#shadow is like holding a brick so no one wins

[ttdamian]

Rock your world !

⸺ summary ; In which Jason todd falls in love with a rockstar (˶˃ ᗜ ˂˶)

⸺ Authors note ; Jason todd x fem ! reader. reader smokes and uses make up here. lowk was thinking of nana osaki as i wrote this.. I'll probably write this trope for different characters as well, but for now it'll be just Jason (ily april for the trope). English isnt my first language. feel free to send requests (please..) while i figure out how tumblr works. Wc: 1,1k. Not beta read.

He wasn’t supposed to be here.

Wrong bar. Wrong night. Wrong side of town.

But the music—God, the sound—dragged him in like a lit match to gasoline. Raw, unruly. Loud enough to shake the bones beneath his skin.

It hit him like a punch.

And then your voice— Velvet and venom. Cold as frostbite and just as sharp.

He found you center stage, bathed in red light. All lips and leather. Legs crossed like a warning. Eyes like a dare.

Your guitar hung low against your hips, your fingers wrapped around its neck like you meant to strangle every last note out of it.

The rest of your band blurred in the background. You? You burned.

Every line of you was unapologetic. Bold lipstick. Bare skin. The kind of outfit that didn’t beg for attention—it commanded it. You moved like you owned the night and everything it touched.

And when the set ended— You didn’t bow. Didn’t beam. Just tossed your pick into the screaming crowd like a coin into a wishing well and walked off the stage with the cool detachment of a god leaving her altar.

He watched you disappear behind the curtain like a man hypnotized.

Just a crush, he told himself.

But then he saw you again.

Different bar. Same grit in the air. Brick walls sweating from the weight of a hundred secrets.

You were alone this time— Or maybe not, depending on how you counted the cigarette smoldering between your lips and the flock of hopeless girls orbiting you like moths.

You didn’t even look at them. Just leaned against the wall like you were the headliner. Smoke curling from your mouth like a love letter no one deserved to read.

He stayed back. Eyes on you.

Every now and then, one of the girls would laugh too loud, hoping you’d look their way. You didn’t.

You just exhaled, slow and bored, flicking ash to the ground like you were snuffing out stars.

It took everything in him not to step into your orbit. Not to push past the swarm and see if you’d look at him the way you looked at that guitar—like it might bleed for you if you pressed hard enough.

But he didn’t move. Not yet.

He just watched.

And wondered what kind of God you prayed to— To be born with that kind of fire.

You noticed him before he thought you did.

He was good at watching. Subtle. Quiet. Like a wolf pretending to be part of a flock. But you’d been on stages long enough to know when eyes lingered. And his lingered like they had nowhere else to be.

He stayed back, half-shadowed, one hand in his jacket pocket, the other around a drink he hadn’t touched in ten minutes. You could tell by the way his fingers curled around the glass—tight, knuckles pale. Like he was holding onto something he didn't trust himself to drop.

Cute.

You blew smoke to the side and let your eyes drag toward him. Just once. Just long enough to let him know he was seen.

He straightened. Barely. A shift in the weight of his stance. A tell.

So you smirked.

And turned away.

Let him simmer in it.

The thing about men like him? They never expected the fire to look back.

It took ten minutes for him to approach. Ten minutes of pretending not to notice him noticing you. Of leaning just a little more languidly against the wall. Of laughing too softly at nothing. Of licking your bottom lip when your mouth went dry from the cigarette.

He came like a storm trying to be polite.

"You always this generous with attention," he said, voice low, rough. Controlled.

You turned slowly. Met his gaze like it was a game you were born to win.

"Only when it’s earned."

That got you a twitch at the corner of his mouth. The barest hint of a smile.

"And what did I do to earn it?"

You looked him over. Up. Down. Not rushed. Not shy.

"You looked hungry."

He laughed. Quiet. Dangerous.

"And you like feeding wolves?"

You stepped closer. Just enough to blur the edge of the space between you.

"I like seeing how close I can get before they bite."

That was how it started.

A game.

You’d play with him like you played your guitar and tones—with skill, with rhythm, with a smile that dared him to keep up.

He’d show up to your gigs without announcing himself. Sit in the back. Watch like he had a right to be there. And you’d let him. Because it was fun. Because it was easy.

Because you were bored.

At first.

But then—

It stopped being just a game.

He learned the songs. Could hum the solos. Knew when you were playing angry and when you were playing sad.

He noticed when you switched your lipstick shade.

He never pushed. Just watched. Waited. Let you come to him.

You started finding him outside the bar after sets. Leaning against your bike. Smoke curling from his lips. He never said much at first. Just offered you a drag and watched the night settle in your bones.

Eventually, you started to linger. Shared silence turned into shared stories. Dumb ones. Sweet ones. Things you never thought you'd say to a stranger.

Then came the nights he walked you home.

Not because you needed protection.

But because he wanted to.

And you let him.

One night, you kissed him.

He was halfway through a sentence, saying something stupid, something low and teasing, and you just leaned in and shut him up with your mouth.

His hands found your waist like they’d been waiting their whole life for that moment. He tasted like heat and cigarette smoke and something you couldn’t name.

When you pulled back, he didn’t say anything.

Just looked at you like he wasn’t sure whether to run or fall to his knees.

Neither of you ran.

You started leaving your window unlocked.

He started knocking less.

The fire turned soft in the quiet hours. Your guitar in the corner. His boots by your door. His head on your lap while you smoked and played with his hair.

It snuck up on you, the love.

Not in fireworks.

In little things.

In the way he knew how you took your coffee. In the way you started writing new songs just to see if he’d recognize himself in them. In the way his name sounded better than the applause.

You fell. Slowly.

All teeth and smoke and danger—

Until you were his.

And he was yours.

And the game?

Over.

Or maybe just evolved.

After all—you still liked to see how close you could get

Before he bit.

@ TTDAMIAN. pretty please, translate and rewrite any of my works, or repost my works in any other platform without asking. (ts a joke get out)

[mischiefmaker615]

Now You See Me

Summary: Apparently you find out your enemy is far better at.. manipulating the shadows 

Rating: *DARK* R 

Theme Song: Do You See Me Now by CHINCHILLA, Isobel Waller-Bridge

Requester: @feelmysteel (wattpad)

‘’you think this will fucking hold me?’’ you snarl as you look upon your wrists, not necessarily seeing anything there other than a dark shadow on each. The feeling was cold, ghost like.. almost like when you stilled your hand in water until you moved to realize it was there.

You knew what this was, and you knew it well. Which is why they sent Loki himself to try to capture you. you both have been enemies from the start- almost a playful yet twisted relationship on how you both would flirt but then strike the next second one’s guard was down. a cat and mouse game you both took turns swapping in. by now, you almost could predict each other- until he got the upper hand this time against your power to manipulate the shadows.

‘’darling, I think you and I both know it’s not that simple.’’ Loki smirked, appearing out of the darkness as the spark in his eye made the shadows grip your wrists tighter to keep you still against the brick he had finally managed to corner you at. It was quiet, secluded and dark. An environment that could be used to both of your advantage if one of you wasn’t careful.

Your body tensed as you inhaled, trying to concentrate on drawing your own shadow powers for aid if the grip on your wrists wasn’t so distracting. It wasn’t until Loki held up a piece of cloth between both his long fingers that made you still for once, your eyes widened at the realization that he might have best you.

“countless times you’ve slipped through my fingers darling, countless times of reporting empty handed..’’ Loki said with a hushed tone, rubbing the piece of fabric between his fingers as he stalked forward, his fancy, undercover suit not even messed up from the chase. ‘’but tonight I have you.. and you won’t be escaping me again..’’

‘’you think you’re so powerful?? you’re just predictable-‘’ your words were cut short as Loki flicked his wrist, a flash of green sending the piece of fabric shooting through the air as it wrapped itself around your head, covering your eyes as you yelped in freight at the sudden action.

‘’predicable? How could I be predictable when you can’t even see what I’m doing?’’ he smirked as your heart rate picked up and your body tensed at being able to see absolutely nothing.

As your lips parted to speak, you felt his cold finger tips ghost your collarbone, gliding up slowly up your neck before you feel him rest his palm and fingers around your throat in a threatening grip.

‘’okay- okay you win..’’ you stutter as you swallow your pride as your arms try again to pull from the shadow restraints. ‘’take me to this TVA or whatever-‘’

‘’I plan to darling, indeed I do’’ he smirked, his eyes drinking you in with the advantage of you not being able to see or stop him. not that that’s stopped him before as his other hand slowly rose to rest against your hip. ‘’but we’ve been at this for a long time love, do you really feel like I’d hand you over so quickly? After all the work I’ve been put through, don’t I deserve.. a little something?’’

He sounded like he was almost talking to himself as his grip tightened ever so slightly, making you tilt your chin up as if it would help evade his grasp. ‘’with all your hard work- you’d probably get a raise or whatever.. -you.. you don’t need to do this-‘’ you whisper but something tells you, he’s not going to kill you.

‘’after all this time, after everything we’ve been through, I’ve always wondered something..’’ Loki spoke out loud as his hand removed itself from your throat to rest at your other hip, his thumbs rubbing against your jeans as you tried pressing yourself more into the building to evade him.

‘’I’ve always wondered.. on how you would taste..’’ he whispered, his lips ghosting your ear before you could feel the tip of his tongue stroke the shell of your ear, causing you to shiver.

‘’you wouldn’t fucking dare- mmph!’’ a cold sensation, almost feeling like a breeze brushed against your lips, pressing firmly to prevent you from opening your mouth to speak as your eyes widened behind the cloth. Another shadow has opted to cover your mouth.

‘’you’ve been nothing but trouble darling, we’ve both been at it countless times.. We’re similar, you and i.. predictable as you say? To each other’’ he smirked as his hands began stroking your covered hips before your body tensed to feel him beginning to grind his bulge against your center-

And by the gods he was packing..

‘’so perhaps this could be a way to draw a truce? A way where we both can just finally.. relax’’ his voice got dangerously low as his lips left slow, open mouth kisses behind your ear and slowly down your neck as you began struggling again with a string of cuss words being muffled out.

‘’and that’s exactly what I plan on getting you to do.. relax’’ he seemed to hush, almost as if lulling you into submission as you just began exhausting yourself with your struggles.

You even tried shaking your head, thrashing as the shadows held their cold and airy hold against you. how could you have let your guard down.. you were powerful, you knew how to manipulate and fight shadows for gods sakes! ..how long have you two been at it where he’s studied this much to finally have the upper hand! On the other, he was taking full advantage of the situation and you hated it.. you hated how you began feeling aroused.. even as you felt his hand leave your hip a moment just to be found opening the button of your jeans. Your body tensed and jerked.

‘’ah ah darling, I wouldn’t move to much or you’ll only stir me on to be relentless and cruel.. as you have’’ he smirked, flinching as you felt a nip at your collarbone and sensed his body moving elsewhere.

His body was so close to yours, you could almost feel his body heat traveling- sensing how he was now lowering himself to his knees before you with his hands firmly against your thighs to prevent you from kicking out.

‘’I promise I’ll be nothing but gentle.. if just tonight, you’ll be a good girl..’’ he whispered, his lips murmuring against your skin above your underwear, feeling his fingers glide up to grip your pants before pulling them down to stop above your knees. Probably to make kicking difficult compared to if he would have removed them completely. Clever bastard.

Your body tensed and shook, exhaustion overtaking you as you tried focusing on just breathing, searching through the dark but every bit of his touch would have you snapping out of your thoughts before you could even register an idea of escape.

‘’please.. don’t do this…’’ you begged, your words muffled but you were sure he could understand you in some way as his body disappeared from yours.

Not knowing where he was almost seemed to scare you more as your body tensed and began fighting again, your head shaking to try to rid of the damn blindfold before you felt a snap and the cold air of the night- finding your panties yanked off.

‘’that is the first time I’ve ever had you begging darling, I am well aware that it won’t be the last’’ he chuckled and you shiver as you felt his warm breath against your cunt, making you tense and try to thrash again as his hands planted themselves against your thighs, practically pinning them to the wall to immobilize you further. ‘’it just very much turns me on..’’ he seemed to growl before you felt the cold tip of his tongue run slowly against your cunt.

A gasp left your mouth, whether it could be heard or not as your body stiffened, almost as if you were paralyzed with your heart racing. This wasn’t happening was it?.. this was wrong.. so so wrong.. he’s your enemy! One whom you’ve fought with for years! Yet in some twisted, sick way, you found your head falling back against the wall, fists clenching as your eyes fluttered.

‘’you taste divine my darling.. more than I could have ever imagined..’’ he breathed, his thumbs stroking your bare skin as you felt his mouth dive back in as he ran his tongue against your clit.

You held back a moan, using every ounce of your remaining energy to try to at least pretend like you weren’t enjoying it but you both seemed to know that was a lie. Loki’s finger tips lightly ran up your thighs, your hips before finding their way down and behind you where he began kneading your ass, causing him to moan.

His moan was as if he had discovered pure ecstasy, causing a vibration right through you as you shivered and arched your back.

‘’gods Y/N.. you’ve got an angel’s as..’’ his eyes flicked up to you with a dangerous smirk, regardless if you could see him or not. ‘’yet demon’s eyes.. how could you be so cruel all these years.. teasing me so with all you’re perfection.. surely you must me the devil..’’ he whispered, his eyes darkening in that moment before his eyes were blown with pure lust and his body strained to hold his control.

Loki tilted his head ever so slightly as he used the tip of his tongue to tease your entrance, studying your body’s reactions before he decided to let loose just a little bit of his composure and plunged his tongue right into you with thorough thrusts.

You jolted as you squirmed and let out a moan finally, ashamed but the pleasure that built inside you made sure to forget about what was wrong or right in that moment. By the gods he was incredible and took his time, slowly building up your pleasure as if he had all the time in the world. his nails gently ran against your skin every now and again, increasing his force once and awhile as you could tell he was actually holding himself back for your sake.. why? He left little room for questions, feeling him grip your ass again and it would cause him to send another moan right through your cunt.

Dare you say if you weren’t restrained, you would have had your fingers fly into his gorgeous locks and hold on for dear life as your eyes closed and felt the tight knot forming in your pelvis and stomach. He ran his tongue up again and began suckling at your clit, stroking it with his tongue every now and again before your pussy began to clench against nothing. As if sensing it, he would run his tongue back down and plunge it into your core, earning moans and gasps before you began to feel your pleasure right at that edge.

‘’you’re going to cum for me Y/N, right now.. right on my tongue..’’ Loki breathed, almost sounding as if he were the one begging for it, the thought almost sending you off the glorious edge itself right then and there.

Your breath caught and your back arched before you felt his two fingers slowly slide into your cunt up to his knuckles while his tongue stroked your clit. That did it, and just as your orgasm began, light flooded into sight as the blindfold vanished and your eyes squeezed shut while your orgasm crashed.

‘’f-fuck!..’’ you cursed, pleasure consuming your body as you shook, realizing you could speak and see again as you squirmed and withered against his mouth, the only thing that mattered right now. You felt his long digits pumped into you, slowing down as he helped you ride it out while you twitched and gasped. Your eyes fluttered, dropping down to take in the sight before you-

Loki on his knees, his mouth attached to your cunt with pleasure drunk eyes while his hands wrapped around your thighs to push your ass forward so your cunt pressed more into his mouth. It was pure ecstasy and held your breath as you took him in at how beautiful he was right then and just as your pleasure was slowly ending, his eyes flicked up into yours.

It was almost like electricity striking your body at his gaze and you couldn’t help but hold it while your gasped for breath. He smirked as he slowly pulled away, sucking at his fingers as he rose to his full height before bending down slightly. His chin almost rested at your shoulder as you stayed frozen, feeling him grip your jeans and pulling them back up before returning to his full height again with a smug look in his eyes.

‘’glorious darling, and I do plan on tasting more..’’ he threatened and caught you in his arms as the shadows vanished from your wrists and had you drop forward.

Your arms ached, your body did as your cheeks reddened and you pushed against him to lean back at the wall, your body turning a little defensively as you tried to search for words, fumbling while he chuckled and took a few steps back.

‘’how about this darling, I’ll give you a 5 minute head start.’’ He smirked and his eyes flicked over your body again before returning to your eyes.

‘’make that 2...’’ 

Tag List: @foxherder  @asgards-princess-of-mischief  @fire-in-her-veinz

Note: while on the subject of magic, my brain reminded me of this and also how much i loved watching edits growing up Lol

[heartfullofleeches]

I first imagined (un)lucky reader as fearful of their gift, but picture gremlin reader with that same power. An agent of chaos in alignment with none - given blessing by a deity of fortune upon winning its heart with their unruly ways. Inevitably catches on to some extent and all hell breaks lose for everyone, but namely reader's human yans. Gremlin reader is just having a field day watching it all unfurl.

-

Gremlin sets up a chair and umbrella in their front lawn, wearing their finest maid outfit as they draw a line on the pavement. A neighbor walks out as they take their seat, throwing on a pair of cat ears to top of their robes

Neighbor: What are you doing??

Gremlin Reader: Waiting. Check this. [Reader turns on their side, skirt hiking up to upper thigh as they shift. Stripped stockings on full display - the shadow hiding in their hedges to frame this one in a lifetime experience peers out to get a better picture. As their silhouette ghosts over the line - a flying motorcycle helmet crashes into their skull, knocking them out cold.]

Gremlin reader, scribbling on their notepad: hm, that's a first. So far it's been sports balls, bricks, and a printer.... Still need to send flowers up for that last one

-

[Yan luck deity in a council meeting]

"You are disrupting the very balance of our reality - for one mortal?"

Yan luck deity: Not just any mortal - observe. [Presents a video of reader sobbing in front of a vending machine, cradling their haul after the machine dispenses half of its load instead of their single bag of chips.]

Gremlin Reader: This - is so much bigger than me. I'd like to thank my manager, God, the guy I pocketed that two dollar bill off-

-

[Gremlin reader, holding a tide pod-

Yan luck deity: DON'T EVEN THINK ABOUT IT!

[honey-minded-hivemind]

Groundskeeper Reader being dragged into the Mansion for the first time and feels so embarrassed. Logan has them by the scruff of their neck, and everyone is dressed so nicely while they are soaked to the bone in muddy, old gardening clothes that they work in. Everyone is staring at them, and they just want to shrivel up and die.

Someone tries to bring a little levity by suggesting a game (its Peter) but Reader just quietly asks if there was a guest bathroom they can wash up in. Apparently not quietly enough as Logan's daughter, Laura, shoots up and says she'll run them a bath. The man in the wheelchair dressed like a WW2 soldier tells Logan off for holding Reader like that, saying

"You're scaring the poor dear to death holding them like a cub!"

The girls with red hair, sunglasses guy, the twins, the boy in a circus uniform and the two girls in Y2K fashion are raiding a closet for clothes while the Cowgirl gently leads Reader through a master bedroom to a bathroom with the biggest tub Reader has ever seen, filled to the brim with steaming hot water.

While Reader washes up (and probably has a good cry), everyone else is running around like chickens with their heads cut off. They're trying to pick out a nice outfit for Reader, but not so nice that they'll be suspicious. They need to hide any particularly haunted items that could give them away, and they need to keep the house itself from reacting to a living being to not scare them away. They still want the night to be enjoyable for Reader, so someone has to dig up the old card deck and ancient monopoly board.

By the time Reader comes out of the bathroom and Master bedroom, in clean clothes and feeling only slightly better, it's a miracle the hallway is clear. They try getting back to the entryway, but turn a corner to run face first into the one other person they haven't seen tonight, their other boss.

Victor has always been a rough man, but now as Reader apologizes and rubs their nose from running into a giant brick wall of a person, he looks like he's seen a ghost.

Its because he feels like he has.

Reader is dressed in his kid's clothes. Long-sleeved blouse, old pair of pants with worn areas, and they have the same sad eyes his kid did.

It's enough to make him falter for a minute, giving Reader enough time to apologize, then dart around the corner, not wanting to feel more embarrassed about running into their other boss.

The night is a bit... tense. But it fades away for awhile as they play old games, some with dice, or tic-tac-toe, or some old monopoly board that Kitty had. It's nice, at least in that moment. Warm fire in the fireplace, old blankets and curtains draped around, everyone making teams and seeing which ones win. It feels... it feels really swell.

It gets a little odd when it's time for bed, and Reader is directed to an old room a bit farther from the main hall than they like. But, it's not the room that was odd. It was the painting half-hidden in shadows, a sheet fallen from it, depicting someone, a young teen, perhaps, who looks just... just like Reader...

[blackleatherjacketz]

Veritas

Loki x Female Reader

Summary: Loki's been watching you for some time now and he finally makes contact.

Warnings: Gay Bars, Kissing, Stalking, Face Holding, Alcohol, Trauma Bonding, Magic

Word Count: 1.3k+

Read the rest of the story HERE!

“You’ll break their hearts running off like that.” His chilly voice pierces the night like a dagger, forcing you to search every corner of the deserted patio as the door slams shut behind you.

“Excuse me?” Your shoulders jump up to your ears as you peer into the darkness, looking for anyone else he could be talking to as you squint in mild intoxication.

“They all want you in their own way, don’t they?” His pale cheekbones cut into the light as he steps out of the shadows, his slender frame draped in black. “Buying you drinks, paying you compliments in hopes to win your favor.” He takes his time walking around you, pointing in your direction with a glass half full of whiskey as if it were some kind of prop in his performance. “And you? Well, you’re beautiful, smart, charming, sure, but you’ve heard that all before, haven’t you?” He smiles as if he knows the secrets of every single person he’s ever met, including yours. “You’ve heard every line from every book they’ve used to try and chip away at that cold exterior of yours, but none of it really works, does it?”

“I, uhh,” you stare at him with your mouth wide open, wondering how someone so attractive could notice all these little things about you without you noticing them in return. This was the very first you've seen of this handsome stranger, at least that you can recall, anyways. Surely you'd remember someone so tragically beautiful that the angles of his face reminded you of a medieval painting you’d only be able to find in a museum.

He ignores your mindless stuttering and continues on with his lecture, circling in a little closer. “You let them believe they can have you for a moment, a day even, or maybe a little longer, knowing full well that you have no intention of giving them more than a glimpse of who you really are.”

“Do I know you from somewhere?” You realize only now that you've been walking backwards the whole time he’s been waltzing around you, your naked shoulders abruptly meeting the cool brick wall of the building.

“Not yet,” he smirks with a tilt of his head, “but I know you.” He stops his orbit around you as your back hits the wall, advancing forward after he empties the liquor from his glass. “I’ve been watching you, noticing how much energy you take from each little moment, saving up for when you’re finally in bed at night wondering why you’re all alone.”

What the hell? Did he just say that he’s been watching you? Is he trying to psychoanalyze your whole personality from just a few interactions he witnessed you in at the bar? Should you be worried about what’s in your drink? You glance down and cover it with your palm.

“Well, that’s one hell of a guess, Mister…” You try to play it cool as he gets closer.

“Loki,” he introduces himself finally, “Just Loki.”

“Loki?” Wait a minute, where have you heard that name before? “Not the ‘God of Mischief’, Loki?”

“None other.” He sets his drink down on the table behind him, lifting both hands up toward his chest in prideful presentation.

“Right.” You nod and takes one last sip of your drink, figuring he must be one of the new drag performers you just haven't seen yet. That would explain his accent at least, and maybe even his name. “Well, ‘Just Loki’, are we talking about me here, or are we talking about you? Because that seems oddly specific.”

He looks stunned for a moment, as if he wasn’t fully expecting you to fire back so quickly, but immediately shakes it off. “Oh, I could talk about you all night,” he redirects.

“Really?” You follow suit and set your drink on the table to your right, making a mental note not to drink from it again. “And why is that? What does a god like you want with a simple someone like me?”

“You’ve piqued my interest.” He pauses as he gets close enough for you to notice his scent, faintly reminiscent of freshly cut evergreens in the middle of winter.

“How lucky for me.” Your skepticism is your only defense against the connection you feel linking the two of you together; an irrefutable invisible line that continues to become more visible as he closes the gap between you.

“You and I aren’t that different, you know.” He stares at you with icy blue eyes, a deep sorrow weighing them down as they study every inch of your face.

“Cast aside, overlooked, underestimated until we finally speak up, demanding to be seen for who we truly are only to be pushed back down behind everyone else. So you come here, of all places, searching for that validation, longing to be chosen over and over again just so you can reject them before they do it to you. You toss your pearls at swine because it’s your only sense of control, the only way you can build that armor up around you so you never have to feel that way again.”

Jesus Christ, he’s right.

“Even now your armor’s on, knives out, ready for battle, but it doesn’t have to be.” The knob to the patio door twists open, unlatching just long enough to let the chorus of Britney Spears’ “Toxic” leak out into the air before he slams it shut with a mere wave of his hand.

“Did you just..?” You glance over at the door as the other patrons attempt to exit the building, their pounding on the heavy metal eventually dying down as they decide to give up their pursuit. He couldn’t have shut that door without even touching it, right? No, that’s not possible, that would be crazy. That would be magic, which would mean…

“These people are beneath you, you’ve always known that.” He ignores your inquiry.

“Have I?” You laugh, attempting to cover up just how right he continues to be, those eyes of his suddenly seeming to look straight into your soul. Maybe he actually is the god of mischief after all.

“You and I both know that’s why you always feel so alone in a room surrounded by people.” He places his hand on your cheek, the sudden act of intimacy freezing you in place. “Why you continue to feel hopelessly empty no matter what you do or where you go. You wouldn’t dare let any of them get close to you, not again, anyways. Because the last time you did that, every time you let someone see you… the real, raw and gentle you,” he leans in as if to kiss you, stopping just short of your lips as his words fade into a whisper. “They used it to hurt you, didn’t they?”

“Maybe.” You hold your breath as he brushes his mouth against yours, the warmth from his lips flushing your cheeks and fluttering down into your chest. How is he doing this? How is he reading you to absolute filth in the back of this random bar on a Thursday night?

Maybe you can suspend your disbelief for the time being and start believing in gods just for the night.

“Haven’t you ever wondered what it would feel like to meet someone without all that armor on? Someone who sees you for exactly who you are?” He tilts your chin up toward him as he finally parts your lips with his, the kiss softer than you imagined; his sharp words and features a mere façade for what truly lies beneath.

“Instead of what they want you to be?” You finish his thought for him as he breaks the kiss, his lips now venturing over your cheeks and forehead as they turn into a smile.

“There you are.”

[daintyduck99]

"I'll do anything for a woman with a knife." + "Stop saying things that make me want to kiss the hell out of you." + Rulie?

Most people's instinct, upon catching a couple getting intimate in a dark alley, is to keep walking. That's what Julie used to do.

But Julie isn't like most people, anymore. 

Even in the shadows, the man is pale enough—and pretty enough—to make her suspicious. The way he's got that woman pressed into the brick isn't unusual, either.

The only thing that stops Julie is that—

He isn't going for the kill. 

The woman has her head thrown back submissively, but his lips aren't even skimming her pulse. Instead, he's murmuring in her ear, and his hands are busy beneath her skirt. 

Maybe Julie's instincts are wrong. They must be, she thinks savagely, sucking in a breath as heat flares between her hips. 

She should go. 

But then his canines flash, and one of her knives glints in the moonlight a millisecond later before lodging itself in his shoulder. 

She manages to close the distance as he hisses, possibly because he's slowed by the shock of pain, but he dodges the next knife. Julie pulls her favorite—a claymore, well-suited for close combat—out of her hair, and he smirks as her curls tumble around her shoulders, eyes darkening. 

Good. Julie won't be easy prey. 

The woman he'd been pleasing hasn't moved. She seems vaguely disgruntled, which is certainly the rudest reaction Julie's ever gotten to saving someone's life. There's no way he was that good.

“Go!” Julie snaps, slashing at the vampire.

She vaguely hears a huff, but more importantly, she hears hurried steps. There's no time to be relieved, though. 

He keeps dodging without advancing, even when she nicks his cheek. Inky black blood flows freely from the cut as he keeps his eyes trained on her. He hasn't bothered to pull the knife out of his shoulder, either. 

He's taking her seriously, but also—not? 

Maybe he doesn't know what to make of her, either—maybe they're both strange for their kind. Most hunters do have a different method for making vampires bleed. 

And most vampires aren't so— 

Cold breath hits her neck, and she curses herself for getting distracted. He chuckles.

“You're good. What's on these knives?” 

She grits her teeth and goes for another slash, but he pins her wrist to the brick. 

“Come on, sweetheart,” he murmurs, “I asked nicely. And I won't bite—unless you're into that sort of thing. Kayla was.”

Julie glares even as she fights a shiver.

“How do I know you're telling the truth?” 

“She wasn't eager to leave, was she?” 

Fuck. He has a point. 

He presses on, holding Julie's gaze. 

“I don't kill people. Not unless they're really shitty. And I don't feed on people without making it worth their while.”

She sucks in a breath. Her words come out wispy, rather than wry as intended. 

“What, are you offering?” 

He smiles. Sinfully pretty as he is, when he smiles like that, he looks almost human. 

“I'll do anything for a woman with a knife.”

God, he is good. She swallows hard. 

“Several knives. And stop doing that.” 

He smiles wider, tilting his head. “What?” 

“Stop saying things that make me want to kiss the hell out of you.” 

He laughs, running his thumb over the rabbiting pulse point of her pinned wrist.

“I could just shut up and kiss you. And you could stop stabbing me with your—is it werewolf saliva on the knives? But yeah. We could do that. Everybody wins.” 

“I didn't come to take her place—” 

“But you were interested. You still are.” 

He smiles with a flash of teeth that abruptly reminds her that he isn't human. 

“You can't lie to me. Your body won't let you. I know what you want, sweetheart.” 

She squeezes her eyes shut. “Julie.”

“Julie,” he says, pleased and sensual in a way that might be her undoing. “Kiss me.”

God help her, but she snaps. She does.

She gasps into the kiss as she's pressed fully into the brick. His lips are so cold it almost burns, but it's scalding in other ways, too, thorough and biting and rough.

Her knife clatters to the ground. 

But in the end, she still has just as much of a claim on him as he does her, and they both carry physical reminders on their skin.

[evelhak]

Kuroko Tetsuya, Unabridged

(KnB fic by evelhak/Glasssneaker)

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Author's note: I had a sudden urge to write a Tumblr friendly fic (meaning not humongous), and this happened. It's everything I don't normally do. It's only about 5000 words, it's a standalone, it's in third person and past tense. So, if you're interested in a bit of a comedic take on "What goes on with Kuroko behind the scenes?", this shouldn't take too much of your time.

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Kuroko Tetsuya was waking up early in the morning. He had, of course, gone to bed early, like a responsible young athlete should, even if they didn’t happen to have a tournament or a training camp coming up just then. The shadow of Seirin’s basketball team was always ready for action.

I am lead. I am a pile of bricks. There’s a better chance for a meteorite to strike than for me to get out of this bed.

Of course, the reason he had gone to bed early was his unstoppable drive to read the gothic mystery novel Rebecca which had caught his attention in the library just the day before. Kuroko had not stopped reading until the wee hours, in the full knowledge that Coach would casually maim him, if she noticed he hadn’t slept enough and was too tired to function at practise because of it.

I can still say I went to bed early, and it’s not technically a lie, Kuroko had thought in the tempting light of his reading lamp, turning one more chapter.

Kuroko showed no signs of life under his blanket, until something cold and wet met his face and made his skin crawl. And it wasn’t Nigou’s firm lick, which would have been about a thousand times more pleasant to wake up to, than this nerve-rackingly light and simultaneously sharp surprise that made him blink rapidly before his eyes came into focus, and Kuroko saw his grandmother standing beside his bed, holding the spray bottle she used to refresh the house plants.

– Oops, Granny said with a barely contained grin. – Looks like I mistook you for another wilted flower.

The spray of water had not revived Kuroko’s brain-mouth connection yet, so nothing but a quiet groan came out of him, as he attempted to crawl even deeper into his bed. He was barely aware of the woof and the sound of little steps in the room, before Granny’s cheerful voice said:

– Nigou, steal!

That’s when Kuroko’s blanket was suddenly nowhere to be found, or rather, it was being pulled out of the room between Nigou’s teeth, while Kuroko was too stunned, trying to comprehend the depth of the betrayal.

How dare you. I found you, I took you in…

It wasn’t the first time, of course, that Granny had been compelled to use creative strategies to get her teenager out of bed. Who knows if Seirin’s legendary win in the Winter Cup would have even been possible without the uncredited grandmother. But it was the first time she had teamed up with Nigou like this.

Of course she had taught Nigou to steal, Kuroko should have known. The two were spending entirely too much time alone at home together.

Kuroko was still salty as soy sauce when he managed to drag himself out of the bed and into the bathroom.

Why didn’t I wash my hair at night?

The answer was of course that he never did if he could help it, because the only way to tame his impossible bedhead was to wash his hair in the morning. But sometimes it was nice to at least pretend he had options.

After the episodes I hate showering in the morning through I live here now, plus a good breakfast Kuroko’s Granny made sure he ate, the phantom sixth man started to finally look like he wasn’t living excessively up to his name, and going to school was starting to seem like a worthy goal for the day, if only because it meant he could spend the way there with his nose stuck in a book. The reason that it wasn’t dangerous for this barely noticeable guy to walk among the traffic with both of his eyes entranced by the pages, even though he simultaneously thought it was too dangerous to walk while holding something in both hands, was of course, due to his superior observational skills. It wasn’t at all hypocritical or a sign of barely disguised and very selective anxiety.

Kuroko came dangerously close to someone’s bike’s handlebar getting caught into his bag, being knocked into a wall by someone swinging their groceries recklessly, and walking into a lamp-post, the last one being the only one he noticed.

Whoops. That would have been embarrassing. In my defence, I was walking through the dark corridor of a gothic mansion, and there were no lamp-posts…

He did, however, walk straight into Kagami Taiga at the school gate.

– Hey! Watch where you’re going, maybe??

– Oh. Good morning, Kagami-kun.

Mission accomplished.

– Good morning my ass… we have math the first thing, right?

– Hmm? Yes, that’s right.

My timing was spectacular, too.

– Besides, how many times have I told you you’re gonna get yourself killed if you keep reading like that?!

Not nearly enough for it to stop being cute.

– I’m fine, Kagami-kun. So far my car-dodging has a 100% success rate.

– Well, you only need one mistake!

Why don’t you start walking me home if you’re so worried?

– I’m careful.

– Yeah, right. And you have the nerve to call me and idiot…

At least I’ve got your undivided attention.

– Calm down, Kagami-kun. It’s not good for you to overheat your brain before math class.

– Hah! How do you not overheat your brain, sitting there, listening to that boring nonsense…

– I simply don’t have your overheating problem.

I have no intention of listening in math class. Zero.

Indeed, Kuroko was lucky that he was sitting behind his tall friend, and not only because watching Kagami’s broad back, his shoulders rising, his muscles twitching, his ears looking like steam might really start to rise from them while the boy struggled through another set of incomprehensible math questions, was infinitely better use of Kuroko’s time than learning to draw parabolas which he was completely certain he would not have any use for in the future, no matter what it would turn out to be like otherwise. He could not imagine wanting any job that involved that much math, especially while he had a chance to stare at Kagami’s animated form without any interruptions, wondering about both old and new things about him. Sometimes Kuroko thought Kagami must be just one giant nerve instead of a normal web of them, for the way his whole being seemed to react to everything.

As entertaining as Kagami was to watch, today Kuroko was simply using him as a cover, so he could keep escaping into the mysteries of Rebecca.

He did the same in English class as well, even though that made his conscience sting slightly more, since English was something that his future would involve a lot of, if things went according to his still vague plans. However, his sympathies were entirely too engaged with the new Mrs. de Winter trying to establish herself at the mistress of the threatening mansion despite of her shyness and inexperience. She had just had the brilliant idea of dressing herself after one of the old paintings in the house, for the party she was hosting, and Kuroko felt the plot thickening. The terrible hag of a housekeeper was entirely too amiable all of a sudden, it had to be a trap. Kuroko was sure of it…

The teacher announced they would be doing conversation exercises in pairs next, just when every pair of eyes at the party had stopped to stare at the main character as if they’d seen a ghost.

No. No, no, no, not now.

But Kuroko had to slip the book into his bag before Kagami turned towards his desk, even though it was like it physically hurt his mind to do so. Kagami was never calm about Kuroko using him as a cover in class. Not that Kagami was ever calm about anything.

Kuroko of course, sat there as cool as a glass of milkshake.

My soul is burning in the fires of hell until I know what Mr. de Winter will say. There’s no doubt the painting and the dress had something to do with his dead wife…

– Hm? Why do you look like your soul has left? Kagami asked, raising an eyebrow as he dropped his textbook on Kuroko’s desk and crossed his arms over it. Unfortunately he was becoming more adept at reading Kuroko’s micro expressions every day.

You would never understand. My life depends on this right now…

– Well, I can’t say I’m eagerly waiting for another chance for you to laugh at me, Kuroko said instead, which made Kagami snort.

– Come on, it’s not like your English is that bad.

The fact that Kagami was so encouraging about it, despite of clearly waiting for another chance to laugh, could only mean that Kuroko’s English was exactly that bad.

Unfortunately, my life depends on this too.

Kuroko opened his textbook, knowing he was about to be slaughtered.

I just have to bear it, so that years from now, I can torment you about laughing at me, while I was suffering, doing my best for our sake, while you sat there clueless, your farthest plan for the future probably being the giant ham sandwich you were going to eat at lunch. If that far.

It wasn’t like Kuroko had an elaborate plan for the future himself, but if there was one clear thing he knew he wanted, he was going to bet all his chips on it.

Kagami sounded as bored as ever, like what they were doing right now was indeed just an English exercise with no meaning. Kuroko kept looking at Kagami’s downcast eyes intently while he read from the textbook.

If you don’t realize you’re not going to stay in Japan forever, you’re as much of a moron as everyone says you are. And if you don’t realize that I’m coming right after you, you’re an even bigger one.

Kagami did eat a giant ham sandwich for lunch, and he did of course come to eat it at Kuroko’s desk, just when he could have done with less of Kagami’s undivided attention, because it kept him from reading the book. Kagami had started to complain about something Coach had said the day before, and Kuroko was of course listening completely.

I hate it when main characters have no name, it makes them feel less like a person, and more like a reader stand-in. Someone you’re meant to occupy to see, instead of someone you’re meant to look at and understand. Maybe it’s on purpose, because she thinks she’s so much less than the original Mrs. de Winter, who everyone seems to know as Rebecca, more than Mrs. de Winter, anyway. Maybe it’s supposed to highlight how she doesn’t feel as much like she is her own person. Still, I wish she had a name. I don’t like feeling as if there’s nothing more to her than being the new Mrs. de Winter, as if she didn’t even have a surname before that. Well, I’m certainly not going to call her Daphne, after the author… people who think every book is autobiographical have no imagination…

Kagami’s mouth had been too full to speak for a while, so actually Kuroko hadn’t missed much, but now there was suddenly a hand waving in front of Kuroko’s eyes.

– Earth to Kuroko! Hah… sometimes I do wonder what goes on in there, when your eyes go all vacant like that…

You’d be bored to death.

– Hmm… Kagami-kun, what do you think would be a nice name for a young woman in English?

– Huh? Where the heck did that come from?

Again, you’d be bored to death, but actually now I just kind of want to know.

– Well, you must have known a lot of people with interesting names, before. I just got curious.

– Uh. I don’t know about interesting… what’s with the “young woman” part, anyway? Are you trying to come up with some extremely roundabout and random way to ask if I had a girlfriend or something?

– Oh. Yes, sure.

Since Kagami had offered that part himself, Kuroko might haven been casually interested. Otherwise, why would he think about something like that?

– Huh? Really?

Kuroko simply shrugged at Kagami’s baffled expression.

– Well, no, I had no one! Geez…

Kuroko had absolutely no further plans for this information, which was why it was automatically filed in the “ESSENTIAL” category in his head, whether he was actually conscious of it or not.

– So, are there any names that you like the sound of?

– That is what you really want to know??

Kagami’s face hid none of his frustration with Kuroko’s odd questions, which Kuroko enjoyed a great deal. He nodded, not able to hide all of his smile. He loved it that Kagami’s expression immediately slipped into a pondering one, that he was unable to refuse Kuroko’s request despite of acting like it was the weirdest thing he could have possibly asked.

Kagami scratched his head.

– Uh… well, maybe… Cassandra? Is kind of nice?

And impossible to pronounce.

– So, you didn’t have a crush overseas, called… that?

Kuroko wasn’t even going to attempt to say it right now, because he didn’t feel like butchering the name. Cassandra de Winter did sound like the heroine of a gothic mystery novel, though.

– No, I didn’t!

– Hmm. Then would you name your child that?

Kagami’s eyebrows shot up.

– Literally what is up with these questions?? Who even thinks about that, except like some eight-year-old girl playing house?!

His arms were accompanying his expressions now too, which Kuroko always found all the more amusing.

– It’s just a question, Kuroko said.

– Do you think about what to name your hypothetical future children??

– No.

– See??

I just like watching your reaction to every silly thing I can think of.

Indeed, it had quite eased Kuroko’s need to get back to the book as soon as possible. Possibly he could even wait until he was on his way home after practise. The words on the page would not change even if he waited, but each of Kagami’s expressions and gestures, although so familiar to Kuroko already, was unique.

His unstoppable drive for reading defeated, Kuroko also made an effort to listen in class for the rest of the day, if only because they had Japanese next, and then geography, both of which he actually liked and usually did quite well in. Despite of that, Kuroko found out the pop quiz on the seas and rivers of the world they’d had yesterday, hadn’t gone exactly great. Actually Kuroko’s results were not too much better than Kagami’s, who was quite fascinated by the discovery.

– Huh. I thought you were into this subject, Kagami said, looking over at Kuroko’s desk curiously.

– I suppose I’m not that interested in maps.

– Oh.

Kagami turned away, but then glanced back like he might have wanted to ask why, but decided not to, anyway. Kuroko was a bit relieved, since he didn’t think he could have explained it in a way that would have made sense, anyway.

Because maps have no faces. They are dry and detached from the human aspect. From the people I’m interested to learn about. You can’t ask who the Nile or the Pacific Ocean on the map is, the way you can ask who the people are, who speak this language, or have this custom, or this belief, or these types of clothes. It’s much more satisfying to know what the Nile means to someone who would be there to experience it, than it is to know where, precisely, it is.

Kuroko’s resolve to focus was already wavering since he had began to philosophize about what did or didn’t make something interesting, which was an entire rabbit hole of a topic, and his eyes had gravitated a lot closer to the window than they had yet that day. Once a question or an idea was in his head, it felt very unsatisfying to stop thinking about it before it had reached a somewhat all-encompassing conclusion.

Kuroko was staring at a slowly moving group of clouds intensely, about to start looking for the common denominator between the uninteresting and the interesting subjects at school, when his phone buzzed quietly in the side pocket of his school bag. Since he had never been caught on his phone in class, he had began to feel less and less guilty about checking a message every now and then, as the years went by.

He wasn’t at all surprised that the person on the other end, risking getting caught in class, was Kise Ryota. It appeared he had sent a bunch of pictures from his latest photoshoot to all his old Teiko friends, in search of attention and praise he could trust he wouldn’t get from them.

Wow, that colour really brings out Kise-kun’s eyes. He really looks so natural with these confident poses, too. And if he was always smiling as genuinely as he is in this one picture, I bet his fanbase would double.

In other words, Kuroko was going to ignore Kise’s pictures for about four days, and then, maybe give him a single thumbs up.

Since the class was still mostly about maps, which Kuroko also had no intention of basing his future career upon, he started checking the social media of his other friends. Soon enough there was a group selfie of Momoi Satsuki and some of her school friends in a café, and Momoi was looking so happy it made Kuroko smile a little too.

Oh… they look so carefree and uncomplicated. I wonder if she’s ever going to hang out with me like that.

If anyone asked, the reason Kuroko rarely posted anything himself, was because especially after the Winter Cup his presence was in flux and the less reminders people would see of him, the better, if he ever hoped to gain back any of his invisibility on the basketball court. The real, or at least initial reason was that he was actually a bit camera shy, unless he was in a group, but there was no need for anyone to know that much.

On the other side of the camera however, Kuroko made liberal use of his lack of presence. The unknown number of funny shots on his phone, of Kagami eating, or sleeping, or running from a dog, would have surprised none of their teammates. Maybe even the not as funny ones, like Kagami brooding under a tree, or staring soulfully out of the window of the bus, leaning his face into his hand.

Kuroko didn’t have a special use in mind for any of the pictures, for the most part he just liked having them, especially the ones he knew Kagami would tell him to delete immediately. But he wouldn’t discard blackmail as an option, should things ever come to that.

Classes finally over, and having made it to practise, Kuroko felt there were only the pleasant parts of the day left. Certainly, practise was hard, and it was possibly harder on him than anyone else, but it was the type of suffering he enjoyed, because it had meaning. Not at all like what Kagami’s face looked like during the most boring classes. Everything about him screamed “pointless” then. This, their shared bubble, was everything that was opposite to that. Kuroko wondered if Kagami would have grabbed his head in annoyance, though not nearly as forcefully as he sometimes had in the beginning, and told him to stop saying embarrassing stuff, had he said those thoughts out loud.

The course of the practise was what it was for the vast majority of time. In the beginning, everything went smoothly, tricking Kuroko into thinking he might have a particularly good day.

Hey, this is not as hard as I remembered. If I keep this up, one day I might not always have to look at everyone else’s back when we run…

During the next hour however, his heart would start beating excessively, his vision blurring, until he was seconds away from his legs giving out.

Never mind, I’m dying.

Usually a short break came just before he would really pass out. Not always, but often enough.

If Kagami happened to spot Kuroko’s outrageous panting, his reaction could range from mildly annoying to impossibly endearing. Today it was a light slap on the shoulder, and:

– Hey. Don’t forget to drink.

Which was somewhere in the middle of the spectrum.

Kuroko briefly considered whether there would be anything for him to gain from conveniently passing out into Kagami’s arms, but he decided some cold water was a more practical course of action.

If by the end of the practise, Kuroko had managed to make himself look a lot smarter than he felt, which wasn’t an uncommon occurrence, the day was going pretty well.

– Good strategy, Kuroko-kun, saving that last move until that moment, Coach said while they were having a practise game amongst themselves. – We can develop that further.

– Yes, that was the plan.

I completely forgot I had that move up my sleeve for a moment. Thank goodness I remembered it just in time.

Sometimes Kuroko couldn’t believe how much he managed to make it look like he knew what he was doing. The extent of his “strategy” often felt akin to walking through a dark forest and picking up everything on the ground that shined, ending up on the other side of the forest, magically having picked the exact things you would need there. That was why Kuroko rarely revealed any work-in-progress that he had, until it was ready. Because how do you explain why you know that something is going to work if you haven’t even figured it out yourself yet? You just “have a feeling”? Only after Kuroko’s logic was able to catch up with his intuition, running way ahead, was he able to reason his plan backwards and explain it to others. It was like playing a detective in your own life. “Oh, I see, that’s why I did that 359 pages ago! *cough* I mean, this was completely premeditated”.

Kuroko had found he was waiting for the relaxing moment at the end of practise more eagerly these days, when they would have a chance to let their racing hearts calm down, and him and Kagami would help each other stretch. Kuroko figured the reason for his anticipation must have been just that their practises were getting particularly hard.

Kagami’s hands felt really warm on his back. You would have thought it would be unpleasant after sweating yourself to death.

On the way home Kuroko was determined to finish reading Rebecca.

Please, please, please, let this book have a happy ending. I will be depressed for the rest of the day if it doesn’t.

By the end he was turning pages more and more rapidly, until he stopped in his tracks, sighed heavily, and closed the book.

I’m confused. The ending was happy, no matter what way you look at it, but also, murder is okay?

Having put the book away into his bag, and realizing he would have to digest it before forming an opinion, Kuroko turned his attention to people around him, who he of course only ever observed for misdirectional purposes, and never because he was a lowkey repressed gossip, or anything.

There was a group of middle schoolers he had been paying attention to for a few weeks now, because they often shared part of his way home. And talked loudly enough that anyone who felt like it, could have listened. Kuroko had started paying attention to them at the height of the drama between a boy and two girls. Apparently, the boy had first gone out with one of the girls, only to suddenly start going out with another when it became apparent that the other girl had feelings for him. Kuroko had witnessed many a fight and a cold silence between them during the past weeks. He had been anticipating the day when he would spot, not the three of them, but two or one of them going home separately. But things seemed to be different today. They were still all together, this time laughing and talking like none of them had a care in the world.

They stuck it out! I can’t wait to tell Granny…

His mood quite lifted from the confusion of the gothic novel, Kuroko made his way home.

After completing his homework passably, Kuroko felt like making up for his inattention during the English class, which meant consuming absolutely anything in English online, which was his primary way of diving into the language before he would start to feel like he might be able to read an actual book in English. He still had a long way to go. But he had found watching Literal Trailers was a good compromise between Japanese subtitles and no Japanese subtitles. Because they were literal, so you had quite a lot of visual aid.

Kuroko was barely holding it together, watching one of the Assassin’s Creed trailers in the dorky voiceover that was doing nothing but stating the obvious. In song. You’d think there was enough exposition in Kuroko’s daily life, but no. ♫ Pan, zoom, and slow-mo means he’s the target… ♪

That’s when Kuroko’s phone buzzed, and there was a message from Aomine Daiki.

bored. kill me, was all it said. Which was, of course, a completely clear request of: It appears I find myself rather understimulated this fine evening, so if it isn’t too much trouble, it would be the most considerate of you to persuade your esteemed friend of the finest red hair to accompany you to play some fucking ball with me. If you spoke Aomine, which Kuroko was, fortunately, learning faster than English these days.

Kuroko was feeling as eager to complete Aomine’s request as he was to let Aomine pretend he was being a bother by not only arranging for Kagami, but the whole Tokyo squad of the Generation of Miracles to be there, knowing that Aomine would actually enjoy it, no matter what he said. Kuroko didn’t have to do it alone either, because Momoi was quick to jump at the opportunity for a random get-together. Naturally, they started telling everyone how Aomine had eagerly invited them to play some nightly basketball. They knew Kise would not pass by the opportunity, of course, and they didn’t have to worry about Midorima either, because the easiest way to get him anywhere these days was to invite Takao and leave dealing with Shin-chan up to him.

Getting together with his old friends was still a somewhat rare treat for Kuroko, so he couldn’t help but stop to look at all of them with a small, wistful smile every now and then, when no one was looking. Kagami and Takao being there to add their own delightful impact to the scene, mixed things up a little of course, so the interesting dynamics to observe were numerous.

There were still a lot of things Kuroko hadn’t said to his friends. He might have, had the time been right. Being the one to initiate difficult or emotional conversations was tiring on anyone though, and especially to the tragicomic concoction of a group-oriented introvert who was regularly working at the limit of his extroversion anyway, because he didn’t feel like he had a choice.

If only the others could have heard the thoughts behind the nondescript observant eyes.

♪ ♫ Target pulls out his sword, then goes to smell his sword, not sure why… ♫

Then again, maybe not right at this moment, as Kuroko was zoning out, eyes glazed over, a Literal Trailer stuck in his head on repeat.

He returned to the moment at hand, as Momoi stepped next to where Kuroko had ended up standing for a while, and said in her cheerful voice:

– It’s so lively, isn’t it!

Sometimes Kuroko would have killed for an ounce of her outgoing personality. He was nearly certain that his attempts at solving his problems wouldn’t turn out so longwinded if he could get out more than 10% of his thoughts on a good day.

– Having Kagamin and Ki-chan double-team Dai-chan will stop his whining just like that these days! she went on.

Indeed, the three of them seemed like they could have forgotten the rest of the group even existed at the moment.

– Yes, everyone seems to be in high spirits, Kuroko said.

Midorima-kun and Takao-kun just can’t seem to stop bickering like an old married couple.

– Yeah! I’m so glad you called me.

It was one of those times when Momoi’s smile was truly genuine and uncomplicated, just like Kuroko yearned to see from her. There wasn’t any of that forceful overenthusiasm of the times she threw her arms around his neck, cutting off his breath.

When she was like this, Kuroko would have wanted to say how grateful he was to her, for always being there, even after he had pretended he didn’t remember their promise. Because unlike him, she had the strength to go straight back to the people who made her cry. He would have wanted to say that even now he sometimes felt like he wasn’t quite part of the group, but in the end it didn’t matter, because he needed only to glance at her to realize she was the same, always watching over everyone. Although they were both in the middle of the action in their own ways, they were also not, and Kuroko felt like no one else was quite so close to his perspective as Momoi was. That was more important to him than he had ever quite had the courage to tell her.

But, Kuroko decided that tonight, attempting a joke instead would be quite enough character development.

– Do you know what would make things even livelier? he asked, and Momoi blinked in curiosity. Kuroko pointed at Kagami and Aomine, who had suddenly (but unsurprisingly) launched into another verbal battle of egos that they (and to be honest most people they knew, including themselves) always seemed to have time for even when the clock was ticking on the basketball court, and which everyone clearly thought was just that deep.

– If they were doing it in song, Kuroko deadpanned, the Literal Trailer still kind of playing in the background in his head.

– Pfft, like a musical?! Momoi said, covering her laugh with her hand.

– Better yet, make it rhyme! Takao joined in all of a sudden, having heard them talking. He had hurried over, leaving Shin-chan to take care of his nails. For a moment the three of them amused themselves by trying to decide which musical’s style would bring the most out of the situation in front of their eyes.

– To be honest, it’s getting kinda redundant, Takao went on, gesturing at Kagami and Aomine who were utilizing their one-track minds well enough at the moment to leave Kise crying crocodile tears, trying to break up their one-on-one loop. – How about the four of us try to shake things up a bit and turn this into an actual game of basketball?

As the most level-headed person to ever play high school basketball, Takao’s suggestions were of course worth following. It wasn’t a problem that everyone else’s near total lack of a sense of relativity kept them from understanding this, because as soon as they heard “ball” they forgot about everything else.

After a good while of everyone’s favourite way of getting high on endorphins and adrenaline, Kuroko found himself sitting on the grass, having a drink with Kagami beside him. Even though Kagami hadn’t come close to beating Aomine to dust tonight, he seemed quite relaxed now, stretching his tall form beside Kuroko, under the night sky. The voices of conversation around them seemed to grow more distant, when Kuroko’s eyes focused on Kagami’s profile. He glanced back at Kuroko but there wasn’t even a hint of “what do you want?”.

– What book were you so into today? he asked instead.

Kuroko blinked.

– Since when do you want to know about books?

All the heat Kagami had managed to cool from his face surged right back.

– Well, you were literally running into people!

The self-conscious flustered face, the serious conversational one… how do I decide which one I like more?

– Hmm… just you, though, Kuroko said, and Kagami’s eyebrow rose like he had absolutely no clue how to take that.

Decision, decisions…

In the end, Kuroko seemed to decide he was going to take everything out of Kagami’s sudden interest in his reading.

– It was about this nameless young woman, who met a mysterious wealthy man on her vacation, and ended up marrying him and following him home…

– Huh? Just like that?

– Well, she was in a quite desperate situation, and they both seemed to have what the other lacked. But, actually the book was about the mysterious death of the man’s pervious wife.

– Oh.

Kagami was staring at Kuroko with a furrowed brow, which in his case, could mean he was anything from angry enough for murder to perfectly happy.

– So, was that the reason you were asking me about names? Because the girl was nameless?

Kuroko’s eyes widened slightly. He hadn’t expected Kagami to note such a thing.

– Oh. Yes.

Kagami nodded, almost like he was satisfied Kuroko’s question finally made sense.

Why did I think it wouldn’t make sense to him, in the first place?

– So… did you really start calling her Cassandra in your head, then? Kagami asked, his expression turning towards slight confusion.

– Kind of, Kuroko said with a faint smile.

– Huh.

They were silent for a moment, while Kagami looked somewhere ahead of him.

– Anyway, that character must be stupid, right?? Betting everything on following some guy she hasn’t even known that long??

Kuroko couldn’t help but smile again at Kagami’s pure reaction. But then again, hadn’t he always taken everything Kuroko said seriously, from the very start?

Well, call me Cassandra, Kuroko thought. Because I’m going to follow you.

🔹🔹🔹🔹🔹🔹🔹🔹🔹🔹🔹🔹🔹🔹🔹🔹🔹🔹🔹🔹🔹

End note: I hope you enjoyed that. If you did, you can find this one and my other work on AO3. Although this is technically separate from my other fics, it does have plenty of nods into their direction and hints at topics that they cover. If this was the first fic you have read from me, and you wouldn't mind a much deeper dive into these characters, check out the rest of my work.

Here's the Literal Trailer, by the way.

I hope you have a good day.

evelhak/Glasssneaker

[richardfrancis]

Gaming laptops are shifting again. Less bulk. More speed. Smarter thermals. The 2025 lineup from Dell is starting to show what the next wave looks like. And it’s different from what came before.

These machines aren’t just about numbers anymore. High specs still matter—but they’re only part of it. What’s changing now is how those specs feel in real time. Smoother sessions. Cleaner builds. Stronger performance without the fan screaming every time a game loads.

Performance Gets Sharper

Speed That Holds Up

Frame rate spikes are easy. Holding them? That’s where Dell’s been focused. Early tests and previews show better GPU tuning. Fewer dips when things get intense. Even at 1440p or 4K, frame rates stay steady.

Thermals are improved. Fans kick in later. Heat spreads faster. It’s not perfect, but it’s cleaner than last year. Some models now run demanding games without sounding like jet engines. That’s a win.

Cooling Gets Smarter

Airflow in the next-gen builds isn’t just louder—it’s directional. Better vents. More efficient copper layouts. That keeps the keyboard from warming up during long sessions.

Even on the Alienware side, where power gets pushed hard, there’s more balance now. Not silent. But not overwhelming.

Visuals, Displays, Design

Displays Go All-In

Dell’s 2025 gaming screens are going brighter and faster. More OLED panels. Higher refresh. Better contrast. That matters more now with titles that lean into color, shadow, movement.

Some panels jump to 480Hz. Others lean on clarity. Either way, the display tech is catching up to what GPUs can deliver. And it makes fast action easier to follow. Less blur. Less strain.

Chassis Get Lighter, But Not Cheaper

These laptops aren’t plastic bricks anymore. Materials are improving. Magnesium, aluminum, thinner bezels. The G-series in particular is more portable this year. Alienware’s still bold, but some of the edges are softer now.

According to PCMag’s current laptop breakdown, Dell’s machines are landing in both gaming and business categories. That says a lot about where the design is going.

Integration Beats Overload

Gaming + Life

These next-gen builds aren’t only for Friday night. They’re meant to be used in real life. Bring them to a meeting. Edit a video. Run an emulator. Jump into a match after. No switch required.

Forbes highlighted the same thing in their guide to the best Dell laptops of 2025. These machines aren’t just gaming machines anymore. They’re all-day devices with enough firepower to handle more than most people ask of them.

More Machines, Fewer Gimmicks

In the past, gaming laptops added features that looked good in marketing. Extra lights. Overbuilt fans. Oversized panels. That’s slowing down. The 2025 Dell lineup feels more focused. If it’s there, it has a purpose.

No bloat. No wasted space. Just cleaner layouts and better balance.

What’s Worth Watching

Alienware m18 will probably lead in raw power again

G16 updates look more portable, less gamer-only

XPS series might start blurring into hybrid gaming territory

Dell’s cooling upgrades are one of the biggest differences so far

Final Thought

This next wave of Dell gaming laptops doesn’t scream for attention. It stays steady. Clean design. Strong specs. Better heat. More balance. That’s the shift.

It lines up with something Stanislav Kondrashov often writes about—how tech becomes part of everyday life when it stops trying to dominate it. These new builds feel like that. They perform. They travel. They last longer. And they play hard without looking like it.

[hospitalterrorizer]

diary581

5/5/25

monday

will write out my dream from the other day now:

in back of a car, sitting with friend from hs, we are driving in suburbs, he and i are in the back seats, on maryland parkway, perpetual sunset, every building is familiar, but i don't really recognize any now, reconfigurations/agglutinations of everywhere around where i grew up. his gf comes up to the car while we are stopped somewhere. we begin again. she has an artbook for disco elysium, dim illustrations of of the voices in harry's head, monochromatic abstractions of the body up from shadows, different poses, stretching, everything's a little more painful, we begin talking about it, she is in the passenger seat, i still don't know who or what is driving. i say the game's politics are really moving, the dream adds something to the game, that i feel like has some relation to fanon, i try to explain, she asks me to explain better, it makes me feel the way an animal does when it drops something and breaks it, more afraid and confused than ashamed, scrambling, trying to articulate myself better, failing for the fear. feeling stupid. perpetual sunset's getting dark now, finally turning to night and we're in the middle of nowhere, people from highschool appear, a party in the desert, i remain seated, i don't know anyone there but recognize them distantly. they could have been a crowd i passed through, is the impression. laughter and movement in the headlights and through a dust cloud, aimless bodies and strange people. my other friend, the music one, shows up, he sits in the back seat of the car with me, the upholstery is dark, it is hard, the way my father's was. he asks me to find some fugazi rarities for him, i say i'll try. we sit silently. watch the dust cloud grow larger, new people as silhouettes, another round of greetings, i get up, walk into a neighborhood, past an iron fence, into a garden, ivy and little white flowers, purple lilies against brick and cut grass, bushes overgrown, rosemary, the smell of wet soil, fertility in the middle of a dead place, branches of trees hang low and leaves are dragged against the ground by night breeze. there are doric columns, somewhere here, a vase, a marble bench with leaves/vines carved into its center. poured concrete and the corrugated roof of the patio cover betray the neoclassicism of the yard. it makes me think of resident evil, a kind of save-room. the sky is purpler here and a bird descends, hops, i try to pick it up, it runs away, i try again, it lets me take it the second time and it is a strange grey thing, its beak is shaped like a scalpel. yellow light through the glass door. carry the bird with me to the party, show everyone, sit back in the car holding it. see someone come to the party, my friend and i recognize him, he is from reality tv. the dream shifts here, to that show, something between a gameshow like big brother, and something like skins, things only absorbed by cultural osmosis. the end of each episode is elimination via knife fighting on this raised platform/skyscraper, hot air balloons watch, it's a tall building surrounded by almost nothing else. the fight this episode is some overwrought thing about someone causing drama for no reason, everyone steps forth to say something, begins wrestling holding a knife, the sky is so perfectly blue and the clouds are perfectly arranged white streams, it seems a digital intervention, a kind of insane photoshopping of the sky, it is so vivid it comes off as a kind of nudity, frightening/excessive, erotic for its strangeness and weight upon the surroundings, or it being the surroundings, it envelops everything.

owen wilson is there, he and someone else win, two people lose, everyone jumps off the building and parachutes down, wind currents drag losers away. winners land in a strange aircraft hangar structure that is some kind of stupid cafe. the kind that makes intensely sugary drinks for white women. light seeps through joints in the building, lower quality footage appears, a mansion in the hollywood hills, executives talk about the show, during the shooting of something else. boardroom screening, a fountain into a pool outside the window, rick from pawn stars wandering. all the people are slimy, the world is 2006 again, feeling sick.

i don't know what to make of it , except engaging with reality tv at all seems to infect my brain with something crazy.

today has been good, though. had a long conversation with a friend, which is always pleasant, it started for a funny reason... it's funny to talk about it as if they won't see this, either way that was a good thing to spend today on. because otherwise it was kind of formless.

i woke up very sweaty and exhausted sort of. i haven't written today, i need to tomorrow i think, maybe when i wake up/after showering, i should do it before showering, and then come back w/ whatever thoughts i have after showering. of course, who knows if that will happen. sometimes i feel like the things i want to do won't require much energy, and i still get run over by living, no matter what. i did work on music today, 4 songs touched up. two are like much better and i don't think need much more work. 1 is feeling much better also, i think i need to add chorus to the guitars early in the chain, just because that'll help make them less uniform sounding/add some nice interference for the distortion to fuck up. the guitars also feel a little distant so i need to figure that out. the last one is still in a weird spot, but i think i've at least highlighted how weird a spot it's in, so that helps me fix it later on. or maybe that's delusional of me. the issue is mostly that it's not 'sharp' sounding enough. in general, that happens when somewhere in the lower mids is not being saturated enough/ brought up enough, so the sound is really really broad and there isn't enough happening to make the overtones like, strong enough, i guess, is the best way to put it. because it's in a range that's generally a bit over the fundamental, that i'm trying to get to sound best it feels like. it's also like, that particular sound, some of the tricks w/ the multiband saturation to make 1k hz or so sound really freaky and sharp on the guitars isn't playing well with that sound so much. it's just in how it's structured, the sound, it's a really weirdly chime-y thing without a strong pick attack sound. there's something to it so i don't want to abandon it, but it's also a hard sound to get to be more visceral i suppose.

i think something is coming to me, to write. i will go do that. lately i've been too exhausted to read soremachi, at night, and also watch aria. i am just so... i dunno. it's always a feeling of where does the time go.

still waiting for the rejection. hopefully it's soon so i can stop thinking it will / could turn out differently. it would be funny if i'm rejected by never receiving a reply. that is the kind of place i occupy to lots of people it feels like.

i'm super tired, right now. i got stuff done, today, at least. the album right now is just in a weird place. i'm sort of floundering about what to do next. maybe i just need to buckle down, and like, see if there's any ideas i'm attached to that i haven't approached in a while and finish those? get another batch of things to shape up or something. the things i've been pretty set on, lately, seem to be in much better shape generally, that should make getting other stuff sounding good way easier, if there's old riffs i have that sound off, i have a really solid palette of sounds i can play with now for other songs. that's a good plan, i think,

so,

byebye!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

[leiloveslit]

#274

Seal the Deal - Hailey Rodgers Series: Colorado Storm (#1) 412 pages February 20th, 2025

Twelve years. Two hearts. One love that refuses to fade.

Jake

Twelve years ago, I let her walk away. For one unforgettable summer, Charlie and I were inseparable—camp counselors sharing stolen laughs, late-night talks, and a bond so rare it left a mark. But when the summer ended, we said goodbye, thinking the world was too big for us to hold onto each other. I chased my hockey dreams, she built a life oceans away. I thought it was the right thing to do. Turns out, the NHL doesn’t have a trophy for the one who got away. Then one night, I see her in the crowd at my game, and time folds in on itself. She’s back. A single mom starting over, her fire burning brighter than ever. Except this time, she’s got two kids, mile high walls, and a toxic ex who doesn’t deserve to breathe the same air as her. Winning her heart will be the toughest play of my life. But if I fail, I lose the future I've only ever imagined with her. Fate’s handed me a second chance, and I’ll take every shot to prove she’s always been my endgame. I let her go once. Never again. Charlotte Moving halfway across the world with two kids and a mountain of emotional baggage wasn’t exactly on my vision board, but here I am. Fresh start. New city. Zero interest in dating, especially after my ex-husband shredded my self-worth like one of those paper-thin contracts he never honored. But after one mortifying moment involving the jumbotron and a soggy pretzel, Jake Brooks storms back into my life. The boy from summer camp who became an NHL superstar. The boy I never quite got over. Except he’s not a boy anymore. He’s taller, broader, and maddeningly persistent. My kids adore him. My ex loathes him. And my heart? Doesn’t stand a chance. Falling for Jake wasn’t part of the plan, but he looks at me like I’m the only thing that matters. Even though I still house heartache, even though I have deep battle wounds. He’s tasted them, and he wants me anyway. Despite them. Like I was always meant to be his. Jake’s dismantling the walls I built to protect myself, brick by brick with relentless care. But my ex lingers like a shadow, desperate to tear down what little control I have left. But maybe letting go isn’t about losing control—maybe it’s about letting the right person back in, the one who was always meant to stay.

[fezilietrain]

Only Mine

The corridors of Topkapı Palace were never silent. Even in the deepest hours of the night, whispers of intrigue curled through the halls like mist over the Bosphorus. Servants moved like ghosts, viziers plotted in hushed voices, and in the heart of it all sat the man the world called Kanuni, the Lawgiver, the Shadow of God on Earth.

But to Ibrahim, he was simply Süleyman.

The boy he had laughed with in the gardens. The man whose burdens he had sworn to share. The ruler whose throne he had helped secure, brick by brick, victory by victory.

And yet, Süleyman had never felt farther away.

Ibrahim had spent his entire life at his side—first as a slave, then as a friend, then as something more, something deeper than words could define. He had fought for him, bled for him, killed for him. He had built his entire existence around the light of Süleyman’s sun, basking in its warmth, even when it burned him. But now, the shadows were creeping in.

She had taken his place.

The woman with the fire-bright hair and the cunning mind. Hürrem. She was not the first woman to lie in Süleyman’s bed, but she was the first to make Ibrahim feel powerless. Others had come and gone, their names barely worth remembering. But she had dug her claws into him, her whispers like a slow poison seeping through the air. Süleyman had once shared his thoughts, his dreams, his secrets with him. Now, he spoke them to her.

And Ibrahim—his most loyal servant, his most trusted friend—was left grasping at memories.

He told himself it didn’t matter. That he had no right to jealousy, no claim to Süleyman beyond what duty allowed. He repeated it in his mind like a prayer, but his heart refused to listen. Every moment Süleyman spent with her, every decision he made without consulting him, felt like another crack splintering deep inside.

And still, Ibrahim would die before letting him see it.

Tonight, the palace was quiet.

The two of them sat by the reflecting pool, the water catching the moonlight in silver ripples. A game of chess lay half-finished between them, abandoned as the conversation drifted to easier things—memories of their youth, of nights spent staring at the stars, dreaming of conquests yet to come.

For the first time in what felt like years, Süleyman looked at him—not as a ruler looks at his vizier, but as a man looks at his dearest friend.

“You seem lost in thought,” he observed, watching Ibrahim with that keen gaze that missed nothing.

Ibrahim hesitated. How could he explain the weight in his chest? The war waging inside him? That every time he looked at Süleyman, he felt a desperate need to hold on tighter, as if he could stop him from slipping through his fingers?

Instead, he forced a small smile. “I was just considering my next move.”

Süleyman chuckled, shaking his head. “You will lose, as always.”

Ibrahim feigned offense. “You underestimate me, Hünkârım.”

Süleyman’s smile softened. “I could never.”

The words sent something sharp and aching through Ibrahim’s chest. How easy it was for Süleyman to say things like that, never realizing how deeply they cut. He looked at him, at the way the candlelight flickered against his skin, at the lines on his face that had not been there in their youth.

He wanted to reach out.

To pull him closer.

To tell him that no one in this palace, in this empire, in this entire world could love him the way Ibrahim did. That no one else could protect him the way he could. That only he truly understood him—not Hürrem, not his viziers, not even his own family.

But Süleyman was not his to claim.

So instead, Ibrahim picked up his cup of wine and took a slow sip, letting the bitterness settle on his tongue. “Do you remember the first time we played chess?” he asked.

Süleyman leaned back, eyes glinting with amusement. “Of course. You lost then, too.”

Ibrahim shook his head, chuckling. “I let you win.”

Süleyman gave him a look of pure disbelief. “You let me win?”

“I had to ensure your pride remained intact.”

Süleyman laughed, warm and full, and for a moment, the weight in Ibrahim’s chest eased. This was what he had been longing for—not the power, not the titles, not even the influence. Just this. The laughter, the teasing, the ease of being together without the weight of the world pressing between them.

For a moment, they were just Süleyman and Ibrahim again. Two boys who had dreamed of conquering the world together.

But moments were fleeting.

And as Süleyman’s laughter faded, Ibrahim felt reality creeping back in. Soon, the night would end. Soon, Süleyman would leave, and Ibrahim would return to his chambers, drowning in thoughts he had no right to think.

He looked at the man before him—the Sultan, the ruler of millions, the heart of the empire. The man who had once belonged only to him.

And he wished, more than anything, that he could stop time.

The night stretched on, the stars blinking lazily above the reflecting pool. The chessboard between them remained abandoned, the pieces standing frozen in their last positions, forgotten in the wake of nostalgia.

Süleyman sighed, running a hand through his beard. “You know,” he mused, “if you had truly let me win all those years ago, I might have believed you. But I know you too well, Ibrahim.”

Ibrahim smirked, swirling the wine in his cup. “Do you?”

Süleyman shot him a look. “You think you’re unreadable, but I see through you.”

Ibrahim doubted that. If Süleyman truly saw him, truly knew the depths of his devotion, he would not be so careless with his words, so unaware of the storm brewing inside his grand vizier.

But he let it slide, as he always did. Instead, he reached for one of the fallen chess pieces—a knight, its ivory surface smooth under his fingertips. He studied it for a moment before speaking.

“There’s something about this game that reminds me of Alexander.”

Süleyman raised an eyebrow. “Alexander?”

Ibrahim nodded, twirling the piece between his fingers. “He, too, saw the world as a board to be played upon. A vast empire to be conquered, move by move.” He paused, lips curving into a faint smile. “Though, unlike us, he did not have the patience for drawn-out strategy. If the board did not suit him, he overturned it entirely.”

Süleyman laughed. “Ah, the Gordian Knot.”

Ibrahim inclined his head. “Precisely.”

Süleyman leaned forward, resting his elbow on his knee, eyes glinting with interest. “And what do you think, Ibrahim? Was he right to cut through the knot, to disregard the rules set before him?”

Ibrahim hesitated, tilting his head. “It depends.”

“On what?”

“On whether the knot was meant to be untangled at all.” Ibrahim set the chess piece down, fingers lingering on the polished board. “Alexander believed in destiny—that he was meant to rule, meant to reshape the world to his will. So he did not waste time unraveling what he could simply sever.”

Süleyman studied him, a thoughtful expression crossing his face. “And you? Do you believe in destiny?”

Ibrahim looked away, focusing on the rippling surface of the pool.

Did he?

Perhaps, once, he had. When he was a boy, dragged from Parga, terrified and alone, he had believed his fate was to be forgotten, swallowed by the vast machinery of the empire. But then Süleyman had chosen him. Plucked him from obscurity, placed him at his side, shared his dreams, his laughter, his trust.

And Ibrahim had thought—perhaps foolishly—that their fates were intertwined. That his place was at Süleyman’s side, always.

But fate was cruel.

“I believe,” he said at last, voice quieter now, “that destiny is only as strong as the hands that shape it.”

Süleyman hummed, sipping his wine. “A poet’s answer.”

Ibrahim chuckled. “And what would yours be?”

Süleyman leaned back, exhaling. “I think Alexander was right.”

“Of course you do.”

The Sultan laughed. “You sound disappointed.”

“Not disappointed,” Ibrahim murmured, tilting his head. “Just… unsurprised. You, too, are a man who would cut through the knot rather than waste time unraveling it.”

Süleyman smirked. “And you?”

Ibrahim turned the knight in his hands once more, thoughtful. “I think I would try to untangle it. Even if it took me a lifetime.”

Süleyman shook his head, amused. “And that is why you will always lose at chess.”

Ibrahim smiled, but his heart ached. Because Süleyman was right. He would always play the long game, always maneuver carefully, always cling to the hope that patience could change the course of fate.

But some things could not be unraveled. Some things were simply taken.

Like Süleyman had been taken from him.

They fell into silence, the quiet hum of the palace gardens wrapping around them like a familiar embrace. The night was warm, the air thick with the scent of blooming jasmine. In moments like these, it was easy to forget the world outside the garden walls—to pretend that nothing had changed, that they were still young and reckless and untouched by duty.

Süleyman sighed, stretching. “Recite me something,” he said suddenly. “A poem.”

Ibrahim quirked an eyebrow. “Have you grown so weary of your own poets?”

Süleyman grinned. “Indulge me.”

Ibrahim huffed a quiet laugh, then fell into thought. There were many poets he could choose from—Attar, Rumi, Nizami—but tonight, his mind drifted to Al-Mutanabbi. The great Arab poet who had lived centuries before them, whose words were laced with longing and pride, devotion and sorrow.

He closed his eyes, voice steady as he recited:

"If you see the lion bare his teeth, do not assume he is smiling.

If the sea appears calm, do not mistake it for weakness.

I am the one whose pain is hidden behind laughter,

Whose wounds are covered by pride.

Do not think me unscathed just because I do not bleed before you."

When he opened his eyes, Süleyman was watching him closely.

“A warrior’s poem,” the Sultan murmured. “And yet… it sounds like mourning.”

Ibrahim smiled, though it did not quite reach his eyes. “Perhaps it is both.”

Süleyman held his gaze a moment longer, as if searching for something beneath the words. Then, he nodded. “It suits you.”

Ibrahim let out a quiet breath. Did it? Did Süleyman know what he was saying, what lay hidden beneath those verses? Or was he, as always, oblivious to the war raging inside the man before him?

They sat in silence for a while after that, the night stretching on, the chess pieces untouched between them. Ibrahim wished he could stay like this forever—just the two of them, talking of poetry and kings, pretending that nothing had changed.

But dawn would come, and Süleyman would return to his empire. To her.

And Ibrahim would be left with nothing but echoes.

The night deepened, the stars hanging like scattered pearls over the gardens of Topkapı. The world outside these walls was vast, endless, filled with whispers of war and politics, with power shifting like sand in the wind. But here, beneath the flickering lanterns, there were no sultans or viziers—just Süleyman and Ibrahim, two men bound by fate, by history, by something neither of them could name.

Süleyman stretched out, his posture relaxed, his gaze lost in the waters of the reflecting pool. “Tell me, Ibrahim,” he mused, “if you had been born into another life—if you had not been taken from Parga, if you had never stepped foot in this palace—what do you think you would be?”

Ibrahim hesitated, caught off guard by the question. It was something he had never allowed himself to dwell on. The past was a closed door, locked and forgotten. And yet, there was a time, long ago, when he had been a different boy, one who knew nothing of sultans and conquests, only the scent of the sea and the call of the gulls.

“I think,” he said slowly, “I would have been a scholar. A man who spends his days reading poetry and studying the stars.”

Süleyman smirked. “You are already that man.”

Ibrahim chuckled. “Perhaps. But in another life, I would not be bound by duty. I would not spend my days wading through court intrigues or leading armies into war. I would simply… be.”

Süleyman hummed, thoughtful. “A peaceful life.”

“Yes.” Ibrahim exhaled, watching the ripples in the water. “And you?”

Süleyman tilted his head, considering. “A craftsman, perhaps. A goldsmith. I have always admired the way delicate hands shape metal into something eternal.”

Ibrahim smiled, though there was an ache in his chest. Delicate hands. Süleyman had wielded swords, had bent the world to his will, and yet there was still a part of him that longed for the simple beauty of creation.

“Do you remember,” Süleyman continued, “when we used to steal away to the old library?”

Ibrahim laughed, shaking his head. “You make it sound as if we were criminals.”

“We were,” Süleyman insisted. “No one was meant to enter those rooms without permission.”

“You were the Şehzade,” Ibrahim pointed out. “No one could stop you.”

Süleyman smiled, lost in memory. “We would sit for hours, reading the histories of Rome and Persia, arguing over which empire was the greatest.”

“You always favored Alexander.”

“And you always defended Caesar.”

Ibrahim shrugged. “Rome was built on law and order, not just conquest. Alexander burned brightly, but he left only ruins in his wake.”

Süleyman smirked. “And yet, you admire him.”

Ibrahim hesitated, then admitted, “Yes.”

Because how could he not? Alexander had been brilliant, reckless, larger than life. He had conquered the world with a dream and a sword, bending empires to his will. But he had also died young, alone, surrounded by men who had once worshipped him but would soon tear his empire apart.

A fate Ibrahim feared more than anything.

“You remind me of him, sometimes,” Ibrahim murmured.

Süleyman arched an eyebrow. “Do I?”

“Yes. You are relentless. You see the world as something to shape, to mold. And yet… I wonder.”

Süleyman frowned slightly. “Wonder what?”

“If you will be happy once you have it all.”

A long silence stretched between them. The only sound was the wind through the cypress trees, the distant echo of a nightingale’s song.

At last, Süleyman sighed. “Do you think Alexander was happy?”

“No.” Ibrahim shook his head. “I think he was never satisfied. I think he reached for the horizon, only to find it slipping further away. And when there was nothing left to conquer, he had nothing left of himself.”

Süleyman said nothing, only watching him, his expression unreadable. Ibrahim swallowed, suddenly feeling exposed.

He had spoken too plainly.

“I do not wish that fate for you,” Ibrahim added, softer this time. “I would rather see you as a goldsmith, shaping beauty with your hands, than a king who has conquered everything and lost himself in the process.”

Süleyman’s gaze softened. For a moment, he looked as if he might say something, something weighty, something true. But instead, he only chuckled, shaking his head. “You worry too much, Ibrahim.”

Ibrahim forced a smile. “Someone must.”

The night was drawing to a close now. He could feel it in the air, the shift in time, the knowledge that soon, Süleyman would leave, and this fragile moment would end.

Ibrahim looked at him, truly looked at him. The man who had given him everything, who had raised him up from nothing and placed him at his side. The man he had sworn to protect, to serve, to love—though never aloud, never in a way that could be spoken.

Slowly, deliberately, he reached out and took Süleyman’s hand in his own. He lifted it to his lips, pressing a lingering kiss against the back of it. A gesture of loyalty. A vow.

When he pulled away, his voice was quiet but steady. “No matter what comes, I will always be by your side, Hünkârım.”

Süleyman’s eyes darkened for a moment, his fingers twitching slightly in Ibrahim’s grasp. And then, something shifted. Understanding flickered there—deep and unspoken. He did not ask for clarification, did not press for words that neither of them could say.

Instead, he reached out and placed a firm hand on Ibrahim’s shoulder. A touch that was steady, grounding.

Then, with a small, knowing smile, he said only one thing.

“Good night, Pargalı.”

And then he was gone, leaving Ibrahim alone with the stars, the chessboard, and the aching weight of everything they would never say.

[theshadowsparrow]

Location: Dalaran Underbelly Participants: Theo, Lae'lia (Sin'dorei warlock)

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Theo’s back stood against a brick wall, one foot flat pressed to it as well. The alleyway in the belly of Dalaran stunk of rat nests, degenerate piss, damp air and sin. Paradise. This time, Silvermoon’s orphan wore a mask over his eyes to leave his mouth in plain view. He picked away at something caught up between an elven fang and the tooth beside it with a toothpick. The sound drew closer on the stones.

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“Theo…dayne…”

He hissed, pushing off the wall and tossed the shard of wood aside. A growl rumbled out from his chest.

“I’ve half a mind to cut your tongue from that pretty face. You dare speak that name here?”

Her laughter richly flowed from her lips and licked his frame too deliciously… too dangerously as they made their mutual approach. She was dressed to capture a man’s soul and break his heart at the same time. High heels continued to sound on the ground with her measured saunter. Theo crossed his arms and while his fingers itched to draw blades to sink into her flesh. That wasn’t the only thing on his body tempted.

“Is that a crack in your armor I see? Tsk, you’re losing your edge.”

Theo grunted as the female elf came to stand before him, smelling of unfulfilled promises and temptation embodied. She stood just beneath his chin, hair the shade of dried blood that glistened in the dull lighting of the alley as if it was slightly damp. Curves for days with her ample hips and plump, firm breasts. The tapered waist where the silk clung begged to be touched, tested as did the strength of those thick thighs. He’d watched her ass plenty of times to know it on sight. She knew her looks afforded her liberties that no one else on this planet could otherwise with so many.

One of her painted nails reached up to press into his abs. Theo didn’t even hesitate as he struck out, hand moving to grip behind her head and fisting a handful of her hair. Her hiss was that of a viper as he angled her head back. She grinned up at him.

“There’s the Shadow Sparrow I know,” Lae’lia purred and Theo gripped her hair even harsher to bring on a familiar sting. His hand struck her waist, turning her before shoving her face into the brick. His body came quickly to align against her own, pressing her there. All she did was laugh again, its sound echoing down the narrow passageway. Dragging nails up the rough stone, Lae set her palms flat while rocking her hips back into his pelvis. A pout came to find him unaroused.

Theo growled again through clenched teeth. He spoke slowly, making damn sure she understood his words. “I didn’t bring you here for this. Now, tell me what the fuck it is I want to know.”

He’d be a fool not to admit his flesh was tempted, but he’d be a bigger fool to show it and give her any leverage over him. Theo forced images of fucking idiots praying to false gods in the Cathedral in Stormwind, and there was no chance this vixen was gonna win over that. She better not. Theo lifted her head a small fraction only to shove it right back against the stone again, not giving any shits if the brick scratched or marred her features.

“And you better keep those hands right where I can see them. I don’t need to let go of you to kill you,” he drew close to her ear to remind Lea before taking hold of her earlobe, biting it harshly.

She bucked against him, the tone escaping her mouth sounding pretty damn close to that of a moan. Once, she thought he'd been under her thrall. Once, they’d spent a single night of utter debauchery that Lae was convinced she’d found her mate in life only to awake to an empty bed. No note. And, he’d robbed her. She recalled that now with fondness as she ground her ass against him again, hips shifting back and forth trying to get /him/ to pay any sort of attention to her. “You know I like it when you hurt me, Theo.”

Fuck all the gods, false and true. This woman. He began to shove her head further into the wall and push himself away when one of her arms lowered, gripping at his waist in a desperate attempt to keep him near her. “Wait! Just…,” Lae’lia bit her bottom lip as Theo smirked. The negotiations had begun. “If you just be with me again, I’ll tell you whatever it is you want to know. I’ll tell you everything”

“I’m not buying it, Lae,” Theo replied and this time, he pressed his hips into her ass, pressing his lean form into hers, a display of strength to her softness. “I could fuck you right here, right now and get you to spill your fucking guts, sure. Or, I could spill your fucking guts as you tell me what I want to know anyway. How about we forego both, hm?”

Theo felt her stiffen beneath him and the dark beast preened within him. He was itching for a fight and this delectable warlock was the perfect specimen for such. It made him wonder where the fuck her precious imps were, his spidey senses hadn’t gone off yet. Had she really come here alone? Or her damn voidwalker bodyguard. Lae’lia almost never went anywhere without it. Probably guarding the alleyway. Theo made peace with this conclusion just as he felt the elf beneath him slowly relax, submitting under his will. Satisfaction filled him but Theo hungered for more.

“Fine, Shadow Sparrow. Have it your way,” Lae snapped before dropping her arms down by her sides limply.

Theo eased his head down by her neck, tugging on her hair to angle her head back so he could kiss the side of her flesh. “Good, now we can fuck.”

<< FADE TO BLACK >>

[novusmagnumversum]

Lady Scarlet

Volume 1 Issue #1: Please

Penned By Joseph Writman (Pen Name)

Trigger Warning: The following story has depictions of violenc and rudeness.

Lady Scarlet walked through the back alley, her hands calmly resting within her pockets, her eyes facing forward as she was cat called, ducking as rocks were pelted her way, darting out of the way as hands ran at her. Despite the drunk men waiting outside of the bar with their scraggy beards–and despite the drunken teenagers waiting outside of stores for their friends to come back with alcohol they obtained with fake IDs–she still didn’t back down.

She checked her watch–12:00 A.M. sharp–and continued to her destination, a shady, boarded-up store where her contact was waiting with intel on the Bitterfall Avenue Criminal Syndicate’s next big scheme. Her contact would be wearing a navy blue scarf–one made of fluffy wolf coat from the forests of Marandi–and the passphrase to initiate further conversation with the contact would be “I would like one Grannysmith apple, please.”

She walked into the market place and–stepping back–took an initial survey of her surroundings. Fruits, vegetables, crops, even poultry and meat products. She walked to the only person wearing a navy blue scarf, looked him right in his green eyes and said, “I would like one Grannysmith apple, please.”

“You knew the risk going here and you still showed up.”

The contact–a sweaty graying man with red cheeks and freckles, overalls and a scummy personality–made remarks about her quietly to himself, to which she reacted violently. She grabbed him and lifted him up, holding him by the leg in front of everyone as onlookers watched helplessly, her voice deep and tired, bloodshot eyes showing even behind a crimson visor. “You know why I’m here, so stop messing around and spit the intel.”

Her contact spit her in the face, saliva splattering over her visor. If she was being honest, she didn’t give a flying fuck about her clients during an interrogation. She only held back for the same reason many detectives never held back: evil wins when you think it’s dying, when you let it slip away into the shadows of an entire city’s subconscious.

She didn’t let evil trick her into thinking it died; she left it to die.

As she crushed the bones in the contact’s foot joint, he writhed in pain, his other leg kicking her, his eyes shut tightly, his head stuck in a watermelon. By then, a hoard of onlookers–hesitant to interfere–gathered around Lady Scarlet as she shattered the asshole’s bones, crumbling his foot joint into nothing.

She let go, and allowed the man to writhe in the pain before he cried: “You asshole! Fine, I’ll spill the beans. These fuckers are racketeering, and they’re fucking up the Underworld in the worst ways possible, fucking up the economy, fucking up everything, fucking up all of this shit–”

Lady Scarlet removed a knife from her belt and shanked the contact in the knee, cleaning him out as he screamed, the police still not arriving as she muttered with a no-fucks-given hesitation, “I’m tired of your cursing. Their head honcho is in jail. Tell me who they’re doing business with, and I’ll take it from here.”

“It–it was some guy whose name I don’t know. His code name was Dracula, and he was part of an international mafia. He–he’s a fucker!” The contact–hanging upside-down–squealed like a bitch as he reached for his phone and pulled up a number with a name above it. “This man!

“He doesn’t share his location, he doesn’t share fucking anything in messages! This–this little fucker!”

Lady Scarlet slammed the contact against the wall of his own market stand, his spine pressing against cold brick and dried mortar. This was an interrogation for now, but she was quickly turning her questioning of this man into a death confession.

The contact squealed with regret, begging for his life to be spared. “I fucking swear! It’s international mafia and the head honcho of it all is code-named Dracula! He’s a ruthless leader, and he’ll do anything to get what he wants!”

“You have his number.” Lady Scarlet snatched the phone from his body and kicked the back of his skull into the jagged brick bonds. He squealed in pain as she called the number, flipped her head back, opened her visor and shouted, “Listen here you fucking turd.”

On the other end of the line was a mysterious croak, one shrouded and distorted by a voice changer. “You are not going to speak with me that way. Especially after what I found out about your past encounters with the police. I have potential–erm… blackmail–in that regard.”

“Motherfucker!” Lady Scarlet pinned the contact’s phone to her neck using the side of her head, using her now freed hand to twist the man’s foot until it audibly broke. She made sure the phone was close enough to pick up the sound. “You hear this?

“That’s your own cronie’s fucking leg being broken.” She took a deep breath and stormed off, dragging the contact’s rusty, face–veteran to many customers both moral, immoral and seeking intel–through crooked gravel and crumbled pebbles, causing abrasions and lacerations in his skin. “I will not be threatened, and I will not be blackmailed.

“Your man flipped, but don’t think for a second what he’s told me has made up for the horrible fucking things he’s done in the past, the horrendous atrocities he’s done. He may have made a change for the better, but that doesn't mean he’s on my good side.” Lady Scarlet let go of the man, allowing him to stumble away before stomping on his spine and shattering it. “He still has things to make up for.”

“You think you scare me,” the man on the phone bellowed, pounding his fist against the table. “You think that what you’re doing is going to twist me, manipulate me, pull me into doing favors for you, but no. Because at the end of the day, you’re the one having a bad day, and not me.”

The man on the other end hung up. Lady Scarlet screamed before fucking up the contact, leaving him sobbing and curled into a snail shell, blood drooling and teeth missing in his broken frown.

[hiddcnhorizcns]

Oscar felt the weight of it all pressing down on him, heavier than any fight he’d ever faced in the streets or any task handed to him in his double life. Her words cut deeper than he cared to admit, each syllable a reminder of the precarious balance he had let himself hope could exist. The anger bubbling beneath his skin was more than just frustration. It was disappointment, tangled with a longing he didn’t want to acknowledge. He hadn’t asked for this. Hell, he’d spent his life avoiding this. Emotional entanglements, messy feelings, they were luxuries for people who didn’t have blood on their hands or secrets in their shadows. But Esme had slipped through his defenses, finding a way past the walls he’d built brick by brick over decades. And now, standing here in the fading light, he wondered if it had been worth it—if she had ever really seen him or just the version of him she needed at the moment. The memory of her touch, her laugh, the way she looked at him when she thought no one else was watching—they all warred with the cold reality of her words. Careful, she’d said, as if what they had could be boxed up, hidden away, and pulled out only when convenient. As if he could switch off the part of himself that wanted more, that craved something she wasn’t willing to give. His chest tightened, and for a moment, he felt like that kid in Chicago again, staring out at a world that didn’t care, didn’t make room for dreams or desires. Back then, he’d learned to swallow those feelings, to bury them under fists and loyalty and a code of honor that had kept him alive. But Esme had dug them up, and now they were choking him. It wasn’t just anger, though there was plenty of that. It was sadness, too. A hollow kind of ache that made him want to lash out and retreat all at once. She cared for him—she’d said so. But what did that mean when she could so easily walk away, leaving him with nothing but memories and the bitter taste of what could have been?

He didn’t know how to do this. He didn’t know how to reconcile the part of him that wanted to hold onto her, to fight for her, with the part that knew it would only end in heartbreak. All he knew was that he was tired—tired of pretending he didn’t feel, tired of being the man everyone else needed him to be, tired of fighting battles he could never win. His hands curled into fists at his sides, the tension radiating through his entire body. He wanted to say something, to yell, to make her understand what this was doing to him. But what could he say? That he wanted her to choose him, to burn the bridge to Peter and everything else that kept her tied to that world? That he was willing to give her everything, even when he wasn’t sure he had anything left to give? The vulnerability scared him as much as the anger. It wasn’t who he was, or at least not who he let the world see. But Esme had cracked something open in him, and now he couldn’t shove it back down, no matter how much he wanted to.

Oscar's fingers moved almost instinctively, wrapping around the delicate curve of her neck. His grip was firm but not cruel, his hand a bridge between control and vulnerability. The tension in his touch wasn’t just anger—it was desperation, a yearning too deep to name. She had slipped through the cracks, and now, the obsession he’d tried to keep buried roared to the surface, unstoppable. His face hovered close to hers, their breaths mingling. His eyes, dark and full of conflict, locked onto hers, searching for something—anything—that could ground him in this moment of chaos. He wanted her to see what she did to him, how she unraveled every piece of his carefully guarded soul. His voice, when it came, was a rough whisper, thick with emotion he couldn’t hide anymore. “You don’t get to play me like this,” he growled, the words a mix of pain and raw obsession. “You don’t get to waltz in, tear me apart, and then tell me to be careful.” His thumb brushed against the pulse at her throat, a steady rhythm that contrasted with the storm raging inside him. “Do you have any idea what you’ve done to me? What you mean to me?” The closeness was maddening. Her scent, her warmth, the defiance and allure in her expression—it all fed the fire consuming him. His other hand hovered near her face, trembling slightly as if caught between the urge to pull her closer and push her away. “I can’t do this halfway,” he said, his voice breaking slightly. “I won’t. If you’re going to stay with him, fine. But don’t stand here and tell me I can have pieces of you like it’s enough. It’s not.” The gates he’d kept so carefully locked had crumbled, and now everything spilled out—his anger, his desire, his fear. He hated himself for needing her this much, for letting her crawl under his skin and take up residence in the parts of him he thought were untouchable. But there was no going back now, no retreating to the cold detachment that had served him so well before she came into his life.

continued from [x]

The question Oscar posed made Esme quirk an eyebrow. For a moment, she considered the possibility. It didn’t take much to dismiss it. Even with part of her mind flashing with images of their week together, practicality and ambition won out. “You know what I’m going to say,” she told her, her tone matter of fact. However, a slight, almost imperceptible hint of sympathy stood about her tone, too. Her eyes were obscured by her dark glasses, but a similar hint flashed within her gaze. Esme was an acclaimed actress, capable of communicating any emotion. And yet, she was remarkably guarded when not on camera. She didn’t wear her heart on her sleeve, and as blunt as she could be, it took a lot more for her to bear her true feelings. 

That didn’t mean they didn’t exist. She’d hardly have taken the risk of secreting herself away with Oscar for a week if she didn’t feel something for her bodyguard. When he asked if she was capable of going back to Peter, Esme shrugged and nodded. “Going back to him? Yes,” she affirmed, her tone once more factual. But, considering the latter half of Oscar’s questioning, Esme added, “Going back to him is different from actually being with him. First of all, we keep separate beds… now, anyway. Two, he’s far too consumed by whatever young thing he’s chasing this week to pay the necessary attention to me. And three…”

Esme trailed off. She took a step closer to Oscar, their height difference becoming more pronounced. “Three…” she began again. “You know how much I care for you.” She allowed a moment for the prospect to sink in. “I’ll be at home with Peter. Not here in Antigua and not shacking up with you at your place. But, that’s not to say you can’t have me… we just need to be careful.” That final word dripped from Esme’s tongue, and a slight smirk crept onto her lips. She began tracing her finely manicured fingernails along Oscar’s torso as she murmured, “You and I both know that a bodyguard as fine as you can be so stealthy, Oscar…”

@hiddcnhorizcns

[ceilingfan5]

Could you do 5 from the prompt list (the doing crimes one) please? It made me smile.

“So Taako,” Kravitz stage-whispers, holding tightly to Taako’s legs to keep him on his shoulders. “I looked it up, and vandalism can be pursued as a felony charge. That’s-” He looks up to see how Taako’s doing and ducks his head so spray paint doesn’t get in his eyes. The sunglasses he brought only help a little, except for the part where it made Taako laugh but also slap his ass, so that’s half of a win. “That’s multiple years in jail.”

“Shouldn’ta googled it, Krav, it’s like looking up your symptoms or whatever.” Taako says, and Kravitz knows just from his tone he’s shaking his head wistfully. He knows Taako like the back of his hand, like Hamlet’s To Be or Not To Be speech, like the smell in the air when you know it’s going to rain without a shadow of a doubt. They’ve been friends for most of their lives. Kravitz has been pining after his stupid ass for what feels like nearly as long. He’s a fucking sucker, is what he is, and he knows it. “You know, you’re like, huh, why are my hands shaky, and the internet is fuckin’ like, CANCER TWO, THE SEQUEL TO CANCER! It was invented just so we could all watch you die miserable and alone, because the other reason you’re shaky is halitosis and also dick rot! Bleagh!!!” 

Kravitz tries not to laugh, and fails. 

“Not the dick rot,” he deadpans, “anything but dickrot. But no seriously, you’ve got to stop asking me to do crimes with you.”

“You’ve got to stop saying yes, coward. Okay, I’m done, lookie here.” Taako clicks his tongue, like he’s addressing a horse. Kravitz has half a mind to buck him off. Yeehaw. He looks up though, and has to laugh again, his composure not even recovered from the last go. 

“Is that skeleton-”

“Obviously. Okay, let me down, let’s dip.” 

Kravitz is about to comply right after Taako puts the spray cans back in his backpack, but a light snaps on, and Kravitz’s heart starts thumping like a rabbit at its first punk rock concert, and it doesn’t take Taako hissing go go go go for him to hold tight to Taako’s legs and bolt. It’s awkward and unwieldy, but they know this area, and it’s easy for them to disappear into the weeds and trees and junk left behind, along with Kravitz's sunglasses. Taako whoops and cackles and Kravitz holds onto him for dear life, but the chase thrums in his veins like caffeine and adrenaline had an affair and produced a spectrum of unlikely offspring even Gregor Mendel couldn’t grasp. 

They skid to a stop in a familiar clearing and Kravitz finally drops Taako to the ground, and they freeze, channeling all the deer energy they can muster, not even inches away from one another. There’s nothing, no sound behind them, no lights, no consequences, and when the breath they were holding together runs out, Taako laughs and hugs Kravitz and kicks his feet up in delight, and Kravitz laughs and spins him around and kisses him firmly on the lips like he’s wanted to for eight years, six months, and thirteen days. 

The ground catches them and they drop like dizzy bricks and lay there for a moment together before it all sort of clicks, and then they’re holding their breath again, not daring to look at each other, to say a single word. 

This gets old pretty quickly. If Kravitz could count on anything–the sun to rise, Burger Hut’s bathroom to scare his soul out of the holes in his shoes, fire to hurt when you touch it–he can count on Taako’s attention span. 

“You kissed me,” he accuses. 

“You kissed back,” Kravitz breathes, which is hardly a defense. 

“I’ve been waiting for you to do that for so fucking long I swear to god Kravitz I’m going to tear you apart,” he straddles Kravitz and kisses him again, “Do you understand me, I’m going to shake you to pieces,” he kisses him again, taking his hands and pinning them above his head, and Kravitz has to laugh, and Taako does too, and never before has a moment felt so alive. He’s humming like a neon sign and Taako can read it plain as day and things from this moment on are going to be so, so different and strange, and so familiar and safe, but for this delicate little island in the ocean of their lives, the world is hungry and quiet, and their hearts beat in unison, and they don’t have to draw any conclusions from the facts laid bare as their pulse just barely visible in the moonlight. 

“We- we can’t keep doing this,” Kravitz manages. “It’s- it’s too fun, I’m going to do something I shouldn’t-”

“Maybe you should,” Taako says. “A lot. So many times, consecutively, with me and nobody else, forever and ever until you die, how about that?” 

“Shit, I didn’t think of that.” 

They toss aside the paint filled backpack and take full advantage of the cover of darkness to express their feelings, finally, finally revealed. And it’s good. 

[helenazbmrskai]

Lion And The Mouse (M)

Pairing – Prince/(King)! Namjoon x Princess/(Queen)! Reader

Genre – E2L, Fluff, Angst, Royal AU, Fantasy, Star Crossed Lovers

Summary – [You just follow your father’s orders at first, visiting the handsome prince becomes a routine in your everyday life. In the end, you help him escape but you never thought that he has been taken a liking to you too and that he’s adamant to save you from the claws of his enemy.]

Warnings – imprisonment, abduction, mention of malnourishment, brief mention of violence and war, smut, oral (f), unprotected sex, vaginal fingering, dry humping

Word Count – (3,2k)

Menu: Masterlist l Be part of my permanent taglist to recieve a notification when I upload a new fic or send an ask!

Author note. This fic is written for the golden royal event hosted by BtsGoldNet to celebrate our kings Namjoon’s and Jungkook’s birthdays that are both in September! I hope you'll enjoy my royal au!

The prison is eerily quiet as you walk by empty cells. The underground walls trap the wet cold inside, resulting in a shiver going straight down your spine. Either from the frostbite that claws its way up to your body dressed in many layers of fabric or the way your heels echo in your head that creates this feeling like cotton balls are stuffed inside your ears and a cold hand is wrapped around your slim throat.

The prison guards are in rotation tonight but neither of them is here to shadow your steps through the fire lit concrete corridor. The natural light doesn’t reach this part of the cells as you venture deeper, the only object that aids your vision is the oil lamps that are placed on a hook hammered into the mold covered brick walls.

Here he is. The lion prince. Treated like a caged animal.

Your steps come to a halt at the end, you didn’t realise you were holding your breath until your lungs burned for air.

You can’t see his full face as he glares at his feet but those mud brown highlights in his hair are unmistakable proof that he’s the son of the lion king. You never met someone who came from that kingdom. Your mother said that if you ever meet one they’ll not hesitate to pierce your heart through with a sword embroidered with their proud animal.

Folklore talks about the great power behind those high walls. They talk about the king’s ruthless iron fist who guided their people to victory countless times in war. That they’re deserving of their name to carry the title of the animal at the top of the food chain and you all just prey.

The prey is now standing in front of the caged lion wearing sheep's clothing. What an interesting turn of events. Namjoon looks up with glowing black eyes chin tilted high up with burning pride just like your favourite historian Taehyung taught in a lesson. They never cower for anyone from fear even when it’s clear he’s at disadvantage now.

He oozes confidence even when he’s tied up and entirely dependent on your merciful nature. Always so filled with pride for their country, their name, their wins. Name anything.

He bared his face to you alongside his perfect teeth he has no fangs or claws that they teach you about in school. Nothing like the monsters portrayed in children's books. No, Namjoon looks like a prince as he should be. The discovery fills you with delight that makes the prisoner frown not understanding your sudden smile even though it's blinding him with its shine. You’re a beautiful young woman, one who Namjoon couldn’t find a counterpart in his country to won over your beauty.

You’re his first visitor since he has been captured five nights ago. He didn’t think such a beautiful woman will be the first to walk this dirty ground to his cell, colour him surprised. He regards you with interest, his eyes scan your delicate features with a predatory glint. He half excepts you to shrink away like the mouse you are but you stand your ground.

Without any water or food, he’s been slipping between consciousnesses and a lethargic state of sleepiness without the actual promise of peaceful slumber. The dark circles under his eyes let you know that he’s been awake for at least four of those days that the soldiers dragged him down here and chained him up.

You prepared him food and water just like your father asked of you but seeing his appealing physical features you’re more enthusiastic at the prospect of visiting him after tonight.

”You’re the mouse king’s daughter, aren’t you?” You cringe at his tone, the clear despise in his voice and the sharp glare he shoots you makes his face appear uglier than it should be.

”And you’re the lion prince.” You offer him a nod for a brief second before you busy your hands with the rusty set of keys. It’s a feast to find the right one that fits the lock but you eventually get the iron bars to slide right open. His jaw immediately flexes as if he’s about to bite a chunk out of you if you dare come any closer, you see the muscles in his entire body go rigid as you step closer and closer to where he’s chained to the walls. He has both his hands and legs in heavy cuffs. He can’t stand up because his binds are too short, he can’t do anything as you squat down to be face to face. He’s even more beautiful up close.

”Are you thirsty? Hungry?” He’s been so caught up with analysing your features and glaring that he didn’t sense the smell of food fill the space of his cell instead of the usual sweat and blood until you stated your question towards him. Being prideful he refuses even though the loud growl of his stomach is a clear sign that he’s famished after five days. You chuckle when you hear it. Such a heartwarming sound shouldn’t be able to come out of his enemy’s throat he thinks. Namjoon looks away a little bashfully. You’re not meek as a mouse as you just laughed at him. You smell like expensive bathing oil and oranges.

”Take a sip it will soothe the ache in your throat.” You touch the glass to his plush lips but he refuses to drink. He tries to surprise you with a sudden nudge with his nose on the cup hoping that it will slip from your hands and shatter while hitting the ground maybe if he’s lucky he can snatch a glass piece as a weapon.

Unfortunate for him you can catch it before it could reach the floor level as half of its content lands on your skirt you match up to his glare as you see the wet patch form on the expensive fabric.

”Drink.” You’re more forceful the second time. The glass clinks against his front teeth and he snarls back.

”You first.” He tells you gruffly. Rolling your eyes you take a big sip leaving only a quarter of water in the cup that’s undoubtedly not enough to quench his thirst. It’s not your problem though it wasn’t you who spilt it all over your dress skirt.

This time when you offer him the water he gulps it down hungrily. The prince whines when it’s gone but his thirst isn’t.

”You’ll probably refuse the food if I offer it but it would be a waste to throw it to the dogs. Our chef makes very excellent meals if I can say so myself.” You beam when Namjoon tilts his head in confusion. You didn’t even try to offer the plate’s content this time as you sat down on your ruined skirt in front of the prince and began eating.

You should be a fox since you tricked him so easily. By the time he realises his downfall, he already let out a low groan. His mouth waters as you eat the food with gusto.

”Give it to me.” He growls, the chains move loudly as he tries to get his hands free.

You contemplate if you should get him to tell you ’please’ and tease him a little more for your sole entertainment but you decide to spare him the humiliation this time. You hold up a spoonful of the mashed potatoes and place a piece of pork on top. The prince chews angrily but bites every time you offer him the next portion. Glaring like he hates the taste but licks his lips when it’s gone. What a sight. The lion is eating out of the hands of a mouse.

”You know why I’m here right?” It’s you who breaks the silence first. Namjoon only glares back with more malice but it’s all the validation you need that your father told him the conditions he set in order to regain some of his freedom. He needs to marry you and he’ll rather rot here forever than parade around your kingdom with a leash attached to his neck by you.

You visit him under the starry sky as a witness. With a hood over your head, you bow to the gate guards and slip through the heavy doors. This time you prepared a bathing bowl with warm water. You only hold onto the key to his cell so it slides into the lock with ease.

Your father doesn’t know about your constant visits that you make out of your own free will. He only orders you once a week to give him food and a glass of water so you have to stop eating halfway through your lunch to have something for him to eat. Namjoon is unaware that he’s eating your food or that you’re here without anyone knowing. He would choose to not believe you anyway so you keep the words locked in your heart. It’s a scary concept but you grew a soft spot for the price in your heart.

”Missed me?” Your angelic smile catches him off guard, if he had a tail it would be wagging, the tips of his ears turn to a shade darker. You think it’s just the darkness playing tricks on you. After you dug your way into his heart beyond the cage of his pride and prejudice you saw a kind hearted prince who cares about his people. You learnt that he has three walls guarding his heart and now only one left standing before you can entirely capture the lion in your sentimental cell.

Your prison is different from this one. Instead of cold walls and hunger, you would offer him your warmth and delicious food.

”You’re late.” Trying to hide his face from you he glances to the side watching in his peripheral vision how you crouch before his bind form. You caress his wrists apologetically. The angry red lines alongside his hands where the metal cuffs wore out his skin make you sad.

”It’s because I prepared this.” You place the bowl down next to you. Coming closer as you fold your calves behind you between his legs to comfortably reach his face.

”I couldn’t get a towel because the head maid almost caught me but I have a handkerchief.” You get said item out of your hidden pocket with a beaming smile, proud that you were able to get away with it.

”Wait. Isn’t this your royal handkerchief? I heard your people give it as a promise to…”

”It’s a courting gift yes but I can always make a new one. Don’t worry about it, my prince.” You smile and dip it into the water tainting the royal material. You start with his face, you carefully follow the lines of his jawline first then wash the dirt out before you clean his cheeks and nose. You’re so gentle Namjoon can hardly feel the warm cloth glide over his skin. The water smells nice, close to your natural scent that makes him think you use the same one when you bathe in your room.

”Why do you visit me daily, princess?” You like it better when all the lines on his face are smoothed out but you keep your thoughts to yourself as you disregard his narrowed eyes on you.

”You know why.” You simply state. Namjoon knew you will say something like that, he surprises you with his next words so that the cloth slips from your fingers and lands inside the basin with a big splash.

”Your father only orders you to bring me food once every week but you feed me every day.”

He knows it’s true when he sees your eyes widen in surprise. He couldn’t believe his ears as he overheard two guards talk about you the first time, they were talking about absurd things.

You look away and get to work again in silence. You drag the handkerchief over his collarbones that peeks out of his loose shirt, you follow your motions with your eyes as you map out his neck see as his adam’s apple bobs as he gulps.

”I’ll help you escape. You have to promise to never come back. If my father sees you he’ll definitely behead you.”

You caress his clean cheeks, kissing the skin between his brows as a goodbye for the night.

”Why would you help me?” If Namjoon’s hand weren’t bound he would have probably chased after your wrist to curl his long fingers around your delicate skin. It’s a good thing that he can’t because it’s getting harder and harder, day by day to say goodbye.

”I took a liking to you, my prince. I wish you no harm and that means you need to leave this kingdom and return to yours.”

The words burn like acid but you mean every word and comma as you face away from the subject of your late affection. He can never be happy by your side. The moment Namjoon agrees to the marriage from a caged animal he becomes the main attraction of a circus of royals. If he returns under the veil of the darkness and takes over the throne he could find freedom again. It hurts to think about his life after you. He’ll definitely get married and have children it’s his duty to provide a new heir to his kingdom. How sad that a mouse will never be enough for a lion. Natural enemies shouldn’t fall in love. So why does it breaks your heart to free him from his chains? You can’t bear to look at him because you know if you watch him leave, he’ll tear your heart out and take it with him.

The time you spent with him manifests in front of you like it happened yesterday that fate tore you apart when in reality it has been five years since you helped him escape your father’s ambitious games. Tears swell in your eyes even to this day when you remember that heart soaring goodbye. You cherish the kiss on the top of your head in your last memory with him. Bittersweet as you catch yourself smiling in the mirror.

Your father knew it was you the moment the prince fled from your kingdom. The walls talked about your visits to Namjoon’s cell, whispered to the king’s ears about your affection. His rage chilled you to the bones.

You were punished accordingly, worse than death as he sent you to an unknown country to be wed to a notoriously cruel prince from the tiger kingdom.

A year after your arrival news spread that the lion king passed away after leading his men to victory over the elephant kingdom. You know very well what that meant. Kim Namjoon became the new lion king but you weren’t his queen.

Sometimes you prayed for his good health other times you prayed for something more selfish. Asked the god above the skies to give him back to you even if he was never truly yours.

Finding out that his men invaded the castle. Struck just as the clock ticked midnight and took over the tiger kingdom came as a shock when soldiers closed in on your chambers. You were confused, scared even though they tried to reassure you the lion king ordered them to keep you safe until everything settles down, after that he’ll come to see you.

Your heart is beating out of your chest like a wild animal as you take in the room the servants guided you into.

The second time when your eyes befall on the sturdy double doors, the prince himself passes through. No, the king. The lion king is standing right in front of you in all his glory.

”Did you miss me?” The smile painted on his features are soft as he regards your form after being deprived of it for five full years. There wasn’t a time spent alone in his chambers plotting and aching when he didn’t think of you. He’s been waiting for this moment since you set him free. Gave him a chance to find his way back to you.

”Terribly.” You smile into the kiss, it’s chaste and more teeth than tongue as you can’t keep your lips from stretching into a relieved smile to finally be inside his arms.

It should be wrong. Kissing the man who killed your husband who invaded the country just to hold you.

You should be terrified crying and trashing around but you do none of that because your husband wasn’t the man you loved, he never treated you as his queen.

You feel no remorse for that man who caused you bruises on your sacred wedding night and cared so little for your well being.

”I don’t want to leave your side ever again.” You sigh as Namjoon’s lips descend lower, kissing more of your heavenly skin giving equal attention to your jaw and neck as he nips and licks.

Namjoon takes in the changes that you overwent during the time of your separation, ready to worship every inch of your delicious skin if you let him. He’s gentle as the first wind on a spring day, holds you close to his body with delicate fingers.

”I won’t let anyone take you away from me.” He kisses his promise into your plump lips.

No one dares to disturb you two as Namjoon places you above the pillows tugging on your nightgown to unwrap you like the greatest present that you are. His birthday was this month after all.

You’re moaning underneath his attentive fingers, two of them slipping right between your legs to caress your soaked folds.

Namjoon’s heavy cock is rubbing one out on your thigh while you’re bathing in the ecstasy that you’ve never felt before. The king takes his rightful place, face close to the treasure he’s been seeking on lonely nights only reaching it within his colourful imagination prior to this very moment.

To get a taste he carefully parts your walls with his finger as his lips wrap around the sensitive pearl on the top of your mound. Your back arches when Namjoon pushes the first finger inside your snug walls more of your essence spilling from your gaping hole that the king happily feasts upon, drinking you in until his chin is dripping with your sweetness. Your fingers curl around the dark hair and pull.

The pleasure is almost unbearable as you pant like you run a mile in a minute. Namjoon introduces a second digit that makes your eyes roll to the back of your head, twisting and curling the long fingers to get your tight walls ready to accept his large length.

Soon you’re moaning and crying until the overwhelming pressure of your approaching orgasm breaks the dam inside you, spilling everything into the king’s mouth and he laps up everything.

You watch him with droopy eyes that Namjoon takes off his dress shirt and silk pants, revealing his body parts to you one by one until he’s left as bare as you are under him.

He’s slipping inside you with ease his motions are fluid and careful as he buries his throbbing length to the hilt. Letting you adjust to the feeling of him filling you up his gaze full of love.

You’re his first, he never let anyone touch him before because he knew that no one will satisfy him as well as you can. He comes fast and with a groan that sounds like your name is spoken into the night. Spilling his seed inside with a promise that he’ll never have to leave you again.

After all, he’s your happily ever after.