#like even just a bit of bread is better than nothing if you know you haven't eaten enough ^^

[rosemaryhoney27]

Operation: Gaslight the Billionaires”

aka: How Danny Phantom Accidentally Became the Perfect Wayne

The chaos of the Batcave had mostly settled. Danny had been with them for three days, and Vlad Masters was officially on the verge of a nervous breakdown.

It wasn’t the ghost attacks. It wasn’t even the rogue AI that tried to merge with the espresso machine (thanks, Tim). It was the fact that Danny was actively making him look insane.

Bruce entered the kitchen expecting the usual post-patrol disaster: someone bleeding, Jason frying something suspicious, Damian glaring at vegetables like they insulted his honor, and Tim unconscious on the table with a Red Bull IV.

Instead… the kitchen was sparkling.

Alfred was humming. HUMMING. And Danny?

Danny was wearing an apron that said “I cook with spirit (and some ectoplasm)” and was gently stirring a pot of something that smelled incredible. He handed Alfred a tray of prepped vegetables with the air of a beloved sous-chef in a Michelin-starred restaurant.

“Knife is clean and set aside, Mr. Pennyworth. Do you want the counter disinfected again before the meat’s on?”

Alfred smiled. Smiled. “That won’t be necessary, Master Daniel. You’ve done splendidly.”

Bruce stood in the doorway like a man waiting for a piano to fall on him. “…Who is this child?”

Alfred replied calmly, “The most helpful young man we’ve had in this kitchen in years. I daresay Master Richard could learn a thing or two.”

Danny looked up, beamed at Bruce, and said, “Good morning! You want coffee? I just finished a batch of Colombian roast. Tim said you like it strong enough to dissolve crime.”

Tim, from under the counter where he’d been sleeping with a tablet as a pillow: “That’s not even a joke. I’ve seen it eat through one of Damian’s throwing knives.”

Bruce walked over and took the mug Danny handed him. It was the perfect temperature. The exact strength he liked. He took a sip.

His soul briefly ascended.

“…This is better than Alfred’s.”

Alfred gave an approving nod. “Indeed. I showed him once.”

Vlad stormed into the room like a man preparing to perform an exorcism. His hair was frazzled, one of his slippers was missing, and there was what looked suspiciously like slime on his sleeve.

“BRUCE. Tell me honestly, what have you done to him?”

Bruce blinked. “To Danny? Nothing.”

“HE MADE A THREE-COURSE MEAL AND ASKED IF I WANTED A MIDNIGHT TEA.”

“I like being helpful,” Danny said, halo practically visible. “Uncle Vlad gets stressed so easily.”

“I DO NOT—!”

“He also helped Damian organize the armory,” Alfred added serenely.

“Color-coded the blades,” Damian muttered, glaring slightly less than usual. “And sharpened them.”

Jason walked in, paused, sniffed the air. “Is that real garlic bread? Did we finally break the food curse?”

Danny handed him a plate. “You should eat. You looked hangry yesterday.”

Jason stared at him. “I could kill for you.”

“I’d prefer you didn’t.”

“Nice. Boundaries.”

Vlad was gaping. “You are all being tricked! This is an act! He’s a little gremlin with teeth! He ate my briefcase!”

Danny blinked innocently. “It smelled like almonds. I thought it was marzipan.”

“IT WAS NOT MARZIPAN.”

Cass wandered in, stole a breadstick, and gave Danny a high-five. “Nice work.”

Vlad turned to Bruce, furious and hollow-eyed. “This is not fair. He fought a space god last week, and now he’s making quiche.”

Bruce just shrugged. “Some people contain multitudes.”

“He bit a vampire diplomat in Prague.”

“He was undead and had no permit for summoning circles,” Danny added cheerfully. “Also, he was rude to the hotel staff.”

Stephanie peeked in. “Did I hear someone say quiche?”

“Spinach and mushroom,” Danny called.

“I’m going to implode,” Vlad whispered to the heavens.

Danny wiped his hands and turned to Vlad with a kind, innocent smile. “Uncle Vlad, I know it’s hard to accept, but maybe… I’ve matured?”

Vlad squinted. “You turned your teacher’s car invisible three weeks ago.”

“She parked in the ghost zone exit lane,” Danny said, wounded. “I was helping traffic.”

Bruce sipped his coffee and studied the boy who had seamlessly infiltrated his house like a social trojan horse. “How did you convince him to stay with you again?”

“I blackmailed the adoption agency and offered full scholarship access, six haunted properties, and a personal lab,” Vlad muttered.

“Reasonable,” Tim said. “Sounds like a good pitch.”

Bruce looked at Danny. “Would you like to stay a bit longer?”

Vlad: “No.”

Danny: “Sure!”

Jason: “New little brother unlocked.”

Vlad looked down into his empty tea mug like it had betrayed him. “This is how I die. In a Wayne manor. Smothered by domestic competency and passive-aggressive hospitality.”

Danny patted his arm. “It’s okay, Uncle Vlad. Want me to make you some chamomile?”

Vlad hissed like a vampire at dawn.

[notsodelirious]

silly little fluff bit for Jason before I turn in and ignore my writing for a while (absolute not proofread)

small cw for food insecurity in this first para of this <3 take care

•─────⋅☾⊱♰⊰☽⋅─────•

Jason knew hunger.

He had grown up on scraps and leftovers, nibbling on the last bite of the meal after his mother had declared she wasn’t hungry anymore.

He was grown from noodle packs and stale soups, cut bread crusts and funny canned meat.

He’d been raised on hunger so he’d never cared for food.

It was sustenance, he needed it to grow, to stay awake and stay active. Food had a purpose. He just needed enough to live, it didn’t matter what it tasted like, how it felt.

It was food.

He didn’t care for food.

Not until he returned from patrol one evening to find you pulling a bake tray from the oven.

“Hi!”

He paused as he looked at you, all bright smiles and heat flushed cheeks. Whatever dish you had been cooking smelled divine, permeating your entire living space, even creeping under his helmet.

“Hey,” he said hesitantly as he stepped into your living room, closing the window behind him.

“I made lasagna,” you said as you set the tray on the burner and uncovered it just as he pulled off his helmet. His mouth didn’t water when he saw your work and drifted closer to get a better smell.

It wasn’t that he’d never seen good food before—Alfred was beyond good in the kitchen and the League always had good chefs in rotation but this was different.

You two stood together in the small kitchen, comfortably warm in the heat radiating from oven, over a dish made with nothing but store bought ingredients and a recipe passed down from mother to child.

“I didn’t know if you had preferences but I think I’ve seen you eat everything I put in this,” you said as you wiped your hands on a tea towel before tucking it away.

“No, no,” Jason said quickly, his throat tight and he didn’t know where his voice went—he pulled off his glove before resting his hand on the back of your neck, squeezing gently, “It looks great.”

“Fuck yeah,” you smiled up at him before slipping out of his grip, “Go wash up, I’ll let the table.”

“I can help-“

“You stink,” you playfully swatted his ass with the tea towel. “Wash.”

He put his hands up in mock surrender as he dragged his feet out of the kitchen but complied, taking a quick shower before coming back to the kitchen in borrowed clothes and wet hair.

“Oh, I could have helped,” he said as he watched you set glasses of water on the makeshift dining table against the wall.

“You were busying becoming less gross,” you shrugged as you gave him a cheeky smile before sitting down.

“This feels like bullying.”

“Never,” your bright eyes followed him as he took a seat in front of you. “You don’t have to wait to start,” you said softly as you picked up your own fork, watching as he awkwardly wiped his hands on your his sweatpants.

“Bon appétit.”

You snorted, softly kicking him under the table.

“Good?” you asked after he took his first bite. His shoulders dropped as he breathed in.

It was delicious—it was seasoned and warm and ever so slightly oversalted, more tomato than beef. His eyes didn’t burn and his hands didn’t tremble as he ate bite after bite, ignoring your joking warning to slow down or he’d make himself sick.

“There’s more on the stove,” you said.

Because you’d never let him go hungry.

“Help yourself.”

“Yes, sir.”

You snorted as you separated the pasta from the sauce.

“Don’t call me sir.”

“Yes ma’am.”

His shit eating grin never left until you slammed foot into his shin again.

“Fuck!”

“Love you too.”

•─────⋅☾⊱♰⊰☽⋅─────•

okay so I lied, I won’t technically be forgetting about my writing for the next couple of days bc I’ll have a couple of pieces queued to be posted but I definitely will no be active — requests are still closed during my assignment periods (they’re kicking my ass send help pls) but here’s my masterlist for more stuff <3

[lauraneedstochill]

if I see one more post about Aegon “bullying Aemond his entire life”, I will go fucking ballistic, I swear to g—

scratch that, I will actually go ballistic right now. this is the “Aegon doesn’t deserve such a shitty treatment” club and I’m the self-proclaimed CEO. we are about to do some analyzing and reading so BUCKLE UP.

gonna make one thing clear first — Aemond was bullied when he was a child. no one denies that, no excuses can be made for that. I’d only like to note that there wasn’t only one bully. here’s a quick reminder:

now that we successfully counted to three, let’s look over Aegon’s other horrible crimes relationship with Aemond throughout the years.

📍 the night Aemond lost his eye (S1EP7), Rhaenyra suggests he should be “sharply questioned” (she means tortured) so they can learn who told him that her sons were bastards. Viserys, in his perpetual denial, angrily asks Aemond “who spoke these lies” to which he replies that it was Aegon. it is clear that Aemond does that to deflect suspicion from their mother but his words come as a surprise to Aegon.

he’s in a tough spot — Viserys demands the answers “as their king”, not their father (to signify his authority and pressure them into telling the truth). and Alicent screamed in Aegon’s face and slapped him just a minute ago, so he may be less eager to defend her. he can easily lie and say that he overheard some maids gossiping or that he can’t remember where the rumor came from. instead, it takes Aegon about 5 seconds to back Aemond up.

📍 we didn’t get many scenes with young Aegon and Aemond in general, but here’s a short bit people keep overlooking: when Harwin and Criston start fighting, Aemond and Aegon instantly gravitate toward each other. and moreover, Aegon puts a hand over Aemond’s back (which to me is either a protective or a comforting gesture). what a horrible brother, truly.

📍 next we see them all grown up before dinner in S1EP8. I think it’s safe to assume that if Aegon has been bullying Aemond all these years, Aemond wouldn’t want to spend a second in his company. he’s seated between Helaena and Otto, both of whom are dear to him, so Aemond can stay at the table and chat with them. and YET, not only does Aemond voluntarily talks to Aegon, but their conversation seems friendly (you can barely hear it in the show so here’s the enhanced audio). Aemond makes a joke about Aegon’s drinking habits — Aegon quips back — and then, what a shocker! Aemond starts venting his frustrations to Aegon (“Even when the noose is so tight, they expect us to break bread”). nothing would’ve stopped him from venting to Otto but Aemond stays with Aegon. he wouldn’t have done that if there hadn’t been some level of trust between them. he wouldn’t have done that if he hated Aegon’s guts.

📍 at dinner, when Aegon pisses Jace off and the brunet springs to his feet, Aemond stands up too, which forces Jace to act as if nothing happened and come up with a toast. Aegon watches him with a shit-eating grin on his face. it’s the face that screams “I know you won’t dare to act up in front of my brother and my brother has my back”.

when Aemond makes a toast and calls Rhaenyra’s sons “strong”, Aegon raises a cup to that. he can sit this one out — Aemond has his personal vendetta against the boys, and it would be safer for Aegon not to meddle. but what does he do instead? when Luke gets up from the table (clearly intending to go to Aemond), Aegon instantly stands up, comes up to Luke and not just stops him but slams his face into the table right in front of Rhaenyra without thinking twice. and it doesn’t look like Aegon is just messing with him — no, it looks like he wanted to do that for a while. like Aegon finally got his chance to stand up for his brother too. AND he also stops Baela from joining the fight.

📍 S1EP9 is when we get a glimpse of Aemond’s ambitions: he deems himself better than Aegon, he thinks he deserves to be king. but once he finds Aegon and they get into a fight, it turns out that Aegon knows that Aemond is a better choice. he doesn’t want to fight him, he begs Aemond to let him go. and Aemond can do that — Criston has his back to them, so Aemond could’ve pretended that Aegon managed to break free. and even once they caught Aegon, I have no doubt that Aemond could’ve helped him escape. but it seems that, despite his displeasure, Aemond values his family the most. he can’t betray his mother’s trust, and he knows Aegon is the first in line to the throne. Aemond envies him, yes, he may even hate him because of that. but he values his family the most.

📍 as @florisbaratheons noted, during the coronation scene, when Aegon glances at his family, Aemond looks right at him and gives that tiny nod that says “I may hate this and think I am better for the job as king. But I’ve got your back.” I like that Aemond is the one who keeps eye contact in that scene. He could’ve turned away to signal his dissatisfaction with the situation, there wouldn’t have been any consequences for that. But he didn’t.

📍 what I find interesting about S1EP10 is the beginning of Aemond’s dialogue with Luke. that’s the boy Aemond wished to get back at for years and yet, he starts by saying “Did you think that you could just fly about the realm trying to steal my brother’s throne at no cost?”. Aemond could’ve skipped that part — imagine him saying smth along the lines of “Wait, Lord Strong! Don’t you think you and I have other matters to discuss?” (to which Luke answers that he doesn’t want to fight and the conversation goes on). instead, Aemond makes a point to remind Luke: my brother is the king, and I came here on his behalf. you can argue that Aemond doesn’t do it for Aegon specifically but for his family in general. but Aegon is a part of the family, and S1 Aemond has his priorities straight.

📍 as much as I hate comparing the show and the book (these are two different things and should be viewed as such), I’d like to remind you that Aegon was the only one who stood by Aemond’s side after Luke’s death. I wonder why we didn’t get that scene… I guess it’s because it would be kinda hard to call Aegon “the main bully” after he literally throws Aemond a feast. but we do get to see Aegon supporting his brother: in S2EP1 he welcomes Aemond at the small council meeting despite his mother’s protests (“Aemond is my closest blood and my best sword”). and he trusts Aemond wholeheartedly, that much is obvious.

📍 let’s get to the most controversial part — the brothel scene in S2EP3: some people believe Aegon is being a bully at that moment. those people seem to forget one little detail:

it’s been only a few days after the death of Aegon’s son whose murder was a direct result of Aemond’s ruthless actions. does Aemond ever address it? does he express his condolences? does he mayhaps help to catch the killers, being the skilled fighter that he is? the answer is NO.

I do think Aegon’s joke was cruel (I wrote a whole post about it) but that’s all it ever was — a JOKE. the humiliation comes not from the things he says but from the fact that Aemond is found in a vulnerable position and surrounded by a group of strangers while his brother laughs at him. TGC explained it best:

I also love @notbloodraven’s take on that scene:

Aegon lashing out so cruelly at Aemond seems to be an effort in making Aemond feel as badly as he does and blaming him for Jaehaerys without actually saying the words.

would this be the right way to act? no. but there’s no right way to grieve and to cope with the loss — and HIS SON WAS BEHEADED so maybe take 1% of the sympathy you show your favorite character(s) and cut Aegon some slack.

+ other things worth talking about:

📍 @bietrofastimoff23 analyzed S2EP3 beautifully and I can’t help but mention the scene that happens before Aegon goes to the brothel. it’s the moment when Larys suggests that Alicent and Aemond are plotting against Aegon. he isn’t surprised by the idea that his mother can do that — but the second his brother is mentioned, Aegon’s face falls and he shakes his head no. because there is no way Aemond would ever do that to him. and instead of asking for any proof, he asks Larys “who spreads these lies?” and then commands him to “tend to them.” Aegon can ask him to spy on Aemond, to find any dirt on him, find any weaknesses he can use — he does not.

📍 it turns out to be true — Aemond was plotting behind his brother’s back. which is treason btw (I don’t think Criston intended to keep things from Aegon — he probably believed that Aemond would let Aegon in on their plan). and Aegon does have the power to remind Aemond of his place — he can throw him off the council with a snap of his fingers, he can take offense at Aemond’s attempt to publicly humiliate him (their conversation in High Valyrian — Ewan himself calls it a “public execution”). but that’s not what happens: as TGC phrased it, Aemond’s betrayal “breaks a bit of Aegon’s heart off”. an actual bully would’ve immediately pushed back, but Aegon silently sits down and doesn’t argue, he’s so defeated he can’t utter a word. he has the means to be a bully but he doesn’t contemplate it for a second.

📍 I don’t want to talk about S2EP6 because it makes me sick but I will reiterate one thing: never ONCE Aegon made fun of Aemond’s disability or tried to cause him any physical harm. just want to point that out.

there is no moral to this story, I guess. if you managed to read till the very end, thank you. if you still hate Aegon, that’s your opinion and you are allowed to have one — but please, for the love of god, just stop making shit up. no, Aemond was NOT bullied as an adult, absolutely nothing suggests that he was. Aegon was naive to blindly trust him and it backfired on him, that’s the actual story. and if you are so eager to hold Aegon accountable for his mistakes, maybe it’s time for Aemond to take responsibility for his actions too.

+ some of my favorite critical posts about Aegon and Aemond: x, x, x, x, x, x, x, x.

P.S. I will not argue with anyone so please don’t waste your time — I consider all my arguments solid and that’s enough for me. if you are thinking of sending me anon hate, pls go take a walk instead, it will do you more good. 🌿

[mxtantrights]

WORLDS APART

Azriel just wanted to make it back home. To Velaris. If he could just make it out of the woods, find some shelter, he could do it. He could rest for a while and then winnow out of the human lands.

The arrow wounds that litter his back and stomach weren't that bad.

But then again, he is a bit of a masochist. To anyone else it would be bad. Maybe mortally so.

He's been through worse.

He just needs to--

Azriel falls to his knees, the hard soil beneath him. His eyes roll back as he passes out from exhaustion and the lack of adrenaline running through his veins. The last thing he remembers is the sound of a branch snapping somewhere behind him.

-----

You come up on the huddled body in the woods on your way home. With the wicker basket full of fruits and fresh bread hanging around your arm and your cat following behind you.

The massive black heap stops you.

You look around first. Strange things happen in these woods all the time. Which is why you live in them. It's better this way.

There's a few moments that pass after that. You try to see from the far distance you're at if the body is moving. Once you realize that it's not you get closer and closer.

Wings.

Not a human. You put down the basket and run over to the body. Carefully you roll it over. A tall male, with wounds socking his clothes. Leathers.

He was fae, you think. Based on the wings that lay on his back. And the glowing blue pieces of rocks.

This is the moment you decide to save his life. You carefully rip the bottom of your skirt into a long piece. Then you tie around his side. The blood keeps coming.

You then carefully flip him towards his front. Figuring it would be better to drag him on his front than on his back and mess up his wings. You grunt and sweat as you bring the heavy man into your cottage.

-----

Azriel wakes up in a daze. His eyelids feel heavy. Like he can't properly open them or get the sleep out of them. Everything around him is blurry and his senses are dimmed. His hearing is a bit muted too.

Which is why he doesn't flinch or notice when you come into view.

He thinks he's dying. That's the only way any of this makes sense. You come into view with your coils framing your face and soft smile on your lips. An angel for his last moments.

He's always wondered who he'd see in his last moments. Would it be his mother? Maybe Elaine, even though he can't admit that out loud. Or Gwyn. Or Mor. Both of which he also can't admit out loud.

But you, you're different. He thought he'd see someone he knew. But he doesn't know who you are. He's never seen your face before. He would know it. He would remember.

The warm light from beside you sharpens your features. The plump of your lips. The brown of your eyes. The brilliant reflection of your teeth from your smile.

And he doesn't know it, but Azriel lets the sleep take him. He does so with a smile on his face.

-----

You dunk the cloth into the water and silently clean the wounds. He has been improving slightly. Thankfully he hadn't hurt his wings, because you knew nothing about healing in that area.

A fae in your neck of the woods.

What was he doing here? Was he alone?

You hadn't seen many fae with wings though. Sure, you hadn't seen many fae in your life but this is new. And his ears weren't pointed. Maybe he's a crossbreed? Part fae and something else?

You look over him once more. Stopping your movements with your hand.

The sharp lines of his jaw. The slope of his nose. The thick eyelashes. And his hands. You had wondered about them for days now. Who did such a thing to him? Did he deserve it?

A sharp meow from behind you startles you from your thoughts. You turn around in a rush. Your cat, Felix, is looking at you like you've got three heads.

"Oh hush, I'm just helping him." you say.

He meows again.

"I already left you food to eat. You don't have to watch me." you quip.

Felix sashays away from you with all the sass of an old man. You turn back to the body of the man in front of you. In your mind you're remembering how a a night ago he had woken up and looked right at you. Then fell right back to sleep with a smile on his face.

You resume wiping at his wounds.

-----

Azriel wakes up with a start. He can see and hear very clearly now. Like all of his senses have returned. He takes in his surroundings. He's laying on the floor, in a heap of blankets, a fire place smoking out beside him.

"Hello?" he asks.

But there is no response. He moves his legs, ready to stand, but feels the extent of his injuries. He looks down at his side. He's wrapped up.

Someone helped him.

With a grimace he gets up from the floor. It's then he sees a chair near the door. His leathers are folded up neatly. He looks down quickly at his legs. He's wearing pants. He sighs in relief.

All of a sudden it's like his duties come washing over him. The mission. He needs to get back home.

His actions are fast. He pulls his leathers on, with a few grunts and winces, but he pulls them on nonetheless. He looks around the strange place once more before he winnows out.

Back home.

Well, into Rhys' office. Who is seemingly waiting for him.

Rhys has his back turned to him, he's staring out of the window. His hands tucked behind his back.

"I was wondering when you'd-" Rhys' words stop as soon as he turns and sees Azriel.

"I got the information." Azriel says.

"You got hurt." Rhys says.

"I'm not anymore. I'm healing."

"And how exactly is that?" Rhys asks.

Azriel can feel his face go warm. He doesn't have all the facts. He doesn't really know anything. All he has is your face. Not even a name to call his savior.

"I'm still not sure."

-----

The woods had been your home for a long time. But if a wounded fae walked though them, it was only a matter of time before more and more mythical creatures did.

It's not like you have a bias against them. You are one yourself. And that is the reason why you had to abandon the cottage. If any of the humans came looking and found you, you'd be in trouble.

You hammer the nail over the plank of wood. Sealing the last window from the inside out. If someone were to come back here, they would find a vacant home. No personal items left behind. It was almost like you haven't lived here for years.

What would be your new home?

Further inland, closer to The Wall, is a community of people that wouldn't look you over twice. You happen to fit in with humans quite well. It's only when you started to do magic that you gave up your real identity.

So that's where you'll go.

You peek inside of the wicker basket to find Felix fast asleep. All these years and he's been by your side since you were little. You can't imagine doing any of this alone.

With nothing else to say you start your trek.

-----

Azriel knocks on the door twice. He can hear Rhys from beyond the door telling him to come inside. He opens the door and finds Feyre with him. He wasn't expecting that.

"Hello brother." Rhys says.

"Brother, Feyre. What's going on?" Azriel asks.

Rhys shrugs his shoulders, "Oh nothing. I was just telling my dear wife here that you'd fallen in love with your healer."

Azriel balks at that. He had never used those words. He hadn't even said anything about you to anyone. Of course Rhys does peek around in his head sometimes after missions.

"Don't worry. I won't tell anyone." Feyre smiles.

"I'm not in love. I don't even know who she is." Azriel replies.

"So why don't you go find out?" Rhys asks.

Azriel looks at him in confusion.

"Brother, I know you think it impossible that love would find you. But I think you were proven wrong. I think you have to find out who this woman is." Rhys continues.

"Maybe just start with a thanks for saving your life." Feyre added on.

Azriel clears his throat, "A thank you."

"Yes, then ask her out." Rhys jokes.

"I don't want to scare her." Azriel says.

"I don't think you could. I mean, she saved your life remember?" Feyre responds in kind.

-----

The water felt nice and warm in your hand. You close your eyes and try to think calm thoughts. Being in a new place is overwhelming. You aren't used to the people here.

They are secluded. Hardly talk. And when they do the rumor mill churns. Their questions came as soon as you arrived. Where did you come from? Why are you here? When will you leave?

Of course no one could ask these to your face. But they did whisper. Loudly.

"You should watch yourself." a voice says from behind you.

You retract your hand from the water and turn around. Standing a few feet away from you is a man. Tall, long red hair. He doesn't look human.

"Why?" you ask.

"Humans shouldn't play in the water. All kinds of creatures in there." he answers.

You tilt your head to the side. Then you smile.

"How do you know I'm not the creature in the water?" you ask in return.

He seems perplexed by your words. So much so that he walks closer to you. It makes you stand up, so that you can greet him. From this close you can tell for sure he's not human.

The tip of his ears that peak through that luscious head head of hair. And his eye. One of them is real and the other isn't. It's mechanical.

"What are you?" he asks.

"I mean no trouble." you answer.

"I know you don't, but the humans here might. You should rethink staying here." he says.

"And where would I go?" you ask, not really looking for an answer.

"I could set you up in a place. It would be safe. You wouldn't have to worry about the humans."

You take a moment. Not that you were really thinking about taking him up on his offer. You didn't know him. And you had been living along for years. You weren't about to give that up.

But taking a risk with the humans was just that, a risk.

"Who would I have to worry about?" you ask.

-----

Azriel winnows to the place he left and he's disparaged. The cottage is boarded up. He uses his strength to take some of the boards down and peek inside. It's empty, as if no one lived here.

Had he dreamed you up?

No. You had been real. He knows it. He's sure of it.

Another thing he's sure of? he's not going to find you. He shakes his head and looks around the woods. The sound of the dry leaves rusting in the wind.

What happened here?

As if feeling some strange pull he looks toward the door. At the wooden planks that criss cross on top of it. He walks over to it slowly, trying to find something, anything that could lead him to you.

"What kind of secret mission is this?"

He whirls around to find Cassian behind him. He scoffs. It's on him for thinking that Cassian of all people wouldn't be interested in what he's up to.

"It's not a mission." Azriel answers.

"Sure seems like it. I mean, human lands? Not a very fun place for us." Cassian comments.

"I'm looking for someone." Azriel relents.

"Looks like they packed up and left town."

"No shit."

"Fiesty. Okay. I'm just gonna head back home." Cassian points behind him.

Azriel sighs, "Sorry. I just, need to find her."

Cassian makes a face. His eyebrows shoot up on his face. And his lips form a stupid grin.

"Well maybe you can track her. Got anything of hers?"

Azriel reaches into the pocket of his leather pants. The makeshift bandage. He had kept it while Madja checked him out. More like sneakily picked it up from the floor and took it to his room to keep.

At once his shadows swirled around the blood soaked cloth. Then they crept up to his ear. And they whispered to him where he should be looking next.

"The Spring Court." he said out loud/

And something else. Something he couldn't say out loud. Because it seemed highly unlikely.

-----

You brush Felix's fur over and over. You're ruminating. Maybe you should just ask him. Lucien has been nice to you ever since you've met. You doubt he would just turn you down.

"What type of fae have wings?" you ask.

He looks up at you from his crouched position near the river. It earns him a splash of water from one of the nymphs. He gets up and walks over to where you are seated on a blanket.

"You've met an Illyrian?"

"I don't know are they the kind of fae that have wings?" you ask again.

He rolls his eyes, "Yes. Where did you meet one?"

You shrug your shoulders, "Out in the woods of the human lands. he was hurt."

Lucien's eyes squint at you.

"And you helped him?"

"Well I wasn't going to let him die. I just want to know if he is okay." you respond.

It had been weighing on your more and more since you left him alone in your cottage that morning. You thought he might stick around and thank you. Or maybe that he would stick around and kill you.

"What's his name?" Lucien asks.

"I didn't quite have the time to ask him since he was unconscious almost the whole time." you quip.

"Okay then what'd he look like?"

"Brown eyes. Black hair. Tall. Wings. He wore all black, leathers. And his hands were..." you trail off.

"Oh you liked his hands?" Lucien jokes.

"No it's not that. It just that they were scared. Like he got burned."

"Cauldron boil me."

-----

He'd been in a crappy mood since the trail went cold in the Spring Court. He had to keep what he was doing a secret. If Rhys knew he was searching around the Spring Court he would be reprimanded.

That is enemy territory.

But Cassian knows. Which means it's only a matter of time before Nesta knows and then Feyre, and then Rhys.

He's screwed.

Family dinner has been especially difficult. Azriel has been waiting for Cassian to slip up. So much so that he doesn't realize the trail of bread crumbs he's been leaving himself.

"So what's the name of the female you're fucking?" Amren asks.

Mor and Elaine spit out their drinks. Cassian snickers to himself, as much as he can really. Nesta looks right at Azriel. So does Feyre and Rhysand.

"I don't know what you're talking about." Azriel grits out.

"You reek of Spring. So I figure you're not there on a diplomatic mission." Amren explains her question.

"You do smell like fresh grass. I caught a whiff of it during training." Mor comments.

"Hey maybe just leave it alone." Cassian bites in.

Nesta turns to him at once, "You know something?"

Azriel can see him writhing in his chair. Mother, he'd have to tell all of them now. Not all of it but some of it. Just to placate them. Seeing Cassian twist in the wind is not that funny. It's hard to watch.

"I'm looking for someone. I owe them a thanks." Azriel answers.

Amren smirks, "As in verbally or in bed?"

At that, Azriel can feel his cheeks start to warm up. He looks away from the table as he knows they're probably turning red.

"Alright alright, enough. I think we should let Azriel tell us in his own time." Rhys speaks up.

Azriel nods once. Thankful for his brother in this moment. He goes to reach for his cup but there's a sudden wind. It knocks it down. It knocks all the cups down.

Before any of them can ask what the hell is going on, a darkness appears. Over the table. Someone is trying to winnow into he dinning room. Azriel takes out his blade. Cassian gets up from the table, his chair scratching the floor.

He makes out Lucien first. So he stands down. But he's setting something down on the table. No not, something a body. It materializes as the darkness subsides.

There laying out on the hard wood of the table, is you. Your hair crowning your head like a halo. Your eyes closed, in pain.

He takes in your state. You're wearing a thin green dress. And blood is pooling from your neck and chest. A slight gash on your head. He can feel the anger roaring to life inside of him. His heart is racing. He can't think straight.

And this is the only reason that he shouts.

"What the hell happened to my mate?!"

[thatdammchickennugget]

Hi Marky! 💘😽 thought id pop in for a request - I liked this groceries idea but I thought I’d spin it a bit. For a au pinning where you flat with Blaise and Theo and one time when Mattheo is over you’re out of groceries so he offers to go with you. And it’s just bit pining over doing a mundane task together - kind of inspired by the song groceries by mallrat sorry if this is shit lmfao ily! 🤍

pairing - mattheo riddle x fem!reader

warnings - fluff, soft matty, theo and blaise are pretty useless

a/n - thanks for the request flower, I love it 💕

wordcount - 849

“Whose turn was it to buy groceries?” you asked, staring into the barren wasteland of the fridge. A half-empty carton of orange juice and a single, lonely lemon mocked you from the shelves.

“Not mine,” Blaise called from the living room, where he was sprawled across the couch like a Renaissance painting.

Theo, perched on the armrest with a mug in hand, raised a brow. “It was yours.”

You slammed the fridge door shut. “No, it wasn’t. I went last time. It’s someone else’s turn.”

Blaise didn’t even glance up from his magazine. “I vote Theo.”

“You can’t just ‘vote’ me,” Theo retorted.

“Watch me.”

You rolled your eyes, leaning against the counter. “You’re all useless, you know that? The only thing left in this flat is desperation and vibes.”

“And even the vibes are questionable,” Theo said, earning a snort from Blaise.

At that moment, the front door opened, and Mattheo strolled in like he owned the place. He glanced at the scene—Blaise reclining like a bored prince, Theo sipping tea like he was better than everyone, and you looking moments away from a breakdown—and smirked.

“Trouble in paradise?” he asked, shrugging off his jacket.

“We’re out of food,” you replied flatly.

“Out of food, out of coffee…” Theo mused. “Out of patience, if we’re talking about her.”

You shot him a glare. “Don’t test me.”

Mattheo chuckled, leaning casually against the counter. “Sounds like you need to hit the store.”

“She does,” Blaise chimed in, flipping a page.

“Well, I’m not going alone,” you said, crossing your arms.

Mattheo raised a brow. “You scared of the big bad grocery store?”

“No, I just know that if I go alone, I’ll end up doing everything, and then you three will eat it all and leave me with nothing but crumbs.”

“Harsh,” Theo said, though he didn’t look particularly offended.

“I’ll go with you,” Mattheo said, surprising everyone.

The room went quiet for a beat. Blaise raised his head, looking between you and Mattheo with barely concealed amusement. “Since when do you volunteer for manual labor?”

Mattheo shrugged. “I’m feeling generous.”

“Generous?” Theo snorted. “Is that what we’re calling it?”

“Shut up, Theo,” Mattheo muttered, his ears tinging pink.

You hesitated, glancing between the boys. “Fine. But if you’re coming, you’re carrying the bags.”

“Deal,” he said, already heading toward the door.

“Have fun, lovebirds,” Blaise called, earning himself a glare from Mattheo and a not-so-light smack on the back of the head from you.

♡

The grocery store was quieter than usual.

Mattheo grabbed a cart without being asked, his fingers drumming lightly on the handle as you started down the first aisle.

“You’ve got a system, right?” he asked, glancing at the list in your hand.

“I don’t need a system,” you replied, tossing a loaf of bread into the cart. “I know what we need.”

“That’s a system,” he said, smirking.

“You’re a system,” you muttered under your breath, and his chuckle sent a small thrill through you.

The two of you moved through the aisles in a rhythm that was surprisingly natural. He handed you things from higher shelves without asking, tossed in snacks you didn’t have the heart to scold him for, and even managed to charm an older woman into letting you skip the queue at the deli counter.

“You’re awfully good at this,” you said as he expertly steered the cart around a corner.

“Don’t sound so surprised,” he replied, smirking.

“Sorry, I just didn’t peg you as the domestic type.”

He shrugged, adding a pack of chocolate biscuits to the cart. “Maybe I’m full of surprises.”

You tried to ignore the flutter in your chest as he said it, focusing instead on grabbing a box of cereal.

By the time you reached the self-checkout, the cart was full, and the air between you felt lighter, more comfortable. He took over scanning the items, his grin widening every time you tried to help.

“Are you having fun?” you asked, exasperated.

“Maybe,” he said, scanning a box of tea. “It’s cute when you get all bossy.”

You opened your mouth to reply, but the words stuck as his grin softened into something warmer, more genuine.

Mattheo carried most of the bags without complaint, the muscles in his arms flexing just enough to make your heart race if you looked too long.

“Thanks for coming with me,” you said after a while.

“Anytime,” he replied, glancing at you out of the corner of his eye.

You hesitated, feeling suddenly self-conscious. “You didn’t have to, though. Blaise or Theo could’ve—”

“They wouldn’t have,” he interrupted, his voice quiet but certain. “And even if they would’ve, I wanted to.”

The simplicity of his words left you momentarily speechless.

By the time you reached the flat, your heart was racing for an entirely different reason. As you unpacked the groceries together, his hand brushed yours, lingering just long enough to make you wonder if it was on purpose.

And when he smiled at you—soft, a little shy—you couldn’t help but smile back.

Masterlist

Requesting Guidelines

[dismalflo]

hiii!! i love your writing! i was wondering if i could request something with poly!marauders where reader is having a multiple-day episode where she just stays in bed and cries and can’t seem to do anything? i think that they would be good about trying to help her without pressuring her

i deal with that stuff especially in the summer and i think the hurt/comfort would be so cute

no pressure of course i know it’s kind of a heavy topic, have an amazing day!!

Hi, love! thank you for requesting <3 i hope this is the kind of thing you wanted

poly!marauders x fem!reader ✩ 1.9k words

cw; depression

The warmth of the room feels cruel, almost mocking. The air is heavy and stale from stillness and you know it’s because you haven’t summoned the will to get up and crack a window. Even the idea of moving feels like it would drain the last bit of strength you’re clinging to.

There’s guilt too, thick and low in your chest, compounding the numb weight that's settled over you. The boys – your boys – never signed up for this. For the version of you where everything feels unreachable, everything except the sadness. So you pushed them away.

Rationally, you know that only made things worse. But you’d convinced yourself you deserved the isolation. You remember how James’ face fell when you asked them to leave you alone – how it crumpled under the weight of helplessness. Remus and Sirius hadn’t looked any better, but they knew this territory. They've wandered it themselves, and maybe that’s why they didn’t protest.

You hate this version of yourself. You wonder if, with a little luck, your bones might fuse right here, locked in place so you'd never have to move again. You feel ridiculous. Small.

A wash of light spills into the room, startling you out of your thoughts. Remus stands in the doorway, silhouetted for a moment, then quietly walks in, a glass of water in his hand. He sits on the edge of the bed, folding one leg beneath him so he can face you. His free hand gently brushes your hair from your face.

“Hi, dove,” he murmurs.

“Hi,” you rasp back, your voice rough from disuse, the shadow of a smile tugging at your lips.

He smiles too. It’s soft and sad and not nearly as bright as usual. You must look a mess.

“Can you sit up and drink some of this for me, lovely girl?”

You shift, the scratch of sheets beneath you suddenly deafening in the quiet. Muscles ache and a dull throb passes through you from being still too long. But you sit up, slowly, the motion ungraceful and tired. Remus moves with you, steadying the glass so water doesn’t slosh over the sides as he hands it over, his hand warm at the back of your neck.

It tastes like nothing and everything. Cold and clean, cutting through the film in your mouth and the weight in your throat. You drink it all.

“Good girl,” he says quietly, just enough praise to feel like something, but not enough to make you shrink from it. His thumb brushes against your jaw before he leans back a little, giving you space but not going far.

“Y’know how Jamie bought enough bananas for all of Britain?” he begins, eyes flicking toward the window, where the curtains are drawn.

You hum a soft, “Mmhmm,” already imagining James’ sheepish grin and his arms bracketed by tote bags.

“Well,” Remus continues, a little more animated now, “they all went brown too quickly and he wouldn't let Sirius throw them out. Kept saying they shouldn’t be wasted.” He huffs a laugh under his breath. “So now we’ve got three loaves of banana bread. All of them with chocolate chips.’”

You don’t laugh, exactly. But your lips curve, not the ghost of a smile this time, but something real. Small and fragile. You look at him, and he’s watching you, something soft flickering in his eyes. Relief, maybe. Or hope.

You shift your legs beneath you.

“Did he burn them?” you ask, voice raspier than you'd like but steady enough.

Remus smiles again, eyes crinkling faintly at the corners. “Only one. Sirius keeps making fun of him for it.”

You sit with the empty glass in your lap for a minute after Remus finishes speaking, thumb tracing the rim slowly, quietly.

You swallow around a lump that isn’t quite sadness – more like uncertainty – before glancing up at Remus again. He doesn’t rush you. He never does. His hand is still resting loosely on your ankle, anchoring you without pressure.

“…Do you think,” you begin slowly, voice catching a little, “Do you think they’d mind if I came into the living room for a bit?”

His brow furrows, not from confusion but concern. “Mind?” 

You look down at the duvet, picking at a loose thread. “Because I told them to go. And I know that was–it wasn’t really fair. I just didn’t know what else to do.” The words tumble out, half-formed. “Are they angry?”

There’s a pause. Then a warm weight settles next to you again, and Remus is reaching out to gently tilt your chin so you’ll look at him.

“They love you, I love you,” he says simply. “They’re not mad. They just want to be here for you, we all do.”

You nod slowly, still unsure, still wading through that murky middle ground between wanting comfort and fearing you don’t deserve it. But Remus smiles like it’s already decided, like the hardest part is already done.

“C’mon then,” he says, standing and offering you a hand.

You hesitate. Not because you don’t want to take it, but because your fingers feel clumsy and you’re half afraid you’ll fall apart if someone holds you too carefully. But you take his hand anyway, and he squeezes once, grounding you.

Remus walks close without crowding, letting your pace set the rhythm. When you pause outside the door, his hand slips from yours to rest lightly on the small of your back.

Inside, you hear Sirius grumbling something in French, followed by James groaning when he doesn’t understand. All of you have taken to learning little bits here and there with Sirius as your teacher.

It makes you smile.

You take a breath. Then another. And step inside.

The room is warm, in a different way to the bedroom. The afternoon light slants in golden through the half-open curtains. Sirius is sprawled sideways on the sofa, all long limbs and sleepy eyes, a blanket draped over one shoulder. James is sitting on the floor overlooking a notepad laid out on the coffee table.

The second they clock you in the doorway, everything stills.

Sirius sits up straighter, his eyes soft, cautious, like he’s afraid too sudden a move might scare you off. James blinks once, then straightens so fast it’s almost comical.

“Hey, sweetheart,” Sirius says gently, his voice quieter than usual but still unmistakably him.

 And before your brain can talk you out of it, your feet are moving, bringing you to the sofa. You settle beside Sirius, tucking yourself gently into the crook of his arm.

He doesn’t say anything else. Just curls that arm around your shoulders and pulls you in, slow and careful, like you’re something precious and he’s terrified of cracking you open.

You close your eyes. It feels safer here. Warmer. Maybe you haven’t ruined everything after all.

You glance up at James, who’s still sitting there, looking like a very large puppy waiting for instructions. You can see him itching to ask, before he does.

“Do you want anything, angel? Cup of tea maybe?”

You let out a breathy little huff of air – something like a laugh. Sometimes, you think, James’ only desire in life is to make sure the people he loves most are well cared for and looked after. He does it well. 

You give him the smallest of smiles. “Remus said you made banana bread?”

Sirius snorts beside you, the sound low and delighted. “Just here for the banana bread, you minx.” He presses a kiss to the crown of your head, tucking you in a little tighter.

You close your eyes as Sirius tightens his arm around your shoulders, pulling you a little closer, the warm pressure of his embrace a gentle weight that feels just shy of grounding you. 

James’ voice cuts through the calm, light and teasing, “I’ll be right back, angel. You’re in for a treat.”

He disappears into the kitchen, and you hear the telltale scrape of the oven door opening, the soft clink of plates and the faint hum of him moving about, preparing. Sirius doesn’t speak at first, but you feel his gaze lingering on you. His thumb runs absent-mindedly along the edge of your arm, his fingers brushing against the soft fabric of your sleeve.

“It’s a good job you’re having some now,” he finally says, voice laced with an amused undertone, “I don’t think it’s going to last long. It’s his best yet.”

You blink at him, eyes heavy. “Really?”

“Mmhm,” he replies, the teasing lilt in his voice giving way to a touch of pride, “I told him so too.”

A small, genuine smile slips onto your face. You know what Sirius’ praise looks like, it’s usually a silly amount of kisses and a few cheeky comments.

As if on cue, Remus appears at the doorway, his frame lit by the soft, golden light filtering through the curtains. In his hand, he holds another glass of water, freshly refilled. You hadn’t even realized you were thirsty again, but as soon as you see it, the weight in your throat suddenly seems more pronounced.

“Here you go, dove,” he murmurs, crossing the room calmly and handing it off to you, his fingers brushing yours. He settles into the armchair across from the couch, his long legs folding beneath him.

You take it from him gratefully, bringing it to your lips. The coolness of it against your parched throat is a relief. You take a sip, and as the water slides down, the haze in your head clears just a fraction.

Sirius’s voice, now a little quieter, takes on that same careful, almost protective tone. “Let me hold it for you.”

Without a word, you pass the glass over to him. His fingers wrap around it securely, holding it in place as you rest against his side again. It’s the smallest of gestures, but it’s kind and sweet and entirely unnecessary.

James returns with a plate, steam still rising from the banana bread. The smell – rich and sweet with a hint of chocolate – hits you before you even see it. You sit up just enough to take in the sight of the loaf, golden and slightly uneven, with just the right amount of gooey chocolate chips poking through.

“There you go, love,” James says softly, his smile wide and boyish, as he holds the plate out to you. “Fresh out of the oven.”

You take a small piece, breaking off a chunk and bringing it to your mouth. The texture is perfect, soft yet just a little crumbly. It’s comforting.

“It’s really good, Jamie,” you say, the words slipping out before you can think to second-guess them.

James’ face lights up at the compliment, and you can’t help but notice the way his shoulders seem to relax a little, like your approval matters to him more than you even realized.

“I’m glad you like it,” he replies, a grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. 

You laugh softly, the sound light and quiet in the stillness of the room. You feel a flutter of warmth in your chest at the ease with which they all care for you.

You take another bite of the banana bread, letting the sweetness melt on your tongue, and let yourself be. You know you’ll likely retreat again, but it’s nice to know they’ll be here no matter what.

masterlist <3

[curvykittyyssmutfics]

baddie!Reader ft Nanami

A/N: Depicted a few different body types in this one. Reaching out to all my faboulously-shaped curvy girls.

baddie!Reader that happens to stumble upon our resident Daddy inna local bread shop you thought to try out on the way home from a fun lil spa day. Clumsily colliding with Nanami after you recite your order and carelessly spin on your heel while taking a selfie. The piercing gaze as he looks down his sharp, straight nose at you has your coochie immediately screaming for a trip to pound 🍆 town 🍑 with extra turbulence ✈️ thank you very much.

baddie!Reader is so ready to slut Nanami's fine ass out within moments of meeting. Chiseled jaw. ✔️ Big hands. ✔️ Strong physique. ✔️ A nice fat bulge pressing against you gently as he holds you steady. ✔️✔️ You lick your glossy, lined lips and contemplate what position you're gonna fuck him in first, before even gettin this mans name chile!, when apologies stumble outta his pretty mouth. "Im so sorry. Please forgive me miss." Anxious eyes swiftly glancing at the outline of your nipple piercings.

Oh yeah.. Looks like you already have this handsome new stranger wrapped around your pinky.

baddie!Reader plays up the innocent coy act when Nanami offers to buy you a drink for his transgressions, batting your lashes and talking all sweet so he lowers his guard. "So Mr. Kento.. There a Mrs. Kento waiting for you at home?" Biting your lip and dragging a finger down the tendons on his big ass hand. "N-no, ma'am, not married. No one else. Just me.." You giggle at his nervousness, flicking wavy bundles over your shoulder. "Good to know, handsome." Need I say you don't leave the cute lil shop till you get his landline and cell.

baddie!Reader waits a week before finally gracing Nanami with a call. He's in a state of euphoria, thinking you'd forgotten about your lil exchange. "I could never forget you, Mr. Kento." "Please, Nanami is fine." More of a plea to you really, seeing as everytime you call him that his dick swells till it threatens to burst through it's confines. "So, Nanami. Besides missin me, any plans today?" He chuckles at that. "None actually. It's my day off. Have a friend thats needs a favor later. Nothing else. You?" You guys chat till your phone dies, to which he simply finds and hits you up on your socials, continuing your carefree conversation effortlessly. And even when you tell him you gotta go he stalks your socials, drooling over every single photo youve post. Doesn't even realize he's groping his chub, gawking at a string of lewd roleplay pic.

"Fuck me, babydoll, you're so fuckin gorgeous." Nanami huffs, pulling his cock outta his snug grey sweats. Unable to jerk it more than once before he's cummin like a hydrant allover his home office's desk, his nut spraying up your pretty face on his computer screen.

baddie!Reader that has a 6 sense of things and surprises Nanami with the perfect anecdote: a video call, late the same evening, teasing him in your sheer lil onepiece.

Embedding the notion that you've been thinking about him non stop dizzying his brain. "Couldn't sleep right now, you're all I can think about handsome." "Really? About- urm.. What about me?" The sexy tilt of your head as you chuckle makes Nanami wanna lick a path down your goddess like frame, taste every inch of your supple brown skin. "Can show you better than I can tell you, Nami." Cute lil nickname falling from your lips effortlessy, compelling Nanami to squeeze at the base of his cock through his pants with a grunt, really hoping not to nut a minute into this intriguing call.

baddie!Reader feels empowered witnessing a calm, stoic Nanami Kento lose his shit. All it took was a bit of peer pressuring, a simple exchange of "I'll show you mine if you show me yours." Now your kneeling at the edge of your bed, ass in the air as you ride slick fingers; laptop on the desk behind you, your new friend desperately pressed to the screen as he stares at the cream dripping from your slit to your wrist. "Wow.. You're so.. Wet. Never see one drip like that, honey. Hnnh.. Wish I was there with you, darling. Wanna make you cum for me so bad." Nanami's tortured groans join your noisy cunt, your empty insides fluttering to the wet sound of him fucking his fist. Fuck! Shameful you couldn't see him: his pinched expression, flushed cheeks, blonde bangs dusting his sweaty forehead, fat dick salivating, beating against his sticky palm as he begs you to let him see you cum.

baddie!Reader isn't satisfied from fucking your own fingers. Really puts on a show when you grab your heavy duty clit sucker. At first Nanami thinks he might prefer watching the prettiest chocolate pussy he's eva seen swallow up your dainty lil fingers over and over. That is, till you get your toy in place and all hell breaks lose! You're squealing and thrashing, moaning like his personal whore while squeezing a handful of your tit, repeatedly bucking your throbby clit into the intense suction. "Oh fuck- ohhhshit! Not gonna last, too fuckin close already, baby. Wanna see me cum, Nami? Hm? Use your words, handsome." You love how deranged he's become when obeying. "Yesyesyes! Show me how you do it. Spread those lips honey, wanna see it all." His bold ask is shocking. Gets you that much closer, so you spread your glossy fat lips and cream allover your pretty comforter, chanting Nanami's name like it's a fucking lifeline. You cum so hard you're just barely able to turn your head in time to see him stumble back from the force of his nut, eyes glued between your shaky brown thighs, thick cum spraying outta his swollen cock like a hose, the force of the pearly streaks of white blurring his expensive ass camera.

baddie!Reader sleeps like a baby after finding out you're the only bitch that's been made Nanami nut inna year. Wake up to tons of flowers and gifts on your doorstep, not even sure how he got your address, let alone delivered the costly mass before the sun rose. Oh well. You shrug, lugging your presents inside and reading the attached note. Roses are red, violets are blue, I enjoyed last night, how about you? Date at 8? Meet me at my place: [address] -Your Nami. Oh fuck yes! You like this daring side to the gentle man you met at the shop. Your quick to grab the closest jewelry boxes, kicking your feet while slipping on the thick diamond chains and watch, sending a quick text to your generous donor.

Thanks for the gifts, Big Daddy. Love em! Can't wait till 8. See you then. 🫦👅🍆 xoxox, y/n.

baddie!Reader shows up fashionably late at 8:10, smelling like Chanel and looking like money.

Nanami's brain short circuits soon as he opens his front door. He busted 2 fat ass nuts before you arrived yet here his is, bricked up in his black slacks within a nanosecond, silent tense ogling making you chuckle and sidestep him to enter his spot, gently tracing an acrylic across his buff pecs. "Gonna eye fuck me all night, or show me around Nami?" Soft teasing tone reminds him of the previous evening and he has to try counting all the curses he's killed to not nut untouched to your seductive charm. "Course, sweetheart. Look too damn pretty is all. That way, to the left." Nanami points, trying his best not to stare at the jiggle of your plump backside.

baddie!Reader thinks it's a real accomplishment that your actually able to put a muzzle on your greedy pussy, finishing the tour and dinner without try to suck Nanami's dick through his dress pants. It's so hard to ignore how Nanami oozines sex appeal and doesn't even know it! Kicked back on the sofa manspread, white button up rolled to his elbows, strong arms resting wide along the back of the sofa. You musta pressed your thighs together at least a hundred times, searching for the smallest bit of relief as he weaves an interesting intimate tale of who he is, though remaining somewhat vague about his work life. Then he's diving into you as much as possible before your suddenly in his lap, silencing his chatter with plush lips on his, swallowing his surprised grunt. "C'mon big Daddy, preciate your manners but I'm so fuckin empty inside. Lemme sit on it?" Nanami's deer in the headlights look as you massage his half-hard cock is a little less amusing this go around so your impatiently on your feet unbuckling Nanami's pants and yanking them to his ankles. "No underw- oh.. Fuuuck.. Really are Big Daddy, huh? Think you're gonna stretch me out sooo good. Ready to get your dick wet, Nami?"

baddie!Reader most definitely bit off more than you can chew messin with this man! He fucks you like a demon, making you embarrass yourself by bussin on his wide mushroom tip the 3rd stroke in. Now he's standing in front of the couch, forcing you to bend and grab your ankles; gripping your tiny lil dress thats pulled up to your neck, yanking you back on his thick dick, completely unremorseful how he digs into you. His tip knocks into your spongey depths and steals your breath. You wanna stop squealing, but it feels like he's in your fuckin throat. "Na-na-miiiii, uhn, pleease, baby! S-slow down, gonna break meee!" But Nanami's lost his composure completely, growling in agreement, eyes crazed with the pressure compressing his girth. "No, y/n, nuh uh. No man could do that. Pussy's way too damn good.. You don't know what you're askin of me, sweetheart." It's a luxurious squeeze he couldn't dream up of if he tried, guts brewing with the sweetest nut he's eva felt. He's so selfish in this moment, reaching to pull you inna mean arch by your dark soft bundles, speeding the clash of his powerful hips against your round ass. You're reaching back, holding at Nanami's wrist, pleas babbling into nonsense as his length swiftly pounds inside, beats your syrupy lil pussy up till your eyes cross. "Shitshitshit! Haaah.. H-honey? You on birth control? Mm? .. ahhh-! Y/n, darling! Please tell me I can't knock this good ass pussy up.. Cause I'm gonna cum." Unaware that you're zoning out; legs numbing, tongue wagging, the grip on your fit and hair the only support keeping you upright. "Y/n, babydoll.. Need you to answer- FUUUCK!" You're spontaneous orgasm has him jackhammering your poor lil pussy a dozen more times before convulsing, jabbing in once more, grinding a fat load so fuckin far inside you. Prolongs your bliss seeking his own, abandoning your dress to wrap around your tummy and pull you close. "'M so sorry, darling.. Don't know what came over me. You okay?" He murmurs at your ear, still pumping you full, smiling triumphant when you hum at him uselessly, head lolled back on his shoulder. "Heh.. Fucked you up good, didn't I?" You don't even hear his taunts, fat dick penetrating you so deep you think cums gonna spill out ya ears.

baddie!Reader that breaks Nanami's heart by not spending the night after the way he molded your coochie to his cock. But chu a bad ass bitch that leaves em wantin and much as you like Nanami, that shit ain't gone change. He still blows you up by the time you get home and your pussy pulses sore soon as you text and he asks when he can see you again. You tell him you're free next week to which he promptly freaks the fuck out and calls you. "Just kidding, Big Daddy, damn.. Got a few errands to run in the morning but you can come over after." Nanami's got no shame in thankin you profusely, promising to get you a copy of his black card tomorrow if you let him swing by in the morning instead. His filthy ass even has the nerve send one last text when y'all finally hang up:

NomNom: Should've spent more time on those pretty tits 2nite. Send me sumthng to say gn, sweety.

You: Yes, Nami. 👩🏾‍❤️‍💋‍👨🏼

You: [y/n has sent a photo]

A/N2: Should we part 2 it?? 🤔

[quarterlifekitty]

cooking was mentioned but I kind of wonder how the cod men would react to reader bringing them cookies/some sort of pastry they know they like. Ive also had the idea of price getting turned on watching reader knead bread dough stuck in my head for some reason.. or ghost coming home to the smell of freshly baked pie (or something similarly wholesome) with blood still caked under his nails.... wrapping those large hands around my waist while i'm making the crust.. ughhh..sorry just- housewife reader who bakes treats and takes care of and dotes on a big military man and gets fucked senseless in return is so stuck in my head.

So I’m going to use this opportunity to speak gratuitously about Ghost’s relationship to food. Others have spoken of it at length before, but hopefully I will be able to add something new!

So we all know that Ghost did not have a happy childhood. He did not grow up in a secure home. He did not grow up with means. He was not nurtured, nor was he nourished. He enlisted at the first opportunity, and I think he nearly cried from being able to eat three, full meals a day that weren’t even that bad.

The next section of his life is a bit better in regards to eating, but not great. He knows where his next meal is coming from, and he doesn’t have to worry about there being enough to eat. He’s a grown man with a paycheck, he can buy food if he likes. But we all know the cafeteria food and MREs are demoralizing. They’re edible, but nothing more than that.

The first time he has leave, has to stare at the walls of his own empty studio and live for himself with the means to go grocery shopping as much as he likes— he’s at a total loss. No one ever taught him what he should be eating. No one ever showed him how to wash mushrooms. How to cut against the grain of a cut of beef. How to separate an egg yolk from the white. How to reduce a sauce. How to make sure scrambled eggs don’t overcook by taking the pan off of the heat.

So he starts very small. Eats like a college student. Lots of microwave shit. Works up to cooking himself some eggs. Almost moans at how good they are when it’s freshly cooked, on toast, and there’s no eggshell in it, and no one is yelling at him while he eats, he doesn’t have to hurry and get moving— it’s a really beautiful feeling he’s never gotten.

And maybe he had a neighbor at this time. Some older woman who noticed that the apartment that sat dormant most of the year had an occupant. One that still looked like a kid. Wore fatigues. Clearly didn’t have a family to go home to, if he was hanging around here on his shore time.

So she starts feeding him. Giving him a portion of what she makes for her own family. Casserole, cakes, stroganoff— anything. And Ghost will never forget that. The unparalleled joy of being given food from someone’s own home. Something they made. Something good. The food always tastes better when it isn’t mass produced. It always tastes better fresh. And it always tastes better when it was made by someone who cares.

The trajectory of his life and career don’t afford him much time. He spends most of his leave time cooking. Experimenting with recipes and learning. But that’s still such a small minority of his life.

When you, the fresh face in the 141 start bringing in food regularly, Gaz jokes that you’re buttering them up— trying to get in their good graces. You’re warned that Ghost is a hard won man. The truth is that no one has really tried home made lemon bars on him before. And they work like a charm.

Maybe a year or two later, you’ve gone on leave for maternity. You’re moved in together. It’s his first deployment without you working at his side. His first time coming home, and actually having someone to come home to.

And the house is alive. He can smell the currant and blueberry pie in the oven. You’re playing music in the kitchen. The house is so warm. There’s an unfolded blanket on the couch. The couch has a spaghetti stain on one of the arm rests.

And you. In loose pants and an even looser shirt with your bump visible. There’s blood under his nails. He smells like sweat and hot old dirt. But here you are, making the perfect nest for him. Not minding when he lays his head on your shoulder, embracing you from behind while you idly check the sauce simmering on the stove.

So are you getting fucked tonight? Baby, you’re getting fucked while that pie is on the cooling rack. You are getting railed after dinner and then you’re getting railed after dessert. And then you’re getting pounded in the shower and then he’s taking you in your fucking bed. And if you weren’t pregnant before, you definitely would be now.

[redflagshipwriter]

Batmom Cass : enter Barbara

Part one of 2

“You did good work,” Barbara said, in a casual tone. Proud.

Timmybird nodded and gave a flash of teeth in a smile. Didn't believe. It's nothing, look away. “Glad you think they'll pass.” He rolled his neck. “I don't want anyone to be able to prove he's Danny F.”

Cass watched their interplay casually, hair damp from the post-patrol shower and comfortably swimming in an oversized sweatshirt. She played with the ends of the sleeve as they talked.

“They can suspect it all they like, but it'd be hard to disprove this is a separate kid.” Barbara ran her palms over her wheelchair handles in an unconscious tic that meant she wanted to go, go, go. “Still, I like the idea of keeping him out of the public eye until we nail down what's going on in Illinois. This GIW group is bad news.”

Cass bit her lip and flexed her toes, uncertain. Danny was getting restless. And he was a teenager: he needed to be in school. He needed to learn, stretch his wings, grow.

But safe. He needed to be safe, first.

The trouble was she didn't know how to make him fully safe. She'd had him for four days now. Judging by the report of his death, Danny baby had been homeless and on the run for more than a month. He was hiding. Even when she was in the room, he was looking for attacks. Who was he looking for? Dad and mom Fenton? GIW group?

“-gonna hit the showers,” said her little brother.” Cash barely registered him heading to the batcave bathrooms. She was internally weighing her bat nosiness sense against her worry about pushing Danny for answers too soon.

“Am I good to meet him, Mamabird?”

Cass blinked back to awareness. “Mama bat,” she corrected. “Yes.” She cracked her lower back. Mm. Too much standing after patrol. She needed to move a little. “Breakfast. Baby wakes up soon.”

Barbara snorted. “I'll go to bed after,” she said wryly, because they had been flying and solving into the morning light. Riddler was out on the streets. “Did someone check with Alfred about adding me to the breakfast table?”

She didn't know. Cass hummed and flipped over to walk on her hands up the stairs. It sent a pleasant ache through her upper back. Stabilizing her core and legs was just the right amount of casual challenge to make her body feel better.

“Christ,” Barbara said quietly, and huffed out a laugh. The elevator dinged. “I'll see you upstairs.”

Barbara Batgirl beat Cass to the top. Cass huffed in displeasure at the loss and flipped back to her feet. She ducked into the first bathroom they passed to wash her hands.

Alfie was in the kitchen in his morning waistcoat and a thin, comfortable button up shirt. Casual day!

“Good morning, Miss Cassandra,” he said. The kitchen smelled like yeasty bread. Cass sneezed happily and peered around to see meats, cheeses, and fruits.

“Morning!” She chirped. “Barbara wants to stay for breakfast,” Cass said. Barbara wheeled in a moment later, sheepish.

“Good morning, Alfred,” she said. “If it's not too much trouble-”

“It's no trouble at all,” he reassured. “Miss Cassandra, would you add an extra place setting?”

Cass hopped to it, mimicking the placement Alfred had made. It was a nearly full table today. Timbird, Batdad, Dickbird, Cass, Danny baby, Damibat. And now Barbara bat.

She heard a jaw-cracking yawn before Danny swung open the door. “Good morning,” Danny baby yawned through his hand. His eyes were bleary. She watches with amusement as he shuffled in, face down. “Have a good ni-”

He stopped. Eyes on Barbara bat.

New adult, he was scared?

No. Cass rapidly calculated and shifted his shifting body language into emotions. Surprise, joy, love-love-lo-wrong! Not love! Sad. Wistful.

“This is my baby,” Cass said, pretending she didn't notice the reaction. “Danny. This is Barbara.”

Barbara must have noticed Danny's reaction to her. She didn't move closer, lifting a friendly hand from across the countertop.

Danny looked haunted. Danny looked small. “It's nice to meet you, Barbara,” he said. Weak smile.

She had to talk to him, Cass realized. She had to talk with him today. No more delaying. After breakfast, she would talk.

[ladybyakuya]

| ALL I WANTED + GOJO SATORU .

+cw. — female!wife!reader x clan-head!husband!(sub)!gojo satoru, arrange marriage, hurt, angst, canon typical elements, smut, f!masturbation + m!masturbation & orgasm interruption.

+wc. — 2.3k

+syn.— satoru comes home from a bunch of missions only to find his wife in their shared bedroom not wanting him, or waiting for him but busy seeking pleasure that was his share to pour into you.

+notes. — special thanks to @gojoest for hyping me up with this idea. & thanks to @sugurouge for beta reading otherwise this never get posted lol | redirect to blog navigation.

The current head of the clan you belong to, your father stands facing his back to you. He is now the housemaster, not your father. “You’re going to be married,” said he, as his palms remained tightly clasped at his back while he looked out through the window. What you once called home became a distant memory in an instant. “You’re going to be married—” as his face turned towards you, “to Gojo Satoru.” you could figure out why he was looking away. “That monster!” he screams tears streaming down his face as his lips tremble in rage and disbelief; how of all people did the marriage broker who has been his friend for a long time have even agreed with such a decision? The thought of him suggesting the idea to the council does not even cross your father’s mind. How utterly naive! a low grunt followed as your father swatted away his chair knocking it down to the ground before killing every bit of hope you had despite the rumors. “This marriage. . . it is nothing but a hopeless dream. ”

Yes! You knew that already. The housemaids and staff just love to gossip about the doom of their sole source of bread and butter. The moment your father summoned you into his study room and told you the news while staring at the greenery of the garden of this mansion you knew your life was going to turn upside down and it did, just like you expected yet you were still disappointed, frustrated even when you came back to your room. 

Satoru Gojo is the strongest jujutsu sorcerer in history ever known since Sukuna Ryomen was sealed. No other name has ever made it to the pages of jujutsu history. He is at the top of the jujutsu society regarding status, power, fame, and money. So, what do you do with the strongest of all? worship them out of devotion? subdue them with offerings lest it might lash out? swearing loyalty out of fear? Those were the thoughts that stemmed at the back of your mind when you first came to know about the fact that you were going to be the wife of the Gojo Satoru from a maid whose life never even crossed the threshold of your home. Her world was limited to the mossy parts of the mansion you resided in. Still, she could tell what kind of marriage you would be walking into.

Nothing shocking happened even on the night of your wedding. It was just as you anticipated. Two different futons were kept side by side. There was no sharing of words, glances, or kakebuton . Just both of your backs faced each other. At dawn, you woke up with your wedding kimono intact, a stainless white futon, and an empty room without Gojo. 

The maids here knew better than to talk about it, even behind your back. They were aware of the power and status you held and that made everything a lot worse than you expected it to be. You had access to a lot of things, the family history archives, the financial sources, his previous missions— everything tied to him. Your husband, Gojo Satoru, was the clan head as well as the master of this mansion so there were no elderly people pushing responsibilities onto your shoulders like back at home. There was a sense of serenity in the air but how could you breathe it in for the rest of your life? 

Satoru Gojo was the kind of man whom one could easily desire. Despite being his wife and the future mother of his children, trying to love him felt like a cyanide for you. You wanted your husband, not some Satoru Gojo oozing with knowledge and power. You wanted to look him in the eye, not just his back which you barely get a glimpse of at the crack of dawn as he occupies the sad side of the bed under a separate duvet. In earlier stages of this marriage, there was no curtain separating you and your husband’s side of the bed but after a month of utter silence and stealing glances, the first thing he installed was a curtain in the shared canopy bed. If he needed some privacy he could easily ask you to shift into another room but he bothered to talk one of those clan servants to install a fucking curtain as if the silence was not enough of a gulf in between you two. 

Sometimes you thought that he was cheating on you but you always pushed it under the rug telling yourself, “You’re the wife of Satoru Gojo. No one can take that from you unless you walk out of this marriage. Not your father. Not that marriage broker —”

— Not even Gojo Satoru himself because he only married you to silence those nosy elders of his clan who pretend to be oh-so-worried for him. You were not foreign to that concept, after all, you are wrapped in the same shroud for all your life.

“You’re the wife of Gojo Satoru . . .No one . . .” 

“You’re the wife of Gojo Satoru . . .” 

“You’re the wife . . .”

“You’re . . .”

But the thought of getting his dick sucked by some other woman or man, or him putting his dick into someone — it filled you with too much anger to sleep in bed that night. For the first time, you miss home because there you are free to go anywhere even at night. 

Satoru came home early that night, which was odd for his schedule, and was greeted with an empty bed after a long while. The sky is yet to be cracked open by sunlight. It is still too dark to be wandering around. Where could his wife have been gone to at this hour? He takes a spoonful of strawberry ice cream from the giant tub he held in his other hand before starting to look for you. But where should he look first? He does not know anything except the fact that he had put veils in different places of his house just to keep this house free of low-energy cursed spirits. Those veils sure did their job well but sometimes they would keep out non-sorcerers, people like you. His heart rejoices at the thought that he has to look for you in places only he is aware of, which means this is going to take a little less time, and he will find you much faster. Come to think of it, he has not been in the library section for a while but it is still as spotless as the first day he came here. Have you been visiting? Man! That sure worries him.

The pink layer of the tub has come down to half along with its skin being wet while the spoon is still experiencing the fierce appetite that Satoru had for anything sweet. He stands at the entrance of a long hallway before checking, thinking that this is the last place he has to look for but could it be possible that you were embarrassed enough to go back to your home?

Ahh…ahhh!

The spoon hits the wooden floor with a dull clatter as a wretched realization comes crashing down through his veins. Have you been cheating on him all this time? In his house? With some lowly servant ? Well, that sure makes it easier to end this sham of a marriage. He opens the door of a certain archive room as swiftly as possible trying to minimize the sound of his presence, making sure he does not shock you awake from your rendezvous. He is determined to catch you red-handed but when he opens the door he witnesses something that could have knocked the lights off his brain if he were not one of the greatest sorcerers of his time. The sight was not something of a fair appetite for ordinary people yet you sat by the marble slab of the giant window, with one of your arms nuked under your sapphire jinbei in between your legs as your skin glowed under that pale moonlight as if diamonds and pearls were embedded on your skin. 

You were sweating, arching your body, moaning and all your husband could do was watch in awe. Your free hand travels from the bottom of your cleavage and up to the apex of your nape as you turn your head opening your eyes for a brief moment. You see the world so blurred that it spikes your approaching high, but as you open your eyes for the second time your high is gone like it never existed. Your husband, Gojo Satoru stood before you like an ivory statue of certain abandoned ruined cathedrals. The dress covers most of your body so a wave of relief washes over him despite realizing how dangerous the spot you chose . . .to . . .umh. . . pleasure yourself . 

How long? How long was he watching you ? You shift your body to face him, and your hand slowly emerges from the warmth between your thighs. Satoru tries to ignore but traces of your arousal and his yearning are flourishing like fluorescence on your fingers as it rests on your thigh. You watch him gulp. Suddenly, Gojo Satoru is out of words. Teacher to his students of Jujutsu High, the strongest sorcerer, Nanami’s certified yapper is suddenly out of words. The slight slice of your boobs visible through your robe does not help either in the coherency of his thoughts. He had plans. He had plans to walk out of this marriage without being tainted as a “cheater” because the jujutsu society is so fucked up that they will not stop until they found this particular person that had made this marriage impossible to work on so that you, the wife, had to walk out it and dear God, they certainly are not fond of obstructions.

“What a nice place you chose to—” he finally looks away to keep the tub of semi-molten room-temperature strawberry ice cream on some bookshelf but before he could shift back his gaze on you again you were gone like a storm. The sound of your footsteps echoed in his ear till it stopped before he heard the click of a door. He does not understand if you are just too dumb or too brave to act the way you are acting right now. He follows you as a grunt of dismissal escapes from his chest. As he stands in front of the bathroom door he drowns yet again in utmost disbelief. He can still hear your shrill gasp of pleasure and he is not liking how his cock is responsive to it. At first, he hesitates to touch himself but the faint sound of your moans, the wet squelching sounds of your fingers moving in and out of your damp folds despite the door of the bathroom being locked buzzes in his ears like bees out in the hunt of honey. 

Satoru gave up . You hear a thud as you continue to finger yourself knowing full well that your husband must have followed you all the way here after witnessing you in such a state. Indeed, you could have been accused of cheating on him without him checking the door and it would have been much worse. He sits against the bathroom door unfurling the black ribbon with a swish to take his cock out of his baggy white pants. The tip is already leaking. His cock is throbbing in his palm as he encapsulates his fingers around it, moving his fingers up and down slowly. On the other side of the door, as you could finally feel the pinnacle of your high you heard a soft groan; a pain, that seemed familiar, was palpable underneath that shrill cry of pleasure. Still when your fingers touched the part inside you that almost felt like unknotting something from inside you, at the basal of your navel Satoru’s hand moved faster to chase the similar high that had started to bubble in his body under the influence of your ripples of pleasure. You heard your husband moan as tears rolled down your cheeks when you closed your eyes feeling the knot finally unwinding.

Perhaps, both of you came simultaneously. Perhaps not, because you immediately opened the door after you had calmed from your high, only to be greeted with Satoru sitting right at the opposite wall of the bathroom door, legs folded in L-manner so that he could keep his hand over his knee. His cock is still visible through his white pants and it is still so hard. One of your eyebrows raises in silent reply . Satoru notices that. He looks at you and then looks away. You extend your hand towards his face, gaining his stern azure pair of eyes shining against whatever dim light the crack of the bathroom door could allow. There was no sign of resistance in him so as your palm touched his cheeks, you waited and gave him time to protest. yet none ever followed,  instead, he surrendered to your touch, and your fingers curled under his chin as you ran your thumb over his lips. Satoru coiled against your touch imbibing as much as he could like a tide being high enough to touch the moon . . .a familiar voice shocked both of you awake.

“Lady Gojo. . .” 

[reaperexe]

Bakery ♡

Summary : your bakery is struggling till one evening a cute guy steps in through the doors.

warnings : none just fluff <3

There was nothing you got out of your little bakery other than unpaid bills and reminder for deadlines of other bills. It was rough to say the least but your will to make things work out was stronger.

You knew your breads and little pastries were good, even if they didn't sell you knew from their taste and the few friends that tried them that they were good.

The big conglomerate in front of you would say otherwise though, as none of their little workers would even turn to look at your little shop across the street. They all just flocked to the little coffee shop next to you.

What was so interesting about the small place, the coffee was fine from what you had heard, nothing special.

You pull another batch of cookies out of the oven seeing the office crowd march it's way back from the coffee shop with the signature cups of coffee in their hand.

As you closed that afternoon with little to no business as usual, you were taken aback when that angelic looking man stepped into the bakery.

He walked up to the counter with a sheepish smile ordering a couple things which you quickly packed.

"Hi" he muttered softly "Hope i didn't interrupt you packing up" he says as you chuckle softly telling him it wasn't a problem.

The man seemed attractive enough to let it pass but what he uttered next made you still.

"I run the cafe next to you" He spoke smiling as if you were gonna smile back but the scowl on your face said otherwise. This was your sworn enemy.

You still threw him a fake smile and handed him his food. He pulled out a cupcake proceeding to take a bite. "This is soo good" He remarks his eyes dripping with love.

You just fake smiled before telling him how much he owed, he frowned at your hostility but still proceeded to praise your food.

It felt hurtful to be rude to him when he was being so nice as he stood there with bit of the sugary icing smeared on his upper lip.

You motioned for him to wipe it but he just tilted his head to the side with a soft "Hm?".

God you couldn't be mad at him not when he took the small tissue from your hand while smiling cheekily and wiped away the sugary icing.

"I bake too but not as good as this" He says and you couldn't tell what was more sugary his words or your cupcakes. He muttered a "I'll see you around" before turning around and leaving.

No you definitely didn't love your sworn enemy, no you didn't think about him as you fell asleep last night or when you added icing too the fresh batch of cupcakes.

Something felt different today when those robotic looking office workers didn't instantly bee line to the coffee shop, when some of them didn't instantly turn their feet back to their building.

Even weirder when their coffee clad hands pushed open the doors to your bakery, buying a good amount of baked goods which you eagerly packed.

Closing up felt better today when you had practically empty shelves but you felt disappointment when the familiar coffee shop owner walked in and frowned at the empty shelves.

"No cupcakes?" he asked before his eyes fell on the only remaining two in the tray and his eyes lit up. I smiled packing up the two for him

"I didn't know recommending you to those office guys would lead me to have no cupcakes" he spoke pouting as you froze. 'He did this?' you thought, handing him his cupcakes.

Like clockwork he took one out again biting into the sugary treat. Your eyes were stuck on him as he ate, how could someone make even a cupcake look so delicious.

Next day you found yourself making an extra batch of cupcakes just for him and saving them at the side. The smile on his face is worth the extra effort when he sees the cupcakes on the tray.

But this time he brings a cup of coffee along, handing you the small cup as he takes the cupcakes from you.

This went on for a week, your feelings growing for him with the small interactions.

You set out the tray of cupcakes you made for him expecting him to come in any minute but when the door opens a mysterious man steps in.

He walks up to the counter, his stature blocking your view of the exit, he looks at the counter before pointing at the only remaining cupcakes.

You gulp at how to explain to this scary looking man that those cupcakes were saved for a special someone who you prayed would walk in any minute.

You thank whatever god heard your prayers as you hear the door open again followed by the familiar sound of footsteps before he finally comes into view.

He glances between you and the man, your frowning distressed face enough for him to sense something is wrong as he clears his throat.

The scary man asks for the cupcake again before being cut off by him "Sorry man i already ordered those" He says smiling but his face is threatening enough.

The man doesn't take the hint as he stands there looking between the two of you.

"Leave my cupcakes and my girl alone man" He sighs crossing his arms. The scary guys eyes widen at his words, he grumbles something before walking out.

'My girl?' the words he spoke still left you in a daze but you came back to reality as he cleared his throat, you looked up at him noticing the pink hue on his cheek as he stood looking at you awakwardly.

Embarrassed you quickly packed him the remaining cupcakes as he pulled out his wallet to pay but you quickly stopped him "No no this ones from me, for saving me from that guy"

"Nonsense i still wanna pay" He says but you insist he doesn't have to, he sighs putting the wallet back in his pocket before turning back to you.

"I'll only agree if you let me take you out on a date" He says crossing his arms as he refuses to take the cupcakes from you.

Your eyes widen at his words but you nod with a small "sure" and he smiles taking the bag from you.

"You know i meant that 'my girl'' He says as he walks out of the store leaving you blushing.

[roseykat]

KINKTOBER DAY 14

TITLE: Some things are better left unknown

PAIRINGS: Bang Chan x Felix x reader

WARNING: minors DNI with this post or my blog. I create NSFW SKZ related content and I know I won't be able to regulate every single interaction with those posts so please do not engage with my work or page whatsoever.

SUMMARY: a threesome with Chanlix where you’re yet to discover a very sobering truth about the pair of them.

TAGS: explicit language, threesome, oral sex (f!reader receiving), porn with plot, use of the name 'baby girl' and 'angel', swearing, multiple orgasms, unprotected sex but protected anal sex, double penetration, big dick!Chan agenda, praise, slight body worship if you squint, kissing/making out.

A/N: Aussie line fucks hard, bye. (If there are mistakes, I will fix them. Currently running on v low sleep)

KINKTOBER23 - MASTERLIST

TAGLIST: @mal-lunar-28 @luneskies @queenmea604 @kibs-and-bits @kbitties @aaasia111 @fairy-lixie @dreamingaboutjisung

-

Milk, nori, rice, raw tuna, coffee, yoghurt, bread, and eggs. 

This was all Chan sent you to the supermarket for. All of which could have been easily picked up from the convenience store down the road. Maybe minus the raw tuna which has to be high grade since Chan wanted to make an attempt at onigiri for the first time. However, you would’ve saved an entire trip to the busy supermarket.

Not to mention, grocery shopping sucks in general. At least that is when you’re on your own. In your apartment that you share with your good friends Chan and Felix, two people are responsible for the shopping per week which rotates each time. 

If you’re with Felix, sometimes you both tend to muck around. Not to mention forgetting almost a quarter of things on the shopping list which ends in a stern lecture from Chan. On that matter, if you’re with Chan, it’s an in-and-out task at the store in less than ten minutes. 

Efficient and practically timeless.

Even though it’s no trivial matter, you manage to get through the pointless shopping before heading home to the apartment. These could’ve been picked up at the convenience store, you think to yourself again. A sigh leaves your lips as you unlock the door, bumping it open further with your hip as you slide your shoes off. 

“I’m back. Remind me to buy an umbrella next time-”

Your body freezes on the spot. The bag of items falls from your possession, collapsing onto the floor. Something inside it broke but it’s nowhere near enough a distraction for what is in front of your eyes. 

Maybe you need your vision checked because if your eyes weren’t deceiving you, then you wouldn’t have just seen Chan and a topless Felix who are both making out. The two of them sat on the edge of the bed, still lip-locked until they caught onto your presence.  

For the few seconds you stood there, rooted to the ground, felt the absolute longest.

Neither of them was as internally panicked as you when they noticed you standing there. Nor did they have hundreds of questions zapping around their brains in the span of a few seconds. It was like your entire vocabulary had turned to dust and were blown away because there were no words to describe what the hell was happening. 

Maybe it was a dream. 

“T-That was quick,” Chan stammers with an awkward chuckle, breaking away from Felix, almost pretending like nothing just happened. 

Felix looked like a complete mess. Dark brown hair mangled - clearly from Chan either running his fingers through it or tugging it - the air gets stuck in your throat with those two theories in mind, painting very interesting visuals and an odd sensation in your stomach. 

Chan looked equally dishevelled. There’s a dark red splotch peeking above his collarbone that you had no trouble guessing how it got there. On top of that, his pants were already half undone, and his lips were bitten red and wet, and they both looked so…so…

“What…the fuck…” you manage to speak once your mind has cleared the only one per cent of its capacity to grasp the circumstances.

“It’s not what it looks like,” Felix quickly says as he stands up from Chan’s lap and walks over to you.

It was useless for him to try to take advantage of your shell-shocked state because once your surprise had completely thawed out, your words started coming back to you. 

“Oh my god, what am I even doing?” You ask, clamping your hands over your eyes, ready to head right back out of the apartment. “I’m heading out.”

“Wait!” Chan calls out, arm outstretched towards your direction. “You don’t…you don’t have to go. If you want, you can maybe join us. If…if you like.”

Join them? Blindsided by those words, there was no trouble for the difficulty you had in trying to figure out if you heard right or just imagined what Chan said. Why would he ask you that question? But more importantly, why were they hooking up in the first place? It was evident that there had been something going on between Felix and Chan - unless this was just a new one-time thing. 

However, even if it wasn’t, you had been left out of the secret. Nonetheless, you quickly came to your senses. Whether they hook up or not is none of your business. 

“J-Join you?” You stammer. 

“You don’t have to if you don’t want to,” Chan emphasises. “It’d be rude to not let you in on the fun.” 

You definitely weren’t hearing things, and this wasn’t a dream. 

At first, you can’t understand why you’re even considering their request, but there is one piece of information that sprung to mind and that’s your sex life. It hasn’t been entirely sex-filled as you’d like it to be, not to mention your slight lack of experience with threesomes wasn’t vast - but it also wasn’t limited either, especially after that encounter you once had with two of their friends Changbin and Hyunjin on a separate occasion. Although, they didn’t need to know that at all. 

That being said, this takes the cake. You can’t even comprehend what Chan or Felix are like in bed but, the opportunity seemed too ridiculously hot to pass up. 

“You...you want me to-“

“Like Channie said, if you want,” Lix assures you, interrupting your babbling. 

You aren’t somewhat surprised that Felix would ever want a threesome. He’s had sexual partners here and there in the past, multiple ones at a time. However, Chan never struck you as the type to have sex with more than one person. Even after a year of living with him and getting to know him, he’s still pretty private and exclusive. 

With the matter at hand and the more you think about the prospect in front of you, you aren’t opposed to the idea. So with your brain taking full control of your body, you hesitantly step over the discarded groceries lying on the ground. This is happening. Felix picks up on the right cue and extends his hand out to you as you take it gently. 

He guides you over to the edge of the bed where Chan is still sitting, but as you’re led over, he rises to his feet. There were a few seconds where you’re a little bit bewildered by what’s going on, but when you look into Chan’s dark eyes and as he takes your free hand, you become more centred.

Before you know it, he leans down to kiss you and kisses you good. You’ve never felt anything like it and as Felix releases your hand and sneaks behind your body, your mind starts turning into jelly. He gently swipes your hair to the other side of your shoulder while his other hand freely roams around your waist, underneath your shirt to feel the heat of your skin. His mouth places chaste kisses from your shoulder up to your neck. 

It feels so heavenly to be sandwiched between them; Felix kissing, biting softly over your skin while Chan continues to explore your mouth. It was impossible to think that just a few minutes ago, you were at the grocery store and now a complete world shift just seems to be occurring within that time frame. 

Chan breaks away from you for a second, kissing you tenderly one last time before sitting back down on the bed and moving up to the headboard. God this is really happening. You’re too deep in it now to not follow him like a lost, yet obedient puppy. You can see that he’s hard and want to touch him so badly but-

“Sit between me and face towards Felix,” he instructs before you can even reach for him. 

Your cheeks burn. While you have no idea what’s entirely in store, your body is getting excited and very obviously, so is Felix. He crawls over to you once you’re snug in between Chan’s legs before he tugs your shirt up from the hem and tosses it aside. Then, he finds your lips and kisses you until you have to silently beg and chase him for it.

Squirming in place, you feel hot and subjugated by Chan sitting behind you - snaking and trailing his hands around your now half-bare body, and Felix in front of him, who’s now gone on to give his supposed man some attention too.

He’s up on his knees with his body so close to you that you can feel the heat from him. Chan tilts his head up from resting on your shoulder and lets Felix take what he wants. The slick wet sounds of them both kissing along with the tiny moans you can feel in your ear, makes you shiver all over. You’re only still comprehending this all, that this is still actually happening. 

“So needy,” Chan says as he breaks away from him, inches away from his face when Felix hears and feels you unbuckling his belt. He straightens back up and consumes how flustered you are, observing the way you blink up at him pleadingly, displaying how badly you want it now. 

Felix smirks, gently grabbing your face with one hand and lowering down just enough to kiss you senseless again. But he cannot stray away from his other plans so frees himself from your lips to help slide your pants off down and discards them to the side. 

Immediately, you can see where this is going. 

“Aw, look how bad you want it,” Felix comments, swiping his thumb over the damp spot of your underwear with enough pressure for you to muffle a whine by biting down on your lip. You do want it bad and already seem to be losing a fight to the pleasure Felix is barely giving you. 

“Don’t tease her too much,” Chan cautions. 

Felix doesn’t seem to hear the warning for him as he helps you shimmy your underwear down. From there, Chan takes over. He hooks both of his legs over yours and separates them to not just expose you for Felix but to hold you down for what’s about to unfold. 

Heat accelerates through your cheeks as you feel embarrassed. At this point, your brain hasn’t caught up with the fact that you never show this much skin, let alone any skin in front of either of them. But that was going to be an afterthought for you when Felix distracts your mind by gently prying your legs open from your bent knees.

Pathetic whimpers slip past your lips as Felix lies down on his stomach, his face inches away from your pussy while he pets and glides his two fingers in between your folds. 

Your head shoots back onto Chan’s shoulder, very narrowly missing his face, “f-fuck…oh my god.”

Without warning, you feel the tip of Felix’s tongue lap a few times over your clit. If it weren’t for Chan acting as a human restraint to hold you down, there would’ve been a solid chance of you lurching forward. His arms are still wrapped around your abdomen, preventing you from moving forward so that you can take what Felix is giving you. 

It’s cruel, but Chan thinks it’s necessary for you to feel everything. Which you do when your hands grip each of Chan’s thighs, nearly squashing him backwards between you and the wall. 

“How does it feel?” he asks you. 

“F-Felix, mmm-” you breathe out his name, unable to answer properly and feel some vibrations from Chan’s chest to suggest that he was chuckling. Mainly at the fact that you weren’t able to directly answer his question. 

But it’s not long until the room quickly fills with your whimpers and moans mingled with the beautiful wet sounds as Felix keeps eating out your pussy. Tingly sensations spread like wildfire throughout every cell in your body from his mouth. It’s gradually becoming impracticable to keep up with his tongue. Not that you’ve ever imagined it before, but he does give good oral, good enough to put your breathing pace out of whack when he sucks on your clit. 

He’s not afraid of enjoying himself either. You can hear and feel his moans reverberate throughout your lower half. It even adds to the sensation of bliss that’s forming a knot in the pit of your stomach. So even though you don’t know, this is as good for Felix as it is for you. To him, it’s like going to heaven. 

What you also didn’t seem to know was when Chan unclasped your bra from behind your back and placed it to the side. His hands went from just holding you to now groping and playing with your tits as your body continued to melt into Felix’s mouth. 

“You’re loud aren’t you?” Chan whispers in your ear, rolling both of your nipples in between his thumbs and fingers to make you mewl and squirm. The different methods of pleasure send interesting messages to your brain that only make that crest of ecstasy build higher. 

You can only mewl until coherent words appear in his brain and out through his mouth, “s-sorry.”

Felix’s head game is so ridiculously mind-blowing that it makes you forget what language you speak.

Chan chuckles, purring into your ear, “don’t be sorry. You just can’t help it can you?” 

His hand circles up to your jaw, tilting it towards his face. He confirms in his mind how much of a mess you are. Cheeks stained pink with a fucked up expression that reads ‘I need more’, to which Chan reaches down and kisses you, sloppy and lazy. 

The velvety feel of your mouth when you open up more is slick with warmth. It’s starting to become more obvious how close you are when you start moaning repeatedly into Chan’s mouth. 

“I’m going to fuck you after this,” he breaks away, just inches from his lips again. 

You never would’ve guessed that Chan was even capable of forming such a dirty sentence. Then again, you never would’ve guessed that you would ever be in the position that you’re in now - having a threesome with your two housemates. 

“I’m…you’re gonna make me cum,” you sob, turning your head towards Chan on his shoulder, almost as if you were trying to escape the expansion of euphoria. He couldn’t help but kiss your forehead, waiting for you to brace for that wave. 

“Yeah?” Chan rouses. “Want to cum for us baby girl?”

You nod, too helpless to form an answer when you’re on the cusp of a forceful orgasm. He underestimated the strength he needed to hold you down, especially when you’re about to cum. So just when he needed to add more force, your body stiffens. Your legs so desperately crave to clamp around Felix’s head to help triage the pleasure, but it’s no use when Chan has you completely locked in. 

Your eyelids flutter, head pressing back further into Chan’s shoulder, “yes! I’m cumming!” 

With ragged, heavy breathing, the all-consuming pleasure takes you by the throat as the pleasure surges without control. Even though you’re being held down, it doesn’t stop your body from quivering. It lasts for what feels like an entire minute – one of the best orgasms you think you’ve ever experienced. 

Felix’s tongue slows down to a snail's pace, licking a few final stripes before kissing his way up your body, from your clit, abdomen, and then up to the base of your throat. His chin glistens as he adorns a smug smile. 

“Fuck…” you sigh out defeatedly, the aftermath of experiencing a volume of pleasure was starting to take its toll. “Oh my god.”

Chan kisses the side of your head, “sound so beautiful when you cum. Lix, switch with me so I can fuck her, yeah?”

“Wait-“ you pause, trying to reorient yourself as you hold onto Chan’s forearm for support. “I wanna ride you.” 

Felix looks down at you, “you sure angel? Channie isn’t exactly small.” 

From that statement alone, it was obvious to you that Felix was speaking from experience, a strong indication that they had in fact mucked around at least once in the past if not multiple times. But it didn’t matter if Chan or Felix for that matter was packing twelve inches, you needed to have something inside you to tame that need of feeling full. 

“I want to ride you-“ you nod to Chan – “but I want you to fuck me at the same time-“ you indicate towards Felix.

Neither of them expected you to be into that. Then again, they didn’t necessarily expect you to join them in bed either so anything was a surprise to them at this point. Chan and Felix can’t deny how insanely hot it is to hear you not only ask for them to do something but specifically ask you to do that. 

“Are you sure baby?” Chan has to ask you for assurance. 

“I can…I can take both of you.”  

Still stunned at your answer, Felix ushers to Chan, “you heard her.” 

He cannot lie and say that he’s not excited, because he is – they both are. So while Felix goes into the bedside table for a condom and lube, you move yourself off of Chan, turn around and start unbuckling his belt and helping him take his jeans off, almost like you’re in a rush. The imprint of his hard dick is enough to make your mouth water, and as Felix said, Chan definitely isn’t small. 

“Easy, I’m not going anywhere,” he chuckles, reorienting himself on the bed so that his head is on the pillow.  

Felix returns with the items he needs to help prep you, taking it as a sign to straddle over Chan’s legs and slowly tug his black boxers down. His cock springs onto his abdomen, the dark pink tip reaching just under his belly button. He had to be at least eight inches. Maybe just under, just.

“Ready angel?” Felix asks, kneeling behind you as you straddle Chan. The position would allow you to not only ride Chan but to take Felix from behind too, a dream so delicious that you can’t help but wonder how it was still all possible. 

“Yes,” you mutter. 

“Okay then,” he replies. 

Chan then holds the base of his cock steady for you, watching you slowly take those eight inches. The tip of his dick gently slots into your pussy, taking your time with sinking down. The warm heat engulfs his length, already sending shockwaves throughout his lower half. 

“That’s it, baby,” Chan says encouragingly, his fingertips delicately massaging over the skin of your things. “Good girl.”

You bite down on your bottom lip at the extraordinary stretch. In the meantime, Felix squirts a dollop of the lube onto his fingers to warm it up a bit before applying it to your hole.

He thumbs over it, sending shivers up your spine. It’s vital to him to make sure that you’re prepped well for him to fuck your ass. So he starts small by slowly inserting the tip of his finger, before gradually using slow yet long strokes, enough to make your head loll back. 

Felix has to express in awe when he sees the result of your efforts to fully envelope Chan’s length, “look at that. You took all of him, angel.” 

You know very well that you have because you can feel him in places that other men in your past haven’t reached. The stretch still sings a bit but it could easily be confused with the gorgeous satisfaction of Chan filling you right out. 

“So…big,” you strain out, scratching your nails down Chan’s abdomen, almost like a cat, just not as painful. 

Meanwhile, as Felix has slowly been stretching your hole out with his fingers, he uses his teeth and his free hand to peel the foil back of the condom packet. He had already freed himself from his jeans when he went to reach for the lube beside the bed so was hard and ready to roll the condom down his cock.   

“M’ready Lix,” you say to him, unable to see the smile you brought to his face from how eager you are. 

“I know baby, just one second,” he replies before aligning his cock with your hole. 

Very carefully and slowly, he starts pushing his tip in. Your eyes flutter shut, steadying your breathing in the process in preparation to take all of him as well. Chan rubs up and down your arm, distracting you from the temporary sting. With the lube doing its job, Felix can continue to push in at a leisurely pace right until he has the majority of his cock wrapped up by you. 

“Doing so well Y/N,” Chan says reassuringly. “Just stay like this for a bit until you’re ready to move yeah?” 

You nod, allowing your body and muscles to relax and ease into the pleasure that’s starting to fade out the burn. It’s difficult to comprehend a fuller feeling than this; to have two cocks stuffed in you to the hilt, and after a few moments of getting used to it, you slowly start to move. 

“Mmm, yes fuck,” you sigh with satisfaction, using your hands on Chan’s abdomen to steady your body as you being to move your hips. “You both…feel so fucking good inside me.”

Your words were difficult for Felix to not listen to who was trying to ward off from thrusting for a little bit until you were comfortable with him starting to fuck you. It wasn’t until your movements became a bit quicker that he began to catch up to your pace. Very quickly did the room turn into a space brimming with moans, wet sounds, and the sound of skin slapping. It was plenty to add to the intense sensation you were hurtling towards.  

Chan’s eyes are fixated on watching your pussy swallow his cock with every long stroke you take on him, “oh my god.”

With his tank top still on, Chan lifts it by the hem and holds onto it with his teeth. It wasn’t just to make sure that your hands weren’t going to be slipping on him as you use his abdomen to support yourself when you rock down, but it was also to restrict a whole bunch of moans that were about to rip through his chest. But even that couldn’t put a lid on the groans and growls rumbling from him. 

“Taking us both so well angel,” Felix says exasperatedly in your ear. 

His deep yet velvety voice has you leaning back slightly so that half of your back is pressed against his chest. With the help of you turning your head towards his face, Felix’s mouth crashes onto yours, almost tasting the remnants of yourself from before. He kisses you passionately, moaning into your mouth like he’s going to die if he doesn’t. 

“Fucking perfect,” he growls, diverging from your mouth to dive into your neck to suck a few hickies in and groping your tits from behind. “Can’t get enough of you dammit.” 

You sob out as he pinches your nipples, but also when Chan reaches down to your pussy, finds your clit and begins to rub in perfect motions, “god – fuck, I can’t…s’too much!” 

Their cocks hit spots so phenomenally that each time they stroke over them, your holes involuntarily clench around them. Not to mention the total stimulation they were feeding you. 

Felix’s hips haven’t faltered since they started pumping forward into your ass. The upward curvature of his cock seemed to be scratching the part of your brain that is responsible for making your eyes roll back. Chan’s dick on the other hand had you shaking. The length and girth were sickeningly satisfying. 

“Not gonna last,” you whine, still keeping up the same pace when you rock down on Chan and feel Felix continue to thrust in and out. “So close…” 

The hem of Chan’s shirt is long gone from his mouth, already given up on trying to suppress whatever was going to come out, “gonna cum for us again, huh? Such a good girl, taking us both at the same time.” 

Chan couldn’t lie either, but he was close a long time ago, probably the second you decided that you wanted to ride him. Felix happened to be on the same page. He couldn’t get over this entire situation, finding it so fucking hot that even just a dream of it would be a blessing. 

Words start to slip away from your brain once more. Aside from your orgasm swimming towards an astronomical high, you try to cling to that amazing feeling before it eventually disappears. But all good things come to an end. Your nails dig into Chan’s thighs while Felix has one arm barred just under your chest as the other hand doesn’t let up on your nipple. It throws your pace off balance and staggers your breathing when you start reaching that very pinnacle of euphoria. 

“Yes! Fuck, I’m cumming!” You scream out. 

Your thighs clamp around the frame of Chan’s lower half, shaking and shivering in place as the pleasure reaches its apex. Felix didn’t let up on his pace, fucking you all through your orgasm as Chan replaces your motions by fucking upwards and into you. Both of your holes spasm and contract around their dicks, enough to actually make them cum by the time you’ve reached the height of your orgasm. 

“I’m gonna cum, holy fuck, s’too good,” Felix’s head rests on your back, watching his cock disappear in and out of you before he starts to bust inside of the condom. His fingernails brutally dig into your hips when he cums. 

Your moans easily fill up the room once more now that you have no choice but to succumb to the euphoria when your orgasm hits its hardest. Chan’s head tips back further into the pillow, eyes screwed tight shut as he’s hit with a tsunami of pleasure. 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck!” he exclaims loudly, his chest heaving up and down as he spills inside of you. He’s lucky that he did because as the pleasure reached a point where it was too much for you to bear, you slowly lean forward towards Chan, their cocks sliding out of you in the process. 

On each exhale your body shudders, like the surges of aftershocks while the pleasure slowly plateaus. From this angle, Felix can still see you contracting, watching Chan’s cum leak from your pussy. If he wasn’t so fucked out, he would’ve had the energy to eat you out again. 

In saying that, he is the first to recover and come to his senses a bit faster than either you or Chan. He takes the condom off, ties it, and discards it in the rubbish bin in the corner of the room before putting his boxers back on. Meanwhile, you’re still panting trying to catch your breath, resting on top of Chan’s body, you feel his hand run soothingly up and down your spine. 

“Such a good girl for us,” he says caringly. “Felt so good.”

Felix sits beside you both at the top of the bed. He cards a gentle hand through your hair, observing your distant expression, “you there baby?” 

You blink up at him and nod, your brain still trying to process that sort of orgasm. 

“When you’re ready, we’ll get you cleaned up yeah?” He smiles softly down at you. 

As the minutes ticked by, Felix lent you a helping hand to stand up when you were ready. Even though you were wobbly on your feet, he still guided you to the bathroom and ran a nice hot shower. Both Felix and Chan joined you in a bid to make sure you knew that they were there, dousing you with as much praise as an individual could get – and they meant every word. 

When you were ready to hop out, Chan fetched you one of his warm jerseys and placed it straight over your body before telling you to hop in his bed while he went to gather up the towels and clothes from the bathroom. Just as he was picking up the last items, Felix caught him right as he was about to walk out. 

“She okay?” Chan asks him. 

Felix nods reassuringly, “out like a light.”

“Alright then,” he sighs contently. “She’ll probably be asleep for the rest of the day.”

“Mm,” he hums, staring at a space just to the side of Chan who picks up on the subtle behaviour. 

“Is there something wrong?” Chan asks as a slight concern balloons in his chest. 

“When are you going to tell her?” Felix asks. 

Chan stares at him, trying to figure out what he means, “tell her what?” 

He rolls his eyes and chuckles, “that you like her, idiot. That we like her.” 

That had been a distant thought for Chan for some time. The possibility of that ever working out between the three of you seemed like a long shot. You only all slept together. There was no depth to it other than that even though deep down, Chan would’ve liked it to be for the sole purpose that he likes you. But it’s not just him.

It’s also the one standing at the doorframe, staring right back at Chan; Felix. 

[the-kr8tor]

Nobody's Soldier

Pairing: Minotaur! Hobie Brown x fem! Reader

Word count: 10.4k

Synopsis: Tossed in the Labyrinth, you have no choice but to survive.

Tags: No use of Y/N, no specific physical description of the reader (except for clothing), Minotaur AU, Greek Mythology AU, TW blood and injury, CW violence, CW death, CW food mentions, angst.

Special thanks to @sluggyboiyo for the idea! And also @hyperfix-wip ❤️

Navigation

You can still taste your own blood in your tongue. The dark encapsulates around you, cold walls digging into your skin and through your ripped clothes. There's nothing you can hear beyond the four walls, just your heaving breath and your own beating heart. It's been a minute since they dragged you inside and dropped you off into a small pit, where you're now standing. At first you thought they kindly granted you mercy, that your crime of stealing a loaf of bread is small enough to warrant a slap on the wrist. If a slap on the wrist entitles you to be dragged behind a chariot in the plaza while people either look at you with pity or with disdain as they throw rotten fish and meat at you. Dying in a cold cell, laying there forgotten as you wait for trial sounds better than what they've given you— death by Minotaur.

You've heard of the stories, sharp horns, a bull’s head charging at you at full speed, and angry red eyes that strike fear in the hearts of mankind. Out of all the stories, you've only heard one that didn't make you cower in fear, a story of a child thrown in the middle of a maze, a child whose only crime was to be born to the wrong woman. Still, none of the stories were good, nor kind.

Suddenly, a slither of light peeks from above, and the opening where they threw you in slides open. It's your final chance to plead innocent.

“Please! It was just a loaf of bread! I was starving, you have to understand!” Your voice bounces off the cold walls as you squint at the looming figure. “I won't do it again. Just let me go, please.” Your tone is small, tiny as you hear your own broken words.

Not even a nod or a grunt heads your way, but they drop something long towards you, and you instinctively dodge it. It lets out a metallic clatter that makes your ears ring. With a tentative hand, you pick it up. The dagger is nothing special, just a plain blade with a leather wrapped hilt.

“What— what is this?”

“To fight with, you filthy harpy.” They say through clenched teeth before sliding the trap door closed and you're met with darkness once again.

Fight, you've done nothing but fight all your life. Will you die fighting here without feeling the wind against your face ever again? The most cruel thing is that you'll never feel the sun's warmth on your wings. Or your sisters’ embrace.

They clipped your wings a long time ago. Not a single feather left on your back, just sharp bone protruding from your flesh. You are nothing, a bird without its wings to fly away with. You'd give anything to fly again, to reach for the clouds with your sisters once again. But you were too slow, captured, cut, degraded and left to starve. Nothing, just like the same people who threw you in here like a piece of rotten meat.

You hold back your tears as you grip the blade tight in your hands. Trying to recall the stories, you remember how they told you that the labyrinth is confusing with its twists and turns. You never really paid attention to the story of how it was built or who even built the monstrosity. But you know who asked for it, and you know what or who lies in the middle of the dreaded place.

The wall behind you creaks and slides to the side, dust and debris fall on your head as you wave it away from your nose. As your eyes adjust to the bit of light, you also hear the sounds of coughing and sneezing beyond the twenty foot walls surrounding the labyrinth.

“Hello?!” You yell, exiting the small confines to walk towards the nearest wall where shadows dance along the edges of the stone barrier. “Is anyone else here?”

“Shut up! You'll wake it up!” A gruff voice says on your left.

“Do you know how to get out of here?” You immediately walk towards the sound. “Please, we can all stick together and help each other—”

“I said shut up!”

“No offense, girly,” another says to your right, “it’s every man for himself in here.”

“What if we could—” you start.

“Shut it!”

That has you grimacing. Fine, if they don't want your help, then you'll have your own back. You can't trust humans, not again, not after last time.

A roar echoes from within the labyrinth, and the flickering torches on the walls dance in the light breeze as if his breath reaches for you. Then you realize, if there's wind, there's an opening and a way out. The walls are tall and imposing, stretching far and wide, expansive as far as your eyes could see. There's rushing footsteps around you, and before you bolt away, you mark the wall on your right with the dagger, drawing a simple x.

As you run away from the guttural roar, you follow the wall on your right, keeping it in your line of sight in hopes that the simple trick you learnt from playing in bush hedges with your sisters would help. This time it's not a flowery bush or your sisters waiting for you at the end. Just miles upon miles of walls and a minotaur chasing you.

Your wobbly legs carry you to nowhere, right palm running along the smooth frozen wall. As you get further and further into the labyrinth, the stench of blood and rotten guts gets heavier in your nose. You're not looking at your feet while you run for dear life, and your toe gets caught by something and you clatter to the ground with a harsh thud.

Chin and chest hurting from the fall, you look back to see a bleach white skeleton that's broken into pieces. No doubt that you disturbed its last resting place. You don't have a single drachma on you, but even if you had some, it'll be too late for the poor soul to pay to cross the river styx. You've abandoned the gods and their will a long time ago, but you still believe that there's something waiting for you in the underworld— whether good or bad, you could only hope that it's good.

Saying a muffled apology to the dead, you stand back up, marking the wall to your right with another x and then continue your sprint.

They said that the labyrinth has to have an end, that there's an exit somewhere in the dreaded place. There's still a chance for you as the screams around you get louder and louder as your feet pitter patter on the cold floors.

The cold is replaced by warmth, wet and slippery as you hold onto the wall beside you to keep balance. Your eyes drift down to the substance, expecting water, but as you stare at the flowing crimson, blood stains your sandals, soaking through the slender rope.

Your hand immediately flies to your mouth, tamping down your screams as you look towards the source of the flowing river of blood.

There, in the dim and flickering light of the torches, is a man floating, body held up by lithe hands, nails digging into flesh. The corpse's feet still twitch while his lifeless eyes bores into your own. The minotaur stands above, half bull, half man. You can't see his face as he eats through the man's chest cavity, or that's what you think he's doing, but you can see his hooves and threadbare clothing that blows in the wind.

The sound of tearing flesh and guts falling down on the ground prompts you to run away, but you use your head. If you run away now, the sounds of your bounding feet would have the Minotaur's attention towards you and come for you next. So with careful steps, you grip the dagger tightly, clutching it against your chest as you ease yourself around the corner and towards another hallway. Your eyes don't stray too far from the minotaur, you don't breathe even when you see a glimpse of his side profile. He has hair that reminds you of a willow tree, long and dark as it's piled on his head. The horns on the side of his head are curved, darkened and ridged. When the light hits it, it shines, almost like there's silver weaved around it. It's hauntingly beautiful in its own macabre way. His eyes are closed, mouth dripping with ichor. Claws sharp and digging into the corpse, you use the opportunity to make a break for it.

Once you're far away from the blood, you take a breather and mark the wall next to you in quick succession before looking and checking behind you. To your surprise, you don't see the looming minotaur. So you keep running, making sure that there's enough space between him and you. You're still following the right wall, with hope in your chest, because that's all you have— you keep running.

A stitch forms on your side, knees aching and ankles screaming for you to stop. You're parched and starving, skin turning clammy as your sweat drenches your clothes. Turning a corner, you collide with someone. Fearing the worst, you hold up your dagger towards the figure.

“Fucker.” The person gasps, mirroring your form as you're both laying on the floor. “What do we have here?” He smiles, showing his bloodied teeth.

You don't take a chance on this man as you get back up to your feet and run. With your luck, he manages to grab you by your heel and brings you back down on the ground with a sickening thud.

Thrashing and kicking, head spinning, you feel him grab your legs together. His dagger shines in the torches as he raises it up— aiming for your heart.

You shield yourself with your arms, but the knife doesn't pierce your skin. Your breath sticks to your throat. Looking through your arms, the man is nowhere to be seen but his shadow looms over you, darkening the room.

Right above you, he gasps out a breath, legs kicking about, body rising up to meet with the Minotaur's eyes. Amber, the half man half bull's eyes are liquid gold, a sea of golden light that could bring king Midas down to his knees.

With a crunch of bones, the Minotaur cracks the man's neck in one squeeze. He tosses the limp body to the side, it thuds sickenly against the labyrinth walls. You're frozen on the spot, mouth agape as you lay on the floor, waiting for the fates to cut your string.

He gazes down at you with his golden eyes, a crown of light illuminates his form, drenching him in fiery light. The horns shine, sparkling like stars in the darkest sky as it both protrudes from the side of his head, curved inwards, like tree branches while vines grow along its sides, leaves cascading around him like a veil of undergrowth. His fists unclench and clenches beside him and he huffs above you, puffs of air escaping from his nose.

You lay there, still as a rock, breath stuck in your throat and a bead of sweat dripping down your temple. The knife sits just a few ways next to you, and yet you don't reach for it or even look at it as the torches flicker and shine on his face. Handsome, that was your first thought when the light hit his cheek. Chiselled jaw— carved by the gods. A human nose in place of a snout like people have gossiped about, lips that remind you of a lost love. And eyes that are as warm as the sun itself. He's human half peeks through, in the slumped shoulders that bear the world, and a stomach that has felt hunger. Grief and sorrow woven to his very bones. Then there's his hooves, where feet would reside, hooves thump against the ground, as if he's about to charge at you.

There's no sound in the whole labyrinth, no birds chirping outside nor the hustle and bustle of the marketplace that you're used to. Nothing but a slight buzz in your ears and your own heart beating rapidly.

He just stands there, bathed in light and blood, hands still dripping with ichor and mouth stained with red.

For a moment, the two of you just gaze at each other, waiting for the other to move but you're frozen in time and he's an unmovable mountain.

His eyes flick behind you, and yet you still don't move. As you blink, he's walking back to where he came from.

When his shadow fades away, and with his departure the scent of dried blood goes with him.

You can finally let out a breath as the back of your head hits the floor. Laying on the cold ground, you even out your breathing, watching the ceiling as you count each second that passes.

A minute goes by, and you sit up, running your palms along your legs to wake it up. Your eyes glance over to the body that the minotaur tossed over his shoulder, its neck is bent at an angle and his eyes lack light as he lays motionless.

With wobbly legs, you head towards the body and search it for anything useful. You only found a single pomegranate in his pocket, it's a miracle that it wasn't smashed from the impact. The fruit is soft, an indication that it's going bad. You might need to eat it sooner rather than later. Before you stand up, you grab both daggers and head towards the different direction from the minotaur.

As you walk and conserve your energy, you still follow the right wall and leave notches every twenty steps. It gives you time to think, to think why the minotaur with his sharp claws and strong hands that could snap your neck didn't kill you. Did it not find you worthy of his hands? Did he pity you? Is he even capable of thinking when all he ever knew were the walls of the labyrinth and the chaos and violence within its winding walls? Your questions might be left unanswered as you trudge your way towards the so-called exit. The place isn't alive nor infinite, there has to be an end or a place where you can squeeze yourself out of and into freedom.

Your throat is dry, lips cracking and eyes drooping when your thirst and hunger grows unbearable. It's been hours since your last encounter with a breathing being. Or maybe it has been days, the winding halls and similar walls has your mind swirling, as if you're under water, drowing. The deeper you go further inside the labyrinth, the more dense it becomes. The air sits heavy, and the walls are moist with vines running along its smooth side. Bones and tunics lay scattered on the ground, death itself has been here, and it hasn't left since then.

Swallowing down thickly, your vision starts to betray you when you see a glimpse of wings rounding the corner. Breath stuck in your throat, and in your delirium, you run after it.

“Wait! Stay with me!” The sounds of slapping footsteps echo around you, ringing in your ears as your mind wanders back to the memory of playing tag with your sisters. “Please!” Hands outstretched, fingers brushing along the feathers, you hit something rough head on as you collapse on the ground.

With a groan, you lift your head up, eyesight returning normally as you see a large twisting tree trunk that's curled around the wall, hugging it and slowly crushing the stone under the tree’s strength.

Blinking, you think that you're seeing things again when you realize the kind of tree it is. You remember it during your journeys, and you're sure it's the very same one and not just some cruel joke. A grin slowly appears on your dry cracked lips, and with a silent prayer to whoever’s guarding the tree, you plunge the knife into the trunk.

Removing the blade and yanking it away, water immediately flows out of the wall. Without wasting a moment, you put your mouth under the makeshift spout and drink your fill. The cold water hits your throat and you feel like you're alive again. It grants you reprieve from your thirst, chugging it all down greedily.

Cupping your hands together, you collect water in your palms and use it to clean the grime off your face. The water's refreshing against your warm and clammy skin. The flow doesn't seem to end as you clean in between your nails and your neck. In your bliss, you don't notice the form looming behind you.

Noticing the sudden darkness, the large shadow dances in the flickering torches. Slowly, fear etched in your bones, you look behind you.

The Minotaur has found you again.

He huffs, knuckles cracking as he balls his hands into fists. Blood and gore still mar his chest, dried and caked all over his skin. His eyes briefly glance over to the water before returning to your shivering form.

You look back at the flowing water, and you once again gather it on your palms. Gently turning back to the Minotaur, you offer the water up wordlessly, like an offer to the gods to spare you from death.

His amber eyes glow, softening as he looks down at the offering. Kindness, it must be rare here as he slowly kneels down, leveling with you. Hand trembling as they hover around your own, as if he's afraid of touching your flesh. You're frozen as you watch the Minotaur, inch by inch, he leans towards your hands. The light illuminates his face as his lips kiss the pads of your fingers— eyes never leaving yours as he drinks from your hands.

You can't believe your own eyes, you've brought down the minotaur down to his knees. All without violence, just kindness. Your eyes briefly glance over to the fallen blade right next to you, and yet you don't reach for it as he finishes his drink.

“Better?” You ask in a crackly tone. Clearing your throat, you take him in. His eyes could rival the goddess of beauty herself, and the softness around them could not be compared to any other. “Do you want more?”

With a deep inhale, he answers. “Yes.” His voice rattles the labyrinth, and your chest fills with pride that you got a word out of the feared minotaur.

A smile curls in the corner of your lips. “I'll get more then.”

You help him drink and after that you rip a fabric from your tunic and drench it in the clean water. Squeezing it, you hand it over to him. He's still kneeled down in front of you, eyes magnetized to your face, watching your every move with curiosity.

“To clean up.” You explain, handing the cloth to him.

He stares at it heavily before grasping it in his hand, careful of his own strength, and careful not to touch your skin. While he wipes the blood away, you take the pomegranate from your pocket and easily crack it open with your fingernail. The seeds are still plump, and you hear him swallow at the sight. Adam's apple bobbing up and down, sweat dripping from his brows.

“It's a pomegranate.” You explain kindly, breath hitching in your throat whenever he flicks his amber eyes on your own. “Do you want some?”

Huffing, the labyrinth rumbles again. “Is it safe?”

His words struck you, is it? The fruit looks alright, slightly more ripe as the skin squishes against your fingers. Then you realize why he asked you, and it's not because he's worried that it's poisonous or rotten— he has never seen anything like it. It's not just the unusual look of the pomegranate that he's afraid of, it's the fruit itself. He has never had it, or probably any fruit for that matter. It's beyond cruel, to be deprived of something saccharine and mundane.

To prove that it's safe, you pluck a single red seed and pop it in your mouth. It bursts into juice on your tongue, a sweet and tangy taste spreading inside. He tilts his head at you, still crouched down, clean hands hovering around your own and horns glimmering as shadows dance along his handsome yet imposing face. Behind the scruff and scars, there's a boyish curiosity behind his eyes. Curious about the outside world, curious about you, who doesn't balk nor try to strike him while he's vulnerable. No, you understand him, and somewhere deep within his scarred chest, his heart understands you too.

After a moment, you smile at him and offer him the fruit. “It's good, sweet. And it's safe.”

“It's safe?” He utters the word like he couldn't believe it himself, that he has been granted safety for the first time.

“Yes,” you nod, patient with him. This is the beast they fear— the one the king fears. Body slouched in front of you, amber eyes soft as he gazes at you. And hands gently cradling the red fruit in his hands while you pass it to him. Like a babe that he's putting to sleep, or a droplet of the purest nectar in his palms. “You're safe.”

Just as you say it, he lifts his head up, and his eyes tear up, glimmering under the firelight. “Safe.” He whispers, brows furrowed, lips wobbling as he gingerly takes a single seed, copying you and popping it in his mouth. His eyes close at the taste, as if he has tasted ambrosia on his lips.

“You can have all of it if you want.”

With your approval, he eats it fervently. Red juice instead of blood drips down from his forearms, and you can't help but smile as he gorges on the fruit. If only you had more, you'd give it to him even when your own stomach is grumbling. There's a sense of kinship between the two of you, a couple of beasts that were shunned from humanity, clipped, stabbed and left to be forgotten in a dark and damp place. You don't say it outloud, but you know that he feels it too. You may not look like a harpy anymore— or like your sisters, but he senses it, through the bruises on your flesh, the darkness under your eyes and the scars hidden under the tunic— you've experienced the same sorrows, the same hurt. Just as he had, still does, inside his stone cage.

As he eats his fill, you lay your back against the twisted tree, eyes half lidded as you watch him gently smile while lapping at the juices in his cupped palms. You yawn, the fatigue and adrenaline fading out of your veins like steam.

The Minotaur looks at you, the same amber eyes that seem to have gotten brighter since he ate the fruit— softens at the sight.

“Come with me?” He asks, not a command, but a request.

“My sisters once told me not to leave with someone that hasn't given me their name yet.” You stare at him as he rises to his feet, looming over you but not as intimidating as before. He inhales deeply, contemplating inside his mind. Your expression flickers to sorrow when a thought passes by— he may not have a name. “Do you have a name?”

“H—” with a clear of his throat, he stretches his fists and releases his bundle of nerves. “Hobie. My name's Hobie.” They've given him that much, nothing more, nothing less.

And in return, you give him yours with a small smile aimed at him. He tastes it in his tongue, just like how he did with the tart pomegranate. This could be the very first time he has heard of someone else's name, or the first time that someone has willingly exchanged names with him. Once again his amber eyes glow in the dark.

“Where do you want me to go then, Hobie?” You lift back up on your shaky legs, back sliding up on the rough tree trunk as you pocket the knife. His breath gets stuck in his throat from the first time someone uttered his name without malice.

There's surprise flickering in his stance but he doesn't let it show or linger. “Home.”

—

You've come to a realization as to why no one has escaped the labyrinth. The rumbling and the trembling sounds were the labyrinth itself. It moves, and it's alive. Breathing, expanding, its voice echoing out in bouts of air and loud thumping of mechanical cogs hidden behind the thick stone. The walls move on their own like clockwork while Hobie guides you to his ‘home.’ He whispered it with slight fear in his tone, an act of defiance against his maker, and the inventor of the labyrinth when he has made his prison— his cage into a home worth living in.

He doesn't look back towards you to check if you're still following him or not, the sound of your footsteps were enough indication that you are. His hulking form towers over you, but his shoulders are slouched, fatigued and filled with hidden sorrows stitched in every scar and muscle in his body.

Whilst you follow, the dagger is still in your pocket, but not a single intention of using it on him. You're afraid of getting lost in the swirling walls of the maze, so every so often, you take out your dagger and etch the same mark on the wall. You follow him closely, not too close to startle him or have him lunge at you from his suspicions, but far enough to give him space.

The smell of death and moisture fades away from your nose the further you walk behind him. More and more of the trees blend in with the walls, allowing fresher air the deeper you get inside the labyrinth. Your footsteps echo around you, and your ears pick up the faint sound of waves.

Hobie pauses, the muscles on his shoulder flexing as his neck cranes to look behind you. His golden eyes flicker, as if he was surprised that you were still behind him, as if the sound of your footsteps were just an echo of the past— a cruel joke played just for him.

“Home.” He grunts out, and enters an arched doorway that looks worse for wear.

With careful steps, you enter his abode. Your eyes immediately notice the child-like drawings on the walls— drawn by charcoal, and small hands. There's a scene on your right where a little minotaur holds a woman's hands, her crown glowing with small lines around the jeweled crown. While the little minotaur grins, and his horns are barely peeking through his curls. Beside it is a child's drawing of a bull, smiling, and its horns are the same ones he has, curled inward like a heart.

There are etches of hands around the walls, some are in different sizes, mostly small, a child recording his own growth. On your left are more drawings, a chicken running around with its chicks right under a black and white rainbow. And a fox curled around itself, snoozing away next to a lady bug. They all seem to inhabit the labyrinth, or outside of it as the drawing of a sun is painted above it and the fields of grass sway in the imaginary breeze. A palace looms over them, its spires tall and imposing, but within the windows are people, all smiling happily towards you. And right on top of it is a baby minotaur with a toy sword and shield, grinning down at the drawn animals.

You don't realize that you're in tears.

As you roam around the space, the walls are cracked with jagged lines striking the stone. There are holes in various places, all shaped like fists— his fists. Tears flow out as you choke on a sob. More and more children's drawings appear around you the longer you stay. A river with flying fish, fishermen grinning beside their sons. Birds flying high with their flock, and flowers, hundreds of them as they dot around the walls. Hyacinths, roses, daisies as far as you can see. There's a painted market on the far wall, depicting what a typical day would look like in a busy place. The different faces of people shopping around the drawn market are all different, different builds, different clothes. There are stalls of vegetables, meat and fruits all lined around as he kneels before it and takes a charcoal stick, painting the very pomegranate you two shared.

“Y–Your home is beautiful.” You could barely make it out when you spot a makeshift bed made out of sparse hay and a single faded blue blanket spread across it— it's a baby blanket, still bearing the marks of birth on its cloth. Stained by afterbirth and a mother's sorrow.

Hobie hums in reply as he finishes the drawing. You can tell which ones he has drawn more recently by the shading.

In the far wall, there's a large hole, larger than a fist but smaller than a person's head. Sunlight and sea breeze filters through the hole as the sound of waves lap over stone takes your attention. You slowly walk over it, tears still clinging to your lashes. Peeking inside, you take a deep breath of the salty air, letting the warmth of the sun bathe your skin.

Hobie tugs the hem of your tunic, and he looks up at you through big amber eyes. “Sleep.” Gesturing towards the bed made of hay, he tugs once again.

“Can I?” You kneel in front of him, taking his hand before he flinches away from your touch. His calloused palm brushes along your own, feeling all the scars left on the rough skin, and he immediately looks away from your gaze as if he's not worthy of your touch. “You're not going to hurt me, right, Hobie?”

He meets with your eyes with a frown, noticing the tears brimming in them. His brows furrowed like he's unsure himself. Looking down, he stares at the back of your hands, scarred like his own.

“You're not going to hurt me. I know you won't.” You nod, tone soft as you duck to meet with his downturned eyes. “You'll protect me while I sleep, yes?”

Inhaling, he lets your scent waft over him. “Yes. Rest.”

With a nod, you move to pat his hand but retract your hand away before standing up and walking over to the thin bed. As you lay your head on the hay, the baby blanket barely covering the pointed straws, you wonder if he has been alone this whole time. A baby laying in the exact same place you are, wailing and crying for his mother.

A minotaur born out of punishment, survived despite the odds, lived when nobody wanted him to live. The drawings on the walls has you hugging yourself, curled over the bed, mind painting a scene of a lone child in the room with nothing but himself as company— with nothing but the empty labyrinth as his home.

—

Your eyes open to darkness, save for the perpetual light of the single torch on the far wall, you could barely make out Hobie's hunched form in the corner of the room. His legs are tucked, face hidden on top of his knees while his arms embrace his body, the only warmth he has from the cold harsh stone around him. He looks small in your vision, no longer the terrifying minotaur of the labyrinth. Just a man seeking comfort, just a man trying to live.

Lifting up your head, elbows helping you sit up, you ignore the fatigue in your body as you call his name in the dark. “Hobie, do you want to join me?”

At first you thought he would be asleep based on the silence, but his hoof twitches, pinky closing around itself. So you try again, patting your side as the sound of hay rustles underneath you. “I'll help keep you warm, just as you keep me safe here.”

Hobie finally looks up, peeking over his arms, and his deep inhale rumbles the labyrinth. “Why?”

“Why not?” You say with no ounce of ire nor hatred for him. “It's the same reason why you let me sleep on your bed. And it's the same reason why you kept me alive this long.”

“What would be the reason then?” He asks, tone determined. “Kindness? There's no such thing ‘ere.”

“Me being here proves that there is.”

Hobie abruptly stands up, back straight, eyes staring at you with uncertain emotion swirling inside. For a moment you thought that he'd strike you down right there and then, until he sits down beside your head, legs stretched in front of him and fists unfurling.

Gazing at him, the veil of vines around him makes him look ethereal in the moonlight. His eyes flick towards you before shutting his eyes, breathing in and out.

You don't say anything as you lay back down, the crown of your head brushes his leg, and he doesn't flinch away this time.

—

You wake up to the sound of tearing flesh. Instead of the dark greeting you, sunlight peeks through the cracks in the wall. The window shines a light towards a crouched Hobie. His lean back is turned away from you, scarred skin stretched upon sinewy bones, raised flesh littered all over it, canyons and peaks of skin— both fresh and old.

“Hobie?” You call for him groggily as you rise up by your elbows. “What is that?” Fear encapsulates you for what the source of the flesh is.

He finches at the sound of your voice, so used to the dead silence, used to being alone. “Chicken.”

Relief washes over you. Your stomach rumbles at the thought of eating something fresh. “Can I have some?”

Hobie looks over his shoulder, wiping the blood on his mouth. “I forgot.” I forgot about you for a minute. I forgot that I'm not alone anymore.

“It's alright.” You smile and as he turns around, you flinch at the sight. He has plucked the feathers off, but it's clearly uncooked as blood spills over his hands. Instead of running away or telling him off, you wonder if he doesn't know that he can cook it. No one taught him how. “Can I teach you something?”

“Teach me what?” There's apprehension in his voice, but there's also curiosity laced in it.

“To cook it. It'll taste…” your eyes flick at the meat in his hands. “...better, and it'll be safer to eat.”

His ear twitches, amber eyes blinking as he tilts his head. “This isn't safe?”

“No, eating raw meat isn't safe.”

Hobie scrunches his nose at the bits in his hands. “Make it safe then.”

You can't believe that he's even listening to you in the first place. Maybe he just longs for someone, a companion in the lonely labyrinth, just someone to show him how to live, not just to survive. “Thank you. Can you gather some dry wood and dry leaves? I'd do it but I might get lost.”

With a grunt, he leaves the chicken in front of you, its beady eyes staring at you blankly.

—

Hobie returns with bundles of wood and dry leaves. You have no idea how he even managed to chop the wood but from the splinters in his hands, you have an idea how.

Grinning at him, you show him your appreciation. “That's plenty, Hobie, thank you.” You swear you saw him smile through the bundle of wood. “Maybe after I can tend to your hands?”

“My hands?” He drops it to the ground, kneeling down to make the pile neater by stacking them up by size.

“Yes, you've got splinters, they look like it hurts.”

Flipping his hands, he stares at his palms where splintered wood peeks through the calloused hands. “‘m fine.” He then purses his lips together and glances briefly at you before continuing to stack the wood. “Maybe later.”

It's a victory itself. “Good, I'll be careful with it.” Nodding, you grab a pile of wood in front of you and some dry leaves to lessen the smoke. Then you stop for a second, the broken down rocks in the corner catch your eyes and you stand up to fetch them, coming back to the campfire to place it all around the tinder. Hobie watches your every move. “Shit, I need something to light it with. Do you have a flint and stone perhaps?” You ask him and his ear twitches in reply. “I joke.” You nervously chuckle.

He shows you his palm, calluses and more scars right on his skin. You furrow your brows as he stands up and picks up a piece of wood from the pile. Walking towards the torch on the wall, he points at it. “We've got fire right ‘ere.”

A smile spreads across your cheeks. “I'm an idiot, yes, please go ahead.”

Hobie places the branch right on the torch, lighting it on fire within a second. The flames illuminate his face, brows knitted in concentration, tongue peeking out in between his lips. You let him carry the fire towards the makeshift hearth you made and it slowly spreads from wood to tinder. Lighting the whole room up, and warming your bones.

Smiling, you gaze at Hobie through the orange embers and see him stare at it with wonderment. Eyes glimmering, fingers flexing as if he intends to touch the embers.

“Now, I will cook the meat.” You prepared the chicken in advance, cleaned it with the water provided by the trees, and cut it with your knife. It wasn't easy when the only cutlery you have is a blunt knife that could barely cut through skin. “We have to cook it through or you'll get sick.” You say while you skewer the meat in the dagger and place it above the fire, careful not to singe your skin.

“I've been fine without it.” He utters, eyes skimming around the meat you're twisting around.

“Your stomach is coated in bronze then.” The smile you have on wavers. “You've probably gotten used to it.” Your eyes glance sadly at him. It's barbaric, what they've done to him. They managed to belittle him and turn him into this, some sort of savage for their own pleasure. The king must pay for this.

His chin lays atop his knee, eyes remaining on your hands.

After a minute of silence amidst the crackling of fire, you speak. “Where'd you get the chicken, Hobie?”

“The same place where you came from.” Looking up, he points at the ceiling and you know what he meant. “Once every day, nothin’ else.”

“They make you catch it?” You ask through gritted teeth. Angry for what they've done to him, what they've made him to be. In another life, he could've been frolicking in the same place you have, even became friends.

Gazing at you softly, the corner of his lips curve up, chest inhaling deeply. “Yes, why are you angry for me?”

“Because!” You clear your throat, reeling it all in. “Because you don't deserve to be treated like this. No one deserves to be treated like this.”

“Like what?” Hobie sits up, looking at you as he raises his chin. “Like a beast?”

“Yes—”

“I am.”

“No, you're not.” His face falls at your words. “If you are then so am I.” You eye him through the flames, hand tightened around the dagger. “You're being treated like one but that doesn't mean that you are one.” Handing him the now cooked meat, you nod at him. “Take it, please.”

His hand brushes against your own for a moment as he takes the dagger. Sniffing at it, he glances at you apprehensively. Swallowing, he finally takes a bite. He chews, then takes another, and another as he groans appreciatively at the taste.

Once again you smile at him, “it would taste better if I had some salt and pepper with it. Or maybe some herbs to stuff it inside the meat.”

“Stuff it?” He asks, wiping his mouth with his sleeve. After taking another bite, he gives you the rest and you thank him.

“Yes.” You excitedly say as you tell him all the wonderful food you have come across during your journeys. Both savoury and sweet, with honey and with paprika. It intrigues him as you go on and on about bread and hearty stew, and the two of you find yourselves sitting around the fire until night-time as your hands gently comb over his palms.

“You've done this before?” He asks, eyes glancing at how careful you are with his splinters.

“I have, my sisters, they're a rowdy bunch. Always falling into rose bushes or crashing into log piles.” Your smile shines and he can't help but smile back.

“D’you miss them?” His tone is low, still curious but careful to not hurt you with his words.

“A lot.” You blink, washing his hands with clean water from a dented copper cup. “You would've loved them.”

Hobie shakes his head with a soft smile. “If they're anythin’ like you, then I might.”

You hide the giggle crawling from your throat. “I didn't know you were such a charmer.”

“Jus’ sayin' what I have in my head.”

Finishing his hands that are free of splinters, you gently run your thumbs over the calloused skin, staring at him with the same tenderness he gives you. Your hands run cold against his own, a reprieve to the fire raging inside him.

“They would love you.”

“Like you have?” His golden eyes shine, a boyish wonderment weaves through the molten gold.

You inhale, squeezing his hands in your own, feeling the flames in your closed palms. “Perhaps.”

While you gently clean his hands with the very cup you two drink out of, with the same flowing water that sustains you, he barely felt the sting at all, but your words— your words have given him something, hope, and excitement. And as the two of you fall asleep in the same position as yesterday, with your head on his lap this time, he finds himself dreaming of the outside world like he had once when he was just a boy who yearned for his mother.

—

It's been three days since you were dragged to the labyrinth as punishment. As far as punishment goes, it's been calm inside the space Hobie built. The seagulls squawk outside the window, you lay your head on his threadbare pillow, and now he has learned how to cook for himself. He's a fast learner, and he has kept his promise to protect you. Every morning he brings a bucket filled with clean water straight from the trees, and the smell of cooked meat fills your nose. At first it was burnt, but in time he learned how to make it, in his own word— ‘safer’ for you.

On day ten you've fallen in step with him, everytime the same thud of the labyrinth echoes through it, he pats your head and heads off towards it— to hunt. You've tried to stop him before, but he just looks at how you hold his hands gingerly, expression apologetic and goes towards the yelling. It'll take some time, more than cooked food, or clean water and your hands could manage to change him. It's ingrained in his mind, in his muscle and bones— all that violence and blood drilled into him since he was a little boy. While he hunts, you stay inside the middle of the labyrinth, in his home to keep away from the yelling or you might get caught in the crossfire.

After all the screaming and bloodshed has come and gone, you help him clean it off his skin gently, like an acolyte wiping at her god's marble statue. Careful, and yet filled with fondness as you kneel before him with a clean cloth. He watches on, hands on his sides, chest still heaving from the adrenaline. And yet his eyes are soft and golden as he gazes down at you with the same fondness.

One day you wake up to him whispering, “for the pretty bird.” Whilst he makes another bed beside the one you're on. It's covered in an abundance of leaves and various put together cloth from tunics. You decide right there and then that you'll escape the place together with him. Even if it means your death, he deserves freedom, to feel the waves lapping against his legs, to hear the birds singing, to smell the flowers and to see the world outside of the walls of the labyrinth.

He notices your eyes on him, and he pats your head again, telling you to go back to sleep. He lays down beside you, blue cloth wrapped around his arm as his body shields you from the cold. Then you eat the meat again, and he hunts, and you clean him up. Everyday it's the same, everyday you become more comfortable with him, endeared with his reactions as you tell him tales of the outside world. And everyday, the smile on his face lasts longer, the creases in between his brows lessen, and his fists unfurled as he runs it across your temple every night.

He comes home with a bag slung over his shoulder, hooves quiet as he makes his way towards you. Your back is turned away from him as you hum and draw an island from memory.

The sudden jolt of warmth on your back makes you jump away, panting with fear as you meet with his eyes.

“Hobie.” You breathlessly say, hand tightened around the charcoal. “I didn't hear you.”

The Minotaur crouches down, bag falling on the ground as his jaw tightens. “What’s on your back?”

Your breath gets stuck in your throat. “Wings.”

His amber eyes swirl like a sandstorm threatening to pull you in. “Did they take it from you?” With a hand, he breaches through the trepidation and holds your cheek.

“Y–Yes.”

For the first time, he opens his arms for you, and you immediately embrace him. His hands hover briefly across your back before letting them fall, palm spread, careful of the raw skin where your wings were.

He tells you about a golden winged man that passed by his window years ago. How he watched on with glee as the golden wings spread across the sky and above the blue sea. How Hobie's face fell when he saw the man fall from the very sky he was just touching, wings melted off as he plunged into the bitter blue. He could still hear his screams, pained, longing, fear— he has felt them before. And as he watches the waves, air stuck in his throat, his hope for freedom is dashed away. If that man cannot leave, with wings and all, then how could he?

“Icarus.” You whisper to him, face hidden on his neck, as the vines flowing around his horns hide you from the rest of the labyrinth. “That was his name. You saw Icarus, Hobie.” Leaning away, your hand cups his cheek, stubble brushing along your palm as he gazes down at you.

“Did he get to live?” He holds you against him, careful of his own strength as his arms wrap around you like a blanket on a cold morning.

“I don't—” you decide to spare him the details. “I don't know.”

“Does everyone outside have wings like yours?” His fists are closed, a quiet anger raging inside him as his knuckles run along your spine.

You shake your head. “No, just a few of us now.”

Hobie exhales, a puff of smoke billowing out while he stares at the wall, right on the drawing you've made of him. He's smiling in it, eyes full of life and hands free from crimson. Is this how you see him?

“Can we take it back from them?” His tone grows quiet, brows furrowed as you shake your head once more. “Then why—?”

“Hatred, prejudice. A lot of things, but that doesn't make it alright for them to take it.” You calm him down with your hands on his cheeks, thumb rubbing away the glare in between his eyes. “We can't take it back, Hobie, we can never take it all back. Staying alive despite it, living despite the lack of it, that's how we win against them.”

He sniffs, fists uncurling as he holds onto your waist. His shoulders slump as you place your forehead against his own. Inhaling your scent like you have before placing a heavy kiss on the crown of his head, right in between his horns.

“Do you want to leave this place?” Your heart thuds loudly at the prospect of him saying no, of leaving him behind.

“Yes.” He says through unshed tears. “I want to live.”

“You will. I promise you that.” Even if it kills you.

—

You hum an ancient tune, a song of protection as you braid his hair out of his face. The vines are weaved around it, tiny flowers curled around his dark hair. The sound of metal against stone rises above your humming as he sharpens your dagger.

Three months have passed, and you've prepared for this day, the day you two escape the dreaded place, to leave behind death in the hallowed walls. Makeshift weapons are spread around you, a bow made by the same tree you first struck, partnered up by arrows all sharpened at the tips by Hobie. Spears with daggers tied around it, all collected from the dead. Everything came from them, the same ropes that used to tie their tunics, feathers that decorated their hair. It's as if they're with you, enacting their last revenge on the labyrinth. He hasn't killed in a long time, leaving the survivors alone deep in the labyrinth.

Beside you is a crudely made shield made from a tree's bark, it's not strong enough to stop an oncoming sword, but it's adequate to stop an arrow. You just hope it works, that Hobie can finally feel the sunshine on his skin without the echoes of the labyrinth behind his back.

The walls of the room you've called home are plastered with a map of the labyrinth. All painstakingly made by you and Hobie during the small excursions at night. You tried to explore other plans that didn't involve fighting, or the prospect of him getting hurt, but it all came to a dead end. Even with him charging and breaking the window through didn't work when he almost fell off the cliff that overlooks the sea, and at the bottom lay jagged sharp rocks that not even a Minotaur's strength could endure.

As you finish with his hair, you place a kiss on his nape that sends shivers down his spine. And then you tuck in the flint and steel left by a rotting corpse inside a braid. You stand up and he twists in his seat, looking up at you as fear shakes his being, fear of losing, fear of your death.

“You'll be alright, Hobie.” Your hands cup his face, letting your touch ease him even if it's only a small reprieve.

“We'll be alright,” he corrects you, amber eyes gazing up at you with reverence. Instead of standing up, he wraps his arms around your waist, bringing his face to your stomach as he holds you against him. “You'll fly again.”

His murmured words reverberated in you like a desperate prayer. Your hand finds the top of his head, fingers grazing around his horns, trying to rein in your own thoughts and fears. “Once we're out, don't look back, keep running.”

Hobie squeezes you, nose nudging you. “No,” craning his neck to look at you, his eyes pleading with you. “We get out together.”

Nodding, you quickly wipe away a fallen tear. “Together. It's now or never, Hobie.”

The familiar rumble of the labyrinth echoes as a breeze rushes past the two of you.

Hobie doesn't know much about love, but he feels it now as he holds you against him for what could be the last time. And as you kiss his forehead, right in between the permanent crease of his brows, you feel it too. Love may not help you in escaping, but it will be the driving force that will fuel you both.

He stands up slowly, kneeling and still holding onto you until he's towering over you. His breath catches as he sees you in the morning light, and the walls of the labyrinth reflect in your eyes. Even if it kills him.

As he grabs the weapons and hands you the bow and arrows, he sees a glimpse of a drawing he did of you last night, how he sees you in his own eyes. With you flying above the labyrinth, above him as he waves at you with a smile.

You follow his gaze, and you take his hand in yours, gazing at his scarred knuckles and placing a kiss with every thud of your heart. Even if it kills you.

“Let's go, Hobie.” You don't tug at him, instead, you wait for him to walk together with you.

He leaves behind everything, the baby blanket— the only reminder of his mother. The childhood drawings on the walls, his only companions— the fox, the chicken with her chicks. And the sea where Icarus lies.

As he guides you to the same place you entered all those months ago, he starts to run. With every second that passes, his heartbeat rises, flicking his golden eyes over to you every now and then while he leads you out of the labyrinth.

Hobie watches for the notches on the walls you've made, small x’s written in your hand, your way of getting back to the outerwall.

“Keep going.” You encourage him gently, hand tight around his own.

He nods, craning his head towards the rumbling sound of the doors sliding open. “There!”

You let go of his hand as he throws the shield between the door before it could close, startling its latest occupant.

“What the—!” The stranger's eyes are blown open, gasping at the charging minotaur and a wingless harpy.

“Get out!” You shoot an arrow right between their trembling legs. “Now!”

The stranger shambles out of the small space, and Hobie immediately puts himself in between the door to let you pass. He strains from the weight of it, veins popping from his arms while you frantically get inside.

The wooden shield cracks from the pressure and the second you slide inside the niche, it breaks in half.

“We did it.” You heave at the familiar darkness, almost immediately, you feel his arms wrap around you, relief spread through his embrace. “We're alright,” you pat his back while your face nudges his chest. “We need to continue.” Even in the dark, you can see his amber eyes aglow. Your guiding light.

“Safe.” He takes your face and presses a kiss on your cheek, slightly missing your own lips by a few inches.

You resist the urge to kiss him back. “Yes, safe, for now.” Your hands find the bundle of arrows strapped to your hip and you take the odd one out with a bundle of rope drenched in olive oil as he brings the flint and stone from his hair. “Take a deep breath, Hobie.”

He inhales as sparks fly. It doesn't immediately work as the small space lights up with every strike. It's cramped now that the two of you are inside, chest to chest, you can feel his frustration wave through him when the arrow still doesn't light up.

You grab his wrist gently, fingers kneading at his skin. “You'll get it, strike like how we practiced.”

Hobie's breath fans your cheeks as he huffs, and with one strike of the flint, it lights up the arrow, and with it illuminates the small area. He grins victoriously, mirroring your own.

Quickly, smoke fills the space, and as the two of you look up, just like how you predicted, it rises up towards the opening and out of the crack.

You cough out, covering your nose with your arm as he gazes at you with concern. The sliding door still doesn't open, and you fear the worst— vision filled with your bodies slumped together after dying from suffocation.

But as his ears flick and pick up the subtle sound of scraping, he folds his knees as much as he could in the space. The second the light enters and the smoke escapes, he leaps up, taking a screaming soldier down with him.

All you could do was listen as screams echo outside, and the sound of breaking bones makes your heart leap, fearing that his face won't be the one that will peek down. As blood drips down from above and into the space like a waterfall, there's nothing but silence above.

“H–Hobie?” You cry out, “Hobie!”

You hear panting above, and he finally appears in all his glory.

“C’mon, pretty bird.” He extends his arm, and you immediately take it. Lifting you up and away from the labyrinth, you hold him. “Safe.” He echoes out, cradling you against him as the pool of blood drenches your knees.

“Safe.” You take a deep breath, and kiss the underside of his jaw as thank you. Your palm grazes a cut on his chest and you gasp out in worry.

“‘m alright, we have to continue.” Hobie smiles at you, helping you off your wobbly legs.

The room is sparse, sunlight filtering through the cracks in the walls. It looks like you're in a barn with hay, and chickens running around in their respective pens. As you look down, you see seven square shaped notches on the floor, the place where they drag and drop down their prisoners. It wasn't as grandiose as you thought it was, thinking that the labyrinth is under the palace, right under the king's feet. But with your swirling head back then, you never noticed the room they brought you in.

“We need to run, Hobie.” You take a look at his soot and crimson covered face. “And keep running.”

“I know, together.” With a nod, the two of you bolt right out of the barn.

Immediately screams from guards follow right behind you. You let out a volley of arrows without missing a beat, thanking all the lessons your sisters gave you. While he charges at men who tried to stab from the front, impaling them with his horns or throwing spears at them. And as fate would have it, the two of you enter a garden, encountering another labyrinth made out of rose hedges.

With nowhere else to go, all sides blocked by armed soldiers, you lead him towards the labyrinth. Your footsteps match with his own, hooves hitting the grass, your foot accidentally stomping on a rose. As the two of you head deeper inside, guards close in on you, yelling obscenities, blades crashing against their armour. As the two of you continue to sprint, you realize that this labyrinth and the real one are one and the same. From the curves to the long winding hallways, it's the same layout, down to the middle of it where a bronze statue of the minotaur stands high.

Hobie pauses at the sight, but it's not his own face staring down at him. This one has the face and legs of a bull, the body of a man, and its horns are curved outwards, pointed at the end. There's a swishing tail, and as anger wraps around him, you grab his hand and take him towards the end of the labyrinth where a balcony overlooking the sea greets the two of you.

Sea breeze hits your face, and for a second you're back at home— not the one where your sisters lie, but where Hobie lived, where he held you in his arms as you cried the night away. Where your chatter and his chuckles fill the cold air. Where his drawings and his face are the first thing you see in the morning. It's as if you can't truly escape the labyrinth.

Hobie is awestruck by the open sea, feeling the sun warm his flesh, and by the time he notices an archer aiming right at his head, it's too late as he pushes you aside, aiming back with his spear. He hears you nock back an arrow but it doesn't fly overhead, just as his spear meets the soldier's stomach. He looks back at you, triumphant but his face falls when he sees the arrow that was meant for him is now pierced in your chest— right in your heart.

His guttural scream sends the men backwards in fear.

You gaze at Hobie, determined that the last thing you'll ever see is his face in the backdrop of the blue sky where you once flew above. Your legs try to hold you up but you end up keeling over, falling right in his arms.

You want to say something— anything, but only blood comes out of your mouth, crimson flooding out of your chest. So you take his cheek, trembling hand brushing along his jaw one last time.

Even when a volley of arrows hits his back, he holds you in his arms. The pain is nothing compared to feeling your blood soak his hands.

He shields you from the arrows, tears streaming down his amber eyes as it falls on your cold cheek. His warm blood coats your front, mixing with your own.

“D–Don't go. You promised.” Was the last thing you ever heard from him before meeting with the ferryman himself. You're happy that it was his voice.

With one last ounce of his strength, he lifts you up from the bloodied marble floor, and rises up to the balcony with strained effort. The last arrow hits the small of his back and he plunges down on the cold depths just like Icarus did.

He did promise you that you'll fly once again.

For a moment, he sees you fly in the backdrop of the same sky you longed for. And as the water swallows him, arrows protruding from his back, he melds with you. Together, he said, so together you two shall go down into the depths.

Support banner by @/cafekitsune

A/N: Please consider reblogging if you liked it!! Thank you for reading ❤️

[moociaoafterdark]

Primarchs and the birds I think they would be able transform into (and why)

1) Lion - Golden Eagle. Just like lions are called "Kings of Jungle", golden eagles are sometimes called "Kings of Birds". Aside from the naming, I think Lion would love such a magnificent, pompous bird.

2) Fulgrim - Albino/White Peacock. Do I even need to say anything here? Lord Shen looking bastard. Flaunts his gorgeous tail feathers to everyone. Will start screaming at you very loudly if you don't pay him enough attention. That is especially the case if you are one of his brothers. Especially if you are Ferrus. Sorry Ferrus. Surprisingly, though, Fulgrim doesn't turn into a bird very often. Some speculate he regrets choosing the peacock as his transformation. Others believe he loves his human form way more.

3) Perturabo - Red Tailed Hawk. Just like the Heresy is named after Horus, despite Perturabo being the sole reason it got this bad for the Imperium in the first place, red tailed hawk's screech is attributed to a completely different bird. Perturabo will feel a spiritual connection with this bird species, which is why he is able to transform into it in the first place. He does wish the bird was bigger.

4) Jaghatai Khan - Peregrine. Peregrine falcons are the world's fastest birds, and one of the fastest animals on Earth. There's literally no better bird for Jaghatai than this falcon. Probably yells "falcon punch" when he dives in (The Emperor told him to do that to "intimidate his enemies")

5) Leman Russ - Pigeons. Now, fun fact - crows/ravens have a symbiotic relationship with wolves, as they often hunt together and share the spoils. As you probably guessed by now, the ravens/crows are kinda already taken by another primarch (in canon even), so I had to improvise. Enter pigeons. Just like wolves, pigeons got domesticated by humanity and have been our companions for many centuries. Pigeons, just like crows and ravens, are social birds, meaning they live in one big flock and help take care of each other. This is as close as one gets to a wolf pack dynamic in the bird world, so there we have it! Leman does use his transformation mostly for pranks or "party tricks". Never in battle. If you propose him to do that for a surprise attack, you can spot a little bit of a blush, before he angrily tells you off.

6) Rogal Dorn - Arctic Tern. I think Rogal would find the fact that those birds have the longest migration distance (48,700 km to 70,900 km) REALLY fascinating. He surprisingly takes this form very often and for a reason. Up above in the sky he gets a good look at both his own defences as well as those of the Imperium's enemies. Though he doesn't like admitting it, he simply just really likes flying and letting the wind carry him.

6) Konrad Curze - Bearded Vulture. Those fuckers EAT BONES and look like fucking dinosaurs. Konrad would LOVE to terrorize people as this bird. He'll take off the skin and meaty bits in his human form, then transform into a bird to finish the job. By the time he is done - NOTHING will be left of you... GOD I love bearded vultures. FUCKING LOOK AT THEM!!!

7) Sanguinius - Swan. Graceful. Beautiful. A symbol of love. Will break human bones with a flap of the wings (or at the very least make you bleed). Nuff said, even if the choice is a little basic. If you can't find him anywhere, chances are, he is chilling in the garden, swimming in the pond. Make sure to bring bread with you, the good one. You know, the one that's all fresh and soft. If you're still unsure, just call Warmaster Horus, he knows what bread his brother likes.

(Yes, this how swans are rescued. In Sanguinius' case, this is how he is restrained when he is being a tiny bit of a nuisance)

8) Ferrus Manus - Hummingbird. Similar to Rogal and the Arctic Tern, Ferrus would find hummingbirds fascinating by how strong and fast their wings are (and how they're the only birds able to fly backwards). Despite the birds being smaller than some insects, they have caught the attention of one of the biggest primarchs... Which is why it's hilarious when Ferrus, this gruff giant of a man, able to move mountains and wrestle wyrms, transforms into a tiiiiiny bird mid-fight. Well, it's hilarious until you are his opponent and realize you just completely lost sight of Ferrus, until he transforms back into his human form but, by then, it's too late. On the more lighter note, Ferrus loves resting while, in his bird form, nestled somewhere in Fulgrim's hair. Warm, soft AND he can be sure he wouldn't be bothered.

9) Angron - Roosters. Hoo boy. So, roosters kinda have a reputation for being aggressive, easily provoked AND also having a history of being used in bloodsports. However, roosters are very valuable if you intend to keep chickens, as they take care of the hens, protect them and, if raised properly, can actually be great pets. So, over all, we have a loving, protective and loyal bird, who is unfortunately often mistreated and misunderstood, as well as used in bloodsports even to this day, which often leaves the birds aggressive and traumatized... Sounds familiar?

God, I hate thinking about Angron, because the more I think about him, the more I want to cry. I'm actually kinda teary eyed as I'm typing this, haha.

Anyway, to lighten the mood, Angron, with nails or without them, is a local alarm clock. It doesn't matter where you are, you WILL hear his crowing and you WILL get your ass up.

10) Roboute Guilliman - Harpy Eagle. The only bird I don't have explanation for other than it looks cool. And I'm not even a huge Rowboat Girlyman fan. Would love to hear your opinion on why this does or doesn't work. And if it doesn't, I'm eager to hear your alternatives.

11) Mortarion - The Marabou Stork. If you know anything about those birds - you know they were handcrafted by Satan himself. Or, Nurgle, I guess. Morty would love them.

(Above is an attached photo of a very private meeting of the Death Guard Legion. Lord Mortarion is on the white pedestal.)

12) Magnus The Red - The Scarlet Macaw. I swear, Magnus' daemon form is supposed to resemble the scarlet macaw. The resemblance is uncanny. Perhaps he was always meant to be the Emperor's "parrot on the shoulder", instead of, what, powering the Golden Throne instead of the Emperor? Yes, he sits on his dad's shoulder and makes snarky remarks to everyone. Malcador once threw a shoe at him for that.

13) Horus Lupercal - Bald Eagle. Actually NOT bald, just like Horus isn't actually naturally bald, because he SHAVES. The fandom lied to me, this whole time I thought Horus was jealous of his father's and some of his brothers' hair, when in reality he CHOSE to be bald!

... Anyway, high key Horus (before the heresy) is the Imperium's poster boy, so it's only logical to give him the bird that is essentialy a US mascot. He loves perching very high and enjoying the winds stroke his feathers. Also, if you kiss him on his forehead, while he is in the eagle form, he will get all giddy and happy. Horus also takes his bird form to play with Sanguinius, trying to race with him in the skies. Goofs.

14) Lorgar Aurelian - The Mourning Dove. In Christianity, the mourning dove is used to represent the Holy Spirit. It's generally a bird that is associated with spirituality, being a symbol of peace, love and faith. It would be a crime for me not to assign this bird to Lorgar. In the early hours of the morning, Lorgar would take this form to coo prayers in the language no one will ever understand, making it somewhat safe for him.

15) Vulkan - Crested Auklet. These birds are mostly found nesting on volcanic islands, such as Kuril Islands and Sakhalin island. They also live in huge colonies and can form strong bonds with each other. I think this bird would remind Vulkan less of himself and more of Nocturne... Which is exactly why he would choose this bird for transformation. He is very cuddly in the bird form and smells like tangerines too. Just... Don't hold him for too long. Vulkan, even as a bird, is still a living furnace.

16) Corvus Corax - Common Raven.

... Do I need to say anything?

17) Alpharius and Omegon - Emus. What better birds for the local "Just according to plan" guys than the ones that literally won a war against humans. Seriously, what the fuck, Australia?

And as a little bonus:

The Emperor of Mankind - Cassowary. You thought it would be another eagle? Or, perhaps, the emperor penguin with the "penguins of Madagascar" joke thrown somewhere in there? Nah. He gets the bird that is literally THE tired single father of the birds. On the other hand, though, the Emperor gets to harass people in the cassowary form. Imagine having the honor of being invited to the Imperial Palace itself and as you explore you get approached by a huge, dangerous looking cassowary. You manage to befriend it, even fed it some food you had on you, before you hear panicked Custodes running in your direction, screaming for the Emperor to stop harassing the guests. The cassowary then proceeds to book it, screaming back in the very human voice that he can do whatever he wants. And now you have an idea of what a normal Monday in the Imperial Palace looks like to the Custodes.

[b3ach-bunn7]

27 DRESSES (4/6)

You try not to lose your mind while planning your sisters wedding to the man you're in love with. All the while, a certain blonde haired reporter can't seem to leave you alone

noquirklau, movie turned fanfic,

NSFW this chapter!

—————————————————————————

You’re going to tell Togata everything.

When you’d gotten home from your little registry outing with Keigo, you’d sat distracted in front of your TV, the Friends episodes running in background forgotten as you became lost in your thoughts.

It’s just not right. Ignore your crush on him, ignore all your feelings, it’s just not fair. Togata has no idea who he's marrying, seeing as Tess is lying about almost every single thing about her. Her lifestyle, her interests. He may as well be marrying a stranger. And Togata is a good man. He doesn’t deserve to be lied to like this, even if Tess really does love him. Even if she is your younger sister. It only feels right to tell him the truth.

Luckily for you, the perfect opportunity arises two days later. Tess is out doing last minute shopping with some friends, and so Togata calls and asks you to help him taste test the wedding meals. 

The place is nice. It’s pretty empty for a Thursday afternoon, but you don’t mind the silence. It’s just you and him, sat opposite each other. You’re wearing a flowery summer dress, the material loose and smooth against your skin. You’d also shaved your legs. Not that anyone would see them, but maybe you just did it for yourself. 

You brush a lock of hair behind your ear as Togata beams at you.

“Thank you so much for coming. Especially on such short notice.” He pats your hand and your face heats.

“No problem! I’m a foodie, so it’s probably better I’m here anyway.”

If by foodie, you mean that you know every takeaway down your street by name, then yes. You are a foodie. A very adept one at that.

The meals are brought one by one. It’s fun, actually. Things like this are usually the parts of a wedding that you miss. You’re both seated by the big glass windows, your back heating from the sunlight shining through.

“So… how's everything been going? With the wedding?” You ask, tearing off a piece of bread from the basket in front of you.

“Oh, great. Just great,” Togata says. “I assume you know, though. You’ve been such a good help. Tess is so lucky to have you as a sister.”

His words send a little bolt of guilt in you. But maybe the fact you’re such a good sister is why you have to tell him the truth.

“It’s nothing, really. It’s what I do.”

“You do it well!” He takes a bite of the curry in front of him. 

“You feeling nervous?” You say.

Togata makes a face. “A little. I’m more excited than anything else. Tess is just…”

He sighs happily. “The thing I like about her is that there’s just no bullshit.”

“Right.”

“She’s not afraid to be herself.”

You wince a little. Togata, ever attentive, notices.

“You alright?”

You pause for a moment, brushing the crumbs off your fingers. “There’s something I want to say.”

You sit up a bit in your chair. Togata is starting to look a bit nervous.

“I just…”

He looks at you expectantly. And you just don’t have the heart to tell him, not with those big eyes blinking up at you. And maybe it isn’t your place. Maybe you should just stay out of it.

“I’m just so happy for you. That you’ve found what you’re looking for.” 

He visibly relaxes. “Thank you, Y/N.”

You smile, if a little weakly. You don’t think he notices. He’s too engrossed in the quiche he’s taking big mouthfuls of. He looks up at you suddenly, pointing at you with his fork.

“You’ve been to a lot of weddings, right?”

You nod. “Twenty seven as a bridesmaid.”

“What’s your favourite part?”

You don’t hesitate to answer, because it’s a question you’ve been asked a hundred times, and one you’ve thought about often. That moment, right when the bride makes her big entrance, is always your favourite. But it’s not her that you look. Or her guests or the decorations, or anything else in the hall. No, you always turn back and look at the groom. And that look of his face of pure love, every single time, is unbeatable.

Togata smiles softly at your words. “So, when you get married, I have full permission to look at the groom?”

You laugh. “Please do. Make sure the poor sucker is still standing there.”

Togata makes a face. His hand comes up to cover yours again. It’s a friendly gesture, obviously, but your heart still flutters a little in your chest.

“Don’t say that. Any guy would be lucky to have you.”

You brush him off, laughing like a schoolgirl.

“Aw, you-“

Togata’s face squints a little behind you. You turn to see what he’s looking at and find Keigo standing a little way away, eyeing the two of you. His gaze darts down to Togata’s hand over yours, and you snatch it back quickly, embarrassed suddenly.

“Keigo?”  Togata questions.

Keigo’s eyes drift from you to send Togata a smile. 

“Hey.” He points at the empty plates in between you two. “Are you guys... picking the wedding meal?”

You bristle a little at his tone, incredulous and judging. You nod, brushing a lock of hair behind your ear.

“Yes.” You say.

“Where’s Tess?”

“She’s getting her hair done, she- I’m just helping out.” You stammer a little under Keigo’s watchful gaze.

LHe’s fixing you with a look, like he’s just figured something out, and you feel a little squirrely. For maybe the first time since you’ve met, he looks annoyed, disappointed, something completely different from the laidback expression he always seems to have on his face. You’re not exactly sure what his problem is. It’s not like you’re doing anything wrong. Just helping your sister out. It’s what any good maid of honour would do.

“We’re leaving soon, anyway,” You say quickly,

“We have some stuff to pick up from Rhinebeck.” 

Togata's eyes widen a bit, and he checks his phone. “Yeah, we’d better get going. I have dinner with Tess and my parents right after.”

You grab your purse, rattling around it for some gum, when Keigo suddenly speaks up.

“Why don’t I just go with you?”

Your head whips toward him. He’s looking at you expectantly.

“What? No, don’t worry, it’s okay.” You smile, a little bite behind it.

“I have my dad’s Volvo, that thing books. You’ll be back in no time.” You reassure Togata, but Keigo steps forward.

It seems this idea is now stuck in his head, because he claps Togata’s shoulder, and beams at him.

“I really don’t mind, man, seriously. I have a couple more questions for Y/N, anyway. For the article.”

Your jaw clenches. This damn article that he’s been writing for what feels like the whole year. 

“That I’d be happy to answer over text. Or email.”

Apparently you seem to have disappeared, because the two men in front of you are suddenly shaking hands. “That’d be incredible, Keigo, thank you.”

Things just don’t seem to ever go your way recently. Of course, it’s not like you think Togata is going to magically fall in love with you and call off the engagement if you pick up linens with him, but you like spending time with him. Outside work, you can get to know him better, as someone other than just your boss.

Instead, you’re stuck with Keigo. The walk to the car is silent. You snatch your keys out of your purse and may or may swerve out the parking space harder than you need to. To Keigo’s credit, he waits until you’re on the highway and forced to stay with him to start his tirade.

“You know, it was just like a lightbulb going off. Seeing you mooning over him-“

You frown. “I wasn’t mooning over him!”

He scoffs, sitting up slightly in the passenger seat of your car. “Uh, yeah, you were.”

The rain crashes against the car, the cold creeping in from the cracks and sinking into your skin. The roads are empty, because only you would be stupid enough not to check the weather forecast before driving as far as you had to. As bright as the day had been it’s turned sour, and the rain outside perfectly fits the sour mood you’re both in. You don’t even know how it could get so bad so quickly, the sun from earlier gone as the skies darken. A crack of thunder sounds overhead but you’re way too pissed off to worry about any of that.

Keigo shakes his head. “I knew you were lying when you told me what you were upset about at the bar. I mean, of course you would be upset. You’re stuck in this sick love triangle with your boss and your sister.”

You try and get a word in but he just barrels on. You haven't ever seen him this passionate, let alone over something that has entirely nothing to do with him.

“You’re literally one white, handwritten invite away from blowing your brains out.”

Your fingers tighten against the wheel. “That is ridiculous, Keigo, I-

“And you won’t tell him,” He laughs, but it's mirthless, more mocking than anything else, “Because you're nice Y/N, sweet Y/N.”

The windscreen wipers shake with the sheer effort its taking to clear the glass from the constant pour of rain. A little nagging voice in the back of your head tells you it would probably make more sense to pull over, since driving in this is definitely dangerous, but you need to get the stupid linen and then get Keigo home so you never have to speak to him again.

“You have no idea what you’re talking about.” You snap. “It’s my boss, my sister. I am thrilled to be planning their wedding. But you can’t understand that.”

You turn a corner a little too aggressively, relishing in the way Keigo knocks into the door a little.

“Because you’re mean-”

“Wow.”

“And dark and cynical. And that’s your problem, pal, not mine.”

Keigo splutters, “Pal? You’re calling me pal?”

Your face heats, embarrassed. “Just shut up.”

The car is too small. He’s so close, and everytime he shuffles in his chair his arm nearly brushes yours. 

Keigo’s voice suddenly takes on a soft tone. “Hey, I understand your anger. I just ruined an afternoon of pining over someone you'll never, ever have-”

Your face burns and your chest tightens. He’s right. The worst part is he’s right but he’s just so cruel with the way he’s going on about it. He doesn’t understand, someone as unfeeling as him never would.

“Just stop!” You yell, the car surging forward a little as you press on the gas. “Stop!”

A little flash of fear crosses over Keigo’s face. His hand swipes against the window to his side, and he peers out of it. It occurs to you that driving as emotional as you are is not smart. The rain is only getting worse, the roads more slippery.

“Can you slow down? So I can read that sign?” Keigo gestures out his window.

He has a point. Your GPS is glitching, the directions no longer showing. But the fact it’s Keigo asking means you only press on the gas more.

He rolls his eyes as the car speeds past. “Okay. My spidey vision isnt working so good today. Just slow down, Y/N.”

He just won’t stop talking. And you really need him to because you need to think, and you need to focus because you can barely see anything in front of you right now. The car skids as you take another turn, and Keigo grips the armrest.

“Y/N-”

“Would you leave me alone?” You screech.

You’re sitting up now, body leaning as close to the window as you can. Keigo shoots you a look of concern and panic that you don’t see. Speeding up before might not have been the best idea, because the car is starting to move with a mind of its own, despite how hard you press the brakes.

“Crazy, slow down, or we’re gonna hydroplane.”

“We are not.” You say sternly.

You are, though. And quite suddenly, as the words barely leave you mouth before the car is sliding, spinning on its own.

“Oh my god, we’re hydroplaning. Oh my god, we’re going to die!”

Maybe you’re not the best in a moment of crisis, because all you can do is scream as the car spins. It careens off the road and your hands fumble as you try to regain control of the car. Keigo screams besides you and you both brace for impact as the car shoots off the road. 

Luckily for the two of you, America is all long, empty roads, and the one you’re on is only accompanied by long stretches of hills and grass. The car tumbles down a hill, the wheels skidding to a stop as they roll into the muddy ground. 

It’s silent, other than the two of you breathing heavily. Your knuckles are white as they grip the steering wheel, and you fall forward until your head is pressing against the cool leather.

You hear Keigo move behind you and you hold up a hand in his face. “Don’t say anything.”

The car is stuck. And pretty well, at that. The wheels turn uselessly, and you press as hard as you can on the pedals but it won’t move, stuck knee deep in the muddy ground beneath. And as luck would have it, there’s also no service here. Not that anyone would risk their lives coming out to get you. The shower overhead sounds like bullets and you feel the sting of tears behind your eyes at how helpless you fell.

“There was a bar, a few minutes back. We could probably use their phone.” Keigo mumbles.

He’s uncharacteristically quiet. You glance at him and he looks a little guilty, eyes looking out the window and avoiding your own. Good. This was all his fault, anyway.

You don’t say anything, just get out the car. The thin jacket you have on does nothing to protect you from the weather. It only takes a few seconds for the rain to seep into your clothes, coat your hair, the wind making your finger ache from the cold.

The bar in question doesn’t have a phone. Well it does, but you discover after putting in two quarters into the thing that it's broken. The door creaks as you push it open with a little more force than necessary. You hit with warmth almost immediately, and the smell of food and alcohol. There’s music playing quickly overhead, the tops hits and some overzealous radio host interrupting each one.

“Your pay phone is broken.” You say, dumping your purse on the bar. 

“Nice work. You’re like one of those guys on CSI.” The man behind the counter muses, wiping it down with an old rag.

Your jaw clenches. “Do you have a phone we can use?”

Keigo doesn’t try help. Instead he sits down on the bar with a heavy sigh. “Could I get a scotch, no ice, please?”

You fix him with a look. “What are you doing?”

“Getting a drink.”

“Why? We-“

He swivels in his seat so he's facing you. The rain has turned his usually bright hair dark, and it falls in heavy ringlets around his face. His cheeks are a little red from the cold, but his eyes still shine under the dim lights above you two. 

“It’s late. We’re not getting a tow and nobody is stupid enough to come get us. Just have a drink.”

It’s an olive branch. A thinly veiled apology, from the hopeful way he’s looking at you. And in all honesty, you’re tired and wet and you actually could do with a drink.

You linger a little and he groans.

“Come on. There’s nobody for you to help, just sit.”

You scowl at him. “Fine. Only one.”

The bar is busy. You assume you and Keigo aren’t the only two who got caught in the rain. It’s loud and it’s alive and it’s sort of nice after the day you’ve had. Your jacket hangs on the stool you’re sitting on. Your dress dries slowly, and you rake a hand through your hair.

One drink turns into two, into four. The alcohol sits heavily in your relatively empty stomach, and it eases the anger between the both of you. A half assed apology spills from both of you, and as quickly as you’d raged at each other, you find yourself laughing so hard you have to hold your chair to stay upright. You both down your third shot.

“Alright, the- The Keller wedding. February 2006. That column you wrote, it was beautiful. Moved me to tears.” You exclaim.

Keigo’s nose scrunches. “I don’t remember it.”

Your hand slaps the table. “How! How can you not remember it?”

“I don’t remember it.”

Your drink is finished so you help yourself to Keigo’s. It’s stronger than you thought it would be, and he grins as you wince.

You sigh as you recall the article. You remember it like you read it last night. “The brother flew in from Afghanistan. It was the anniversary of the fathers death,” you shake your head. “You can’t fake emotion like that.”

“Oh, yes you can. A good writer can.” 

He’s wearing a white dress shirt. He’s unbuttoned the first few buttons, and the sleeves curl around his arms. He’s got nice arms. He’s sort of muscular, actually. You can’t image what sort of heavy duty a writer does, so you assume he probably goes to the gym a lot. You realise you’ve been silent for too long. When your eyes dart up, Keigo has a smirk on his face that lets you know he’s definitely caught you staring.

“You aren’t that good.”

“Wow.”

You prop your chin on your hand. “There has to be something you like about weddings.”

He ponders for a moment. “Open bar.”

You shove his arm.

“Alright, alright.”  He adjusts himself so that one arm leans on the table and he’s facing you. His knees brush against yours.

“When the bride makes her big grand entrance with the doves and the music, I like to look back at the poor bastard getting married.”

Keigo’s words are negative, as always, but he’s got a soft look on his face as he speaks.

“Cause even though I think he’s an idiot for entering the last legal form of slavery, he just looks really, really happy. And for some reason-“ 

Keigo looks at you and frowns. “The hell are you looking at me like that for?” 

He looks a little embarrassed and you realise you’ve been staring at him with your mouth wide open in shock.

“Are you shitting me right now?” 

“No?”

“That’s my favourite part!” You claim and he laughs.

You shake your head in disbelief. “I can’t believe it. We have something in common.”

“Well, it was statistically bound to happen at some point.”

The music that’s been playing in the background becomes livelier. The bar is filling up quickly, people playing pool, nursing a beer besides you.

The straw you’ve been chewing on is almost flat, and you point it at him accusingly. “You know, I think you’re just a big softie. And this whole cynical thing is just an act.”

“Really?”

“Mhm. An act so you can seem mysterious and wounded and sexy-“

“What was that?”

You mouth snaps shut. He’s leaning a little closer.

“What?” You say, laughing a little.

“Do you think I’m sexy?”

“What?” You repeat. Alcohol makes your lips loose, and you’ve had enough shots to make you say anything.

“Do you think I’m sexy?” He asks and you scoff.

“No.”

Keigo coos. “It’s okay if you do.” His voice takes on that low drawl you know he only uses to get you all flustered.

“No, I- I think you think you’re sexy.” 

His retort is drowned out by the beginning of one of your favourite songs. You gasp, hand grabbing Keigo’s arm and shaking.

“I love this song!”

Your mother loved Elton John, and Bennie and the Jets was always her favourite. The memory of your mother always makes your heart ache, but this familiar beat has only ever been happy for you.

Keigo laughs as you bop your head next to him. “It’s a great song.” 

He hums beside you. “Hey, kids, shake it loose-“

You splutter a laugh. “Those are not the words.”

“Sorry lyric police,” he rolls his eyes, “how does it go?”

You don’t really know yourself. You don’t think anybody in the world can understand Elton John’s singing.

The alcohol has hit you hard enough that you don’t realise the volume of your voice, and instead take to shouting the lyrics as loud as you can. A few people have started to look at you but you couldn’t care any less.

“You’re gonna hear a handsome music, so the walrus sounds,” 

“Walrus sounds?” Keigo questions through laughter, and you just nod, head still bopping to the song.

Keigo joins in, just as wrong with the words as you are. But it’s fun. You don’t know the last time you’d even just gone out for drinks with someone. And Keigo is a good drinking buddy, though he seems just as bad at holding his alcohol as you, because he’s also dancing besides you like you're not in public.

“She’s got electric boobs-“

“Boobs?” He cackles.

“And mohair shoes!”

Keigo grabs the empty glass in front of him and sings into it, “You know I read it in a magazine.”

A few people standing around have started to sing along, and you jump up, pulling Keigo to his feet. You can’t remember the last time you danced, the last time you let loose. Yes, you’re probably going to be sleeping in a car tonight, but the music is getting turned up and everyone around you looks so happy you can’t find it in your to care.

You’re an awful dancer, even more so when you climb onto the bar. The bartender doesn’t say much, and the small crowd that’s gathering seems to think it’s fun . Your shoes nearly give out, and you quickly grab Keigo’s head to steady yourself.

“Woah, careful, honey.” He says, looking up at you. Your only response to that is to scream more lyrics in his face.

You’re sure you look stupid. Your hair is all knotted from the rain and wind and your dress still sticks to some parts of your body, but you’re sure everyone else in the room is just as drunk as you, and just as unbothered. You feel like you're at a concert the way everyone is screaming the lyrics up at you. You sort of like the attention all being on you for once.

When the song starts to come to a close, you gesture to Keigo to help you down. His hands circle your waist and easily lift you down. You make a little noise as he sets you on the floor, laughing breathlessly. His hands don't let go, though. They’re warm even through the material of your dress, and you own hands rest on his forearms.

“You- You’re strong.” You mumble, your smile still pressed against your face.

Keigo doesn’t say anything. He’s just looking at you, your eyes, and then your lips. Not like the fleeting times you’ve caught him doing it before. No, today, he’s shameless, and when he finally looks back up at you it’s like he’s asking for permission.

“I cried like a baby at the Keller wedding.” He confesses suddenly.

You give your reply by curling your hands into his shirt and pulling him into a kiss.

His lips are soft and he tastes like the cheap alcohol you two have been drinking all night. He makes a noise and he kisses you hard and with  desperation, like he never wants to forget the feeling of your lips on his own. 

He pulls you in impossibly closer and your arms come up to circle his neck. His lips move quickly and hungrily against yours, tongue tangling against your own. You make a soft noise in the back of your throat and pull back slowly. His brows furrow in confusion. His nose knocks against yours and when you speak you’re lips are still touching his.

“The car.” You breathe out and thank god he understands what you mean, because you’re not sure you could speak anymore if you wanted to.

You fumble in your purse for your keys, the two of you giggling as he holds his jacket above your heads. It’s measly cover, and by the time you’re both crowded into the back seat you’re soaked all over again.

The cars not big but you make do with the space that you have. He pushes you back until you’re leaning against the door. It’s uncomfortable but you need him so badly that it’s immediately forgotten.

There’s no space between the two of you as he slots himself between your open legs, his kisses warm and wet and hot as he travels down the lines of your jaw, the curve of your cheek. His hand squeezes the dips of your hips and you sigh.

“I don’t do this.” You breathe, hands cupping his face as you kiss him. “I never do this.”

Keigo leans back a little, worried. “You wanna stop?”

“No.”

You’d like to blame all this on the alcohol but you’d be lying if you said Keigo wasn’t attractive. You can finally feel the lean muscle that you’re always ogling, the hard lines of his chest as your hands slide down it. He rolls his hips and you whine a little at the feeling of his bulge grinding into your core.

He grins, eyes glinting even in the dark. “You like that?”

“Come on, Keigo. Stop teasing.”

Keigo adjusts himself so he’s practically kneeling on the seat, his legs a tangled mess as he lines himself between your legs. He kisses lower, fingers biting into your skin as he crosses over the valley of your breast, inching backwards. He pulls your dress up and bunches it at your waist. Keigo presses a kiss on the soft skin of your thigh, breath warm as it ghosts over your underwear. Underwear that is soaked, and your face heats as he inches closer and closer. He stops just before he gets where you want him, teeth sucking marks wherever they can catch.

“Can I?” 

“Fuck, yes, yes Keigo, please just-“

In one swift motion, he’s pushing your underwear to the side and sliding his tongue beneath your folds. Your eyelashes flutter and you head knocks against the car door. 

His tongue flicks over your clit and Keigo eats you out like it’s all for him. Your hands grip the back of the passenger seat to brace yourself, your legs quivering as he continues his assault. And he’s loud. Groaning and mumbling praise as he hoists your leg over his shoulder to get better access

You can’t remember the last time you had sex. A boyfriend that hadn’t worked out, a one night stand. All you know is that it’s never felt this good. No man has ever cared about your pleasure this much and embarrassingly enough you’re already about to burst.

You feel a familiar coil in your gut, and you moan. “M’close.”

Keigo doesn’t respond. His cheeks are flushed and your hips rock against his face, eyes screwing shut at the pleasure. All it takes is one more suck, the sharp edges of his teeth rolling over your clit and you’re gone. You grab a handful of his hair, tensing up as he drags you through your orgasm.

He pulls back and his face is glossy with remnants of you. “So perfect, honey.”

His fingers fumble with the buckle of his belt, throwing it to the side somewhere. He doesn’t even bother to take his trousers off, just push them low enough so he can pull himself out, hot and hard, sliding against your stomach. He pulls your underwear off and pushes your dress up once more.

Keigo kisses you again. Your hands are weak where they hold his shirt. “M’ gonna fuck you now. Okay? That okay, baby?”

You nod, and he’s so mean. Sliding himself over your folds, the head of his cock circling over your clit. He’s leaning over you, and your legs are all tangled together, trying not to fall off the car seat.

“Keigo-“

“What is it, honey? Come on, use your words.”

You scowl. “You’re so evil.”

He grins, pressing a kiss to the tip of your nose. The slow slide as he slips inside of you makes you whine, and you’d feel embarrassed if it wasn’t for the way his body shivers as he presses deeper into you.

“Fuck, you’re so-“ he breathes out.

His hand curls around your thigh and finally he thrusts into you. Despite his overzealous preparation, the stretch burns in a way that makes your toes curl. He presses his forehead against yours, swallowing roughly.

“Feels so good. Can- Can I move?” He mumbles and you nod almost instantly, and that’s all he needs.

He rocks his hips into you, pace fast and deep. He’s long and he reaches so deep into you that you feel like he might split you open. The car fills with the sounds of moans and whimpers, the slap of his hips hitting yours. And Keigo doesn’t stop talking once.

“So good for me, so wet. Squeezing around me so hard.” 

Your fingers dig into his back, and he’s grinning into your skin. “Been waiting for you, Y/N. Waiting so long.”

The vulnerability behind his words doesn’t register because you can feel him twitching inside you, and all you can think about is how you’re already about to come once more. 

You lean your head back and Keigo takes the open invitation to lick a stripe up your neck, biting at the soft skin.

“Gonna cum again.” You cry and he coos.

“You wanna cum all over my cock? Yeah?”

You nod dumbly and it’s over for you when he drags your hips up and hits that soft spot inside you, his thumb rubbing tight circles over your clit. You mumble broken pleas and whimpered versions of his name as you cum, walls convulsing around him.

Keigo looks so pretty as he fucks you through it, eyes glassy and cheeks red, looking at you with an emotion you can’t quite place. His mouth goes slack as you squeeze around him, and he swallows roughly.

“Oh fuck-“ 

Keigo whimpers, eyes screwing shut as he finishes with one last thrust, chest heaving as he struggles to catch his breath. His hand braces him up, and his body trembles in the aftershock of his orgasm.

Having car sex is easy to think about when you’re drunk. The next morning, however, in a booth at the bar you’d been acting a fool at, is not.

You’d woken up with your dress skewed and your underwear hanging off the gearshift. Keigo had left you a message that he’d be at the bar getting a tow, and letting you make yourself presentable in peace.

Your face feels hot as the memory of last night flashes in your head. Your eyes dart around looking for Keigo. He’s sitting in a booth, infeltly studying the frayed menu in his hands. You slide into the seat in front of him, and he fixes you with an easy smile, sliding a cup of coffee in front of you.

He’s seen you naked. And drunk dancing. And you have no idea which is worse.

“Morning, sunshine.”

You smile weakly. The coffee is lukewarm but you need something to curb the massive headache you have. The rain’s all gone, and sun shines in streaks from the window beside you two.

“Tow truck is on it’s way.” 

You nod. Your fingers drum against your cup. “Look, Keigo, I just want to say that I never do that.”

“I know. You said as much yesterday.” He nods solemnly and you smile a little.

“Well. Just wanted you to know.” 

He hands you a menu, and your search for something to curb your hangover is cut off by a man coming over and clapping you on the shoulder. You jolt, and recognise him as someone from last night.

“It’s Bennie and the Jets! Man, you guys were great last night.” He grins.

Your face heats quickly at the memory, as the man sings a terrible rendition of the chorus. You laugh awkwardly, and Keigo does nothing to help, just sits back and watches everything unfold in front of him.

“Oh, thanks.” 

“I mean, wow! This place hasn’t been live that in ages.”

You wave him off, bashful. “Aw, it was the alcohol, probably.”

He just grins, still nodding. “Yeah. I’ll see you later.”

You probably won’t, but the man is so happy to see you that you just wave goodbye. Your face drops in your hands the second he’s gone.

“I sang Elton John last night, didn’t I?” You mumble.

Keigo rubs your arm reassuringly. “Don’t worry. You were only a little pitchy.”

Your mouth drops open. “Me? I recall you singing notes only dogs could hear.”

Keigo scoffs. “Yeah, right. At least I was in key.”

“Okay, liar.”

Your bickering is interrupted by the waitress. She clicks her pen. “So, what- Hey, you’re that girl.”

She’s looking right at you and you sigh a little. Apparently, you’re famous now. 

“Yes, I’m Bennie, he’s the Jets.” You joke.

The woman shakes her head, pointing her notepad at you. “No, you’re that woman from the paper.”

Your brows furrowed in confusion. She disappears, to get the paper apparently, and you have absolutely no idea what she’s talking about. You look at Keigo for some help, and he looks guilty. Guilty and panicked. His reaction only serves to confuse you more, then the waitress drops the newspaper in front of you. And you’re looking at yourself wearing Jenna’s bridesmaid dress on the front of the commitments section. The commitments section of a newspaper half of New York reads.

Your stomach drops and you feel your mouth dry as your eyes tear over what’s in front of you.

You read the title out loud. “Always, always, always the bridesmaid, never the bride, by Hawks.”

He winces at the seething look you fix him with. 

“What the hell is this?”

“Y/N-“

His words fall on deaf ears. Because the article is all about you. It’s plastered with pictures of you in all your bridesmaid dresses, the ones you let him take because you thought it was just fun, that he was just fun.

But there’s nothing fun about qthis. This is just insulting. 

“Are some people better suited as bridesmaids and not brides?” Your voice cracks as you read.

“Y/N, let me just-“

But you can’t read anymore, because it feels like your chest is splitting in half. Paragraph after paragraph mocking you and your love of weddings, your sister, everything. Apparently your obsession with weddings is the problem with women everywhere and you’re the number one example of that.

You can’t imagine how many people have read this. Your friends, your coworkers, your family. And worst of all, you just feel stupid. You’d opened up to this man, laughed with him. Hell, you had sex with him in the back of your dads car. Maybe he’d write an article about that next.

You thought you were friends. Maybe something more after last night. But apparently you were just a story.

You throw the newspaper in his face, grabbing your purse and storming out of the bar. He follows you quickly, calling your name uselessly as your feet crunch against the gravel on the floor.

“Y/N, I told my editor not to run it.” He explains.

You’d never seen Keigo look as pissed as he was yesterday, and you’d never seen him look as guilty as he does right now. He reaches forward to grab your hand and you pull it away like you’d been burnt.

You blink back tears and he takes a step closer.

“Nobody reads that section anyway.”

It’s a pitiful excuse that just makes you so angry. And that anger is why you slap him across the face. Which only makes you feel good for about ten seconds, before you just feel like shit all over again.

“Go to hell, Hawks.”

You turn around promptly and leave. You don’t know how the hell you’re getting home, but all you know is you need a long hot shower to wash the feeling and thought of Keigo away forever.

—————————————————————————

hello u lovely people 🩷🩷this chapter is a bit longer than the others so enjoy!! I’m really enjoying writing this but I will say the Bennie and the jets part was SOOO HARD TO WRITE?? LIKE WOW. I kinda struggled so I hope u all like it

this fic is reaching its end and I’m so sad 💔 it’s been so fun and this movie is my FAV as I think I’ve said a hundred times.. so I will be sad to see her go!!

tags: @mousedit

[neferaskingdom]

♡ I Need A Charles Dickens | CL16

NEFERASKINGDOM

Summary: Maybe teasing him so much was not her best idea but all's well that ends well am I right?

A/N: Guys I swear this is the last Christmas fic. But I was listening to Nonsense Christmas by Sabrina Carpenter and my brain immediately spawned this. like I don't even know if this was an innuendo or not but my brain sure as hell thought so.

SERIES MASTERLIST | MAIN MASTERLIST

Warning: This chapter contains non-explicit sexual content

Dinner with your family was always lively. Christmas Eve had everyone in high spirits—your dad cracking his usual corny jokes, your mom fussing over the perfect placement of the centerpiece, and your siblings sneaking cookies before dessert.

And then there was Charles.

Perfect, charming Charles, sitting next to you at the table, effortlessly winning over everyone as usual. He looked good enough to eat, dressed in a snug sweater that hinted at his toned physique and a smile that could have melted the snow outside.

But as much as he seemed at ease, you knew better. You could see it in the slight tension in his shoulders, the way his hand occasionally tightened on the edge of the table, and the barely-there flush on his cheeks.

You had him exactly where you wanted him.

It started small. A lingering touch on his arm as you reached for the butter. “Can you pass that to me, Charles? Thanks, love.”

Your hand brushed his, fingers lingering just a moment too long, and you saw the way his jaw tightened, his smile faltering for the briefest second before he regained his composure.

“Of course,” he replied, his voice smooth but strained.

Then, as your mom brought out the mashed potatoes, you leaned close to him, your lips brushing the shell of his ear under the guise of making conversation. “These are your favorite, right?”

He inhaled sharply, his hand gripping the fork a little tighter. “Oui,” he managed, his accent thicker than usual.

But still, he didn’t break.

Halfway through the meal, you excused yourself to grab the extra bread rolls from the kitchen. On your way back, you “accidentally” brushed against his chair, your hip grazing his thigh and—very deliberately—his crotch.

“Oops,” you said innocently, setting the rolls on the table and glancing at him. “Sorry about that.”

Charles froze for a moment, his knuckles turning white as he gripped his knife and fork. He didn’t look at you, but you caught the way his chest rose and fell a little faster, the muscle in his jaw ticking as he clenched his teeth.

Still, he said nothing, though the storm brewing behind his eyes told you he was hanging on by a thread.

You weren’t done.

After dessert, Charles handed you a beautifully wrapped box. “Open it,” he said, smiling nervously.

Inside were several books you’d been wanting for months.

“Charles,” you breathed, genuinely touched. “These are perfect.”

His face lit up, relief washing over him. “I hoped you’d like them.”

You looked up at him, your smile turning mischievous. “I do. But you know,” you said, your voice dropping just enough for only him to hear, “I think I could use some Charles Dickens too.” 

His brain short-circuited.

Charles coughed, turning his face away as his cheeks burned bright red. “Ah—” He grabbed his water glass, taking a long sip to regain his composure.

You bit your lip to keep from laughing, watching the way his hand fisted his napkin, the tension radiating from his entire body.

By the time you said your goodbyes and got into the car, the air was thick with unspoken tension. Charles didn’t say much on the drive home, his hands gripping the wheel tightly, his jaw set as he stared straight ahead.

You glanced at him, amused. “Are you okay?”

His laugh was dry, almost dangerous. “You’re really enjoying yourself, aren’t you?”

“What do you mean?” you asked, feigning innocence.

He didn’t reply, but the corner of his mouth twitched, and you knew you’d crossed a line.

The moment you stepped through the door, Charles shut it behind you with more force than necessary, spinning you around and pinning you against it. His hands framed your face, his body pressing into yours as his lips hovered just above yours.

“Do you have any idea what you’ve done tonight?” he murmured, his voice low and filled with restrained frustration.

You tilted your head, your lips curling into a teasing smile. “I’m not sure. Care to remind me?”

His hand slid down to your hip, gripping it firmly as he pressed closer, his breath hot against your neck. “You’ve been teasing me all night,” he growled. “Brushing against me, whispering in my ear, saying things you know you shouldn’t.”

Your pulse raced, but you couldn’t resist pushing him just a little further. “And what are you going to do about it?”

He pulled back just enough to meet your gaze, his eyes dark and smoldering. “Oh, chérie, you’ve been such a bad girl tonight,” he said, “And I’m going to make sure you understand it.”

Before you could respond, his lips crashed into yours, demanding and punishing. His hands roamed your body, his grip possessive as he dominated the kiss, leaving you breathless and clinging to him.

“You’ve had your fun,” he murmured against your lips, his tone softening but still firm. “Now it’s my turn.”

With that, he scooped you up effortlessly and carried you to the bedroom, tossing you onto the bed with a smirk that made your stomach flip.

“Stay right there,” he commanded, his eyes glinting with anticipation as he unbuttoned his sleeves and rolled them up slowly. “We’re not done yet.”

And as he stalked toward you, you knew you were in for a very memorable Christmas.

You barely had time to catch your breath before Charles was on you, his body moving with a deliberate, unyielding confidence that made your pulse race. He climbed onto the bed, his knees sinking into the mattress as his hands found your wrists, pinning them above your head with ease.

"Do you know how hard it was to sit through dinner tonight?" he asked, his voice low, each word dripping with restrained intensity. His lips brushed against your ear, sending a shiver down your spine. "Do you know what you did to me?"

Your throat was dry, your heart hammering against your ribcage as his grip on your wrists tightened just enough to make you feel completely at his mercy.

"I-I might have an idea,” you managed, though your voice betrayed you, shaky and breathless.

His laugh was soft but dark, laced with a dangerous sort of amusement. "Oh, chérie, I don't think you do."

His free hand trailed down your arm, his touch featherlight, teasing and unhurried. You squirmed beneath him, heat pooling in your stomach as his fingers traced the line of your collarbone, dipping lower with every pass.

"Be still," he ordered, his tone sharp enough to make you freeze, your body obeying before your mind even registered the command.

The tension in the room was palpable, every nerve in your body attuned to his every movement. You felt the weight of his gaze as he looked down at you, his eyes dark and focused, as though he were memorizing every inch of you.

"You've been such a tease tonight," he murmured, his hand continuing its slow exploration. His fingers skimmed the hem of your sweater, pausing just long enough to make you ache for more. 

"Did you think I wouldn't notice? That I wouldn't do something about it?"

You swallowed hard, your skin prickling under his touch. "Maybe I was hoping you would."

His smirk was devastating, a perfect mix of amusement and dominance. "Careful what you wish for, mon amour."

His lips claimed yours again, the kiss intense and demanding, leaving you breathless. You felt the scrape of his teeth against your lower lip, a sharp contrast to the softness of his tongue as he deepened the kiss, stealing what little control you thought you had left.

When he pulled back, you gasped for air, your chest heaving as his lips moved to your neck, trailing a line of heat that made your toes curl. Every press of his mouth, every scrape of his teeth, sent shockwaves through you, making it impossible to think about anything but him.

"Do you feel that?” he asked, his voice a gravelly whisper as his hand finally slid beneath the hem of your sweater, his crotch brushing against your thigh.

"Yes," you breathed, your voice barely audible.

His hand moved with deliberate slowness, his touch both teasing and possessive, as though he were staking his claim. "Good," he murmured, his lips brushing against your jaw. “Because I want you to remember this. Every. Single. Second."

His words sent a shiver through you, your body arching toward him instinctively, desperate for more.

"Patience," he said, his tone firm but not unkind. "You don't get to rush me, not after tonight."

The weight of his words settled over you, and you realized he was doing this on purpose-dragging it out, making you feel every agonizing second of his touch. And it was working.

When he finally moved to shed the sweater you'd worn specifically to catch his attention, his hands were slow, precise, as though unwrapping a gift he intended to savor. The fabric pooled on the bed, leaving you exposed to his gaze, which burned into you.

"You're beautiful," he said, his voice softer now, reverent even. His hand traced a path down your side, his touch igniting sparks everywhere he touched.

Your breaths came in short, shallow bursts as he leaned down, his lips finding the sensitive spot just below your ear. "Do you trust me?" he asked, his voice a low rumble that sent a thrill through you.

"Yes," you whispered, your heart swelling with both anticipation and certainty.

"Good," he said, his lips brushing against your skin. "Then let me show you exactly how bad you've been."

You didn’t know how much time had passed. Your body felt like it had been taken apart and put back together, every nerve alive and buzzing, your muscles trembling in the aftermath.

You were exhausted, but it was a good exhaustion—the kind that left you boneless and utterly content, your heart still racing as you tried to catch your breath.

Beside you, Charles sat up on the edge of the bed, his chest rising and falling as he ran a hand through his tousled hair. His back glistened faintly, his broad shoulders tense for a moment before he exhaled deeply and turned to look at you.

“Mon amour,” he murmured, brushing damp strands of hair from your face. His touch was gentle now, a stark contrast to the way he’d gripped you earlier, his hands firm and unrelenting. “Are you okay?”

You smiled, your voice hoarse from all the times you’d screamed his name. “I’m more than okay.”

He chuckled, leaning down to press a soft kiss to your forehead. “You’re amazing,” he said quietly, his thumb stroking your cheek.

Without another word, he stood and disappeared into the bathroom. You heard the sound of water running, and a moment later, he returned with a warm, damp towel. He knelt beside the bed, his movements unhurried as he gently cleaned your skin, murmuring soft reassurances as he worked.

“You pushed me tonight,” he said, his tone teasing but affectionate as he wiped your shoulder. “But I might have pushed you harder. Did I go too far?”

You shook your head, reaching out to touch his arm. “Not at all.”

His lips quirked into a small smile, though his eyes remained serious. “If I ever do, you tell me. Promise?”

“I promise,” you said, squeezing his arm to reassure him.

Satisfied, he set the towel aside and climbed back into bed, pulling you into his arms. The heat of his body was soothing, and you curled into him instinctively, resting your head on his chest.

His fingers began tracing lazy patterns on your back, his touch light and soothing. “You completely wore me out,” you mumbled, a soft laugh escaping you.

He laughed too, the sound vibrating against your cheek. “Good,” he said, kissing the top of your head. “Maybe next time you’ll think twice before teasing me like that.”

“Doubtful,” you murmured, smiling as your eyelids grew heavy.

Charles sighed dramatically, though the smile in his voice was unmistakable. “You’ll never learn, will you?”

“Probably not,” you admitted, your words slurring as sleep began to claim you.

His arms tightened around you, his voice the last thing you heard before slipping into dreams. “Then I guess I’ll just have to keep reminding you.”

"Merry Christmas Charlie" 

"Merry Christmas love"