#little vexing about the distance

[raeathnos]

.

[soobnny]

cops and robbers — kim seungmin

trope: kim seungmin x reader | strangers-to-lovers ; use of profanity ; mentions of a one night stand once ; he’s a fuckboy basically summary: fuckboy kim seungmin takes interest in the quiet, photography major who lives just across his dorm. wc: 3.8k words

The first time Kim Seungmin sees you, you have a camera strapped around your neck.

You’re just across his dorm room, hands fiddling on the buttons of your DSLR and eyes shifting where you can get your eyes on, looking.

Probably for something that can be added to your portfolio, he thinks. Not that he cares.

It isn’t all that hard to spot him either. Seungmin is easy to find, with a cigarette lit between his fingers and the smell of smoke vexing your senses. His entire body is leant on the wall, eyebrow slit and all to truly sell the fuckboy character.

You lock eyes when you finally find the source of smoke, and you think for a second to tell him to stop. It’s not what you do. Instead, you shift your attention.

It’s never a good idea to be within distance of boys like him anyway. There are other things to think about, things much more important. Like what you’ll have for dinner, the old pair of shoes you need to replace, your final portfolio.

Sighing, you look down at your camera.

You hope the low ISO 200 can capture whatever the fuck you want to take a photo of tonight—long shutter speeds, white balance on auto, manual mode. You’d be fucked if you didn’t have these settings memorized.

Different for day. Different for night. It’s a hassle, but it’s a hassle you keep up with if you want to graduate.

“You know, it isn’t safe for pretty girls like you to be out this late.”

Raspy. It comes from just behind you, and you have half a mind to turn to face the threat when you’re greeted face to face with a smirking Kim Seungmin. He sounds kitschy, looks kitchsy and it seems like he knows it as well.

You roll your eyes. “I think I’ll be fine.”

He stares at you for a minute.

“Whatever you say, princess.” The bass of his voice is a little terrifying, but not enough for you to shuffle away.

He would’ve been more if you weren’t hellbent on the idea of finishing your portfolio for the semester. Nothing scares you more than a failing class.

Not even Seungmin.

He doesn’t seem to mind your lack of chalant. He doesn’t really care. The boy has never been the type to stick his nose in other people’s business, talking to others only when necessary. Being annoyingly chatty was reserved for his friends.

In hindsight, starting a conversation with you should’ve been the first outlier he noticed on his sudden shift of behavior. But he doesn’t. Instead, he shrugs his shoulders and separates himself from you.

He was only out for a smoke anyway.

+

The next time he sees you is after his one-night-stand-gone-wrong.

It’s still at night, just a week later. And you look exactly like the way you were, camera in your hand and an unbothered look on your face.

Though, when you hear footsteps echoing from just a short distance and spot a speeding figure coming from his room, your face twists in disdain.

You were only out to practice a certain exposure you want to perfect. Not to bear witness to whatever the fuck happens in Seungmin’s dorms.

When he locks eyes with you for the second time that week, you pretend not to notice anything.

“You again?”

He’s shameless. A bit of his overgrown sideburns are sticking to his skin, shirt lazily thrown on, and sweat still glistening on his forehead. You don’t want to think of the connotations of what your observations could possibly mean.

You simply look at him, the way his face morphs in recognition and the way his neck cranes just a little. He looks like he’s in his element, sweat and fucked-out eyes and furrowed eyebrows.

You’re the exact opposite, picking at the buttons of your camera with sleep-riddled eyes and air struck hair.

Sighing, you push yourself off your unflattering position on the ground, brushing off the rubble that might’ve stuck on your pants from sitting there for so long.

You slip back into your dorm room without uttering a single response to the boy.

+

He sees you everywhere after that.

And truthfully, it was starting to get annoying. Especially when the boys started catching on to his staring.

While Changbin was narrating stories of nights Seungmin couldn’t care for the details of, he finds himself scanning the student hall.

He thinks he doesn’t know the reason why, or at least not until he finds you eating with some other girl.

Your eyes are intently glued to the screen of your camera. He wonders what photos could litter the memory of your SD card.

Before he can even shift his attention back to whatever the fuck was happening back with his friends, he’s caught red-handed. Shit-eating grins surround the table, a few howls here and there, and shoves that Seungmin could've gone without.

“Is she your next target, Seungmin?”

He wants to vomit at the word choice.

“Target?” He scoffs. You weren’t a target. “She isn’t even my type.”

Kim Seungmin brushes off their noise, canceling out the ill-intentions they’ve made up for him. He just sits there, unperturbed by everything until his friends finish eating.

He looks at you one last time before leaving. It’s hard not to.

It doesn’t save him from further teasing.

+

“You’re a photography major?”

You’re caught off guard by the sudden voice behind you.

It seems Seungmin has made a habit of surprising you when you least expect to see him.

“...I am.”

You finally reply after letting the question hang in the air for a few seconds longer than necessary. He doesn’t care, only cares that you responded to him.

“You don’t talk much, do you?”

Is he only capable of asking you questions?

“We’re not friends.” You deadpan. His lips pull into a smile.

“I’m just curious why you have a camera with you all the time. Loosen up.”

He doesn’t say anything after that, just lets the silence hang there. He knows he can tick you off even more, but he doesn’t find himself wanting to. He simply walks back to the dorms with you.

When he walks too fast, he stalls—for just enough time for you to catch up with him.

You fail to notice the way he shifts his position, always standing by the busy side of the road.

+

“Are you smoking again?”

It’s the first time you initiate conversation, and he snaps out of the trance he’d been in. He was outside again, similar to when he’d first met you. And you were still you, with your camera, and the way you lift it to fit your eye through the viewfinder.

“Why? Are you starting to care about me, princess?” There’s that same smirk evident, and it seems he took your question as invitation to stand next to where you are.

You want to stomp on his face.

“‘M just asking. I really couldn’t care less.”

You can smell the smoke off of him, warranting you to take a full step away. You’ve always hated its scent, and the second-hand smoke exposure.

In turn, Seungmin runs a hand through his hair. It’s shorter, looks like he got it trimmed recently. When you put your camera away in favor of leaving the site of crime, the boy attempts to stop you.

“Leaving already?”

“It isn’t exactly part of my tuition fee to talk to people like you.”

You sound harsh, and it’s an odd feeling to suddenly feel offended about a simple phrase he’s heard multiple times before.

People like you.

What the hell was that even supposed to mean?

“Spare me a few more minutes, angel.”

You don’t bother arguing any further. Besides, you still needed a few more practice photos of where you were looking. You lift your camera back up to peek through its viewfinder, and you can only hope the noise of your photos is enough to drown him out.

“What are you doing out here so late, anyway? Didn’t I tell you it wasn’t safe?”

“I also remember telling you I’ll be fine.” You grumble, snapping a shot. He moves closer to you when you open your mouth to continue talking. “Practicing helps ease the feeling of dread, like I’d be less likely to fail if I did.”

Seungmin notices the calluses on your hands, rough with hard work, and then his eyes trail to your side profile. The light exposure from the moon makes you look prettier than you already do.

Wait, what?

The boy has never stared at someone’s hands and drawn a conclusion before, never taken the time to admire and talk to someone he wasn’t planning on screwing over either.

There’s a first for everything.

“Smoking helps.”

You snort at his sudden comment. Too much time has passed by for him to suddenly butt back into the conversation. The timing makes you laugh a little.

His heart races at the sound.

“Are there thoughts when you feel dread?” He asks, albeit a little silent, in case you didn’t want to talk about it.

You contemplate whether you should talk about it. It’s an unlikely conversation to have with an unlikely person like Kim Seungmin.

Against your better judgement, you answer.

“I don’t know. It just feels like… it feels like my heart is palpitating. I feel scared for some reason. I guess I just really don’t want to fail. Does that make sense?”

“Yeah. It does.”

“You also feel dread?” You ask.

He hums in response. “All the time. Sometimes I’m not sure if the decisions I’m making are the right ones.”

It makes him sound so human to be able to empathize. You hate to admit you’re surprised.

“Just do what feels right in your heart.”

“How am I supposed to know?”

“You’ll know.” You mumble.

The few minutes you’ve spared him has run out. “Goodbye now, Seungmin.”

“You know who I am?”

“Everybody knows who you are. You and your friends.” You wave him off, finally shutting off your camera and putting the lens hood back. “Bye.”

You’re dismissive, and it’s something that would usually annoy Seungmin because he’s the dismissive one in his friend group.

The sudden challenge should anger him, but it doesn’t. What is it about you, and your playing hard to get, and your dismissiveness that has his attention so much?

He’s usually the one being chased, never chasing.

He’s usually the one being told things, never initiating. Never telling.

You’ve definitely done something to him, but he doesn’t want to think about it.

He really doesn’t want to think about it.

+

It happened without warning.

You only remember how angry Seungmin was. Everything else was a little blurry.

You don’t even know who threw the first punch. Shapes and shadows just seemed to move around you until a fight broke out.

The victim was from the Engineering department, though you don’t find the word victim befitting for someone like him. You don’t even know his name, just that he has a history for picking on people.

And it seemed today, you had fallen prey. You guess it just wasn’t your lucky day.

Though, if you think of the situation in whole, he definitely had worse luck than you.

Seungmin was locked and loaded behind gritted teeth and white knuckles when he threw a punch. And he was unforgiving with his hits.

“Seungmin, stop it.” Your voice comes out in a desperate plea, and as if a switch, he pulls himself off of the nameless Engineering boy.

“Fucking asshole.” Seungmin spits at him.

He surprises you with how cold he can speak. While you’ve always known that boys like him were a little more asshole-coded, you didn’t think he had it in his moral compass to defend you after having only shared not more than four conversations.

“Why would you do that? Seungmin, what the hell?”

You’re exasperated as you peel him away from the crime scene. He’d suffered a few blows you’re sure would bruise later, and his knuckles were bloody from his displays of violence earlier.

He’s speed walking ahead of you, doesn’t think he can look at you.

“Why didn’t you stand up for yourself? He had your camera.” His voice was significantly louder than it had been during your earlier conversations. You think it might be the first time he’s raised his voice at you.

His features, however, deeply contrast with the upset dripping from his voice. His face softens ridiculously fast when he turns back to look at you. And while his intentions send a soft nudge on your heart, you’re still upset at the predicament he’d willingly and intentionally put himself into.

“I didn’t need you to start a fight.” You sigh, tugging him by his arm after he’d stopped walking to direct his line of sight at you.

You continue the fleet-footed walk back to your dorm, dragging him with you.

“A thank you would be appreciated.” He grumbles from behind you, but makes no move to free his arm from your grip. Seungmin simply lets you drag him away.

“Stay there.” You sit him down just in front of your door before slipping into your little room. It takes no longer than two minutes before you’re back outside.

He’s still right where you left him. The only difference is he’s looking at you as if he’d been waiting for you to come out.

You make a move to crouch next to him.

There’s a first aid kit sitting between the two of you, a tub of water, among other things.

“How could you be so reckless?” You offer no warning when you take his hands, soaking them under the water and carefully washing the site of injury.

When you’re sure it’s clean, you turn to look at him. “You barely even know me, and you’re getting into fights.”

You’re clearly stressed, packing ice into a thin cloth while lecturing him under one breath. He doesn’t argue with you. Instead, he hyper fixates on the way you hold his hand—resting it on your thigh, applying light pressure on his bruise.

Your hand is warm, almost too warm against his. And he notices the same callouses he did that night you caught him smoking again. Yours with hard work, his with stubborn lament.

The action makes his face flush an embarrassing color. You don’t seem to notice. You’re too preoccupied being upset to even look him in the face.

“You better not do this again.”

In truth, Seungmin had probably suffered much worse than bruised knuckles. This, in comparison to all the previous fights he’d gotten himself into, was nothing. But it feels more significant than the rest.

His heart folds at how you’re taking care of him.

It was a curiously intimate thing for you to attempt to reduce the swelling with your makeshift cold compress. There’s an unidentifiable feeling in his heart he still doesn’t want to think about, but he knows there’s a subtle change in the air that he needs to address.

“He could’ve smashed years of your hard work.” He suddenly breaks the silence.

It triggers you to glance up, and you lock eyes with Seungmin once more. It looks like he’s rethinking whether he should continue talking.

Against his better judgment, he does. “He had your camera, and all I could think about was how devastated you would feel if he’d broken it.”

You blink a couple of times at his sudden confession. Moreso because he’d been observant enough to know the significance of that single piece of item. And maybe because he was looking at you a certain way.

He does that sometimes.

You don’t really know what to say to him, so you shift your focus back on his wounds. And when you’re sure there wasn’t any more damage, you let him go. “I’m done. You can go.”

A silence falls between you both before the boy climbs back on his feet while holding the cold compress you’d handed him. He takes a few tentative steps away.

“And Seungmin?”

He suddenly turns back at the interjection of your voice, looking at you with that same look from earlier, like you should know he’d do it again for you. It’s almost fond. And Seungmin hovers there, waiting.

You take the brief moment where his attention is on you to finally say the words that’d been brewing in your throat.

“Thank you.”

You’re trying so hard to keep your voice monotone. He’s trying so hard not to smile.

+

Seungmin’s been in front of you for almost ten minutes now.

It’d been almost a week since he’d gotten into a fight, and he has the gall to suddenly appear in front of you. In the student center during dinner, of all places.

“Hi.” It’s his fourth time uttering those words now, but it seems your attention is still on whatever the fuck poison they were serving for dinner.

“Talk to me. Hi.” He persists.

(“He likes her, for sure.” Hyunjin laughs from a few tables away.

There’s amusement in Chan’s eyes.

“Yeah, he definitely does.” The eldest smiles to himself.)

His attempts are fruitless. You are still drinking your soup, and he is still vying for your attention.

“You’re ignoring me.” Seungmin pouts. He actually pouts. “Are you still upset I started a fight?”

You don’t respond. If you were honest with yourself, you don’t know why you’re ignoring him either. Was it because you’d felt the slightest nudge in your feelings the last time you saw each other?

“Pretty girl.”

You stall before asking. “How’s your knuckles?”

He smiles. “Better. Will you stop ignoring me now?”

“I wasn’t ignoring you.”

“If you want me to apologize, I won’t. I don’t feel regret for doing what I did. I’d rather his face smashed than your camera.”

There’s that nudge again. You didn’t want him to apologize either. A few days of mulling it over and the news of quiet in the Engineering department since his fight with Seungmin tells you enough that the benefits had outweighed the risks.

No more stories of students being taunted for doing absolutely nothing.

The boy in front of you clears his throat, trying to get your attention. “But, I’m willing to do anything else for you to stop ignoring me, or apologize for anything else.”

An idea flashes in your head.

“I know how you can make it up to me.” You say in lieu of a real response.

+

When you’d asked him for a favor, he’d gotten a little excited.

He’d thought it was somewhere along the lines of a date, like that crap he sees in movies. He didn’t think he’d have to model for a few shots in your portfolio.

“New piercing?” You ask, gesturing at your own lips to try and mirror the spot he’d gotten it. It’s silver and shiny, and definitely adds to the fuckboy appeal.

You shudder, you know your own parents would never agree to you doing the same.

“Like it?” Seungmin has the audacity to smirk, flaunting the silver on his lower lip. You simply roll your eyes.

(Though, the few seconds you spare to stare at it is enough judgment for him.

You lift your camera back up. “Alright. Just do whatever for now. Actually, maybe a hand in your pocket—yeah. That’s perfect.”

He does whatever the hell he can think of. And while most would’ve been embarrassed by now, he couldn’t find it in himself to care. If it meant you’d stop ignoring him, he’d do this a million times over.

“Stay in that position.”

“Hmm, I like it when you’re being bossy.”

“Shut up.” You snap a shot, looking at the screen of your camera and smiling in contentment. You don’t give him the time to rest before you’re lifting it back up to eye-level.

And it goes on like that for a while. You use him to study lighting, and angles, and shadows, and forms.

Though, it’s a little difficult when he looks so damn attractive in everything. You might have a biased model. You’re afraid if you were to shoot him in shitty lighting, it would still turn out good.

“Alright.” You switch off your camera after flicking through the numerous shots you’d taken. “I think I’m done.”

“So, you’ll stop ignoring me now?”

He looks at you with everything so potently him when he’s with you.

“Uhuh.” You hum, letting your DSLR drop around your neck. He smiles victoriously.

None of you turn to leave.

You lament in the night air just a little longer, and Seungmin spends the time staring at you.

You suddenly turn to him. His gaze is a little too invasive not to notice. “What?”

“Just thinking.”

“About?”

“You.” There’s something about the way he says it that makes you look away. You could swear you saw a tint of red on the tip of his ears.

“Among other girls, I presume.”

He exhales. “No. Just you.”

“Resident fuckboy Kim Seungmin thinking about just one girl?”

“Fuck you.” Though, there’s no spit in the way he says it. His heart warms at the thought of you feeling comfortable enough to joke around with him now, despite you still coining him a fuckboy. He supposes that one’s on him for years of tainted reputation.

Your half laugh at being cursed echoes in his mind, lingering more there than in the air.

“You’re acting strange tonight, Seungmin.”

“You make me act strange.” His voice softens even though he’s essentially putting the blame on you for the way he was acting. And he says it in a way that makes you think he’s waiting for you to say something, or to at least understand the intentions behind his words.

You don’t know how to respond though. He sounds a little too serious to just merely be fucking around with you, like you’ve heard he does.

“The boys are saying I’m getting soft.” Seungmin doesn’t sound like he’s waiting for your response, so you let him continue talking. “Ever since that first night I met you. What the fuck did you do to me?”

He meets your eyes.

“Will you say something?”

You attempt to flat out your nerves at how he’s baring himself vulnerable in front of you all of a sudden. You would be lying if you said you hadn’t grown fond of the boy after his multiple attempts at getting your attention, but you’d also be lying if you said you didn’t think it was just another one of his ploys to get into your pants.

“How do I know you’re not lying?”

“I’m acting like a damn puppy following you around everywhere. And I let you boss me around for pictures when I could be drinking with my friends right now.” He’s still eye-to-eye with you, and it’s scary the way honestly spills from his.

“Then go drink with your friends then. ‘M not forcing you to be here.”

You’re so fucking stubborn, and he tries to search for your eyes but you aren’t looking at him anymore. Yours are downcast somewhere, on the ground, on anywhere but his eyes.

“Look at me.” You don’t know why, but you instantly do. Maybe it was in the way he said it, almost desperate. “I don’t want to drink with my friends. I want to be here with you. Because I like you.”

You crack a slow smile at his words, and at the way he’s stripped himself in genuine softness in front of you. It wasn’t everyday you’d see Kim Seungmin like this.

“So don’t think I’d lie to you about that.” He’s pouting again, and you tease him for it.

You get on your toes, get a good look on his face and the pout that adorns it. “Are you upset I thought you were lying?”

“Fuck off. I’m just—” He can’t help but laugh, pushing you away from him lest he wants to suffer the consequences of kissing you without your permission. He wants you to like him back, and if he has to do it slowly, so be it.

“Just give me a chance.” Almost pleading.

You press your tongue against the inside of your cheek. “Okay.”

“I understand if you—” He suddenly pauses. “Okay?”

“Okay.”

He stares at your lips, at the way it forms around the word, and he’s puzzled at how hot his face feels because he’s never been flustered like this. And he thinks his cheeks will start to burn if he doesn’t stop smiling. But he just can’t bring himself to stop, not when you’ve willingly given him a chance.

On your own autonomy.

“You won’t regret it.”

You don’t think you will.

[hedgehog-moss]

Look at the delicious sushi for llamas I made today:

It's courgette stuffed with deworming paste and thanks to Poldine my plan went swimmingly. Pampelune is sometimes distrustful on deworming day, but when they saw Poldine get a treat then try to steal the other treats which were obviously meant for them, the other animals hurried to claim their own medicinal courgette as well.

Except Pampe. (How many times have I written these words.) She looked at her sushi, looked at me, sniffed every side of the courgette, decided it smelled like deceit, and walked away.

I felt daft for not going the muesli route straight away. Like all great tricksters Pampérigouste is suspicious by nature but she can't resist muesli. So I un-stuffed the courgette and used the sticky deworming paste to fashion a little muesli ball.

It was gooey and not very appetising but it's muesli, right? I camouflaged the muesli ball in a dish of innocent muesli and offered it to Pampe, but unfortunately she was now very aware that I was up to something. Instead of mindlessly vacuuming the contents of the muesli dish as she usually does, she examined the strange slimy little ball, pushed it away with her nose with obvious contempt, then ate the normal muesli. I tried (with increasing insistence and frustration) to convince her to eat the damn muesli ball, but no.

New idea: I went to the kitchen to get some pumpkin rinds, and squished the muesli ball between two small pieces of pumpkin skin like a Choco BN (if you're from the US, picture an orange worm-killing Oreo). Pampe likes pumpkin skin! I tried to explain to her that she would be punishing only herself if she refused the (admittedly deceitful) offering out of principle.

Somehow she managed to eat the outside 'biscuits' and spit out the stuffing.

At this point I had to shame her. (I told her to look ashamed for this photo; not sure she understood the assignment)

I had exhausted my creativity and had nothing left but the mean method. I got Pampe in llama jail, aka the school room where I spent many hours trying to teach her to wear a halter and be a good docile llama when she was little, while she spent many hours trying to escape by any conceivable means—high jumps, bribery, tunnels, you name it.

(In the background behind Poldine you can see the bag of hay that I used to get the llamas to follow me into the corral. Pampe naively thought I had given up on trying to make her eat gross slimy things and was about to give her a normal meal)

She tried a strange kind of escape this time around, which honestly might have worked if she were a swift salmon returning to her natal river to spawn, slicing against the current in a series of graceful, forward-arching curves. But she's a llama. It's like she forgot she wasn't all neck and also had a body that needed to clear this obstacle.

I sang her a little song to soothe her, and scritched her face, and managed to get a llama kiss which is more affection than I've ever received from a currently-jailed Pampe—her daughter really is a good influence on her!

So of course I took advantage of this moment of calm and trust to stick my hidden secret syringe in the corner of her mouth and push 2cm of deworming paste onto her tongue.

She was VEXED and WROTH.

We were talking about learning poetry by heart the other day; well, if Pampérigouste did that, "I am rowing (a hex poem)" is the poem she would have invoked in that moment.

After I left, all the other animals hurried into the corral to eat the hay I had used to get Pampe in, while Pampe turned her back on the meal and walked away a strategic distance, far enough to show me that she felt betrayed and would never eat any food I bring her ever again, not so far that she couldn't go back in and fight the donkey for what was left of the hay as soon as I stopped looking.

[faesystem]

As an ambulatory wheelchair user I have so many thoughts about how people draw/write disabled!Scar. This is sort of a guide/insight from a disabled person about writing/drawing disabled people.

Specifically in regards to wheelchair users.

Do not get me wrong, this fandom is genuinely probably the best group of people I have ever seen when it comes to drawing wheelchairs. I do not believe I have ever seen Scar fanart where he is in a completely unusable, horrible, hospital chair. It is so clear people have taken the time and energy to research into wheelchairs and I love it. I am in no way saying stop that.

I just think people could maybe put a little bit more consideration into him being disabled beyond visual appearance.

I saw a really amazing artwork of SL!Scar and he is in a sports chair. Which is really cool, in many ways, as it shows some thought being put into the setting. If I were in combat, I would in fact like to not be knocked from my chair or have my chair tipped over.

Yet, you have very limited mobility in a sports chair. It is, by design, made to prevent you from tipping over. Which means that you are incapable of going over bumps, really, let alone natural terrain.

Just in general, there really is not any wheelchair that exists in our world that would allow wheelchair users to exist in a setting like the life series.

So, I have some ideas:

- Horses. Hands down my biggest suggestion. Especially with Secret Life they fit in very well with the setting, everyone uses them, and it fits the bill perfectly for what he would need. Especially considering Scar is an archer, it makes a lot of sense for him to be on horseback. It suits him and his style of fighting so well.

- Some sort of redstone power chair. There are all sorts of ways you could design something like this. Perhaps with pistons that push down against the ground, allowing for jumps. Perhaps just a series of pistions functioning as like a bunch of little spider legs. There are a lot of things you can do with that, you can get very creative.

- For my Vex!Scar lovers, you could have magic be used as a mobility aid. Perhaps a magic wheelchair, or perhaps a magic exoskeleton.

And with all of the ideas, considering how they fit into the setting really changes everything. What are the strengths? What are the draw backs?

With horses, they are strong and fast and agile. But they are big, it is hard to fit into small spaces, and they can be killed.

With some sort of redstone chair, I feel as though it would make sense for it to be robust and strong. Depending on how it is constructed, something fast and agile or perhaps something a bit slower and more clunky. Is it loud? How would stealth work in something like that?

When it comes to any sort of magic you do not want it to fix the disability. It is a mobility aid like any other. Not perfect, not the same as not being disabled, just another tool with its own unique draw backs. Perhaps magic is draining or it takes concentration. Would he tire quicker than others? Would he require food quicker than others? Is it possible for him to lose focus on it in a stressful situation, leaving him stuck until he can calm himself down?

Other things to consider are really specifically the setting as well as what disability you are giving him.

I feel as though on Hermitcraft an option like a redstone chair just makes a lot of sense. Multiple redstone chairs, even, all constructed differently for different uses. Such as ones for building. How does long distance travel work with the chair and how you lore your setting? Is it something he can put in his inventory? Is it something he remains in when using an elytra? Does that have any draw backs, such as being slower or needing more rockets or being less coordinated in the air?

I feel as though in the life series a mix of vex magic and horses makes a lot of sense. The magic is good for small spaces and short trips and emergencies, but it is too tiring to travel across the map with and too much effort to maintain when he needs to concentrate on battles. That would be where the horse comes into play.

As for what disability, well, it truly depends. Most of my rambles here have been based upon paraplegia, because I often times see people making him an ambulatory wheelchair user just because they do not know what to do otherwise.

Not that making him an ambulatory wheelchair user is a bad thing by any means. I am one and I adore reading stories like that. It is just a bit clear that a lot of you are quite lost as to how to navigate hurdles disabled people face, so you make it so he can walk over those hurdles. Which, once again, I am not shaming you for! This post is just to show there are other options

But in the case of him being an ambulatory wheelchair user: why is he one?

Mobilities aids are disabling unless you need them. You cannot access spaces or you do not have hands free or any number of things. What to the Scar you are writing makes using mobility aids helpful instead of a hindrance? What times are they more trouble than help, and what cost is there for not using it?

A good example is if Scar can walk around short distances with minimal difficulty/drawback, but long distances are painful or physically not possible.

Look into different disabilities and consider it. A lot of people tend to default to chronic pain because that tends to be quite a common one across a lot of disabled people, but there are a lot more different reasons why.

It could also be that he is very slow because of his disabilities. I have muscle weakness sometimes because of my FND, and it is like moving through sludge whenever I try and move.

It could also be that the mobility aids are a preventative measure. He does not need to use his wheelchair, unless he has done too much walking and then his body refuses to support his weight. He does not need to use his wheelchair, but when he does not he is a lot more likely to dislocate something and then yeah he can't walk. He does not need to use his wheelchair, but he is a fall risk especially after a lot of walking or running. Him being in his wheelchair prevents him from falling! (And if he's a fall risk, maybe he's strapped in too!)

I just have so many thoughts and I wanted to share them.

I see so many of you putting in effort already and it warms my heart. It is why I feel comfortable enough to make this post, because clearly you all care a lot about representing disabled people well.

:]

If you have read this far thank you so much. Let me know what you think or if you have any questions.

Edit: I made a rough redstone wheelchair design. It is one of the few reblogs that has comments, if you filter for that you should be able to find it. If not, reply to the post and I can send you the link to it. :]

[anantaru]

EX HUSBAND ALHAITHAM

— ꒰ synopsis ꒱ — ex! husband alhaitham headcanons

— ꒰ warnings ꒱ — fluff, crack??, [ex]plicit, fem! reader, just a sprinkle of possessiveness but not detailed, kaveh is a paid actor in this

ex! husband alhaitham who will transparently accept your decision to the divorce, in defiance of his own individualistic judgment about your commitment. Truthfully, and as far as one can tell, he was anything else but delighted by it, yet he was aware that he couldn't force such decision out of you, quite bothersome— he thinks.

ex! husband alhaitham who will come off as decidedly snotty in the first couple instances of your next meet ups, but when you propose the rational idea of keeping a distance between each other he will blatantly refuse it and assure you that he still considers you as his best friend regardless of the vexing circumstances of your failed relationship.

ex! husband alhaitham who you undisputedly trust when he guarantees you that he's over the entire situation just as much as you were, no, he in fact did not think you both would get back together but it was a logical process to look after a 'friend', so he doesn't understand your sense of reluctance at first. Yes, again, you're free to do whatever you want as long as you both continue to harvest a flourishing friendship.

ex! husband alhaitham who will keep a sprinkling of his own belongings in your home even after he moved back into his old house— he will always assure you that he's going to get them, really, once he's free from working but he never does. It's a secret (and beneficial) way of forcing you to see random possessions that will remind you of him.

ex! husband alhaitham who still pays things regarding your entire house, even though he isn't living there anymore— though he wants to do it regardless. When you proceed to tell him that it's okay, you got it covered and you can't be dependable on him forever he's warily accepting it but will then silently outlay several bills behind your person without ever telling you— because it's really not a big deal and he doesn't understand why you're making it one.

ex! husband alhaitham who will quiz kaveh more often now after your divorce to stealthily find out about your latest happenings or if you've bumped into another relationship thus far. In the early stages, your friend kaveh wasn't pleased about aiding your ex in this taxing scheme, but in the fullness of time he will be exceptionally beguiled into thinking it's to assure you're doing okay after the divorce.

ex! husband alhaitham who had the splendid idea to meet up for dinner (or lunch) at your once shared house periodically, giving no additional elaboration to it— as he put it, it's to fortify your innocent cordial bond, without having any ulterior motives behind the sudden urge.

ex! husband alhaitham who will ridicule every budding relationship (or friendship) that would embark into your space but he'd do it dubiously respectful as well as passive aggressive so you initially won't catch onto it. Whenever someone would claim to know a particular fact about you, ex! husband alhaitham would beg to differ and instead, correct them.

once you're asking ex! husband alhaitham to tone it down a little— otherwise some might think you're still a couple or rekindling, he's retracting the question to you and ask if you're really okay with someone spreading misinformation about you.

ex! husband alhaitham who will downrightly tell you that no matter the coeval occurrences, you are still his person and that he frankly isn't interested in dating or pursuing someone else, he'd rather just focus on work and live a comfortable life with you by his side, he didn't care if you're his friend or spouse.

ex! husband alhaitham who will be— for once, at loss of words when you're telling him to stop making it so challenging, that there was a reason you have decided to call it quits and that he's only making it more difficult for you to fully move on. And the moment he'd perceive that he'd ask you what you meant by 'fully move on'. have you not entirely moved on yet?

ex! husband alhaitham who will take a step closer to you now, yet leaving enough space in between your bodies to not unanticipatedly overwhelm you when his eyes slowly blink over yours, demanding the truth. On how his breathing was quickening, you knew there was something he did not show you or was meant for you to be seen.

ex! husband alhaitham whose skin will be covered in goosebumps the moment you place your hand on top of his chest, right above his pounding heart. He's watching you closely and not once, averting his gaze from you. You do not talk, neither does he— it's as if you both had left it to your bodies to speak.

ex! husband alhaitham who couldn't hold himself back anymore and drew your face towards his with your chin tugged in between his thumb and pointer finger, placing a fine kiss on your sweet lips— he immediately registered just how much he missed the trifling touch of you, or the comfort your glow would convey on his, as if you were touching his hidden soul through nothing but a amiable trace.

ex! husband alhaitham who will deepen the kiss, heaving as to try to catch his own breath when you push your tongue past his lips, toying with his wetness with your arms tightly enclosed around his neck. Somehow, everything you knew had become muddled and dimmed, it's all the more difficult to let go when it came to someone like him.

ex! husband alhaitham who will kindly shush you with a chime of sweet, quick kisses while pulling you towards your once shared room, assuring you that whatever will happen after this moment, you'd get through it together— as a team.

ex! husband alhaitham who will be more animated than any other days you both had been intimate with each other, from someone who was commonly laid back in the process of it all, he now wanted to see and witness it on his skin, soul and touch. It was excruciating to catch onto his fondles and meet ups, how needful the both of you had gotten from the warm kisses.

ex! husband alhaitham who'd gently push you on top of the mattress and skillfully kick your legs apart with his knees to dwell amidst your thighs. The moment he's entirely on top of you, you had already intuited his stiffened cock beating within the confinements of his pants. He's grinding himself into you— appearing almost feral by how nasty and unyielding he was, but you loved it, because you have missed him so very much.

ex! husband alhaitham who will spoil you the whole night as to show what you willingly gave up— he wants to make sure it's engraved in your body, the trace of his soft lips, the loud darts of his tongue, the warm slurps of his mouth drilling past your folds to collect the slick that was only meant for him to taste and treasure.

ex! husband alhaitham who will decorate the inside of your thighs with gentle nibs and bite marks because at this point the control over his own emotions and needs have been kindly dwindling away. He can't recognize himself whenever he's intimate with you, whenever he's on the brink of release, it feels like he arrived where he should be, in a comfortable space with the love of his life.

ex! husband alhaitham who will kiss from your clit up to your lower stomach— smooching your belly twice, then prod his tongue out and lap all to your collarbone until finding solace on your neck, guzzling on the skin simultaneously to hovering his tip over your entrance. When he perceives your legs automatically spread farther and wrap around him— as you always did prior to the divorce, it will make him lose his mind.

ex! husband alhaitham who will set a unmanageable maddening tempo, in order for him to gape into your face and see all the sweet reactions coming from his thick cock fitting so perfectly inside of you. He notices the twitch in your brows, the gentle cradle of your lips— in a sweet pout, or how your eyes are huddling together but feebly trying to open up and see him, to thank him through nothing but your expressions.

ex! husband alhaitham whose head will suddenly feel heavy and if it wasn't for it resting against your forehead, he'd be sure it'll flop into your neck on how passionate the surroundings have gotten. He's readjusting himself and pulling your legs up so he could easily push them into your chest, his muscles were tensed and you noticed how controlled his breathing was, he's glowing and appeared majestic in front of you.

ex! husband alhaitham who would, in any other circumstances, have troubles talking about his feelings, mouth a fragile 'I love you' and making sure you see it. When he notices your eyes widen at it he's certain you know that, fuck, the entire divorce has been eating him up from the very within, if you discard of him, he wouldn't know how to react, what to do or if he's supposed to just walk away from you.

ex! husband alhaitham who will pick up the tempo on his hips the moment you return the sentence to him, when you tell him that you still love him, that you shouldn't have gone so far as to break off this marriage, but instead work more on the reappearing problems which were encountered in your marriage.

ex! husband alhaitham who senses the warm tears bubble out from the outer corners of your glassy eyes and who's swiftly sweeping them away with his thumb, leaning close until every warm exhale of his breathing coats your plump lips.

ex! husband alhaitham who before releasing his white seed in you, pauses the tumbling mess on your soiled cunt and buries himself deep to the hilt, leaving you to whine at the fullness of his heavy cock in you, begging him to mess you up with his cum.

ex! husband alhaitham who watches you in a concentrated manner— within a logical approach, because you belonged to him, he never saw it in any other form, even after all he still saw you as such, his spouse, the person he called upon whenever he was in need of company.

ex husband series.

©2023 anantaru do not repost, copy, translate, modify

[xxblairexxss]

We’ll be fine

Pairing : Charles Leclerc x reader

Theme : Angst, fluff

Word count : 4.7k

Requested!

Relationships aren’t all sunshines and rainbows. Charles and you were trying so hard to maintain this long distance relationships but everything seemed to be going the wrong way. Was it the miscommunication, the lack of reassurance or was it because of your job?

The FaceTime’s outgoing ringtone blasted through your Macbook’s speaker, giving you a jolt, though you had bern waiting for it for the past 30 minutes.

"God, I miss you so much, baby."

The sight of your boyfriend in red, all sweaty, made you all giddy like a high school teenager. "Hi, boyfriend! Congratulations on the P3!" He went on to talk about the race and everything you had missed for not being able to join him this weekend while you rested your chin on your palm whilst listening to him.

"No way! You saw the same cut board again? Was it from the same person?" You asked; your work-related stuff was long forgotten.

"I'm not sure about that, but it freaked me out a little bit seeing my face that big over and over."

You cackled. He had propped his phone against his stuff, so you got a good look at him while he sorted out things before the press conference. It made you feel as if you were there with him.

This was the first time in a while that you didn’t get into an argument during a 10-minute video call. A few weeks ago, as frequent as it was, Charles and you would always get into an argument, sometimes one that lasted for days. It was all because of your new job and the upcoming summer break.

When you first got the offer, you could see Charles wasn’t too elated about it. It didn’t mean he was unhappy to see you step up into another chapter of your life. He was so ecstatic that he even prepared a small celebration and gifts to celebrate it. For the whole week after you told him about your promotion, that was all he ever talked about.

"I’m so proud of you."

"My hardworking girl"

"You deserved it so much".

Those were the words he kept on showering you with, like a mantra.

But those words eventually turned into fatalistic, forcing you to accept the culpability of the constant disagreement in the relationship.

"Not this again, Y/N."

"I just don’t understand why it’s so hard for you."

"I’m doing this for us too!"

"Am I the only one who gives a fuck about this relationship?"

Being able to talk to him and seeing him all smile with eyes full of accolades and longing for the touch from you erased all of the tainted spots.

That was until he called you again that night. When you told him about your upcoming project was when he blew up all over again. You saw it coming. Even before you picked up the call, before you had arranged those words in your head.

"What do you mean you can’t join me next week? Y/N, it’s my summer break. Don’t you want to spend some time together?"

You covered your face with your hands, internally screaming. He always acted as if you had a choice to reject every offer that the company had arranged for you. As if you didn’t care about this relationship as much as he did. "They asked me to take over the project. I can’t say no."

"I haven’t seen you in weeks." He muttered.

"I wanted to see you too, Charles, but..."

"Don’t say that." He heckled. You saw him roll his eyes, moving away from the camera. "Don’t say shit like that just to make me feel better. I know you don’t actually mean any of it."

"Charles, I really wanted to see you but I can’t say no!" You yelled out, desperately trying to make him see things from your point of view.

"Bullshit." He sniggered.

"What?"

"What if I tell you, Oh, I missed you so much, I can’t wait to see you, then chose to spend the weekend with my friends after saying all that? It sounds bullshit to you, isn’t it?" He shook his head, as if what you said vexed him even more. 

“I wasn’t spending the weekend with my friends. I’m working! It’s a different case.” You argued back, feeling unfair from his reactions.

"I’m going to sleep. Good night."

"Already? But I thought we could talk some more. I wanted to hear your story, I wanted to tell you about happen to me on my way to work this morning.." Your pleas were ignored as he stayed silent, looking as if he were so ready to click the end call button. "It’s okay then. Good night. I love you.”

The call ended. Well, he ended the call without saying it back.

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The summer break came around. Just like any other year, Charles would spend a week with his friends and the other week with his family. You would always join him, but not this year.

You have seen videos and pictures of his friends laughing, teasing each other, and filming funny videos here and there while you were stuck in your office.

Charles would still text you; he would wish you good morning and good night; he would ask you if you had eaten and if you needed him to arrange a food delivery for you; but he never spoke about the summer break anymore. In one way, it just felt like he had erased the words from his mind. Though you still saw pictures and videos of him on his yacht, riding his jet ski, you never asked him about it—basically anything that involved the break—because you just didn’t want to get into another fit of disagreement and his failure to see your situation.

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"What are you having for dinner, baby? I can’t see." He was in his bed, barely keeping himself awake after the full-blown activities in the sea today while you were just getting ready to eat your dinner.

"I’m having sushi!" His eyes widen at the huge selection when you tilted the plate of sushi.

"That’s a lot! You got carried away with the menu again, didn’t you?"

"Yeah.." Your lips were pressed in a thin line, shoulder-sloping like a child who got into trouble.

"Can you actually finish that, love?"

"Obviously no! I’ll figure out a way to not waste any of this." Picking a salmon out of 20 more selections on the plate, you dipped the end into the small plate of soy sauce and devoured one, smiling at the fresh, delectable taste.

"You know I can’t finish them for you. I’m like thousands of miles away." Charles was propping his chin on his hand, forcing himself to stay awake.

"I know. I miss you a lot." You covered your mouth, holding your laugh, when his chin slipped off his palm and he nearly slammed his head against the pillow. "You know you can go to sleep, right? I am fine eating dinner on my own."

"No, I want to stay awake and watch my girlfriend eat her sushi."

You stuck out your tongue and scrunched your nose, making him chuckle. "Which one should I try next?" You moved the phone a little so he could get a full view of the plate again.

"Try the scallop one, baby. It looks good."

You picked the one he chose with your chopstick and ate it up, letting out a squeal of excitement when the taste activated your taste buds. "It’s so good! You would have liked this one."

Charles eventually fell asleep before you could finish your so called eating show. He fell asleep hugging the pillow, which acted as your replacement because he always had trouble sleeping without you. He even asked you to leave a travel-size perfume of yours the next time you came home, just so it felt much more pragmatic in his mind.

Unknowingly to him, you had requested leave from absence home earlier this week, and it was just approved by your supervisor today. It was only for a week, but at least you could see your boyfriend and spend time with him this summer.

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Charles came home, and he was confounded by how tidy his apartment looked. The pile of clothes he had set aside in the laundry room to be washed was gone, and the washing machine was on as it was counting down to 15 minutes, rotating and spinning his clothes. He had left the house quite in a hurry this morning, so he expected it to be out of place, just like how he left it.

"Surprise!"

He sprang back, his head hitting the wall when you jumped out from behind the door as he was about to walk in, causing him to bend down, his hand holding the crown of his head.

"Oh my God! I’m so sorry!" You chortled, covering your mouth from the loud thud sound as you hugged him.

"Ow, I think I got a concussion, baby." He buried his face against your neck as you cradled him like a child. "Why didn’t you tell me you were coming home?"

"I wanted to give you a surprise! And a concussion." You stroked his hair, barely able to breathe from the tight grip around your waist.

"God, I missed you so, so much." He planted a trail of kisses along your shoulder blade up to your jawline and ended it on your lips, only pulling away when both of you were out of breath. "I missed you, baby."

"I missed you more. I’m all yours, love. No more hugging pillows!" You snaked your arms around his neck, giggling when you felt his lips on your nose.

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"Y/N, baby, no. I just changed!"

You saw a perfect opportunity when he was standing at the edge of the yacht, seemingly to be in very deep thoughts, so you dashed into him, making him lose his balance as he grabbed you by your arm and pulled you with him back into the water.

"Why do you have to do that?!" You cried out, splashing the water on him with a frown.

"Oh, are you mad at me? Really, baby?" He laughed and lead you back to the yacht as it started getting a bit chilly. You still refused to talk to him, even when he wrapped you in a new towel and engulfed you in a hug. He, however, found the whole situation funny. "Okay, baby, I’m sorry for pulling you into the water. I should have been the only one cold in the sea. " Charles finally surrendered when you seemed to be so in persistent with your sulking attempt.

Rolling your eyes, you fell into a fit of laughter as you threw yourself on him, making him lay down with you on the lounge seats. "I’m just kidding!" You cupped his cheeks and brushed your lips on his. "You are so cute!"

"You make me the happiest man in the world." He caressed your cheeks while you braced yourself on his body. Everything was just so perfect you never wanted this moment to end. Just getting lost in those green eyes gave you a vivid view of the beautiful landscapes. The way you felt his soft, loving touch on your face, trailing the structure of your face tucked on your heart, just when you thought you couldn’t fell in love with this man even more.

"I love you so much, baby." He mumbled, drumming his fingers on your chin, which made you chuckle.

"I love you even more, love."

"Let’s stay like this for a little while. I missed having you in my arms." He leaned his head back on the seats, wishing for the time to stop because everything—literally everything—was just so perfect for him.

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"Baby?"

"Yeah?" Charles came to the kitchen, leaning against the counter while you still had your eyes on your tea, stirring it after you put a spoonful of sugar.

"Mom wished you could join the family’s vacation next week. Is there any way you can extend your leave?"

"I’m so sorry, love, but I need to be at the office by next week." Since you were working on a new project at the moment, it was difficult for you to be absent even more when you already got a week off though you knew right away you would have to pull an all-nighter once you touchdown tomorrow just to go through all those unreplied emails.

"Y/N, please. For me," He held your hand, which was circled around the mug. “For us.”

"Charles, this isn’t about us. You know—"

"Here we go again. I’m the only one who has to tolerate, give in, and follow your schedule. Y/N, this relationship isn’t about you all alone." His voice was louder now, half shouting as he left the kitchen.

"Yes, I know, Charles. I know! You are not the only one who has to ride the wave right now. You are not the only one giving in. I had been with you in every race that I could though I had to constantly fly back and forth. I have told you I was required to be at the office even more now that we’re working on a new project. Once it is all done and sorted out, my schedule will be more manageable. A couple of months is all I ask! I’m so tired of explaining this over and over, but you still keep on thinking I am being selfish in this matter. I am mentally and emotionally drained every single day! I spent hours in the office, coming home, expecting my boyfriend to be my comfort, but you kept on shouting and cursing at me." Your cup of tea was long forgotten as you trudged along his steps to the living room. "I took a leave for one week, hoping it would make you happy, but it is still not enough for you. I don’t know what you want me to do!"

"No one forced you to take the job, Y/N. You have no right to complain about that. I told you numerous times that I can always support you financially." You grabbed his wrists, tugging on them harshly to make him face you.

"That’s not how it works, Charles! I don’t want you to support me with your money. Just because I want and love this job doesn’t mean I can’t get tired of it. I’m a human with a capability to an extent. I just want you to be there for me when I need you." Charles looked away, hands clenched into a fist, when you started choking back tears.

"I feel like you are more scared to lose your precious job than you are losing me, Y/N. It’s more important than me, isn’t it? Your job." He snickered, his head shaking at how absurd this whole argument was.

"I got fired for leaving abruptly during my meeting because you got into a crash. I stayed with you for days, taking care of you, ignoring every call and text from my boss because you were all I could think about, and I could go insane if I wasn’t by your side, waiting for you to wake up. I had to build my career back up. Yes, this is my dream job, but I would drop everything again for you, and you know that too." You harshly wiped another trail of tears on your cheeks. You just wanted to rip your hair out because he kept on turning this back to you, as if you never sacrificed anything for him.

"Are you trying to blame me because you got fired? Is that what you meant? Y/N, that was on you!" Charles hollered, making you flinch as he pointed his finger at your face.

"That’s not it! If something happened to me and you left your race for me, would you blame me for that? No, you wouldn’t! Because there’s no one to blame! That’s what I—" Your words came to a pause when you saw him simpered. "Are you—Charles, what’s with that smile?" Your grip on his arm tightens to get his attention. "Are you saying you wouldn’t leave your career for me? Charles!" He tried to walk away, and you grabbed his shirt, yanking it. "Don’t just walk away! Answer me!" You pulled on his shirt again. "Charles!"

"Don’t ask me that! You and I are not the same, Y/N. Our career, our way of thinking, it’s just not the same."

It hurt. It hurt because you thought you meant a lot to him. You didn’t even want him to choose either one, but the fact that he acted as if your career and his weren’t on the same level shredded your heart to pieces. It was as if your career were nothing compared to his. Sure, it wasn’t one where people paid thousands to see; it wasn’t a career where you got paid hundreds of thousands, even millions, per year, but he, out of all people, knew how hard you worked for it, so you never expected him to disparage your career in front of your face.

"I don’t think I’m the one being selfish right now." He saw you walk past him into the bedroom with your head dropped. It was your last night before you had to fly back tomorrow, and he had ruined everything again. You had actually planned to bake cookies together just so the two of you could spend more time together for the last night, but the whole apartment is cold now, and there was no other sound except your irregular sob.

He stayed up, placing all those ingredients for cookies that you had arranged on the kitchen counter back to where it was. You were so excited to try the new cookie cutter, and he felt so bad for blowing up again.

"Y/N?"

You tugged on the cover, half hiding your face when you heard him walk in. It might not be as convincing as it was, but you held your sob, trying to control your shoulders from shaking too much, so it seemed as if you were already asleep since you didn’t want to talk to him. Not anymore. You were so tired. You would have packed and left right away if only you could, but you knew he would block your moves, holding you back and you didn’t want that to happen because you would have given in again. What you thought was a bad attempt was still able to convince him that you were asleep.

"Good night." He slanted over and pecked at your cheek before getting under the cover and facing the other way. He knew he didn’t deserve to hug nor touch you after making you cry yourself to sleep.

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Charles woke up, frowning, when a shaft of sunlight sipping through the curtain hit his face. "Baby, the sun is blinding me again." He mumbled and shifted to your side of the bed to hide his face against your neck, but all he could feel was a chilly, cold space. "Baby?" He called out a little louder and still didn’t get any response. "Y/N—" He was stunned when he realised your phone, hair tie, and your stuffs on the dressing table were gone. "Fuck!" The fatigue and drowsiness were gone in a blink as he threw the duvet off, feeling himself getting warm even though the AC was frigid.

"Y/N," He went through every room, and all of your clothes were gone. It was as if you were never here for the whole week. “No, no, no, no.”

Your phone was off when he tried to call, and none of his text messages went through. He even went to the airport because he knew your flight was 4 hours away, and he spent hours walking around to look for you, but to no avail. He would have kept you in his arms if he knew last night would be the last time he saw you.

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"Y/N! How are you? Oh my God!" Carla’s eyes widened. Just like any other day, Carla, Arthur’s girlfriend, would ring you just to update you on your life. You met her years ago when she and Arthur started dating, and ever since then, it had been like having a new baby sister. She was also the only one who knew your new phone number. And like always, you guys would talk for hours about everything, and though she never came here to New York, she was basically familiar with your apartment. This time around, you just didn’t happen to be in the apartment when you picked up the call. You were in the hospital, head wrapped up in a bandage, and your hand was as stiff as a rock from the hand cast. "What happened to you?" She yelled out.

"I got into an accident last night. No, two days ago. It wasn’t that bad, though." She rolled her eyes, finding it hard to believe when you winced from the pain as you tried to play it all cool.

"How did you get into an accident? That looks really bad, Y/N! You should tell Charles!"

Charles. It’s been nearly a month since the last time you left his apartment without confronting him. You remember staring at him that night while he slept, like a creep, thinking if you were making the right choice and decided there was no point staying in a relationship where you and him never see things at the same level. You changed your phone number because you knew he would spam your calls, and you knew the moment you heard his voice, pleading and begging you to forgive him, you would crawl your way back to him.

"No, don’t tell him. You promised me you wouldn’t tell anything to him or Arthur. I don’t know if you can call it an accident, but I lost my balance and fell down the stairs at the office. It wasn’t that bad, but I do need a few stitches on my forehead."

"That’s so bad! Why didn’t you tell me sooner? Just so you know, if he finds out that I knew about this and didn’t tell him, you need to back me up. How long do you have to be at the hospital? Are you okay all alone?"

"Yeah! I’m completely fine on my own. I will be discharged tomorrow!" The hand cast was actually quite heavy, and it was hard for you to do things on your own, but you’ll manage.

﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎

"Why are you laughing?"

Clara put her phone away from her face, still giggling at the picture that you sent to her. It was a picture of you trying to make a thumbs up with your broken hand because she wanted proof that you had safely arrived at your apartment.

"Oh, it was Y/N!" She chuckled, turning her phone back to show her boyfriend the picture. "Look!"

Arthur blinked in surprise. He wasn’t expecting that at all. "What happened to her?"

"Oh, um—"

"What’s wrong?" Charles intervened, his eyes now on the couple.

Before Clara could make up a lie, her boyfriend was quick on his act. "Y/N. She was covered in bandages. Is that a bandage? Yeah, it is. Oh, it’s a hand cast." Arthur confirmed it himself after double-checking the picture on his girlfriend’s phone.

"What?" Charles furrowed his brows and took Clara’s phone from her hand. "What happened to her? Why didn’t you tell me about this?"

"She told me not to tell you. But she’s fine! Well, she said she’s fine." Clara stated, seeing how the older guy started heading out with only a few of his stuffs.

"Where are you going?" Arthur asked, chasing after his brother.

"I’m going to see her."

"What? You mean right now?" The younger one yelled out. "Has my brother gone mad?"

﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎

"One second!"

You ran from your room, anticipating another delivery from your window shopping gone wrong, and you ended up with 10 parcels that was supposed to arrive by today.

"Hi! You can just put the box here. I— oh,"

Charles was stunned. You were in a short with an oversized jumper, your hair tied up in a messy bun with your bangs pinned back where he could see the stitches right above your brows.

"Can I—can I come in?" His questioned, dragging you back into reality.

"My house is a mess." That was a bad one. You couldn’t come up with a better excuse, and he was still waiting, evidently disregarding whatever you just said. "Fine, come in. Do you want a drink? Coffee?"

"It’s okay. I’m all good."

"Coffee then." You felt his gaze on the back of your head as you grabbed a mug. The airtight instant coffee jar had to be the most difficult thing to open in one hand, even though you had the front part of your elbow circled around the jar. "Can I just get you water?" His laughter made your cheeks red.

"I’m okay, precious. There’s no need for that." He then marched to stand in front of you, hand cupped on your cheeks as he tilted your head to see the stitches. "What happened?"

"I fell. It’s okay. It doesn’t hurt that much." He was gazing at you, and you could feel the wall you built starting to quiver, so you took a step back.

Charles missed you. He missed you a lot. He knew you would have back away, but it never occurred to him that it would hurt this much to see the woman he loved pull in one’s horns with him. "I—,"

"You can’t do this to me." You cut him off, mumbling with your eyes looking down on your hands. "You can’t come here and touch me, forcing me to fall back and jump on you after the way you treated me."

"I came here to apologise." His voice became a whisper, barely audible to you.

"You have apologised for the million times, but I still got blamed for my career, for choosing to be my own person. Everything I do will always be seen as a selfish act by you. I can never make you happy, Charles."

"You have always made me happy, Y/N. Not my career, not my fame. It was wrong for me to say that, but it wasn’t my intention to disparage your choice, your career, or your life. I know you are not living your life as my girlfriend alone; you have your own dreams. I just got so—" He inhaled, looking away, unable to finish his words.

"Charles.."

He felt your cold hand on his, softly tugging it to get his attention and make him look at you.

"I just— I got so used to having you in my life every second before you moved away.” He pressed his tongue to the roof of his mouth, trying to hold in his tears. "I got so frustrated because I came home and it was cold. I was so used to hearing your voice the second I stepped into the house, so used to you screaming my name when you greet me as if you haven’t seen me for years. You moved away so sudden, and it felt so lonely. I am happy for you, Y/N. I am so happy when you tell me about your days at work. I fell in love all over again when I saw the way your eyes were glistening when you talked about your new, dream job, but I wanted you to be with me. It just felt so distant. I am the selfish one all this time. I’m sorry."

You were a crying mess. You had never seen him this broken before. When you accepted your job offer email, you were so perturbed that you would have a hard time living thousands of miles away from your boyfriend, but it never once occurred to you that he would get the short end of the stick. Instead of saying anything, you cradled his head against your neck.

Charles’ arms went around your waist as he buried his head in your neck, replenishing his longing to have you in his arms for weeks. It had been so long since he held you, taking all that you were, everything he ever needed.

"It is not a bad thing to not be able to see each other every day." You mumbled, pulling away to cup on his cheeks. "It is sad, of course, but having you to miss is a privilege to me."

"I never want to lose you, Y/N."

"We just need more patience, understanding, and trust, Charles. I need you to understand me." His hands went on your back as you rested your head on his chest.

"Can you give us another chance?" He felt it was impossible to hide the slight quaver in his voice, too anxious for the worst thing to come. "I truly understand if you don’t want to because—"

"I’m staying." You leaned away and beamed, stroking your thumb against his cheek. "As long as you’re trying, we are trying, and I’ll stay. We’ll be fine."

“I know I said it otherwise but that doesn’t mean I wouldn’t come running to you if something happened. You are my life, Y/N.” 

You leaned into his hand, drowning yourself with his touch. “We both need to work on our communication skill. You suck at it.” 

He chuckled, pulling you back into his arms. “Yeah, I am so bad it also costs me my happiness.”

“Can you stay here and keep me accompany for a couple of days?” You just couldn’t let him go today so you had to be self-obsessed today if it got him to be with you for at least another day.

“Of course, baby. Though I might need to buy some new clothes because this,” He extended his arms. “This is all I have.”

“You come here with just these?” There wasn’t any luggage, anything that made it seemed as if he were planning to come and visit you.

“Yeah, I came in a rush when I saw the picture you sent to Clara.”

“You are so silly. I only broke my hand!” He laughed along when you lifted up your hand cast, as if it was something normal to break your hand on a random Thursday.

“Only broke your hand? Only? Really, love. You even got stitches.”

✧.* general tag list! @i83andrew @cltrlne @karmabyfernando @ohthemisssery @ru-kru @tastebaldwin @f1obessed @love4lando @shinrjj @ietss @leclerc13 @darleneslane @buckybarnessweetheart @xcinnamongirl @boiohboii @formula1mount @judespoision @alwaysclassyeagle @scenesofobx @mrsmaybank13 

If your usernames were crossed, meaning I can’t tag you! Let me know if you would like to be removed or to be added to the tag list! Or if I missed anyone!

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vision // edogawa ranpo

tw ⇢ mutual pining, sexual tension, teasing, slight angst if you squint, wet dreams, public sex, dirty talk, fingering, unprotected sex, pet names, nipple play

wc ⇢ 5.8k

You had known Ranpo for as long as you could remember. The two of you were inseparable from the moment you became coworkers together at the Armed Detective Agency. His brilliant deductive mind and your keen intuition made you an unbeatable team on cases. More than that, you shared an effortless camaraderie that went beyond the workplace.

Ranpo was your closest friend, the person who knew you most intimately. You could spend hours together without uttering a single word, simply basking in each other's presence. He could read you like a book, preternaturally attuned to the subtlest shifts in your moods and thoughts in a way no one else came close to. Likewise, you took pride in being one of the few people who could cajole genuine smiles and laughs from behind Ranpo's typical affectation of eccentric genius.

In truth, you had come to rely on the warmth of Ranpo's companionship more than you cared to admit aloud. His humor, intellect, and strangely caring soul turned out to be curiously addictive sources of comfort and joy in your life. You never felt more understood and accepted than in Ranpo's presence.

Which is why his recent behavioral transformation had been so jarring and difficult for you to process...

It had started with a series of oddly averted glances and awkward fumbles for excuses to exit your company sooner than usual. You tried to brush it off at first, assuming Ranpo was merely sweeping into another of his eccentricities. But the distancing only increased, to the point where he was now actively dodging any attempts at casual conversation or even making eye contact when circumstances demanded you be in the same room together.

Puzzled and more than a little hurt, you found yourself riddled with self-doubt. Had you somehow committed a social transgression severe enough to make even your closest friend recoil? You wracked your brain but could find no rational explanation for why Ranpo had suddenly started treating you with such stilted formality and emotional distance. All you knew was that you ached for the lack of his easy presence and playful teasing.

Finally, after nearly three weeks of such inexplicable strain between you two, you could bear it no longer. You cornered Ranpo in the quiet study he had appropriated as his makeshift office den, where he jumped nearly a foot in the air upon your unannounced entrance.

"Ranpo-kun..." You fought to keep your tone calm and even rather than berating as you might have preferred. "We need to talk. About what's going on between us."

The brown-haired detective blinked owlishly before visibly attempting to smooth his features into a more insouciant mask. Still, you caught the fractional wince and throat-clearing before he responded in that deliberately arch lilt, "Whatever could you mean? Nothing at all is amiss between us, my dear friend. I've simply been preoccupied with an especially vexing case as of late that has demanded the entirety of my mental faculties, that's all..."

You leveled Ranpo with a deeply skeptical look, refusing to allow him to deflect and dissemble so easily. Not when it came to the sudden, painful rift forming between the two of you.

"Don't give me that, Ranpo," you stated, taking a few steps further into his private study so you could properly face him without obstruction. "We've known each other too long for me to buy such a blatant attempt at feigning nonchalance."

You watched the glass-smooth mask Ranpo tried so hard to maintain develop the barest perceptible fracture at your reproving words. His emerald gaze skittered away from your probing stare, adam's apple bobbing with an audible swallow as his fingers toyed agitatedly with the spine of whatever book he'd been pretending to read.

A tiny, insistent kernel of hurt took root in your chest at his obvious discomfort simply being in your presence these days. What had happened to your once-effortless rapport? You found yourself yearning with almost physical desperation to call back the easy camaraderie and playful teasing that had become such an ingrained, cherished part of your daily life.

"Ranpo..." You tried again, allowing a slight huskiness of pleading to unmask your voice this time. "Please, just tell me what's wrong? Why are you shutting me out like this? Have I...have I done something to offend you somehow? You know I would never intentionally—"

"No!" The explosive syllable had your teeth clicking shut in surprise as Ranpo abruptly dropped all pretenses, his countenance suffused with unmistakable anguish. "No, you've done nothing wrong at all. This, this distancing...it's entirely my own failing I'm afraid."

Despite the perdurable reassurance, your frown only deepened at the haggard edge clouding Ranpo's expression as he spoke. You waited with a weighty pause, sensing there was more the brilliant detective wished to divulge. And indeed, after toying with the pen in his hand for a few tense heartbeats, Ranpo seemed to come to a resolution.

"Tell me..." His gaze finally met yours again, and you felt your breath hitch at the sheer, unguarded molten heat searing through his irises. "Have you ever been, ah, afflicted...by a truth so paradoxical and compelling that it becomes nigh impossible to properly puzzle out or ignore, no matter how deliriously one might wish to do so?"

The words were so quintessentially Ranpo - profoundly cerebral to the point of near-incomprehensibility. And yet, you found yourself intuiting the deeper, infinitely more visceral layer of suggestion roiling just beneath his flowery prevarication.

Arousal, white-hot and illicit, licked through your veins as you held Ranpo's smoldering stare. Your throat worked convulsively against the desire to clear it while he watched you with that smoldering, leonine intensity further reducing your higher reasoning functions to cinders.

Finally, after what felt like an eon of crackling tension, you managed a faintly croaked, "I... I think I understand what you're trying to say, sort of..."

Surprise and dark approval warred over Ranpo's expression at your ambiguous acknowledgment. His free hand clenched at his side as though restraining the base prompting to reach for you, and you held your breath at the burning promise contained in that simple, abortive movement.

When Ranpo spoke again, his timbre was rendered low and husky with undisguised yearning. "Deduce this for me then, my dear friend...what sort of 'affliction' has been plaguing my thoughts and compelled me to shamefully withdraw from your brilliant presence as of late?" His eyes held yours as though they could convey all the scorching, ravenous desire and conflict roiling through that peerless psyche.

You swallowed thinly as your overheated senses catalogued the overall picture Ranpo was suggesting - his tormented avoidance, his thinly veiled innuendos about tantalizing, impossible truths, his mercurial shifts from anguish to intensity to open temptation as he devoured you with that ravenous stare. So much began to make a dizzying, dangerous sort of sense, unlocking new, forbidden dimensions in your relationship that you had never allowed yourself to fully acknowledge until now.

Still, more than anything, you craved to unravel this mystery laid before you in all its salacious, intoxicating totality. So you met Ranpo's burning look with one of your own guileless yearning and uttered in a breathless rasp:

"Very well...challenge accepted. I'll deduce the desire you've been so tirelessly trying to deny, Ranpo. For now."

Ranpo's eyes glittered with undisguised relish at your bold acceptance of his cryptic challenge. You could practically see the gears turning behind that peerless intellect as he avidly drank in your rapt, guileless expression of determination.

"Excellent," he purred in that effortless baritone of his, somehow rendering the simple affirmation into a darkly evocative caress. "Then allow me to start providing you with some...initial clues to unravel this deliciously paradoxical conundrum I've found myself in."

With casual, unhurried grace, Ranpo circled behind you so his presence was a scorching imprint against your back. You stifled a small shudder at the overwhelming mahogany and clove essence of his cologne that always managed to leave you just a touch light-headed.

His palm came to rest at the elegant curve of your waist, his deceptively slight frame radiating banked heat that seemed to scorch straight through the thin material of your blouse. You felt his lips, plush and soft, brush whisper-light against the sensitive whorls of your ear as he murmured in a molten undertone, "Tell me, have you perhaps noticed any...changes in my typical patterns of behavior beyond the distance? Any indications that something preternatural has been plaguing my restive mind as of late?"

Despite the innocuous phrasing, the timbre of Ranpo's words leaked unmistakable layers of carnal suggestion that had your skin prickling with gooseflesh. Coupled with the torturous graze of his breath fanning over your throat and the possessive drift of his fingertips drawing nonsensical patterns along your side, you felt utterly suffused by his masculine presence in a way you had never fully appreciated until now.

You struggled to collect your scattered thoughts enough to consider Ranpo's cryptic prompt. Had you noticed any peculiarities in his behavior aside from the unexplained avoidance that had sparked this entire situation? Now that you focused, casting your mind back over recent observations while firmly ignoring how Ranpo's thumbs had begun tracing feather-light, searing circles over your hipbones, you recalled a few...instances.

"Well," you finally managed in a slightly husky tone, proud that you only stuttered minutely over the words, "Now that you mention it, I do remember a few times recently where you seemed...distracted. Flushed, even, despite the room being perfectly temperate. And your breathing would become rather unsteady at seemingly random moments."

You felt more than heard the quiet rumble of approval against your back as Ranpo hummed his affirmation, his exhalations drifting hot and damp over your pulse point in a way that threatened to completely unhinge your powers of concentration.

"Very good, very astute deductions so far," he praised in a voice gone low and heavy with undisguised wanting. "And did any other...physical tells accompany these momentary lapses, I wonder? Some sign of burning distraction, perhaps? An inability to fully conceal certain aspects of my usual disciplined control?"

The words were cloaked in academic impartiality, but the sinuous inference lacing every syllable made your thighs squeeze convulsively together as you pieced together the image Ranpo was so delectably, dangerously insinuating. You sucked in a sharp breath, heat lancing riotously through your body.

"I...I believe so, yes," you whispered throatily. "There were times where your pupils would dilate unnaturally, your breathing turned shallow, and a faint sheen of exertion gleamed over your brow despite an obvious lack of any taxing mental or physical stimuli."

Ranpo released a shuddering exhalation against the slender column of your throat that had you reflexively arching with tangible yearning. His fingers traced back up your sides, tantalizingly close to the swell of your breasts, before reversing their path almost punitively. You bit your lip to stifle a desperate whimper, and felt the distinct twitch of reaction against the rigid plains of his abdomen pressed to the small of your back.

"Oh, you are good at this game, aren't you?" He growled with clear, undisguised approval and answering desire flooding his tone. "What other salacious conclusions can you intuit from these lascivious hints I've been providing? I beg you to exercise that matchless intuition to its fullest, because I absolutely crave to hear you give proper definition aloud to the desire rapidly becoming my undoing..."

The challenge Ranpo issued proved as maddeningly elusive as the brilliant detective himself over the following days. You found yourself utterly consumed by the delicious vexation of attempting to unravel the inscrutable riddle Ranpo kept dangling with teasing hints and loaded innuendos.

At times his clues came in the form of brooding stares that lingered a beat too long, his silvery gaze drifting over your form with a heavy-lidded promise you couldn't quite decipher. Like he was committing your every line and curve to the ruthlessly methodicalprocessings of his formidable intellect through those mercurial depths. You shivered at the thought, uncertain whether it thrilled or unnerved you more.

Other times, Ranpo's provocations took on a more overt, sensual tilt. You'd catch the Detective Prince's throat working subtly as you laughed and joked together like old times, feel his eyes track the reflexive motion with raptor-like intensity. More than once, he seemed to drift closer until the clove-and-mahogany richness of his cologne threatened to utterly intoxicate your senses.

"Ranpo?" You found yourself murmuring on one such occasion, very much cognizant of how his dilated pupils followed the rise and fall of your chest. "Is everything...okay?"

Rather than answer directly, he simply hummed a low, rumbly acknowledgment that vibrated straight through to settle liquid-hot in your lower belly. You tried not to squirm beneath the laser focus of his rapt regard, feeling somewhat like a specimen being ruthlessly catalogued and deconstructed for careful study.

"You seem..." The words caught in your suddenly dry throat as Ranpo leaned fractionally closer, his thumb grazing over the thundering leap of your pulse point with maddening suggestion. "...distracted."

The only response was another indecipherable, baritone rumble, but this time the heat in his eyes unmistakably spiked. You finally regained enough of your faculties to stammer a hasty excuse and retreat from the powderkeg of tension sparking between you both. But not before catching the bare hint of a smug, knowing smile ghosting over Ranpo's sensuous lips for just a breath.

Much later, in the quiet, still hours before dawn, you found your restless mind replaying that freighted moment over and over again. You tossed and turned, highly aware of the burn of arousal slowly simmering through your system as it gradually dawned on you.

All of Ranpo's veiled remarks, evasions, and simmering looks over the past while - they added up to a single, heady conclusion too illicit and tantalizing to fully credit even as it pulsed through your thoughts. As preposterous as it seemed, the weight of the detective's heated stares and suggestive innuendos hinted that his much-vaunted deductive logic had somehow become...consumed.

With thoughts of an increasingly intimate, fevered bent centered entirely around your most elemental reactions and fantasies.

Images unbidden began to assault your whirling mind then - Ranpo tossing in his sweat-soaked sheets, utterly assailed by improbable visions of deduction taken to its carnal limits. You pictured his quickened breath catching on a moan as he imagined uncovering every hidden, shameful secret of your body's deepest wants. His graceful hands wandering over heated expanses of bare skin as he sought clue after clue to chart the gasping pathways that led you unraveled and shuddering beneath him...

You awoke with a strangled cry on your lips, rendered tacky with sweat and near-delirious with need in the aftermath of that torrid fantasy. As improbable as it seemed, some part of you couldn't reject the notion that Ranpo had been pursuing a more...intimate understanding as of late. And based on the relentless tensions sparked between you, he seemed resolutely committed to achieving nothing less than your complete surrender so he could study the matter exhaustively.

The thought alone made a shudder of yearning convulse through you, leaving you profoundly unsettled and burning with a gnawing, thirsty curiosity. Just how far would the Detective Prince pursue the sublime riddles your body seemed to present him with?

And could you truly find the willpower to deny indulging whatever fevered, fastidious measures Ranpo wished to exercise in unraveling those delicious mysteries for himself?

With each passing day, Ranpo's smoldering looks and heated provocations descended into brasher, utterly unsubtle insinuations. While you had initially deduced that the incandescent Detective Prince was wrestling with scorching visions of an intimate, carnal nature centered around you, it gradually became apparent there were even more profoundly illicit dimensions to his forbidden reveries.

He wanted you to extrapolate the embroidered details, the lush sensory fantasies plaguing his unconscious mind with visceral need. Ranpo wished for nothing less than your complete discernment of every sordid image and dark craving that had awakened his body thrumming with desperation upon daybreak.

The evidence came in the form of lingering, assessing glances that drifted over the exposed lines of your throat and collarbones with shockingly rapacious heat. Ranpo made no attempts to conceal the undisguised wanting that flooded his expression whenever you unconsciously wet your lips or arched your back in an absent stretch, emphasizing your feminine curves before his hooded, devouring stare.

"Got a clue yet as to what's been tormenting me?" Ranpo would murmur on such occasions, his voice rendered low and husky with banked intensity. You'd freeze in instinctive response, feel your pupils blowing wide as your senses became hyper aware of the whisper-light scratch of your shirt fabric over your nipples, now peaking betrayingly under his incendiary scrutiny.

All you could manage was a strangled hum of acknowledgment as he stalked closer, seemingly to emphasize the added inches of height he held over your suitably disheveled form. The mahogany-and-clove tang of his cologne was heady in the minuscule space separating you, searing the insides of your nostrils, the latent promise in the set of his broad shoulders and tautly corded forearms as they twitched infinitesimally with the obvious effort of restraint.

"Do be more specific, won't you?" He purred, smooth as velvet and just as rich in the underlying implication. "I require your observations in extraneously vivid detail, so I can fully immerse myself in the...depraved scenery unfolding through that peerless intuition of yours. Don't spare me any of those delicious, poetic descriptions."

And like an iridescent vision pulled directly from the lurid seance haunting Ranpo's unconscious, you began to glimpse the full breadth of longing and forbidden temptation tangling his preternatural deductive mind in frantic knots.

You saw him shuddering awake in the dead of night, sheets clinging damply to his sweat-slicked, naked torso as he desperately sought to cling to the receding remnants of dreams that stirred with your every moan and shudder undulating against him. Imagined the searing stroke of his fingertips roaming over the mental topography of your quivering, splayed form as he catalogued every slick, trembling inch.

Dexterous hands methodically divesting you of all adornments before his singleminded, deductive focus. Elegant, kissable lips tracing a scorching path over your most intimate secrets, no possible shroud or compunction left to conceal the scope of your body's rapture from his ruthless, unflinching regard.

You found yourself utterly undone by these incendiary visions bleeding over into your waking reality in shockingly lurid detail. Your breaths grew shallow and uneven, nipples straining against thin fabric as Ranpo continued his relentless study and your imagination showed no signs of yielding.

Finally, he leaned in so unbearably near that the brush of his lips against your heated cheek felt like a brand. "If you're going to provide me with a thoroughly immersive reconstruction," he rumbled with dark bedroom timbre, "Then I desperately require a first-hand account your rapturous undoing made as the full thrust of my interrogation bore down on you..."

A whimpery moan nearly broke free from the cage of your constricted throat at those words, your entire being flashing alight with the visceral understanding of what torrid fantasies held Ranpo so completely transfixed as of late. He craved the consummate panoramic of ecstacy warring over your naked expression as you surrendered every filthy, lewd revelation scrap by scrap in delirious fealty to the unflinching intensity of his carnal inquest.

And based on the fevered look scorching his features as he drank in your guileless realization, Ranpo meant to allow for absolutely no evasions or half-measures in the pursuit of such lurid deductions.

"Enough dancing around it," Ranpo growled, his eyes blazing with undisguised hunger. "I want you to know exactly what kind of filthy dreams you've been starring in night after night."

You felt a full-body flush at his blunt words, trembling slightly as he closed the distance between you with predatory intent. His hands settled dominantly on your hips, thumbs stroking possessive arcs over the jut of bone.

"I wake up absolutely soaked, aching and painfully hard," Ranpo rasped against the heated shell of your ear. "All from visions of stripping you bare and tasting every single inch of your pretty little body."

A shocked whimper escaped your lips at the unvarnished carnality of his confession. You could feel his erection pressing insistently against your abdomen as he rolled his hips with dark promise.

"That's right, baby..." he purred in a tone made husky and seductive with naked want. "I've spent night after night imagining burying my face between those soft thighs, lapping up your sweet cream until you're squirming and mewling on my tongue."

You were panting harshly now, your body utterly aflame at the vivid, filthy descriptions tumbling so casually from the normally unflappable detective's lips. Ranpo seized the back of your neck in a dominant grasp, forcing you to meet his darkly salacious stare.

"And that's just the start," he promised in a gravelly tone that made your core absolutely throb. "Once I've loosened you up nice and sloppy, I'm going to bury this thick cock so deep inside you won't remember your own name."

Your eyes fluttered shut in a dizzying wave of wanton arousal at the absolutely indecent images he was invoking in such frank, explicit detail. You could practically feel the delirious stretch and burn from his impressive girth claiming your body so dominantly, so unrelentingly.

"That's it, sweetheart..." Ranpo's voice dropped to a gruff timbre of pure sin as he guided your shaking hand down to palm the rigid, throbbing length straining against his trousers. "Get a good feel for how hard I've been for you, how badly I'm gonna rail that greedy little pussy and stuff you absolutely full of my cum."

You cried out shamelessly at the graphic promise, hips jerking in mindless need against his calloused fingers now rubbing searingly over the damp crotch of your underwear. This was far beyond any provocation or innuendo - Ranpo was utterly unfurling the darkest, most depraved and sordid temptations that had gripped his subconscious night after night.

"So tell me..." he rasped hoarsely against the sheen of perspiration beading over your collarbone. "Now that I've properly educated you in the true nature of my lascivious dreams...are you going to be a good girl and let me live them all out in vivid, unrepentant detail?"

You could only whine and nod frantically, utterly transfixed and inflamed with unrestrained yearning to make this profane reality. Ranpo answered with a feral growl of approval.

"That's what I like to hear..." He yanked you harshly into the scalding brand of his lean musculature, teeth scoring biting kisses up the fevered line of your throat. "Now be a good little pet and start undressing...because I'm not stopping until I've explored and defiled every single one of your most shameless erotic mysteries."

Ranpo's ravenous words and commanding touch left you utterly undone and compliant as warm putty in his capable hands. You found yourself frantically divesting of clothing at his guttural urging, fevered desperation thrumming through your veins at the promise of experiencing firsthand the lurid fantasies that had plagued the brilliant detective's unconscious.

Soon you stood flushed and quivering in just your underwear, breath catching at the sheer heat and intensity blazing through Ranpo's lidded gaze as he drank in the sight of you revealed. His tongue swept deliberately over his lower lip as his eyes roamed with undisguised possession and longing over every newly bared inch.

"Exquisite..." he husked in a voice rendered gravel-rough from the strain of his carefully leashed desire. "Though perhaps we ought to remove these last scraps as well before indulging in the real main event, hmm?"

You bit back a shuddering moan at the blatant implication, fingers already hooking into the flimsy lace to comply. But Ranpo's hands seized your wrists in a punishing grip, halting your movements as he stepped in to loom over your suddenly diminutive frame with dark promise.

"Allow me," he growled in a tone that brokered no argument as he brought your hands up to bracket his shoulders instead.

The first intimate brush of your heated skin against his clothed chest and arms left you dizzy with acute sensitivity and gnawing craving. You shivered and swayed instinctively nearer as Ranpo leisurely trailed his fingertips in a feather-light glide down over the swell of your breasts and along the feminine flare of your waist. His blazing regard remained riveted on the journey of his exploring hands, flagrantly studying your every reactive shudder and quickly becoming mottled flesh with raptor intensity.

"My my..." he tsked softly, voice gone dark velvet and rich with undisguised sin as he hooked into the flimsy elastic of your underwear. "How utterly responsive and primed you are already, my dear...and we've barely even made the barest start toward enacting the wet dreams I've been forced to endure night after endless night."

With one smooth, unhurried motion, Ranpo divested you fully of your last tatters of concealment. The humid caress of air over your newly bared skin made you suck in a sharp breath, hips jerking reactively in seeking of some relief for the steadily mounting ache between your slickened folds. Relief that Ranpo looked eminently prepared to provide as he took a measured step back, sweeping you from crown to soles with a look positively blazing with carnal appreciation.

"Just as spectacular to apprehend in the flesh as my unconscious recreations dared dream..." he rumbled in a tone of quiet rapture, flexing his hands at his sides as if warring against the urge to touch. "But perhaps we ought to take things a bit further before I utterly ravish you, hmm?"

You were trembling oxygenless pants by the time Ranpo made languid, methodical work of stripping away his own concealing layers, unveiling the taut, lean musculature of his naked form to your prey-whetting inspection. By the time he finally stood fully and gloriously undressed, his substantial arousal stood flushed and iron-proud from the nexus of his thighs, you were an utter shuddering wreck of anticipation and need.

With smoldering intent, Ranpo stalked forward until all you could see, hear, and taste was the banked promise of his raw masculinity consuming your senses entirely. His motions were those of a jungle cat unhurriedly cornering its hapless quarry - controlled and weighted with imminent danger.

"I want to hear you..." he commanded in a hoarse timbre of pure sin. One large palm flattened scorchingly over the frantic kick of your pulse while the other boldly cupped and kneaded the soft weight of your breast. "I want to hear you moaning and crying out like you do in my dirty dreams. Don't hold back any of those delicious little whimpers when I finally get my hands on this body that's been driving me crazy with need."

Then his mouth was on you, claiming your lips with an utterly shameless and unapologetically greedy kiss that sent you reeling. Your mind stuttered to a halt as his tongue swept over yours in a slick, velvety glide that had your knees buckling beneath you. Only the firm band of his arm across the small of your back kept you upright as his other hand continued its sinful exploration.

Ranpo's palm felt searing hot as it traveled over the smooth expanse of your belly and down to cup the curve of your ass. You moaned into the kiss as he squeezed and groped shamelessly, fingers dipping in the crease and teasing just shy of your dripping entrance. He swallowed down your gasp with a rumbling purr, his mouth continuing to ravage and dominate yours until you were clinging weakly to his broad shoulders for support.

When he finally broke the kiss, you were left gasping and dizzy, utterly boneless in the wake of his masterful touch. Ranpo's lips skated a scalding path down the side of your neck, pausing to nip and suck at the hollow where your pulse thundered. He pressed open-mouthed, bruising kisses over the tops of your breasts, the edge of his teeth and tongue rasping against your nipples until they were tight, aching peaks.

Your body burned and yearned, reduced to a molten, incandescent puddle under his expert attentions. When Ranpo finally lifted his head to fix you with a dark, lust-blown stare, his breathing was harsh and unsteady, his skin flushed and shining with a fine sheen of sweat. You knew you must look an utterly debauched, wanton mess, and the knowledge had something primal and savage igniting in his eyes.

"Tell me, sweetheart..." he growled low and hungry, the pads of his thumbs grazing in maddening circles over the sensitive inner skin of your thighs. "Have you figured it out yet? The reason why I've been so damnably, insufferably restless and agitated as of late?"

You could only whimper, your mind utterly scrambled and addled from the onslaught of his touch. Ranpo chuckled darkly, his hands moving inexorably upward until they were ghosting feather-light over the feverish, slick heat of your pussy.

"The answer should be simple enough for even you to deduce, my dear..." he purred in a honeyed timbre that vibrated straight through to your core. "The fact is, you've been plaguing my waking thoughts and unconscious desires with an infuriatingly relentless persistence. So much so that I'm absolutely compelled to explore and satisfy each and every one of the torrid scenarios that have been playing out through my subconscious as of late."

Ranpo punctuated his claim with the slow, deliberate glide of two fingers along your slit, gathering the slickness pooling at your entrance. He swirled the tips in a lazy circle over your clit, making your hips jerk uncontrollably as your body sang in ecstacy.

"But more than that..." he continued in a voice rendered rough with naked, visceral wanting. "I'm utterly compelled to indulge in the filthy, depraved fantasy of you being spread out and helpless before me, allowing me to do whatever I want to this pretty little body of yours. Allowing me to completely defile and deflower you."

The words alone had your walls clenching, desperate for the thick, hard stretch of him spearing you open and filling you to the hilt. Ranpo rumbled a dark, approving noise deep in his chest, the sound resonating through you until your legs were practically shaking with the need to have him inside.

"You want it too, don't you, sweetheart?" he murmured with quiet conviction. "You want to feel the obscene, dirty, ungodly pleasure of me plowing this tight cunt with every inch of my thick cock."

Your answering moan was utterly broken, breathy and shameless. You were completely unraveled, ready to beg for anything and everything Ranpo could give. He rewarded you with another searing, open-mouthed kiss that left you seeing stars.

"So let's start making the illicit reality match the deliciously torrid fantasy," he whispered against your lips. "Every filthy fucking fantasy I’ve had about this tight, needy pussy has been a variation on the same theme. That you're going to spread these pretty thighs and let me fuck you absolutely senseless. And that starts with you bending over the desk, presenting this gorgeous little ass to me while I bury myself in this greedy, soaked little cunt."

The command brooked no argument, the unflinching dominance behind the words making your cunt positively throb. You were dimly aware of him steering you over to the nearby desk, maneuvering you into position with firm, unyielding hands.

Ranpo's fingers danced and teased, spreading the lips of your cunt and rubbing in gentle, teasing strokes against your entrance. He dipped in just enough to gather a few drops of slick, slathering them up and down the length of his thick cock. Then you felt the hot, blunt head press insistently against your folds.

"Remember what I said before, sweetheart..." Ranpo crooned dark and seductive, one hand splaying possessively over the small of your back as he lined himself up. "I'm not stopping until I've had you screaming and squirting all over this cock. Until you've given me the full, unfettered experience of your orgasm wracking this body, making you shake and shudder on my dick."

His free hand landed a stinging slap on the rounded curve of your ass, making you gasp and jolt. The slight shift of movement made the tip of his cock push past your entrance, stretching and burning as it slowly sank into the velvety clutch of your core.

You cried out at the delicious, agonizingly slow burn, feeling every inch of him impaling you as his hips rolled with measured control. He bottomed out with a low growl of satisfaction, his fingers digging into your hips as he began to slowly pump his length in and out.

"Oh yes..." Ranpo groaned, his eyes hooded and heavy with lust as he gazed down at where you were stretched and straining around his thick shaft. "Fuck, sweetheart, you feel even better than I dreamed."

You keened and writhed, struggling to take the immense, overwhelming pressure and stretch. Ranpo leaned down, pressing his chest against your back and molding your body to his. His hips never stilled their torturously unhurried pace, pumping in slow, deep strokes.

"You're being such a good little detective's pet for me," he purred against the shell of your ear, the praise making you whimper and clench involuntarily. Ranpo hummed his approval, his pace picking up incrementally as he drove you to the brink of madness.

"I'm going to make you come like this, sweetheart..." he murmured in a voice gone husky and low with carnal intent. "I'm going to fuck this sweet little cunt until you're screaming and gushing all over me. Then I'm going to bend you over and breed you so thoroughly, you'll feel the slick, wet mess leaking out of you for days."

You whimpered at the filthy promises, your cunt clenching greedily around him at the thought. Ranpo snarled and fucked harder, his cock driving deeper and harder with each snap of his hips. You could feel yourself hurtling toward the edge, your legs beginning to shake as the coil in your lower belly wound tighter and tighter.

"That's it, sweetheart..." Ranpo encouraged, his voice rough with the strain of holding back his own release. "Let go for me, let me feel that pussy squeezing around my cock. Show me how hard you can come on my dick."

You came with a wail, the coil snapping violently and sending you crashing over the edge. Ranpo fucked you through it, his thrusts losing rhythm as his control slipped.

"Oh, fuck..." he groaned, his grip tightening as his hips snapped forward, his cock twitching inside you. You could feel the warm, wet rush of his release flooding you, stuffing you full of his cum.

It was several long moments before you could catch your breath, both of you slumped over the desk, still joined together. You whimpered softly as Ranpo slowly pulled out, his hands immediately sliding over the round swell of your ass.

"Such a good pet," he murmured, his thumb dipping down to stroke your entrance. "So wet and messy for me. But I'm not done with you yet."

Ranpo straightened, tugging on your arm until you turned and faced him. "That was only the recreation of one dream. We still have many more to work through. On your knees."

[twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat]

what a pretty flower.

the single morning glory stands out, fresh spring sunlight accentuating its indigo hue, glimmering like a shooting star just behind the chain-link fence. in the peripheral of your vision, it almost seems to glow; solitary and ephemeral, as if coaxing you into stepping closer.

and you can’t resist its call.

suguru blinks, a little dazed, when he feels your hand slip from his. the warmth of your intertwined fingers follows closely behind, and the loss of contact leaves him feeling slightly vexed, replaced by the gentle chill of the air.

he doesn’t get an explanation, either. attention entirely fixed on that mesmerizing indigo blur, you don’t say a thing — and with an eager kind of giddiness, you skip over to the fence, ready to fish it out.

suguru just sighs, mildly amused.

it’s nothing out of the ordinary, really. if you see something that captures your attention, suguru has come to learn that you’ll drop just about anything to go get a closer look. does it exasperate him, ever so slightly? sure. the involuntary twitch of his fingers reveals as much, almost as if coaxing him into waltzing over and grabbing your hand again.

but suguru is a patient man. especially when it comes to you. and, above all else — any habit of yours is endearing to him, even ones that include you leaving his side for a moment or two.

so he simply watches over you from afar, knowing you’ll return on your own; with your jacket tucked between his arm and his torso, a can of cold, too-sweet coffee in hand. suguru hasn’t put his lips on the aluminium in about five minutes, saving whatever’s left for the inevitable moment you start whining for just one tiny sip, please?

(he’ll roll his eyes, and tell you not to drink yours so quickly next time, but still hand it to you with a smile he’ll make sure you don’t see.)

suguru’s gaze is unspeakably fond, as he idly admires how the sunshine wraps you in its embrace. you almost seem to sparkle, in his vision, like a butterfly dancing in the wind — fluttering just barely out of reach, too fragile to touch. too beautiful to sully with human hands. maybe it's a tad dramatic, but suguru couldn't care less.

the air is warm, full of life. cicadas chirp from afar. within his veins, his blood buzzes with joy and cheap caffeine, and everything smells like spring. like something new, something delightful. something that makes him think of you.

suguru watches as you crouch down, watches how your nimble fingers struggle to fit through the narrow gaps of the chain-link fence. he can’t see the little frown that tugs at your lips, and he can’t hear your little muttered grumbles — but he can somehow feel your frustration, all the same. something about the way you ducked your head just now, the way your fingers tap against your bended knee.

but then, finally, your valiant efforts bear fruit. with a number of failed attempts that you’d rather not mention, you manage to pluck the small flower, bringing it to your side of the fence without too much of a fuss. suguru doesn’t have to see your face to know that your eyes must be bright, lips curled up into a victorious smile. one that always makes him feel a little weak in the knees.

dusting pollen and tiny pieces of grass off your knees, you stand up straight, wasting no time in turning on your heel and making your way back to his side — with the precious morning glory in tow. 

suguru waits, patiently, for you to return to him. 

when you do, he doesn’t even get a chance to speak; you part your lips before he can give you the usual raise of his eyebrow, soft tilt of his head, teasing inquiry of did you see something nice, sweetheart? all he can do is lean a little closer, making sure he hears every word your lovely voice graces him with. seeking the feeling of your breath against his skin, the warmth of your body when it’s tucked into his side.

(but he can’t get too greedy. so suguru keeps his distance, eyes rich with affection, looking at you like you’re the first flower blooming out of spring.)

and you speak, nearly bouncing on the balls of your feet, eyes shining with something giddy and honeyed — all too eager to see your idea through, the idea that crossed your mind the moment you laid eyes on the little flower.

”suguru,” you smile, sweet and excited. ”lean down.”

a blink, and a questioning look sent your way. your boyfriend shoots you a lazy smile, paired with a raise of his eyebrow that you’ve come to associate with him and his love.

despite the vague confusion painted on his features, suguru obeys your command without hesitation. always so willing to indulge you. he bends forward, compliantly, until he’s at eye level with you — face just a little too close for comfort, dark hazel eyes staring into yours in a way he knows flusters you terribly.

the butterflies in your stomach erupt at the intimate proximity, wings tickling your ribcage like soft petals sputtering after being rooted up from the ground — but you don’t allow yourself to falter.

(it’s a little tough, though. he looks so pretty, with the spring breeze caressing his cheek, soft streaks of sunlight falling over the contours of his handsome face. so, so pretty.

but there’s something that would make him look even prettier.)

so, with a gentleness that never fails to have suguru’s heartbeat hitching in his throat, your palm goes to smooth along his jaw. his eyes never leave your face, gazing intently at the way you press your lips together in concentration, barely resisting the urge to lean forward and kiss you. patient, as he waits for you to be finished.

it’s a tender motion: the pads of your fingers against his sunkissed skin, tucking the little flower behind his ear, its stem resting between his soft, silky locks. the indigo colour blends together well with his black hair, like a shooting star blooming in the night sky.

you lean back to admire your work.

”hmmm...”

suguru bites back a chuckle, at the intense contemplation etched onto your features. seemingly very deep in thought, you furrow your brows and absentmindedly stroke your chin — studying him with a serious expression, a tilt of your head and narrowed eyes, as if you’re an art dealer examining a painting on display. 

(you’re so silly, he thinks. the thought is positively overflowing with fondness.)

finally, you seem to reach some kind of conclusion; and your eyes soften, crumbling a little at the corners, painted over with something suguru can’t quite place. whatever it is, he suddenly finds it a little harder to breathe — all that love crammed into the confines of his chest, clogging up his throat. your eyes crinkle when you smile, oh so sweetly, burrowing your way deeper into his heart.

(you’re already in so deep he doubts he could ever dig you out.)

”yeah,” you exhale, a little breathless. still admiring how pretty he looks, with the morning glory in his hair. like a princess, your princess. 

your pretty, pretty boy.

a smile rests on your lips, laced with adoration. suguru feels his heartbeat pick up with a jolt, and he somehow doubts it’s just the caffeine; the sensation only deepens when your smile shifts in the light, melting into a soft grin.

”purple suits you best.”

suguru blinks. giving him no time to respond, you turn on your heel and continue walking, expecting him to follow. thoroughly satisfied after seeing your sudden objective through to the end — he looks just as pretty as you knew he would.

but suguru has to take a moment to simply watch, as you skip on ahead. always excited and off in your own world. the sun personified, he often thinks, peeking out after a rainshower, shining as you please. bringing light and warmth wherever you go.

maybe he would feel embarrassed, if he was another person. someone more insecure in their masculinity, less in love with you.

fortunately, that is not the case. suguru lifts a hand to stroke the flower, delicately, careful so it doesn’t loosen and flutter away with the wind. his heart feels warm. cheap caffeine and sweet thoughts rushing through his veins.

”— suguru?”

his gaze flits up to meet yours, where you stand a little further ahead, confused eyes looking into his own. a little tilt of your head is all it takes for him to move; catching up to you in long strides, a smile on his face.

”sorry. got lost in thought.”

you take his hand in yours, fingers intertwining with his own, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. as if your hands belong together. his smile widens.

”don’t like it?” you ask, nodding vaguely in the direction of the morning glory. suguru squeezes your hand reassuringly.

”not at all. thank you, baby,” he soothes, a teasing tilt to his smile. eyes hopelessly softened. ”does it look good on me?”

a little chuckle flows from your lips. breathing out a silent response — don’t ask me questions you already know the answers to. but you opt to indulge him, all the same, turning towards him with an affectionate gaze. ”of course,” you coo. ”you’re the prettiest.”

suguru can’t bite back the soft grin that blooms on his lips, and he wonders if you notice the red hue crawling up his neck — faint, but awfully telling. to distract you from it, recognizing a glint of familiar mischief in your eyes, he reaches a hand out to pull your cheek. gently, not enough to hurt you.

the little wince that escapes you tugs at his heartstrings, though, even though he knows you’re just being dramatic to make him feel bad. he can only hope the teasing smile he sends your way will be enough to fluster you, his eyes smoothed over with a deep sincerity.

”you’re one to talk.”

it takes a second or two for his words to sink in. and he can pinpoint the exact instant that they do, from the way you avert your gaze, swiftly, face heating up adorably. suguru stifles a coo.

a little huff leaves your lips, vaguely embarrassed — muttering something unintelligible under your breath. you let go of his hand and take a couple long steps forward, to avoid his teasing gaze. 

suguru follows behind, dutifully, with a fond chuckle. it scatters away in the spring breeze, dancing up into the blue of the sky, caressing the morning glory in his hair.

he takes your hand in his, once more. 

you don’t let go.

[deliontower]

fallin’ into love | b.b

pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x gn!reader

summary: Benedict realises he has feelings for you at the wrong time

warnings: fluff and a little angst

word count: 660

a/n: since i dropped the pressure to write longer fics I’ve really enjoyed writing again. I’m gonna be unbearable when Benedict’s season comes out

Requested : reader is super clumsy and benedict is always there to take care of her (he would hold her when she’s about to trip and maybe wipe off something that’s on her face) and he always thought he sees her only as his little sister. but when he sees her with another man, who is just as considerate with her as he is, he’s afraid that he would lose her forever. can i have a fluffy ending please 🥺

It had become second natural for Benedict to watch you at balls. You had a habit of, well, making a scene. It was something that vexed your parents to no end. He himself found it funny.

He cleaned away a bit of cream from your cheek, heating up with embarrassment, you thanked him. You brushed down the front of your outfit, looking around nervous. “What is it?” Benedict asked.

“My mama and papa have roped my brother into introducing me to a friend of his, ” you admitted.

“Really?” He stammered, not understanding his own shock.

You were still looking around the room, unaware of his reaction, “he’s some lord Hightbottom with a lot of land somewhere in the north of england” you explained.

The north of England?

You were going to marry some man and be taken up north away from him. His childhood companion, the first person who saw his work, his best friend. Who would he be if you weren’t together?

“Oh god there he is” you gasped smiling, looking at him, “will I do?”.

He nodded still speechless, he watched you walk away dreading the day you would walk away forever.

As you always did you tripped over air, Benedict braced himself for the fallout but Hightbottom caught you. He smiled and blushed, you laughed too. Your brother introduced you to each other. Even from a distance Benedict saw how Hightbottom looked at you.

When the two of you moved to the dance floor, he held your hand and must have said something funny from the way you laughed.

Every ball you and he went to he was always the one who danced with you. Both of you always said no one else knew them enough too.

But there you were dancing with someone else and he was alone. Highbottom didn’t falter when you missed a step or stepped on his toes. He looked at you like you deserved to be looked at. And it broke his heart.

“May I have the next dance?” You were surprised to see Benedict.

“Benedict!” You grinned, “this is Robert, my brother's school friend”.

The two men bowed to each other.

“So what about that dance?” Benedict asked again.

“Go on” Robert smiled, “i’ll get us some drinks”.

You nodded watching him go.

As you danced you looked at your friend, “so what do you think?”.

He gave a small shrug, “he’s an alright dancer”.

“Anyone’s an alright dancer when paired with me” you rolled your eyes. “Do you think he might actually make an offer?”.

An offer like your were some kind of business deal

“Don’t you want to marry for love?” He asked.

You frowned, “love?”.

He nodded, “yes love”.

“I don’t suppose I get much of a say. If I’m lucky love will come after or if not love then friendship”.

“Is that how you want your marriage to be?”.

Getting more annoyed with each question you huffed.”my family isn’t rich, if Lord Robert likes me enough to marry me then who cares if we are in love or not? I will have a secure future".

“What If ever was someone who would marry you who already loves you?” He asked.

You sighed, “you’re being ridiculous now, if that someone was real then they would have done it already”.

“What if they misunderstood the way they loved you until they nearly lost you?”. You opened your mouth to speak but he carried on. “What if they spent years catching you each time you tripped and telling you whenever you had cream on your cheek, what if you were the person they told everything to and you to them”.

Your frown dropped, he couldn’t be talking about himself could he?

“What would you do then?”

“If there were someone like that then I should think they ask my parents before another could” you said not able to keep yourself from smiling. “Or we’d have a rather uncomfortable conversation on our hands with that other someone”

[robobarbie]

Toasty and MC kissing in the rain

That's it that's the ask

SENT THIS ASK TO ALLIE FOR A RESPONSE!

-------

"Well. What now?"

Toasty suppressed a smirk as they looked down at you. Just as he thought, you were progressing from vexed to fuming after his remark.

"I knew you were going to lord this over me."

"It's been cloudy all day!"

"Yesterday was cloudy too!" You turned your head away with a simmering pout. "...And I didn't want to carry the umbrella."

Toasty burst into laughter– he couldn't help it, you're always so cute when you're grumpy like this– and gestured back to the bakery cafe you'd just left. "We can always head back in and nurse a coffee for a little while."

"You just said you were stuffed *and* your doctor said to lay off the caffeine."

"I didn't say I'd drink it. A couple of polite sips, at most."

"That's too reasonable. How about I make a run for the car and pick you up at the curb?"

"I think I'd be better equipped for that."

"Because you're so tall you'll make it there in three steps?"

"No, because I have a hoodie on." Toasty flipped up said hoodie, tucking their hair inside for good measure.

"I'm not gonna make the birthday boy run out in the rain!"

"Oh, come on! What's with the sudden chivalry?" A blush burned across their cheeks.

"It's just basic birthday decency. I'll be okay, honest. We'll just turn on the heat to dry me off."

He glanced out at the parking lot, then back at you, a softer grin spreading across his face. "What if the birthday boy wants to go…together?"

"Sure, and we could share your hoodie as we run."

Your quip has no bite, and Toasty calls you out on it by stretching the top of the hoodie over your head. "You'll have to stay close, then."

You made it all of two steps before getting completely soaked, laughing and play-shoving each other until you reached the car. You both leaned against the car doors, catching your breath and giggling in equal measure, until the damp and the cold finally won your full attention.

Toasty fished for his keys in his pockets, still holding the lip of the hoodie out. You watched his still-flushed face shift in concentration; it was hard not to smile seeing his furrowed brow and bit lip, framed with soaked locks of hair. The warmth of the moment almost canceled out the cold of the rain– almost.

"Hey. Hold on."

"Huh?"

You took hold of the lip of the hoodie, yanking it further out– and him closer to you. Toasty yelped, nearly crashing into you and dropping the car keys.

"Y–you'll stretch out my hoodie!"

"Oh, nooo."

"What happened to birthday decency?" Toasty avoided your eyes, their blush deepening.

"Superseded by the first birthday rule."

"The what?"

You drew closer. "Well, second birthday rule. The first is that the birthday boy gets to do whatever they want."

"Then the second?"

"That the birthday boy deserves a kiss."

You closed the distance, and Toasty melted.

[mysteryshoptls]

SR Rook Hunt - Ceremonial Robes Vignette

"That rather intense moment"

[Pomefiore Dorm – Lounge]

Rook: Heh, I do so enjoy my little walks in the morning. The crisp air truly enhances the beauty of prey.

Vil: Oh, Rook. You're still dressed in your school uniform? Hurry and get changed.

Vil: Don't tell me you forgot today's ceremony? No one likes a man with no sense of time.

Rook: Of course not. There's no way I would have forgotten, Vil.

Rook: There's nothing to worry about, I will go change into my ceremonial robes right away. I still have time.

Rook: And perhaps I could undertake your signature appearance look-over, Roi du Poison, since it has been quite some time since I've been subject to one.

Vil: Do you think I would have for my Vice Housewarden someone who would require more help than the other students?

Vil: However, I will say that you should take a shower before changing if were just coming from outside.

Rook: Is that a problem? To be fair, I did not run amok or lay on the ground during today's walk.

Rook: I only exchanged some pleasant conversation with a sleepy-looking prey.

Vil: I wonder if that truly was all. Regardless, you should take a shower and rinse off all the dirt you've tracked in from the outside.

Vil: The ceremonial robes are a traditional and iconic garb of this academy, so it cannot just be worn haphazardly.

Vil: As you are to stand beside me as my Vice Housewarden during the ceremony, I will not allow for a single speck of dust to be present on your robes.

Rook: Is that also why you've mandated that I wear perfume whenever I put on these robes?

Vil: That's right. The scent you wear is just another part of your overall appearance.

Rook: Understood, I shall heed your words.

Rook: If I am to have the privilege of being the accompanying arrangement to your glorious bouquet, then even showers and perfume are a small price to pay.

[Pomefiore Dorm – Hallway]

Rook: How vexing… I had not expected the shower rooms to be out of order.

Rook: They said it would be fixed by tonight, but that would not allow me to be ready in time for the ceremony…

Floyd: Man, Pomefiore's always so sparkly. It shines just like how the ocean's surface does.

Rook: Oh, what luck… That's an Octavinelle student rounding the corner.

Rook: Bonjour, Monsieur Spontané.

Floyd: Oh hey, it's Seagull-kun.

Rook: Is that your nickname for me? It's wonderfully unique.

Rook: A gracious welcome to Pomefiore. Have you just strolled in here on a whim?

Floyd: I ain't taking a stroll, I'm doin' an errand for Azul.

Rook: I see, I see.

Rook: To tell you the truth, I am currently in a tricky bind. I was hoping to ask you for your assistance.

Floyd: Ehhh, don't wanna. I'm busy.

Rook: No need to be so cold. I have need of a shower, and yet the showers here are currently under repair.

Rook: Would I be able to utilize the Octavinelle showers?

Floyd: Huh? How should I know? And it's got nothing to do with me, if you're havin' a problem.

Rook: I beg you. At this rate, I will end up breaking my promise to Vil.

Rook: I am only asking to borrow your shower room. It shouldn't cause you any trouble.

Floyd: You just don't quit, huh. I said I don't wanna.

Rook: Hm… If I cannot attain your permission, it may not work out too well for you.

Rook: Are you still adamant in refusing me?

Floyd: Aha, you tryin' to force me to do whatcha want?

Floyd: Brave, ain'tcha? Want, you want me to squeeze you to a pulp?

Rook: Here

[spritz, spritz, spritz]

Floyd: Ack, what'dya just spray on me!? It smells weird…!

Rook: Weird is no way to describe this. Vil himself blended this special perfume for me.

Rook: Does not the musk and amber soothe you?

Rook: Well, even I have to admit that the scent is fairly strong that if I were to wear it, I would be noticed by my prey from a long distance away.

Rook: That's why I choose to only wear it when I must wear the ceremonial robes.

Floyd: Who cares about all that!? Ugh, I can't even scrub it out…!

Rook: No, I'm sure you can't. You should get changed as quick as possible. I think a bit of it got into your hair as well, so you should also take this opportunity for a shower.

Rook: Now you wouldn't be going out of your way by bringing me along to your dormitory's shower rooms anymore, wouldn't you say?

Floyd: Huh? You screwing with me?

Rook: Oh my, what a terribly ferocious glare.

Rook: I bet those sharp teeth of yours could easily tear through even the toughest fisherman's net… Fantastic!

Floyd: Bleagh… What's with this guy…? Your grin's creepin' me out. Fine, if you're gonna follow me, whatever.

Floyd: Ughhhh～ This really stinks. I'm getting' dizzy…

Rook: Heh. Well then, shall we adjourn to Octavinelle?

[Octavinelle Dorm – Lounge]

Rook: Floyd-kun, thank you for letting me use the Octavinelle showers. Dearie me, that was a saving grace.

Floyd: Maaan, that sucked. [sniff, sniff] …I think I can still smell it on me.

Rook: Heh. The scent is gone, don't worry. Looks like you were able to wash it all out.

Rook: It all worked out in the end, and you even had time to put on your robes. You're going to the ceremony as well, aren't you?

Floyd: Ugh, don't you ever shut up…?

Rook: Oh yes, while I'm here, may I finish applying my makeup?

Floyd: Makeup? You already did the stuff that goes around the eyes.

Rook: Vil's orders, you see. It isn't enough to just use liner.

Rook: I have an abundance of makeup and their respective tools to use for ceremonies… Look here, they can barely fit atop the dresser!

Floyd: Gah, that's so much.

Floyd: What, you got some weird-lookin' bottles, brushes, and pens…? What's this dark brown powder?

Rook: That would be for shading. It's used to contour the face into a more sculpted appearance.

Floyd: Uh-huh. Then, what's with this pencil-lookin' thing? Why'd you have so many different ones?

Rook: That's eyeliner. See how each one is a different color? I'll use a different one based on the type of eyeshadow I use, or where I want to draw a line.

Rook: Now then, if you'll excuse me. I need to start applying my makeup.

Floyd: Uggghh, it smells weird again.

Rook: Even so, I've chosen makeup products that have a more subdued scent.

Rook: Although, I suppose it's true that because I have an abundance of different makeup, that the more I apply, the stronger the fragrance will become…

Floyd: You don't like smelly things either, right, Seagull-kun? So why're ya goin' along with whatever Betta-chan-senpai says?

Rook: This is all to stand at Vil's side.

Rook: He is the fairest of all here at this academy…

Rook: All of this is just a small price to pay in order to be able to admire his beauty from such a premium seat.

Floyd: Uh-huh…

Rook: Heh, you seem to have taken an interest in my handiwork. Would you like to try applying some makeup?

Rook: Your mismatched eyes glow with a mysterious, unreadable glint that is truly beautiful. I'm sure makeup will only serve to enhance that.

Floyd: No way. That's a pain, anyway.

Floyd: 'Sides, it's gettin' pretty boring just watching you do stuff. Hurry and finish up, already.

Rook: Well then, I don't mind if you wish to leave me to it. I can lock up for you once I have finished.

Floyd: Nope. If I let some outsider wander around here, I'ma get an earful from Azul later.

Rook: Well, then I suppose there's no other options. You'll have to wait until I've finished.

Floyd: Whyzzat? Why don'tcha just quickly slap something on?

Rook: Beauty can only be improved by dedicating the time for it.

Rook: Oh, then what if you were to help dry my hair in the meantime?

Rook: It should shorten my time here if you were to use the hair dryer while I finish applying my makeup, wouldn't you agree?

Floyd: …What a pain… …Tch, fine. Hand me the hair dryer.

Rook: Wonderful, thank… Ack, hot!

[hair dryer blows…]

Rook: Non, non, Monsieur Spontané. I need you to regulate the temperature better.

Floyd: Huuuh, whaddya say? I can't hear ya!

[hair dryer blows…]

Rook: Ah, if the dryer is turned to its maximum setting and my hair is ruffled so, it will take longer to tame it later…

Floyd: Man, you got a lot of hair, Seagull-kun. It ain't dryin' at all.

Rook: Ah, Monsieur Spontané…! You handle me so roughly…!

Floyd: You even gotta complain about the way I'm doin' this? Shouldn't matter how I get it done, as long as it dries, right?

Rook: Aaaaah…!

Rook: [pant, pant] …Has my hair finally dried…? I never thought that rather intense moment would ever end…

Rook: …Hm?

Rook: Oh, my hair…

Rook: It's completely unruly!

Floyd: I mean, ain't it boring to just have your hair the same way all the time?

Rook: I see, this is…

Rook: Absolutely fantastic!

Rook: Neither Vil nor myself would have ever considered this style. Your innovative thinking has brought forth a new form of beauty!

Floyd: Eh, you for real?

Rook: I feel as though I've unlocked new possibilities for myself now! Thank you, Floyd-kun!

Floyd: You're so weird…

Requested by Anonymous.

[angeart]

hunted hybrids au rambles

this is an au me and @linkito made for our scarian RP, so just beware it’s focused solely on these two and it’s self-indulgent. CWs, i suppose, are themes of violence and dehumanisation of hybrids, and mention of self harm (feather plucking).

the basic premise is that hermitcraft’s code got attacked. think season 8 moon big and ground deteriorating underneath their feet, but it’s all more rapid and out of the blue. they don’t get a chance to investigate or prepare. it’s just. happening. so obviously, confusion and panic.

and then the hermits get scattered, to other worlds, seemingly indiscriminately and at random, as hermitcraft implodes. 

grian and scar end up in the same world, but it takes them about a week to realise. (a very horrible week, mind you.) their comms don’t work quite right here. 

now, where they’ve ended up is a very, very hybrid-hostile world. think rough people and black markets and criminal societies. think hunters and bloodhounds and phantom-dragons that screech through the night. think traps and watchtowers and rotting forests without a bird-chirp in them.

this world considers hybrids to be something to hunt. something to take apart and sell and gloat about. vexes are disliked and killed for sport, for  bragging rights. there’s no mercy in that. avians, though? avian wings are seen as a commodity, a decoration. something to make money out of and claim a different kind of prestige from. 

... did i mention this world is permadeath?

yeah.

so here we have these two hermits, and i think it’s important to note that the life games aren’t a thing in this universe. they never experienced a situation where they have to fight for their life. they find themselves here, stranded and alone, not knowing if their home even still exists or what happened to the others and if there’s anyone left out there who will be looking for them. 

maybe they try to look for help, used to friendly communities and little to no consequences.

maybe they get glares and smirks and weapons pulled on them.

maybe they realise the error they’ve made. maybe they realise that this is no place to seek help.

and then they run.

and all they can do is keep on running.

(the wood is rotten. the animals are scarce, next to none - have they even seen any? besides the wailing hounds? they can’t remember. the resources are hidden, stashed away in the communities they are desperate to get as much distance from as possible. the land is dark, and eerie, and unfamiliar. it’s late autumn, toppling into winter, air chilly and frosty, and they are so, so very underprepared.)

i think this is a good time to note that i chose violet-backed starling as the bird-base for grian in this au. because the wings are brilliant and bright and vibrant. they’re rare. expensive. very, very much wanted. (very hard to hide in a drab late-autumn.) 

scar and grian meet under dire circumstances: a hunter de-routed from going after scar by a call for backup, to a violet-winged avian—an information scar overhears—a trophy too precious to walk away from. this is the moment scar has the startling, horrifying realisation that grian is also trapped in this world. (he hears  him before he sees him, and he’d know that voice anywhere.) (he never heard him scream like this before—)

long story short, grian gets hurt, scar goes a little feral, and together they escape, to seek out shelter and supplies in a world that seems determined to strip everything away from them. it’s getting colder, and they have nowhere to go but deeper into the forest, hoping that they’ll eventually go far enough that the hunters will give up. (a feeble, impossible hope.) 

please think about them being so confused and destabilised over the realisation that they’re no longer alone. the complicated feeling of relief of having someone familiar and safe there, and the absolutely nauseating terror of having them there, because it means they’re stuck in this nightmare, too. the struggle to keep each other alive and sane through it. the way how something so normal and taken for granted gets turned upside down—and gentle touch now feels so unfamiliar. (oh how they need that softness, in a world that is only ever harsh and cruel.)

the (so far) two drawings i made for this au are:

1. them curled up into each other, wrapped up in a blanket, trying to keep warm and survive the night. please note that scar is pressed against grian’s back, protecting the part of him that now feels the most vulnerable. (grian’s wings are a huge target. a beacon beckoning the hunters closer.) grian used to sleep (on those rare moments when he actually allowed himself to stop and nap) with his wings pressed against hard, rough, cold edges, just to hide them. just to make them less visible, just to make himself a little less vulnerable. (his feathers are a mess.)

2. on that note. the second drawing touches on grian’s complicated feelings about his wings that come from all this trauma. because all those pretty feathers do is drag danger to them. because he used to love them and they used to be his pride and joy and they let him feel free, but he can’t even fly anymore (the sky is too open; there are too many airborne hunters and watchtowers). and it’s these damned feathers that cause him and, more importantly, scar to get hurt and have to run and run and run even when they feel like they can’t anymore. 

grian is so upset with his feathers. they feel like a curse. they feel like a burden. they feel like he’ll never not be terrified as long as he has them. he’s tired and in pain and cornered and desperate, and he wants them gone. and so what if he cries. what if he starts plucking them out, urgent, frustrated, panicked sharp yanks, and—

and scar is there, and he’s shushing him and telling him to stop. telling him that his wings are beautiful, and they’re his, and scar won’t let anyone else touch them, ever. it’s okay. it’s okay it’s okay it’s okay. (nothing is okay.)

//full drawings are linked so feel free to check them out if you're interested :3

------ @motherofplatypus a bit late but here you go! the requested au rambles

[gay-dorito-dust]

Can you do head canons for vox machina after you have to get revived

Depending on how you died, it would’ve hurt the group all the same. Having someone out of their rag tag group meeting an unfortunate end and they’re unable to prevent it from occurring? It’s not a nice a feeling in the slightest.

So it was only natural for Vax, Vex, Percy, Keyleth, Scanlan, Pike and Grog to feel as though they were all partially to blame for your death. It’s a feeling that they would carry with them even after you’ve been revived.

Death wasn’t something one can easily walk away from after being revived and you weren’t any different. If anything the experience of dying then being brought back changed you in ways unknown to yourself until someone were to be upfront about it to you.

Keyleth and Pike would constantly be checking on you after even something as small as a minor inconvenience. Healing you almost straight away even if it was something as small as a paper cut. One of them would always be seen by your side during battles with the additions of Percy and vex acting as long range shooters for opponents Pike and Keyleth couldn’t quite reach with their depleting energy.

Vax would be watching over you like a goddamn hawk, making sure no one tried to pull a fast one over you, always having your back during fights. Vex would also go out of her way to have your back during a fight but in a more discreet manor then the reckless manor her twin would take. Going so far as to scold you whenever you did something reckless in battle or went a little too far out for her liking; But her tone of words and the look in her eyes didn’t match up.

Percy would make upgrades to your weapons or completely make you a new one from scratch when he wasn’t satisfied with the lack of efficiency from your weapon. He’d go through all the processes with you on what does what but it doesn’t really matter as much like Vax he would look out for you in battle, gunning down assailants from a distance and then deny it when confronted about it like…your the only one in the group with a fucking gun dude, I heard gunshots. So naturally I’m going to assume.

Scanlan would take a more light hearted approach in comparison to his friends. Whilst they’re all trying to provide you with protection from any and all harm, the bard would go instead provide you with some company. He’d joke and jest but you noted how his smile reached his eyes nor did his laughter sound completely genuine, Alamo as though he were distracted.

He also makes a mean sandwich so I wouldn’t be surprised if he made an extra special one for you and when you’d ask for the occasion for this random act of service, he’d merely shrug it off as him doing something for a friend.

Grog would probably be protective over you in battle, always picking off the hardest ones so that you would’ve ever have to deal with it yourself. He’s your wall of protection and is more then willing to take all the physical punishment then allow you to even pertain a harmless bruise.

Over all, they would be protective over you in their own way and would gladly form a protective shield out of their own bodies strewn out in front of you if needs be. A good majority of them (Percy, Vax, Vex, etc) have lost good people that were once close to them. They’ve lost you once and there’s no way in hell would they allow that to ever happen again. Get mad at them all you like, try to push them away but they don’t care, their hearts can only take so much breakage despite what their hardened visages would like to say.

[zae-heeyyy]

Hiatus

Summary: You meet John during his year away from the gang. Pairing: John Marston x gn!Reader but mostly platonic Word Count: 1,725 Tags/ Warnings: alcohol, violence, mature themes

a/n: Just a little idea I had. I actually sketched/traced the saloon picture on my iPad. (Thanks John for bad drawing skills because I'm not an artist. To be clear, this is my interpretation of John’s sketch of a saloon haha) Something a little different, I hope you enjoy. Thanks for reading!

hiatus: A temporary departure or absence, often marked by a pause in activity or routine, reflecting a period of separation from the usual path or environment

Rip Van Winkle? Did he take you for a fool? You'd be insulted if you couldn't clearly see the bastard was miserable. It'd been three months since he stumbled into your saloon, throwing a few bills on the bar top. A few bills covered a lot of drinks, but a lot of drinks he had. He would drink and gamble all his money away and would somehow come back the next day with more. You didn't know any fellas around who could make their money and spend it as fast as he did. Minding your business seemed like the best course of action, and that's what you did, mostly. All you asked for was a name, and that's what he gave you. You took the hint and stopped asking questions. 

Until you couldn't curb your curiosity about the tall, lanky stranger anymore.

"What do you do, anyway?" You asked. Nobody around knew him, and it wasn't a big town. People were fishermen and farmhands, and he didn't fit either bill. He'd dodged that question, too. It didn't take long for you to figure out how he made his living when you saw him "accidentally" bump into someone. Just thirty seconds later, he threw the dime he'd presumably pickpocketed onto your bar. You stared at him, unmoving. 

"Well, you gonna pour that whiskey or not?" He learned on the counter, impatient, and glared at you. Intimidating you would take more work than he was probably used to.

"You gonna give that man his money back or not?" You shot back. His face didn't change, and he steadily held your gaze. He picked up the coin and placed it back on the counter, scooting it in front of you again.

"No," he replied simply.

"Then no." You responded with a shrug and turned to walk off to serve someone else. Rip sighed deeply and put another dime on the counter. 

"But I'll buy him a drink-- on him." You wanted to laugh but didn't give him the satisfaction. 

"Now I'm robbing him, too?"

"It ain't robbin. He was gonna buy a drink anyway," his tone grew even more vexed. You were the one loudly exhaling now. You took the money, poured the whiskey, and offered the other man his "free" drink. Rip was lucky you didn't call the law on him, but he seemed to have enough problems as it was. 

He took to you after that, though, always throwing extra change down for you to have a whiskey yourself. You'd thank him with short words, but never poured yourself a drink, knowing where the money came from. Keeping your distance seemed like the logical thing to do.

Then, someone you'd never seen before pushed open the doors to the saloon on a particularly slow night. You'd noticed Rip's posture stiffen as soon as he laid eyes on the man. He placed a casual hand on his right hip, and his eyes moved to yours for only a second before they were watching the man again. You should've felt something was wrong but didn't have time to think before the newcomer approached you, pointing his gun at you from inside his coat.

"All the money. Now. And don't say a word." Your blood ran cold, but before you could move, you heard a click.

"Put the gun down, idiot." Rip had moved from his seat and was standing behind the intruder, his own revolver pointed to the back of his head, "gonna lose your life over this? I hope you ain't as dumb as you look."

Rip diverted the stranger's attention long enough for you to reach for your own shotgun under the counter. You pointed your gun at the would-be robber, and Rip yelled at the few others in the saloon to get the law. You finally let yourself breathe when the man was taken away. 

Rip stayed for the rest of the night, sitting long past his usual departure time. Faint sunlight was beginning to peak in the windows, and your shift replacement had walked through the doors. Instead of going home, you walked around the bar to sit with Rip. Sometime in the night, he'd settled in a seat on the side of the bar, closer to you, still nursing the same glass of whiskey you'd poured hours earlier.

 "You knew that was gonna go down tonight, didn't you?" You'd asked. You noticed his sudden change of demeanor as soon as the thief stepped foot inside.

He shook his head, looking down at the glass. "Didn't really know. Had a feelin', though. Can't explain it. Maybe it was a look in his eye or how he walked in? I don't know, just a feelin'. I knew fellas like him." He paused for a moment, "Hell, I am a feller like him. "

You didn't know anything about him, but you think you understood. A feeling in your gut told you pickpocketing was the more tame of his crimes. 

"I'm surprised you didn't get in on it," Your tone was severe, but you were grinning at him. He scoffed, laughing a bit. 

"I ain't that far gone. I got morals, you know." You had an inkling that he was trying to convince himself more than he was trying to convince you.

"Morals." You repeated back to him. You couldn't believe the ridiculousness of it all. "Right"

He threw his hands up defensively, "Do you think I am the type of guy to put a gun in an innocent person's face? For some saloon cash?"

You shrugged, skepticism all over your face, "I can't say I know what kind of man you are, Mr. Van Winkle," you said, adding finger quotes around his name.

He looked down at his glass and let out another sigh. "John-- my name's John...Marston. Since you wanna know so bad," he finally finished off the last of the liquor. You searched his face; he was grimacing slightly.

You hum appreciatively. "It's nice to thank a man with his own name, John Marston. Thanks. You definitely saved my ass tonight. How about some breakfast on the house to show my appreciation?" 

Maybe oatmeal had some aphrodisiac properties you didn't know about, or perhaps you'd finally lost it. Still, somehow, you'd ended up pressed against the wall by the cowboy in a room above the saloon. His kisses were sloppy, and his movements were sporadic and clumsy, even. He'd made a move to pull you towards the bed but stumbled, knocking his head hard into yours. 

"Shit," he stumbled back, rubbing his head. You leaned against the wall, nursing your own sore dome. But the collision seemed to knock some sense into you. 

"This was...it wasn't..." You tried to find the words to let him down softly, but he cut you off with a shake of his head and sat on the bed.

"Yeah, weren't a good idea. Don't worry about it," he gave you a strained but reassuring smile, and you stood there in awkward silence before he spoke again, "I don't know what I'm even doin' these days." He said, eyes trained on the floor. Part of you couldn't believe that he was trying to have a conversation with you after that, but like always, you felt a little sorry for him. 

"How about another drink? For both of us."

He could say no to that, so you made your walk of shame back downstairs. Your colleague at the bar gave you a look but didn't say anything as he poured your drinks. After everything, you felt like he owed you the truth, and he was too tired to argue.

"Ask away," he relented. 

"Why the fake name?" That was your first question, and you had so many more when he was done talking. Almost hanged at twelve, riding with Dutch Van der Linde and robbing trains and banks. No wonder he was so miserable. 

"Left it all, and I don't feel any better. I'm still robbin, still here drinking every night."

"Doesn't sound any better," was all you could say. 

"It ain't. And the worst part? There was this girl, a working girl, who fell in with us, Abigail. Me and her-- well, she was more to me than a working girl, but then she got pregnant. And I got a son, at least, that's what she told me. Don't know if he's mine." He buried his face in his hands and groaned, the weight of it all heavy on his shoulders.

You were silent. You didn't know what to say or how to respond to any of it. All of this, his life, was something out of an Otis Miller tale. A life of crime was utterly foreign to you.

"That's...a lot," was all you could manage. He bobbed his head up and down in agreement. "Did you love her?" Something seemed to wash over him, and he stiffened. It took him a few moments to respond, but he looked off like he was picturing something in his mind's eye.

"I think I did. Think I still do." You could see the turmoil clearly on his face then. You snapped him back, your voice low and soft.

"Think she would lie to you? Especially about something like that?"

"I don't know. I don't know anything anymore."

You pondered for a second. "You said you didn't have a father until Dutch took you in. Want this kid to be the same, without a dad? You love his momma; you think she loves you. Give the kid a chance to grow up with parents that love each other."

You could see his jaw clench, and he waved you off without even considering what you said.

"Didn't ask for advice." 

"Well, I'm giving it to you, miserable bastard." He relaxed his jaw and chuckled.

"Fair enough."

More silence fell between you, and he finished what was left in his glass before sliding a dime to your co-worker and leaving. He returned only a handful of times after that, noticeably drinking less. One day, as he was leaving, he took his hat off and met your eye. 

"I'm gonna get goin' now. Thanks for everything." 

And you knew it was the last time you'd ever see him. You just hoped he decided to do the right thing. You had a feeling he did. 

[cannebady]

It's the future. How far into it, really, is of no matter here. The important bit is that they've finally reached some degree of an understanding.

There's an angel back in a bookshop in Soho, enthusiastic in his separation from the holy host and distinct lack of separation from the original tempter.

Well, he supposes lack of separation is a relative term.

Right before, well, before. Not Before of course, no, not that far back, but before their second, second chance he and Crowley were as close as they'd ever been. There were talks and walks and good lord the touching. They were so close then, right on the precipice before the Metatron and Aziraphale's most shameful cowardice yet.

Crowley had tried, of course he had. Brilliant, brave, honest Crowley throwing his heart into the ring in the final hour, a pleading hail Mary met only by an angel's repitious distance and foolish devotion to the wrong entity entirely.

Crowley does have reason to be vexed with him.

But that's behind them too, because they've always been stronger together and now, after all that's transpired (which shall be discussed at a later date), they've begun to establish a new normal.

And Aziraphale is grateful, well and truly, deeply grateful for the wellspring of forgiveness, or possibly acceptance, that proliferates in his dear demon. His best friend, the love of his life, a pure anomaly that Aziraphale had coveted since before he knew it was sinful to.

He certainly doesn't give a toss about the concept of sin now. Not now that his apology (a rather garish, lengthy spin on their apology dance that included no fewer than eleven doves, four streamers, twenty-seven individual steps, and one heartfelt apology made while holding the hand of a shell-shocked demon who looked nearly as relieved as he was conflicted) has been cautiously accepted.

They started small. Coffee once a week at Nina's shop to hash out their thoughts and catch up under the watchful eye of someone far wiser than them.

It was after the fifth coffee date (they're not dates, he keeps reminding himself, to little effect) is the first time it happens.

It, in this instance, is a moment of tension as one of them almost breaks the silence on the one piece of the Debacle they haven't bled out yet. They talked about the difference in their "exactlies" and how Aziraphale had always needed to fix things to feel worthy and how Crowley's loneliness had been nearly crushing, and that's really saying something for a demon.

But they hadn't talked about the kiss. About Crowley's desperate, last-ditch-attempt kiss meant to show Aziraphale what he could offer.

They hadn't talked about how it was almost enough to rip Aziraphale from his self-imposed duty. Or how he hadn't gone one day, not ever one hour, since without thinking about how wrong it was that he didn't kiss Crowley back with everything he was.

So upon the steps of the bookshop, after the fifth coffee not-date of the rest of their lives (part two), they prepare to say goodbye as the angel frets about whether it's too soon to invite his favorite demon inside (or to spend the rest of their lives together, either would be lovely). While preoccupied with invitations and proposals, he fumbles with the key to the shop door, enough so that Crowley reaches around him with a, "Let me get that for you, angel," in just enough time for Aziraphale to turn around and look him in his ochre eyes.

Time feels paused. Considering Crowley's abilities, it may have actually stopped. But Aziraphale can't think about that because they're so close, closer than they've been since before, and all he can think of is dragging those red lips down to his own and showing Crowley the depth of his devotion.

Crowley seems similarly caught in the liminal space of the moment, frozen on an event horizon that is as terrifying for him as it is exciting.

Aziraphale almost leans in, he's so close to it that it's almost an inevitability, but then he sees a trace of panic cross Crowley's features and time starts again instantly.

It's too soon. They haven't talked about it. Once they have, perhaps he'll be permitted a second go at tasting his demon, but he won't force Crowley across any more lines. It's his turn to match speed.

So he pulls back slowly, with a smile he hopes conveys his understanding and acceptance. Crowley looks uneasy for a moment, stuck in where they almost landed, before he too, pulls back.

They say a warm, if stilted, goodbye and Aziraphale locks himself in the shop for the rest of the day. They're working through it, but sometimes he can't believe his own stupidity. He left this behind and he can't even fathom why at this point.

---

It happens again because of course it does.

The next time they're coming back from Aziraphale's favorite sushi place, because they've graduated to a coffee not-date once a week and one dinner not-date in the same week and he's tickled about it.

Crowley has been his sparkling self all evening, funny and sharp and silly and Aziraphale's so ridiculously charmed by him he feels like there's glitter in his performative veins.

The Bentley stops outside of the bookshop and Aziraphale's heart aches for a time in the not-so-distant past when it would've been natural to ask Crowley in for a nightcap.

For now, he turns to thank him for a lovely meal, but when he shifts he sees that Crowley's staring at him in a way that makes the hair on the back of his neck stand up. His gaze is locked on Aziraphale's mouth and he seems completely caught in his own mind. Aziraphale can only imagine he's remembering, because he's also remembering and good lord his self control is waning.

Suddenly, Crowley snaps out of it, turning his head sharply and grinding out, "Night angel, see you Wednesday," as Aziraphale takes his cue to get out of the car and head inside the shop. It's longing and abrupt, but they don't look at one another. Something in that breaks Aziraphale's chipped heart just a bit more.

It hurts, but he's brought it on himself for being a fool. He allows himself a cocoa, then a stiff glass of whiskey before he settles in with a copy of Persuasion and pointedly thinks of nothing.

---

Three months or so in, and it's happened so often that Aziraphale wonders if it's a cosmic joke or some kind of karmic backlash for his hallmark poor decision-making.

They've had so many almosts it's doing his head in.

There was the one at the drive in where they saw Casablanca and Crowley had looked so handsome limned by the screen light that Aziraphale almost lost his better judgment.

There was the pub where Aziraphale won a game of pool with a move so complicated and borderline impossible that Crowley looked like he may just swing him around and plant one on him in pride. Aziraphale wishes he would've. But that same shuttered (shattered) look crossed Crowley's features and Aziraphale found himself challenging Crowley to a second match to pull him out of his spiral.

Then there was the farmers market, and the duck pond, and the beach, and every other bloody place they went to and if the tension didn't break soon Aziraphale was concerned his patience just might.

But he doesn't complain because Crowley comes to the shop at his leisure now, walking in like he has a claim to it (he does, he does, he does) and that makes Aziraphale so happy he could almost lose consciousness.

But he's starting to wonder after his own ability to keep letting things go as, presently, they're both on the sofa in the room above the shop, in front of a roaring fireplace that came loaded with a divine miracle to keep it from burning or even singeing a single page, (a condition of Crowley's that Aziraphale was happy to acquiesce) and the exact right amount of wine in their systems to know better but not necessarily do better.

It's a dangerous combination because good lord does the firelight make Crowley incandescently beautiful (or possibly, it's Crowley doing so to the fire, as he's always beautiful) and Aziraphale is weak.

He realizes, after a moment, that it's quiet save for the crackling of the fire and last he'd remembered before getting lost in his head Crowley was talking but now, the air is thick with familiar tension and he can feel those serpent eyes on him.

He looks over and is caught in the softest, hungriest gaze he's ever seen directed his way. He can feel his own cheeks flush in sympathy and he watches Crowley notice, watches Crowley take in the click of his throat as he tries to swallow his want lest he tarnish this delicate balance of theirs, and watches as Crowley's hand comes to his own and trails upward, feels heat and goose flesh break out on his arm (his sleeve is rolled up, there's no barrier, oh fuck) in the wake of those elegant fingers as they travel higher, and loses his measured breathing as it traverses his bicep, his shoulder, dear lord his neck, then settles holding his cheek.

There is no mistaking it this time. No broken glances, no rage, just heat and static and love.

Oh, Aziraphale can feel the love pouring off of them both and it's like his thirst being slaked for the first time in ages.

"Crowley," he starts, and before he can continue he hears a rough, "Yes, angel. Just yes," and that's all he needs.

He grabs Crowley's lapels, a gentle mirror to before, and brings his lips to his beloved's and a moan rings out that both will blame on the other and both will be right to.

Crowley's lips are syrup sweet on his, his hands grasping with a whole different kind of desperation, the kind the screams "I love you, and I've loved you, and I'm going to continue to until the Sun burns out and then I'll find a way to love you some more", and Aziraphale is torn asunder by the heat building in his chest.

Crowley's breathing is a mess of gasps and low growls and Aziraphale answers with moans, and hums, and his arms wrapping around his perfect, brave serpent until the demon is in his lap, right where he belongs.

Ever the egalitarian, Crowley gives as good as he gets, cleverly licking into Aziraphale's mouth, biting his lip just to soothe it with his forked tongue, and Aziraphale has his hands lost in blood red hair and his mind lost in Crowley's blood hot embrace and he's crying but Crowley's crying too so it's alright.

They kiss for ages, allowing the second one to make up for the millions of times they should've done it before, until Aziraphale rests his forehead against Crowley's, stroking a thumb down his cheek to his jaw. Letting them catch their unneeded breath.

"I am terribly, irrevocably in love with you", Aziraphale whispers between them. It's about time he took the leap first.

Crowley's breath hitches and his eyes snap up to Aziraphale's. He looks into his blue eyes and Aziraphale lets him find what he needs reflected there.

"Angel," he starts before losing his breath again, "I never thought-" and fresh tears well on his lovely face.

"My dearest, you needn't say anything. Say what you will in your own time. I'll love you regardless," he jumps to reassure. Now is not the time for him to demand reciprocity. It will hurt and he will wait. It's alright.

The demon almost scoffs, but it's stopped by a small, sincere smile. "Of course I love you," Crowley replies, voice low and earnest, and impossibly steady. He says it as if it's an undeniable truth. It is.

Aziraphale makes his own desperate noise as he hears his devoted love returned to him and he's kissing Crowley again before he knows it.

They're finally here, in this world they've protected together. Finally on the same side and the same page.

As Crowley drifts off some time later, with his head on Aziraphale's shoulder and Aziraphale's lips to his temple, the angel allows himself to let their future take shape in his mind.

There will be peaks and valleys, he imagines, but it'll be perfect anyway.

[darlingdarkly]

Fates Worse Than Death Part 5

Deimos x f!reader noncon! Enemies to Lovers

2.9k words

CW: noncon elements, dubcon elements, angst, mentions of character death, game spoilers

Parts: 1, 4, 6

Routine has a way of cutting our lives into neat little boxes. The same thing in and out quickly blankets over any obscenities or anomalies until you’re numb to what made them absurd in the first place, completely draining any context or substance they may have held. They become unreal to you, just a fact of life. Like morticians or executioners when you do the same, at first glance, abhorrent tasks day in and out it starts to become ordinary, just part of the mundane, as vexing as brushing your teeth or fetching the mail.

The days began to bleed together. The pair of you fell into a regular schedule, one where there was never a moment you were apart and for better or for worse you began to get comfortable, complacent in your unusual relationship. You slipped into the regularity of routine, waking up, sharing breakfast, doing desk work in the mornings and then sharing lunch, odd menial things in the afternoon before sharing dinner and then bed. You didn’t even notice the slip, drifting effortlessly into place next to him, becoming relaxed around him. He became a statue, a steady faucet, always there.

There was even training, every day you and him would start with stretches before a run and then light sparring where more often than not you found yourself face first into the mat but it was exertion and that suited you just fine. It was during one of these training sessions where the inevitable finally happened. He wondered how long it was going to take for you to become comfortable enough to bring it up. He should have known, but he had let himself become comfortable too and maybe that’s why it caught him half by surprise as it did.

You had only been sparring for about a week, moved up from the basics to being confident enough in your abilities for wooden trainers to be added to the mix. He threw one at you and you caught it with ease, examining the crudely carved knife and testing its grip in your palm. It had been too long for your liking since you’d gripped a knife, even a fake one and it felt like slipping back into an old sweater.

You both stood opposite each other on the mat with a trainer in hand and he allowed you to make the first move, jabbing inward towards him with an intended blow to his right side, a move he saw coming and sidestepped, bringing his own knife up for a slash to your neck.

You pulled your head back and away just in time before ducking down and pushing your blade up into his armpit where it ultimately would drive between his ribs and into his lung. He stepped back with the bout over and stood before you impressed. He came at you first the next time, feigning a go for your soft neck but redirecting at the last moment and dipping around behind you when you moved to evade and capturing you in a headlock, he smiled as you swore and tapped him with the handle of your trainer on the back of his arm as a surrender.

He went again, pulling a similar move and found himself impressed as you predicted it and put distance between you, adapting quickly and learning as you went. He found himself wondering just how trained you were, the thoughts spilling into one another as he assessed your skills up close and personally.

The bouts went on, each of you trading blows and working up a sweat until he held up a hand to signal a break. Your shoulders dropped and you stepped back until the backs of your knees hit the bench and you dropped down on it to recover. He stood where he was as he addressed you.

“When are you going to tell me your ability?” You froze like a deer in the headlights. Of all the questions he could have asked he picked the one you couldn’t answer. You don’t even have an excuse prepared, completely blindsided. You knew it was going to happen eventually but you had assumed it would come later, always later.

“I’m not.” You hope you can be cheeky and skate.

“Why?” God he’s persistent. It’s like he had a sixth sense for when you were trying to avoid a subject. Prodding you for discomfort and pushing on the spots that made you wince.

“Because.. I don’t want to.” Your answers not good enough, his head tilt says it all.

“Sugar cane..” he won’t let you keep getting away with half truths and run arounds, you have to give him something and the first thing you come up with is what you feed him, you hope he can’t taste the deceit in it.

“It’s still in development.” Which is true, you have a few ideas but haven’t set down anything concrete yet. You have some plans worked up but they’ll have to go through Mira for approval and probably be reworked for flaws or additions depending on her judgment but there was still a long way to go even before that step. You hope to god he’ll just let it go.

“What rank are you?” You looked up, trying to get a read on him. Why was he asking questions he already had the answers to. Why was he pressing so hard? Digging deep to the heart of the issue. “You know what my rank is. It’s in my file.”

“I have your medical file, not your dossier.” You weren’t sure where he was going with this. But if he didn’t accept this then your back was against the wall and you’d have to tell him the truth. “Well before Rainbow I-“

“Not before. You and I both know nothing before Rainbow matters.” And there it was, the unavoidable question. It was a trap, one you could see but had no choice but to walk into, you could lie but he’d find out one way or another. He’d done it once before.

“Recruit.” You’d whispered it but he heard it clear as a bell and you wondered again if any of the intel on him was correct, he was almost supernatural in his abilities for a 51 year old.

“A recruit!?! Are you telling me they haven’t promoted you? You’re not even a full blown operator yet and they sent you out here for me?” You mentally flinch a little at the jest, you know it wasn’t meant to be hurtful but it stung all the same. Your first instinct is to try and defend yourself and Rainbow for that matter.

“I was close. This mission, had it been successful, was going to push me the last of the way, I was sure of it.” You were going to say more but he cut you off.

“You don’t even know? How long have you been at Rainbow?” And the follow up question drops. The answer automatically rolling to the front of your mind like a steel ball and thudding against the pan of your brain, it hurt.

“Two years.” He’s silent and somehow that’s worse because you can’t even imagine what’s going on in his head.

“Sugar cane, that’s ridiculous. You know that, right? Do you not realize the potential you’ve shown me in the last month alone? Do you not see they are squandering your talent? You shouldn’t be sat out on the sidelines. You’re ready, you’ve been ready.”

The heat of his praise never fails to warm you and you still find you don’t know what to do with it but as rewarding as it is you still find yourself jumping to defend the organization. “That’s not my decision to make.”

“It used to really be something, an organization made up of the world's elites. A force that brought justice to looming evil, a tactile resolution to the previously untouchable. We kept it in check.” You hadn’t expected this, you never thought you’d hear him talk about his time at Rainbow.

It was by no means a secret, every new batch of recruits huddled together after dark in the barracks or around the fire camping out during orienteering training heard the tale of one of Rainbow’s fiercest enemies.

So feared not only because of his ruthless reputation and terrifying ability that was impossible to evade but because he used to be one of us.

“Rainbow used to mean something. We used to mean something.” And his gaze fell from you as he relived some vivid memory as he spoke. “We were a force. Striking fear into the hearts of our enemies, saving hundreds of thousands of lives.”

“What happened?” You stared up at him, training long forgotten in lieu of hearing him lay it all out for you, whether you liked what you heard or not. This is the part of the story no one knew. “They ruined it, tarnished our name and reputation. Dissected Rainbow and ripped out its spine, let it get all soft and mushy. It’s the same reason you’re still a recruit and not out there in it. Now it’s not even a shell of the beast it used to be.”

“A group of us ultimately defected, unwilling to bend the knee. Got labeled as traitors and terrorists, sought out to be destroyed by what he had helped build. The only answer was to cut off the head of the snake.” Your blood ran cold as you realized what he was referring to and as instantly as it chilled it began to heat.

“We were a covert unit of apex killers and he turned it into the fucking escapades. Harry was a fucking louse.

He disgraced my unit and if no one else would step up and hold the gun then so be it.” It was only when he looked back up at you did he realize his mistake.

You weren’t the only one settling into complacency. He hadn’t realized how comfortable he’d gotten, the noose settling around his neck without so much as a flinch. He had been trying so hard to coax you from your defensive shell he’d never realized how vulnerable he was making himself in the process and he had never meant to open up to you quite this much, cut himself open as he had, but it had been so long since he had shared like this and the flow of it took him and made him bleed more than he had intended, but he realized it just a bit too late.

“What the fuck do you know about Harry?” He could feel the heat coming off you in waves. He hadn’t realized you were close with Harry, there was no way he could have really known, but fuck it. It was time you learned the truth.

“Did I strike a nerve, sugar cane?” You glared him down.

“You don’t know a damn thing. Whatever happened to you it wasn’t that. You’re wrong. We’re not soft. And I don’t believe you.” The ‘we’ struck a chord in him, one that stung a bit but he couldn't let it show.

“Of course you don’t, God you’re loyal to a fault you know that?” You want to shove the wooden trainer down his throat, can see yourself doing it in your mind even as you know it’d never play out that way.

You couldn’t sit still any longer and rose up off the bench, undeterred as the image of your leader and mentor filled your mind and the anger that sapped from it you harbored to coat your words until they were gorged with poison. “Killing Harry meant nothing. You think it’ll change Rainbow? Somehow magically restore your perfect fucking unit? You’re living in the past, Deimos. Grow up.”

“He was running Rainbow into the ground. Why do you think it’s deteriorating from the inside out? Ghost Eyes? Red Hammer? You really think Rainbow breaking into factions makes you stronger? You’re wrong. It’s weakening you. Don’t even get me started on Nighthaven. Inviting them in so freely. Didn’t even realize they were there to poach your technology and operators until it was too late. Rainbow is crumbling and Harry was holding the hammer.”

“You’re wrong!” But he’s not. It’s no secret things have been going wrong for a long time now, even Rainbow’s enemies were privy to the internal struggles, poising to strike while it was weak. They hadn’t ever suspected it to come from one of their own.

“There is none so blind as those who refuse to see, sweetheart.” Your temper reached its fever pitch and you could feel the air around you stilling, the calm before the storm, the static it resonated undeniable.

“You’re wrong. And if you think you’ve got your hands around our throat I suggest you think again. You’re underestimating us and it’ll be your downfall.” You stand opposite each other and it’s clear while he’d made the fatal slip it was you who came out the most upheaved by it. Your chest rises and falls rapidly as your temper threatens to claim your better judgment. You find you can’t stand to look at him a moment longer, uncertain of what you’ll do if you have to.

You storm out and it only adds fuel to your flames when he doesn’t bother following you, like he’s secure enough in recapturing you had you tried to escape that it didn’t matter. You kept your head down as you passed groups of unfriendly faces, lost in your own mental quarrels you wished one would try something, give you an outlet to lash out against but they all seemed to know better. You made it out of the building and headed east. There was only one thing right now that could ease your ill mood, you were happy to find it unlocked.

The noise greets you like an old friend and they’ve grown accustomed to you enough to anticipate your arrival each time. They welcome you in with the same mix of barks and whimpers and you find the sound wraps around you like a warm hug. You greet them back one by one, stopping and giving each a thorough pat down through the gates. You’d grown to love them all but Clover cemented her place in your heart as your favorite.

You pulled open the door to her pen and stepped inside carefully as she attempted to wrap herself around your legs, beating you up with her tail in the process. Your mind eases and you start to forget a little. You spend the rest of the day there, cleaning up their enclosures before playing with each in turn, tug of war with an old piece of rope you’d found and bringing them out of their pens one at the time for a few rounds of fetch.

It’s odd, this stretch of alone time. After a solid month of being with him constantly this step back was both jarring and full of clarity. It’d been a long time since you’d done a mental inventory and you didn’t care for what you found once you did. You were upset with him but the reasoning behind it made you uncomfortable. It wasn’t Harry’s death, that was only the spark that had ignited the flame. You’d mourned him already, the initial stages of grief long past.

This felt like a different kind of upset, its flavor twinged with disappointment, but why? Why would you expect anything else from him? He was your enemy, you knew that. You hate your enemies, you strive to watch them exhale their last breath, actively plot their demise. But running those things back with him in mind didn’t feel right, they made you a bit queasy. You refused to acknowledge the implications of it, no matter how undeniable they appeared to be. Nothing had changed. But you couldn’t shake the feeling that everything he’d said to you rang of truth while you were only lying to yourself.

You’d just finished feeding them when he stepped in. “Thought I’d find you here.” The pang of emotion that washed over you at the sound of his voice made you uncomfortable but you fought down any kind of reaction it threatened to bring to the surface and didn’t even turn to acknowledge him. But you weren’t expecting the accompanying sting when he didn’t even try to smooth any of it over, choosing instead to change the subject and drive head on to whatever point he came to make.

“I just got some news.” You turn to face him then, the possibilities of what he was going to say next had no end and you were all ears. “I have to leave again, tomorrow morning.”

He continues. “I didn’t want to but after learning the nature of the situation I can’t send anyone in my place and there’s no other alternatives.” Another escape attempt jumps to the forefront of your mind, it’s reactionary but even as the thought forms it dies. You’d have to have some kind of a leg up, a new plan and you have yet to find a new chink in their armor, but maybe while he’s gone you can come up with something for another time.

“It’s gonna be at least a week or so, the trip will take half a day alone but we’ll manage it.” Your ears prick up. Did he just say we? He can tell by the expression on your face that you’ve picked up on the catch.

“Wait, you don’t mean?…”

“Pack your bags, sugar cane. We’re going on a trip.”