#paddy leaves his hopes

[lalunanymph]

MARRY THE TRAITOR ; gojo satoru

⟡ the day you met your demise is the same day you met gojo satoru, your betrothed from a world so different from yours—a cruel prince who is undoubtedly in love with someone else. as the stakes rise and you race against the clock to beat your brutal fate, can you make the ultimate choice between your heart or your happily ever after?

includes: mentions of food, mentions of murder, talks of death, predator/prey dynamic, sword to neck trope, reader gets restrained, mentions of injuries, arranged marriage, enemies to lovers, unrequited love, slow burn, yandere!gojo, prince!gojo, princess!reader, reader is referred to as 'cerena', princess cerena has pink hair and feminine features, reader is in cerena's body, isekai-ed reader

⟡ masterlist

ACT 1, SCENE 3: THE VILLAGE

Life at this little village offered you a gentle respite from the fears eating at your soul, putting the memory of Satoru's bloodthirsty desires momentarily out of your mind.

Whilst under Aeva’s care, you learned how to use an old fire stove, sweep the floors with a broom made of brambles, and prepare some of Northern Haleway’s most famous fare—pigeon mince pies. 

In return, she offered you the room in her attic, a quaint, cozy space that did not perturb you with its lack of size but instead, reminded you fondly of your own bedroom back in your real world. 

When you weren’t busy with chores and cooking, Aeva gave you free rein to roam about the village with the condition that you were to never reveal your true identity to the poor villagers. You took her worries in stride, always leaving her home with your hood and cloak on; Cerena’s signature pink hair plaited neatly and wrapped under the scratchy hood. 

The reason for your excursions to town were simple: you wanted to find out the truth about why you were here in the first place. 

You struck up conversations with various healers, visited the village shaman, and even spent an hour talking to the friendly barman on the merits of body swapping and waking up in a different life. 

But, your research barely yielded anything fruitful.

It only served to increase your worries, driving you to the brink of a mental breakdown at the fact that you may never go back to your real world again. 

That you may never see your mother or listen to her laugh as you both drank rice wine on a veranda; happy memories illuminated by the sun setting over the paddy fields. You may never roll your eyes at your best friend’s piss poor attempts at setting you up on blind dates, or enjoy your morning commute with a cup of turmeric latte.

Every single thought drew you deeper into a pit of despair.

But, you knew you had to be strong. 

This was a temporary setback and you have to believe that you will return home. You have to believe that life would not be so cruel as to leave you stranded here, in a place where you were despised and ridiculed. You had to keep the faith; had to hold onto the hope that you would make it home in one piece. 

There was no other option. 

-

Satoru slowed his horse to a trot once he arrived in the market square, the guards flanking his sides dispersing to find you at his terse nod. 

Those unyielding blue eyes swept across the square, noting the various sellers and stalls surrounding him. The smell of horse dung and rotten food scraps burned through his nose with the force of a thousand fires, and he made a face, wanting nothing more than to get this search party over, find you and take you back to the King. 

For a man used to the trenches of war, peasant life will always astound him with its stink and squalor. Children with dirt-packed faces and blackened hands chase after each other. A skinny, malnourished dog feebly lifts its head when his horse trots by and a heavily pregnant woman with scars running down her arms gives him a scrutinizing look while she hangs up her linens to dry. 

Satoru intended to keep this visit brief, and he is no more looking forward to the reality of finding you than he is at the thought of how you would react.

It was obvious that this was one of your usual tantrums in retaliation for not getting what you want; an act of rebellion made to paint him in a bad light.

His jaw ticks and his mood darkens at the thought of what he would do if he ever saw you again.

First things first, Satoru wouldn’t hesitate to threaten you by sword point to return back to the castle. Then, he will interrogate you on where you had been, who you spoke to, how you escaped in the first place so he can put anyone and everyone who aided you in this resistance to the sword.

Those flinty cerulean eyes shift across the market square, hoping to find a glimpse of the hooded and cloaked figure Miri had informed him about. But, all his gaze does is meet more exhausted faces; the villager’s blackened, fatigued air drawing his lips downward into a grimace. 

He was close to redirecting the search party into the forest where he believed you would be hiding, when he sees the figure of his hunt.

A waifish, hooded and cloaked woman made her way past the fruit stalls, stopping to purchase an apple.

Satoru doesn’t spare another second. He threw his horse into a gallop, reaching for his sword and drawing it out of the scabbard.

The hooded woman seemed to sense his murderous intent for her all the way across the square and lifted her head.

Satoru’s eyes widened when he noticed the familiar slope of your nose; the parting of your cherubic lips frozen in a silent scream. 

“Cerena!” 

The blasted woman takes off, running as fast as she could straight to the forest’s edge. Satoru doesn’t know what compelled him to disembark off his horse, hastily tying the reins around an apple tree and tearing after you with his longer, stronger legs.

Your terrified expression seared through his brain when you turn around to flash him a pleading look. Satoru gritted his teeth, his larger lung capacity and fitter body making it easier for him to sweep past the trees, darting under the brushes and jumping over fallen logs to chase after you.

There is nothing but the thought of escape in your mind. 

As you weaved through the trees, bounding across brooks and fell logs, your breath came out in icy pants, crystalizing right in front of your face. 

You wanted to turn around and plead and beg with him to spare you, the sight of the broadsword in his hand pumping your veins full of adrenaline and the need to escape. Like a hounded prey, the predator behind you was closing in, near enough that you could hear his jagged breaths.

“Cerena—stop running!” 

You pushed yourself harder, ignoring his words, forcing your legs to bring you towards a gnarly apple tree. Using muscles you haven’t utilized since you were four when you were wildly swinging from jungle bars, you expertly swung your body up the tree, clambering the thick trunk and using the spruces as your support—trying to get off the ground and hide in the foliage so he would give up and leave you alone.

But, luck was never on your side, especially when it came head-to-head with Satoru’s determination.

He circled the tree you were hiding in, those frantic blue eyes darting through the thick leaves, trying to get a glimpse of you.

“Cerena, stop this madness at once and come back home!” Satoru bellowed, cheeks splotched red with anger and frustration. “You mad woman! Get down and face your repercussions, dammit!” 

A slight movement from the corner of your eye catches your attention, and you rush to unleash your dagger, cutting through the stem of the hornet’s nest just a few inches from you.

Sensing danger, they hummed, digging their stingers into your vulnerable hand, but you paid the bites of pain no mind—focused completely on evading Satoru.

The prince’s keen ears catch a rustle, like the sound of something being sawed and he looks up into the trees, jaw clenched and icy blue eyes wild.

“Cerena! What are you doing up there? Come down, dammit!” 

Without warning, a lump of something brown and scraggly falls right at his feet.

Satoru barely had time to react before he’s surrounded by a swarm of nasty wasps, stinger-triggered and ready to attack him. The sight of him swinging his broadsword to ward off the wasps would’ve been hilarious, if you didn’t use this as an opportunity to scamper down the apple tree and take off like your life depended on it. 

“—Cerena!” 

Your stomach sank to your feet as you quickly whipped your head back to catch him speeding up to you, the mottled flesh of his face from the wasp stings and those raging blue eyes shocking you through the core with pure, unadulterated fear. 

“Please!” 

You screamed, needing to run back to Aeva’s hut. She will protect you; she has to. 

Sliding into the clearing, you’re almost to the home run when you feel a hard tug around your neck. Your head jerks back and you go crashing to the ground, Satoru’s bigger body enveloping yours. 

“No—no!”

The shine of his sword nicks your neck, and you’re both breathing hard. 

Satoru’s fiery icy azure eyes bore right into you with such potent hatred, you throw your hands to your face, bracing for the blade to slice through your neck hotly. 

One second turned into two. His heavy breathing becomes a grunt, and he yanks you unceremoniously to your feet. 

His arm tightened around your trembling body, face a few inches from yours as he sneered. 

“You will pay for what you did to me.” Those reddened lesions from the wasps littering his neck and cheeks strike terror into your numbed heart. 

“If only you hadn’t ran away from me,” he clicked his tongue as if in disappointment, and to your mortification, brought out a coil of rope from his jacket. “Then, your punishment would not be so severe.” 

A hushed sob slips from between your gritted teeth as he lashed your hands together with the rope, tying it tightly enough so you wouldn’t think of running away from him again.

“Please,” you started to cry. “Please, do not hurt me. Do not harm me.”

He grunted, looping the tie into a double knot. “What in the devil are you blubbering about, woman? I have no intention of hurting you.”

Your tears trickled your cheeks like fragments of icy shards, slipping down your neck as you attempted to resist, pressing your bound palms to his broad chest and trying to push him away.

Satoru growled: “Cerena! Behave.” 

The flash of disgust and anger in his eyes instantly brought to mind how he had held the sword to your bare neck—how he had wanted to kill you. 

Terror seized your lungs, your scream shattering the calm quiet of the forest.

“Help me! Somebody help me! Please!” 

You sobbed loudly and with full abandonment, balking whenever he tried to reach out for you, batting your useless hands against his chest and neck to try and buy yourself some time for someone to help.

In the midst of the struggle with Satoru, you missed a wizened figure stepping out of the hut, her bow and arrow pointed right at the crowned prince.

Gojo, noticing the intruder in this scene, raised his eyes, sneering at the lowly woman who dared believe she can take him on with a flimsy weapon.

“You dare point that at me? The crowned prince of the region?” 

Aeva steadied her aim, the tip of the arrow quivering. The expression on her face was of fierce protectiveness, surging from seeing you being manhandled like a sack of potatoes by a man who was supposed to honor you as his fiancé.

For a brief moment, you felt a shining sense of hope—that you were going to be safe. 

But, he does not yield. Despite not saying a word, his frigid glare is all the loathing he needs to dissuade Aeva from releasing the arrow. Her rheumy eyes shifted from your tear-streaked face to his furious glare and to your dismay, she slowly lowered the weapon, letting it dangle by her side.

Your gasp rang with betrayal and alarm. “Aeva… please…”

Smug that he was let off without much of a fight, Gojo used his raw strength to lift you over his shoulder, your bound hands dangling across his back, your slippered feet kicking in mid-air.

“Please! Don’t let him harm me! Aeva! Aeva—” you choke off a broken sob, unable to bear her devastated expression through your tears. 

With every jarring step he took, you get further and further away from the safe house; from finding your answers and plotting your return back to your world.

Satoru didn't just tear your hopes of returning home from your hands, he also stomped them to the ground with the impending dread of his promise to Miri.

The promise to kill you should he see you again.

Crippling agony washed over you, enough to make you bitterly wail, your cries weaving through the trees as fearful images of your mangled body flashed through your mind, the end of your life brought about by this cruel prince's hand. 

“Enough with the dramatics,” Satoru muttered frostily as he trudged through the thick snow, reaching his behemoth of a stallion. With barely an iota of effort, he heaped you onto the saddle, giving your thigh a hard squeeze in warning not to do anything funny. 

Mounting behind you, he used his sturdier build to keep you caged in between his arms. Gripping the reins and snapping it once, his great white horse whinnies, moving to a trot as the forest and the safe house you spent these three blissful days in disappeared from your view. 

You never thought your fate would end up like this: bound atop a horse like fresh game being brought back after a hunt, while a sadistic man who wants nothing more than your demise sat behind you, stoic and silent despite your hushed cries.

Anguish welled deep in your soul, manifesting as endless tears streaming down your face which you tried desperately to hide from him. 

His voice broke through your frantic thoughts as a low, baritone warning. 

“I told you I will force you take accountability for your actions,” Satoru muttered darkly, slowing his horse to a cant.

Without any warning, he grasped your chin and tugged hard, eliciting a gasp of fear from you, forcing your teary eyes to meet his enraged ones. 

“And your punishment has only just begun, Princess.”

mtt fun fact: minced pigeon pies were brought to northern haleway by merchants from the south who introduced this alternative meat source during one of the country's harshest famines

dawn says: what kind of 'punishment' do you think satoru meant? 👀

!! reblogs and feedback and asks about this series are so beloved and appreciated and will motivate me to update and write faster <3

©️ all rights reserve to lalunanymph. do not copy elements of my story, repost or claim as your own.

[gilded-sunrays]

Hi,hope you're doing well <3. Could I request some headcanons of Yoriichi as a father? I hope it isnt too much. Thank you!

Father!Yoriichi | Headcanons

| Type: Fluff 👨‍👩‍👧‍👦💞 | Warnings: None | WC: 0.7k | c/n: child's name |

𖤐ˎˊ˗Masterlist

̗̀➛ Ever since you and Yoriichi had a child, you could clearly notice him smiling a lot more than he used to.

  ̗̀➛ Upon the birth of your child, Yoriichi would embrace them tenderly, pledging to dedicate his life to ensuring the happiness and safety of both you, and your children.    

̗̀➛ Yoriichi absolutely adores seeing your child laugh, and he would go to great lengths to bring a smile to their face—whether it's through tickling, playfully hiding their face with a little blanket, chasing, or playing a fun game of peekaboo.

̗̀➛ One evening, as you were bringing some tea for yourself and your husband, you unexpectedly caught Yoriichi trying to pull out the silliest faces, with his tongue out and hands in the air [though his expression still remained serious. Well, atleast he was trying!]

̗̀➛ The sight nearly made you drop the tray. Of all people, Yoriichi was the one pulling these goofy expressions for the baby? Was this really happening?!

̗̀➛ When you asked your husband about it, he instantly looked down, clearly a bit embarrassed. It turned out Yoriichi had been doing this for quite some time, and every time you walked in, he would quickly compose himself and act as if nothing had happened.

 You had always wondered why your baby giggled more when your husband was around, looks like you had finally gotten your answer.

̗̀➛ With that being said, Yoriichi's heart would break whenever he'd see his child crying. Instantly, he would scoop them up into his big strong arms, gently walking around, shushing them. Whispering soothing words, assuring them that everything would be alright. 

̗̀➛ Get ready for lots and lots of cosy family snuggles! Picture you and Yoriichi on either side of your futons, with your little ones nestled right in the middle while you're all sleeping.

̗̀➛In fact, Yoriichi really enjoys napping with the child resting on his chest; he finds it deeply comforting. It’s even nicer when you’re sleeping next to him as well. The thought of having his family so close to him is incredibly reassuring for him. 

̗̀➛ Yoriichi would definitely be a caring and gentle parent. However, being a gentle father doesn't mean that he would let your child walk all over him. There are moments when Yoriichi can show a surprisingly firm side. 

"Can I get this toy, dad! Please?"

"No. You already have plenty of toys at home, c/n" 

"But I really want it!!"

"You have something similar at home that you never use. Instead, how about we go to the pond nearby to watch the fish? I won't be buying you another toy." 

̗̀➛ Although if your child ever gives him those adorable puppy eyes and nudges him a bit more, he would surely give in. [Unless it's something serious, of course]  

̗̀➛ With that being said, Yoriichi would be willing to play along with whatever your child asks. Since your home is quite high up in the mountains and the village is a good distance away, there aren't many kids around, which might leave your child feeling a bit lonely. [Perhaps you might want to ask your husband to have more children wink wink]. 

̗̀➛ You can expect to find your husband wrapped up in tea parties, playing pretend such as house-house or even on his fours, pretending to be a "horsie" while your child sits on his back. 

̗̀➛ In contrast to his own childhood, where he would be confined to his small, three-tatami room, Yoriichi would love to take your little one on delightful outdoor adventures, exploring the world and enjoying little walks together.

̗̀➛ There was also a particular small paddy field near your house down the mountain, where many tadpoles thrived. He frequently took your child there to enjoy watching them.   

"These tadpoles will one day turn into frogs.. Isn't it fascinating, c/n?"   

̗̀➛ Yoriichi would undoubtedly be a very protective father. There would be times when your child would want to go outside alone to play, but Yoriichi would firmly refuse. Especially at nighttime. 

̗̀➛ When it came to self-defence, Yoriichi wouldn't bring up the existence of demons or his job as a demon hunter to the child—not until they were old enough. Demons were creatures that tainted the world and destroyed lives. He wanted to shield his child's innocence from the terror these creatures could bring.   

̗̀➛ Yoriichi would always stand by his child, not only against the demons but in every situation. Whether it was to shield them from harm, to provide comfort in tough times, or to simply have heartfelt conversations. He would always be there by their side and do his best be the best father your child could ever have.

[Ps: Yoriichi would totally be a girl dad 🤭]  

[hazelfoureyes]

A Doe in Fall (part 11)

⟢HumanAlastor x FemaleBurlesquerReader - A Doe in Fall

A burlesquer with a penchant for conning men, you find your latest game interrupted when your next mark saves you from an aggressive fan— by killing him. The chance encounter left you curious, still half convinced you could complete your normal chase. Unbeknownst to you, you were the one being tracked.

Part 1 - Pretty in Red smut💦 Part 2 - Liar smut💦 Part 3 - A Tragedy smut💦 Part 4 - Enough Part 5 - Too Much Part 6 - Learning smut💦 Part 7 - Recognition smut💦 Part 8 - Trust sexual 🥵 Part 9 - Shiny Things Part 10 - Good Deeds Part 11 - Caught 📍 (this bitch is getting long) Part 12 - Eddie

Horny? Not this story yet but….Don’t worry, just wait a couple days… 👀 💦

Part 11 Caught

Taking time to cast out the line and wait for the big one to take the bait.

「Warnings/Promises: Human Alastor x Fem!Reader, jaws theme plays, fishing, sweet as fuck, and then not sweet, prostitution yelled into a crowd, rough hands, I won’t say the word ‘paddy wagon’ because the history seems to be targeted at the Irish in America so it’s called a wagon here」

Minors if you violate the MDNI I will toss you back into the river lie the pinfish you are 💥 🎣

Peaceful. Your head on his chest. Even breathes, strong heart. Corporeal. Real. There with you. A ritual to whoever brought you into his embrace, every morning you lied against him and you stared out the window. Past the greenhouse, where the woods were allowed to run wild and you knew the animals therein were safe to exist as they were meant to. Everything and everyone in their element.

His fingers would make little circles and pattern eights along your shoulder blade. Your gaze out and forward, his intently focused on the ceiling fan; then and there.

Occasionally he’d spell a word across your skin  to see if you were paying attention. Today: B R E A K F A S T ?

He didn’t want to interrupt the sounds of the radio on the dresser with the half hearted question.

He carried your plate out onto the front porch, the swinging bench as much a perfectly suitable place to eat as anywhere else. You both tended to enjoy the back porch, but he felt an urge for novelty.

As you nibbled, he stared at the car. He didn’t really want to leave, but he wanted to go somewhere with you.

“Can I take you to the water? We could fish. I’m in no rush today.” You were unsure, tilting your head a little when he asked. He had offered before but you admitted you didn’t know how. “You’ll have time to shower before work.” His index finger came over and waited for yours to hook into his.

Alastor was beyond smitten watching you and your trousers bound down his steps. Hand in hand, in the early morning breeze of the impending fall, he led you through his property to the water’s edge.

A small cup of earthworms he scrounged up while you changed, two poles from the shed, and a bucket he hoped would have fish soon enough.

As a child he often ran through the woods of his home and played pretend, and as he got older and his imagination shifted he would fish for his mother. When his friends began to date and pair off, he’d hunt animals in a parallel kind of chase. 

They took home gals, he dragged in rabbits.

And when his mother died, and the food he brought home was more than he needed, he stopped venturing past the clearing. That trek home to a bright house, his mother waiting on the back porch surrounded by the chirps of crickets was something he cherished.

But then her silhouette was gone. And the cricket’s song became one of loneliness. The walk to the house now a chore, a thing he had to do to get from Point A to Point B.

Pulling you by the hand past the field and its tall grass, into the shade of the trees where the air was so cool it bordered on wet, he wasn’t so worried about the return trip. No tedium in the navigation now.  

Alastor wasn’t loquacious as it were, but when he did feel like talking he talked. He could, and did, name every species of fish that lived in the river. The ones he liked to eat, the ones he liked to look at, and the fish he didn’t care for much at all. His mother’s favorite was bluegill, and he said it was the scariest fish when he was young.

“The fucker has spikes!” He said it like he was introducing a villain, “I grabbed one once and it flexed these spines and I dropped it. I broke a pole trying to beat one to death once because I was too scared to pick it up again.”

You’d never fished. Not because you didn’t care for it, it just wasn’t what you did. Your mother didn’t take you to rivers or the sea. You stayed in buildings and parks near people. You could see the water, just never really interacted with it. Luckily, Alastor was ecstatic to teach you. 

He saddled up behind you and explained how to cast out. It took a few tries to get it right, the release of the line a little tricky to get down at first. You could see the shine of the reels and could tell they were expensive and unused. Easily they were worth more than three dollars a piece. He bought two of them… when? The thought brought a silly, crooked smile you couldn’t contain. 

“A friend accidentally hooked his own back once.” You watched the way his gaze seemed to soften as he was looking into the distant past.

“I hope he’s gotten better at it.”

Alastor shrugged. 

Oh, right… Alastor had friends in a sense, but never had he really introduced you to someone that was remotely important. No one he lit up for, no one he invited over, no one he completely relaxed his put-on smile for. You had to wonder where they'd all gone.

“Do you ever see him?”

He shook his head, “He has a life now.”

Your chuckle wasn’t meant to be cruel, but it came off a little too incredulous, “Do you not have a life?”

He didn't look at you, which was the loudest indicator he wasn’t fond of the question. He cast out his own line, waiting to reply until he could settle, “Sweetheart, do you really think I’ve been living a life compatible with his? Or any of them?” He pulled back on the line a little to feel the tension, “Wives get uncomfortable inviting over single 40 somethings like myself. And I can only stomach so many surprise female dinner guests at such things.”

You felt like an ass. 

Being a single man at his age, with a good job, a car, and land, made people uncomfortable. A lifelong chosen bachelor is fine, a rake is expected, but someone who seemed to be disinterested in dating and in fooling around? You could imagine the looks on their wive’s faces, asking questions that were thinly veiled insults.

What do you do for fun?

Is it difficult to find respectable dates when you work in jazz?

So, you’ve never been married, is that right? Not even close?

A mood change. You waited a moment to let silence kill the topic and asked, “What is the catch you’re most proud of?”

He thought for a second before a lopsided grin spread and you felt your heartbeat relax. “A gull.”

“A gull?!”

Alastor cackled, doubling over at the memory. “I threw out my line and as it flew through the air, a gull passing by grabbed the worm. It fought me for a minute before managing to get loose.” He ended up squating, blue jeans rolled up at the ankles and covered in spurs you just now noticed. “It looked as confused as I was.”

The morning was spent reveling in new and useless information about each other. Your fear of dogs, his fear of armadillos (someone told them they had the plague). The time you accidentally walked into a stranger’s home, the time he startled an old woman because he was standing too still in a store and she thought he was a mannequin.

Moments of intimacy intermittently interrupted by a tugging of the fishing line and excited easing in of the prize.

The fuckers did have spikes. You reached out for your first successful catch and the barbs pricked you. With a hurried step back, your short heel sank into the dirt and you lost your balance. Your ass hit the ground hard, and you needed a breath before you could reply to Alastor’s worried questions.

“I’m fine”, just embarrassed, you assured him before picking up your shoe and throwing it, “I have to go home and change out these shoes.” Leftie smacked against the tree with a soft pop.

“Bring over a few pairs, if you have them. I’m sure a pair of mom’s could fit you, you can wear them home. We could toss these into the river. Shoot ‘em. Run em over.” He retrieved the thrown shoe before kneeling to remove the other one. He touched your ankle, eyes shooting up to monitor your face for any pained expressions. “Burn ‘em.”

“First my stockings last week and now my shoes? You’ve gone fire-happy.” You wiggled your toes for his peace of mind, “It’s okay, I don’t have many shoes. We’ll reconcile someday.”

Alastor sat down properly on the grass and dirt of the river’s edge and took off his shoes and socks. You thought maybe he was trying to commiserate somehow, until he shoved the socks into the toe box and slipped one onto your foot. 

You warned he didn’t have to do that and he flashed you a look, his smirk alone called you a hypocrite and made you go silent. “You can’t perform with tattered feet or a rolled ankle.” He laced them tightly, “I know where the stickers and ant hills are, I’ll be fine.”

Your eyes wandered over the bucket of water and fish, the worms in their cup, and his bare feet on the grass.

“Who taught you to be such a well rounded gentleman?” A rhetorical question, mostly. 

“My mother, of course.”

“Your father didn’t worry you’d be too soft?”

“Ah, apparently not. He left before I was born,” Alaster fidgeted with the straps of your shoes. “He hadn’t considered,” every word was measured, “the realities of,” you could see him searching for the words in real time; this was a conversation he had never had before, “of being with my mother before knocking her up.”

The ‘family planning’ conversation on the kitchen table fluttered back to you.

“Oh, can I have permission to hate him?” Always the easiest emotion.

He clicked his tongue, hands busy looping your shoes together by their straps and then attaching them to his belt loop.

“He left her the house and the land before going. Kept his promise to help take care of me, in that sense. So, no. I think indifference is fair enough.” He grabbed your fish by the tail and placed it into the bucket. “Kinda funny though, had he stuck around he’d have seen how the only thing I got from him was his biggest worry: my complexion!” A joyless laugh, “But I’m just like her in all the ways that matter.”

It came out before you could think it through, “He didn’t love your mother?”

He winced. “Cowards can love just fine, I think. Maybe they love the hardest actually.” You nodded, knowing this wasn’t a philosophical debate where your opinion was needed. “I mean, what kind of man just gives away his only assets?” Alastor leaned over to fix the collar of your blouse, “A scared idiot in love, of course.”

You wondered about ‘family planning’. In their age it was nothing short of guessing and lamb innards. It was impossible to pretend you knew what his father would have lived through had he stayed. But you knew very well what Alastor lived through because he left. New Orleans was different than many other parts of the country when it came to mixed children, but the attitude was less acceptance and more a baseline tolerance for their existence.

The conversation, and shoe change, brought a natural end to the morning. Alastor helped you up, taking the opportunity to brush off your backside. 

He led you until the clearing, he knew the land was flat there, and slowed down to let you walk a little bit ahead. The view of the house was much more inviting with you in it.

As promised, a shower. Originally alone, Alastor sitting on the toilet seat talking to you about dinner. Then he got quiet. He startled you a little when he peeked behind the curtain but everything settled when he got inside and his hands wrapped around your waist. Kisses for kiss’s sake. Skin on skin just to feel closer than you were before. A hum buzzing his chest as you hugged him tightly and wasted some water. Well, ‘wasted’ is subjective. The warmth radiating off his stomach rivaled the shower’s spray. You knew there wasn’t time for a nap, but the comfort was so deeply rooted you worried you’d fall asleep in his arms then and there. 

His mothers shoes did fit, a pair of her black double straps with a nice wide heel replaced your T-straps and their damned thin one. The offer and action of presenting them to you was bigger than could be acknowledged. It was clear in how he wiped them clean with drilled in focus and set them in front of the bed for you like the main course of a fancy meal. The way they’d been kept packaged and neat in the guest closet. 

“Throwing them away seemed a waste. Glad they could be of use.” He said it so casually but it was more than that. When she died he packed away her items and forgot about them. He couldn’t throw them away. It still felt like her house, after all. Who was he to change anything?

It was a little surprise to himself when he offered them to you. It seemed natural at the moment but as he said it his calm heart backtracked. Was that okay to do? Was it disrespectful to his mother? Was it rude to offer you a dead woman’s things? Would you be uncomfortable?

The little strings of worry all cut loose though when you did the straps and said, “I’ll return them in perfect condition.”

He had thought you’d take them forever. But no, that was better. “I’ll buy you your own just like them.”

You quickly buried the sincere sweetness of the moment with a joke, “Finally this long con is paying off!” What else could you do, threading the strap of your beau’s dead, dearly loved mother’s heels? It was like being on cloud nine with lead shoes. Confusingly wonderful and supremely daunting. You were literally walking in her shoes. The irony made you squeeze your arms to your sides to make sure your sweat pads were in their place.

Alastor thought if all you were getting out of this was a pair of shoes, you were definitely coming up in the red. 

Negative. 

Losing out. 

He knew it was a joke,  but had it been true he’d build a home on his land and fill it with shoes and dresses and whatever else you asked for. A stage all your own if you wanted. He’d clap and throw flowers at your feet nightly. If you’d let him. 

Maybe he could do that anyway. Every night, praise you with his mouth in all the ways he could imagine you’d enjoy. 

The analogy carried through as he drove you to work. What was the price of admission and had he managed to afford it yet? Again, he fretted over what he was giving you in all of… whatever exactly this was.

He knew exactly what he wanted it to be and knew very well what you didn’t want. So, letting sleeping dogs lie, he instead considered what you were actually getting out of the arrangement as it stood now. 

He’d met women who just wanted a home to pretty up. You had your own space you seemed keen on so he doubted that was it. Sometimes women pursued him for his obvious disposable income. Images of you swiping the hundred off the hotel bar played across his thoughts. No, you seemed capable enough to earn more than your job paid. If anything you seemed to enjoy chasing down marks.

You’d made it clear your thoughts on marriage (“I won’t be bought by jewelry and promises of a pretty cage.”)  though he did consider what could ever make you want that legal lock. He’d had friends who would have liked the safety a husband lended their image. Women who didn’t have any need or want for men in general. But things like banking and ownership were easier with a husband. And if he was aware of their preferences, they could still enjoy their love lives as they always had tried to before marriage. Alastor had considered such an offer before. Seriously considered it. It seemed to solve all of the problems he and his lady friend had. 

His hands twisted around the steering wheel. He knew, deep in the marrow of his bones, he was always going to be alone. But the tiniest speck of desire to have someone love him and share his life remained buried in the viscera of his reality. So he turned down the sham marriage. What if he met someone inconceivable? Suddenly he would be an adulterer. Which was just hilarious to him. Such a thing could lead to a loss of employment and social shunning. 

Plus, his mother would shake her head if he opened her very deserved home to someone purely existing to make a pleasant lie for the world. Disappointment could leak straight from her grave and into the floorboards.

Everyone wants something, though. He wanted to be seen in his entirety and accepted as he was.

You?

Well. All the things you seemed to want you had. Autonomy. Adoration. Attention. 

His mind conjured images of you sitting pretty in your trousers in Beth’s. Moments like those, before he knew you, you had all of the things you wanted and seemingly needed. It made you upsettingly attractive to him. 

Alastor didn’t want to be needed by someone, he wanted to be wanted by someone who already had everything.

As the car rolled over the bridge and you both made your way into the city proper, his thoughts wandered back to the notion of rings. His mother never had one, so he had nothing to hand down. Would you wear gold, like the necklace you hung on the mirror in the guest room? Or silver?

He suppressed an embarrassed chuckle, he was getting ahead of himself again. Daydreaming while he drove like he always did. But this time you were in the car with him. 

You caught him blushing, asking if he got too much sun by the water earlier. Alastor’s eyes went wide and he laughed a forced ‘ha ha ha!’, punctuated by a flat and low “No!”

All you could do was laugh in return when he didn’t elaborate. The way he was gripping the steering wheel made his knuckles go pale through the thin skin of his hands.  But the wonky smile he had told you he wasn’t angry. 

He gave you a peck outside the theater’s side door, promised to swing by yours after work so you could grab some shoes, and drove off. 

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

“Excuse you, you’re not welcome here.”

You heard it but didn’t really register what that implied. Sometimes people tried to sneak in who’d been banned, but it was…not common. The list of people was quite short. You didn’t stop to think of them all, regardless.

You made a habit of calling Ruth by her stage name as early in the work day as you could remember, to avoid any slip ups. So when you called out to her as you worked the room after your performance, she knew to answer.

“Skye, could you bring me some water?” Leaning on the bar you watched her make her own drink, flashing you a wink. She always got tipsy and ended up behind the bar when she was in a good mood. Which was most nights. The staff didn’t mind, the real money to be made was in liquor and whatever could be passed off as beer. So the extra pair of hands was appreciated.

“You’ve been especially happy lately. Good sex?” The glass was slid to you. All you could do was nod. You’d hadn’t actually had sex in awhile, but that wasn’t anyone’s business.

Your smile barely had a chance to slip off your face, your senses too quick for your body to keep up. The awareness that something was wrong hit you fast and hard, but only milliseconds before you felt someone grab you.

Brady’s hand gripped your shoulder and pulled you backwards, something slipping around your wrists as a uniformed cop came around the corner of the atrium. You struggled to get away from him, shouting general protests to being suddenly manhandled. Your voice erupted, the first cannon shot of the war as women and men began to swarm and berate the detective.

Barely a shocked laugh could be choked out from your tightening throat. 

“You’re under arrest!” He yelled it, looking at you for just a moment before announcing it to the audience. An actor to his crowd.

“For what?!” Johnny pushed Brady with two fingers to the chest. 

“Prostitution.”

A beat of silence as the room collectively gasped. Ruth was the first one to truly lay her hands on him, snatching his hat off and smacking him across the head. The other dancers moved like a school of fish, tucking Ruth into the safety of their numbers with a simultaneous jostling of the detective.

The cop leading you away stopped, “Just her? I thought-,”

Detective Brady dusted his hat off with the back of his hand and shooed the man away. “Just her.”

Before you had reached the glass doors of the theater, you tensed and pulled back. “What the fuck are you doing, Mr. Brady?”

But Brady wasn’t looking at you. He was scanning the room. Staring into the small but fierce roiling mass of regulars, dancers, and staff filling up the doorway in front him and flooding the atrium. 

Johnny sized up Brady, getting nose to nose with him, “Show your face here again and we’ll need an ambulance, not a wagon!”

Brady leaned into the confrontation, “Now sir I’d be careful. That almost sounds like a threat.”

“Sure as shit is!” Someone hissed. 

“Hey! Brady!” You tried again in vain to get his attention.

“Hush. You confessed to it already, no point crying now.” The cop’s voice was harsh, his disgust barely hidden. His palms were calloused and scratched at the exposed skin of your arms.

“Someone! Someone call-,” Ruth snapped her fingers as the syllables teetered on the tip of her tongue.

Goosebumps rose across your shoulders like little tombstones. Your autonomic nervous system came to a crawl. The grip on your arm tightened as you had to be wretched forward and out of the front doors.

Her eyes lit up, “Alastor! Does anyone have Alastor’s work number?!” Ruth was met with confused faces and shrugs from the others.

You didn’t feel yourself begin to cry, it was a reaction to the fact you hadn’t blinked since you became aware Brady didn’t seem too interested in your reaction to this.

This wasn’t an arrest. It was a trap.

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˖ ݁𖥔.Summoning the Horny Little Deer Cult.𖥔 ݁ ˖

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[pandora-writes-one-piece]

The Ghost From The Barrow

Source for pic

Word Count: 6049

Tags: Fem!Reader, NSFW - Oral - you giving and creampie, alternate universe - Scotland, 13th century - cursing, angst, angst without happy ending, gore, blood, death, MDNI!!! 🔞

Special Warning: English is not my first language, I apologise for any possible spelling or grammar mistakes.

Summary: You are the daughter of a clan chief in the Highlands, though you are more trouble than you are worth. Some thugs capture you and attempt to demand a ransom, but things don't exactly go their way when their leader, Kid, discovers what you are truly made of.

Notes: This was heavily inspired by the song “The Ghost From The Barrow” by Paddy and the Rats. It was going to go in a very different direction, much similar to the lyrics of the song, but the story took its own turn and I liked it like this! I hope you do too. Also, the research I did was very shallow, so if you're from Scotland and I got something wrong, I'm so sorry! Also, I had to go with Kilt wearing Kid. 🥴🤤 Have fun! 

Tag List: @rosidaze @beachaddict48 (if you don't want to be tagged for other stories other than the meet-cute, please tell me!)

Sidenote: I used a real sigil for the reader’s clan: Clan MacKenzie. 

Terms: 

Barrow - An ancient burial mound;

Tartan - A woolen cloth with a specific design associated to a specific clan;

Laird - A lord, someone who owns a large estate;

The early morning mist left a familiar dampness upon your hair. Rolling hills of verdant expanse stretched lazily before you. Ancient stone markings of softly defined borders marked one pasture from another, the neighbours, practically family, not caring if the cattle meandered from one side to the other. Heavy tendrils of fog still permeated the mountains and mounds above and you had to cut your morning walk short. You knew those barrows like the back of your hand, but the legends of ancient restless souls still lurked freshly in your mind. 

Turning back around, you gathered the skirts of your woollen dress, which hung loosely over your chemise, so you wouldn’t wet the hem of the dress this early in the day. You wore the clan’s tartan over your shoulders to protect you from the earlier chill. The blues and greens of the plaid fabric contrasted heavily with the simple brown you chose to wear. Your mother would be sick to her stomach upon your sight, once more. You were the unruly daughter, the one that could not be tamed and you knew your parents cursed the day you were born. 

As wild as the Highlands, as stubborn as a mare. Your father used to jest that no man would ever want you for a wife because you were not docile enough to be domesticated. Respect came with a heavy price in your household and you held your tongue back from lashing at him. But the sting his words left upon you was enough to completely destroy the bundle of hay you used to practise your archery shots. 

Your father was a laird of the most prominent households of the Highlands, and the current head of the clan. You were the daughter of the chief. You were supposed to act with the status that your lineage carried. Except you very rarely did. And you had the nagging feeling your father wished to have killed you at birth, as they do with unwanted kittens. 

This was a day like any other. You fled your castle without the consent of your family, escaping through one of the many passages you knew by heart, so you could absorb the peace that the morning brought you. The eerie quietness of the barrows, the rustles of the leaves from the forest and, here and there, the lonesome call of the ravens. 

Your father had warned you a million times not to leave without guards.

Your mother had forbidden you a million and one times from walking out the door at all. 

Your older brother had always counselled you to take your bow anywhere you went.

You heeded none of them.

Yet, it was still with some surprise and with a heavy pounding of your heart, that you realised you were being surrounded. Four mighty horses as black as the night approached fast, their nostrils flaring and smoking. You didn’t even try to outrun them for it would have been an impossible task. The men mounting them surrounded you quickly, using the horses to keep pacing a tight circle around you. There were grins on their faces, each taller than the last, each scarier.

Scars and untreated wounds, long unkempt hair, one even had a rudimentary mask over his face. They were terrifying. You searched for a tartan but the plaids they wore belonged to no clan. You had never seen the yellow and black in any of your father’s gatherings and the sigil they wore was clearly one of outcasts and thieves: a burning skull with the same yellow and black plaid tied to the head.

“What do we have here?” The one in the mask asked, his voice thick with delight, a hint of a mischievous smile you were not privy to. 

“A little lass, eh?” The tallest one replied. He was the only one without a smile on his face, his voice thundering around you.

“She seems sweet.” The one with hollow eyes and scars on his mouth spoke softly.

Your hands shook and the shiver that coursed through you had nothing to do with the biting wind of the Highlands. The red-headed man pursed his lips as he looked you over. If they found out you were the chief’s daughter, you would surely be used as ransom bait.

Or worse. 

Inhaling deeply, you fought to find your voice. “I am a mere villager, good sirs. I was going to collect some herbs for healing, nothing more. Some lavender and calendula. Chamomile to soothe aches. Please let me return to my home. I have young children to care for.” You tried your best to lace your voice with humility and sweetness, fighting against all of your instincts to spit at their feet and demand their heads for this outrage. 

The one who spoke with a soft voice smiled at you. “Poor thing, she looks scared, Captain.” He was looking at the redhead. He was the leader then. So he was the one you had to reason with.

“Yes, Captain, I am so very frightened. Please, I just want to return home.” Trying your best to look terrified - which wasn’t that hard since you were frightened - you warmed your features and fell to your knees, adding dramatics to your reaction. 

“Maybe we should let her go.” The one with the mask replied, tilting his head to one side. “She does look like a commoner.”

The captain dismounted his horse and you gulped as he approached you. He was tall and bulky, with an impressive figure. His lips were tinted red and he wore a piece of cloth on his head to keep the hair out of his eyes with the same yellow and black plaid of their sigil. His kilt was of dark brown plaid, resembling dried blood, and his legs were as thick as logs. 

“Sir…” You whimpered and tried to appear small. His face kept drawing near and you held your breath as his cloak slipped and you realised he was missing an arm. “Please…” Another whimper.

His lips pursed further as he raised an eyebrow and he sniffed you.

A gasp left your lips at the outrage and your cheeks flushed crimson. How dared he? His hand darted forward and he pulled the tartan off your chest, revealing the brooch you had on your dress, the one with your father’s sigil: a mountain in flames with the words ‘I shine, not burn’ engraved.

His lips pulled back to reveal a frightening set of sharp canines and he finally spoke. It was akin to a roar and it managed to bristle all the hairs on your body. “Take her, ya fools. She smells clean. She’s highborn, for sure.”

You made sure the whole of the Highlands heard you screaming and you wouldn’t go down without a proper fight. You bit and sank your nails into flesh, you kicked and punched all while sputtering curses upon curses over the group. Vile words, not fit for a lady of your status, filled with hate, brimming with rage.

And they all laughed at you.

Your efforts were for naught. You were easily captured.

-*-

You were held like a sack of potatoes, hanging limply over the masked man’s shoulder. They had subdued you easily and tied your hands behind your back. You were still kicking, so with more rumbling laughs, they tied your feet for good measure. 

They rode with you on their horses for the entire day, placing a blindfold over your eyes to disorient you to where their hideout was. You were passed around from mount to mount - never to the leader’s horse, though - as if you were a plaything and a new toy for them to play with. 

You should be trembling with fear, yet all the trembling came from pure rage. You wanted to punch something, claw, bite, anything! This feeling of helplessness was overwhelming and intensified by the second.

The masked man set you down ungracefully by a fire and removed the blindfold, making you blink to adjust your vision. 

“Here we are, lass. Make yourself at home.” He chuckled low and you gritted your teeth. They hadn’t roughed you up, but you were still sore from the daylong horse ride. Your throat was dry and your lips were cracked. 

“Can…” You cleared your throat to find your voice again, but it was raw from screaming. “Can I get some water?”

He tsked and turned his back on you, leaving you slumped and looking defeated. Your wrists and ankles were sore from the tightness of the rope and you were pretty sure there was blood as well. 

They left you alone in that position for a while, until the man with the scars on his mouth approached you slowly. Using a knife, he cut the ropes from your ankles and then the ones on your wrists.

Whimpering you brought your hands close to your chest and rubbed your wrists softly. You were right, they were bloodied and bruised. 

“Here.” He extended a wooden bowl filled with water, which you immediately downed with a heavy sigh.

“Thank you.” You mumbled noticing your voice was less coarse now. 

He smiled softly and took out some mashed herbs from a leather pouch, applying the mixture to your wrists. You could smell lavender, calendula and yarrow in the mixture. Someone knew what they were doing, for they were healing herbs. 

“You did this?” You asked softly. Clearly this man was the one you could easily approach since all the others were too closed off. He nodded proudly and you patted his hand. “Thank you. What’s your name?” You gave him your name as well so he felt more confident in sharing his.

“I’m Heat.”

“That is a lovely name. Thanks for helping me, Heat.” Another smile. Maybe you could work him well enough to flee.

“Get away from her.” The leader’s orders made Heat stiffen up and he got up with a slight jump, leaving your side without looking back.

“I know what yer doing, lil’ lass.” His thick accent became more enunciated because he was angry, you noticed. So you decided to make him angrier and see where that would get you. Crossing your arms over your chest, you offered him your best annoyed look.

“I’m afraid I do not know what you mean. Thug.” You finished with a smirk.

Grunting, his lips curled upwards, drawing that dangerous smile that made your heart pound.

“Ya want to domesticate my men, lil’ lass, ya can’t! They obey my command.” His figure towered over yours and he was intimidating you. Wincing in pain and discomfort, you got up, still nowhere near his face, fists clenched into tiny little balls of fury as your eyes sparkled with rage.

“What do you want from me? A ransom? Well, send the letter! I’m sure my father will be more than happy to pay you scoundrels to get me back! Or do you not know how to write?” You stomped your foot right in the middle of his parted legs and stood almost flush to his frame, a snide crossing your lips, taunting him. “I’m not afraid of you!”

Yet, you were. Pretty scared, actually. Even more so because you doubted your father would care enough about you to pay a ransom. 

You could feel rage seething from his body in short waves. His orange eyes flaming like burning fire, the same fire you felt coursing through your veins in defiance. He gave no warning as his hand wrapped around your throat, tight enough to prevent almost all of the air from coursing freely, enough to leave a bruise, but not enough to truly hurt and cut your air supply.

He lifted you up to his eye level easily, as your nails scratched and clawed at his forearm, leaving red angry trails on his skin, yet he showed no signs of being hurt by your flailing.

“Ya should be. Ya should be pissin’ yer pants.” His jaw kept clenching and unclenching as his eyes raked over your body. He took out his long, wet tongue and licked a stripe from your neck to your ear, making your insides burn and your legs clench together with want. “Tasty.” He grumbled as your eyes bore into his.

“Taste this, then.” You grunted between gasps and, clenching your own jaw, you bent your knee and hit him right in his balls, making him grunt and bend forward, letting go of your neck at the same time as he curled, his hand holding his dick tight.

You coughed and wheezed for air, falling on your knees and taking deep gasps to try and steady your breathing. Your hands pressed and soothed the burn in your throat. 

“You lil’ whore!” He grumbled as he strode towards you again.

“I’ve been called worse!” You grinned with bravado you didn’t have, waiting for the blow to come, for his hand to strike, or his feet. Whatever he wanted to use, and you knew it would hurt. Your eyes shut in anticipation as your heart created its own insane rhythm in your chest.

Yet the blow didn’t come.

All you heard was the leader’s rumbling laugh echoing in the forest as he paced away from you.

-*-

Days passed and you remained a prisoner. They left you unbound because there was no way you could ever escape their watch. Heat brought you food and water and sometimes talked with you, when the leader wasn't around to scold him. 

You learned that the letter had been sent to your father, yet he still hadn't responded. So they sent another one. 

There was a feeling of dread coiling around your stomach. What if your father didn’t want to pay your ransom? You had more brothers and sisters. What good would a bratty child who obeyed no orders do in his household? Perhaps it was better for him to say that you lost your life to the whims of thieves.

It might even grant him more support. 

You spent a restless night worrying about this and you cried your heart out. Heat noticed your forlorn expression and defeated demeanour in the morning and returned to you with clean clothes. A plain dress and a worn out man’s shirt. You looked at him warily until he grabbed your hand and led you to the forest.

For a moment you thought he might be setting you free. A rush of happiness spread its tendrils across your heart and you grinned. Until you realised he was only taking you to a lake.

He seemed so happy, though, that you still smiled softly at him. “You can bathe.” He whispered your name softly. “I’ll keep watch.”

His offer was tempting. There was grime under your fingernails, caked blood on your wrists, knees and ankles and your hair… you didn’t even want to get started on your hair.

So you thanked him politely and he turned to give you some privacy, leaving a bundle of soapwort in your hands. A plant that, if wet, creates a lather that can cleanse grime and leave a nice herbal scent behind. You were sure he would turn around as soon as you took off your clothes, but he was still the sweetest of the thugs and you had warmed up to him. You doubted he would try something with you. 

Leaving your stained clothes in a pile so you could wash them later, you dipped your toes in the water. It was ice cold, despite the warm weather outside. Still, you really needed to bathe. So, closing your eyes, you dove gracefully, emerging only once the burn settled against your lungs from lack of air. 

Letting out an unbridled laugh, you splashed a bit of water before using the soapwort plant to cleanse yourself properly. You used it on your hair as well and, after a little bit, you started to make your way back so you could wash your clothes. You didn’t want to take too long in the lake because you didn’t want to cause any trouble for Heat. 

However, the sight that greeted you when you turned around made you freeze as your eyes widened and your breath caught in your throat. The leader, the captain. He was staring at you, his back leaning against the trunk of a tree and his lips pursed. Heat was nowhere to be found. He must have discovered both of you here and sent Heat away. 

You swallowed a lump in your throat but made no motion to cover yourself. Your breasts were out of the water, nipples erect from the cold and goosebumps all over your skin. He was close enough to see the way you were shivering and the way your chest rose with each gasping breath. 

He pulled away from the tree and with nimble fingers began to untie his kilt. First the knot over his shoulder, then he started untucking the sides until it finally fell down in a heap. The shivers that shook your body now had definitely nothing to do with the chilliness of the lake. He took a long stride forward and with one swift movement of his arm, the shirt came off. 

Biting your lower lip you took in his muscular form. He was bulky and heavy, built like a strong bull. His chest was made of ripped muscles and heavy scars. Lowering your eyes, you couldn't stop your thighs from clenching together, seeking some friction. His cock was big, girthy and already half hard. It would be monstrous at full length. 

He took off the cloth holding his hair back and finally entered the water with a hiss. His eyes never left you nor did yours leave him. 

You were no stranger to desire and intercourse. You were the chief's daughter, but you were no maiden. And what you felt for your captor now was true, unbridled desire. And you could see that he felt the same toward you. 

Would either of you act upon it? 

Shaking your head and gulping, you strode forward, aiming to leave the lake, perhaps? Yet he blocked your path easily. The water hit him around the knees and a quick look down told you he was now standing at full attention. 

Screw it. 

You were wound as tight as a rope and release would probably do you some good. Besides, he seemed like a good lay. 

You approached him, slowly climbing out to the shallow part of the lake, the water lowering until he could see your mound. His lips curled up and he licked them at a leisurely pace. 

“Kneel, lil’ lass.” He grunted and, for once, you obeyed him willingly. 

Falling forward on your knees, you wasted no time. Using your hands to pump his cock a few times, you gathered the precum at the top and then used your tongue to lather it around his girth. He hummed low when you brought your other hand to cup his balls and squeeze. 

“Fuck. That's good.” 

His praise made you mewl into him as you hollowed your cheeks and fought against the gag reflex to take all of him inside your mouth. It was a stretch, but you could do it. 

Hissing, he tangled his fingers in your wet hair, holding your head in place as he took over and fucked your mouth with relentless thrusts. Tears gathered at the corners of your eyes when his tip bullied the back of your throat. Heat began pooling in your abdomen, its tendrils spreading slowly and steadily, burning at your core, demanding attention. 

You used one hand to grab his thick, hairy thighs for purchase, and another to friction against your throbbing clit, moaning into him, the vibrato of your mewls making him fasten his pace with sloppier thrusts. “Fuck, fuck. Open wide lass.” And that was all the warning you got before his thick, salty cum dripped down your throat as you swallowed and he pulled out, a small string of saliva connecting him to you still. 

He stared at your face, swollen lips, teary eyes and jaw standing open as your hand continued to press and circle against your clit, small moans leaving your parted lips. 

“Fuck. C’mere.” Resting his large hand on your chin, he motioned for you to stand up, and you obeyed. He pried your fingers away from yourself and pressed your hand so you could spread them open. A string of your own slick connected your index and middle fingers and you blushed. The Captain chuckled and swirled his tongue around them, collecting any remaining drops of your juices as you gasped and stifled a moan. “Hmm, none of that lil’ lass. Yer going to scream my name. Don't ye dare hold back.”

“I don't know your name.” You said, your eyes sparkling with mischievousness. 

Curling his lips back, he grasped your wet hair again, pulling you for an open mouthed kiss, combining your juices with the lingering taste of his cum until your head was spinning and begging for air. “It's Kid.” He panted as he pulled apart from you. 

“Fuck me, Kid.” Your hand found his cock already hard again and you had no doubt that this man had the stamina of a horse. 

“Will do, lass.” His fingers dug into your mound and you moaned as they descended to your swollen clit. “Let's see how ready ye are for me.” His fingers were long and thick and as he inserted one inside you to collect some slick, you arched your back and rolled your hips against his touch. “Hmm, needy, are ye?”

He rolled his wet finger against the bundle of nerves and then inserted two digits, stretching them and then letting them go further, deeper. Your nails dug into his chest as your head fell back in abandonment. “Kid!” You panted, his fingers filling you up deliciously. A gasp left you breathless as he inserted a third finger, using his thumb to press against your clit as he stretched you further. “Gods! Kid!”

“I know, lass, I know.” He grunted near your ear and the deep rumbling that came from his voice made you snap as you came in his hand. Arching your back and clawing his chest you moaned loud, repeating his name in a crescendo as you reached your high. “That was a good one, lass.” He sucked at your neck and bit hard to bring you back but you mewled again as you leaned into him, too dazed out to do anything else. 

But he was not done. Using his arm, he lifted you up and with a swift motion, impaled his cock inside your slick hole, making you scream as you clenched your legs around his waist. 

“Hold on, lass, this will be a rough ride.” His digits dug into your flesh as his arm circled your hips holding you in place as he pounded relentlessly, his pace brutal, and you didn't know how he could stay standing up because you could barely open your eyes, let alone stand. 

The pleasure built in waves that kept crashing and chasing away your sanity. You had never been fucked like this before. Captain Kid was fucking you senseless. Your pants increased in fervour as you felt yourself getting closer and closer to coming again. His dick filled you perfectly and hit spots inside you that made you see white. 

“Kid, fuck, gods!”

“Scream louder!” He growled and thrust faster, making your toes curl as you crushed him in a hug, thighs clenching tight against him and nails drawing blood from his back. You did scream. Loud as a banshee and you were positive his entire camp heard you scream his name like a whore.

His release was not far behind, and you knew that because there were beads of sweat on his temples, his thrusts were sloppier and he was grunting heavily. But you were so close again. “Harder.” You begged against his ear, your fingers circling your burning and overstimulated clit, trying to chase that last high. 

“Lil’ whore.” He growled and gave you what you wanted. Three fast thrusts that made you shake and come with a flash of white as he followed suit. You felt his release inside you, filling you up and dripping down your legs into the lake in soundly, heavy plops. 

You were still clinging to him like he was your lifeline, both panting and sweating, chests heaving and legs trembling. 

“I'm putting ya down, now.” He said between pants and you whined when he pulled out of you, leaving you empty. You were not steady on your legs so he still held your waist. 

“Fuck.” You muttered, still catching your breath, a wave of dizziness overcoming your senses. 

“I thought maidens didn't curse.” He chuckled. 

“Yeah? Well, maidens don't suck cocks either. So why do you think I'm one?” His genuine laughter made your heart tingle and constrict against your chest and you were not quite sure what this foreign feeling was. What you did know was that you wanted to hear it again. 

-*-

Days passed, yet you didn't really think you were a prisoner anymore. You slept with Kid every night and he took you whenever he felt like it, making good on the claim that you were his good little whore. You couldn't care less. You felt free. 

One night, after screaming his name until your throat was raw - you've come to realise he loves it when you scream his name - you asked him bluntly. 

“My father refused to pay the ransom, did he not?” The scoff that left your throat was meant to be dismissive and aloof, yet there was also the bitter taste of tart tears in your eyes, but you refused to let them fall. 

“Aye.” He grunted as he pulled your naked body closer to his. “I'm sorry.”

You didn't want his compassion, it wasn't what you were looking for. Yet, it felt nice. As if you meant something more to him than just his prisoner whore. 

“I was never good for anything but to cause trouble for him, anyway. Like this he doesn't need to find me a husband.” You snorted. “You know what I did to the last one he tried to set me up with? The one who said I couldn't be ‘domesticated’?” Kid's gaze fell on yours, an amused expression wrinkling the corners of his eyes. “I bit off his balls when he tried to fuck me into submission.” Shrugging, you threw out your tongue as Kid burst into a fit of laughter. 

“Aren't ya a feisty lil’ lass?” His chest heaved until his laughter died down. You felt droopy and your eyes started to close, drifting closer and closer to sleep. “Maybe ya can be my wife. We'll see if I can domesticate ya.”

You didn't quite know if he was kidding or not, but sleep claimed you with a smile on your lips at the thought of being Kid's wife. 

-*-

You were woken up in the middle of the night by loud screams and the clangs of swords and axes. Kid wasn't by your side when you rolled over and got up, hastily dressing in your chemise and dress. It sounded like a battle, so you grabbed the bow you kept by your side of the bed. Kid made you that bow once he realised you were very good with it. 

You had been by his side for over a year now. He made you his wife, as he said he would, and there were more nights when you actually made love instead of just fucking. 

You had come to love him. Deeply. And you were positive he loved you back, even though he wouldn't admit it to a soul. He would say love made you weaker or something like that. Times had been kind for your new clan and you had all found peace. 

Yet that thought was quickly swept away once you stepped outside of your hut and were greeted with the sight of burning buildings, slaughtered people and Kid and his men fighting. 

Gripping your bow harder and tighter, you found a secluded perch by climbing onto the roof of the hut and started to take out man after man. They didn't even realise what happened until they were left bleeding on the floor, meeting their final demise at the hands of one of Kid's men or Kid himself, who saw you immediately when an arrow whizzed past his ear. 

It wasn't until the tenth body hit the floor that you realised that these men belonged to your father's clan. Their tartan was clearly the pattern you were so familiar with. That realisation gave away your location and in a heartbeat you were being dragged by your hair, your body hitting the ground with a loud oof, as the air was sucked out of your lungs. As the assailant grabbed his sword, ready to pierce you with the blade, you kicked him hard in the shin and you heard the sickening crunch of bone breaking before he screamed. 

Getting up with a pained grunt, you realise that you must also have broken a few ribs as you were pulled down from the roof, because it hurt to breathe. Still clutching your bow to your chest, you made your way forward, shooting arrows as you went, aiding people in their escape. All the while your eyes were searching for Kid as your heart hammered against your chest. He was nowhere to be seen and that left you anxious. 

And distracted. 

A sharp pain travelled from your thigh to your groin and shot everywhere in short stabbing bursts of pain. There was a blade protruding from your leg and hot droplets of tears threatened to escape your eyes. “Fuck.” You grunted as you turned around, searching for whoever was responsible for this, bow stretched and arrow already in place. 

“It's true, then.” The familiar voice of your brother left you breathless for a moment, making you lose your focus. “You really have become that scoundrel’s whore. I couldn't believe it until I saw it.”

Your jaw clenched as you inhaled short breaths, trying to focus on something other than the throbbing pain in your thigh. He was standing too close for a proper arrow shot and your vision was getting blurry. You would never make the shot even if you wanted to. 

“I'm not his whore. I'm his wife.” You spat at him, rage making your voice tremble. 

Your brother's cackles were like another knife piercing your heart. 

“That's precious. You're still dying. You're no longer family.”

And he lunged forward, sword raised in the air in a stance you'd known your whole life as you'd watched your brothers learn how to fight in the shadows. You knew when to duck, when to move away, and when to jump. He was predictable and his moves were still the same after all these years. You could win this. 

If you weren't bleeding and your movements weren't impaired. 

He struck forward and you knew you had to move left. It was all you had to do, really. But your leg gave out, and he stabbed his sword into your sternum. 

You had never felt pain like this before. It started slowly, in the middle of your chest, but then, as if in waves, it began to spread, leaving you numb and cold. As you fell to your knees, you could see the snicker spreading on your brother's lips. Until it turned into a grimace and blood started to sputter from his mouth as he grunted. 

There was a heavy blade sticking out of his chest, followed by a pained grunt as the sword climbed up his torso, ripping him in two right before your eyes. 

You saw the panting figure of Kid behind him, his breaths coming out in shaken gasps as his face contorted into a pained frown when he laid eyes on you. “No! No, no, no!”

He rushed forward, letting his blade fall to the ground, and his arm circled you desperately. 

You were dying. You knew that. 

A smile found its way to your blood-stained lips as your eyes locked with bright orange ones. Caressing his cheek left a red streak of blood on his skin, but it was quickly washed away by a stream of tears from his eyes. 

“Hey, no crying.” You whispered slowly. The pain was drifting away. “Thank you.”

“No, no. Ye can't leave lil’ lass! I didn't give ya permission!”

Your chuckle turned into a coughing fit, blood spurting everywhere as Kid cradled you in his big arm. Around you shouts were heard, soldiers sounding the retreat. The threat had been thwarted for now. 

“Kid.” Your voice could barely be heard, but you needed to get his attention. “Kid, please. Don't hold a grudge. Please.” You whined and closed your eyes as the numbness relented and gave way to the pain. 

He pulled you against him, trying to hold you carefully but, at the same time, holding you firmly as if it were the last time - it was the last time - his kilt was now completely soaked in your blood. 

“Promise me.” You said firmly, your hand trying to find his cheek again, but failing miserably as you could barely find the strength. “Grudges create lost souls. I can't have you away from me in the afterlife. Promise.” You admonished him. 

He nodded against your face, taking your lips with his, trying to stifle a sob as his shoulders heaved and rocked with the effort. 

“I love you…” Your whisper got lost somewhere in the limbo of eternity as the sparkle of life burned away in your eyes. There was a moment of stillness, Heat, Killer and Wire gathered behind Kid, still as logs. The forest ceased its rustling, and even the animals stopped their sounds. The world stopped spinning when you left it, and Kid lost a piece of himself. 

It was his piercing agonising scream that brought the world back, crashing into rotation, but never the same. 

-*-

Kid didn't really promise you not to hold a grudge. He just nodded. And even if he had made a promise, he was a thief and a scoundrel. Lying was a part of him. 

He did hold a grudge. 

A huge one. He hunted down every single member of your family and slaughtered them all. No one associated with your clan was left alive to tell the tale. Be they elderly or children, Kid was merciless. 

He would not rest until his vengeance was fulfilled. He had never felt love the way he did for you. He had never felt affection the way he did for you. 

And he had never grieved harder. 

If he was suffering, those that caused that suffering should be put to the same misery. 

And he fulfilled that vow. Until he was caught and sentenced to hang in the gallows. 

Yet, he would hang with a smile upon his tainted lips. He had avenged you. None of your clan was left alive to tell the tale, he had made sure of it. And he was hopeful that once his body turned cold and lifeless, he would meet you, in the afterlife. 

So you could spend eternity together, as it should have been. 

The clock struck the hour and Kid was hanged. Killer, Wire and Heat stood watching, heads low and hidden behind cloaks, as their captain paid the price of vengeance. 

Killer was proud of his fearless friend. 

Wire was saddened that it ended this way. 

Heat was worried, because he knew vengeful spirits could not find rest in eternity. 

Heat was right. 

The spirit of Eustass Captain Kid roamed the Highlands. A ghoulish spectre haunting the barrow, searching for his lost wife, forever aiming to find her in the eternity of the afterlife. 

Yet she had warned him. 

Grudges create lost souls. 

So if you find yourself roaming any barrow in the Highlands, whether at night or during the day, know that the wailing you hear is that of the captain, grieving his lost love and the life he was denied. 

Though he avenged her in the end. 

But at what cost? 

[nothots-headempty]

Hush, My Darling

Paddy × reader

Summary: Paddy knows just the way to keep your sweet mouth under control

Word count: 2k+

Warnings: smut, unprotected p in v, gunplay, condescension, dirty talk, minors dni, 18+ under the cut

Author's note: trust James McAvoy to get me obsessed enough to start writing again. I have one functioning brain cell right now and it's a slut for Patrick Feld. Kinda sorta not proof read.

Your moans could have brought down the entire house, but with Paddy's cock filling you up so good, just like you'd been dreaming of, the thought of someone listening is not even on the back burner.

Your fingers are grasping at anything they can find, his hair, his back, the sheets, in the hope that you dont combust from the sheer obscenity of the words he's been letting loose against your neck.

"So fucking tight, baby. So wet just for me.", he groans halfway through, hands scooping under your body to fuck you from some ungodly angle your mind can't even process.

He hasn't stopped teasing every part of you he can find, not for a second - toying with your breasts, sucking on your collar bone to leave a hickey you won't hide even if you could, hands tangled in your hair, pulling just a little too hard.

You moan out loud again, his cock stretching you from the inside out until all you can feel is the pressure of him on top, him inside, him below, him everywhere.

"Hush, love. Don't want your mother finding her adorable baby girl being a nice little hole for me to fuck, now, do we?" His palm slides along your body to cover your mouth, but your cunt is already wetter at the idea of being caught like this, wrapped in his arms, his cock sliding in, fucking you into oblivion. Your pussy leaks down onto your thigh, leaving a cool, wet patch on your friction chafed skin.

He notices. Of course, he does.

"Someone likes that.", he murmurs with a smirk. With no warning, he pulls out of you then, your indignant whine trapped in your throat as he pulls open his bedside drawer, the shining metal of a revolver throwing off shadows in the lamp-light.

"I know just the way to shut that dirty little mouth of yours." His smile is almost sweet, almost as if you're discussing Church plans for Sunday. And then there's that glint in his eyes that makes your breath hitch.

With one strong hand to push your legs apart, he touches the tip of the revolver to the inside of your knees, a mewl escaping your lips before you can school it.

"Bad girls get punished. You should know that." The revolver traces a line along your thighs, the cool metal contrasting the heat his body had left moments ago. You shiver, straining against his hold on your legs, your eyes falling shut for a second, drowning in the deluge assaulting your senses.

You jolt upright when you feel a nudge against your clit, propping yourself onto your elbows to find him running the gun through your folds, a perverse smile on his lips.

"Watch me, sweetheart. Eyes. On. Me.", he warns, his gaze burning through yours as he pushes the weapon inside you. You bite your lips, embarrassment flooding through you as you feel your cunt clench on the hard metal, your juices running down its sides.

"So fucking greedy for anything that will fill her up." His pupils are blown wide, eyes transfixed on the sight before him, the throb of your pussy, the easy sliding of the gun, in and out, in and out, his hands pumping faster every second.

"Paddy, I'm gonna-", you mumble uselessly. But of course he won't let you. "Not yet, love. We must teach you to be quiet first."

And with that your cunt is left sorely empty again, the man climbing up your body like an animal sizing up his kill for the day. The gun, now wet and even cooler, drags along your stomach, the valley of your breasts, until it rises against your neck.

"Open up, sweetheart.", he smirks, pushing his thumb between your lips to force them apart. You know what's coming, and still your heart speeds up a million times when you feel the metal invading your mouth, the taste of yourself instantly coating your tongue.

You resist the urge to let your eyes fall shut, your gaze held hostage by his, a satisfied smile now playing at his lips. There's a certain pride in his look and you wonder just for a second if it's about you at all or just some twisted victory he feels in this moment.

But that thought, and any other you've had in a while, is washed clean from your mind when his cock enters you again in one swift stroke, seating him deep inside you, your strangled gasp reverberating around the barrel of the gun.

"Now, suck on it.", he commands.

Your tongue rises to the bait before you can even think, licking your fluids off, your cheeks hollowing out to feel the metal intrusion in your mouth.

He groans against your skin, his cock still, pulsing inside you. "Such a good little whore. Would do anything for me, won't you?" You nod as best you can, your mouth more occupied with his order.

He buries his face in your neck, starting to move again, the pace this time leaving no room for talk. The only sounds now were your moans muffled by the threat of destruction on your tongue, his shallow breaths rushing off the walls as he thrust deeper and the slap and sweat of skin on skin as he sped up, erratic, close.

He licks a broad stripe from your shoulder your jaw, waiting there to bite on the skin, almost drawing blood. The tears are on the verge of falling out of your eyes now and when he sees them he just laughs.

"Too much for you, am I, love? Filling you up too good? Hurts, does it?" But even he knows you're too cock-drunk to answer now. Your eyes close this time as you ride that pleasure-pain impasse, feeling the pressure build somewhere deep inside your belly.

His pace staggers as he feels your pussy clench around him, strokes flowing more into a deep grind, his cock throbbing for release.

"Cum for me, baby. Give me what I want.", he rasps. His words set you free, teeth almost biting down too hard on the gun as you let your release wash over you.

You feel his hips falter moments later, that tell tale sign before he spills inside you, slamming into you harder and harder until you've milked him for all hes worth.

Theres silence around you now, a blanket of peace, your bodies spent, your breaths still needing to be caught.

He collapses against you, his smile evident in the curve of his lips against your neck. You welcome the weight of him, legs wrapping around his waist to keep his slowly softening cock still buried inside you for a little while longer.

Back up on his elbows, he takes his time, slowly pulling the revolver out of your mouth, the final inch leaving your lips with a soft *pop*. He presses the barrel against your chin, his forehead resting on yours as he captures your swollen lips in another kiss, fingers massaging your aching jaw.

The smile on his face broadens as he pulls back, the fucked out bliss on your features reflecting in his. He tosses the gun somewhere into the pillows, bracing himself on his elbows on both sides of your head as he peppers kisses on your cheek, your neck, your lips.

"The things you do to me, baby. I'd have to keep you here forever to show you."

He pulls out of you, your cunt now grasping on nothing but disappointment as he pulls you onto his chest. Your arms snake around his neck, kissing his jaw, running your nose through his scruff.

"Keep me as long as you like, Paddy. I'm all yours.", you mumble, innocent to the implications of your words, your face hidden in his neck as you begin to drift off. His fingers soothe your hair, a kiss planted on your forehead before he settles in for the night, the plans in his mind, the filth in his thoughts, all still far from touching your reality.

"You are mine, baby. Always will be."

[swanimagines]

CHAMPAGNE KISSES | NIKOLAI LANTSOV

Summary: Boring parties can always get some spice by taking a step back to have fun with your secret prince lover.

A/N: My new neighbor is a Paddy doppelgänger and looking at Nikolai gifs is now awkward for me to be honest 😂

Nikolai Lantsov had attended a fair share of parties during his lifetime - being a prince kind of required it. Gossiping with people, making small talk and feigning interest in their mundane lives. It wasn’t like he didn’t care of Ravkan people, but parties always had these posh upper class people who didn’t know anything less than expensive champagne with every meal, personal cooks, big manors with a dozen rooms they never visit and diamonds in every piece of jewerly. He would have much rather spend time with people who knew what actual life was, not being born inside a fancy bubble. But parties like these were mandatory to attend, so here he was, a glass of champagne in his hand.

He let his gaze wander around the hall, and saw you making your way towards him. He smiled a little at you, nodding as you settled yourself beside him and sighed.

“Hate these parties,” you grumbled. “And yet, my parents always drag me with them. It’s my duty as the heir of the family name, they say.”

Nikolai chuckled at your comment, finding comfort in how his secret lover felt the same way as he did. It wasn’t like he didn’t know it, but your words still made him feel better. “I know exactly what you mean. Same for me. Duty, duty, duty. It gets old after a while.”

You scoffed, tapping your fingers on your arm before a smirk spread on your face.

"C’mon," you said, "you need a reason to get out of here and I have one."

Nikolai raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “Oh? And what would that be?”

You giggled playfully, your hand grasping Nikolai’s as you started to pull him with you. “It’s a secret.”

“Lead the way, then.” Nikolai replied and you left your champagne glasses on one of the drawers as you ventured away from the ballroom. Soon, you were far enough from peering eyes, in a secluded corner and the moment you stepped there you spun around, pulling Nikolai in for a kiss. He had known to expect it, of course, and his hands found their way to your waist as he deepened the kiss, savoring the taste of your lips on his.

When you pulled away, Nikolai smirked at you. “So, this is the secret? You wanting to make out with me?”

“When I wouldn’t?” you mumbled, still staying close enough so your noses brushed together.

Nikolai chuckled again, his hands still on your waist. “No complaints from me.”

You kissed him again, this time with more passion than with the last one. This kiss lasted longer too, and you felt Nikolai’s hands roaming up and down your sides. Eventually though, he pulled away, leaving you trying to chase his lips for a moment.

“We should probably get back before someone misses us,” he told you, breathless from all the kissing you had just done.

“Yeah, probably,” you sighed, disappointment clear in your tone as you forced yourself to pull yourself away from his embrace, smoothing out your clothes and trying to settle your hair to look like it looked pre-kissing.

You wished it would be easier, not to be his secret lover, but a real one, acknowledged, being able to hold his hand and look at him like you wanted to look at him publicly too. But your family name wasn’t regal enough for a prince - Nikolai’s parents wouldn’t agree on it. So you were stuck like this, for now at least.

But Nikolai swore that one day, he’d find a way to make you his, with or without his parents’ consent. Some day, you’d be his, seen by Ravkan people like he saw you. He just hoped that day would be soon.

---

Requests are always open! FANDOM LIST | PROMPT LIST(S) | RULES (READ!!!)

[queenshelby]

The Law Student (Rewritten)

Part sEVEN: Mother

Pairing: Cillian Murphy (20) & Reader (30)

Note: This plays in 1996, just before Cillian drops out of law school.

After thinking about Cillian all night, on the following morning, at around 9 o'clock, on your day off from work, you  found yourself sitting in your favorite coffee shop, sipping a cup of coffee and skimming through some legal theory, desperately attempting to focus on the work at hand.

However, try as you might, you couldn't shake Cillian's face and the worry lines that creased his forehead from your mind, prompting you to do the polite thing and check on him. After all, he had taken quite a beating for you and, if anything, you considered it necessary to at least make some form of contact or another to ensure that he was recovering. 

In addition, you felt the need to talk to him, to get your stories straight as, during last night's incident, a lot of students and bystanders saw what could be perceived as inappropriate behavior between a teacher and a student.

Thus, as you sipped your lukewarm coffee, you contemplated driving to his house in Douglas to see how he was doing. Being his teacher and all, you did not consider this to be inappropriate, but rather considerate in light of what had occurred. 

As you arrived at Cillian's house, which was a stunning but modest three-bedroom residence, you felt butterflies churning in your stomach, wondering how he was doing and if you were overstepping any boundaries. But nonetheless, you screwed up your courage and knocked on the heavy wooden door.

After a moment's hesitation, you heard a young woman's muffled voice call out, "Coming!" and the door swung open to reveal a young girl, no older than 15, standing there in a pair of worn-out jeans and a tank top. She looked at you curiously. "Can I help you?" she asked politely.

"Um, yes, hi," you smiled at her nervously. "I'm actually here to see Cillian. Is he home?"

The girl's expression softened. "I think he is still asleep. Hang on," the young girl said before calling out his name. "Cillian! There is someone here to see you!" she shouted , cupping her hands around her mouth to amplify her voice while his brother Paddy scooted past with a bowl of cereal in his hands. 

"Oh hey, the law school teacher," Paddy greeted, nodding in your direction. "Cills is still passed out in bed," he told you and you quickly glanced at your watch, seeing that it was almost 11 o'clock.  "Maybe I should come back another time," you suggested politely before explaining to Paddy that you just came to check on him. 

"No no, wait, I'll go wake him up," Paddy said, before disappearing behind a closed door, leaving you to wait patiently in the hallway and, minutes later, Cillian appeared.

His hair was  tousled, and his eyes were half-closed, still adjusting to the brightness of the hallway. "Y/N?" he murmured, rubbing his eyes sleepily. "I mean, Miss Y/LN," he corrected himself and even despite his slightly disheveled appearance, Cillian managed to look incredibly attractive, causing your heart to race a little faster than usual.

He wore a pair of grey sweatpants and a worn our Frank Zappa t-shirt, accompaied by a pair of grandfather slippers.

"What  are you doing here?" he asked, scrubbing his hand over his face, and trying to mask his surprise.

"I just wanted to check on you," you told him, feeling the heat rise to your cheeks as his eyes locked on yours. "I hope I didn't wake you up," you added nervously.

Cillian blinked and shook his head. "No, no, it's fine," he murmured, taking a step closer to you. "I'm just surprised to see you here," he told you, silently inviting you into his home.

"No, I won't come in. I just wanted to make sure you are okay after last night's events, you know,"  you replied, trying to keep things professional despite the intimate scenario.

Cillian nodded, understanding your apprehension. "Yeah, I'm okay. Just a little bruised and sore," he said, gesturing towards his face. "But I'll live."

"Good. That's good," you responded, smiling softly at him. "And listen, Cillian, I can't pretend that last night didn't happen. People saw us together, some might assume that there's something inappropriate going on between us. We need to establish a clear boundary, to clarify some facts," you explained, your voice steady and calm, belaying the turmoil that bubbled within you as you spoke quietly so that no one else could hear you. 

Cillian nodded solemnly. "Relax. If someone asks, I will tell them that I just did the right thing, you know, looking after my professor in a time of distress," Cillian assured you, his voice carrying a sense of sincerity and conviction. Despite your efforts to maintain a professional demeanor, a small smile tugged at the corners of your mouth at Cillian's earnestness.

"Thanks Cillian, I appreciate that. Honestly, I do," you replied, trying to put your thoughts into words just as you saw Cillian's mother walk into the house through the backdoor.  She carried a bag of groceries in her hand, eying you curiously for a second before a warm smile lit up her face.

"Oh hello there, dear," she greeted kindly as she walked towards Cillian, setting the groceries down on the kitchen counter and greeting him with a spontaneous hug and kiss, causing Cillian to blush. "Good morning sleepyhead," she told him affectionately as she ruffled his hair.

"Mum, this is my law school professor, Miss Y/LN," Cillian introduced, gesturing towards you still standing in the hallway, keep watching the wholesome interaction between mother and son with a small chuckle. 

"Oh, what a pleasure to meet you," she said, walking up to you with her hand extended, which you shook politely. "I hope my boy isn't in trouble," she added, casting a concerned glance towards Cillian, who shook his head quickly.

"No, Mum, I promise. I just had a bit of a run-in with someone at the pub last night," Cillian explained hurriedly, avoiding eye contact with his mother. 

"Well, I'm glad you're safe, dear.

No harm done, I hope?" Cillian's mother asked, her gaze shifting between Cillian and you.

"No, ma'am, everything is fine. I just stopped by to check on Cillian after that incident last night. He helped me out when I got in trouble, so I just came by to thank him and to make sure he was doing okay," you replied, feeling a pang of guilt for worrying his mother.

"Oh, that. Yes, Cillian mentioned something about it. Terrible, isn't it?" she said, before turning her attention back to Cillian. "I am glad that nothing worse happened. You never know these days . There are so many bad people out there," Cillian's mother said, shaking her head in dismay.

"Yes, unfortunately, that's true," you agree, feeling a sense of sadness wash over you. Despite the initial reason for your visit, you cannot help but be drawn into the homey atmosphere that Cillian's family exudes.

"Well, I best be off. I have a lot of work to catch up on," you announce, reluctantly tearing yourself away from the scene before you.

"Don't you want to stay for a cup of tea?" Cillian's mother invited warmly, her voice full of kindness.

You hesitated for a moment, torn between your responsibilities and the desire to spend more time in this cozy environment. "I really should get going," you said, with a hint of regret in your voice. You turned to Cillian, "But thank you again for last night. I won't forget it."

Cillian smiled, a twinkle of appreciation in his eyes.

"I am sure he won't either," Paddy chuckled as he overheard the tail end of the conversation, causing Cillian to mumble the words "ejiit" under his breath. 

"Well, I should be heading off then," you announced, eager to leave before the conversation turned uncomfortable.

"Thanks again for stopping by, Miss Y/LN," Cillian called out as you made your way down the path towards your car.

"No problem, Cillian," you replied, throwing a final wave over your shoulder.

As you drove away, your thoughts turned to Cillian and the uneasy feelings that surfaced as a result of the incident.

Tags:

@sunbeamseas @saint-ackerman @oatmealisweird @naxxsstuff @amanda08319 @r-m-cidnah @elysiannook @cillshot @infireddabdab @tastycakee @harrysbestiee @lilybabe22 @adalynlowell @henrywintersdearestgirl @ietss @thatgirlthatreadswattpad @ryiamarie @axionn

@heidimoreton @nela-cutie @futurecorps3 @delishen @nosebleeds-247 @thirteenis-myluckynumber @gills-lounge @hjmalmed @lost-fantasy @tiredkitten @sidechrisporn @smallsoulunknown @charqing-qing @hopefulinlove @aporiasposts @shycrybaby @me-and-your-husband @hjmalmed @lacontroller1991 @galxydefender @aporiasposts

@galxydefender @hunnibearrr @saint-ackerman @lunyyx @gentlemonsterjennie1 @ihavealotoffandomssorry @nadloves @lost-fantasy @nolucesn@mcavoy-girl @hjmalmed @bloodybagels @obeyme4life @richiesgroupie @blushykiss @tatumrileyslover @teawithsatanx @orijanko @rhaenyra4ever @xcinnamonmalfoyx @budugu @nadloves @kmc1989 @bloodybagels @obeyme4life @richiesgroupie @forgottenpeakywriter @smailaway @sophiaaguirred @blondie-22

[multi-fandoms-posts]

Unbridled Passion

X Men Masterlist

X Men Masterlist 2

The day stretches on. Paddy is busy in the house, taking care of repairs and completing the tasks that have piled up over the week. He drills, screws, and tidies up while Y/N secretly watches him now and then, feeling her desire for him growing as she observes.

Y/N is standing in the kitchen, preparing lunch, but her thoughts revolve solely around Paddy. She’s wearing a revealing outfit that accentuates her curves, hoping to catch his attention.

Suddenly, Paddy enters the kitchen, already shirtless. At some point during the day, he had taken off his shirt, and Y/N can’t tear her eyes away from his muscular chest. The sunlight streaming through the window highlights every line of his toned body, making her even more aroused.

"Hey, how’s it going?" Paddy asks, not taking his eyes off his tools.

Y/N swallows and smiles seductively. "I’m making something to eat. But I could use your help."

"Sure, what do you need?" He glances up briefly, but his focus quickly returns to the project at hand.

Y/N moves closer, her voice softening. "Maybe you could help by spending some time with me? I miss you, Paddy."

Paddy keeps working, murmuring, "I’ll be done soon, Y/N. Just a few more minutes."

She sighs quietly, a feeling of frustration rising within her. "Can’t you stop for a moment? I’m feeling a little... needy."

Paddy turns to her, his eyes meeting hers, and he notices the hungry look in her gaze. "Needy? What do you mean?" he asks, a slight smirk playing on his lips.

"You know how I feel. You’ve been busy all day, and I miss being close to you," she confesses, her eyes lingering on his sculpted torso.

He sets his tools aside and steps closer. "Maybe I didn’t catch your signals right," he says with a grin. "You look amazing. Did you wear that for me?"

Y/N smiles shyly. "Maybe. And I thought you could show me how much you’ve missed me."

With a swift move, Paddy pulls her into a firm embrace. "You have no idea how much I miss you when I’m working here."

He leans in and kisses her passionately, his lips demanding against hers. Y/N returns the kiss with a sigh of relief. She feels the heat of his body and the strength of his arms pulling her even closer.

"This is much better," she murmurs, as Paddy’s hands grip her waist, drawing her nearer. "Give me more of this, Paddy."

Paddy grins. "You want more?"

"Yes," she whispers, pulling him tighter. "I want you to show me how much you desire me."

He nods and starts kissing her neck softly. "I can’t resist you, Y/N. You’re so irresistible."

"I want you to treat me the way you always do," she says, her hands gliding over his back, feeling the smooth skin and taut muscles beneath her fingers.

"I can give you what you want," Paddy responds, letting his lips trail down to her collarbone, leaving a soft mark behind.

He leans back, his muscular chest rising and falling gently, and Y/N can’t take her eyes off him. Her breath quickens as her hands glide over his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart. "You look so good," she whispers.

Paddy smirks and kisses her again, this time rougher, more demanding. His hands run firmly down her back, his fingers digging into her hips. Y/N moans softly, savoring the intensity.

"I love it when you’re rough like this," she says, panting, and Paddy looks at her with a spark in his eyes.

"This is nothing yet," he murmurs, then tilts his head and bites into her neck roughly. Y/N shudders, but the fire within her only burns brighter.

"Paddy!" she moans, her voice trembling with desire. She grips him tighter as he continues biting her neck, feeling the world around her fade away. All that matters is this moment, their passion, and the unstoppable pull between them.

Paddy pulls back slightly, his lips returning to hers, and he grins at her challengingly. "You haven’t seen the end yet."

"I want more," she breathes, pulling him even closer, ready to fan the flames between them further.

[kylie-writes-stuff]

heyyy was wondering if you did hcs and if you did could I request dating charlie kelly ones?? i cannot stop thinking thoughts

dating charlie kelly hcs!!

a/n: AHHH i love this i have so so many thoughts!! these are like my personal hcs but i still hope these make sense and i have a good grasp on his character. i think i do after watching 15 seasons multiple times but idk. let me know! thank you and i hope you enjoy it!! <33

not my gif!

charlie absolutely adores you!! he looks at you and just has absolute heart eyes

he’s also very obsessive (to a certain extent, not like with the waitress (unless you’re into that))

when you first met, god, he was so awkward. he thought he was constantly making a fool of himself but you found him very endearing :)

sometimes still can’t believe that you’re actually together

he LOVES stealing getting you gifts whenever he can

he hangs onto every word you say so he knows your interests very well. when he sees anything related to them, wether it be a shirt, a keychain, action figures, or even just little trinkets he think you’d like, he just has to get it for you

you get little gifts for him too and he loves them. cherishes each and every one

charlie’s doesn’t really like being touched but you’re definitely an exception

especially after coming home from a long day of doing charlie work at the bar. all he wants is for you to hold him and run your fingers through his hair while some random show plays on the TV

he’s the only one who ever actually does work at Paddy’s, but if you work with the gang he 100% procrastinates just so he can spend time talking to you at the bar

always trying to get you on board with whatever latest scheme him, or the gang, has because he just always wants to spend time with you. doesn’t matter what you guys are doing

dennis often flirts with you, mainly just to get on charlie’s nerves, and you always turn him down. charlie trusts you more than he’s ever trusted anyone (besides maybe Mac), but he can’t help but still feel possessive

not a big fan of PDA but will always wrap an arm around your waist or shoulder as his little way of saying “hey back off, they’re mine”

will also brush against your arm and leave just little touches throughout the day, especially when no one else is around

not that he doesn’t like showing affection in front of others!! he’s not like embarrassed or anything. in fact, he loves showing you off

he would just rather save all the cuddly stuff for when you guys are alone, away from the worries of the world

i feel like one of his main love languages is definitely acts of service.

oh you’re afraid of spiders? he’s immediately squashing them with his shoe the second he sees one in your apartment

will try to make you dinner. it usually goes fine but if he ends up burning it then, hey, it’s the thought that counts. you’re still super appreciative and give him a hug and kiss, before ordering take out for the two of you

anything he can do for you, he will do for you. even if it’s something as simple as getting you a beer from the fridge after a long day

if you’re always sleepy in the morning, he knows that about you. when you tiredly get out of bed, forced to start your day, he’ll wrap an arm around your waist and pull you back into bed. he’ll mumble something about a few more minutes and the two of you just stay in bed for a while, content in each other’s arms.

he loves to just observe you. like if you’re running around the bar, serving drinks, he’ll just watch and admire you.

the two of you absolutely adore each other. the gang teases you often but you guys don’t care. and the gang will never flat out admit it, but they’re happy for the both of you :)

little extra i think about often:

charlie has a soft spot for cats. if you happen to be a cat person too? you two are definitely going to the shelter and adopting one together

you’re content spending the majority of your time at home with just charlie and your cat. and so is he

he loves the gang, of course, but you’re his sanctuary. his safe place amongst all the chaos in his life.

spending time together on the couch, eating snacks and watching movies, with your cat cuddled up on your lap, is the perfect night to both of you <33

[slashingdisneypasta]

General Kai x ReincarnatedLover!Reader || Drabble

Ah! Me actually doing something I said I was gonna do on the day I said I was gonna do it??? I am so proud of myself XD 😅😅

Plot: Kai has come to reclaim you- pity you have no idea who the heck he is, what he’s talking about or…  well, you do have an idea what he wants. BUT WHY? This doesn’t make any sense.

Warnings: N/A  

Dedicated to the Anon who had this great idea!! ^^ Its rough but I hope you like it 😅

He’s terrifying.

He’s so terrifying, that when he first crashed down- from the sky- into your rice paddy, destroying a whole field of crops, you had tried to run! You took one glance at this behemoth of a bull, with glowing emerald eyes, double sided blades attached to long, powerful chains, and a devilish grin on his face, aimed at you, and-

You tried to run. You turned around, very nearly getting a mouth full of mud as you tripped, but instead catching yourself with a hand, pushing yourself back up and forcing yourself forward. Over the sound of your pounding heart you had heard him chuckle at what you assume he considered a feeble little escape attempt, and the sound was like thunder cracking across the sky during a storm. Not quite so loud, but deep enough to feel it, and otherworldly, and- it sent fear shooting through your blood stream. If I can just get out of his sight, you had thought. It would be fine.

But that was not apart of his plan.

The blades that were in his hands were faster than you, racing ahead of you, crossing over each other and jamming deep into the ground. The chains surrounded you, you stopped- and then he started to pull.

You tried to get out of the way and escape but he was stronger, the blades drug through the muddy ground fast back toward you and then they were on you. They tripped you, causing you to fall into the mud, hands and knees covered in the stuff, as he drew you right back to him in no time at all. It wasn’t a fair fight, you felt weak, and terrified.  

“Heh… “ When you were back beneath him, while you’re feeling even smaller then before on the wet and dirty ground now, he crouched down and leaned his monstrous arms around both sides of you and yanked his blades back out of the ground. Spirits- this man was only wearing a loincloth! And- ugh. Your nose had scrunched up, turning pointedly away from his face and cringing into yourself. His disgusting, clotted hair smelled. When he didn’t pull away fully right away though like you thought, you turned back to his face - now mere inches from your own as he stared at you, assessed you, glanced all over you, - with wide eyes. Your lips part, at this monster in front of you still looking all-to-amused, meaning to ask what he wants, but he beats you to it. “Hm… you really don’t remember me, do you?”

Your eyes widened even more if it were possible. “I… I don’t know you.” … Should you?

Finally he pulls back and stands up again, leaving you with some space once again so you can breath, and you watched him look around at your thoroughly destroyed fields and the stormy sky surrounding them; Breathing heavily. Thinking.

As he breathed out, he emitted visible air from his nostrils. “Nah… I guess not. It has been five hundred years��� ” Your mouth fell open once again, wishing to ask if he’s absolutely positive- but he once again cut you off before you could speak. This time with his eyes, those lime green, glowing orbs - green eyes on a bull? That made you nervous even more than his huge frame did, - flickered back down to you again… and he looked fond.

… Which was not the kind of look you wanted to see on someone so powerful, who claimed they knew you. Who could easily just take you.

“Yes, I’m positive, little one.”

~

“I- I… didn’t ask.” You say now, eyes wide. How did he know you were thinking that?

“Yeahh, but you were thinking it.” He shrugs, casually rolling those boulder-like shoulders. It moves his entire body, the jade stones hung on his belt clanging against each other at his hips. “You may not know me, but I know you.” He smirks, eyes once again flickering up and down your body still knelt in the mud. “Trust me.”

“… You’re crazy- “

“Crazy?? Ha… Okay. Yeah. Maybe I’m a little crazy.” Nodding, he shrugs his shoulders once again and gives another deep chuckle- a short one, this time. “But that’s what the spirit realm’ll do to you, I guess.”

Blinking, and wondering why on earth you have ended up in this insane situation with the delusional, ludicrously over powered loin-cloth bull, you push yourself up to your feet and wipe your hands on your already ruined pants. You’re still uneasy, but the bull doesn’t seem to be trying to hurt you just this second- just your crops he’s still trampling- “The spirit realm??... “

He makes a sound like mhm, grunting, and seeming to take your questioning tone as an opportunity for a little bit of casual chit chat. “Yep. 500 years… “

… You don’t believe this crack story for a second. “Uh- “

You’re cut off by a great big sigh, and look up in time to watch him roll his eyes just as deeply. “I know, I get it- you don’t believe me. And hey, that’s okay. Doesn’t change anything… You, little one, are still mine. And we’ll find a way for you to remember. If we don’t… you’ll just have to fall in love with me again. Eh? Not so hard.”

At this your jaw actually drops, taking a step back from him. “Yours??” Love???

“Yep.” He nods, refusing to back down, and popping the ‘p’.

“No- “ You try to get away again immediately, turning to walk away, but this time he doesn’t even let you get two steps; Throwing his hand, with a double edged sword in his grip, directly in your way. Eyes widening, you back up from it, following his arm nervously up to his face. “I think you have the wrong person.”

“In a manner of speaking, I do!” He quickly agrees, surprising you- but then his eyes narrow, and you feel unbearably small before him. “… Different body, sure. But I know you… and your Chi?... “At this his eyes take an even brighter glow and you watch him breath in deep, his chest rising until it falls again. “That’s the same… “

“Are you… “ Pausing, you take a deep breath in an attempt to steady your tone, eyes closed as he calmly watches your every move- calmly, because he knows you cant do anything. You can’t escape. “A- are you… “ Damnit. “… suggesting… r-reincarnation?? And- and we… ” You… and him?? This massive, terrifying monster right in front of you right now??

An intimate smirk crosses his face then, eyelids half-hooding on you and eyes glowing brighter once again. “We… yeah… And I’d really like to get back to that, so come on- come with me. Willingly. And we’ll figure out howta get there, together.”

“If… “You start, heart beating heavily in your chest as you give the beast an uneasy once-over. “… I say no?... “

“Well, then I’ll take you unwillingly! Hah. That’s not gonna be fun for you- I suggest the willing rout.

… Oh I’m Kai, by the way.”

[impishtubist]

happy birthday, aqua-myosotis <3

For @aqua-myosotis on your birthday. I hope you have the best day!

---

In the days leading up to the full moon, Remus can generously be called cranky. Privately, James thinks that Moony the wolf is less volatile than Remus in human form right before the moon.

In the days after, though, Remus is a delight. He spends at least twenty-four hours moon drunk. The comedown from the moon is like a high for him, and taking care of him is always an adventure.

Today, though, Sirius gets called into work the afternoon after the full, so Remus duty falls to James alone. Remus convinces him that they must grab dinner in Muggle London, and then they’ll do some shopping while they wait for Sirius to get home. James is only too happy to agree. He loves spending money on Remus. It’s one of his favorite things. 

The owner of Remus’s favorite record store doesn’t bat an eye at Remus’s behavior, probably because Remus has actually been high in his shop on multiple occasions over the years. It doesn’t go over as well at Remus’s favorite bookshop, because he keeps dramatically reading passages from various erotica novels out loud until James, quaking with silent laughter, has to usher him out of the shop. 

James had been hoping that most of Remus’s moon drunk state would pass by dinnertime, but it shows no sign of abating. They’re on their way to the restaurant when Remus suddenly disappears from James’s side, and by the time James realizes what’s happening, Remus is already halfway across the street. 

“Rem!” James calls, running after him and casting a few discreet spells to make some cars stop in their tracks. “Hey, you can’t just do that.” 

“But James, look.” Remus has his nose pressed to the glass of a shop window. “It’s Padfoot.”

James chokes on a laugh when he spots the black puppy sleeping in a pile with its siblings. “Er, he’s a little small to be Padfoot, love.”

“Oh!” Remus says, ignoring him. “There’s another one. Hi, Paddy! Hi! Jamie, we have to go say hi to Padfoot.”

In all, there are four all-black puppies in the pet shop. Remus grabs James’s hand and drags him around the store to visit each one, and then he turns pleading eyes on James.

“Oh, no,” James mutters.

---

It probably would have been fine if it had stopped there, James reasons. What are four puppies, anyway? They already live with one Padfoot, who’s at least eight times bigger than one of the puppies. Four puppies is nothing! 

But then Remus drags James across town to visit another pet shop, and then to a third one, and then they stop by a shelter on their way back home. 

It’s at that point that James admits that maybe he should have put his foot down. 

But how is he supposed to resist those pleading eyes? Merlin, Remus is going to be the death of him.

“Hi, Padfoot, you’re so handsome,” Remus coos. He’s laying on their kitchen floor, and all of the puppies are climbing on him, all clamoring for attention. All fourteen of them. “Oh, yes, you are too. And you! Such pretty boys, yes you are. So many pretty Padfoots.” 

---

Sirius is too tired to dig for his key, so he unlocks their front door wandlessly and steps into the house with a sigh of relief. Merlin, what a day.

He’s only just shrugged out of his jacket when there’s a commotion from the kitchen, and the sound of many nails scampering across hardwood flooring. He turns around, and is instantly besieged by a dozen puppies.

Puppies?

Twelve--no, fourteen--black puppies are yipping at his feet, putting their little paws on his legs and wiggling their adorable little butts. 

“Hey, Pads.” James comes out of the kitchen looking sheepish. Remus is hanging on his arm, a dopey smile on his face. “Welcome home.”

“Padfoot!” Remus exclaims. “Look! I got you Padfoots!”

“You got me…me,” Sirius says.

Remus comes up to him and kisses his cheek. “‘Cause I love you a lot.”

“I love you, too, babe.” Sirius wraps him in a hug, glaring at James over Remus’s shoulder. “But we’re never leaving you alone with Prongs again.” 

James pouts. “It’s not my fault! He did the thing with his eyes.” 

Sirius kisses the side of Remus’s head. “You’ve got Jamie wrapped around your finger, don’t you?”

“Yep,” Remus says, popping the p. Sirius feels his forehead. The post-moon fever has finally broken, thank goodness. A good night’s sleep, and Remus will be back to normal in the morning. 

“Come on, you.” Sirius wraps an arm around his waist and steers him toward the stairs. “Let’s get you to bed.” 

The puppies pile into the bed, too. There’s no room leftover for James or Sirius. 

“Er,” James says, “there’s Harry’s bed? He’s not going to need it until the summer.” 

But Harry’s bed barely fits James, let alone the two of them, and Sirius ends up having to drape himself basically on top of his husband to stay on the bed. 

“From now on,” he whispers, “I’m on Remus duty.”

[thelovetheystole]

I like to list things, so here is what we have been told about things coming up:

• Zak's funeral will be airing Oct 17th, and someone from the past will come back, impacting mostly Mandy, Paddy and Vinny...

• Mary will start working behind the bar at the Woolie and will also be involved in a 10 month 'child involvement' story, with Rhona and Marlon, presumably...

• Ross will return, and impact several villagers in his first scenes back...

• The Tom and Belle story will keep going until Christmas with more 'never done before' stuff...

• The Christmas episode will have a 'huge surprise arrival', and a life and death situation...

• Leyla is leaving, possibly being killed off in an 'explosive' exit, perhaps this is the life and death situation at Christmas...

• In 2025, there will be 'heartbreaking family drama' (the story involving Mary's family?), lots of 'Dingle action' and some 'gothic antics' at Home Farm...

• Nothing has been confirmed, but I assume we will also soon be meeting Stephanie Miligan, which could be good if they cast her well...

• I'm also hoping the Nate exit story will get the twist it deserves...

[may--hawk]

Did You Know That There’s a Tunnel Under Ocean Blvd (ineffable remix)

XXIV. Did You Know That There’s a Tunnel Under Ocean Blvd - Lana Del Ray

When’s it gonna be my turn? / Open me up, tell me you like me

One of the first things Aziraphale does when he gets up to Heaven is request access to the Earth observation files. It’s terrifying how expansive they are. He can see back through time, all the way to Eden. He can see the Flood, which he’d hoped to never see again. Can see inside a palace in the sixteenth century with lovely dark tapestries and lurking shadows. Can see altogether too much of a park in the late nineteenth century where he and Crowley argue. Can see the bombed-out remains of a church, and an angel standing in its ruins like a stunned statue. From up in Heaven, Aziraphale can look at all the wonders of the world, even those long lost to time and buried. He can see inside the pyramids, can see the gardens of Babylon. He can see all the way down to the bottom of the oceans, littered with skeletal shipwrecks haunted by the strangest of Her creatures, unsettling fish and beasts flickering through the waters, and Aziraphale wonders, do they know fear? Do they want? Do they love?

Aziraphale can see everything from his vantage point in Heaven, and it terrifies him. He’d been right all along. They’d been watched constantly, or could have been, or could still be. He’d been right to be afraid, or perhaps, he thinks, raising a hand to his lips, a hand that is now almost entirely steady, perhaps he’d been wrong, too. Because if the files are this expansive, then he and Crowley had been doomed from the start. They should’ve done it anyway. They could’ve done anything they wanted. They always were going to be seen, always going to be parted.

Aziraphale looks, and he sees vast paddies of rice, sees rolling green mountains, sees arid deserts. He’s looking for Crowley, of course. Except in every place he looks, every place he thinks Crowley might be - sprawled out on the sofa in the bookshop, or terrorizing the plants in Kew Gardens, or drinking at the little bar he’d loved just down the street and pretended not to - Crowley’s not there. He knows Crowley’s still down on Earth somewhere, knows that for all his talk, he won’t leave Earth, not now. Not without Aziraphale. So Aziraphale keeps looking, and looking. From up here, everywhere he looks he seems to see humans in love: sees them walking down the street and holding hands, sees them making love, sees them doing small little things for each other or weeping over a grave or…

When he finally finds Crowley, he’s in the Garden. Aziraphale’s not wholly surprised. Of course Crowley had found a way through the walls Aziraphale had sealed up at God’s direction. Crowley had always known how to get through Aziraphale’s walls. Goats turned into crows. A long draught of laudanum. A bagful of rescued books. Crowley’s slumped against the Tree of Knowledge, his long legs bent, his head in this hands. A dark streak on the bright grass, a snake in Paradise. And Aziraphale watches, and something aches in his chest, something that has started only recently, something he knows will not stop, perhaps not ever, not now that it has been released.

Aziraphale is very, very good at walls. He had built the first wall. She had tasked him with it, and he had built the walls of Eden much like Crowley had built his nebula. Aziraphale had completed it according to her instructions, and then stepped back, confused, because it wasn’t complete, not yet.

The strongest walls are finished over time, She had said to him.

And oh, he learned how right She was. He had watched humans love for millennia, from the very first, and he had wanted. Oh, that was his failing, what made him a bad angel, what profaned his very soul. It wasn’t the disobedience, wasn’t the forsaken sword, wasn’t the fraternizing with the enemy. It was the want, the need, the suggestion that She wasn’t enough, that there was something else he lacked. Over hundreds of years, thousands, even, he had penned up his longing, terrified at what it might suggest, terrified at its enormity. And Crowley spent just as long slowly chipping at it, testing it with a chisel all over, lightly, for faults. And for a terribly long time he hadn’t found any. Aziraphale had enjoyed it, perversely, had rejoiced in the unfailing strength of his walls, thinking them infallible, strong enough to withstand anything. And inside those walls his want, his longing, his love, had festered like a disease, something awful and ruinous, and Aziraphale had not known it himself, because his walls were so high, and so strong, that even he could not see in.

And then Crowley had found the weak spot after all, had crossed the bookshop in one long desperate movement and had struck out, his mouth on Aziraphale’s, his shoulders, under Aziraphale’s hands, trembling very slightly, and Aziraphale’s walls had come tumbling down in one blow, the entire thing structurally unsound all this time, a danger to all standing around it. And now here Aziraphale is, expose in his wants, his desire a raw wound, and what can he do with it now? It bleeds from him, seeping, like an ocean. Limitless, vast, full of terrible, unknown things. And always, all this time, there.

Also on Ao3 at:

https://archiveofourown.org/works/52878844/chapters/139815103

[minijenn]

Never Been Better (Commission)

Got the first (and so far only) writing commission of this bunch done, for @zexoguy, who wanted some cute MK2 fluff, featuring Ava realizing she's crushing on Lisa. So enjoy!

---

The day Ava realized she was in love with Lisa started just like any other. 

They were spending the afternoon in Little Homeworld, a frequent haunt for the Pines and Universe kids. They were just as well known among the small city’s Gem residents as their parents were, and every bit as welcome. From the moment they arrived, Rebecca was already running about, cheerfully greeting every Gem who happened to pass by. 

“Hi, Nephy! Hi, Lar-mar! Hi, Paddy Pads!” she called out, running over to hug each of them in turn. “Oh my gosh, look, Ty!” she grabbed Tyrone’s arm, excited. “I think I see Auntie Bis over there! Let’s see if she’ll finally build me that rocketship I keep asking her for!” 

Before Tyrone could protest, Rebecca was already pulling him away. Flustered, Comet hurried after them. 

“Becca, wait!” he shouted, worried. “Rockets are really dangerous! A-and besides, Aunt Bismuth doesn’t even build rockets, she builds weapons!”

Abigail snorted out a small laugh as she watched them go. “Talk about easily distracted, am I right?” she smirked at Lisa and Ava. Almost immediately, however, her attention was pulled away to a gathering crowd up ahead. “No way. Are the Citrines about to have an epic dance battle? Now this I gotta see!” 

And just like that, she was off, suddenly leaving Ava and Lisa alone. Neither of them minded much though; they were used to spending time together without any of their siblings. But lately, for whatever reason, their solo outings started to feel… different. 

Or at least, they did to Ava. 

“So, uh…” she cleared her throat, glancing away when Lisa looked in her direction. “Looks like it’s just us. What do you want to do now?”

“Hm…” Lisa thought for a moment. “Well, we could always-”

A sudden clatter cut her off as it rose through the air. The girls turned to spot the danger just as a Gem cried out the warning: “Bramblebeast stampede!”

Bramblebeasts were a relatively new discovery among Gravity Falls’ anomalies. Their antelope-like bodies were made up entirely of living brambles, allowing them to easily blend into the forests they called home. Recently, however, the Gems of Little Homeworld had taken a liking to the largely peaceful creatures, with a few even trying their hand at domesticating them. A feat which, given how frequently they broke out of their enclosure, was easier said than done. 

A sizable thicket of Bramblebeasts charged straight through Little Homeworld’s main road, nearly barreling into countless Gems in the process. While most were easily able to slip out of the stampede’s path in time, Ava’s focus was elsewhere as she desperately glanced around for her sister and her cousin. She could only hope Abigail and Tyrone were safe, Comet and Rebecca too, but she couldn’t say the same for herself as she realized far too late she wouldn’t be able to make a clean getaway. The Bramblebeasts were only a few feet ahead of her, racing straight for her in a blind, uncontrollable rage. All she could do now was brace herself for the inevitable, until–

A hand latched around her arm and pulled her out of the way, just in time. 

Ava only got a glimpse of Lisa after she shoved her to safety. The Bramblebeasts charged past her, and to her surprise, Lisa followed them, running as fast as her legs could carry her. She managed to catch up with the last of the pack, climbing onto its thorny body until she was able to stand atop its back. Her years of training with Connie and Pearl served her well as she kept her balance, leaping from one Bramblebeast to the next. 

Ava stood alongside several Gems as they all watched her daring maneuver, absolutely awestruck. It didn’t take Lisa long to reach the Bramblebeast at the front of the pack, the creature the rest of the thicket was clearly following. She took a tight hold on the twisted vines that served as its horns, letting out a fierce shout as she pulled back on them with all her might. The Bramblebeast reared back, roaring, but Lisa held fast until the creature had no choice but to skid to a sharp stop. The other Bramblebeasts soon did the same, finally putting a stop to the chaotic stampede as several Gems rushed in to properly restrain them. 

Lisa breathed out a sigh of relief as she dismounted the creature. While plenty of Gems offered her praise and gratitude for her quick thinking, she didn’t focus on any of them for too long. Instead, she hurried back over to Ava, who was still standing on the sidelines, still utterly stunned by what she’d just seen. 

“Ava!” she called, concerned. 

“Lisa…” Ava finally remembered how to speak again. “That was… amazing! I can’t believe you just did that!” 

“Heh, yeah,” Lisa chuckled, rubbing the back of her neck. “I dunno what came over me. I just… leapt right into the thick of it, just like Mom and Pearl always taught me to. I’m just glad nobody got hurt.”

“Uh, are you sure about that?” Ava asked, frowning. “Your hands are bleeding pretty badly there…”

“Oh,” Lisa frowned down at the multiple cuts stinging her palms. “The Bramblebeasts were pretty thorny. B-but don’t worry! Dad can always heal them up for me later.” She wiped some of the spare blood off on her dress. “I’m fine; how about you?”

The world seemed to grind to a stop when Lisa held her hand out. Ava could only stare at it, at her, utterly captivated by the girl she’d grown up alongside. Her long hair was a mess, her face smeared with dirt, her dress ripped and frayed, and her eyes bright with fading adrenaline. Ava had scarcely ever seen this side of her before, so fierce, so formidable, so brave… 

So beautiful. 

“Y-yeah…” she answered weakly. Though she was still standing, when she took Lisa’s hand, she felt herself falling in another way entirely all the same. “I’ve never been better.”

[rose-of-the-grave]

Dancing in the Evening

Pairing: Lily x James

Hey everybody, here's a fluffy jily fic of them dancing, I hope you like it! This is for this request! I know, I know the gif is misleading. In this they are like 24 I think. I'm the author (please don't repost)!

Masterlist Read on Ao3

Warnings: dancing, romantic fluff, jily as parents, possible pregnancy(mentioned once), light angst, jily lives!!!, James calling Lily "my love", let me know if there's anything else

Word Count: 913

Description: After putting Harry to bed, Lily and James dance around, having fun together.

Taglist: @sylveryfire

The sun lowered past the horizon, bathing Godric’s Hollow in golden light as it went. It was a few days after their son, Harry’s, birthday and Lily was tucking him in for bed. She and James would alternate each night, telling their son stories. Lily would tell him tales that she made up or from books while James would regale his son with his and his friends’ antics from their Hogwarts days. Today was James’ turn.

Lily looked up from where she sat on Harry’s bed to her husband, leaning against the doorframe. He smiled at her before shifting his focus to their baby boy. Harry was growing up so quickly, it seemed like only yesterday they had found out Lily was pregnant.

“So, Harry m’boy, you ready to hear about the time your Uncle Sirius spent a week with pink hair?”

Harry nodded, giggling. Some of his favorite stories were of his Uncle Sirius, or as he called him, Paddy.

“I’ll leave you boys to it.” Lily said, getting up. She paused on her way out of the room, watching James hop on the bed, tickling Harry who was laughing uncontrollably. Smiling to herself she padded quietly to the kitchen where James had run the dishwasher. She started to put the dishes away, careful not to lose her balance when reaching for the higher shelves.

Once she was done, she started piecing through the post that had been left on the counter, wondering if she would have gotten anything. Petunia, Vernon, and Dudley never came to Harry’s party. She wasn’t surprised, they hadn’t come to the past two but some part of her had hoped they would at least send him a card.

A pair of arms wrapped around her waist, a familiar head of messy hair rested on her shoulder.

“Hey.”

She placed her arms over his, hugging him to her. His hands started to drift further south to her still fairly flat belly. They had only found out a few days ago that she was pregnant again but hadn’t been to the doctor to confirm. Harry had been such a surprise so early in their marriage that they hadn’t really thought about having a second baby until more recently. Lily wanted him to have a sibling, hopefully one that he’d be close to like her and Petunia had been before she got her letter.

“Is Harry asleep?”

“I think so but it’s hard to tell.”

She hummed.

“Still nothing from your sister?”

“Yeah.” Her disappointment coming through.

“I’m sorry, I know how much you wish the two of you were closer.”

She nodded. “I just wish Harry could get to know all of his family.”

From the dining room, the faint echoes of some song on the radio carried through the evening air. Getting an idea, James pulled away suddenly. Curious, Lily turned to look at him. He bowed, making flamboyant motions with his hand, a devil may care smirk on his face.

“May I ask you, my fair lady, for a dance?” Holding his hand out.

Grinning, she put her hand in his. “You may, my good sir.”

He twirled her into him, dancing her around the kitchen and into the dining room/living room of their cottage. Every once in a while he’d twirl her before dipping her at the waist and giving her a kiss. With every single dip she giggled, her green eyes alight with pure joy. He met her with his own eyes, gazing into hers.

He twirled her out and away from him before pulling her back in, her beautiful red hair flying in the air. She fell into him a bit, dizzy, placing a hand on his chest for support. Leaning down, he picked her up in his arms and twirled her around, careful to make sure she didn’t hit anything. Quietly, she whooped, not wanting to wake up Harry.

“I’ve got you, my love.” He reassured her, his hands holding her firmly on her waist.

Slowly, he brought her back down, still slowly twirling her as the song neared the end. She kissed him, short and sweet before pulling away to sing along to the lyrics as the song ended. Joining her, he put on a fake accent, making her laugh.

When the song changed to a slower tune he held her close and simply swayed. She leaned her chin on his shoulder and simply enjoyed the moment.

“I love you, James.” She straightened up to look him in the eyes. “I love Harry, I love this life we’ve made for ourselves, but most of all I love you and my love for you grows with every passing day.”

He leaned in to press a kiss to her forehead. “I love you too. I’m so grateful that we’re here, together, alive. It feels like a miracle. You are my miracle.” A tear slipped down her cheek and he gently wiped it away. “Everyday that I get to spend with you and Harry is a blessing and I am so thankful that we are here and that we survived.”

She nodded. “Me too.”

“Mama? Papa?” A little voice called from the bottom of the stairs.

They turned to look at their son, in his little golden snitch pajamas, and smiled grateful that they were all three together.

"Come here sweetie!" Lily beckoned as the song changed yet again. Together, the three of them just danced around until midnight, happy to spend time with each other.

[mania-sama]

a murder of crows in the lowlight off boston

Halloween - Noah Kahan

➼ information ❧ Haikyuu ❧ Pairing: Miya Atsumu & Miya Osamu ❧ Addition Character: Miya Atsumu and Miya Osamu's Mother ❧ Tags: ghost! atsumu, poverty, good sibling! osamu, past character murder, angst, blood and gore, a smidge of body horror, this is my formal post for the spooky month of october ❧ Summary: Atsumu is dead. Osamu lets him go. ❧ Word Count: 1,696 ❧ Cross-posted from Archive of Our Own ❧ Original post date: 2 October 2024

The Miya household consisted of one woman in her early thirties and two twin boys, aged sixteen as of October, cramped into a two-bedroom trailer in the deep countryside. The size of their abode meant that constant noise was able to be heard from all available corners, mostly coming from the twins’ tumultuous bickering and the small cable television their mother loathed to shut off as it provided news updates, the weather, and her favorite true crime programs. There’s barely enough room to exist most days, much less cook, dance, and have rowdy fights that end up knocking over a lamp or two, but they manage all the same.

Now the Miya household is down to one mother and one son. The home expands as wide as the endless paddy fields west of the trailer park, and it takes twice as long to reach one end of the house from the other than it does to travel that half-mile distance to the rice farm. 

The only noise Osamu can hear is his own breathing, shallow and ragged yet barely audible all the same. His lungs freeze and thaw every second, and he wonders what would happen if his lungs failed to melt. The fantasy of his chest stilling and organs collapsing dissolves into the stale, heavy air as his nose continues to push air in and out of his body despite the crippling silence of the place he’s supposed to call home.

The bunk bed above his is empty. Osamu stares at the black wired bottom of the top bunk as though it will somehow magically bring his brother back. He counts in his head to ten, emits a cough that echoes like a bomb in his shared bedroom, and anticipates his brother to lean over the wooden railing to make a scathing comment at Osamu’s expense.

Nothing. Of course, there is nothing. He does this time and time again every day, repeating the action like a broken clock attempting to move forward but is forced to tick back into the place it was a second before.

A sound cuts through his fogging mind and sightless eyes, scaring him into an upright position and almost cracking his head on the top bunk. His brother’s name is already forming on his lips, a desperate plea and hope that he’d begun to leave behind.

But—

“Osamu, please help me.”

His mother, from the living room, a thousand miles away.

Osamu has lost weight, he knows. He hasn’t been to school, cooked, or played volleyball in a month. He rarely makes the daring journey out of his bedroom into the hallways, finding the trek to be more treacherous than a tightrope walk across a yawning ravine. Forcing himself off of his bed is hard enough as it is. The navy blue sheets and thin, threadbare mattress have curved to form a perfect mold around his body, leaving a perfect cast for him to settle into on the days when he, no matter how hard he tries, cannot move and can hardly bear to breathe.

At his brother’s predictable silence, Osamu calls with a rough, unused voice that cracks upon the first word, “I’m coming, Ma.”

He can’t recall how he and his brother could reach the living room in two and a half leaps. It takes him twenty, thirty, forty shuffling steps. His socked feet barely make a sound against the ugly brown carpet, and he walks alone across deserts and oceans and hellfire to simply make it to the kitchen. From there, he can see his mother, standing in front of the mute, blank television. Laying on the floor by her feet are a thousand shards glimmering with the reflection of her grief-stricken face.

Kneeling in front of her is a boy vainly attempting to pick up the broken glass. His head snaps up when he hears Osamu approaching. The boy stands, grimaces thinly, and says, “Oh, ‘Samu, thank God! Ma’s been ignoring me! And she just knocked this glass all over the carpet, and I don’t know why, but she’s about to cry. Never seen this before. Think it’s an heirloom?” His gaze flickers back Ma. “Please stop cryin’, Ma. I’m trying to help.”

The boy has a knife sticking out of his abdomen at the very end of a long, open wound across his stomach that explodes his pink entrails, and blood drips grotesquely from his lips. When he speaks, his mouth flashes thick, clotting maroon against pearly white teeth. The pale skin down his neck and arms are streaked in the same fluids.

The boy’s name is Atsumu, and Osamu knows this because they share the same face.

Osamu reaches the living room in three quick steps, the walls of the trailer suddenly shrinking in on all sides. He meets his mother’s red, puffy eyes, then squints at Atsumu who shrugs and points to the mess on the floor.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I didn’t— I didn’t mean to,” his mother hiccups, one hand reaching up to cover her trembling lips. “I don’t know how to fix this. I can’t.”

He leans down, brushing his fingertips against the glass and carpet. Rough, sand-like particles stick to the pads, cling to the undersides of his nails, and leave ashy fingerprint marks on the clear shards.

“It’s okay, Ma. I promise,” Atsumu comforts, his voice soothing the rush flooding Osamu’s ears.

“His urn is broken,” Osamu whispers. It’s a shout, an ear-splitting scream with his brother standing next to him. The sounds of his brother’s murder case play from the television in his mind so clearly he nearly convinces himself of its reality.

“Whose urn?” Atsumu gasps, his hand reaching out to touch Osamu but entirely falling through. Osamu tilts his head to look up at him. If Atsumu notices the way his entire form flickers, becoming transparent enough to see the black television behind him, he doesn’t show it.

His mother cries more, and Atsumu tries to hug her by wrapping his arms around her shoulders, but she doesn’t react. “What do we do?”

Osamu doesn’t know.

The living room becomes brighter as a cloud moves out from under the sun, sending warm rays beaming across the floor and highlighting Atsumu’s ashes. Simultaneously, Atsumu becomes harder to see, as if the light itself is melting away his body.

His face is still clear, standing at a height that protects his head from the sun. The color of his lips is impossible to make out behind the heavy coating of his blood, and his yellow hair is tousled and matted with dried bits of flesh and gore.

Atsumu stares at him with hazel eyes that look terribly, horribly, sickeningly alive.

For the first time in a month, since the day the police knocked on their door with the devastating result of their search-and-rescue hunt for his missing brother, Osamu feels like he can breathe. He takes in the crisp filtered air, smelling the faint traces of his brother’s scent from his spot on the ratty old couch. His throat cools and eases oxygen in and carbon dioxide out, as it was always meant to do.

“We get the dirt devil vacuum,” he says. His chest tightens, squeezing around his heart as bile crawls up his throat. “Get all of the ashes out and into a new urn.”

He’s killing Atsumu again, he knows. He knows it because Atsumu trembles, his head shaking and bright eyes betraying his hurt.

“You’re ignoring me, too! You’re both ignoring me! What did I do? Why are you doin’ this?” Atsumu cries. Despite the anger lacing his words like poison, Atsumu’s words lay over Osamu like a thick, warm blanket.

He missed his brother. He missed how he took up all of the space in a room, how he let his voice boom over everyone else regardless of the warnings he’d previously received. He missed his volatile personality that barely masked how much he cared for his family.

But his brother is gone.

Osamu covers his face with his hands and presses the heels harshly into his eyes, scattering thick black dots across his vision. 

There is a knife sticking out of Atsumu’s ghost.

He ignores his brother’s burning remarks shot at the back of his neck and picks out a blue plastic cup and napkin from the kitchen. While his mother sobs, he scrapes a large clump of the gray remains into the cup and covers it with the thin white napkin. He watches as Atsumu bleeds out from his view, slowly, like the blood coming from his mouth and flowing over his orange shirt. His faint outline remains, and his noises — formless, wordless sounds — are no louder than the shutter of the wind against the bushes that brush against the outside of the trailer.

Quietly, so quietly that only his brother could hear it, he leans in close to the cup, pressing his mouth against the napkin, and says, “I love you.”

Atsumu never would have made it across the ravines, oceans, deserts, and paddy fields that overtook the trailer. He would have wondered why Ma could never respond to him. He would eventually figure out that he couldn’t touch anyone, couldn’t feel their warmth, couldn’t play volleyball, go to school, or do anything, really, ever again.

I love you, he said, because he loves his brother enough to let him leave the static television that doesn’t run the news, weather, or crime channel anymore, and let him leave the house that kills all noise like a blackhole crushes all matter.

Osamu misses him more than anything.

He returns to his bottom bunk, later, after the cleaned dirt devil sucks up the remains and out into the blue plastic cup. He tapes the sides of the napkin to the cup with duct tape and sets it in his room for safekeeping. The mattress welcomes him back, the human mold folding over him and hugging him tightly.

When he breathes, he does so slowly. His lungs are raw from freezer burn, but they do not freeze, and they do not thaw.

He simply breathes, and the top bunk remains empty.