as he devours you, lapping and sucking with single-minded focus. You arch your back, hands gripping the sheets, lost in the exquisite sensations radiating from your core.

"Patrick, oh god..." you moan, voice breathy and wanton. He hums against your sensitive flesh in response, the vibrations making you shudder. The scrape of his scruffy cheek against your inner thigh sends electric shivers up your spine.

Two long fingers slide in and out your slick heat, curling to stroke that spot that makes your stomach clench. His mouth never lets up, alternating between broad licks and targeted flicks against your swollen nub. It's too much, the dual stimulation rocketing you higher and higher until you're trembling on the precipice, thighs quaking around his head.

"That's it baby," he rasps, voice rough with need. "I want to taste you." His words are your undoing. Your orgasm crashes over you in intense waves and you cry out, fingers twisting in his dark curls as you shake apart against his talented mouth. He works you through it, groaning at the flood of your juices on his tongue, licking and sucking until you're wrung out and oversensitive.

Finally, he pulls back, lips and chin glistening with your essence. His eyes are wild and dark with lust as he surges up your body to claim your mouth in a filthy kiss. You taste yourself on him and it only stokes the embers of your desire.

"I'm going to fuck you so good," he promises against your lips. "Fuck this brilliant, sexy girl of mine until she can't remember her own name, only mine."

"Patrick," you whimper to please him, chest rising and falling as you stare at him with half lidded eyes.

In an instant, he's hovering over you, slapping his thick cock against your inner thigh as a promise of what’s to come. Against your better judgement, you’ve long since given up using protection with him. You’re on the pill and you trust him enough to keep you safe.

You hiss as he positions himself at your entrance and pushes forward, stretching and filling you completely. A matching sound escapes his lips as he begins to move. Each thrust is deliberate and powerful as he sets a relentless pace, hips snapping into yours over and over, driving you into the mattress.

One large hand slides down to grip your hip, tilting you to just the right angle. He grinds against you, the coarse hair at the base of his cock rubbing deliciously against your clit with every thrust. Your head falls back against the pillow, a wordless cry escaping your lips at the added stimulation.

"You feel so good," he pants, "I never want to stop fucking you."

His praise washes over you like a warm hug that you’ve been desperately needing. Patrick leans down, pressing his forehead to yours, his breaths coming hot and fast against your face. His penetrating gaze locks with yours, the usual clear blue eclipsed by blown pupils. In that moment, it feels like he can see straight into your soul, laying bare all your secrets and desires.

"Never," he vows fiercely. "I'll never stop fucking this perfect pussy."

He feels like heaven, stretching and filling you so completely. Your nails rake down his muscular back as he pounds into you. "Patrick," you whimper again, legs wrapping around his waist to pull him closer, deeper. "Please..."

Patrick captures your lips in a searing kiss, tongues tangling urgently. His hands move to grab your breasts squeezing hard in the way that you like, as his tongue delves deeper into your mouth until you feel like you could choke on it. He swallows your cries as the coil inside you winds tighter and tighter.

"I'm close," he grits out through clenched teeth and you could laugh, because sex is the only time he’s a great communicator. "Give it to me, baby." It's not a request but a command that your body is helpless to disobey.

He’s always been good at taking care of you in bed, so it’s no surprise when his hand slides between you, calloused fingers finding your sensitive bundle of nerves. The action has your second climax building embarrassingly fast. As your walls start to flutter around him and he groans, thrusts becoming erratic.

"Now," he demands, pinching your clit. The sharp burst of pleasure-pain catapults you over the edge. You come with a silent scream, back arching off the bed as ecstasy consumes you.

You always lead the way, but he follows right behind, spilling hot and thick as he moves to suck a mark onto your neck.

For a long moment, you both just cling to each other, hearts hammering, skin slick with sweat. Sated. Content.

As the euphoria of pleasure begins to wane, a familiar melancholy seeps back in. The uncertainty and fear that this bliss is fleeting and he will slip through your fingers like grains of sand. Patrick must sense it too, because he brushes a tender kiss to your temple.

Suddenly, making you jump, the catchy beat of B.O.B's "Airplanes" fills the room as Hayley Williams' voice echoes through the air. You cringe at the reminder of the outside world invading this intimate space. Blindly reaching out, Patrick fumbles to turn off his phone. It's a new experience for him, not used to the flat display and lack of buttons on his iPhone 4 compared to his old Motorola Razr.

"Oh shit, I have to take this," he mutters, finally grasping the phone and realizing it's his manager calling. Sighing, he leans over and gives you a quick kiss before padding off to the bathroom with his dick swinging freely in the air. Whatever conversation takes place, he returns looking upset.

"You had your ringer on while we were having sex?" Your words come out sharper than intended, fueled by months of pent-up frustration and hurt.

"I was waiting for a call about my Nike deal," he sighs exasperatedly, lazily kicking his boxers up into the air and catching them before slipping them on.

"Was that the call?" You ask with an attitude, not willing to let him off easily. He hasn’t even cleaned you up yet, his spend dripping out of you and onto the sheets.

"I don't want to talk about it." His voice is low and warning, a clear sign for you to drop the subject.

But something inside you snaps. A lifetime of pent-up frustration and hurt boiling over. "Of course you don't. You never want to talk about anything real, do you? It's always just going to be tennis, tennis, tennis with you."

"That's not fair," Patrick argues, sitting up to face you. "You know how important this is to me-"

"And what about me, huh? What about what's important to me?" Your voice cracks, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes. "I'm so tired, Patrick. I'm tired of watching you chase after something that's never going to make you happy."

"You don't know that," he insists, but there's a flicker of doubt in his eyes. "I could make it big, I could be somebody-"

"You already are somebody, you idiot. At least to me." The confession hangs heavy in the air, raw and vulnerable. That night, he fucks you again with a newfound intensity, as if trying to prove that at least for that moment he is fully present and with you.

2019, August. Phil’s tire Town Challenger, New Rochelle.

You finally take a seat, arriving late because you needed some time to gather your courage before coming, and your eyes are immediately drawn to a woman across the way. The first glimpse of Tashi Duncan in person is like staring straight at the sun. Her radiance is so bright and captivating, it's almost embarrassing how your cheeks flush with a rosy hue. And yet, she probably doesn't even know who you are, just another face lost in the crowd compared to her glowing presence.

You force your eyes away, looking to the court where Patrick is locked with Art in a heated rally. The sound of tennis balls thwacking against taut strings echoes through the air, punctuated by the occasional grunt of exertion.

As the next set begins, you can't help but glance over at the woman who presence haunted your early twenties. She's leaning forward, elbows on knees, utterly engrossed. You wonder if she feels that same magnetic pull towards Patrick that you do, that undeniable chemistry.

Admittedly, you have no idea what is going on, but you know that Patrick is good at this. You finally see why he could never give it up.

You watch, transfixed, as he moves across the court with a grace that belies his muscular frame. His footwork is precise, each step calculated and purposeful as he chases down every shot. The sun glints off his sweat-slicked skin, highlighting the ripple of muscles beneath his black Impatto shirt.

It's a sight to behold, and for a moment you forget to breathe. This is a side of Patrick you've never seen before - the fierce competitor, the athlete in his element. The intensity in his eyes, the set of his jaw, the coiled power in his body waiting to be unleashed. It's mesmerizing.

He wins the point with a blistering forehand down the line, letting out a primal roar of triumph that sends shivers down your spine. The small crowd erupts in applause, but Patrick barely seems to notice, already focused on the next point.

As the match wears on, you find yourself unwittingly mirroring Tashi’s actions and leaning forward in your seat, hands gripping the armrests tightly. Each point feels like a mini battle, a test of wills between two warriors. Patrick is relentless, chasing down every ball, firing off winners from impossible angles.

You feel like a bitch for ever thinking you could replace this. He’s in his element, and with Arthur Donaldson across the court, he’s alive.

You watch on as Art, or Arthur, as you pettily call him in your head raises his racket like he’s going to smash it, but he stops himself.

“Advantage, Zweig.” The Umpire calls out and you can hear how shocked the crowd is.

“Art Donaldson never smashes rackets.” A woman whispers to her friend in the row behind you. You don’t care about Arthur, your eyes are glued to Patrick. He’s smiling. Truly smiling, like he does when he’s balls deep in you and giving it to you really good.

He’s got Art exactly where he wants him.

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷

The joy of Patrick's win lingers in the air as you make your way to his car. He wraps an arm around your shoulders, pulling you close as he walks. And though you’re complaining about him being damp from his post match shower, You can't stop smiling, knowing that this moment will be etched in your memory forever.

Patrick tells you about the match, how he had been studying Arthur's moves for weeks and finally found a weakness to exploit. You listen intently, amazed by his determination and skill. You let him have this, because it feels like the two of you have finally tipped over the precipice.

"I have something important to ask you," he says with a slight nervousness in his voice.

Your heart skips a beat. It feels all too familiar. But then he continues, "I know I’m the worst, I’m selfish and I don’t listen to you, but I can't imagine my life without you. I was serious when I said I wanted to try again.”

“Patrick, I thought we talked about this?”

“I talked to your dad.” He says cutting in, a hopeful look in his eyes, and you give him a questioning stare. “He’s going to help me set up a foundation, I’ll start teaching some little brats to play when I’m not on tour.”

“None of those kids could be a bigger brat than you were— are.” You counter.

"Touché," he admits with a smirk, but then reaches for your hands and starts rubbing his thumbs over them soothingly. "But this is a chance for me to have a real job, something more tangible than just chasing a dream. I'll have control over my schedule and still be able to play tennis. And it'll be good for us too."

"For us?" You sigh, unable to resist smiling at his persistence.

"I mean, unless you plan on living alone in that huge house forever." His playful tone falls serious as he meets your gaze, you can't help but soften at his sincerity.

“You’re going to have to pay me rent.” you tease, trying to lighten the mood.

He nods eagerly. “Anything for you. What do you say we celebrate my win in the backseat?" He raises his eyebrows suggestively, and your eyes flicker towards the cramped space behind you.

You can't help but roll your eyes. "You're not very romantic," you remark dryly, but the heat between you is undeniable.

"I know," he grins sheepishly. "But I promise I'll make it up to you."

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷

His cock drags deliciously against your inner walls with each powerful thrust as he fucks you from behind. It’s the only position that makes sense in the small space. You're lost in a haze of sensation, the slick slide of his thick shaft stretching you open again and again. Patrick's hands map the curves of your body reverently, calloused fingers trailing down your spine before reaching around the front to tweak your sensitive nipples.

"You're mine," he growls against your ear, bending forward to seal your back to his front, punctuating his words with a particularly deep thrust that has you seeing stars. "This sweet pussy belongs to me. Say it."

"I'm yours," you gasp out, arching your ass into him. "Only yours, Patrick."

He rewards you with a sharp nip to the side of your throat, sucking and licking the sting away. You know it will leave a mark, a visible brand of his possession, and the thought only turns you on more.

His hips pick up a relentless rhythm, driving into you with single-minded purpose. He's like a man possessed, lost in the slick heat of your body, chasing his release.

"Touch yourself," Patrick commands, voice strained with the effort of holding back. It’s a repeat of the command he gave you last night, but you’re more determined to be good for him. Your fingers move like his did, in tight circles, flicking and rubbing the sensitive bundle of nerves. Electric pleasure zings outward, heating up the warmth in your belly.

"That's it, just like that," he praises, arms wrapped around your middle. "Fuck, you look so sexy right now. I could watch you touch yourself forever."

His filthy words spur you on and your fingers move faster, matching the frenzied pace of his thrusts. He pushes you down, a hand to the back of your neck to keep you in place. You can feel your orgasm building, pressure mounting with each stroke as his thighs smack against your ass. Patrick shifts the angle of his hips and stars burst behind your eyes as he hits that perfect spot deep inside.

"Patrick!" you keen, face pressed into the car seat. "I'm so close, don't stop!"

His voice was deep and gravelly as he spoke, each word dripping with desire and determination. "Never," he vows fiercely, his hand gripping your waist tightly. His eyes were filled with an intense hunger as he gazed down at you. "I'll never stop fucking this perfect pussy," he groans, his body pressed against yours in a primal need for pleasure.

One, two, three more thrusts and you shatter, clamping down on his pistoning cock as relief crashes over you in intense waves. You cry out his name like a prayer, trembling and shaking in his strong arms as you ride out the aftershocks. Pat spills himself deep inside you with whimper, biting down on your shoulder.

"I love you," he whispers against your temple, so quietly you almost miss it. "I’ll say it more. I promise."

Your heart swells at his rare admission, at the raw emotion in his voice. "I love you too," you murmur back, trying to catch your breath. "Always have, always will."

[jazzthatonewriterchick]

You Should Come Thru (Hawks x Self-Insert!Reader 18+ One Shot) [COMMISSION FILL]

Fan Art by @almaadst ❤️❤️

Pairing: Keigo "Hawks" Takami x Black!Self-Insert!Reader

Synopsis: After a month of hard work, no play, and a bad date, Hawks invites you over to his apartment for some tea to relax and finally get some time with his bestie, but as the night grows long, you suddenly lose your filter and begin telling him things that he shouldn’t know. All because of his very special tea. 

Tags: Smutty Smut; 18+ (MINORS GTFO); Friends to Lovers; Hurt/Comfort; Marijuana Consumption; Stripping; Mutual Oral; Mutual Masturbation; Body Worship; Voyeurism; High Sex; Dubcon (only because of the weed but there is verbal consent given); Facesitting; Riding; Mild Choking; Mirror Sex; Dom!Hawks/sub!Reader; Mild Namecalling; Wing Stroking; Unprotected Sex; Creampie; Aftercare 

Writer's Note: Thank you again to @curiouscutie143 for trusting me with your fantasies & ideas enough to bring them to life! -Jazz

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When you knock on his door that late night, Keigo already knows you are standing behind it. 

He smiles at seeing your face in the peephole and opens the door without a greeting. Seeing you there still in your work dress, shoes, and pantyhose from before, he leans against the door frame and smirks at you despite your tired expression. “Well, what a surprise,” he says, sarcasm evident. “I don’t suppose you’re selling something?” 

You hold your tote bag and a box from the restaurant you went to tonight in your hands. “If you think it’s a free dessert that the waitress gave me ‘cause she felt so bad for me, then yes, I do,” you glumly reply. “Can I come in?” 

Keigo’s smile grows as he runs a hand through his short-cropped, blonde hair. “Shit, you kiddin’ me?” he chuckles. “Nothing’s better than pity dessert. Come right in.” 

He opens the door wider, allowing you to walk inside the gorgeous, empty penthouse. Judging by Keigo’s attire of sweats, a white tee, and some slides, he was busy cleaning up for your arrival. The counters are clean, the pillows are fluffed and organized on the couch, and the TV is playing the newest episode of “Dinner In Dungeon” on Netflix. 

“Take off your shoes,” he says, shutting the door behind you. “You look like you need to.” 

You immediately do so, sitting down on the expensive couch in front of the TV to kick off the flats that you’ve been wearing all day at work. Keigo comes over to take the box of dessert from your dinner date, giving you a soothing smile as he does. 

“Thank you again for letting me come over, Kei,” you sigh, relieved to have your feet released from the traps of your shoes. “I’m sorry it’s so late.” He pulls a sour face at you. “Don’t apologize,” he says. “My crib, your crib. Besides, I invited you over here after work to chill, remember?” 

He turns to walk into his pristine, thousand-dollar kitchen with its granite counters, silver steel appliances, wine cooler, and personal mini-bar that has long since been used less since he eased up on his drinking. After Keigo got his burn scars from his fight with Dabi that almost claimed his life, he turned into a whole different person…for the better. 

He cropped his hair down to snip off the burned ends from the fire, bulked up a bit more so his muscles are more defined, and he stays out of the limelight more than he used to. Less clubs, fewer groupies, and less expensive shopping sprees. The burn scars on his cheek, neck, and back are testaments of the changes he’s gone through.

But he’s still the same man you’ve been friends with for years now. You first met him three years ago when he opened his account with your bank with you as his teller. Years later, you’re still his teller and your friendship is stronger than ever. You’d never do anything to change that…even though deep down, you secretly want to. 

“Well, that was to relax because you think I’m killing myself with work; not to trauma dump about my string of bad dates.” You kick your feet up on the couch, wriggling your painted toes. 

Keigo pauses in the kitchen and walks back over to the doorway, leaning his hip against it. His shirt rises up a bit to show off one of his burn scars and his toned lower stomach where you see a patch of blonde hair. You look away. “Oh,” he realizes. “Tonight wasn’t the one, huh?” 

You look back up at him, feeling your stress and the tension inside of you since your Uber ride here from your date melt away at the sight of his soft, almost somber expression. 

“Definitely not.” 

He comes over to you, holding your dessert on a plate with two forks for you both. Your waitress took it upon herself to personally give you a free chocolate mousse cake topped with whipped cream and peaches. She probably saw how unhappy you were on your Bumble date and did it as a way to make sure you didn’t stab yourself with a fork. 

“Well, you know what eases stress from work and makes you feel better after bad dates?” Keigo smirks down at you, his golden eyes tinkling. “Ugh, no weed, please,” you say in disgust. “And no alcohol. I had two glasses of wine at dinner.” Hawks shoots you a look. “Don’t worry, I took an Uber here.” 

“No, tea,” he finally answers, laughing lightly. “Not alcohol and of course not weed! I know you don’t smoke, silly girl…unless you do now.” He smirks at you. “Is work kicking your ass that bad?” 

You roll your eyes, taking a fork to get a piece of your dessert. “Like you wouldn’t believe,” you sigh. “Ever since I took that promotion, it’s like they’re running me ragged over there. The only good thing is that this pay leaves me with extra money after the bills and rent are paid.” 

You’ve had your job as a bank teller for over six years now and you take it very seriously…however, when you clock out, you don’t take calls or texts from work. Your time out of work is your own which you usually spend sleeping. Ever since you received your promotion several months ago because of your great work ethic, you haven’t spent much time doing much except working and sleeping. Which means your time with Keigo has taken the back burner. 

“Well, tell me all about it while I getcha a cup,” he says, taking a forkful of the cake before walking into the kitchen. “Take the load off and relax.” You hear him putz around in the kitchen, clinging this and clanking that, while you eat your dessert. It is rich and sweet with the peaches adding the right amount of juiciness and syrupy sweetness. 

“Don’t get me wrong, the job has great benefits, but…sometimes, I feel like I’m gonna disappear. I barely have time to hang out with you now.” You frown, thinking off all of those video game nights and days on the town that have vanished because of your exhaustion. When you come home from work, you immediately hit the hay like you haven’t slept in decades. 

And on the weekend, a time that is meant for freedom, you’re spending it in your apartment getting ready for work again! It’s exhausting! 

“Oh, I know,” Keigo calls. “That’s why I invited you over. What kind of tea ya want?” You lay back against the pillows, putting your hands on your plump stomach. “What do you got?” 

“Uhhh, Merlo, orange blossom, camomile, lemon mint, lavender—“ 

“Lemon mint, please,” you decide. “With honey and sugar.” Keigo’s fluttery laughter exits the kitchen as he fills a kettle of water and puts it on the stove. “V, we’ve been friends for years. I know how you take your tea after making it for you for so long. Keep talking.” 

You smile, glad to have someone who knows you so well. You groan, your feet flopping against the couch tiresomely. “I'm just so tired all of the time now. I don’t even look forward to my days off because all I do is sleep!” 

After a few minutes of the tea kettle whistling and more putting around in the kitchen, Keigo exits the kitchen with a tray of two tea cups, organized tea bags, and the cutest little pots of sugar and lemon slices you’ve ever seen. He sits down beside you on the couch and fixes you a cup. ”I’m sorry I’ve been neglecting you,” you sigh apologetically. “Even with your hero work, you still make time for me.” 

His golden eyes cut over to you, serious yet soft. “Hey,” he firmly says. “Stop. Life is hard. Adulting sucks. We’re still friends regardless of work and responsibilities. Now drink.” 

He hands you a cup of your tea, the scent of lemon mingled with mint filling your nostrils. You hold the warm cup against your nose and breathe in the steam before taking a much-needed sip. You’re immediately filled with warmth. “Ah,” you sigh. “That’s nice.” 

Keigo leans back against the couch with you, spreading his legs as he sips his tea and visibly relaxes into the couch. You keep your eyes straight ahead, not wanting to stare dead at his thighs or his groin though it’s right in earshot. “See? Works like magic…though weed works too.” He breathes in his lavender tea and takes a sip, his eyes fluttering shut. You like seeing him relaxed like this. He looks way more handsome to you in this state.

You don’t quite know when you started thinking this way about your friend. You just know that these thoughts have yet to go away. But you won’t dare acknowledge them or tell him anything. Keigo is your bestie and that is how he’ll stay. You two have been through way too much as friends and have too much of a great relationship for you to ruin it with emotions you can’t decipher or make sense of. 

He turns to you now, pulling your feet into his lap. “So tell me about this date you had tonight. Didn’t you say it was with some guy you met on Bumble?” 

You nod, sipping your tea. “Yeah, we’d been talking for about two weeks and decided to meet for dinner. Really, I just agreed because he was paying and I thought it’d be a good distraction from work, but…” 

You pause, not really wanting to delve into tonight’s story about your horrible date. You started dating again five months ago, going through dating apps like Bumble, Tinder, and Hinge. You figured trying to find a nice, loving relationship wouldn’t hurt, but so far, your efforts have been futile. If you haven’t found hookups, you’ve found a slew of bad dates with mansplainers, closet incels, and the scummiest losers on these apps. The most recent one takes the cake. 

Keigo raises an eyebrow at you. “But?” he encourages. “Damn, was he that bad?” He laughs a bit, though he tries to stifle it as much as he can. 

You sigh, picturing your date tonight. He was a beautiful man on the outside—Colgate smile, curly hair, nice body—, but on the inside, you felt like you’d need all kinds of cleaning products to clean up his nasty personality. “Well, let’s just say I won't be calling him again.” 

Keigo laughs at this and you shove him in the arm. “At dinner, all he talked about was himself, he kept sneakily checking out other girls even though I saw, and then he acted like I had to give him “some” just because he paid even though he said he would! I even suggested we split!” 

The pro grows increasingly interested in hearing about this, especially hearing that your date was clearly a whore. “Well, what did he say?” he asks. You stare at the TV, not really watching the show. “He just kept trying to get me to go home with him, telling me he had good beer back at his place. When I said no, he looked fed up.” 

You take a sip of your tea, becoming more open with every sip. “Like, I should’ve been the one who was fed up,” you scoff. “I had to force him to ask questions about me at dinner because he kept droning on about the fact that he’s a licensed plumber and how he usually meets girls below his caliber.” 

You roll your eyes, something you’ve been doing all night. You’re shocked they haven’t rolled into the back of your head or fallen out yet. Keigo makes a noise between a disproving grunt and a lamented groan. “Oh, he was that type of guy.” He takes a forkful of the cake. 

You do the same, your hands brushing against one another as you reach for your fork. You ignore the slight spark you feel when you touch him. “Yeah,” you sigh. “But the thing is I don’t even think he liked that I have a job where I have a higher salary than he does. He was so weird about it.” 

You take another sip of the tea and pause, realizing that you’re not as angry or as disappointed as before. You feel so relaxed and at ease, your body melting into the sofa. It’s like you’re at a spa, listening to soothing music while you get your feet rubbed. “God, I’m so relaxed. That’s a first in I don’t know how long.” 

Keigo smiles, happy to hear this. “Well, that’s a good thing. Now….” He lowers his cup down and places a hand on your ankle. “Tell me more.” And so you do. You tell him about your bad date, your fears about being alone, your mother constantly getting on you about being single and giving her some grandbabies soon, etc. 

With every sip of your magical tea, you become more open and honest with your friend, running off with the mouth about your life. Keigo listens intently, running his hands over your aching feet and flicking the TV channel every so often. He never once speaks or interrupts. He only listens, which is exactly what you need. 

Finally, once the tea is almost gone, you sit back against the couch and hug a pillow to your chest. “I don’t think he’s ever gonna call again,” you continue, referring to your Bumble date. “And I don’t care! I’m so tired of meeting the same jerks who only wanna brag about themselves to anyone who will listen and only look at women as sex toys.” 

Keigo pushes the plate of empty cake aside, pouring you more tea in the process. “Not to sound like your dad or anything, but why do you even wanna try if the dating pool is so shitty?” 

You take a moment to think about it, mostly because your mind is moving so slowly. It’s like everything is moving in slow motion. Maybe going on your date after work wasn’t a good idea. “I just figured it wouldn’t hurt to try to find somebody good.” Keigo raises an eyebrow at you. “Somebody good?” he asks. “What does a “good” partner look like to you, V?” 

You are stunned by the question and suddenly at a loss of words. You’re not sure why. You’ve had these types of conversations with Keigo all the time! But suddenly, you feel nervous and like the walls around you are closing in. 

“Like…I dunno….someone who listens and is interested in me. Someone who’s understanding, caring, kind…someone who doesn’t always think about themselves. Someone who I can count on for anything.” 

Keigo doesn’t say anything. He just fixes you with an unreadable yet almost personal expression. “Don’t get it twisted though: I love my life as it is!” you quickly add. “I’ve got a great job, a crib, a car, friends, family...I don’t want you to think I’m desperate for a man to make me feel complete.” 

The blonde sips on his tea, looking confused at your sudden interest in proving to him that you’re not desperate for a man. “I didn’t say that.” 

But you continue on: “It would just be nice, y’know, to have a loving relationship. Sometimes I get lonely and I think that I’ll die alone with my cat.” You play with your fingers, looking at anything but him. You don’t want to see the pity in his eyes. 

“I know that it’s just me being stupid and overthinking shit, but it’d be nice to have someone I click with, like we do,” you confess. “I’d like a partner like…you.” 

That’s who you want in a partner. Someone who thinks of you like they think of themselves. Someone who is there for you to lend an ear, a shoulder to cry on, or a smile that gives you butterflies. Someone who you look forward to seeing and makes you happy when you think about them. Someone like your good friend, Keigo. 

Shyly, you look at him and you can see the stun in his eyes at your confession. Realizing how this sounds, your body and face flame up. “No, no, not like that!” You protest, flustered. “I-I just mean I’d want a guy like you as a partner. Y’know, someone who makes me feel safe and secure. Beautiful, even.” 

The silence that swells around you is intense and uncomfortable. You should’ve just kept your mouth shut. “I don’t even know why I’m telling you this,” you awkwardly chuckle. “There must be truth serum in this tea or somethin’.” You lower your cup down on the coffee table, pushing it away as if it’s poison. 

“Actually, no,” Keigo says. “It’s weed.” 

You pause, letting the wheels turn in your head as you process what he just said. “....What?” you finally ask. “You’re joking.” You even giggle to yourself, but he doesn’t. You can tell from the look he’s giving you. “You’re serious,” you realize. 

He sips on his tea, somehow proving it to you by doing so. “Deadass,” he replies. 

“Hawks, what the fuck?!” You shout, sitting up from the couch. “Why would you do that?! You know I don’t smoke!” Keigo clicks his tongue against his teeth. “Oh, relaaaax,” he draws. “I didn’t put that much in it. Just enough to relax you. If I would’ve asked, you would’ve said no.��� 

“Of course, I wouldn’t say no!” you protest, jumping up from the couch. “Because I don’t do drugs!” 

“Well, neither do I!” he retorts, standing up with you. “I’m not a pill popper or nothing, V. It’s just weed. All it does is soothe your nerves, gives you the munchies, and makes you sleep. Speakin’ of munchies, I’ve got some fried chicken takeout left in the fridge.” 

“And it also makes your anxiety skyrocket,” you angrily argue. “That explains why I’m runnin’ off with the mouth and sayin’ shit that I shouldn’t be saying!” 

You place a hand on your head, feeling it thump like a heartbeat. Speaking of heartbeat, you become hyper-aware of how much it has increased in the last few minutes and now, you can’t stop focusing on it. “God,” you exhale. You close your eyes, trying to slow your breathing and your racing mind. 

Keigo immediately turns around and rushes to you, laying a hand on your back. “You okay?” he asks, worried. Once he realizes what’s happening, he immediately springs into action and takes your hand. Slowly, he leads you back over to the couch and sits you down. 

“Stay there,” he says and as fast as lightning, he zooms back to the kitchen to get you some water and flaps back over on his big, red, fluffy wings like an angel. “Sip this,” he says, handing you the glass. “Just relax, honey. You’re okay. It’s just the weed talkin’.” 

He gently touches your knee and rubs it as you drink the ice water, taking slow sips. You try to ignore how hot you feel with him touching you, but it’s impossible to ignore. It’s been a long time since a touch has made you feel like this. His voice too—so soft and silky. “I promise I didn’t put that much in there,” he says, sounding guilty. “But maybe I shouldn’t have put any in at all. I’m sorry, V. I just didn’t like seein’ you so tired.” 

His hand gently grasps your knee and you shudder like he’s touching bare skin. “I had hoped this would relax you. You walk around like you’ve got the weight of the world on your shoulders, y’know? The bad dates don’t make it better.” 

He looks at you then. Really looks at you, like he sees all of you—the woman you are, the woman he sees, and the woman you want to be. All in those golden irises like sunken treasure. “You deserve to be happy,” he softly says. “And you deserve to have a partner who will make your happiness and well-being their top priority. I hope whoever it is knows how amazing of a person they’ve got.” 

And in his eyes and his handsome face, you see it. He’s telling the truth. Suddenly, you feel warm and those butterflies start flapping away in the pit of your stomach. Looking at him, you think to yourself that all that you want in a partner…could it be that maybe, just maybe, who you want is…him? 

Suddenly, your hand moves on its own and cups Keigo’s face. He flinches slightly, stunned by the sudden movement, but he doesn’t push you away. “V?” he whispers, furrowing his brows at you. 

Wordlessly, you lean in slowly, assessing his face and giving him time to pull away. He doesn’t. It’s like you’re watching yourself from the outside, but you can’t stop yourself from pressing your lips to his. The kiss is tentative and short, but it absolutely sets your entire body ablaze. His lips are soft and taste faintly of lavender from the tea. His cologne engulfs your nostrils, making your hormones run wild. 

It’s the best kiss you’ve ever had in your life…and it just so happens that it’s with your best friend. 

You pull away, both of you silently staring at one another, shocked by how great of a kiss that was and what the fuck just happened. Keigo doesn’t freak out or even remotely act like he didn’t enjoy it. He only whispers, “V”, his voice barely above a whisper. But it’s enough to send your mind careening back down to Earth. “I’m so sorry,” you say, your voice small. “I didn’t…I-I don’t know why I—“ 

But Keigo stops you by turning your face towards his again and kissing you once more. This one is longer and slower. He takes his sweet time getting to know your lips and introducing you to his, his hand gently cupping your cheek, his thumb stroking your jaw. It feels good. 

So good, in fact, that you find your hands moving to his shoulders, your fingers feeling up his toned arms and biceps. It feels good. He feels so good. You can’t believe how right it feels to be kissing and touching him. Slowly, he pulls away, his breathing ragged. “We should probably talk about this.” 

But you pull him back in for more kisses, these ones eager and heated. “We can talk later,” you whisper. “Just keep kissing me.” He listens to you, a soft moan leaving his lips as your tongue caresses his bottom lip. He parts his lips, granting you access, and your tongues begin to swirl amongst each other as your hands wander. You feel the, on your waist, your back, your ass, squeezing and kneading. 

At some point, Keigo walks you back to the couch and sits down first, pulling you on top of him. A soft, surprised moan escapes you as his hands grip your ass, keeping you locked in his lap. You straddle him and his groin, encasing him in the heat between your luscious, jiggly thighs. You keep kissing, your hands sliding down his chest, indulging in his muscles, and wanting so much to feel his bare skin. 

He pulls away with a soft pop as your lips disconnect, his gaze hooded and dazed as he stares up at you. “You feel so good here,” he sighs. “You’re so soft.” He pushes himself against you as he begins to pepper your neck with soft kisses. You moan, tossing your head back, letting him litter your throat in slow, wet smooches. Unconsciously, your body responds by grinding against him, causing something very hard to grow between your thighs. 

You gasp, looking down at his bulge. You got your best friend hard! He gives you a sheepish look with an endearingly awkward smile. “Sorry. You’ve got me excited.” A fire ignites inside of you, desperate to be freed. It might be the weed, but you feel just as excited and aroused as he is. “That’s the idea,” you giggle. You lean in to kiss him, nibbling on his bottom lip. “Bedroom. Please.” 

Keigo’s eyes flash with worry, your plea awakening something in him. “Are you sure you want this?” he whispers. “We can stop here if you want to—“ 

“No,” you exhale, shaking your head. “I don’t wanna stop. I want this.” To prove your point, you take his hand and slide it between your thighs for him to feel your second heartbeat. Your pussy is throbbing and sobbing for him, quickly becoming more insistent on being touched. Keigo’s mouth parts, a shuddering breath leaving his lips. 

You watch his wings shudder and ruffle as if you’ve touched them. He’s told you before that his feathers are sensitive. You make a mental note to experiment with them later as he cups his hands under your ass. “Hang onto me then,” he orders. “Don’t look down, okay, darlin’?” 

The pet name makes you feel hot all over and you nod, holding onto him tight. You lock your arms and legs around him as he stands up with you in his arms and gently flutters his wings. Though you gasp as you’re suddenly levitating off of the ground, you close your eyes and hug him close as he flies up the stairs to his bedroom. He chuckles at your reaction having not taken you flying before. He’ll have to do that later. 

Once you get to his bedroom, he gently puts you down on your feet and shuts the door. You look around the spacious room, noticing the sweet smell of roses and the cleanliness of it. The balcony on the left side of the room next to the bed is cracked, bringing in a soft summer breeze. “I can’t believe I’ve never seen your bedroom before.” You turn to him, noticing him sizing you up in a way that excites you. “You never had to.” 

You turn back to the king-sized bed, big enough for at least four people with a soft-looking red comforter, pillows, and… “Is that…a mirror?!” you gasp, looking up at the ceiling. There, in the square-shaped mirror hovering above the bed, you see yourself staring back. 

Keigo comes up behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist. “Yeah, I know; I’m a freak. Is this okay with you?” His concern for your comfort turns you on even more. You’ve never seen yourself have sex before, but the idea of looking up into the mirror and watching yourself take dick and tongue while seeing Keigo’s handsome face contort in pleasure makes your pussy spill all in your panties. 

You turn around in his arms and nod, too aroused to speak. He lazily smirks at you, his eyes hooded from arousal and the weed. “Then help me out of these clothes, will ya?” He groans, pulling on his pants. “I can’t take much more of this waiting game, babe.” 

You can’t either. You’re dying to see what he looks like without clothes. “You get naked first,” you suggest, a purr in your voice. He fulfills your wish and works his pants off while you peel off his shirt. At one point, Keigo almost falls trying to get his pants off, making you both giggle hysterically. 

Keigo gets very giggly and goofy when he’s high, something you know from many calls where he’s been high as a kite and you’re trying to sleep. Apparently, you get giggly too, unable to stop laughing. The clothes continue to come off until he’s just in his undies, exposing all kinds of savory, tanned muscle that you can’t help but touch, stroke, kiss, and lick. Keigo moans and tangles a hand in your hair as you do as you please, whispering, “Fuck, baby” and arousing “Mmm-hmms” as you do. 

When you pull away, you ogle at his burn scars for a moment, trailing your fingers over the rough patches of skin. You feel Keigo tense as you do and look up into his eyes, seeing insecurity. Quickly, you soften this by cupping his face in your hands. “I like you like this,” you whisper. “Gives you character.” 

Keigo cracks a smile and laughs, the sight adorable to you as your thumbs stroke his cheeks. “Your turn, darlin’.” Slowly, he begins to peel off your dress, slowly kissing you as he does. It’s one of those painfully slow, sloppy kisses with tongue that leave you weak in the knees and craving more of him. 

Once your dress and bra are off, Keigo sits you down on the bed and works on getting your pantyhose down. He watches you watch him pull the nylon stockings down your thighs, exposing your milky, brown skin and luscious thighs that he can’t help but stroke and grip as he leans over to kiss you. 

His lips trail down to your breasts, making you moan as his soft lips touch your hardened nipples. When he latches his mouth around one of them and gently sucks, you gasp and grasp his hair, arching your chest into his mouth. “You’re perfect,” he murmurs. “How the fuck could any man fuck up a date with you?” 

He turns his attention to your other nipple, giving it the same attention he just gave the one now tingling and coated in his spit. He toys with your tits, molding and squeezing them gently in your hands, loving how soft and heavy they are. Loud moans escape you as you tangle your fingers in his blonde locks, your pussy throbbing in your panties. “Keigo,” you mewl. “Baby, touch me.” 

He pulls away from your nipple to speak: I am, darlin’,” he chuckles. “Where else do you want me?” His golden eyes twinkle up at you with lust and mirth. Your fingers slide down to your clothed pussy, silently telling him just where you want him. You guide his hand there, but he stops. Instead, he keeps your hand there, staring at you. “No…show me.” 

You blink at him, confused. Gently, he pushes your legs open more to expose yourself to him. Then he sits up on his knees beside you and, his eyes still locked with yours, takes down his briefs to show you his very hard, very thick, very pretty cock. You gape at it, marveling at the vein trailing from the pink, bulbous head dripping in pre-cum to the base where his heavy balls hang. “Show me how you touch yourself and I’ll show you.” 

It feels like fire has crackled beneath your skin and in your veins as you do what he says. Slowly, still overcome by the weed, you pull your panties aside to reveal your glistening, wet cunt to him. “Shit,” he sighs. “You have such a pretty pussy.” 

You whimper pitifully at his nasty compliment, rubbing your clit in slow circles. You feel deliciously dirty and sexy under his gaze as he watches you, his hand stroking his dick in tandem with your slow pace. You pay attention to how his hand grips the thick base and strokes upward before going down, wanting to do the same. 

The more you stroke your pussy while he strokes his cock, soft moans and hums of pleasure leaving his pillowy-soft lips, the more you want to go further. Sitting here with your legs open and your fingers teasing your wet pussy while he gently pumps his cock in your face is the most erotic thing you’ve ever experienced. You need more of him. 

You tilt your head up and begin giving the head of his cock kitten licks and kisses, earning soft moans in response. Peering up at him under your lashes, you beg him with your eyes to give you what you want. “You want this?” he asks, pressing his cock against your cheek. You nod, parting your lips as he slides his cock over to gently rub it against your mouth. 

You open your mouth wider, allowing him to slide his cock in your mouth. “Fuck,” he groans, his gorgeous eyes rolling in the back of his head as his cock settles against your tongue. He lets you take the reins, only slowly thrusting in time with the slow bops of your head and sucks. You take your time blowing him, wanting to get to know his cock. He is thick and stretches out your throat, causing you to have to breathe through your nostrils and feel an ache in your jaw. 

But it feels so good. You love how he feels in your mouth. You love how he tastes. You love how warm he feels encased in your mouth and throat. You love the amount of spit that collects in your mouth and drips down your chin as you continue to blow him, using your free hand to play with his balls. “God,” he moans, his hand tangling in your hair. “You feel so good, V, what the fuck.” 

He feels good too. Your pussy gets wetter, your juices slipping down to your asscrack, as you continue to rub yourself in time with your slow deep throating. You absolutely love sucking his cock. It doesn’t take long for that knot in your core to begin tightening and you rub a little faster. “Kei,” you exhale around his cock. “I-I’m ‘bout to…I’m gonna—“ 

“No.” Keigo’s golden eyes flash at you, firm. “Stop.” You do as he says, slowing down before coming to a pause. “Sit on my face,” he bluntly says. You blink at him, stunned. “What?” you dumbly ask. 

“You heard me, baby: sit. On my. Face.” His hand slides down to cup yours over your pussy. “I want you to do what I’ve dreamed of you doin’ to me for years and that’s cumming in my mouth.” A cocky smirk pulls at his lips. “Don’t worry. I can handle you. If I die, I die happy.” 

You roll your eyes while he laughs, but you still think it over. 

You’ve never sat on a guy’s face before. It’s the first time you’ll be doing so. What if he’s uncomfortable? What if you can’t breathe and you accidentally smother him? What if you crush his neck with your full weight? Those pesky “what ifs” continue to haunt you, but at the sight of Keigo’s lustful eyes and warm smile, they begin to dissipate. 

So you agree. “Pat my thigh twice if it’s too much,” you say, earning a scoff in return. He then crawls up to the top of the bed, giving you a view of his great ass, and flops onto his back, head against the pillows. His smile widens and he motions you to come hither, his cock standing at attention for you. 

Suddenly feeling shy but not wanting to back out, you slowly crawl over to him and on top of him, your thighs straddling his chest. “Uh…so how do I do this?” you awkwardly ask. He laughs, his chest vibrating beneath you. “Well, first, you’ve gotta get close to my face, baby. Don’t worry; you won’t fall. Just sit on me.” 

Drawn to his smile and encouragement like a moth to a flame, you sit up on your knees and scoot closer until you’re hovering over his handsome face. His eyes peer up at you, coaxing you to come down. Slowly, you do and almost immediately, your jaw drops, and your eyes go wide at the immense pleasure you feel when his tongue hits your clit. 

“Oh, God!” you cry out, grabbing onto the headboard for dear life so you don’t spray all over your best friend’s face. In this position, he can reach everything, from his tongue caressing your clit and the folds of your cunt to his hands gripping and massaging your ass. He’s able to drink right from the source now, so he does so. He slurps and drinks like a thirsty man from your pussy, falling in love with how you taste. 

And you fall in love with his mouth. You can’t help but grind yourself against his nose as he slurps at your pussy, his tongue moving magically between your folds. “Fuck, Hawks, yes!” you sob, tossing your head back. “Fuck, please, keep going! Oh, don’t stop!” 

From between your soft, sweet, thick thighs, you can hear Keigo mumbling about how good you taste and whimpering as he continues to slurp your pussy. You’ve never heard him whimper before. It sounds so pathetic yet so sexy coming from him, the sounds vibrating against your pussy. “Fuck me,” he pleas from underneath you. “Fuck my face, baby.” 

So you do. You can’t help it. His mouth just feels too good! Your hips move on their own, grinding and rolling, causing your pussy to glide along his tongue and your clit to bump against his nose. His face becomes your surfboard and you’re trying desperately to catch that wave of pleasure that will surely cause a wipeout for you. Your moans and cries grow louder, bouncing off the bedroom walls, possibly alerting the neighbors of how good you’re getting fucked. 

Finally, that knot in your core reaches its limit and you feel yourself come undone in Keigo’s mouth. “I’m cumming!” you gasp, using one hand to grip Keigo’s hair. “Fuck, baby, I’m cumming!” Greedily, Keigo takes all that you give him, his tongue moving slowly yet deliciously along your wet slit as you cum in his mouth. 

He moans eagerly, taking everything you give him that floods into his mouth like the most delicious waterfall. Your moans are like music to him, making his cock strain and ache. He needs to bust at this point! When you begin to feel overstimulated, he finally stops and you roll off of him. 

You flop onto your back on the mattress, panting heavily and staring up at your body in the mirror. Your brown skin glistens in sweat and your hair is a tousled mess. Keigo gently strokes your side, his pants matching yours. “That was perfect,” he sighs. Tiredly, you nod. “You okay?” He worriedly asks. 

You’ve never felt better. But now you want more. So you turn to him and kiss him, tasting yourself off of his lips. “I want more,” you whisper. You don’t need to elaborate any more than that for him. “Lemme just get some stuff,” he murmurs, kissing your lips before moving to his nightstand drawer. 

There, he retrieves a bottle of edible lube and a water bottle for you. As you drink the water, you peek over his shoulder, spotting a pack of pre-rolled blunts that he no doubt smokes while he’s in here. Shockingly, you put a hand on his shoulder and nod down at the blunts. “Take one out,” you say. “I wanna try somethin’.” 

Keigo looks shocked since you seemed so freaked out about weed initially, but he does as you say and places the blunt and a lighter on an ashtray on the nightstand. You coax him to lean back, relishing how eager he seems as he lets you do as you want to him. You then straddle him, his hard cock pressing against your mound, and press your lips to his ear. 

“I wanna smoke while I ride you,” you whisper. “I want you to blow smoke in my mouth while you watch me take your cock.” 

Keigo shudders at your dirty suggestion, swearing under his breath. “Ya mean shotgunning?” He chuckles, raising an eyebrow at you. You flush bashfully, shrugging. You’ve only ever seen the act in movies, but the idea of it turns you on, especially when you’re taking cock. “I like you freaky like this,” he pants, gently nibbling your bottom lip. “Go ahead then, baby. Take your time.” 

So you do. You use the lube on him, stroking the cold substances up and down his shaft. He shivers at the chill until the lube warms up in your palm, your ministrations making him moan and whimper. “C’mon, mama,” he groans. “You’ll make me cum before I’m even inside you yet.” 

You add some lube around your entrance despite being as wet as an ocean. But you decide that you want to feel all of him, so you want to be as slick as possible. Taking hold of his shoulder with one hand while he securely handles your hips, you take his cock into your hand and rub it against your slit. He locks eyes with you, enjoying seeing the pleasure in them. “Fuck me,” he hisses through clenched teeth. “Take me, baby.” 

Slowly, you press the head against your entrance and gently slide down his shaft. You take his head first, the sensations you both feel causing you to gasp in unison. Then, inch by inch, you take more of his thick cock inside of your soft, curvy body. You slowly rock your hips and bounce up and down in his lap, taking him deeper and deeper with every passing second. “Mmm, fuck, Keigo,” you whine, gripping his hips as you bounce on his dick. “You feel so fucking good!” 

Keigo would tell you the same, but he’s too busy watching your pretty ass take his cock like a good girl. He loves the way your stomach jiggles; how soft your back rolls feel as he traces his fingers over them; how your tits bounce and your thighs ripple. You’re truly a specimen, especially when high. 

Speaking of high, he remembers the blunt he put on the nightstand and reaches for it, never once taking his eyes off of you. He grabs the blunt and his lighter, still watching you ride him. “You’re doin’ so well for me, baby,” he groans. “You feel so fuckin’ amazing. Keep bouncin’ on me, okay?” 

You nod, continuing to sink down onto his cock as you watch him light his blunt. He wraps his lips around one of the ends and puffs once, twice, three times as the other end burns red from the lighter. Keigo then tosses the lighter aside and inhales deeply. The smoke billows from his lips as he exhales, his golden eyes hooded and lazy. 

“Mind if I smoke?” he jokingly asks, smiling lazily at you. You’ve never seen him look sexier. “C’mere,” he murmurs. He puts the blunt to his mouth again and inhales, holding the smoke between his cheeks. 

You lean in and make a small O shape with your puckered lips. He leans in and exhales slowly, blowing the smoke in a steady stream into your mouth. The weed smoke combined with his dick inside of you is a different kind of high. Your eyes flutter shut for a moment before opening again, dazed and slightly red. 

Keigo lets out a sexy chuckle as he watches your eyes glaze over. “Nice, right?” You slowly nod, smiling deliriously at him. As you slowly grind your clit against his stomach, you lean in again, wanting more. “You want another one, huh?” he asks. “Keep fucking me just like that then.” 

You do as he says and brace yourself on his shoulders, letting him shotgun you again for an indirect kiss. It quickly turns into a direct, sloppy tongue kiss as he presses his mouth to yours. The scent of marijuana and his spicy cologne mingles in your nostrils, somehow making you wetter and more needy. “Put your hand on my throat,” you beg. “Please, Keigo!” A fire flashes behind Keigo’s eyes, excited by your sluttiness. 

His big, red wings suddenly move around you as if to shield you from everything but him as his hand shoots out to gently grasp our throat. “Fuck, babe, you’re so hot like this. Who knew all it took to turn you into a little slut was some weed?” 

He watches you between his golden slits of eyes, his lips pressed together in pleasure as he feels your slick pussy stroke him again and again, both of you softly moaning in the darkness of his bedroom. The bed creaks and bounces underneath you, your ass softly clapping against Keigo’s thighs. The lewd sounds of you fucking only makes you move a little faster and harder. “Fuck, Kei,” you whine. “I’m gonna…gonna cum soon.” 

Through gritted teeth, Keigo nods, his face flushed. “Shit, I know,” he hisses. “Me too. Need to..need to fuck you harder.” Without warning, he shoots forward, wraps an arm around you, and begins to lift his lips up to fuck you back. You gasp and toss your head back, eyes closed from the ecstasy and his thick cock stroking your insides. Your clit rubs against his pelvis with every thrust, getting you closer to your end. 

“No,” Keigo growls. “Open your eyes.” You do so and look down into his lust-blown eyes. “Look up,” he demands. “Look at yourself getting fucked, V. Look at you take that fucking dick.” 

You slowly look up into the mirror, watching the woman above you. Her tits jiggle and bounce like ripe, hanging fruit; her soft, plump body ripples as the handsome man below her fucks up into her, bringing her closer to the brink of orgasm. Her face is contorted in pleasure, her brows furrowed and lips parted as moans and gasps leave her lips. She is beautiful. And she is you. 

Seeing you look so hot getting fucked like that…God, it’s too much. You dig your nails into Keigo’s shoulders and press your face into his neck, wailing from the pleasure. “Oh, fuck!” you cry out. “Fuck yes, baby, I’m gonna…gonna…oh, fuck!” Your orgasm sneaks up on you like the killer in a slasher flick and tears you up from the inside. You come apart at the seams on Keigo’s cock, clenching and throbbing around him as you cum. 

Keigo is right behind you, slamming his hips sloppily into yours as he tries to chase that high, even babbling as he does. “That’s it, baby, cum on my cock,” he moans. “Fuck, fuck, fuck yeah, I’m gonna cum too!” 

To get him there quicker, you begin to gently stroke his wings, starting from the wing bone to the tips of his feathers, earning a soft white and a shudder in response to your ministrations. 

After a few more thrusts and a ruffle of his wings as you slide your fingers against them, Keigo’s muscles clench and he holds onto you for dear life. Ah!” he gasps as he explodes deep inside of you. You weakly moan as you feel his warm cum flood your insides, making your pussy and thighs feel wet and sticky. “Take it all,” he exhales against your chest. “Take all of me, V. It’s yours.” 

You whimper and shudder against him, overcome by your and his orgasms. The aftershocks begin to set in, causing you to hold onto him as the aftermath of the sex begins to fade. After it does, you feel exhausted. Silence swells between you both despite Keigo still being inside of you. With a soft moan, he carefully slides out of you and flops onto his back. 

You roll off of him and lay beside him onto the cool comforter. For a while, you just lay side by side, never saying a word. Your heavy pants turn into one, mingling with the sound of cars outside. In the silence, reality sets in: you just had sex with your best friend. 

Keigo clears his throat, breaking the silence. “Uh, that was…” He trails off, trying to find the right word, but not being able to. 

“Yeah,” you agree. It was fucking amazing. But also fucking strange. 

Slowly, the winged blonde turns toward you, one wing moving to cover you like a feathery, crimson blanket. “Do you wanna talk about what just happened?” he asks. “‘Cause I think we should.” You don’t say anything because what can you possibly say to this? 

Keigo props his cheek up on his fist, looking down at you in worry. “Do you regret it?” The moonlight illuminates the fear in his eyes. He’s scared you’ll say yes. 

“No,” you immediately reply and you see relief set in. “But I don’t know where we go from here. I mean, we pretty much just ruined our friendship doin’ this.” You let out an awkward chuckle though your stomach flips at the idea. 

“No shit,” he chuckles. “But if I can be honest with you, I’d rather us have done that than not. I just hope you know that everything I said to you is true: you are an amazing woman, V, and you do deserve an amazing partner like…” He stops immediately from saying whatever he is going to say. 

“Like who? You?” you joke. You look up at him and snort at your own joke…but he isn’t laughing. He looks conflicted like he’s trying hard to hide what he wants to say. Your heart leaps into your throat and your stomach does a gastric flip. “Hawks?” you quietly ask. 

Finally, he speaks. “I’ve had these…feelings for you for some time now,” he confesses. “I don’t know when they started, but they just appeared one day. I had always adored you as my friend, but once I realized how much I wanted that to change, I started looking at you as the woman I wanted in my life and adored you even more.” 

Under his soft yet intense gaze, you feel like you’re on fire. You lay there next to him, completely frozen, afraid of ruining this moment. “I don’t wanna spring this on you,” he continues, “and if you’re uncomfortable, you can always leave. But, V, all I want is for you to be happy and I’d be lying to your face if I said I didn’t want you to be happy with me.” 

He looks nervous, playing with a silver ring on his ringed fingers. You take his hands into yours, finally feeling brave enough to state the obvious: “I feel the same,” you whisper. 

Hope appears in his widened eyes, his lips twitching up into a smile. “So?” he coaxes. “Are you down for this?” 

It now occurs to you that all of this time you’ve been searching for the one on dating apps and in the streets when all you had to do was look right beside you at the one person you would’ve never suspected. Or expected. And it could be possible that things won’t work out, but it’s also possible that Hawks could be the best thing that ever happened to you. And you want to find out. You don’t care what happens. You just wanna enjoy this with him. “Okay,” you giggle. “Yeah…let’s give this a shot.” 

With a happy smile, Keigo leans in and presses a joyful kiss to your lips, cupping your face in his warm, calloused hands. You giggle, filled with giddiness. But then that happiness is stumped when your stomach rudely begins growling. 

“That’s the weed talking,” he laughs, raising his brows humorously at you. “How about we end tonight with that takeout, some more cuddling, and a round two, hm?” He takes your hands and presses two kisses to your knuckles that travel down to your pussy, making it throb impatiently. 

“That sounds perfect to me,” you purr before leaning up to kiss him again. 

You never do make it to round two. The weed fights back after you chomp down on fried chicken and Hawks’ snack stash in his kitchen, causing you both to drift off to sleep snuggled against each other. But you don’t mind because being snuggled up underneath him in his bed, feeling the softness of his wings wrapped around you, is the most intimate thing you could ask for. 

And the next morning, in the golden light of dawn pouring in through the balcony to air out the smell of weed, he makes up for it by fucking you senseless into the afternoon. 

Yeah. You definitely made the right decision. 

THE END.

[babydollmarauders]

SPEAK NOW — QUINN HUGHES

quinn hughes x fem!reader

part of the Speak Now Fic List

summary: in which y/n attends her ex-boyfriend, Quinn’s wedding and can’t hold her peace

notes: barely any dialogue. like i’m so serious, very little dialogue. also not proofread and i think i hate this but it’s fine because i don’t think i could do any better and i worked way too long on this.

it was the last thing i expected.

to receive the elegant white cardstock that sits in my hand. flowers of muted colors are printed across the bottom, cursive lettering across the top.

‘You Are Formally Invited to the Wedding of Quinn Hughes & Lindsay Carter’

it’s not that i didn’t think this day would come. quite on the contrary, i feared it would come sooner. i know firsthand how special Quinn is. i knew some lucky girl would lock him down. Quinn is the type of love that you never let go.

but i did.

i made the mistake of letting go of his love.

letting go of him.

and now i’ll be forced to watch as he marries another girl. one who provided comfort and a shoulder for him to cry on when i broke his heart. one who helped him glue the pieces back together after i left.

we had both known the risks. getting together despite the warnings of his brothers. and Jack was right.

“romance is not worth risking a lifelong friendship.”

because in the end, i lost both.

i lost the love of my life and my best friend since kindergarten.

now reduced to awkward tension at conjoined family events, and pity invites to major events like these. more awkward to invite me than it is to face me afterwards, knowing that i knew what was happening and was deliberately left out.

setting the invitation on the counter, i check yes on the guest list website on my phone. confirming that i’ll be in attendance.

despite the envy that weighs heavy in my heart, and the irrational feeling of betrayal that eats at me, i know i’ll feel worse missing this milestone in Quinn’s life.

**THREE MONTHS LATER**

i’ve had months to prepare for this moment. to guard my heart and get ready to watch the only man i’ve ever loved, get married to another woman.

and in spite of that, all i’ve done is the very thing i spent the last two years keeping myself from doing.

asking about Lindsay.

i never thought they would get this far. under the impression that this was a fling and wouldn’t last long. the only thing i knew for two years was that they were opposites.

Quinn is a responsible, down-to-earth guy, focusing on feelings and equality in relationships. whereas she was more materialistic; never attending Quinn’s games unless she was guaranteed a photo opportunity, using his card to buy luxury items, and according to Jack, constantly reminding Quinn how low he had felt before she came into his life.

and now, after asking around and learning everything i could, i can guarantee that Quinn doesn’t know half the things that i do.

i can guarantee he doesn’t know that she was a bully in high school, that that mean girl attitude never left. i can guarantee he doesn’t know that she brags to all her friends that she bagged a rich fiancé and she’ll never have to work to afford her luxury lifestyle, or that she has no issue in saying he isn’t attractive but his money makes up for it. and i know he doesn’t know she’s been sleeping with her personal trainer when Quinn is out of town.

and i know what i must do today, despite my nerves.

there’s still thirty minutes until the ceremony actually begins, and no matter how much i’ve steeled myself, i’ll never be ready to face the pity filled glances and the sympathetic words of Quinn and i’s families and friends. so, i wander the halls of the stuffy church, thinking about how unlike Quinn this all is.

perhaps he’s changed his mind since we had fantasizingly planned our own wedding. laid in bed, the golden sunrise lighting his face in a greek god-like way, speaking in hushed whispers, discussing our dream wedding. nothing like this one.

my feet pause on their own accord as yelling reaches my ears, and i identify the sound coming from an open door down the hall as Lindsay.

“are you stupid?” her voice drifts out of the room, carried by the empty space. “i told you to get nude heels, not cream!”

i make quick work to pass by the room, catching just a glimpse of the blonde bride, her fluffy white gown swallowing her.

heaving out a relieved sigh, i try to ignore the pounding in my chest, turning left down the hall and towards the main room. maybe it’s best for me to just get the pity and commiseration over with.

my heels click against the hardwood floor of the crowded room, and a hush falls over most of the right side. Quinn’s side.

scanning the room, i’m grateful to find Trevor and Cole. i know Quinn’s family is with him getting ready, but i at least have these two to bring me some comfort amongst the sea of strangers.

“y/n, you came!”

pop! the comfort bubble has broken. i thought i could trust Cole to treat me normally, but the gentle incredulous tone of his voice tells me otherwise. a mix of shock and sympathy.

“yeah, of course i did.” my lips quirk in a forced smile, shoving any resentment and nerves down deep inside me. “i wouldn’t miss Quinny’s big day.”

“y/n/n, you know you don’t have to act strong in front of us, right?” Trevor’s hand rubs my arm, providing the perfect grounding for me.

“yeah, no, i know that.” i nod. “but seriously, guys, i’m fine. i knew this day would come.”

“it’s not too late.” Cole jokes. “the priest does say that whole ‘speak now or forever hold your peace’ thing, right?”

i let out a genuine chuckle at the deep and ominous tone he uses to imitate the priest; the first real laugh i’ve had all day. if only he knew.

i join Trevor and Cole in finding seats, sitting in the 4th row. not quite at the front, but also not quite the middle. i perch in the seat closest to the aisle, open for a quick getaway if needed.

the guys engage me in small talk, asking me about my job and frowning when i give the generic answer of ‘it’s okay.’

but i couldn’t tell them the truth, could i? that i hated it. that i regretted ever taking it. that it wasn’t the job that was bad, but rather that i was filled to the brim with resentment that it took me away from the man i love.

i knew i had brought it upon myself. i made myself this miserable. i chose this job over him. i got the internship and thought Quinn and i could withstand the distance while i was in Boston, but i was wrong. we didn’t make it more than two months before i was forced to watch our relationship crumble before me; knowing there was nothing i could do to fix us, i had to let him go.

i knew he would live on. i knew he would be able to put our relationship in the past. but i was only more disconsolate than ever. stuck in a mournful heartbreak. unable to move on and unwilling to try.

i’m shaken from my thoughts by Cole, who points out the mother of the bride walking down the aisle, signifying that the ceremony is getting underway.

i strain my back, twisting around in my seat. my eyes are drawn to the open double doors, where Quinn makes his entrance. his parents on either side of him.

my heart races in my chest, my nerves settling low within my stomach. he looks breath taking. but i can’t help noticing the lack of spark in his eyes. the once lively eyes that used to be so full of emotion, now seem empty.

my gaze tracks his movement, following as he walks down the aisle and to the altar, coming to a stop in front of the priest. his parents take their seats as he scans the room, seemingly searching, and when our eyes meet, he seems to stiffen. his back straightening and his jaw locking.

i can only hope my eyes convey everything i’m thinking.

i’m sorry.

please don’t do this.

his brothers are quick to follow down the aisle, decked out in navy blue suits, joining him at the altar as his groomsmen.

Jack’s lips quirk up in a smirk when he sees me, and he sends me a wink, but i can’t muster anything more than a simple straight lipped expression.

the next 20 minutes go by in a blur, a haze of bridesmaids and eventually Lindsay making her entrance.

“dearly beloved, we are gathered here today to join together this man and this woman in holy matrimony, which is commended to be honorable among all men; and therefore - is not by any - to be entered into unadvisedly or lightly - but reverently, discreetly, advisedly and solemnly.”

the priest begins, and i’ve been to enough weddings to know what comes next. steeling my nerves, i take a deep breath in, letting it escape back past my lips with a silent whoosh.

“should anyone present know of any reason that this couple should not be joined in holy matrimony, speak now or forever hold your peace.”

a silence falls over the room, the priest looking out over the seated crowd.

my hands tremble by my sides, anxiety growing deep within me, but i know this is my last chance.

i rise to my feet, slowly and shakily. i can hear whispers start from the left side of the room, and i glance around to find everyone staring at me with horrified looks. everyone but Quinn’s immediate family and friends.

Jack and Luke share a glance before letting out relieved sighs; but i’m only focused on Quinn, who stares back at me with wide eyes and parted lips.

“go on.” the priest urges me, an annoyed expression painting his face.

Lindsay’s face turns red, hands balled into fists at her sides.

“don’t say ‘yes’.” i plead of Quinn.

“y/n-” he sighs, and my heart skips a beat in my chest, the well-known effect he has on me.

“you need to hear me out.” i beg. “Quinn, i’m sorry. i’m sorry i let us go, i’m sorry i didn’t fight harder for us, and i’m sorry i ever even took that stupid internship. but even if i’m too late to win you back, you deserve better than this.

“she’s been using you for your name and your money.” i continue, but Quinn squeezes his eyes shut in disbelief. whether he’s in disbelief of Lindsay or me, i can’t be sure. “and she’s been cheating on you.”

gasps sound out across the room and his eyes snap open wide again. his gaze flickers between me and his bride, who has now turned a pale white; all color draining from her face at my accusation.

“she’s lying! she just wants you to herself! she had her chance and she lost it and now she doesn’t want you happy.” Lindsay cries out.

“i have it on good authority that she’s been sleeping with her trainer when you’re out of town. you know i wouldn’t say anything if i weren’t completely sure. if i didn’t have proof.” i tell him “and you don’t deserve that. you deserve someone who will be absolutely head over heels, purely, and loyally in love with you. and i’m not saying that i’m that person for you. this isn’t me begging for a second chance, even if i am still out of my mind in love with you. i just can’t stand idly by and watch you make a mistake. i can’t let you marry her without knowing the truth.”

i take a deep breath and let it out in a sigh. silence plagues the room, astonishment written all over the faces over every guest in attendance.

“okay, that’s all i wanted to say.” i purse my lips and nod, stepping out into the aisle. my heels click against the floor as i make my exit, not staying to see the outcome of my outburst.

***

i sit on my couch, staring at my hands fidgeting in my lap; my phone shut down entirely and sitting face down on the coffee table in front of me, not ready to face the consequences of my earlier actions.

a movie plays on my tv, but i pay no attention, only having put it on in attempt to escape my thoughts and avoid the quiet.

it’s been approximately twelve hours since i objected to my ex’s wedding. now midnight, and my anxiety has not lessened. i have no clue whether Quinn carried on with his marriage or if he took my words to hold the truth. too afraid to find out.

i’m broken out of my trance by a heavy knock sounding out on the door of my apartment, and i stand frantically. i expect that it’s Jack or one of the many other friends in attendance of the wedding this afternoon, but my heart rate picks up when i look through the peephole to find the very man i confessed my love to today.

my hand shakes as i unlock the door, opening it to reveal Quinn. he’s no longer in his tux, rather adorning sweatpants and a t-shirt, but he still looks handsome to me.

“Quinn.”

“i didn’t say my vows.” he rushes out.

“what?” i question, fearing i heard him wrong.

“i didn’t say my vows.” he repeats, pushing past me and into my entry hall. “she tried to deny what you told me, but i trust you. i held my ground, and she confessed everything. you were right.”

“Quinn, please.” i plead. “i’m happy that you’re not upset with me but i can’t-”

“i’m so glad you were there.” he cuts me off, snaking his arm around my waist and pulling me flush against him. “were you telling the truth?”

“Quinn, you just said she confessed-” i push against his chest, tears gathering in my eyes.

“about being sorry. about still being in love with me. were you telling the truth?” he clarifies, his free hand coming up to hold both of mine in his clutch, and my arms go slack.

“yes.” the tension in the air is palpable, and i’m unsure whether it’s worrisome or comforting.

“say it again.” he breathes out, a subtle smile resting on his lips.

“i love you.” a lone tear spills over my waterline, rolling down my cheek. “i am absolutely and irrevocably in love with you.”

his lips crash upon mine in a bruising kiss, finally letting go of my hands in favor of resting his right one against my cheek. i stiffen against him, seizing up in his hold, and he pulls back. his eyes scan my face, his face etched in worry.

“did i do something wrong?” a hoarse whisper, our faces still millimeters apart.

my hands raise to cup the back of his neck, pulling his lips back down to mine. my eyes flutter shut,this time it’s slow and passionate; holding my heart on my sleeve as i pour my soul out to him in the form of a kiss.

he pulls away, pressing his forehead against mine, but my eyes remain shut. we’re both silent, nothing but the sound of our mingling breaths and the tv lowly drifting in from the other room.

“i love you too.”